Not So Fast

I am not going to Japan. And, I can honestly say that I am not that disappointed. In light of recent events with my dad, I can't be that far away. For example:

On a recent Sunday morning, my dad called me to say that he couldn't breathe and that he needed to go to the hospital. For my healthcare hating dad to say he NEEDED a hospital, it had to be serious. So, I reassured him to sit tight, I was already walking out the door to make the 13 mile trip to get him. The unfortunate fact is that I can make it to him before 911. What's sadder is that he lives less than 2 miles from the ambulance authority. My dad then says, "hold on, your brother wants to talk to you."

DO WHAT????

So, my brother gets on the phone and I say, "Yeah, so, he can't breathe...What are you doing? Get him to the ER now." My brother, not the sharpest tool in the shed, but a tool nonetheless, says, "Well, I didn't know about his insurance and all that."

My 76 year old father had open heart surgery last year. OF FACKING COURSE he has insurance. And, so what if he didn't? Was my brother just going to sit there fretting about medical bills as our dad draws his last panicked breath??

Yeah, so...I just can't, in good conscience, venture that far away. I don't feel resentful really, it's just a fact of life. Japan is so far away, but a guilt trip is even farther.

Hanging In

The time has come. This is the time of the year, every year, when I get so bogged down in the rinse and repeat cycle of gray days, bitter cold, dark evenings, and fatness. Granted, the weather over the last few days has been lovely, but I know it is just a trick. See? Even my attitude is gray.

I look at the almanac religiously every morning to see when it will start to lift, using history as a guide. I know that last March, around the third week, it was warm enough to wear short sleeves. Of course, the best day of the year (Daylight Savings Time) comes on the second Sunday of March. So, if I can just muddle through until then, everything will be fine.

Until then, I suppose I will hunker down with the remaining hot cocoa packets, the blankets, my running Words With Friends games, and my college hoody and dream about the following:

1. That first Corona of the year, enjoyed on my patio.

2. Petunia planting

3. Washing dishes after dinner and looking out the window over my sink to see that it is still daylight.

4. Driving the rural roads at dusk and not slamming on the brakes at every mailbox, thinking it is a deer.

5. The ease of entry and exit from my car without a fat ass winter coat to hamper my range of motion.

Stay tuned for my "Dear God it is too damned hot I can't wait until Winter" entry in approximately 6 months. The grass is always greener, or browner depending on the month.

A Little Added Salt for My Crab Rangoon

My dad is back in the hospital. After almost a year of fair recovery and health, his duct taped heart appears to be failing again. We were just talking last week about how great it will be this Spring, he was feeling fine, the doctor had given him a good report, and he was finally starting to realize the benefits of this cursed heart surgery that I, as he tells it, goaded him into. Then, it started with a cough. Then another cough. Then another. Next thing I know, he is laid up in the hospital chuckling about dog heads coming out of the pipes on the wall. Why can't his hallucinations be pleasant? Daffodils. Stacks of money. Rainbows. No, he sees facking canines being squeezed through pipes (if any sick bastard ever googles that phrase, I bet my blog is the first thing that pops up...sweet!)

Something about the hospital makes him crazy. It starts with slight confusion (Where have you been? I've been over here for a week!....day 1), then progresses into hallucinations (tee hee tee hee dog heads.), then explodes into full blown paranoia (three doctors came in [ed note. right there I knew THAT was a hallucination] and now they are all in the bathroom listening to my phone calls). The prognosis is cloudy. No one is sure of when he might be discharged. Of course, history has shown, the longer he stays, the worse he gets. The only consolation here is that he is in a hospital on the north side of town, so my commute is shorter.

Monday, a dietitian visited the room and "educated" my dad on his new low salt diet. My dad still had the mental fortitude to listen politely and then, after she left, to advise me to toss the handout into the trash. Perfect. No, really, perfect. That's great, dad. Just go ahead and pop a top on those viennas (vienners) and I will plan to take a month out of my life each year and come up here and sit with you. It's just...you know...why I'm here, since I missed the birthing babies boat.

Last night, I went to see him, and hopefully catch the lightening fast doctor on his rounds. No luck there. Dr. Flash was in and out just before I got there. But, the pipe dogs were there. The cotton bales. My great grandfather. The money that I stole. The eavesdropping doctors. All present. I was more than a little relieved when my Memphis dwelling boyfriend offered to take me to dinner after my visit.

We dined at my former favorite Chinese restaurant from back in the day. What I knew as Formosa is now Panda Garden, but the hot tea is still there, Thank God. Sweet boyfriend is dealing with his own family drama and so we took turns lamenting over non-involved siblings, demented parents, and the like, all over a delicious sampling of crab rangoon, sesame chicken and spring rolls.

Suddenly, something broke loose. I was talking about how scared my dad was just before the surgery and...wait...what's this?...my eyes are wet. I am not an emotional person. I am certainly not a publicly emotional person. I looked down. I looked out the window. I took a sip of tea. Nothing worked. I was going to add a little salt to my meal whether I wanted to or not. So, I wept. This was my first crying episode in front of Boyfriend. I felt foolish. He was fine, asking if I was ok, telling me I was ok, etc. The added salt was actually a welcome addition, in that I felt a little better afterwards. It was nice to step out of the expectation for a bit. By the time the fortune cookies arrived (Put an end to impediments and get the real work done...wtf?), I was laughing and had a plan in place to cope.

Today, I am going back to work. I am not going to the hospital. Dad is in good hands and it is out of my control. And, if I feel a little salt coming on, I'm just going to go with it. No sense in limiting. Might as well pour it on. After all, just like the Morton's Salt box says...

When it rains, it pours.

Movie Reviews

I saw two movies yesterday, in my annual FMG Race to the Oscars Movie Extravaganza. Having the day off work, I ventured over to the Ridgeway Four (The only place in Memphis to see multiple Oscar nominees in one day) and sat through "Black Swan" and "Rabbit Hole". Here is my assessment of both and some other general musings on the experience.


******************************WARNING********************************************


**************************SPOILERS BELOW*****************************************




"Black Swan". Meh. I have to admit, I was shocked. Not shocked at the "shocking" images that Darren Aronosfky is known for (Jared Leto's arm....AAAUUUGGGHH), but shocked at the fact that Natalie Portman turned into poultry. Literally. She became the swan. Plucked a black quill right out of a pimple on her back. Grody. Her skin got goosebumps, literally. I would have been happier if she had plucked a good movie out of her boil. "Requiem For a Dream" was so real. That is why I love it. It was an unflinching portrayal of the downward spiral of drug abuse. This was not real. Natalie Portman was not even likeable. I didn't feel the least bit sorry for her. And, WTF happened to Barbara Hershey? Shit she's old. I chose my seat in the theater, feeling pretty certain that I would be the only person at the 1:20 showing. Wrong. A gaggle of old whores filed in and plopped down right behind me. I was surprised that they sat through it. I once saw "American Beauty" in Bartlett and overheard the elderly ladies in front of me talking about the rose on the movie poster and how "neat" the movie should be, based on that. Those women lasted until the scene where Mena Suvari discussed doing Kevin Spacey with his daughter, Thora Birch. Got right on up and left. So, I am always surprised when the lights come up and the old folks are still there. The sisters hung in through the imagined lesbian sex scene. They hung in through the boil busting quill scene. They hung in for the bedroom transformation scene (could that have looked any more UNREAL?). Natalie Portman stabs her imagined rival, and in the end, it turns out it was herself. Phffft.

When the lights came up, I had to pee. I went to the restroom and was washing my hands when a couple of 60-something ladies walked in. One of them exclaimed, "OH! I love your hair!! Is that natural?" as she reached out to yank on my hair. I thought I was having a "Black Swan" moment, because I couldn't believe this rude ass bitch was touching me. I looked in the mirror and expected it to shatter, with some sort of choppy violin music. No such luck. Just a dismayed FMG and an old bird with her hand all up in my hair. "No lady, I wore this normal looking hair wig especially for this showing." I got the Hell up out of there. I had an hour to kill, so I stopped by Fresh Market and was disappointed to learn that I had left my gift card at home. So, I bought a bottle of tea (to smuggle in for "Rabbit Hole") and left feeling proud that I didn't extend my credit card debt. One last stop at Starbucks for a pick-me-up and I was done. Not so fast!

Standing in line to pick up my coffee, an effeminant man said, "Oh, I just love your coat! That pink is gorgeous." as he reached out to touch my coat. Really? REALLY? What, exactly, does the color pink feel like anyway? I thought back to the scene in "Mask" where Rocky Dennis shows Diana, who's blind, what colors feel like by placing items such as ice cubes and baked potatoes in her hands. This dude didn't look blind, but I considered showing him that pink felt like a stinging shin bone. I felt raped by the public. When did it become ok to just reach out and touch complete strangers? I don't particularly like most people I KNOW touching me, much less total strangers. What is this world coming to?

Back to the Ridgeway. I was not alone for "Rabbit Hole" either, which was even more surprising. I began to fear that the others thought the movie would be about rabbits, and that they would talk through the non-rabbit parts of the movie. "Rabbit Hole"...phew. That was tough. Nicole Kidman and Aaron Eckhart are a couple of sad sacks whose son was run over 8 months prior by quite possibly the strangest looking teenage boy ever. Sandra Oh makes an appearance to try to bust up the marriage, as usual. Sandra Oh would be a terrific best friend, but damn she is ugly. Anyway, Nicole and Aaron struggle through the grief process, growing distant and almost (ALMOST) losing each other along the way. You can see how easy this would be and I gained a new understanding for couples who don't make it after losing a child. My favorite scene in the movie occured early on, when they were at a grief support group. Someone was talking about losing his daughter, and he and his wife kept saying, "She had to die, it was God's plan, God needed another angel." Nicole had as much of this as she could stand before finally stating, "Then why didn't he just make one, I mean, he is God...couldn't he have just made another angel?" She got the stink eye from everyone and then got up to leave the group. Good for her. I have always wondered the same thing. I guess people find comfort where they can, but the Jesus freaks push that upon the grief stricken and pretty much hold them hostage with it. I mean, who is going to argue that, besides Nicole Kidman? Early in the movie, Nicole's neighbor, Patricia Kalember (of "Sisters" fame) came over to invite them to a dinner party. Nicole had just planted some flowers and that old whore stepped on one of the flowers. Her gigantic hoof crushed the one thing that day that seemed to give Nicole Kidman (pardon me, I rarely remember character names) comfort. I wanted to slap that bitch silly. This movie was real. It evoked emotion. I felt the things the characters felt. If Natalie Portman gets the Oscar over Nicole Kidman, I will cry.

So, that's three down, a few more to go. I saw "The Social Network" last week. Not so much. It was better than "Black Swan", but not by much. I won't be seeing "Toy Story 3" for reasons that I shouldn't even have to mention. I don't do kid flicks. I love Colin Firth, but am not crazy about period pieces, so skipping "The King's Speech" as well. That leaves "The Fighter", "Winter's Bone", "Blue Valentine", and "The Kids Are Alright". No interest in "Inception" and "127 Hours". I had previously crossed out "True Grit", but have reconsidered, so will see that this weekend. Oh, and "Winter's Bone" is also on the docket. I love a good meth tale.

So, there you have it...a few paragraphs of movie snobbery and social commentary. Hilarity ensues.

Some Random Thoughts

Regarding the new GE commercial...if my coworkers busted out into a spontaneous country line dance during working hours, I'd quit.

Last night, I realized that I didn't eat all my Weight Watchers points for the day. I quickly wolfed down a cup of yogurt and washed it down with a glass of chocolate milk. I have become the Weight Watcher equivalent of Pac Man. Or, Ms. Pac Man.

I have been wearing the same nail polish on my toes since Dec 27. Not a chip to be seen. I am tired of looking at it, but feel too lazy to do anything about it myself.

That Chinese lady who wrote the book about being a Tiger mother has my respect. When did raising your children to mind become controversial?

I was a freshman in college before I learned who Jack LaLanne was. My mother sent me a greeting card for Halloween and it had a green pumpkin on it. The inside of the card made some joke about Jack La'Lantern. I didn't get it. I had to call my mom to explain it to me. There was no cash in the greeting card.

I watched "The Social Network" last week. Meh.

I am going to see "Black Swan" this week. I have to admit, I am a little scared. I feel certain I will see images that will forever be burned into my brain, much like poor Jared Leto's arm amputation in "Requiem For a Dream". Same director. At least this time, I am slightly prepared. I'm no longer an Aronofsky virgin.

I spent this past weekend in Memphis. If I had $635 in my purse, I would have gladly plunked it down for my old Georgian Woods apartment right then and there. Home ownership is over-rated when your home is in the least convenient place ever.

My boyfriend is not a good housekeeper. I feel bad about typing that. But GAH!!

I have a lot of complaints about my job right now that I won't go into. As I prepare to prepare my tax return, I still give a big thanks to the Universe for putting me in this job. My unemployment W-2's serve as a grim reminder of what could happen just when you think healthcare is "where it's at."

It is supposed to snow again tonight. I facking hate the snow.

"Intellidrive". This is the system in development that is supposed to prevent auto accidents, using GPS and WiFi. Cars that that "talk" to other cars and then report back to you with instructions such as "Hit the brakes!" Two things....Number one, this isn't new. I had this in my first car. It was called, "Mom." Second, I think if my car could talk to other cars, that would actually cause auto accidents. "Get in your facking lane you whore!"

Ok, that'll do for now.

On Point

In my usual two weeks after New Year's Fashion, I have joined Weight Watchers. Again. This event coincides with another troubling event that occured last week.

Driving along, on the one sunny day in several days, I glanced into my rearview mirror to make sure my hair was still this side of hideous. WTF is that sticking up out of my bangs? No. No No No. It can't be. A silver wire. A stray piece of tinsel. A sliver of gum wrapper. Gulp, a GRAY HAIR. My first. I have always considered myself very fortunate to be the only child out of 5 to have made it to 35 without a gray hair. In fact, my parents and siblings were all fairly gray by 35. Except my dad, who claims his gray hair held off until age 40...when I was born. Never heard that joke before. Anyway, that gray hair was a wake up call. No, I am not dying my hair. Well, unless my gray hair turns out to be that hideous blondish brassy gray.

It isn't about the single silver thread. It's about getting older. And getting older means that I can't just cut out cokes and drop 10 pounds anymore. I'm going to the beach this summer and it has occured to me that if I want to fit into any bathing suits that I own, even my "big girl" suits, I had better start doing more than reaching past the delicious red canned beverage that I love so. I'm fairly proud that I have maintained the massive divorce weight loss that I enjoyed 5 years ago, give or take 10 pounds. However, I am in that in-between weight range. I haven't reached the point of Lane Bryant, but my big ass need not darken the doorstep of The Limited for a while either. And, it really isn't even about poundage anymore. I have always weighed more than I appear. It is all about carriage and my carriage has turned pumpkin-like over the last couple of years. I am doughy. Granted, I expected a little pudge with my newfound relationship happiness. It happens. But when newfound relationship happiness takes you to the beach, that shit has got to go. So...Hello Weight Watchers my old friend. I've come to count with you again.

Something has changed since my last half-hearted effort at the Weight Watchers Point System. Normally, I could convert a little nutritional data into points with little effort. My high school algebra teacher would be so pleased with me. But now, it is all different. I installed the Iphone WW app, so my trips to the grocery store now take twice as long, as I wander up and down the aisles, calculating. Something must be working though, I have lost 2 pounds in a week. And, this week, unless something huge happens (no pun), I will have points left over. I am all about the points. I enjoy counting things and making lists; therefore, WW works for me. I can (ok, do) spend hours at the site, making up hypothetical menus. So, let's see, I can eat 23 almonds and be ok, but if I eat that 24th almond I will have to choose something different for dinner. I am all about the planning. The execution...well....

To shore up my chances at success, I added a "fitness" routine. I have always loved aerobics, but can't really afford to join the local fitness club. But, I have Wii fit and a newfound interest in it. The step aerobics "game" is fairly basic, and boring. However, after mastering that, I unlocked an advanced version which is a little more fast paced. Couple that with the risers I purchased for my Wii balance board, and MY CALVES ARE KILLING ME. My balance board is pimped out like a 1978 Lime Green Cutlass with hydraulics. I also acquired a dancing game, and found that I am almost too embarrassed to do this, even alone. Harriet The Dog hides her little face when she hears the music cue up. I don't remember being this uncoordinated. Where did that ceiling fan come from?? Ouch! My shin! Ok, so I may need a bigger "dance floor". But, it is fun and fun is key.

I am 18 pounds away from my "goal". The real test, of course, isn't the pounds. I am approximately 2 sizes away from my bathing suit. It is a shame test. I put the suit on, look at myself in the mirror, and if I feel the least bit ashamed at parading around in said suit in front of my loved ones, I've still got work to do. I'm not trying to be buff, just comfortable. I will update you, gentle readers, with my progress or lack thereof. No meters, no before/after pics, just words.

And that stray gray...still there. I am not plucking it. I don't want to take my chances that the old (gray haired) wives tale is true. I don't need 7 more growing in it's place. I will just wait it out. The sun and saltwater will bleach the rest of my hair to sufficiently disguise it. I hope.

I'm counting on it.

Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto

This is the only Japanese phrase I know. And, I only know this phrase thanks to Styx. But, I am going to have to brush up on my Japanese because....I'M GOING TO JAPAN!!

I think.

I mean, I am pretty sure.

Something could change though.

Either way, I am submitting my carefully filled out passport application today, along with 2 2x2 pictures of me in need of a haircut. My travel good fortune isn't nearly as random as it seems, though. My brother lives in Japan, Okinawa to be exact. Saturday morning, as I was sipping my coffee and doing my usual Saturday morning lazy facebook stalking ritual, my mother buzzed in and asked me if I would go to Japan in April, with her.

Would I? Would I? (hairlip hairlip)

I immediately said yes, then immediately regretted it. I spoke out of desire, but my anxiety wasn't far behind. Do they have toilets in Japan? Is there violence in Japan? How long is that flight, anyway? How much does Japan cost? How long will (can) we stay? How much work will I miss (miss...hahahaha)? Can my mother and I get along for that length of time? What will become of Ms. Harriet? Do they have toilets in Japan???

I stuck by my affirmative answer when I realized that Keith will be leaving Japan later this year. I love my brother, but I would so much rather visit him in Japan than say, Witchita. So, once in a lifetime opportunity came knocking, and I answered. I'm plodding along, getting things done such as obtaining a passport, with an eye to reality, which is that the trip could fall through.

My mother insisted that I phone my 76 year old father to see if he would like to go as well. I tried to remind her of the last plane trip with my father, circa 1987, Atlanta to Nashville. Somewhere over Northern Alabama, my father's seat started jiggling and he came UNGLUED. I'm sure his name is on some sort of list. *shudder* I guess mom thought that dad's recent brush with death had relieved him of all his inhibition, so she insisted. So, I did as I was told and called him up. I expected a hearty laugh followed by a string of expletives and then a list of reasons why I shouldn't go.

Surprisingly, that isn't at all what I got. What I got was a lengthy silence, then a quiet "I can't go to Japan." Not "I ain't going over there!" or "Shit naw I don't want to go to China!" or even, "Who is this??!!". Just simply, "I can't go to Japan." To completely break my heart, my dad added, "Sure, I'd love to go, but what if I get over there and get sick?" If I had any doubts about going, they were done. "Too late" had arrived for my dad. How terrible to reach the point of "Should have" as opposed to "Should I?" Returning to typical dad, he muttered something about a trip like that being a lot of money. He gave his blessing for us to go and have a good time. Ok then, its settled.

I will be adding a photo to my collection of photos to display on my nightstand at Shady Acres Nursing Home. I call it my "I did!" collection. Formermeangirl in Japan will sit next to Formermeangirl at the Hoover Dam, in Times Square, having a drink in Ybor City, wearing a Snuggie in public, and hopefully many many other pictures of moments of "Would I? Would I!"

hairlip hairlip.

Peace Be With You

Here's what I didn't do for New Year's:

1. Have a panic attack at 11:59:30 over all the crap I didn't accomplish in 2010.
2. Wish I was somewhere different, like out somewhere having fun.
3. Seriously consider a radical life change.
4. Stuff myself with bloat inducing foods in a desperate attempt to shore up my chances at good luck in 2011.
5. Piss and moan.

I had the most peaceful New Year's Eve celebration, surrounded by thousands of revelers and drunken homeless people. And it. was. awesome. I rang in the new year on the bank of the Mississippi River in New Orleans. There were fireworks, a brass band, fog, a falling fleur de lis, and some half baked Latino dude who clearly had never seen fireworks standing all up on me. I kissed my fella at midnight and then we devoured fancy hamburgers at an Italian restaurant served up by a surly old whore. Perfect.

2010 was my turning point. I started out the year with a totally different belief system. I won't lie, it was a tough year. But, instead of beating me down, the circumstances only made me tougher. The first half of the year, I laid the groundwork for making some hard choices, giving up a few times. I had been through hard times before, but nothing like 2010. And it was with bittersweet memories that I said good-bye. I lost so much the first half of the year, but it wasn't until the last half that I finally said good-bye. Good-bye to bitterness. Good-bye to the belief that my parents would always be around, healthy and strong. Good-bye to the belief that things will work out exactly how I want them to. Good-bye to the knowledge that I will always have a steady paycheck. Good-bye to resolution and determination to make it work. Good-bye to sitting on the bench. Good-bye to endlessly weighing the options. Good-bye to the requirement of perfection. Good-bye to the need for knowing exactly how it's all going to go down.

At midnight, I said a big Hello to 2011. Hello to choosing the thing that makes me happy. Hello to valuing the time with my father. Hello to accepting the good with the bad. Hello to the peace that comes with commitment. Hello to champagne at breakfast if that is what I want. Hello to making choices with my eye on the reward as opposed to the sacrifice. Hello to letting people in. Hello to the happy moments that come when you just throw something on and go. Hello to wondering with excitement. Hello to loving what's real instead of missing what isn't.

One year ago, I couldn't have known the turns my life would take. One year ago, that bothered me. Today, it is the not knowing that makes me smile.

100th Post

To commemorate my 100th post, I have removed my other blog. You know, the one about my dating pratfalls. It is my prayer that I don't have to revive it. Merry Christmas Readers!

Christmas Movie Trivia

My Bff loves her some Christmas movies. I do not. Each day she posts Christmas Movie Trivia questions on her Facebook, and is offering a Starbuck's gift card to the person who answers the most questions correctly. Thus far, I have answered none (correctly). The problem is, she posts questions about shitty movies. There are only three holiday movies (tops) that I can sit through. None were made in the last decade. She refuses to post questions about these movies, preferring to use the likes of "Fred Claus" and "The Santa Clause" instead. I would rather gauge my own eyes out than sit through that. But, judging from the response that she gets, I am in the minority. So, in true BFF fashion, I will do my own quiz. Here.

And now I present: The FormerMeanGirl Holiday Movie Trivia Quiz
(I call it a quiz, not a contest, because no one is going to win anything...sorry, times is tough.)

1. In "It's a Wonderful Life", when young George Bailey gets slapped upside the head by his senile pharmacist boss, what flavor is the jelly that comes out of his bad ear?

2. In "Home For The Holidays" (the good one with Holly Hunter), who approved that awful version of "Evil Ways" that plays in the intro?

3. In "Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer" (claymation version), who hid Santa's Paxil?

4. In "Frosty The Snowman" (cartoon version), where is the school counselor when all these kids are following an imaginary snowman around town?

5. Follow up question for "Frosty The Snowman", how much should the dosage of Karen's Risperdal increase to prevent any further hallucinations?

6. In "A Charlie Brown Christmas", why does Linus sound exactly like Kevin Bacon during his monologue about the nativity?

7. In "A Christmas Story", where is the buffet with pizza in the Chinese joint they eat at in the end?

8. In "Home Alone", why were they so worried that they left that brat at home? I would have done that on purpose.

9. In "The Nightmare Before Christmas", what the feck was Tim Burton taking? And where can I get some of that?

10. In "Christmas Vacation", who actually owned the camper that Randy Quaid squatted in?

And there you have it folks. You're welcome.