Just in time for Halloween

A creepy pink eye.

I have the exact same symptoms I had last time: painful, swollen eyelid and pus oozing red/pink eyeball. Just like last time, it went into the second eye, but was not as bad.

In the middle of the night I broke out the old antibiotic eye drops in hopes that it would cure me so I could go to work (training) today. It didn't work. So this morning I was off to Urgent Care. I saw the same doctor, told him the same thing as last time and got completely different treatment. Last time he thought it was a bacterial infection. This time he thinks it's allergies.

What. The. Fuck?

Is it because I was struck down with pink eye for a second time? That's like changing treatment because someone got a second cold in their lifetime. He kept alluding to seasonal allergies, even though the last time I got pink eye it was in April. APRIL, Mr. Smarty McDoctorPants, not October.

I am frustrated. I am also still taking the old antibiotics even though it is verboten to do so. I figure it's okay since they don't expire until 2009. I am also grudgingly taking the allergy medicine and drops the doctor prescribed. So if it's bacterial or from allergies I should be covered. If it's viral it will just play itself out.

Damn, I hope I can go to training tomorrow. Today I can afford to miss the training since it was basically a review, but tomorrow I really need to go. Living one more day without knowing how to give an Aveda Carribean Body Wrap treatment is completely unacceptable!

You know you are a redneck if

You wear old underwear as a shirt. Talk about a commitment to recycling.


(Also my Halloween costume for next year. Aw, yeah.)

Apple Orchard Pumpkin Time

Last night Stan and I went to a Halloween Party. He was an Executioner and I was the big breasted slut that gets killed in every horror movie.

Today we switched into family mode and took Noah to the apple orchard and then the pumpkin farm.

He saw some big cement structures.

Then he turned into a tiger

and got eaten by a vampire.

Tonight is pumpkin carving and watching "The Littlest Vampire."

Halloween. It rocks.

Glam Guns for Girls

I have been waiting my whole life for this.

Jeannie vs. Carmella

Stan: "I just finished watching the Sopranos episode where Tony's girlfriend calls his wife and tells her that she's been shtupping her husband for years and he's now banging the one legged caretaker. Do you know what it reminded me of? It reminded me of watching an old I Dream of Jeannie episode. You know how they were always stepping in the dog poop or doing something uncomfortable to watch. No matter how much you didn't want them to do it, you knew they would and you couldn't stop watching."

Lisa: "You do realize that you just compared the discomfort of watching the Sopranos to the discomfort of the zany antics on I Dream of Jeannie?"

Stan: "Yes."

Lisa: Uncontrollable laughter. "I love you."

You should have at least one in your home!

Wow. Watch and be amazed.

What up, yo?

Time keeps on tickin' and all that jazz.

Work is still slow, but I am hopeful that if I just hang on until November it will pick up.

I have been reading good books, taking a lot of HOT baths and simply love spending time with my boys.

This week has been hard with the sleeping, but I am resigned to stay up this morning and get some shit done around the house. Like blogging, which is very important.

I also need to get back to the gym, but will leave that until Monday. This week it's just not gonna happen. I hate the idea of going but love working out when I am there and feeling good about it afterwards.

Today I get to have lunch with Noah before I pull the 3 - 8 shift at work. There is nothing more entertaining than having lunch with 26 kindergarten kids. They are a ball of furious energy and they all want to talk to me, sit by me and play with me simultaneously. If you ever feel unwanted, this, my friends, is the cure.

So that's it. A post to catch you up and let you know I am still alive, if not kicking. After all, kicking at my age is indiscreet.

OMG The irony. . . the freakin' irony.

Today I worked a five hour shift. I only had one client. Which means I only got paid for one out of five hours. Yes, I get paid a lot. But what I do is strenuous. Seriously. Deep tissue massage hurts me while I make you feel better. Yes, that is irony. I love irony. I love it so much I should get a t-shirt or a tattoo. But in the hard knock reality the fact is that in helping people feel better I am putting myself in jeopardy.

I try to get sleep, eat right, use proper body mechanics, get regular massage myself (Fuck! God damn it! I forgot to call George and schedule my massage this week! FUCK!! GOD DAMN IT!!! SHIT!!!!)

The life of a care giver, healer, what ever you want to fucking call it, is paved with (right of BOOM!) mine fields. Our passion is to help others heal, or patch them up enough to heal themselves and/or others. It is as fucking strenuous as your counselor hearing your deep dark secret memories, because, let's face it mother fucker, if something is buried in your mind, it's buried in your muscle tissue memory and if I release it, you better fucking believe I will be able to help you deal with it.

Otherwise your body wouldn't have felt comfortable to let it go. I have a B.S. (no, it doesn't stand for Bull Shit, although sometimes I feel that might be more adequate of a designation. It stands for a Bachelor of Science in Psychology which I studied four hard, long, years for). I attract criers and I think it's because they know I can handle the emotional deluge they let loose in my therapy room. It's a safe place with an experienced, trained professional who will take what you give as par for the course and be nonjudgmental.

Damn. I love what I do.

This month is slow. It's hard since I started at a company I really love during their slow time (so there's not much payback for my efforts). But I honestly think the owner and the company's vibe match my own. I believe things will work out and I will be very happy with my job. So far, not bad, and the prognoses is excellent. So I'm holding out for the good stuff and loving what I've been able to do and experience so far.

Because they hate me.

Stan is playing with Noah in the only room in the house I occupy. He is currently blasting him with his "chocolate rain" ray. You can guess where that came from, right? I just showed Stan the original chocolate rain video because he read Jesse's post and was stumped about who Tay Zonday was.

Oh, thank the blessed universe, Stan realized his error and took the boy downstairs to watch some Woody Woodpecker cartoons. Yesterday at Target I bought the boy the complete collection for a mere $35. Three disks to rot his healthy little boy brain. 75 cartoons to occupy him so I don't have to parent and can crash with some alcohol and my own brain rotting activity. Like TV, ooh, I love TV. Or the internets. If the internets had a mouth I would kiss it. Hard, but not too hard.

Anyhow, to continue with this stream of consciousness post, wanna know what it's like having a job that pays commission? Some days you are booked solid with clients and make an obscene amount of money. Then the Fall season hits and for some reason the salon spa is dead. Serious tumbleweed time. I had one 90 minute massage today during my 8 hour shift. That's right. $69 for 8 hours of work. Blech.

I was bored. I finished a sweater I was crocheting for baby T (or "cube" as he is affectionately called), helped put stock away, read some magazines, got my legs waxed (YIKES) and wandered aimlessly through the chilly day.

No clients have booked with me for tomorrow. Yet. I am sending positive vibes to remedy the situation. Those rich Summit avenue types will all be getting mysteriously tense this evening and calling the salon spa for massage! Yes. It will happen.

I hope.