___________ New Year

Please fill in the blank with the New Year's adjective of your choice (happy, crappy, ridiculous, whatever).

As for me, I look at a new year as the next day in a regular week. It's necessary, since it comes next. But I choose not to describe it so early in the year.

I don't do New Year's resolutions. They are lame and they never stick.

However, I do have some goals for the year. This does not mean that I will start them tomorrow, Day 1 of the new year. And this does not mean I "resolve" to actually do them.

They are ideas. They are goals. They are plans, and sometimes plans change, and that is a caveat that I am completely comfortable with.

I am not a failure if I do not accomplish them. They are areas to focus on and things to think about amidst a whole lot of other stuff that I've got going on.

Nothing more.

1. I have a very tiny pair of jeans that I bought a couple of years ago, amidst much ridicule for being able to fit into said pair of tiny jeans at the time. I did not like the attention of being able to fit in those jeans, and I usually strictly keep to not letting anyone know what size clothes I wear because I've found that skinny people only end up getting ridiculed when people find out how tiny our clothes are.

I could do without that. I deal with enough crap on a daily basis as it is. Let's just say I wear the same size clothes as you do, and leave it as that.

Anyway, at the time of the tiny jeans, I was in much better shape than I am now. As such, at this very moment, I cannot fit into that particular pair of jeans . . . and it bothers me greatly. Not because I am obsessed about needing to fit into skinny clothes, or because I am actually fat now. I've just never had to think about it before.

Being one who has never had much issue with weight (all of you who at this very moment who hate me for writing about my weight can feel free to click on another blog . . . I don't care), I don't really know what to do with the fact that I've gained a few pounds. I am getting older, my metabolism is changing (for the first time ever), and weight is not necessarily that "one more thing" I care to have to start worrying about at this stage in my life.

Thirty-something years of never having had a pair of jeans I can't get into creates a bit of a stress issue, I don't care who you are.

However, the obvious thing that I need to do is to start exercising again, and watching closer as to what I eat. I've gone completely off the deep end eating whatever I want (namely a lot of pizza and cheese) and rarely exercising. I do understand that this problem is fixable. I just have to make up my mind to be less lazy, and to not let working all of the crazy hours I work keep me from getting on the bike a few times a week.

It's a balance issue more than anything else. My life is a bit unbalanced and consumed by work, at the moment.

Therefore, my first goal is to get into those tiny jeans again . . . at some point in 2008.

2. My second goal is to find a church that I can stand to go to as a regular part of my life.

I thought my last church was "the" church for me, for good. However, I was wrong about that. And I've been pretty broken-hearted about it since I figured that out.

Now that I've taken a year off from being way too involved in a church that wasn't what I thought it was, I feel like moving toward a new church is something I'm starting to get ready to approach.

Therefore, my goal in 2008 is to find a church, and go . . . at least sometimes. No pressure to run the place. No pressure to join everything and spend all of my time at said church or with said church people.

The goal is to find a place where I am comfortable, liked, able to learn and grow, hang out with God with people who also like to hang out with God, not compromise my beliefs to fit in, and to build new friendships.

Again, balance is key.

God has been very good to me in 2007. It's weird to say that I needed a break from church, but I think it's been a break that had God's blessing, if that makes sense.

For now, I am content to be at home, on New Year's Eve, in my pjs, on the couch (and about to eat some pizza). I don't care that it's New Year's Eve and it is socially unacceptable to not be out with people, at a party, or celebrating in some way.

I am too old for such parties, and I have no problem blogging to the world that a decent New Year's Eve for me involves my flannel pjs and my fuzzy leopard print slippers.

Tomorrow will be much of the same, likely sleeping until about 11am or so, and probably not embarking on my goals just yet.

Plus, as I've mentioned before, I don't see so good right now. So, being the shut-in that I am, it's important to me to be home when it's dark outside, especially with the New Year's Crazies out on the roads tonight.

Safe New Year, everyone.

(That's the adjective of choice for me.)

C.T.

Acoustic Bliss

I'm a fan of things that sound good.

I'm also a fan of delicious flavor, but that's another story for another day.

Having lived a lifetime of eyes that don't work so good, I like to think my sense of hearing has been heightened due to my ridiculous partial blindness.

• I can hear most anything, even things that other folks don't (or can't) hear.
• I'm really good at hearing things I'm probably not supposed to hear (ie: through walls, around corners, far away, and even whispers . . . and often even just thoughts . . .).
• I've got an ear for music: good pitch, good balance, deep bass, full middles, and crisp highs. If something is out of tune, I will likely be the first to tell you (probably first by the pained look on my face).

As such, I am very particular about sound: speakers, earphones, you name it. I just can't listen to things that sound bad.

I stuck with the lame headphones that came with my ipod for almost a year, mostly based on principle. I don't like to waste things, so I decided I would wait until those earphones were worn out before I considered purchasing better earphones.

Today, my new earphones arrived. And I immediately put them through a rigorous sound test before I decided that I have made a good purchase.

Also, I think it is gross to return earphones after they have been tested. So, I am glad these seem to have the potential to work out well. Because I probably would have kept them anyway, plus ordered new ones if they sucked.

My test is simple, yet thorough. I listen through a wide sampling of everything on my ipod that represents all of the ranges of music that tests every aspect of sound possibilities through the earphones. This includes:

• Sara Bareilles (a new favorite. If I can't sing along to satisfactory sound, it's not even worth moving to the next music sampling on the list)
• Maroon 5
• Rilo Kiley
• Avril Lavigne
• Daughtry
• Suzie McNeill
• Justin Timberlake (especially important for good bass)
• Fergie/Black Eyed Peas (also important for good bass)
• Evanescence
• Word What What, and World Funk (from the CD I made of my sister's song last year)
• U2 (particularly Elevation)
• Michael Jackson
• Mariah Carey
• Sheryl Crow

These are the basics, with a few other random selections mixed in, depending on what mood I'm in.

Then, comes the big finale: selected works from The Phantom of the Opera.

If the Phantom sounds like a Phantom should sound, then these earphones pass the test.

And, they did.

V-moda moda-phones. Reasonably priced, sound good, fit my ears (they come with those squishy size fitting options to pick from). Plus, they blocked out the sound of the TV while I did my testing.

I've had them for about 2 hours, but so far, I recommend.

Of course, there are more expensive earphones out there that I'm sure sound better. But, quite frankly, I don't want to spend that much money. I also want new shoes and some jeans that fit.

C.T.

I'm considering an eye patch.

So, the latest on my newly-LASIKed eyeballs is that the left eye is doing great, but the right eye seems to have decided to stay semi-blurry.

My last follow-up appointment yielded the news that they will have to "touch up" my right eye after all. Not because the surgery went wrong, but because with eyes as bad as mine were, sometimes it takes a second surgery to get to 20/20 vision.

Now, in my opinion, calling this a "touch up" is very misleading. I touch up my make-up. I touch up the paint on that table I painted. I touch up the paint on my toenails when I get a chip. In these instances, "touching up" means just a wee dab to fix a blemish.

But to "touch up" my eyeball means they have to do the surgery again on my right eye. They don't just dab it. They cut the flap and laser it again.

But whatever it takes to get my eyeballs in tip-top sight shape, I will do it. It is, after all, guaranteed.

In the meantime, however, I am considering an eye patch.

I can see generally fine, and all things considered, I'm happy with the progress since the surgery and I know that my eyes are still adjusting and they will continue to get better. It's great not having to fuss with contacts, and it's pretty cool to wake up and be able to see.

But my depth perception is a bit wonky, since my eyeballs are not seeing evenly and all that. The long-distance seeing of things is pretty fuzzy, especially at night. I'm pretty much an old lady shut-in when the sun goes down. I don't like to drive at night.

Plus my right eyeball gets pretty tired and hurty pretty quickly from straining to see as well as the left eyeball, especially staring at my computer all day.

Why, you might ask, should I draw attention to my handicapped eyeball? Well, the answer is simple. If I have to deal with a crazy eyeball that, quite frankly, makes me even more clumsy than I am on a normal day, I might as well make it obvious to the world that I have an eye problem.

Plus, the eye patch would give the right eyeball a rest from trying to see more than it is able to see just yet.

However, my research today on eye patches has revealed to me that I apparently have to also get a nose-ring, tattoo, and a parrot.


I'm fine with that, by the way.

C.T.

Craptacular

This is my general feeling throughout the holiday-birthday season. Starts around Thanksgiving and lasts through February.

Craptacular.

Holidays are still sad and hard without my sister, and then our birthdays happen just after I get rid of the holidays. I get older, she doesn't. It's weird and I don't like it.

This year I've been working so many crazy hours that I haven't had time to feel the craptacularness. That's good in some ways. Makes the time go by faster. But it's bad in the sense that I think it all caught up to me this week.

It's craptaculariffic.

Oh well. February will be here before I know it.

C.T.

Things I do not want to pursue

I've had the TV on MTV's Made most of today. It appears it was a marathon.

Through this experience, I have learned that I do not want to be made into any of the following things:

• A BMX biker chick
  
• A cheerleader
• A teenage beauty pageant contestant

I'm not sure why teenage girls think these career paths will change their lives for the better, but apparently it works for the ones who have MTV to help them.

I'm definitely too old to be watching this show.

C.T.

I've never understood the Disney Vault

You know how Disney will show commercials that say you have to buy Lady and the Tramp NOW before it goes back into the Disney vault? I don't get that.

Is there really a vault?

And does Disney think we really believe that if we don't run out right this second and buy Cinderella (I, II, and III . . . apparently), that we'll never, ever be able to own a copy of it after it goes back in the vault?

I fell for this with The Wizard of Oz. And like, a year later they put it on DVD with a bunch of bonus features.

Now I'm stuck with a Wizard of Oz VHS . . . in one of those extra large Disney cases that don't fit on the same shelf with my other tapes.

In my many years of experience (and careful tracking of Disney Vault items), stuff comes out of the vault all the time. And stuff never stays vaulted for very long, either. So why all the drama when things go in or out of the vault?

I'm on to you, Disney Vault.

I will not go out and buy The Little Mermaid tonight. Go ahead and put it back in the vault.

I don't even care.

C.T.

Dear Kia Maniac,

I don't really understand you and your Kia Fest "I'm a Maniac" commercial.

All you do is dance around, make those "I'm shooting a gun" hand gestures, and at one point you kinda do some naughty thrusts towards a minivan. It's grody.

Plus, you're all sweaty.

Therefore, please understand that I will never buy a car from you. Truthfully, I don't ever plan to buy a Kia, regardless of your stupid commercial.

But even if I was considering a Kia at this time, I think I would probably change my mind due you being a maniac and all.

Sincerely,
C.T.

I have relived all of the 80s and 90s in the past four days.

The Christmas holiday has allowed me four work-free days.

These four days have allowed me to catch about 108 hours of "I Love the 80s", "Best Songs of the 80s," and "Best Songs of the 90s."

So much great music, y'all. Such a shame that it all had to end.

Not to mention, the hair.

Awesome.

C.T.

Last minute gift ideas

For those of you who are still rushing to finish your Christmas shopping (as am I), in the span of about 30 minutes of having the TV on this morning, I learned that the following celebrities have fragrances available for anyone on your list who still needs a gift:

• Hillary Duff
• Gwen Stefani
• David Beckham
• Carlos Santana (for women)
• Shania Twain

Simply choose the celebrity you would like your friends or loved ones to most smell like, then purchase.

I'm a little perplexed by the Carlos Santana for women, but maybe that's just the scent for that special someone in your life.

C.T.

They gave me a microphone and everything.

I was asked to emcee our office Christmas party and White Elephant Gift exchange today for our annual Christmas event.

Apparently I wasn't the first choice, which is why they asked me a mere hour or so before the shindig . . .

But whatever. They gave me a microphone and turned me loose in front of a room of literally 37 people. So they were pretty much at my mercy for a good hour or so.

Fortunately, I was amazingly entertaining, witty, charming, engaging, interactive, thought-provoking, and I managed to come up with a spontaneous haiku.

Yeah, they'll think twice about making me their second choice again next year . . .

Wait, I mean, I probably won't be their second choice next year.

Er . . . um . . . whatever. I was awesome. And I hardly made fun of anyone at all.

Well I didn't make anyone cry. And they didn't throw things at me. And they laughed, and I'm pretty sure it was because I was funny, and not lame.

Anyway, I might see if I can make Professional White Elephant M.C. my new career. It was way funner than spreadsheets.

Maybe I'll just emcee lunch everyday and see if they'll pay me extra for that.

C.T.

Secret Santa gets Scandalous, y'all

First, let the record show that I had the best Secret Santa this year EVER . . . in the history of all Secret Santa's worldwide, in history, infinity.

Second, the great Secret Santa Scandal of '07 happened completely accidentally and innocently, and I was, in fact, involved initially only by request to help a fellow Secret Santa person of interest in an effort to secure the enjoyment of a third party Secret Santa-ee. Had this person not enlisted my help in a ploy to quite possibly save the life of a fellow coworker, none of this would have ever happened.

Third, it is not my fault that I have a deviously clever nature and the extreme talent of turning an accidental situation into a hilarious scandal. Sadly, this does sometimes result in the exploitation of others for the sole purpose of my entertainment. But again, I cannot help it. Sometimes.

I can if I really try. But let's face it, when I keep myself in check too much, things just get boring.

Fourth, no people (or animals) were actually harmed throughout this scandal.

Fifth, it's too twisted of a tale to tell at this pertinent juncture. But let me again reiterate that my Secret Santa was the best, from start to finish, and especially in the middle when I might have mentioned that my Secret Santa sucked (being pretty sure she was my Secret Santa but also having to live the lie of having a FAKE Secret Santa, yet finding it a little bit hilarious that the situation at that moment just got ridiculous, through no intentional actions on my part, completely out of my control . . . mostly).

Sixth, it was the first Secret Santa Scandal ever. So really, people should be thanking me for being the select few who were (willingly or otherwise) involved in making history. We will be talked about for generations to come.

Seventh, it is quite possible that no one will want to be my Secret Santa next year, and that I have some comeuppance coming at me soon, when I least expect it. If that's the case, I deserve it.

Eight, you have to get up pretty early in the morning to put one over on me. You should know that before you try anything you might regret later . . .

Ninth, did I mention how great my Secret Santa was this year? SUPER great. Like, Alexander the Great great, but not in a bad way.

I might have to make a lot of lemon squares to make up for the scandal heard round the office . . . by some people . . . who were in the lunch room during lunch . . . today.

C.T.

(Almost) No Soup For You!

I had the brilliant plan today to make my mom's homemade soup. The brilliance of this plan is that one of those vats of soup will last me all the livelong week.

Genius.

I also had the brilliant plan today to start getting rid of the 108 million pounds of leaves all over my yard.

The problem with the brilliance of both of these plans is that I tried to do them both at once.

Not genius.

To start the soup, you have to boil a soup bone for an hour and a half. No need to stand around and watch that. So I figured I'd get it started, then go scoop up some leaves, then after an hour and a half I'd come back and finish the soup, then let it simmer for a few hours while I did some more leaves.

So, I started the bone a boilin'. No problem.

Went out and cleaned up leaves in the front yard using my dad's leaf sucker thingie (also genius). Sucks, mulches, bags - all at once.

An hour and a half later, I go back inside to check on the soup bone and it turns out that I must not have put enough water in there with it because it was pretty much burned to the bottom of the pan.

Dang. My plan was RUINED.

So, I had to go get another soup bone. See, once I get it in my head that I want something to eat, I pretty much have to eat that something. Nothing else sounds good. And I had all of the other soup stuff.

I WANT SOUP.

But, then there was another problem: a lack of another soup bone.

Super Target - does not carry soup bones. What???
Tom Thumb #1 - apparently I bought the last soup bone there earler today because there weren't any more soup bones.

I had to find a second Tom Thumb, then ask the guy behind the meat counter if he could pretty please find a soup bone for me.

He found one. It was frozen.

Forty-five minutes later, I get back home. I thaw the soup bone. I clean out the previous soup bone attempt. And I get the second soup bone going.

I dump a whole lot of water in there this time.

Fortunately, this time it all worked out fine. I did a few more leaves, but not as many as I wanted to (by this point it's starting to get dark outside).

And by my calculations, my soup should be ready to eat by about 8 or 9:00 tonight.

I'm just glad that I'll have soup. I hate to think what would have happened if there had been no soup for me.

Next!

C.T.

Farewell, generic Target contact solution.

Your services are no longer required.

I will dispose of you in some sort of ceremonious fashion to recognize and in appreciation of your many years of service to my eyeballs.

C.T.

NOW we're getting somewhere

I woke up this morning and my eyeballs were MUCH clearer. I could actually see the clock from across the room.

I don't know why that's important, but I'm sure it will come in handy someday.

I am noticing that as my eyes get tired (which is pretty quick right now), they get blurrier. But I feel encouraged today that this whole LASIK thing was actually a good idea.

I'm not gonna lie. Yesterday I was pretty apprehensive that I would be mediocrely blind for the rest of my entire life. Especially after this woman came out of her follow-up appointment telling everyone in the room that she could read all of the eye charts with no problem and that everything was awesome.

My immediate thought was, "What is wrong with my eyeballs??? This whole thing is a failure!!! I just want to LIVE!"

Sometimes I leap to the dramatic. But usually just in my head.

And I'm not going to lie, I wanted my eyeballs to win. But that lady totally won in being able to see better than me, faster than me.

I hate her.

Here are some of the highs and lows so far, as of Day Two after my surgery:

• It really doesn't hurt. Seriously. No lie. The part where they put this suction thing on your eye and everything goes black, then they cut the flap - that part is a little uncomfortable. And weird, since, well, everything goes BLACK for about 15 seconds. But honestly, nothing about this has hurt.
  
• That's not to say it isn't a bit uncomfortable at times. My eyes are a little scratchy and dry, but really no more so than on an average day of working 11 hours and staring at my computer screen for 10.5 of those 11 hours. Considering I had laser beams shot at my eyeballs, they don't feel too bad.
  
• Drops. I'm not gonna lie, this whole thing involves a LOT of drops. Prior to this whole surgery thing, I was anti-drops. However, now that I understand how dry the eyeballs can get after the LASIK, I might be a bit of a drops junkie. The artificial tears are genius. And I just kind of pour then all over my face, and eventually some of them get in my eyeballs. It's my own special technique.
• Eye Boogers and/or Goop. I'm not gonna lie, there is a lot of eye goop involved here. What with the antibiotic drops and the nighttime eye gel, it all adds up in your eyeball. And they don't let you clean it out for the first seven days. It's pretty grody. Until further notice, everyone has intructions not to look at my eyes.
  
• My skin looks fantastic. The antibiotic drops (that sometimes tend to run down my face when I miss my eyeballs) are doing wonders for my skin. It is so clear. Which is nice, since my eyeballs are full of goop. Hopefully the clear glow of my skin will distract everyone from the layers of goop coating my eyeballs.
  
• But, I have to wear these awesome goggles. Every time I step outside, I'm supposed to wear my awesome goggles. Every time I bathe, I have to wear the awesome goggles. Get the mail? Wear the goggles. Go to Target? Wear the goggles. Take a shower? Wear the goggles. The good thing about the goggles is that they cover up the eye goop. The bad thing is that they make me look like an aged reject from the swim team. Or a superhero. I'll go with superhero. Unless I decide to go everywhere in my swimsuit. Or maybe that should be my superhero outfit . . .
• The tape, Dear God, the tape! At night, for sleeping, I have to tape these fantastic shields to my face to cover my eyeballs. This is to keep me (or the monsters in my room at night) from poking my eyeballs during the night. The tape that keeps these wonderful things on my face is probably the stickiest thing I have ever experienced in my life. I've got two nights of tape residue build-up on my face. It just doesn't come off. Which means other fun things (like lint and hair) now stick to my face.
  

I'm not going to lie. I am so sexy right now, you would not even believe it.

It is a bit frustrating that the clarity is a progressive feature. It's not immediate. You don't leave the surgery able to see 20/20. After a week of already seeing blurry because of having to wear my glasses, at this point you just want to be able to see perfectly.

But, it is encouraging that I can tell that I'm gradually seeing clearer. It fluctuates, clearer sometimes, then blurry as my eyes get tired. But when I woke up this morning and had about an hour of seeing at least as well as I was ever able to see with my contacts, I realized that this is a really amazing thing going on with my eyeballs.

The moments when I am frustrated, I just say to myself, "Tyrant, you did not have to put contacts in this morning, and your glasses are sitting on the coffee table. You may not be able to see the subtitles on your TV, but you aren't running into walls and furniture, either. Suck it up."

It's tough love.

C.T.

R.I.P Tyrant Glasses (1981-2007)

Of course, these aren't the same glasses I got as my first pair of glasses when I was five years old. But they are the last glasses I will ever wear.

Er . . . have worn. I don't need them anymore.

They are representative of a lifetime of glasses, contacts, and really, really, ridiculously bad eyesight.

It's a little piece of me that is gone forever. Kinda weird. Kinda cool.

It's especially weird since things are still blurry today. Everything is ok, according to the doctor who checked my eyes for my follow-up today. It's just weird that I can see some things, but not other things, and I can't put in contacts or wear my glasses to see better.

I just have to be patient with my eyes to get clearer as they heal.

I'm just ready for it to be the end of the first seven days. Because after seven days, I can clear out these disgusting eye boogers that I've got going on here.

Good heavens, the eye boogers are disgusting. And they don't let you clean them out until a week after your surgery.

I'm pretty much not leaving the house until Monday, and at that point everyone will have strict instructions not to look at me.

I'm hideous.

C.T.

LASIK GIRL

It's my new superhero identity.

Hey, if I have to wear these silly goggles, I will insist that they make me a superhero.

This is my first post with the new eyeballs. Things are still a bit blurry, but gradually getting better. I consider it a success so far that I can see enough to type without the aid of glasses or contacts.

The last time this was possible, I was four years old. And I couldn't type. Because I was four.

More later . . .

C.T.

New Eyeballs Eve

It's late and I'm tired, but I figured I should ramble aimlessly about my feelings before I get my new eyeballs during the wee hours of tomorrow morning.

How do I feel? Excited.

VERY.

And anxious. Nervous, if you will.

Um . . . very.

I mean, it is, after all, my EYEBALLS that I'm messing with there. I can't see so good now. The thought of that tiny possibility that something could go horribly wrong, leaving me blinded for life, is a bit . . . scary.

I've had to wear my glasses for the past four days. The prescription is probably at least five years old, which means I basically can't see much at all. I've been surprised at how frustrating it's been for me, even knowing that it will all be better than ever after tomorrow morning.

Driving is scary. I'm not even sure my clothes match. My hair has been unsatisfactory. I don't really look at anybody because I can't tell if they are looking back at me . . . or not. People talk to me from across the room, and I have no idea.

I think it's true that your other senses are heightened the more blind you are. I can hear just about anything (often things that no one else hears, and no, they are not just voices in my head0, and I am often the first to pick up on a smell (my nose is VERY sensitive).

BUT, I've also noticed over the past couple of days how much not being able to see really keeps me focused just on my little world. Like, no further than the few feet or so that I can clearly see around me. People have to come right up to me for me to notice they are talking to me. I've been hiding in my cube at work all week because I can see everything in the cube and I know that is safe.

Outside of the cube is very dangerous.

I don't even feel funny with my glasses on. I think maybe my humor doesn't translate through these thick Coke bottles on my face. I also think I've been talking louder, like maybe no one can hear me if I can't see them? I don't know.

I've also been hiding in the bathroom come time to attempt to put drops in my eyes, but that's another story.

It struck me this week that there are probably many people in the world in my situation right now, or in worse situations. For me, it will be over tomorrow. I'll have fantastic eyesight, possibly even X-ray vision. But for a lot of people, they probably live with eyesight as poor as mine has been these past few days. Minimally functional eyesight.

It's almost a suffocating feeling. You feel closed in to a very small space.

I even feel like my brain is fuzzier this week, I think maybe because everything I see is fuzzy. I think it's all related. I don't think I would get very far in the things I need to do everyday if I had to live seeing this poorly all the time. I don't doubt that eyesight plays a part in success.

Tomorrow I will be able to see everything, clearly, more clearly than ever before. That thought overwhelms me.

I don't know what it's like to be able to see the clock in the middle of the night without pulling a George Constanza squint. I think it will freak me out the first time I turn off the lights to sleep and everything is still clear around me. Even in the dark.

Sometimes not being able to see things in the dark is scary. I can't see the monsters coming to get me while I'm trying to sleep. But then again, it's kind of comforting. Everything is a blur, so that means I don't focus on anything around me. No distractions. I'm in my sleep world.

This able-to-see thing will be a big change, one that will pretty much blow my mind from the sheer awesomeness of it. But, I anticipate it will take me awhile to adjust to it. I always freak out for awhile when there's a change involved. I've lived as long as I can remember not being able to see clearly. Obviously I'm not as bad off as many, many, many people. But still, it's kind of like a comforting handicap.

I thought about Carrie Weaver on ER (because everything in life relates to T.V.). She had that ridiculous limp with the crutch for whatever reason, and it turned out that she could have had it fixed surgically many times over, but she was always hesitant to do it because she felt like it was part of her identity to have that limp, that crutch (literally).

I'm all for seeing better and doing it with this surgery. But still, I've always been unable to see. I'm used to it. I've always had to wrestle with glasses or contacts, eye doctor visits, packing contact lens solution when I travel. All hassles that I will be very glad to get rid of in just a matter of hours.

But still, all . . . part of who I am. Or have been.

I've always wondered what my blog looks like. I guess I'll find out tomorrow.

SEE you later . . .

C.T.

I call it . . .

The Dance of the Eye Drop Delinquent.

I have to put drops in my eyes every four hours until my surgery on Thursday.

I am terrible at drops. TERRIBLE.

TERRIBLE.

I don't really like things coming at, or touching my eyeballs. And even though I am too blind to see the drops coming at my eyeball, I anticipate it. Therefore, I can't stop blinking when aiming the drops at my eyeball.

I also can't see well enough to aim straight anyway. I kind of have to weave and bob around while kind of freaking out at the anticipation of the drop landing in my eyeball.

So I end up wearing a few drops before one eventually gets in my eyeball.

One person told me today that I'm pretty much like a child about the whole thing.

It's true.

Or is it . . . a new fancy dance that I invented called the Dance of the Eye Drop Delinquent.

Not unlike the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy, only with less sugar plums and less fairies.

And I'm the delinquent.

C.T.

$50.91

Yesterday, I spent exactly $50.91 on food at the grocery store. This is a wonderful thing.

If you spend $50 on groceries, you get 10 cents off per gallon of gas the next time I fill up the Jeep. This, you see, is pretty much a goldmine, in my book.

You should know by now that I hate gas prices. I like gas. I hate paying for it. Especially paying a LOT for it.

Obviously, the catch to this 10 cents off deal is that you have to spend $50 to get it. This obviously makes people, more often than not, spend at least $50 in the store.

Why not? It's like free gas, people.

But, quite frankly, I don't always need $50 worth of stuff at the grocery store as often as I need gas in my car.

So, if I know I don't need $50 worth of stuff, I'll focus on buying as little as possible. I don't want to even get close to $50 if I can't go ahead and spend $50 to get that 10 cents worth of gas.

But, if I'm pretty sure I can spend $50, I'll go ahead and make sure that I do. However, I'll try to keep it as close to just $50 as possible.

I don't want to spend $75 and still only get the $10 cent benefit that I get for spending just $50.

So, I was pretty excited when everything that I collected in my cart yesterday added up to $50.91.

I mean, that's pretty much geniusly accurate.

It was a lucky combination of salad stuff, Hot Pockets, cheese, salsa, chips, tiny oranges, and Fig Newtons.

The final touch? Two packs of Orbit gum.

Without those two packs I would have landed at $49-something.

I didn't even plan it to be that close, y'all. It was just meant to be.

C.T.

I figured out why they make you wear your glasses for a few days before eye surgery.

It's so that you get so frustrated by how blind you are without your contacts that no matter what happens after your LASIK, you are just thankful you don't have to wear your glasses anymore.

I've worn my glasses for the past two days, and let me just tell you. I can't see a doggone thing.

Who made all of these spreadsheets so tiny and full of so many numbers????

Why are street signs so small???

Why are headlights and stoplights so blurry?

I can barely even see my TV screen, which is really the biggest problem of them all.

Only two more days of glasses. If it wasn't going to be SO awesome on the other side of this, I'd be freaking out about my ridiculous blindness.

Let me know if I just typed a bunch of garbled nonsense. I can't really see anything.

C.T.

Today is the last day I will ever wear contacts.

I am four days away from LASIK Wonderland. And for the next four days, I have to wear my glasses.

I won't ever have to try to get those floppy soft contacts in my eyeballs again.

I won't ever tear another contact again.

I won't ever have to travel with contact solution, glasses, and a contact case again.

I pretty much won't be able to see much for the next four days with my glasses. But after that, my world will suddenly be clearer than it has ever been before.

Except I could probably see pretty clear for those first few months of my life.

But after that, it's been pretty much downhill with that whole blindness thing.

I just hope the LASIK works. Otherwise I'll have to delete this blog post, since my eyesight would be worse and all.

C.T.

I'm wearing everything I own.

I'm not sure who thought it was a good idea to go to Chicago in late November, but I'm here now and . . .

IT. IS. FREEZING.

I had to walk about eight blocks or so this morning (in heels, mind you), and it was miserably cold and windy. I'm pretty sure my feet hurt after our brisk, yet icy jaunt, but my feet were so cold that I couldn't tell how bad they hurt until they thawed out about an hour later.

Who is crazy enough to live here???

For dinner tonight, I put on pretty much everything I brought with me before venturing back out into the cold.

My new rule is that I don't venture north of the Texas border between October and May.

I am fragile and unable to handle the cold.

C.T.

Hip and Protected from Germs

Don't worry. I am blogging using protection.


I mean, they've just got boxes and boxes of these free gloves everywhere in this hospital. Someone's gotta use them so that they don't go to waste.

C.T.

Hip, Hip, Hooray

My dad's hospital room comes with a precaution. But it's not to be confused with a precaution for the fall season.


I like to think it is for all of us, not just for him and his new hip.

You know, because safety first and all.

Watch for falling objects. And also, don't fall down.

Precaution First.

C.T.

More hip blogging

Get it? The blog is hip, and it's about a hip?

I'm hilarious when I've been up since 5:30am.

Now we are watching Martha Stewart. She put clothes on dogs. For the holidays.


Then the nurse did something.


Then my mom fed my dad some ice chips WHILE she watched Martha Stewart. It's called multitasking, people.


Also, so far no one notices that I'm taking these pictures with my phone. That's fun for me.

Next Up: I might wander around and look for McDreamy and/or Meredith Grey.

C.T.

My Hip Dad, Part Deux: The Second Hip

For the next step in my Dad's quest to one day be entirely bionic, today we are at the hospital for the replacement of his second hip.

You know how in the olden days, you couldn't use your cell phones in a hospital for fear of setting off all of the live-saving equipment? Well, this is no longer true. I am wireless and in full cellphone use today.

Apparently patient safety is less of a concern now? Oh well. I'm online and that's all that really matters. Which means this time I can blog from the hospital. Play-by-play, minute-by-minute.

Here are the highlights so far:

• Here is my mom. We are in the surgery waiting room. She is watching Regis and Kelly.

• This is the sign that greeted me when I first arrived at the hospital at 6:00am this morning. It was right by the coffee pot where I got my coffee. It made me feel better to know that no spitting had taken place near my coffee.
  

I've also already found a good stash of blue doctor-y gloves. I enjoy snagging a pair here and there so that I have a good stash at home. You know, for fun.

And I might blog in a pair of blue gloves later. You know, for fun. And because there are germs in hospitals. So I probably shouldn't touch anything without the protective blue gloves.

It might also be fun later to make blue balloon animals out of the gloves for my dad as he is waking up from his drug-induced nap.

That's kinda it for now.

My weekend Airborne experiment

I'm a fan of Airborne. I didn't used to be, but I am now.

I don't do over-the-counter medication for colds and the like. All of that stuff makes me feel grody and drowsy, which to me is worse than just suffering through a cold.

That's one thing I like about Airborne. People can ask me if I'm taking anything for my cold, and I can say that I'm taking Airborne (whether I believe it's doing anything to help me or not) and that usually makes people leave me alone. You know, rather than trying to push their crazy drugs on me.

On my last client trip, my boss took me up to the Admiral's Club where they hand out Airborne for free. The idea here is that you take it before you get on the plane, then you don't get any of the diseases that are waiting for you on the plane.

The flaw in this plan is that unless they are handing it out to EVERYONE on the plane (including us disease-carrying peons in the back of the plane who can't get in to the Admiral's Club where the free Airborne is), the free Airborne is only going to be minimally effective.

My problem is that I usually wait too long before I start taking the Airborne for it to really work like it's supposed to work. I usually argue with myself for a day or so trying to figure out if I do or if I don't really have a cold.

It goes something like this:

"I don't feel good."
"Yes you do."
"No, I think my throat hurts."
"No, it doesn't."
"Ok, I just sneezed. And I think I wheezed."
"No you didn't."
"My snot is green."
"You are fine."
"I just coughed up a lung."
"Ok, maybe you'd better start taking some Airborne."

I've been feeling really run down and tired lately. Working anywhere from 50-70 hours a week lately has worn me out, and has left little time for exercise, eating properly, or even sleeping.

I've been able to get some good sleep during these four days that I've had off for Thanksgiving. And I've been feeling better. It's amazing what some good sleep can do for your health.

So, I decided that since I'm already feeling good and all I am doing this weekend is sitting around and resting, maybe it's a good idea to get a headstart on the Airborne for a change. That way if a cold (or even tuberculosis) is thinking about coming to get me any time soon, it will be deterred by my Airborne forcefield.

I have totally loaded up on the Airborne and I feel better than I have in a long time. In fact, I feel so good right now that I could probably just breathe on some sick people and my Airborne breath alone would start to boost their immune systems.

I hope that there are no detrimental side effects to overdosing on Airborne. That would ruin my whole experiment.

I wonder what you take if you are sick from too much Airborne . . .

C.T.

I am completely useless today.

And I am loving it.

I've intentionally not let myself do much of anything today. It's been a great day.

I don't even care that it's been a totally unproductive, wasted day. There is not a single thing that I need to get done today, and I'm making sure that happens.

I haven't cleaned anything.
I haven't done any laundry.
And I have certainly not showered.

Of course, I did all of my cleaning and laundry (and showering) over the last couple of days so that I would not have to do a single thing today. Is it a little bit sad that I have to plan to be unproductive to make sure I get in a solid day of rest and relaxation?

I even decided against a project or activity for today. It is cold and rainy outside, which means it is the perfect day to snuggle on the couch in my sweatpants, watch bad TV and movies, play Scrabulous all the livelong day, and just otherwise be useless.

It's genius.

All of it goes right back out the window tomorrow when it's time for work again. But for now, I am useless.

C.T.

Post 1,093 demanded a recount

It turns out that post 1,093 was really post 1,094.

This is post 1,097.

We apologize for any confusion. But we are very excited about posts 1,093, 1,094, and 1,097 just the same.

C.T.

Well, here's what came of my creative inspiration.

It's a family affair.

Duke reserved the right not to participate.

C.T.

A moment of clarity

So this is what it's like to have had two whole days that were . . . dare I say . . . work-free.

I do some of my best thinking in the car, and today I had the thought that at the moment, I am not too tired (or preoccupied with the work that I can't seem to get caught up on) to do something creative with the two days left in my weekend.

I like feeling creative. It's been lost lately under piles of spreadsheets.

I don't know that I will actually do anything creative during the next two days (I'm also kind of enjoying the thought of not getting out of my pjs for the next two days).

But, sometimes I do my best creative work in my pjs.

I don't know. Do you ever get that feeling that you're on the verge of something? I am a creative-type by nature. My best creative work happens when I feel creative. I have to take advantage of those moments, and I'm not usually disappointed.

I could record a CD of my greatest hits. Earlier today, while I was singing loudly in the car, I kinda felt like I could write some songs, and then sing them. They would by default be my greatest hits, since I currently have no hits.

Maybe I'll work on my memoir. I've already got a good start on it.

I don't paint or draw, but maybe I'll crank out a masterpiece or two.

I could make a short film. Perhaps it could be about being in my pjs for the next 48 hours.

Even if I don't actually do something, the fact that I've felt like I could do something is a great thing for me right now.

How about if I type this sentence in a different color.

There. That's a little something creative.

I feel good.

C.T.

This is my 1,093rd post

Get excited, y'all!

You know, all the big post milestones get acknowledged. It occurred to me today that post #1,093 probably never gets recognized as an accomplishment.

And it certainly is an accomplishment.

Congratulations, post #1,093.

And congratulations to me, for writing it.

C.T.

The True Meaning of Thanksgiving

During this Thanksgiving holiday, I have discovered the true meaning of Thanksgiving.

It apparently means this: Strangers, please come knock on my door.

Yesterday (Thanksgiving Day), it was about 10:00am and my doorbell rings. I'm still in my pjs. I am not expecting anyone. My family isn't expecting me at their house until later in the afternoon.

Naturally, I am confused.

I creep up to my door to look through the peephole (I have to hunch over because the top of my door is a window, and I don't want to take the chance that whoever it outside of my door will see the top of my head approaching the door), and I see those two Jehovah's Witnesses that came by a couple of months ago.

They did mention at that time that they would like to come by again sometime. Um . . . why is Thanksgiving a good day for this??? And before noon???

When I saw who it was, I creeped backwards away from my door and went back to my bedroom. It is Thanksgiving, JWs. I am in no mood to talk with you about your weird religion.

Expecially before noon.

Then, it was today. Just a few minutes ago, in fact. I am sitting on my couch, snuggled underneath my blankets, typing a blog. The shades are open on my front window and I can see this guy walk slowly by the house, staring at the house, obviously realizing that someone is probably home.

He has a clipboard.

Then I see him walk past the window again and up to my door. Doorbell rings.

I stay on the couch, typing my blog. Completely ignoring the doorbell because I do not care who he is, and it is warm underneath my blankets. I'm not getting out.

Then he KNOCKS. Um, if I don't answer the doorbell, chances are I'm not going to answer your knock, either.

He eventually wanders away. A few minutes later I see him across the street, trying the same thing at my neighbors' houses.

Here's a tip: If I don't know you, I am not going to answer the door if you are at my door. I don't care if my window is wide open and it is completely obvious that I am sitting in here watching you ring my doorbell. I have no problem NOT opening my door to strangers.

I don't want what you are trying to sell me.
I don't care if you have an "official" clipboard.
I don't want you to attempt to convert me to your religion.
I don't care if you are a boy scout.

I am not going to answer the door if I don't know who you are.

(I really did refuse to answer the door a month or so ago when I knew it was a boyscout out there trying to sell me one of those tiny $17 tins of popcorn. He might have been cute, but not cute enough for me to spend $17 on, like, three kernels of popcorn.)

My one exception to this rule is if you are the Fire Department and my house is on fire or something. Then I will answer the door, if, of course, the door is not on fire.

But not if you are the fake Fire Department. So don't even try.

Safety First.

C.T.

This is why I hate Radio Shack

I've been in a Radio Shack maybe five times in my entire life, and most of those trips have been within the last four years. There is one near my house, which makes for convenience when I need something like a cable for my TV or something and I don't want to trek up the road to Best Buy.

But I don't like Radio Shack. And I don't understand why or how Radio Shack survives.

I make it a rule to not shop the day after Thanksgiving. This is tough, being the huge bargain-hunter that I am. I enjoy any opportunity to find a good deal. But I'm not crazy enough to wait in line at 3am to save 10% on a Wii.

I don't even want a Wii.

But I ventured out of the house today to get gas. I figured that was safe enough.

It was.

On my way home, I decided to stop in Radio Shack to look at headphone options for my ipod. I've worn out the ones I currently have. I figured Radio Shack would not be too crowded or crazy today, and it's on the way home anyway.

As I walked in the door of Radio Shack, I remembered that there is just nothing appealing about this store. Why are all Radio Shacks the size of a shoe box?

I guess they were expecting a big crowd today, because in this shoebox-of-a-store there were seven employees. And there were exactly four customers in the store, which is actually the most customers I've ever seen in a Radio Shack at one time.

They have rearranged this particular store since the last time I was in it. You would think there aren't a lot of options when it comes to a store the size of a shoebox, but whatever. Maybe they were bored one day and they decided to move the ipod accessories where the cell phones used to be, and vice versa.

I found the headphones, then in the span of 60 seconds I was accosted by four of the six employees asking me if I needed help, assistance, or if I had any questions.

One after the other.

Seriously, all of you are within earshot of me saying no to each of you because none of us is more than two feet away from anyone else in the store.

If there is one thing I hate when I am shopping, it is for employees to come find me and ask how they can help me. Much less for ALL of the employees to take turns asking me if I need help. If I need help, I will come get you. Otherwise, leave me alone.

If I can't find what I am looking for in a tiny shoebox-of-a-store, then I probably need help that you can't give me. Because I'm an idiot.

The other thing about Radio Shack is that nothing is cheap. And there isn't a large selection.

It's just a peculiar store.

I hate Radio Shack.

C.T.

This is the most disgusting thing I've ever seen

Seriously.

I almost lost my Thanksgiving appetite when I saw this last night. I'm not kidding.

I can't even put the picture on here, it's that disgusting.

But I have to share it. It's one of those that you just can't look away. And I need everyone else to suffer with me.

Check it out, but don't say I didn't warn you . . .

It is seriously grody.

C.T.

My house is now winterized

• Heater turned on without it exploding . . . check
• Electric blanket on bed and plugged in . . . check
• Washed snuggly blankets for couch . . . check
• Space heater plugged in near bathroom door for cold mornings . . . check
• Washed jackets and coats . . . check

I am now all set to hibernate until it warms up again in the spring.

C.T.

I sometimes love a parade

I'm not going to lie. I enjoy a good parade. Especially when I can watch one in the comfort of my own home, in my flannel pjs, with a good cup of coffee.

We went to the Cotton Bowl Parade one year back when that parade still existed. But all I remember about it was that I was so cold that I made my sister sit on my feet for most of the parade. Therefore, parades are sometimes better when you aren't too cold to enjoy them.

Having been in my fair share of marching bands throughout my years, I've been in quite a few parades of my own. A couple in highschool. Several in college, including George Bush's inaugural parade when he was governor of Texas (he shook my hand that day and sometimes I can't help but wonder if that is what ultimately led to his troubled presidency years later).

Sorry, everyone. My bad. I will not shake the hands of any more future Presidents of our country.

Anyway, my favorite part of parades is the marching bands. And maybe that's because I'm most familiar with that part of a parade. But when you're in a band that is in a parade, you don't get to see much of the rest of the parade. The marching band usually brings up the rear.

And you have to walk a long time. Parade's are long, y'all.

I don't sit and watch parades on TV every year when it comes time for parade season, but I'm watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade this morning. Mostly because I was awakened early this morning by a "Happy Thanksgiving" text message, so I just happened to be awake early enough to catch the parade.

Just FYI, my Thanksgiving will be a lot happier if you wait until, say . . . maybe noon-ish to text me about it.

I also enjoy the Rose Bowl Parade. But that one is not on today, since it is not time for the Rose Bowl.

Makes sense.

Also, parade is a weird word, now that I've typed it a few times.

I also enjoy when the balloons in the Macy's parade are sort of deflating. I just saw Scooby Doo's floppy face. It's funny.

Parade.

C.T.

For the Record: Cold Pizza

For the record, I am going to be very clear about one very important thing:

Cold Pizza is not okay

I don't care if you like it.
I don't care if it is convenient.
I don't care if you have an entire pizza but no way to heat it.

It would be better to not eat the pizza and let the whole thing go to waste, rather than eat it cold.

There is nothing okay about cold pizza.

I consider myself (as should you) a Subject Matter Expert when it comes to pizza. To eat pizza in the form of cold is pretty much blasphemous and sacriligious to what is a very sacred and holy food.

Cold pizza literally steals the essence of pizza. It is soul-less. It is offensive. I don't think I can be friends with you if you are pro-cold pizza.

I feel very strongly about this.

Done and done.

C.T.

It

I saw a man/woman today. Or maybe it was a woman/man.

Hard to say. It definitely wasn't one or the other.

It was at the airport.

Manly muscular/body-builder arms, but with boobs, and a purse (maybe a manbag), and long hair. Possibly an Adam's apple. I think some make-up. A very snug, cropped half-tee-shirt (complete with Harley Davidson logo). Wearing all black. And with a female companion.

Too manly to be a woman. Too feminine to be a man.

Scary either way.

It.

C.T.

I am not on strike

You know, like other writers on strike lately.

Don't worry.

I've just been busy and not able to write much this week.

But not on strike.

I don't get paid for my brilliant writing, anyway. So there's not much point in striking.

Or maybe striking would help me GET paid.

I wonder who I should strike to get paid to write.

I'm new to this whole strike thing. Not sure how it works.

C.T.

I've discovered Netflix's fatal flaw.

It is postal holidays.

I watched two movies over the weekend. Normally, I would put them in the mail on Monday and I would have two shiny new movies by Wednesday.

This plan didn't work this week because yesterday was a postal holiday. For the Veterans.

Now I won't have any new movies until THURSDAY. What am I supposed to do until then?

Now, I have nothing against veterans. In fact, I like them. But I don't think it's necessarily fair that us Netflix patrons have to suffer in order to celebrate our veterans. Can't I watch a movie AND be a fan of those who served our country?

In fact, what if the movie I want to watch is Saving Private Ryan, but it doesn't come on Veteran's Day because it's a postal holiday. Or Band of Brothers. Or Black Hawk Down.

Or Private Benjamin.

Or what if a veteran wants to watch a movie on Veterans Day? Must we punish them on their own day?

Can't the post office and Netflix find a way around this? I mean, it is for the Veterans, after all.

Clearly, I am the only one thinking of our veterans.

C.T.

My yard is a lyrical gangsta

I have found that I do not know the words to any songs, at all, in the whole world, ever.

But when I'm out in the yard doing yardwork with my ipod, I've found that genius lyrics will leak into my brain while listening to the same songs I always listen to on a normal day when words don't really get through my thick skull.

I think when I'm in the yard, my brain finally lets go of everything else and I'm free to let stuff sink in that I really need to hear. I stay in my head too much. I get stuck in there sometimes.

Suzie McNeil sang this to me in the backyard the other day while I was wrestling with a pile of leaves:

Been living my life with a weight on my shoulder
Growing older but not wiser
Weeds are showin’ through the cracks in my lonely heart
There is only so far you can go in your head
Your life hits a wall when your soul isn’t fed

I also dance a lot in the yard, but that's just an extra perk of believing that no one can see me in my backyard. I believe that to be true.

But the dancing doesn't really teach me anything. It's just fun.

C.T.

New Bra Day

It's not like, a national holiday or anything. It was just, well, yesterday.

And yeah, I'm not embarrassed to talk about bras on my blog, y'all. Bras are a part of life.

Now, for some people, bras are a fun part of life. There's like, a million kinds of bras in the world. I'm sure that's fun.

But, for those of us in the world who are girth-challenged in the bra department, there are like, four bras in the whole world.

So, buying new bras is not so much fun as it is a necessary chore. I wear out the four bras I have. I go replace them with the exact same bras.

New Bra Day.

I'd much rather buy something fun. Bringing home a bag of the exact same bras that I just threw out is not all that fun. It's preyy much just running an errand. There's no "shopping" involved. You just go to the bra aisle and hope they are on sale this year.

It's kinda like buying white socks. Or toilet paper. Or new pens. You know, things you need but aren't exciting and you find white socks or toilet paper or pens that you like, but then again there aren't really that many varieties of white socks or toilet papers or pens.

So you just get the same thing when you run out of or wear out the last batch.

New Bra Day.

Maybe if it actually WAS a national holiday, with like, a cake, or fireworks, or at least a new color every year, it would be fun after all.

C.T.

Sometimes, I just really love crushed ice.

I'm kinda all about it.

It's like, the perfect ice.

C.T.

Sometimes, I just really need pudding.

You know, when it's a pudd-emergency.

C.T.

I'm getting new eyeballs, y'all

For most of my life, I have not been able to see clearly without the help of really, really, ridiculously thick corrective lenses known as spectacles, and/or contacts. I started wearing glasses when I was five years old. Later in life, I was not-so-proud to be the only kid in the 5th grade who had to wear contacts.

I guess I've always been an overachiever. Even my eyeballs excel quickly at progressively poor eyesight. They get worse every year, for almost all of my years.

But through a very generous partial sponsorship from a kindly couple known as My Parents, I will soon have new eyeballs through the wonders of LASIK surgery.

Today, I went for my eyeball consultation. For the sake of anonymity, we'll call him Dr. Foothe.

My day started by wearing my glasses all day. My prescription is several years old. Therefore, I don't see so good with the spectacles anymore. But, afer I had them on for awhile this morning, I remembered how much I like the way I look in my glasses. It's kind of a part of my identity. It will be a little weird that I won't have the glasses anymore. I even made my C.T. logo to include my glasses because I am so darn cute with them on. I think I've always seen myself in glasses even though I've worn contacts for a whole lot of years.

This afternoon, I went to see Dr. Foothe. Along with about 50 other people. For those of you who may not know about Dr. Footh (since he is disguised here on my blog), he is the LASIK expert around here with the TV commercials, the full page ads in the paper, the celebrity clients. He also did my mom's eyeballs. He's the go-to guy for new eyeballs.

He also has the personality of a flattened cardboard box on a bad day having just taken some downers after being in a coma for about 14 years.

Thankfully, he's really good at what he does. And for that reason, I don't care if he is the dullest person on the planet. If he can make me see again, he is my hero.

Anyway, the consultation is a 3-hour ordeal. There are people constantly going from one place to the next. There are about 108 eyeball tests that they do to your eyeballs, but none of them last more than about two minutes, so you're pretty much running around this office for most of the three hours.

And then waiting. A lot. I learned all kinds of interesting things about my phone while I waited. And about eyeballs.

After every test, they send you back out into the waiting room to wait for the next person to take you somewhere else for another test. I waited in several waiting rooms, actually. One room had two rows of chairs against opposite walls, facing each other, with barely enough room to walk between them. In this room, you wait for the tests that require eye drops before you get the tests. Which means you sit there while a nurse-type-person comes along and puts drops in everyone's eyes.

Yeah, you just sit there with people watching you suffer through drops. I hate drops. And apparently a lot of drops are involved in this whole procedure. I have to start drops two days before the surgery, then for a lot of days after the surgery.

I think I'm more afraid of the drops than I am of the surgery itself. I can't help but freak out a little bit when I see a big blob of liquid coming towards my eyeball.

While you wait, there is a video in the main waiting room that plays over and over. It's full of celebrity testimonies about their successful new eyeballs. At one point, Lance Armstrong's mom is saying how kind, warm, and compassionate Dr. Foothe is.

So, when I finally got to meet Dr. Foothe, I (naturally) expected him to come in to the room, give me a big hug, want to talk about my feelings . . . and his, then joke around for awhile (because I'm really funny, you know?).

Instead, Dr. Foothe barely said two complete sentences. He wasn't rude or anything. He is just obviously not a people person.

He did look me in the eye at one point and say, "I think we can help you." To which I said (loudly), "GREAT!" followed by one of my best short, friendly laughs. To which he did not even flinch. But in my brain I was laughing hysterically because Dr. Foothe is literally hilariously dull. He's like a character you would see in a skit on SNL or something. You hear stories about how dull he is, but until you actually experience it firsthand, you will never understand the depth of the lack of personality involved here.

Anyway, Dr. Foothe was only the halfway point of my consulation. There were many more tests. And many more drops. They looked at my eyeballs, mapped my eyeballs, took pictures of my eyeballs, literally POKED my eyeballs with instruments on more than one occassion.

I did not so much like that.

After the very first test of the day, the guy looked at me and said, "I'm going to tell you something you probably already know. But you are REALLY, really nearsighted. I mean, WOW."

Um, der.

You also walk around a lot without being able to see anything. Because after a few tests, and drops, and eyeball dialation, you just can't see so good anymore. So I have no idea if people are looking AT me, or NEAR me, or PAST me, or what. It's all a blurry sea of blobs asking you questions and telling you eyeball stuff. And you are in a sea of other people going through the same thing. And everyone just sits around and squints at each other.

At the end, they ask you how you want to pay for the surgery (they kept asking me if I was going to write a check to cover it . . . um, NO). And they give you instructions for when you come back for your surgery. In fact, if you come in the next day they give you a discount. Which, while this may sound tempting that I could have my new eyeballs as soon as tomorrow morning, it actually freaked me out.

I do not want to do this tomorrow. I have to have some time to process and plan my schedule. I have to come to terms with the fact that after many, many years, I will be able to wake up in the middle of the night and actually see all of the monsters that are in my room to eat me while I sleep.

Or to fully understand that the next time I travel, I will not have to limit my trip according to the tiny amount of contact solution that I can carry in that stupid tiny ziplock bag on the airplane.

I've gone most of my life not being able to see. A few more weeks is not really going to make that much of a difference.

But when you say, "No, I don't want to come in for this surgery tomorrow," they look at you like you are crazy. A lot. Like I'm an idiot for not wanting new eyeballs TOMORROW just because they can do it TOMORROW.

The last person I had to go through before I could leave gave me instructions, etc. But she seemed not to be quite completely loving her job. When I arrived for my appointment, it was daylight. But three hours later, it was dark outside. Yet this very last lady that stood between me and the door said to me, "Since your eyes are dialated, you will need to wear THESE the rest of the day." And she handed me some of those giant, really dark sunglasses.

I looked at her, looked out the window at the pitch-back darkness, and I said, "Really? Even though it's dark outside?" Um, isn't this place supposed to help me see better? Dialating my eyes, blurring them with other drops, then sending me out into the DARK with sunglasses seems not to be helpful, or safe.

She looked out the window and said, "Well, you know, like if you go to the grocery store or something where there is light. Then you should wear these."

Um... ok.

I can't believe that 30 years of bad eyesight can be erased in literallly minutes. I'll be able to see better than I ever remember being able to see.

And you people with the jokes and the stories about LASIK gone bad, note that I know that you can't see . . . but I will be able to see SOON.

And if something does go horribly wrong, you will be the people to take care of me for the rest of my blind life....

C.T.

It's like I don't even know myself anymore.

I was talking to my very Small Friend tonight via the cellular telephone-ograph, and she pretty much literally and physically MADE me join one of those myfacespace sites.

She is small but she is very persuasive. And a little bossy.

So, there you have it. I'm on myfacespacebook. Trust me, I never thought I'd see the day that this would happen. It's just not my thing.

I hate those sites.

But Small Friend enticed me with online Scrabble. She spoke of a world where I can play Scrabble with her online. I do loves me some Scrabble. And I do loves any chance to beat Small Friend with my wordsmithing.

So . . . otherwise, what does one do with a spacemyfacebook page? I mean, I've been set up with my own page for like, an hour, and I still have no friends.

Am I a myface loser? Should I have at least one friend by now? I had a pretty good day today, but now I'm at home with no friends on my spacebook page and I won't lie, I feel a wee bit rejected and insecure. This is not good for my self-esteem, y'all.

And I think I probably accidentally invited several people to be my friends as I was setting up my page. So when they check their email in the morning, I guess they'll have some sort of e-note from me asking for their friendship. But is it sad and needy to have to email people and ask them to be your friend on the interweb? If they are really my friends, should I really even have to ask for them to be my online friends? And if we are now friends online, how does that affect our non-interweb friendships? Can those worlds collide? Or is that a no-no.

I don't know the rules. Is it like what happens on the interweb, stays on the interweb? And vice-versa?

I don't think I asked these people to be my friends in the first place. Like, there was no exchange of "Hello. Will you be my friend?" when I first met any of these people. So why do we do this online?

And after I've asked someone to be my friend online, if they don't want to be my interweb friend, will they just ignore me in real life from now on? I'm a bit worried that since I've joined mybookspace I have just lost all of my friends because now I'm all up in their face pleading for their attention online, as well as on a normal day in the real world. And this will be the chance they've been waiting for to break up with me.

I think I'm scared to get a friend rejection. I hear you can say no to people who ask to be your friend. What if I check my email tomorrow and all of the friends I may have accidentally invited into my web of online friendships have very intentionally responded with a "no, I do not want to be your friend."

I'm not sure I can handle that rejection. I was better off not knowing that you didn't want to be my online friend, and your denial of our interweb friendship probably also means you don't want to be my friend out in the world, either. Essentially, you just broke up with me but it's all my fault because I went and joined myspacefacebook tonight and it led to us no longer being friends at all.

Can we at least talk about it first? How does that work on the interweb, exactly. Nevermind. Let's just break up. I'm sure I won't be able to find the "can we talk about it before you reject my friendship" message invite.

It's possible I don't want any interweb friends. I don't know what to do with people outside of the interweb, so how am I supposed to know what to do with people online? I feel like it's twice the responsibility to have to care for a friendship both in real life AND on the interweb. That's too high-maintenance.

Do people really care about my favorite TV shows, my interests, my favorite quotes? Don't you already know this about me if you're already my friend? Seriously, it's a lot of work to tell you people all of that information again by typing it in those little boxes on my page.

Is this page something I have to visit often? If you become my friend, but I don't come around for awhile, does that make me a bad friend? I already feel guilty about it if I forget to check on our online friendship tomorrow.

Although I don't really know what I'm worried about right now. I don't have any friends.

And where is the Scrabble? That's all I really want. I put a lot of work into this thing tonight, and I can't find the Scrabble.

This is all very stressful.

I think maybe I will be a facebook hermit. Just like in real life.

C.T.

It might not be the socks

So, the brown version of the black Worst Socks Ever don't do the same thing the black Worst Socks Ever do.

I wore the brown version of the socks today, and I was shocked when I made it home and found that I'd worn the socks all day and I did not have a hole in the toe of the left sock.

So maybe I DON'T have a gnarly sock-slicing big left toe.

Come to think of it, maybe it's that one left black SHOE. And not the sock.

No, it can't be. Other black socks don't blow a hole with that one black left shoe. It only happens when I wear those black Worst Socks Ever with that one black left shoe.

Maybe I should try the BROWN left sock with the black left shoe to see if the brown strain of socks are impervious to the giant toe hole.

Ladies and gentlemen, you have just read a conversation that I just had with myself in my head.

It probably should have stayed in my head.

C.T.

I prefer my salad in a bowl

Rather than on a plate.

I just thought you should know.

C.T.

It was dark.

So dark.

Before I left work.

I was frightened. And sad.

When it's dark before I get home, it's like I'm in a coccoon when I get home. It's 7:00 and it already feels like midnight by the time I get home. It makes me feel like I've been at work for like, 12 hours, to come out of the building into the dark.

I need to be able to gaze out upon my yard upon my arrival home. But in the dark the only thing out there is that evil cat lurking around. So, I certainly can't go out there.

I feel confined to my home.

Apparently the loss of Daylight Savings Time turns me into a shut-in.

I need Meals on Wheels. And someone to take out my trash.

I need to hibernate until the sun decides to stay out until a more reasonable hour.

C.T.

Why only the Sunday paper

I go to the gas station by my house to get a Sunday paper just about every Sunday. The guy at the gas station knows that when he sees me, I am there to buy just a Sunday paper. He notices when I've missed a week. It's our thing.

One time he got brave and asked me why I only buy the paper and nothing else. I guess it's odd that I only go to that gas station for a paper, and only once a week, and I never buy anything else there. Not even gas.

Today he asked me why I only get a Sunday paper.

There are lots of reasons:

It's my Sunday morning ritual to sit in my chair with my coffee to read the paper. Without this as part of my weekly routine, I might surely crumble. I literally get excited when I leave the house to go get my paper. I get the coffee going, then I go get my paper, and by the time I get home my coffee is ready.

I also like physically reading a paper. I am strapped to a computer pretty much all day every day, either at work or at home. I get my news online most days. But on Sundays, I like to kick it old school with a real, live newspaper.

There's also the sale papers. I love those. I don't need to buy anything, but I love seeing what's on sale. Especially at Target. That's the best sale paper in the world.

But I didn't explain all of that to my gas station friend. Instead, I said, "I don't care about news the rest of the week."

He found that to be funny.

Maybe next week I'll tell him that I can't actually read but that I use the newspapers to sleep under. Or that I use the Sunday paper to cut out letters to paste together threatening ransom notes to send out to random people in the phonebook.

C.T.

Sometimes I torment for sport.

Back when I was in college, I joined a service sorority for one semester. I was pressured into it because they needed some new leadership, I hated it, I was involved in plenty of other things, I quit after one semester.

As such, I have no affinity to it. But, every year I get a newsletter from them.

The first couple of years, I just threw it out. Then one year I decided I didn't want to get it anymore, so I found a name on the newsletter and I e-mailed a request to be taken off of the list.

Since I work in direct mail, I like to do stuff like this to see how these requests are handled. I was also a sociology major for a semester, so I tend to like to experiment and observe. And sometimes torment people to see what will happen....

As of today, I've made the request to be removed from the mailing list every year for the past several years. Last week, I got another newsletter.

Clearly, I have not been removed.

I've even moved several times during this time period, and every year I get a newsletter at whatever my current address is. So clearly they can UPDATE my address, but they can't REMOVE it.

Some years, I get a response back to my request to be removed. One year in particular, a girl argued with me, saying they have no control over the list since it comes from their national office and there was nothing they could do about it.

I asked if she could forward my request to the national office. She repeated that no, there is nothing they can do about it. This essentially tells me that I'm going to get mail from them for the rest of my life.

To this I replied, "Ok, next year when you are sticking the labels on your local chapter's newsletter, when you see my label, peel it off and throw it away."

I know full well that you have to honor requests to be removed from a mailing list. These silly excuses don't fly with me.

It's not that I hate the newsletter. It's all part of the game, you see.

This year I got a response back that says they do not control the list and that I had to contact someone in the Alumni office. So I forwarded the whole thing to this person in the Alumni office. We'll see what happens.

I figure that several years ago after my first request, they added me to a "Mail Every Year No Matter What" list and that it has now become an annual tradition to send mail to me, then have some sort of social event around my annual request to be removed from the list. I assume that I have become legend, and that my photo is up somewhere and every year they tell the tale to the new pledges. I'm sure it's part of the rush activities for each pledge to come up with some new excuse to tell me when I make my annual request.

It's all part of the game.

C.T.

Have you hugged your car today?

I hugged my Jeep today. Why? You might ask . . .

SHE IS PAID OFF TODAY.

She deserves a hug for that.

So do I. But she didn't really hug back. She's just a Jeep.

Go out and hug your car. And if you see me while you're out, hug me too.

I need a hug.

C.T.

Something's missing

I did not bring any work home this weekend for the first weekend in a lot of weekends. I also do not have any plans for this weekend. At all.

I've been waiting for a weekend like this for a long time. When I don't get enough solid, consecutive down time, I'm pretty much a mess and an idiot, and sometimes a jerk. Which is pretty much where I am now.

I require at least a day a couple of times a month that I don't have to get out of my pjs if I don't want to, or shower, or talk to anyone, or leave the house. I'm a month or so behind on that.

But now that it's here, my weekend of nothing with the sole purpose of resting and getting myself back together so that I can function better than I have been lately, I feel like something is missing.

I don't know what to do with myself, and I'm pretty sure I'll be bored in about 5 minutes.

I don't really want to watch any tv. Or a movie. I have some writing I've been itching to get to for over a month, but all I feel about that right now is .... eh. Maybe tomorrow.

My yard is covered with leaves and I HATE that. But I don't think I'll feel like raking tomorrow.

I am starving right this very moment, but since there is no food within arm's reach of where I am on the couch, I'm seriously arguing with myself if I can make it til tomorrow without eating because I just don't feel like taking 10 minutes to make some food.

It's bad that when I don't have work to do . . . I don't know what to do.

More is missing lately. This is the time of year with lots of activities and time to spend with friends and family, and it's hitting me lately that part of that is missing since I'm far removed from my old church and the friends that I had there. I've missed events and people lately that are always on my calendar at this time every year. It's not the easiest time of year for me and it helps having distractions. There are certain times of year when it helps to have people keeping an eye on me.

It's strange to be out of that loop. I was in it for a really, really long time. It's been amazing (not in a good way) to see how quickly I'm out of it.

An empty weekend is a scary thing now that I'm faced with one.

C.T.

Squirrels are rude and they are on my Bad list

Last weekend, I spent some quality time with some yard therapy. I planted my annual pansies so that my yard isn't completely dull and depressing for the next four or five months.

The next day, I discovered this:


See those cute little yellow flowers on the ground in between my pots? Yeah, that's not where I put them.

I put it in the metal watering can on the right where there is now a big gaping hole of dirt.

The squirrels sense my dislike of the fall and winter months and my predisposition towards being depressed and cranky until March. They are clearly trying to push me over the edge as soon as possible.

Or maybe it's that evil cat.

Whatever. They are both on my list.

C.T.

Dreams of the Tyrant

On a normal day, I have very vivid dreams. More at night, really. When I sleep. Not so much during the day. So I guess I should say that on a normal night, I have very vivid dreams.

I have a crazy vivid imagination, you know, at all times of the day. I'm very visual. I remember things as scenes more so than events or words. So I guess that translates into my head when I'm asleep.

It's like a movie in my head every night.

So on a normal night, I have pretty crazy dreams. But when I'm stressed, my dreams go totally wheels off. And when I'm sick, my brain cranks things up even a few more notches.

Lately I've been pretty stressed and whatnot, and then this week I've been afflicted with the funk. So, my dreams this week have been pretty much funktastically wheels off.

When I'm especially tired, my brain seems to soak up random things around me throughout my day. Then those things will reappear bizarrely in my dreams. Like, Cupcake got a cup of ice a couple of weekends ago, and then I dreamed that there were lots of cups of ice just like it . . . everywhere.

Sometimes the dreams get so crazy that I've decided to start Googling them to find out what they mean.

The other night, I dreamed that I was trapped on a boat with a bunch of people and we were being eaten and chased by zombies. It was like a bad teen slasher flick in my head.That one was probably directly related to watching a zombie movie the night before. I don't think I really need to Google that one.

For several nights in a row, I dreamed that I lost either my purse or my wallet or that they were stolen. In one dream, I left my wallet on a bus, which is random because I never ride buses. Upon Googling this, I learned that it either had something to do with stress, or something about money, or apprehension about changes.

Whatever. All I know is that on top of all of my other current stress, I'm now paranoid about losing my purse. I'm constantly making sure it's nearby.

Last night's dream was just all kinds of wheels off. All kinds of craziness was going on, but all I really remember is that at one point, I was peeling onions with Britney Spears.

Um . . . peeling onions with Britney Spears, y'all.

Huh?

At least it was old fantastic Britney when she was awesome, and not new white-trash Britney who is less awesome and just mostly sad.

Googling "peeling onions with Britney Spears" yields nothing productive. But peeling onions in dreams means something about unraveling the mystery.

So, I can only assume that I am meant to be the one to figure out the mystery that is Britney Spears.

I will get right on that.

C.T.

Success

In my pjs.

Dark house.

Tiny, not-so-fun size candy all for me.

Boo-humbug pumpkin on the porch.

Sprinklers on.

NO TRICK-OR-TREATORS.

Success.

C.T.

It's 1999, y'all.

And the new albums from The Backstreet Boys and Britney Spears are out today!




Everybody. Rock your body. Like it's 1999.

Backstreet's back.

Apparently.

And don't worry, the Spice Girls start their new world tour next month.

Because it's 1999. Apparently.

C.T.