Red String: Another "what were you thinking?" Moment
So, I'm home sick today. The Plague has returned. I'm worried that when I called in sick this morning, my voice was so deep that no one will know who it was that left the message saying I'm taking a sick day today.

In my weakened state, I finally decided that bathing myself might help me feel better. However, being so weak, standing for any length of time in a shower seemed like a good idea only if I wanted to turn into one of those Rescue 911 moments by passing out in the hot shower, falling against the glass shower door, and lying unconscious in shards of broken glass upon my bathroom floor, naked, until someone finally misses me a few days later and calls 911 to look for me. I determined this was not how I wanted to make my reality TV debut.

I opted for sitting in a bath instead.

Now, I'm not a regular bath taker. I prefer showers. But on occasion, I do enjoy the relaxing hot bath. Today, however, I managed to get the water temperature mixture not entirely correct. So I ended up with a lukewarm bath. This only made me want to power through my bath so I could get out of the increasingly cooling tub of tepid water. But, I needed to shave some legs.

I was not having a nice, relaxing bath experience.

Being weakened by my Plague, my hands are a bit shakey today. And as I was trying to hurry through the bath so I could get out and get into some warm clothes, consequently I cut myself. Twice. On the same knee.

Crap.

I got out of the tub, dried off, and began looking for the band-aids. My tub is in the Blue Loo, and even though I enjoy this bathroom immensely, it is not the bathroom I use daily. Hence the supplies in this bathroom are typically somewhat out of date, as I discovered when I finally found a box of band-aids.

I'm pretty sure it's the world's oldest box of band-aids. And it was a variety box. But not because it started out that way. It seemed to have turned into the box of random leftover band-aids from many an old box of band-aids. And what's more, it looked like a hand-me-down box of band-aids that was once likely owned by my parents. I don't remember ever purchasing several of the varieties of band-aids I found in this box. And I have no idea why I would have this box of old mismatched band-aids.

Quite a puzzler. Maybe it was here when I moved into the house....

Gross.

However this box of band-aids came to be, this was the box of band-aids I had to work with to cover the two bleeding cuts on my one sad knee. I pulled out what looked like two normal-esque band-aids, and attempted to get the band-aids out of the wrappers. This is when I knew I had the world's oldest band-aids.

Today's band-aids come in an easy-to-open peel-away package. You pull the flaps, and there is your band-aid. So simple!

Do you remember how one used to have to go about getting into a band-aid wrapper to the chewy band-aid center? You had to rip off the top, and then pull that ridiculously little red string from the top of the package all the way down to the bottom. If you grabbed the string wrong, it wouldn't pull. Then you had to try pulling it down the other side, which usually didn't work because by then the package was all wrinkly and not pull-able. Finally you had to completely forego the string and just rip into the package as best you could, all the while losing gallons of blood through your gaping wound that remained uncovered as you spent hours trying to get into one single band-aid package.

Now, my question is ... who is the genius who thought up the red string idea?? How did a group of people listen to this idea, think it was good, and then implement it worldwide into bazillions of band-aids for years and years and years?? Where was the person who implemented the new easier-to-use-and-makes-much-more-common-sense peel-apart packaging we are very thankful for today? Seriously. Band-aids are an emergency first-aid mechanism. Why make it as difficult as possible to open a life-saving device, and sell the band-aids that way for many, many years??

Not to mention, a small child could choke on that tiny red string. It's completely unsafe.

And where did all that string come from, anyway? Was there a band-aid red string plant somewhere overseas, manufacturing millions of 1.5 inch lengths of string sold only to band-aid packaging plants? And how did they get that tiny piece of string into all of those band-aid packages? Are there now millions of tiny-handed little people, or perhaps children, out of work because the red string idea finally became revealed as the stupidest contraption on earth?

These are my questions.

I finally got the band-aids out of the package and onto my knee. And, they may never come off. It's that super sticky old school glue that only grows stronger with time.

Man, it sucks being home sick. And now I'm worn out from the battle of the band-aid.

C.T.

Blatant Solicitation
Ok, so the merchandise hasn't exactly paid off. It's fun, but my fans seem to be too cheap to indulge in the Tyrant Gear.

So, now I beg of you to help me in another way. It's simple, and will make me very happy. Not to mention, I've been providing free entertainment here for you for over a year, asking very little in return....

Show me you love me. Help me get a free Ipod.

Now, you may think this is a scam. And sure, this is one of the most annoying things known to man, begging people to do these types of things with a "free" incentive. But I have never lied to you before, nor led you astray. I actually know a couple of people who have successfully done this thing and received free Ipods. Seriously. No joke.

And yes, I've actually sunk this low. Begging for your help. And here is my sob story.

My current MP3 player is at least four years old, is held together by a rubberband, was nearly recently put out of its misery by the battery leaking inside of it, skips and shuts off when I move too much, and holds a maximum of 17 songs. It's a priceless antique that I can really no longer use, and I am about to start training again for a 100-mile bike event. Music while I spend hours on a bike will make the training almost heavenly.

All it involves is merely FIVE of you participating in one of the offers, making sure to sign up through my link so that I get credit for you, and then I magically get a free Ipod mini.

If you've thought of joining Blockbuster online, or a CD or DVD club, these are a few of the types of offers. And you can quit any time. You just have to sign-up, complete the basic offer, and let me get credit for your hard work.

I, too, have to complete an offer. So I'm not asking you to do anything I am not also doing. All for a free Ipod. Plus, get five people you know to do it and earn yourself a free Ipod.

You will have my undying gratitude, the peace and joy that comes from knowing you've made The Tyrant very happy, and more great blogging that comes from a happy Tyrant who is soothed by the music you helped her be able to listen to.

Ready, set, free Ipod.

C.T.

Guest blogger....

Come to me now
And lay your hands over me
Even if it's a lie
Say it will be alright
And I shall believe

I'm broken in two
And I know you're on to me
That I only come home
When I'm so all alone
But I do believe

That not everything is gonna be the way
You think it ought to be
It seems like every time I try to make it right
It all comes down on me
Please say honestly you won't give up on me
And I shall believe
And I shall believe

Open the door
And show me your face tonight
I know it's true
No one heals me like you
And you hold the key

Never again
would I turn away from you
I'm so heavy tonight
But your love is alright
And I do believe

That not everything is gonna be the way
You think it ought to be
It seems like every time I try to make it right
It all comes down on me
Please say honestly
You won't give up on me
And I shall believe
I shall believe

- Sheryl Crow

I don't really know what to call this.
But it's a moment of introspection.

So I am no longer of legal age for American Idol. I celebrated this momentous occasion over the weekend by gathering some friends and taking a roadtrip to see the traveling version of The Price is Right gameshow. It's a lifelong dream of mine to be on the real version of the show. So when I saw that the live version of the show was coming to Shreveport, I decided that this would do for now.

We traveled. Friend C made annoying t-shirts for each of us to wear to the show (all of which saying something related to it being my birthday). And we participated in the audience of the show. Sadly, none of us were called to "come on down!" AND, there was no Plinko - a MAJOR tragedy in my world. But, it was super fun anyway. Friends A, C, M, and Z made Birthday 29 a fabulous event. Priceless, is about right.

I tell you, even if there had been no Price is Right, it would almost have been worth it just to wear my shirt that said "It's My Birthday!" all day. People are so nice to you when it's your birthday and your shirt says so..... and you tell them you just turned 21. I may wear this shirt once a week, just for the attention it brings from total strangers.

So as I sit here home alone again at 29, something has been on my mind lately. And maybe this is a good time for some introspection that would lead to good changes for me. Here's what it is:

I'm afraid of everything.

Yep. Everything.

I used to think I wasn't afraid of anything. Or very little, at the most. I've always been "tough". Quiet, independent, with the tendency to handle anything that comes along on my own. I don't know why, but I've tended to feel like I need to always present a front of never being phased by things that are hard, or painful, or scary. I'm usually calm, cool, and collected in most situations. And I tend not to say anything about things that scare me until it gets really scary and I can't help but say something. It's usually been on my mind awhile at this point.

But, things happen. Worlds change. Personal strength becomes a load of crap. And suddenly you're left with what is really inside of all the "strength" and "fearlessness" you built around it for people to see instead of what you know to be true. Nothing is left to hide behind anymore. For me, I've come to realize that I have a lot of fear. That's what is inside. And that's what I don't like for people to see.

I don't know that it would be beneficial to go into detail about the things I fear, even just lately. I've been sick, and that has caused me a great deal of anxiety on a number of things related to it. I fear roadtrips. I'm afraid of not having enough money. I'm afraid I've made bad life decisions. I fear getting older and not finding that "someone" we all think is out there, but may not be. I'm scared of being alone, and not in the sense of going home at night, but in the sense of really being an island unto myself. I fear losing people that are important to me in my life. I fear letting people down when it really counts. I'm afraid I'm not what people need me to be when they need it.

I'm afraid that much of my life matters little when it comes to the things that really should matter in life.

But, why do I think this way? Why do I immediately worry that I may fail? Or that the news will be the worst? Or that something bad will happen? Or that people will leave?

Why am I so afraid of so much?

I don't have an answer to that question. Sure, things have happened at times to justify the basis for these kinds of fears. But, I've realized maybe just in the last few weeks that I have a lot of fear in my life in general. I've especially had a lot of anxiety about not feeling well these past few weeks, and about visiting the doctor last week. I don't like to admit the anxiety or the fears I have, but they creep into my dreams when I don't look straight at them and deal with them. This is when I know I'm really afraid of something, or worried, or having anxiety. If I dream about it, I'm likely not dealing with something that I need to deal with.

I've had a lot of anxiety dreams lately.

So as I come to the end of my roaring twenties, maybe it's time to look at this stuff and figure out what is so scary. And then, not let it set the tone for what comes after 29.

It's exhausting to let fear have such an influence on my life. It hasn't been intentional. But it's there, nonetheless.

I see it.

C.T.

WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME????
As I settled in to watch what was left of American Idol tonight, only THEN did I learn that the maximum age for this season had been raised to.... 28!!!

PEOPLE, I will be 28 for 4 MORE DAYS!!!

I COULD HAVE AUDITIONED!!! I COULD HAVE BEEN THE WORLD'S OLDEST AMERICAN IDOL!!!

But more importantly, I COULD HAVE BEEN RIDICULED ON NATIONAL TELEVISION IN FRONT OF MILLIONS OF PEOPLE!!!

I know 20 or so who would really enjoy seeing that.

In the future, I need to be immediately alerted to any and all rule changes for any of the important reality TV shows. These are important details, people. Especially if they raise the maximum age to 30 on America's Next Top Model.

I would definitely try-out for geriatric modeling. I could show those young anorexic whipper-snappers a thing or two....

Oh well. The evening was not a total loss. Jonthan and Victoria finally yelled at each other enough to put them in last place and out of the race on TAR6. I have a feeling Phil wasn't genuinely sorry to tell them they've both been eliminated from the race.

My favorite moment on tonight's TAR6? As Jonathan walks down a dirt path, shoes untied, clad only in his underwear and covered in mud, he tells a whimpering and complaining Victoria to "have a little dignity". Or some variation thereof.

Um, dude? Do you realize you have no pants on? The impoverished Ethiopians standing around you are wearing more clothes than you are.

I have to admit, I'll miss their antics. But I will be glad for the break from the weekly over-indulgence of spousal abuse. It's just been brutal.

I hope those kids make it. To counseling. Soon.

C.T.

My radio seems to be broken
And I'm pretty sure Kelly Clarkson broke it.

Now, before all my American Idol friends hunt me down to punish me for blemishing the good name of our beloved American Idol (which premiers again on Tuesday!), let me explain.

Usually when driving in the Jeep, I have a CD in the stereo, playing too loudly, to which I am likely singing, also too loudly. But recently I've discovered that I'm sick of all my CDs, I don't know what kind of music I want to listen to, and I don't want to spend any money on new CDs. Mostly because I don't have any money lying around for CD purposes.

So, I have resorted to rediscovering the radio. This has been a disappointing decision.

First, I don't know what radio stations to listen to. This is really bad. I've lived here for over 10 years, so one would think I should know the radio stations. Yet, I do not. I mean, I know the basic stations. But where do I go to find all the music everyone listens to these days? Where do I find new music to fill this current music-void that I am experiencing? (NOTE: I have a music-void once or twice a year. It's nothing new for me. And I usually end up back with my BeeGees or a mixed CD I made myself of old stuff that I'm embarrassed to listen to, and which I've probably titled Cool Music or the name of some independent band that I should be listening to like all my friends do, but for some reason I've missed that music boat and have not yet discovered why everyone likes said band - all in an effort to disguise the fact that my 'cool' CD has Wilson Phillips and Vanilla Ice on it.)

Admit it, you sing along to Hold On when it comes on the radio, too. It's ok. Embrace it, and just hold on for one more day.

Anyway, secondly, despite having owned the Jeep now for almost 2.5 years, I discovered last week that I haven't yet programmed all the radio buttons. I just don't listen to radio, so I guess I've never needed to program all the pre-sets. I have maybe five of them programmed, and only two of them are stations I'd actually listen to. Another one is the 'safe' station for when parents or actual grown-ups are in the Jeep with me. And the rest are static or whatever was programmed in when the Jeep came into my possession. It's embarrassing, really. What if someone got in the Jeep and started scrolling through my pre-set stations? I wouldn't survive it. I would be mocked, then ridiculed, and then mocked again. I must find the proper radio stations and promptly put them into my pre-sets. I won't be able to hold people off the radio buttons much longer...

Third, morning radio is just pure torture. I've determined that yes, I hate radio. On my drive to work it just doesn't satisfy in any way, shape, or form. I want music, people! Not talking. I can't sing along to stupid DJs talking for 10 minutes about how they don't know how to fix a drawer in their house and if they should hire a general contractor for that sort of work. Who cares?!? Or DJs doing annoying bits where they go to a mall and harrass innocent people because they think it's funny. All of that is highly annoying. Not entertaining. Why can't they just play the music I am looking for? I blame the radio for my lack of music at this point in life.

And finally, Kelly Clarkson. This is my most startling and frustrating discovery of my week in car radio hell. Now, I have nothing against Kelly Clarkson personally. I was a fan of hers on the original American Idol. I am glad she has done well for herself. And as far as annoying Idols go, she's the least of the annoying. In fact, I don't even disklike the songs I've heard this week.

BUT, why must I hear her two new songs EVERY TIME I GET IN THE CAR..... MORE THAN ONCE!!!!

THIS is my problem. Kelly Clarkson owns all the radio stations.

IT'S JUST TOO MUCH!!!

I drove home from a friend's house Friday night. 10 minutes in the car. Heard Kelly Clarkson TWICE, TWO DIFFERENT SONGS, TWO DIFFERENT STATIONS.

WHAT IS UP???

For the first day or so, I fought it. When I'd hear her come on a station, I'd change the station. Her songs are fine enough, but I just wanted more variety. More music. It was too much of an okay thing. But I quickly realized this was a losing battle. She's on all the stations. All the time. Even my pre-set stations that are only static. She's there. I swear it...

So, after my week of radio research and my search for new music, I have arrived at two conclusions. One, I need to go back to listening to CDs in the Jeep. Clearly, the radio is broken and I will be much better off controlling my own music in the Jeep. And two, I should apparently inaugurate my return to CD-listening by getting the new Kelly Clarkson CD, since that seems to be what everyone listens to these days.

I hate radio.

C.T.

Way Overdue Movie Review
I didn't have any big plans for New Year's this year, with several things falling through for one reason or another. So, I've decided to make a movie marathon of all this free time, cramming in as many movies as possible throughout these few days I have off and mostly to myself.

I'm several movies in to my marathon, and today I feel like I need to give a review of one of these movies: Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Everyone has seen it. It's nothing new. But here's my take on it having seen it again today, if you're interested...

Tyrant's Home-Alone-for-the-New-Year-Rating = 4 out of 5 kisses
(kisses awarded due to the fact that I'm not getting any kisses for the New Year, so some movies might as well get some)

My first viewing of this movie several months ago left me unable to like the movie. I enjoyed the look of it. It's a beautifully made film. And I enjoyed Jim Carrey. Can't help it, I'm a sucker for the guy. Although I hate most of his dumb-and-dumber-type movies. But despite the cinematography in Sunshine, I didn't set well with this film.

I was hung up on the idea that someone would even create a movie suggesting the possibility that given the opportunity, people would erase other people from their memories. Good or bad, the people who affect our lives are given to us for a reason. And as the movie shows, when you start taking away the bad memories, you are still left with the good ones. I, for one, have a strong desire to keep the good ones. But all of the memories come as a package deal. It's all worth keeping, painful as some of it may be, because it is the sum total of the experience, or the relationship. It has value, even if we don't want it anymore. I don't like the thought of getting to pick and choose who would stay or be removed from my past, based on whatever occured (good or bad) to no longer keep someone in my future.

And who is to say I wouldn't be (or I'm not currently) on someone else's hit list to be erased from their past? That's a scary thought. How would you know how many people had decided you aren't worth having in their past, and they've erased you? Not only are they removing you from their life, they are taking themselves away from you. It really makes you think about where you fit into the lives of the people you know and have known. Do you have to always perform well to be worth keeping for the good things, or to be worthy of being remembered in a favorable light? Or when it starts to go bad, is that the moment when it's ok to wish it all away? Who is worth hanging on to, even when bad stuff creeps in? Will the bad stuff be the only thing we can see, once it enters? Or can we be open enough to working past it, or seeing through it. And if we could erase the whole of anyone who affected our life in some way, wouldn't it be safe to say that we are effectively affecting who we are now, too?

I largely believe we are who we are in part because people throughout our lives have left bits of themselves with us, through shared experiences and time spent learning and knowing each other and different ways to go through life, to help form who we are on this day, right now, and days to come. Taking any part of that away, good or bad, would ultimately change who I am right now. But do we get to have that much control over who influences us, to the point of removing things after the fact, to avoid what is painful and bad? Should we even toy with this idea? The first time I saw the movie, I was mad at the thought that anyone would present this as a viable idea. I didn't take it as a storyline, or a way to communicate something deeper. I was just upset that anyone would create a story that would involve taking people away, because we are selfish about who we keep. It just all seemed really selfish.

I think I was struggling with the reality that once people really are gone, you can't get them back. And even when there are bad things, it's mixed in with good things. And the bad things don't make it all worth throwing away from our past. When it's too late and all we have are memories, I don't want to be caught not having appreciated what I had when I had it. Or having only focused on the bad so that I missed what was good.

Having shared some of this thought with people who have seen and liked the movie from the first time, I've been given other perspectives on the movie and other ideas about what it really means. Most people seem to really like it. I decided I needed to give it another chance. After watching it again today, I have a more favorable opinion of it. I don't often like to admit I've changed my mind about something that I feel strongly about, nor do I like to admit other people may have a good perspective on something that is different than mine. But the high kiss rating is awarded to Sunshine because the movie makes me think, and I like that about a movie. Even if I can't necessarily like the movie itself.

I do like it a bit better, though. The romance story is good, and I like watching two people just do stuff together. Silly, goofy stuff that only makes sense to them, but is love.

What stood out to me today was a line from Clementine towards the end, when Joel is walking away from the beach house that is slowly falling apart, and Clementine leans out the window and says, "what if this time, you stay?" She is suggesting that he changes the memory as it fades, and to see what might have happened if he had stayed that night. I've struggled with this in my own memories, thinking back and wishing I had done something different, or something had happened differently at the time, and what it would be like if that moment could be changed. What if this time, I stay? What if this time, I don't let my fear of something more keep me from staying? What if this time, I'm there when I couldn't be before? What if this time, there is something I could have done? What if this time, they don't go? What if this time, they wake up?

What if faced with the exact same choice, would I make the same choice again? Or thinking beyond things we can't change in the past, how often do we fail the opportunity to choose something different? It's like pizza. I love pizza. And I always get pepperoni. I know I like it. But what if this time I actually get a menu and consider another option? What if I think outside of what I know is safe, and instead try something new? I might end up with two kinds of pizza that I like.... Or if I don't like it, it's only pizza.

Ultimately, it doesn't change anything to think back in our memories and wonder what would have happened if we'd made a different choice. Or to make a different choice in our head and see where that leads our imagination. It doesn't change the reality. And we see this in the film. But I think it's ok to think of other possibilities, and wonder what would be different now if things had been different then. Sometimes, I really want things to be different. Should we never think of what might have been? Or can this maybe help us think differently when faced with similar things again in the future? We make choices, and those choices lead to the next step, which takes us to the next place in our lives. Different choices will lead to different things. But I think the trick is that we can't change it once it's happened. Instead, we have to deal with what comes next. And that is the true test.

Wanting things to be different, though, is not necessarily a bad thing. Well, if we constantly go through life wishing things were different, that's not good. At some point we have to be content with our choices, or else start making better choices. But wondering at what could have been different and wanting that possibility sometimes, I don't think that's bad. As long as that doesn't become our reality - changing things in our own perception to the point that we believe the altered version. But I think wondering what a different outcome might have been means we recognize the significance of that moment, or that person, or that choice. And we realize that even given the ability to make choices, we are not ultimately in control. Giving up the control and being okay with that is the challenge before us. Doing what comes next without being able to control it despite making a choice one way or another, that takes faith.

I was also struck by how painful it would be to hear what the people who know you best really think of you when they talk knowing you will never hear what they have to say about you. Complete honesty. Joel and Clementine made the tapes never thinking the other would hear these thoughts about the other. But they end up hearing what the other had to say anyway. And, they hear their own words about what they really thought of the other. The things we deny about ourselves, the things we don't like to admit, the things we try to hide. The things we don't feel safe saying to those we love, out of love for them. Do we ever really hide this stuff from everyone? Or from anyone? Or even from oursevles? Can people see these things about us, and still really love us and want to be with us? And can we handle hearing it directly from them, trusting that they love us enough to tell us?

I don't know that I handle honesty about myself very well, coming from those around me who would know me well enough and care enough to challenge me where I need to grow. I know some people who would agree with me on that, having likely not responded kindly to criticisms out of caring for me. But I should be able to hear these things from them, if they care enough to tell me. I think I appreciate it on some level, and would prefer that people who I'm close to in life not let me continue in ways that aren't healthy. But I can't say I handle that well. It's hard to hear, and to know that people know.

I also thought about how hard it is to run from ourselves and those in our past, no matter how hard we try. You really can't run from it. It goes with you. We can move on without them, but that doesn't make them never a part of our history. We can leave things about ourselves in our past, but we can't take it away from who we are now. We can move it around in our head, change the way we remember it, but that doesn't change the reality.

At the end of the movie, Clementine and Joel are in the hallway of his building, trying to figure out what to do. Having heard all these horrible things from each other, about each other, do they try again? I like how Clementine explains again that she is just a messed up girl looking for her own piece of mind, as though that's an excuse for how she is, and an explanation for not being perfect. And Joel just simply says, "ok." Lately I've realized that sometimes, I just need to say, "ok." More often. Just let people be who they are, and be "ok" enough to want that from them.

And the thought occured to me as I watched Joel and Clementine in the hallway, at the beginning of each other again, do we ever really get to start over? The day before, they thought they had never met. Clean slate. Then they get those tapes with all their dirty laundry on it, and now they are faced with the choice to start over, or to walk away. When we know the faults of others, and have experienced these things with them, do we get to start over? They knew in the hallway that they liked each other. But then, there's all this other stuff they would likely find out about each other if they try again. Tough to let it go and let it truly be starting over, when you know what is really there. Or maybe when you do know what is really there underneath all the other stuff, it allows you to start over. And over again. And again.

Given the opportunity, I don't think I would erase anyone from my past. Sure, I have people and occurances that I would prefer to never think of again. There are really painful things that I don't talk about, and I prefer not to share with others. But I don't want it to not be there. These things have shaped me. I don't always like myself on any given day, or aspects about who I am now.

But I don't think I want the responsibility of being able to control what would stay and what would go, or take the chance that anything I could change would affect who I really am. This is me.

Good movie.

C.T.

I hate doctors.
Not that they aren't useful when I need them, nor do I hate people I know who are doctors, nor do I hate the people themselves in the world that are doctors. If you are a doctor, I am happy for you and I'm sure you and I could be friends. But all in all, I find it an annoying profession.

Today I went to the doctor. I am not sick. Nor did I think I was sick. Nor did the doctor-office-people think I was sick when I called for an appointment. But, my refills on a prescription I take regularly ran out, and the pharmacist and my doctor conspired against me by refusing to give me any more of my drugs until I go see the doctor again.

Or, as I hear it in my head, until I take a morning from work, drive across town to his office, and give him money to tell me I'm still fine and write his name on a piece of paper that tells the pharmacist to give me my drugs.

A month or so ago when I tried to refill my prescription and they wouldn't let me, I was told to go see my doctor to get another prescription. So, I forgot about it for a month, hoping I could get by without it. I decided I can't. And the doctor knows this. It's part of his scheme to keep me coming.

So, last week I finally call to make an appointment and I'm told he is booked until March. MARCH. Um, I just need a prescription. I'm fine not seeing him til March, or ever. It's not him I really want to see. But I am not fine doing without my drugs until March, when it is convenient for him to see me to tell me I'm fine. I remind them that I am not actually sick, and the purpose of my call is just to get my drugs that I've been taking daily for the past several years. The appointment-making-person tells me the nurse will call me back and we'll figure something out.

Ok then.

The nurse calls later and says, yes, I do have to see a doctor to get the prescription, but I can see another doctor in the office. Really? This counts? Then I'm all for it. Whatever I need to do and whoever I can see to get my drugs before March. She books me with another doctor for today.

THEN she tells me that I will need to arrive 20 minutes early to fill out New Patient paperwork, since it's been over a year since they've seen me. Um... what? New patient? Check my chart, please. It's the thick one they usually have to wheel in on a cart of its own. I visited that office every week for three years to get allergy shots. During that time everyone in the office knew who I was by name when they saw me arrive. I've been going there for so long that all of those people have since left, and they have completely remodeled the office and replaced the familiar people with new Pod People who don't know me. I've spent enough money on co-pays there to put at least several of my doctor's kids through college, a few times. I am CERTAINLY not a new patient! I scoff at this paperwork.

At least call it 'Patient We Haven't Seen in Awhile and Miss Dearly' paperwork.

Nevertheless, the nurse insisted I would have to fill out the paperwork again. There was no talking her out of it.

Bugger.

Today I happen to be off from work, which means I have time to see the doctor. But it also means I have to waste part of a perfectly good sleeping-in day to go down to his office. It's across town. Bugger again.

So, I drive there. It takes 20-ish minutes. I park in the lot where I have to ride the shuttle to the building where his office is. It's a familiar routine. One that I do not miss, and am annoyed to have to do again today.

I arrive 25 minutes early, much to my dismay. I had debated the actual truth to the need for a 20 minute early arrival. Clearly this new nurse does not know who I am, because if she did she would know that I am quicker than most people at menial things, like paperwork. I know this about myself. So this morning I have the debate about whether I really need those 20 minutes, or if I can do the paperwork in say... 10 minutes. I've done the paperwork before, and it's not like anything has changed. I don't have any new diseases to report.

Finally I leave the house, and end up getting there way too early at 25 minutes before my appointment. BUGGER. I could have slept for at least 10 more minutes this morning.

I fill out this paperwork in 7 minutes flat, and then sit. And wait. Finally a large man-nurse comes to retrieve me from my waiting, and he takes me to the next little room. Where I am weighed. And my blood pressure is taken. All as though I've never been there before. When the truth is that I've been there so many times, I could do all of this myself.

The large man-nurse comments as he looks through the 108 gazillion pages of my Monster Chart, "Oh, I see you've met Barbara." Yes, I've met Barbara. She was the nurse who gave me my allergy shots every week for much of the three years I came for allergy shots. I've spent lots of quality time with Barbara. I think I was on her family Christmas card one year. Let's get on with this!!

Large man-nurse then leads me back to the tiny Doctor room, where I wait a bit more. Not long, though. Because I'm here to see the doctor that isn't booked until March, and who has too much time on his hands today. My doctor, the superior familiar doctor, is too busy for me now that I'm only in need of prescriptions, and not in need of say.... more invasive surgery to my head.

New Doctor Man comes in, again with large man-nurse (I guess he's there just to get in on the fun of a completely pointless and adventure-less consultation about my sinuses that are currently problem-free), and we begin. Doctor asks me why I'm there. I say I'm there to get my drugs. He then takes my glasses off, I guess so I can't see the "magic" he is about to perform on me and my healthy sinuses. He looks me over. He sticks some utensils up my nose just because they are there and need to be used. He squirts some junk up my nose to 'help him see in there better', and then reports that all seems well in the realm of my sinus cavity.

Yes, that's what I've been saying all along. And I've been saying it for free. Although... for just a minute in all the 'looking me over' I did fear that he would discover something terrible and I would regret coming to the doctor once again. I usually seem fine before I go. It's after I get there and they have a chance to poke around that I end up with some awful disease or condition that requires months of treatment or surgery and more doctors.

Sometimes I think it's the doctors and the offices that actually make me sick.

He writes me a prescription. The coveted prescription I've journeyed far to acquire, and have now been needlessly tortured with sinus utensils to earn.

Then I am led to the Pay For This Pointless 10-Minute Appointment desk, where I hand over 25 hard-earned dollars, and I'm sent on my way.

He did give me a free sample of my drugs to hold me for a week or so.

That was nice.

But not worth the drive or the loss of $25, which would have otherwise been used for something much more fun than a trip to the doctor.

Bugger.

C.T.

I'm pretty much good for one thing
And that one thing is spotting famous people in airports, and then riding on planes with them.

It's a long list of non-A-list celebrities that I can claim as people I've seen in airports: Aaron the Bachelor on my flight from L.A., Gary Busey on my parents' flight to Tulsa (I saw him get off the plane), Ed McMahon on my flight to L.A. Just to name a few of the really special ones.

And to add another name to my list, Friend A and I had the distinct pleasure of flying to Costa Rica last week with Stephan Jenkins, none other than the lead singer of Third Eye Blind.

We arrived at the airport extraordinarily early. We had several hours to kill before our flight. Was I annoyed? Frustrated? Bored? Of course not! One of my favorite pasttimes is watching people. And the main reason why is because if I look hard enough, I'll eventually find someone famous.

We sat. Friend A read a book. I stared at people walking by. Eventually, a tall guy walked by and caught my eye. He was on a cell phone. And he was pushing one of those luggage carts that people use to carry lots of luggage. Except his contained one solitary carry-on size piece of luggage.

I thought he looked familiar, but said nothing. I continued to watch.

Awhile later, he walked by again. Going the same direction. With his cart. And one piece of tiny luggage. Maybe that one piece of carry-on luggage was REALLY heavy. But it just looked odd. I determied that clearly this guy was famous, because he was fancy enough to need a cart for his carry-on.

He still talked on his cell phone. And this time, I got a better look at him. And.... I knew.

It was the guy from Third Eye Blind.

I told Friend A. Why? Only because it was interesting to me. Friend A tends to know nothing about music, and even less about pop culture as related to music. I knew she would have no idea who he was. But, I'd just spent the last hour or so staring at people. It had finally paid off. Someone was going to know about it.

Surprisingly, Friend A seemed to have heard of the band. And as a fellow admirer of famous people (as she says, "famous people are better than us") she was immediately intrigued. She told me to go talk to him. This posed a problem.

First, he was already a good ways down the terminal again. Walking even further away as we stared after him. I had no intentions of chasing him down to talk to him. And second, I had no idea what his name was. I just knew his face and who he belonged to, and a song or two. I can't very well go talk to some famous guy without knowing his name.

Friend A started calling people. She eventually tracked down her brother, who knew the guy's name. Stephan Jenkins. I confirmed this detail on my cell phone with a quick Google search on the internet. It probably cost me more than a seat at a Third Eye Blind concert would cost me, but I likes my gadgets. It was imperative to confirm this information. Thank goodness I have the fun phone.

Upon confirmation of the name, I noticed that he was back in our area. And not only in our area, he was checking on our flight. OUR FLIGHT!!!

Yes, Stephan Jenkins appeared to be going with us to Costa Rica. For Thanksgiving. And... he was alone.

We got on the plane, because the airplane people told us to. Our seats were the first row behind the first class section, so I set myself up for a prime view of our new famous friend who would surely be seated in first class. Sure enough, as the last passengers filed onto the plane, there he was. Just a few rows ahead of me.

Interesting.

We flew to Costa Rica. I did not talk to him. I did see him get up to go to the bathroom, but unlike the Bachelor plane trip, I did not go in after he came out. I remained in my seat. With my seatbelt fastened. Because the airplane people told me to.

We landed and stumbled off the plane, heading to the immigration line. I figured Stephan would be lost in the crowd and we would never see him again. But as we came around the corner to the large crowd of people waiting to get through immigration.... there he was. At the end of a line. A line in which we parked ourselves directly behind him.

So, now we were in Costa Rica in the immigration line with Stephan Jenkins of Third Eye Blind.

Oh yes. We were.

And... he turned and looked at me. I swear he did. He knew that I knew who he was. How? Because this is the one thing I'm good for. Finding famous people. We have a connection.

Friend A and I began discussing his musical repertoire. I knew Semi-Charmed Kind of Life, and proceeded to serenade Friend A. Quietly. So as not to disturb Stephan. She recognized the song and became excited that maybe this guy really was famous. Because clearly if I sing a song and point at a guy as though he is the one who really sings the song, he must be famous and I must know what I'm talking about. It's as good as scientific proof.

Then we discovered the ultimate confirmation of our famous person sighting. There, in the back pocket of Stephan's jeans for the whole world to see, was his immigration paperwork. And there at the very top of the page in large block black letters.... was his name. Printed. Clearly.

STEPHAN JENKINS.

Friend A and I both saw it. And at that time I decided that my fun phone needed to be put to use again.

I took a picture of Stephan Jenkin's butt. With my camera phone.

Oh yes. I did. He is on my phone even as I type.

Now, the picture is blurry. And you can't make out the name on the form in his pocket. But, we know what it is. We know what it says. We know what we saw.

I never quite felt like I was fan enough to talk to him. We watched as he passed through immigration with his one carry-on bag, and vanished down the escalator and into the night. We felt sure that Costa Rica was a small enough country that we would surely run into him again, repeatedly, throughout our trip.

But, we didn't.

I'm just glad I'm good for such an important thing.

Because famous people are better than us.

C.T.

Not getting any younger.
Why does it seem like the Oldest Person in the U.S. dies every week?

Maybe I just pick the wrong days to read the news. But it seems like I read fairly regularly that another oldest person has died. Is it the same old person fooling us every time? Not really dead, but just enjoying making the headlines each week? Or are we just experiencing a rash of oldest people losing the will to stay the oldest.

Whatever the case may be, things aren't looking good for whoever is the next youngest. Good thing she's likely too old to see to read about these other oldest people.

C.T.

Welcome Again, Race Fans.
And by race, of course I mean the new season of The Amazing Race.

I know you thought I given up my pursuit and commentary on the sport of reality television. But I assure you, even though I have less time to write about it, I still watch as much of it as I can. It is my reality.

Tonight's season premier of TAR6 did not disappoint. I learned some very important things from this first episode:

1. Apparently one team of Colin and Christie was not enough last season. We now have no less than 8 teams of Colins and Christies this season, all of which yell at each other, belittle each other, and throw hissy fits every time something doesn't go their way. While there are many to choose from, the couple that has taken an early lead as the Most Like Colin/Christie Replacements (and dare I say, even more Colin and Christie-esque than Colin and Christie themselves) are Jonathan and Victoria. Seriously, I would not be surprised if their team is actually sponsored by Colin and Christie. It's impressive that I hate Jonathan already, and I just want to slap Victoria for marrying him.

2. As begun in the previous season of TAR, this season it is not only recommended, but it is required to use 'Baby' to refer to your partner at all times. Such as, "Baby, hury! Hurry, Baby!", and the shortened form of, "BABY!" which simply means, "Come on! Go faster! You're an idiot! But I love you! You're pretty!" I'm fairly sure the only reason the team members even have names other than Baby is so that Phil can tell which Baby's are which when they hit the Pit Stop Mat. Next week I would love to hear him say, "Babies, you are Team Number Two." Every time someone makes it to the pit stop. That would be sweet.

3. I fear TAR has enacted an Affirmative Action process of some sort, in that a certain large percentage of teams must be models. People not of model stature are in the minority. Therefore, the Tyrant predicts that a team of models will win this race, simply because the non-model teams are few in number. Our only hope is that the models are as stupid as they are pretty. And that the models are more stupid than the Wrestlers, and the team that can't read 'diesel' on the gas tank.

4. If you are one of the model teams, you must begin all of your sentences during the interview sessions with, "As models, ...." This is very important. Otherwise the whole world may not know you are models, and this will somehow affect how you function in society. In fact, I may begin speaking that way, so as to let everyone know that I may be a model. Or perhaps, a writer. "As a writer, I ...." It's impressive, right? Much like, "As models, we travel extensively ..." And... what. Therefore you know what planes look like?? That's a definite advantage.

Also, I would love to see the following Throw Downs throughout the course of the Race:
- Adam (Tiny Hellboy) vs. Bolo (My Neck is Cutting Off the Blood to my Brain)
- Bolo vs. Jonathan (Please Match My Pace or Be Ahead of Me At All Times)
- Kris (Oops, I'm Not Britney Spears) vs. Rebecca (Diesel? What? You mean, Vin? Oh... right.)
- Lori (I'm Really the Man) vs. Her Own Mouth

Aaah, I can hardly wait for next week. The start of TAR6 promises much entertainment for me.

These are good times.

And, lest you think I'd also forgotten my other favorite reality show, as an America's Next Top Model watcher, I am thoroughly involved in yet another great season of model mayhem. Tyra has done it again, and Janice never fails to disappoint with a random comment that makes no sense whatsoever. Truly, she is the star of the show. And will be for years to come, as long as the warranty doesn't expire on any of her body parts.

Long Live Models on Reality TV!

C.T.

I might need that later
I have a lot of stuff in my kitchen. Not tons of stuff. But my kitchen is pretty well stocked.

Here is why that is weird:
1. I don't really cook.
I mean, I do cook. I eat at home most of the time. But I only cook about six different things, on a random rotation. And much of it involves 'heating up' and 'from a can or box'. Technically, some of it is really cooking. I make a few things from my mom's or my grandmother's recipes. But technically, most of it is really not so much cooking.

2. I didn't buy most of the stuff in my kitchen.
My mom did. I'm pretty sure I purchased the paper plates, and some forks. From time to time she feels like I need things to have a complete kitchen, or a 'respectable' kitchen. Because someday I may need to cook something for someone for some reason, and then host twelve people to witness the event. So, she will buy me things. Like the waffle iron. Or the Fry Daddy. Or a set of bowls. I have full sets of plates, and some serving dishes, and cooking utensils, and mugs, and more cups and glasses than I could ever use in a month if I were to use a different glass everyday for a month. It all looks great in my cabinets. And I'm glad to have it. I love all of it. But most of it rarely gets used.

3. Somehow in all of the stuff I have, I don't have a complete set of flatware.
This is the really odd thing. I can serve twelve people on plates and bowls and matching glasses. But the forks they use will be an odd assortment of different sets. I have a partial set of flatware that my parents gave me when I went to college. It was our family set, and I inherited it because it was missing several pieces, and my parents wanted a good reason for a new set. It has served me well. I also have a cheap set that I got at some point in college, I guess when I decided I needed more than three forks. And, earlier this year I discovered I still do not have enough forks, but I also did not want to purchase an entire set of flatware. So, I went to Bed, Bath, and Beyond to their Clearance section, and picked out five forks from the 'random flatware bin'. They are five different forks. And I love them. It's eclectic.

But, as I do things in my kitchen, despite all of the stuff that is in there, I run into the same issue time and again. I have things to use. But, I am reluctant to use them for whatever I am doing.... in case I might really need it later.

For example, just now I was making some tea. I have a jar of spice tea that I made last winter (again, not cooking - just mixing). The tea is still good, but it is now one chunk of tea, rather than something I can spoon out with a mere spoon. I decided I needed to hack it up so that I could then spoon it out. So, I went to my Drawer of Many Utensils and saw that I have a wide variety of utensils which could serve as a hacking/poking device.

And yet, I tried to talk myself out of using any of them. For fear that I may need it for something later, before I've had a chance to wash it. Then what would I do???

I might need it.

What if I'm making something tomorrow that requires the use of this long, two-pronged utensil that is in my drawer but I've never seen before? What will I do???

Usually, I'll close the drawer and make-do with the spoon. Or, go without tea. I need to leave the Utensil of Ambiguous Use for whatever requires it's use, someday.

But today, I decided that I have these utensils for a reason. And I should use them.... to get my tea. NOW!

If I need it later, I will use something else then..... that I might need later.

C.T.

I would buy you a monkey.
Haven't you always wanted a monkey?

I'm going to Costa Rica for Thanksgiving. Naturally, to celebrate Thanksgiving as my Costa Rican pilgrims and forefathers did many years ago.

There are monkeys in Costa Rica. I'm very excited about this.

Today I spent some time thinking about my need for a monkey. It had not occured to me in the past that I might need a monkey. But since they are abundant in Costa Rica, if one accidentally came home with me I could put it to good use.

It would be disease-free, of course. This is not the beginning of Outbreak: The Tyrant Infects Texas with a Monkey from Costa Rica.

The functions of the monkey are to be:
- A fetching monkey, to fetch things for me. Like paperclips.
- A typing monkey, to type my blog (or novel) as I dictate.
- A get-me-more-coffee monkey, to get me more coffee.
- A wash-my-car monkey, to wash the Jeep.
- A tell-me-I'm-pretty monkey, to tell me I'm pretty often. Especially when I first wake up in the morning.
- A bake-me-a-pie monkey, to bake me a pie whenever I want a pie. Sometimes, you just want pie.
- A pick-up-the-phone-and-order-me-a-pizza monkey. For when I need pizza.
- A laundry-folding monkey, to fold and put away my laundry. I can handle doing the laundry. But it never seems to really get put away before I wear it again.
- A lawn-mowing monkey. To mow and do general yardwork.
- A laugh-at-me-when-I'm-funny monkey. I just need to be laughed at sometimes.

So, quite obviously a monkey would be put to good use.

I can't believe I didn't recognize this need before. Good thing I'm going to Costa Rica soon.

I need a monkey.

C.T.

Let the noveling begin.
Ok, so at midnight tonight I will busily begin writing my second novel.

Or, perhaps it is more accurate to say that I still haven't thought of anything to write about, nor have I officially signed up for Nanowrimo, nor do I conceivably even remotely have the time to tackle this challenge again.

Um, yes. Let's go with the second one.

But never fear, dear readers. I have not given up, yet. I may not have an idea, or much time to write. But I still have the desire to do this. And crazier things have happened.

I just may crank out another novel in November after all.

But as of right now, I got nothin'.

So, if nothing else, I cheer the rest of you on who are tackling this brave endeavor. May it be insightful, useful, and good writing practice.

But most of all, have fun.

Happy Nanowrimo!!

C.T.

Nanowrimo
No really. It's a word.

Ok, actually it's National Novel Writing Month. You might remember last year I did this and came up with the national bestseller Lizzy Hated Pantyhose.

Well, it's time again. It's in November, the annual writing of a novel during the 30 days of November.

I'm debating whether to do it again or not. These are things I am considering:

1. It's free. And it would distract me from my current teen-phase of becoming a drummer. I *need* (I don't need them, I just really, really want them) to purchase drums, but I'm sure there are better things to spend my money on. However, I am obsessed with watching drums on ebay, and entirely serious about becoming a drummer. But if I'm writing for 30 days there's a good chance I'll be able to pay my mortgage during November, instead of blowing my cash on drums to go in a house I can't pay for.

2. I wrote last year mostly during work, which worked out well because it took up a LOT of time that I simply did not care to devote to a novel outside of work. This year, if I do it I will have to do it entirely NOT at work, since I have a new job that requires me to actually work. Which means, in November you may see or read very little of me. Unless you come over to stare at me at my computer. (if I don't know you, don't come over)

3. I NEED A TOPIC. This blog is to solicit ideas. Help me. Last year I did not come up with my amazing topic until November 5, which put me a few days behind, with many words to catch up to being on schedule. It was tough, but only a few homeless people suffered because I did no work for a few days at my job then, at the shelter. Obviously any topic goes, and the weirder the easier to write. I just have to do 50,000 words. It doesn't have to be good. Obviously.

Go here to see what the heck i'm talking about.

Want to try it with me? Sign up, find a topic, and get writing on Nov 1. It's really hugely fun! It's a beating for 30 days, but it's totally cool at the end to say you wrote a novel (and no, it's not a novella. it's a NOVEL)

(note: I haven't actually signed up, yet. I'm afraid of commitment).

Email me or leave a comment with topic ideas.

Thanks,
C.T. the Writer

Ouch

It hurts to realize there is nothing you can say or do to make something better.

It's agonizing to realize you have no control.

It's humbling to not understand what makes things fall apart.

It's painful to be helpless.




This is when trust comes in... to either lead you forward, or send you backward.

C.T.

Reunited, and it feels so .... weird.
So, the big reunion happened last weekend.

The whole thing is really a very interesting phenomenon. This 'reuniting' thing. Why do we do this? What is this need we have to go back and check on things that are so many years into our past? Seems like if we've done without it for the past ten years, we'll be okay to keep going without it. Do we need this to validate where we are now? Is seeing where everyone else is at this stage something we need to know we are okay where we are or wherever we're headed?

I'm intrigued by the socialogical aspects of the reunion.

But aside from the deeper levels of why we do the reunion thing, my reunion was great. It was fantastic. Truly, it was a lot of fun. I'm glad I went.

I was surprised by how many people really hadn't changed much at all. We all basically look the same. I recognized people. They recognized me. We'd all aged a bit, with changes in hairstyles and clothes and a few other minor details. But for the most part, everyone just looked ten years away from where we were at graduation.

Of course, there were a few exceptions. There was the girl who wandered around all night, but never really seemed to talk to anyone. She just wandered. I didn't recognize her at all. She was platinum blonde, had obvious, um, 'enhancements' in some facial and bodily areas, and she was dressed to show off all of these features. She was there to make an impression. When I got home from the festivities, I looked her up in the yearbook... and discovered why I did not recognize her. Seems she had purchased quite a few upgrades since highschool, and no longer even remotely resembled what I saw in the yearbook from ten years ago.

Um, yeah. Interesting.

Anyway, when Boy A and I first arrived for the Friday night casual activity, I had no idea what to expect. I hadn't seen these people in ten years. I didn't even know if anyone I knew in a graduating class of 800-plus people would be there. I fully expected to walk into a room of complete strangers, where no one would talk to me for a few hours, and I wouldn't be brave enough to speak to anyone else.

And that's exactly what happened for the first terrifying few minutes.

We walked in to a room full of people that seemed old. Not necessarily old, but much older than me. Were these my people? Did I graduate with these people? Am I seriously the best looking, and youngest looking person in my graduating class? Time had not been kind to these people that I saw in front of me, a mere ten years out of highschool.

Then I noticed that there was another highschool reunion in the same facility. These were actually not my people. These people actually belonged to the class of 1984 from a different school, also having their reunion festivities- their 20 year reunion, mind you - in the same place as my reunion. Well, that explained why they seemed older and not of my people.....

Phew!

We walked past the older bunch and soon found my people. And thus began the game we played for the next 4-5 hours. The game became, "Did I Know You in Highschool, Did I Talk to You Then, and Is it Okay to Talk to You Now?" It's a complicated game.

Boy A didn't know any of these people, since he didn't go to highschool with me. But he faithfully stood by my side as we parked ourselves in a key location to view people as they entered the room. It was a prime spot to be seen, and also to see. Very important. I watched as people streamed in the door, many of which I'd never seen before in my life. But many others, thankfully, that I had known before and who... actually talked to me now!

Eventually we wandered. We talked to more people. And I soon realized that I'm ok. I look good. I was with someone who looked good, and who also made me look good. I was fitting in well. And, I somehow magically conjured the ability to be out-going and have conversations for that 4-5 hour stretch of time. I'm not normally a conversationalist, even with people I know well. But for all intents and purposes of the Ten Year Reunion, I conversed.

Can't have people thinking I grew up to be pretty, but dull and mute, now can we?

The Saturday night more formal festivites were much the same as Friday night. Except that people wore fancier clothes. Well, most people. There was the one guy who showed up both nights in shorts, flip-flops, a Hawaiian shirt, unshaven, and with a long ponytail. Apparently he grew up to be a bum, or possibly just desired to be a bum.

Or perhaps he is now a famous fashion designer who has developed a line of clothing that tries to capture the look of the poor and destitute.

Anyway, the Saturday festivities seemed a continuation of the previous night. We hung out. We admired how good we looked. We took a giant class photo in a space entirely too small for the several hundred people needing to be in the picture. We ate overpriced finger foods and lamented at the price of the reunion versus what we actually think we paid for. I'm pretty sure my nametag must have been made of solid gold, because everything else probably actually cost about $13.50. In fact, the nametag had better be solid gold, or else the entire thing was a huge rip-off.

I'm keeping the nametag. Just in case it is gold. Or at least gold-plated.

But as it turns out, I didn't graduate with anyone who went on to become famous. Or win a Pulitzer Prize. Or win an Olympic Medal. In fact, in all reality I'm probably the most famous one in the class. What with my high-profile blog and extensive line of quality merchandise.... Yes, can you believe that the class of 1994 was so lucky to have graduated with the future Cynical Tyrant? I assure you they were as impressed as it sounds.

Overall, it was good to see and talk with these people again. Maybe highschool wasn't so bad after all. I was pleasantly surprised at the number of people who seemed happy to see me. In fact, no one ran away from me, or pointed and laughed at me, or shoved me into a locker, or gave me a swirly in the bathroom. I felt pretty good about that. I guess people really did like me then, and maybe they still liked me now.

It was good to catch up, even though 'catching up' didn't really move much further than the basics: what we do now, what we've done in the last few years, where we live now, and if we are married or not. All the important things one needs to know about fellow classmates at such a time as this.

The cheerleaders were still the cheerleaders, still meandering together in a pack, now complete with husbands who drive nice cars to make the pack-meandering more fancy. The one exception to this was the very pregnant cheerleader, now also sporting dreadlocks, who arrived with a man in tow (possibly her husband) who looked like he was straight from Vegas, complete with over-tanning, tight pants and shirt, gold chains, and sideburns. Definitely an odd couple, who sometime in the past ten years apparently discovered a land where dreadlocks and gold chains are cool. I'm sure all the cheerleaders are sporting it now, after the reunion.

It was interesting to see how people turned out after ten years. But really, we haven't quite turned out, yet. Many of us are still in school, or in grad school, or trying to get to where we still want to be. Many of us aren't married, or have only recently gotten married. Kids are on the way, or maybe yet to come sometime in the next ten years. I had a lot of conversations that seemed like beginnings, like things were just getting started for people. Not settled or finalized, yet.

The Ten Year Reunion seemed more like a checkpoint, rather than a milestone, or a finish line. A time to check in with people and see where they are on the way to where they will some day be.

There's still time and opportunity for those Pulitzers, or Oscars, or Olympic medals.

We'll check again in ten years.

C.T.

Romy and Michelle
It seems like several significant life things are going on lately for me. But none scarier, or more age-defining than..... the Ten Year Highschool Reunion.

Oh yes. The Tyrant is that old.

So, my reunion is coming up this weekend. And it's brought a flurry of emotions and thoughts along with it. When I received the first announcement about it several months ago, I pretty much decided not to go. Why go? I don't talk to those people anymore. I didn't have a lot going for me (or so it seemed to me). Why waste the time and money? I decided I didn't need the blow to the ego.

Here was the situation at the time: I had a job I hated, no husband, no kids, no prospects for husband or kids, I don't even have a pet. I live within ten miles of where I went to highschool, and this also happens to be ten minutes from where my parents live. I also have no Pulitzer Prize, nor an Olympic medal, nor have I made it on any reality television shows. My novel isn't published, nor is it likely to be read by people who don't know me or who haven't read it, yet. And, worst of all, my hair greatly resembled something of the mullet genre.

It was a very dire situation.

But since then, some things have changed. I have a job I like now (we can call it an 'advertising career' for the purposes of the reunion festivities). I own a home (which technically I owned when the situation seemed bad, but it makes the story better to mention it now instead). I have a Boy (which is what has been taking up a lot of my blogging time lately), and he is most definitely going with me to this reunion thingy. And, while I haven't won any awards or medals, and I haven't published any of my writing, I do technically have a 'website' with 'merchandise'. And I'm way hotter than I was in highschool. I've had a haircut to rid my head from the mullet. And I can probably come up with a few good stories to make myself more interesting for a few hours this weekend.

All in all, the situation is much more presentable. Thusly, I am going to the reunion.

But, this whole thought process and freaking out over who I am and what I've done at this time in my life got me thinking. Ten years ago I went through four years of trying to fit in. We go to highschool and struggle through years of trying to be accepted, trying to impress people, wanting to be with the right crowds and do the right things, trying to make a name for ourself. By the end of those four years we hope to come away with a few accomplishments, some good relationships, and a promising future beyond the walls of that have kept us thus far.

We do a lot of work to be a part of highschool. Then ten years pass, and here I am again- finding myself trying to fit in with the same group of people. Why do we do this? Is highschool forever to be a cycle of trying to be 'someone'? I feel certain I'm not the only one concerned about the impression I will make amongst these people here in a few days.

I have kept in touch with no one from highschool. Not a one. For awhile I did. But things change, distance occurs, and eventually I lost touch. Occasionally I'll see someone or hear from someone. But for the most part, those friendships and acquaintances have drifted away over the years. Now suddenly, in just a few days, I'll be thrown back into another experience with them. The first round of highschool with them was significant. It is an important time. We learn a lot about who we are to be during highschool. We graduate. We take a big step from one life to another, and it's all with the same group of people. Ten years later, you're back with them to experience another milestone. Whether you liked any of them or not, whether you stayed friends or not, there they are again to go through another rite of passage with you.

Am I going to show up and find out I graduated with a Pulitzer Prize winner? Or an Olympic medalist? Someone famous? It's possible. But that doesn't make me any less worthy to be there with my story and my life. Yet, I probably am not the only one that has considered not going because I'm not sure what I have to show for the last ten years.

I realized, though, that when I really think about it, I remember very few people from highschool. I was in the band, and not only in the band, but I was the drum major. The head band nerd. The leader of them all. I knew a lot of people because the band was large and I was in charge of them all.

But, outside of those people I didn't know a lot of people. I mean, I knew them. I was popular enough. I mixed well with other groups because I was the 'cool' band person. But, I couldn't tell you now who the really popular kids were. Or the hottest guy. Or the prettiest girl. Maybe I just didn't pay attention. Or maybe I just remember the more important things about my time in highschool. Like, the best friend I had throughout that I no longer keep in touch with. Or the few guys I dated. Or the group of friends who went everywhere with me, the ones I 'belonged' with. Does it matter who was the most popular? I don't think so. I didn't especially love highschool. But thinking about it now, I had what I needed.

Tonight I got out my yearbooks in a last attempt to recall some faces and names and to remember what highschool was like. I have to say that after looking through them, I'm even more excited about the reunion. I can't really explain why. I'm not at all impressed with the way I really looked ten years ago (seriously, the hair?? what is up??) But maybe I just need to see and be around people that used to know me. Maybe I'm curious. Maybe I have a tiny bit of hope that there are still some friendships there for me.

Or perhaps I just need to see how far I've come. I read through a lot of the notes people wrote in my yearbooks. My best friend wrote a long letter that is truly one of the most beautiful things anyone has ever said or written to me. Man, I miss that. The "Best Friend". But many of the names written with the messages are names that I can't put a face with. I don't know who these people are. Granted, I graduated with 800 people, including two people sitting on either side of me at graduation that I'd never seen before the day of graduation. But still, you'd think the ones who took the time to write in my book would evoke some sort of memory of them.

Anyway, there were several common themes in my yearbook messages:
- you're funny. really funny. we didn't hang out but you made class funny. stay funny.
- you're sarcastic. really sarcastic. it's really funny. stay sarcastic.
- congrats on making drum major. you should make band funny. finally, a funny drum major.
- congrats on making drum major. you're a great leader. we need a great leader.
- it was great getting to know you better this year.
- you're so cool. and i really mean that.
- here's my phone number. let's hang out this summer.

Seriously, I'm surprised at the number of phone numbers in my yearbooks. Not that it means people were actually anxious to hang out with me. But I have to wonder what would have happened with all those people if I'd actually called all the phone numbers with, "Hey, you said we'd hang out. You put your phone number in my yearbook." It would probably teach them to not give out their phone number so easily. Maybe I should call them now.... you said we'd hang out! Hang out with me!!

I wonder if I handed a 'yearbook' or even just a blank sheet of paper to my friends now and told them to write something to me, if the sentiments would be similar to what I found in my yearbook. I don't think they would be. I'd still get the comments about being funny. I think that's probably what people know best about me. But I'm not sure people would recognize leadership in me now. I tend to steer clear of responsibility these days. And it would be interesting to see what else they see in me or notice about me (besides my killer good looks....) to compare with what people saw in me ten years ago. What I really wonder is how well people think they know me, versus how well I let them know me.

I'm pretty sure that knowing me now is completely different than knowing me then. And I'm almost certain 'knowing' me then was just that- 'knowing', in a vague sense of the word. I don't think I let people really know me in highschool. I was funny, I was 'on', I could get the laugh, I could lead a group. That's all people really needed to know about me. I don't think I really even knew myself. I'm still not sure I really do, but I do know I have let more people since highschool and who know me now really know me.

If I've accomplished nothing else in the ten years since highschool, that one ranks pretty high in my book. I'm proud of that. I probably won't start many conversations at the reunion with that tidbit of information (I don't want to be laughed at for the wrong reasons - I do have a funny reputation to uphold). But for me, letting people really know me is a bigger accomplishment than a Pulitzer anyday. And tonight, realizing that difference from ten years ago, well, I feel pretty good.

Too bad Romy and Michelle invented Post It Notes, though. I was going to use that one for me.....

I'll keep you 'posted' on the reunion festivities. HA! See? I'm still funny....

C.T.

So much to say.
There's a lot going on for me right now. I hope to blog about all or most of it soon enough. Exciting things, new things, and just moments I've had and thoughts that come with the moments that I'd like to share if I can find a way to get it all on a page in words that make sense. It's an interesting time for me right now.

I'm like, growing and stuff. And I don't mean taller or larger.

Tonight I am very tired and longing for my bed and good sleep, but I have things I want to say and thoughts busily running amok in my head. I've noticed lately I've been a bit shy about blogging and getting personal on the blog. Lots of eyes read this, and I've been more self-conscious of what I write lately, unsure of how much to share with such a wide variety of eyes. Some who know me, many who don't. And some who are a part of what goes on with me, the things I experience, these thoughts that are provoked. I've discovered it's a fine line between sharing myself and opening up a bit more than is comfortable for me, and maybe sharing too much.

It's easy to write to an audience I can't see. There are no eyes looking back at me, intimidating me, helping me filter what I say and share. Is this all stuff I want people to know? Is it okay to write about what goes on with me? Or do I sometimes forget that when I put it here on the blog, people will know it. It's not just a book or journal that I write into here. It's a story I'm telling, and people read it. It's been awhile since I've struggled with that on the blog. But I think it's mostly because I'm just out of practice from blogging regularly. I have to remind myself that I put things out here that I want people to know. It's good for me. It's safe.

Well, mostly safe.

So, back to what I want to say for now. I just returned from a quick weekend in California, visiting some friends. These are people who I love dearly and who have blessed me tremendously in the time I've known them, just in knowing them. I always come back from time with them feeling great. They love me. And I always know that when I'm with them. We are family in a not-actually-related sense (although I'm pretty sure their son gets some of his unique qualities from Crazy Auntie Tyrant - especially his talents and good looks). I treasure the family they are to me.

I don't even really know how we became friends. We've never lived in the same city, or even the same state. I met Friend J through a network of organizations that worked together at a job I had several years ago. We would see each other at conferences, and we'd chat. Then we were chatting more, and eventually keeping up with each other outside of work related events. Finally we discovered that she is weird and I am weird, and we decided to know each other for a long time and ever after (she bought me a thing for my wall that says as much). We match. We get each other. It's good.

Friend J's husband is a Marine. He's been a Marine for a long time. Not active, but still Marine-ing. Recently, however, he was re-activated and inevitably shipped off to Iraq for too many months. This was when his Marine-ish-ness became real to me. This is what he does. It's very bizarre. I know him in California. I've never actually seen him do any Marine stuff. It doesn't fit that he was not there for a long time, and instead in the middle of this Iraq stuff I keep seeing on TV.

Last week he came back from Iraq. This weekend we threw him a party. I was there for the going away party months ago. I was glad to be able to go to California for the welcoming home party this weekend. These people mean the world to me. I very much wanted to see him home, with his family, as things should be.

I only had a short weekend with them, but I came home with a new respect for what these guys (and girls) do way over there in Iraq. He showed me a slideshow he made of pictures during his time there, and I looked through all 600-plus pictures more than once, just mesmerized at what his life was like for the past eight months. Stuff you don't see on TV. Scenes of Marines and helicopters and desert, but with my Marine Friend J's face mixed in every once in awhile. Except it was Marine Friend J loaded down in Marine gear and large guns.

The last time I saw him, he was rolling around the floor with his tiny son, in pj's, reading a book out loud in silly voices. Not at all Marine-like.

It made the whole Iraq thing very real. The pictures, seeing him now after so many months of being shot at regularly while flying helicopters in the desert. He looked good, but tired. He seemed good, but different. Maybe it was his desert farmers tan, having only previously ever seen him as white, or as sunburned as I ever am. Never tan. It was odd to see him tan.

I have to admit, I haven't paid a whole lot of attention to the Iraq thing. It's far away, it's been going on for awhile. It's faces and people I don't know. Except now my friend has a weird tan from too much time in the desert. And there are 600-plus pictures of proof that it isn't so far away, it is people we know..... and it will continue going on for awhile.

Marine Friend J has to go back to Iraq in April.

In looking through the pictures, I realized the sacrifice these people make. The close quarters, the all-Marines all-the-time, the less-than-tantalizing food-type-stuff, the group bathroom experience. The heat. My God, the heat! It's not anything like home. But the sacrifice is not unique to just the men and women who go to Iraq. It's also the families who are left here. My heart has been broken for Friend J and Son A while Marine J has been gone. They've had to keep going without dad around to be a part of things as he usually is. Son A is almost two years old now, and in the time his dad has been in Iraq he has learned to walk and talk. Marine J returned to a family that was quite different than when he left. And if it were me, this might be harder than the whole eight months away. Fitting back into a life that went on without me. And knowing I'll have to do it all again before it all has time to sink in and feel right again.

Whether or not you agree with what is going on in Iraq or how the U.S. is handling the situation, remember that it really comes down to people. Lives. Families. Sacrifices.

Those guys over there with guns are the same guys you see here in pj's.

Keep them in your thoughts and prayers.

C.T.

Miss The Tyrant?
Well, don't forget you can take her with you wherever you go.

I haven't promoted the store in awhile, but in case you haven't been there in awhile this is to let you know there are new items in The Tyrant Store, lower prices, and so much fun you will hardly be able to stand it.

And yes, there is now a yellow shirt. Or two.

Support the Tyrant. Buy stuff.

C.T.

Things on my mind lately....
It's the simple things, really.

1. Why does Hallmark make 'good-bye' cards, but does not also make 'welcome home' cards? Do people never come back?

2. Why are UPS trucks white on top, but brown everywhere else? No one sees the top of the truck unless you look down on it from above. I've done this. The top is white. Did they run out of paint after doing the sides?

3. Do birds have personalities? I'm pretty sure dogs have different personalities. Some are nice. Some are mean. But what about birds? I saw two birds hanging out the other day. They looked like they were getting along fine. Then one bird started pecking at the other bird. Do they just do that? Or was that a mean bird picking on a non-mean bird?

4. There's a fine line between being cool and not being cool. In highschool it was not cool to listen to Ace of Base. Now? I'm fairly certain it's retro cool to drive around with the windows down in the Jeep, blasting Ace of Base. Or Wilson Phillips.

5. You know you're in good company when you are with two other people in the front seat of a truck for eight-or-so-hours of drive time, with only a radio, bad radio stations, and each other to keep the three of you entertained ... but you don't miss having more leg room and a CD player to help pass the time.

It's the simple things.

C.T.

The One About the Grief
So, recently there was this again. It's been five years now.

I didn't really intend to write anything about it this year. But in conversations lately, I've noticed that some give advice or perspective with the qualifier that they've never dealt with grief before. As though the help is less valuable or effective because they haven't been there, and whatever they say might not make a difference because grief is big. This 'disclaimer' got me thinking.

Yes, grief is big.

But as I've thought about it, it's a lot like everything else we deal with. We've all dealt with some form of grief, whether it's the loss of a relationship, or a job, or just something that disappoints us. Or we've all dealt with tough things that are tough to us, even if it can't be considered grief. Grief in it's purest, scariest form, when we lose someone in death or when big tragedy strikes, is huge. It's debilitating. It wrecks your life for awhile.

But really it's just an intense form of things we've all dealt with.

I realize that for each of us, the things we go through are ours. We feel it at that time, and it hurts, and it's very real to us. A break-up could be the worst thing we've ever dealt with. Time passes and it's still hard. It hurts. And that's what we're struggling with right now. It's not the end of the world, or comparatively as bad as things other people may be dealing with, or even reasonable to those who watch how we deal with it. But it's ours. It's real. It hurts.

It takes a lot to share grief with those you know have never been through it. I admire those who can receive it and still be brave enough to share their own perspective on dealing with things. People dealing with loss and pure grief can be scary sometimes. It's a situation we all fear to have to deal with ourselves someday, and when those around us are going through it, it becomes a little more of a reality. It's not pretty.

But, it just happens that at this time in my life the loss of my sister is the worst thing I've dealt with. It just happens to be a big thing. I didn't ask for it. But I also don't necessarily deserve for it to not have happened to me, either. It's just what happened. Sometimes things just suck.

But sometimes the best advice and perspective I get is from those who haven't dealt with grief, yet. Their vision isn't clouded by absolute rock bottom. I'm glad to have them, and their thoughts. Because sometimes in the middle of the toughest thing you've ever dealt with, your perspective hovers around doom and gloom. You get caught up in this being the toughest thing ever. It's hard to see around that.

So, it's nice to hear the view from someone that hasn't been in your shoes, yet. They're more qualified to offer perspective than they think.

And really, it's all the same. Whether you're sad over a lost job, or a boyfriend, or a relationship that didn't work out the way you thought it would, or you're sad over the death of someone close. The feelings are the same. It's all real. It all takes time. It all hurts. It's all good perspective.

Grief is just a little more intense.

So, here's to five years of intense, and to good people who remind me that it doesn't always have to be intense.

C.T.

Can you take a frog to the ER?
Animals at my house don't fair well. It's not intentional. Things just happen.

I've discovered over the past few weeks that I have a frog. He lives in my yard. Typically I find him in the evenings near my water faucet when I'm watering the yard. He is small. He hops around. We are friends.

The frog went on vacation this week to visit the air conditioning unit on the side of the house. He should have let me know of his plans. Tragedy might have been avoided.

As I worked in my yard on Friday afternoon, it happened. I was routinely weed-eating my yard, as I do every week. The frog was not a thought in my mind. I made my way around the to the air conditioning unit and proceeded to weed-eat the grass and whatnot around the unit. As I always do.

Suddenly, I noticed some movement in the grass, followed by a trail a large spots of blood. Very bright red blood. Had I just weed-eaten my toe and not known it?

I checked. All toes accounted for.

Then I saw the frog. He was hobbling away from me, followed by a trail of the blood blobs, and dragging a lifeless leg behind him.

I weed-ate the frog's leg.

I immediately stopped weed-eating to attend to the injured frog situation. What do I do? This frog is my friend. I've taken other friends to the ER. Can I take a frog to the ER? I wasn't sure.

I decided probably not.

But, I felt horrible. This frog trusted me. We had a good frog/yard owner relationship. And I had abused that by severing a limb. He had now crawled underneath the air-conditioning unit, and was peering out at me.

Oh, the look of betrayal and pain in his eyes! I swear I hadn't meant to de-leg him. I just hadn't seen him until it was too late!

I apologized profusely.... until I realized that I was standing in my yard apologizing to a frog. Then I got ahold of myself and finished my yardwork. With a heavy heart, mind you. I did actually shed a tear.

Once the yard was finished I came back to check on the frog. He was still underneath the a/c, staring at me. I decided there was nothing I could really do for him. I fear he will die from bleeding to death.

Or, he will grow old and large, forever hobbled by a stumpy leg. He will be angry and attack small children and old ladies that pass by, hurling things at them with his good leg.

If only it had been one of the 57 stray cats that have inhabited my yard lately. I wouldn't feel so bad, and I would still have a frog as my friend.

C.T.

Thinking Again
There are times when I wish my memory functioned better. Well, in general I wish it functioned better. But sometimes I see or hear or experience something that I know I'm going to want to go back to later, but the moment passes and I realize as it dissolves in front of me that I may not have gotten everything out of it that I should at that moment.

It's when I see or hear something that I know I need to remember. But I either pay attention too late, or I'm paying attention too much to really get it.

I saw a movie today that I wished I could take with me. I realize it will one day come out on DVD and I can buy it. But I wanted it today. I want to be able to refer back to it when pieces of it pop into my head throughout the week. It's another one of those 'right thing at the time' things that land with me and make me think.

Quotes, themes, images, sounds, thoughts - things I want to remember.

Things that make me think.

C.T.

Uh...
After being absent from the blog for awhile, I wrote an AMAZING post just now. It was all about my love for the Olympics. It was witty, thoughtful, and probably the best thing ever written about the Olympics.

Ever.

Then Blogger ate it.

So this is what you get instead. Maybe I'll try to recreate my amazing Olympic post later.

Thanks for the welcome back, Blogger.

C.T.

UPDATE: Apparently Blogger ate my Olympic post, and then decided to spit it out again later. Because it has magically appeared below. Enjoy.

Let the Games Begin!
Ok, so I've been neglecting the blog lately. But not intentionally. Truth is, I've been training for the Olympics.

Well, to watch the Olympics, that is. I love me some Olympics!

I'd venture to say it takes almost as much training and discipline to watch the Olympics as it does to actually participate in any of the sports at the Olympics. It's not easy to be dedicated to so many different sports at all hours of the day for two straight weeks. Those of us who are called to do so must answer that call and watch with the best of our abilities. It's not an easy task, but it must be done.

Of course, this means watching even the sports that I question as actual sports. Some of these sports are as follows:

1. Kayaking- I mean, are there even rapids in Athens? Now, I understand that riding in that tiny boat without the use of your legs is not an easy thing to do. But really, to me this belongs more in the Extreme Sports genre. I'm sure it takes training and endurance. But is this a 'sport' of quality to consider it 'olympic'? I think not. All of this applies to Olympic Canoeing, as well.

2. Rowing- My thoughts on this are similar to kayaking. Sure, it's a lot of work. But, it's really just an option on how to get from Point A to Point B, with a group of your friends. Plus, that little person in the front is just getting a free ride. She'll get a medal with the rest of the rowers on the boat. But you know all she did was sit there and eat a sandwich while the rowers got her to the other side of the pond.

3. Men's handball- This is a 'sport' I've just noticed for the first time this year. I'm pretty sure I've never watched a game of handball, or even understood it to be a real thing played by people other than kids on a playground during recess. How do you train for this sport? Do countries really have teams for this? Does the U.S. have a handball team? Do they really just get out there and hit a ball around with their hand, and then get a medal for it? Did the ancient Greeks do this? So. Very. Odd.

4. Equestrian- Seriously, if the horses aren't winning the medals, then this shouldn't even be on the list of events. The horses do all the work. Whoever is sitting on the horse is clearly just along for the ride, and probably because they enjoy those weird tight pants. I mean, if Equestrian is a medal-deserving event, then that thing on the Animal channel where the dogs run the obstacle course should also be an Olympic event. It's the same thing.

5. Sailing- Same thing here. The boat and the wind do all the work. Sure, people run around on the deck and move sails and stuff. But really, they are not in control of where the boat goes or which one gets there first. The boat should win the medal. I'm pretty firm on that one. If sailing is a medal-worthy event, Nascar should be, as well. (And I say that as a true hater of Nascar)

6. Synchronized Swimming- This is an age-old debate, and quite frankly my favorite non-sport. Anything that requires the use of make-up and costumes = not a sport. This also applies to the Rhythmic Floor dancing. Sure, it takes lots of skill and training to float in the water like that, or to writhe around on the floor as they do in the floor routines. But, add costumes and make-up and you've immediately negated the whole 'sport' aspect of it. I do amazing water routines in my shower every morning, and because I do not wear make-up or a costume while doing this, I am WAY more deserving of a medal than the Olympic Synchronized Swimming Team. (note: please do not tell them where I live because they could easily beat me up, one at a time. They're strong.)

But, even though I question the validity of these sports as 'sports', I have no choice but to watch and be amazed, entirely caught up in Olympic Fever. I just can't help it.

So, for the next couple of weeks I will be thoroughly engrossed in the watching of the Olympics. It was always my dream as a kid to become an Olympic gold medalist in some sport. I think at this point in my life I have begun to accept that unless I invent a completely new sport and immediately become an expert and world record holder for this made-up sport, I am too old to ever realize my Olympic dreams in a normal everyday, already existing sport.

But, I always look forward to this extravaganza of sports competition. The triumph, the emotion, the competition, the shiny medals. And, of course, the making fun of the Opening and Closing ceremonies.

I mean, what was with that girl and her Glo-Worm belly?? So. Completely. Weird.

The games have begun.

C.T.