Monthly Archives: July 2014

The Unquitting Plan

So here’s the thing.  Sometimes when you fall on your ass, you need the awesome people in your life to stand there and pick you back up.  And here’s the other thing, sometimes you don’t want to be picked up, but those people like you enough to make you get your slug-ass moving anyway.  And that makes those people really awesome friends, so don’t ever screw that up.  I have a lot of those people in my life, and I am grateful.
Moving on.  There are lots of things in this life that may incite you to embrace your inner slug.  For example, if your dad dies butt-assed naked in the middle of his living room floor all alone…and say your son happens to be the one to find him.  That is really bad shit, and let me tell you, the last thing you think about is working out.  In fact, the first thing you think about is WINE.  Because wine can fix a lot.  But the thing is, it can only fix it for a limited time.
Also, if say, Bigfoot breaks into your house and eats all your Cheetos, that’s pretty bad, too.  But that didn’t happen.  Because I’m not crazy.
Here’s another thing.  It might seem like it would be difficult to spiral into a non-productive, non-writing, crap-eating funk, but it’s not.  It can happen to you, too, so listen up, sluggers.
When you find yourself circling the drain, the thing to do is to look to those people who might sort of like you…even though you are a little crazy…and even though you are a pain in the ass…and even though you can’t seem to give much back at the moment.  Those are the people who will save you from the mortal-drain-suckage that is happening.
So, how to fix everything?  How to unquit?  Well, as I’ve stated before, unquitting is hard.  It’s embarrassing.  It’s humiliating, and it makes you feel like you had everything you needed and then just…well, just took a break.
So you either quit or take a break.  I’m going to say I was taking a break.  And hopefully my friends will know that whatever they did for me or said to me ended up helping me get my ass back in gear.  Because it did.  And thank you all.  Really.
August 1.  August 1 is the day.  I have said aloud (as in a voice that others can hear) that I will present myself at CrossFit and begin a Whole 30 program on August 1.  So there is a time limit on letting myself go.  This is a self-imposed time limit, and I firmly believe it’s for self-preservation.  If I were to NOT put this time limit on myself, it would be so easy to NEVER make myself.  As in not make myself do anything, and I don’t think that’s what my butt-assed-naked dad would have envisioned for me.  So, yeah.
Hence, I have discovered that the key to unquitting is setting a time limit for yourself.  You get a chance to grieve.  You get time to spiral into what-the-hell-everness, but you don’t get a free pass to do that in an unlimited fashion.  That would be lazy.  And disgusting.  And, well, just giving-up-ish.  And that’s not me.  Deep down, that’s not who I am.
August 1 is going to kick my ass.  Let me be clear.  I need my ass kicked.  I need a non-plan-plan (as in Along Came Polly).  You may not be a planner, and I totally get that, because neither am I.  So my only plan now is to unquit on August 1.
Thank you to all my friends and family who have been so understanding.  I truly hope that August 1 has about 300 squats, 200 push-ups, and 100 pull-ups in store.  I need to remember what it feels like to have some sort of a plan.  I need to feel like vomiting into a chalk bucket.  So, Coach C., make it a good one, and make it a workout to remember.  Because I have to get ME back.

The Care and Keeping of Your Bridge Troll

Congratulations!  You are the proud new loved one of a bridge troll.  As you will shortly come to realize, bridge trolls (a.k.a. introverts) are interesting and complicated creatures.  While their company can be fulfilling and rewarding, they can also be described as challenging and even frustrating.  Please find below important instructions regarding the proper care of your bridge troll.  If you follow these instructions, you are guaranteed a much happier co-existence with your closet-dwelling, public-averse, antisocial companion.
Good luck.
Instructions:
  1. Always brief your bridge troll on the specifics of ANY and all situations regarding human contact and interaction, especially when dealing with strangers.  Remember, any human contact or socialization can be construed as tactical warfare, and the troll will respond accordingly.  Example:  If you arrive at a party and there are people in attendance that the troll was not expecting to see or meet, you can expect that your troll’s level of anxiety will immediately be heightened.
  2. As soon as you notice a heightened state of anxiety in your troll, immediately provide alcohol.  Lots of alcohol.  This provides medicinal support and will help your troll avoid any emotional trauma that could result from an uncomfortable social situation.
  3. Make your troll aware of any and all upcoming social engagements as soon as you become aware of them.  You will need to remind your troll of these engagements as the date approaches, and it will probably require bribery to actually get your troll to attend the specified engagement.  (Note:  When the actual date of the social engagement arrives, your troll WILLtry to get out of going.  This is normal and to be expected.  Once again, lean on alcohol and bribery.  Never threaten a troll, as they CAN and do become violent when cornered.)
  4. Never, never EVER remind your troll that she is a troll.  Your troll knows that she is a troll and is forever self-conscious about the troll-isms that control her day-to-day activities.  Accusations of troll activity and combative behavior will only cause your troll to go into hiding, most likely in an upstairs bedroom or closet.
  5. Bridge trolls are good at holding grudges.  If you should find yourself in a disagreement with your troll, remember that the storm will eventually pass.  Well, maybe.  However, should you want to bribe your troll or ply her with gifts, it’s helpful to shop for things such as dictionaries, out-of-print books, and other such nerd-attractors.  Trolls love items like these and are more likely to thaw when presented with geektastic treasures such as the aforementioned.
  6. Trolls are not excessive talkers, especially at the end of a long day.  In fact, you may actually hear your troll growl in certain situations.  It’s important to remember that trolls require downtime in which words are not being violently flung in their general direction.

Above all, though, just remember to have fun with your troll.  They are fascinating little creatures, and much like their distant cousin, the garden gnome, they thoroughly enjoy a raucous outing to the library.

Dental Appointments and Xanax

Correlation?  Methinks the answer is yes.  You see, for days before actually presenting myself in the dentist’s office, I find myself longingly wishing for a super-strong prescription for anti-anxiety meds.  And as I understand it, I am not the only one in the world with this particular strain of anxiety.  The dentist is on my list of Least Favorite Places in the Entire Universe I Want to Visit.
Is my dentist mean?  Nope, she’s actually a very nice lady.  I enjoy chatting with her very much.  But then she hauls out all those shiny, pointy-ass tools, and I can’t help but thinking she’s been possessed by Satan and sent to singlehandedly dig each and every tooth out of my mouth—all this with no effective numbing agent.
Do I sound ridiculous? Absolutely.
Do I send my children to the dentist?  Certainly.  And I tell them the dentist is wonderful.  A giant wonderland of flavored toothpaste and treasure chests and rainbow-shitting unicorns where all the little children with perfect, sparkly white teeth go to be happy, happy, HAPPY.  Yay!  But secretly, I know in my heart that the devil lurks in the dentist’s tool drawer, and as soon as I open my mouth, unspeakable pain and suffering await.  (I try to avoid telling my children this part.)
So anyway, today I went to the dentist.  Totally sober, too.  I mean, I wanted to have a pint or two of a good, stout red wine, but I thought that might tarnish my nice, suburban house-mommy-writer image, so yeah, sober.
And as soon as they called me back to the exam room, I started babbling.  “Um yeah, I don’t know if you remember me or this tooth, but this tooth is bad.  And I’m um worse.  I cling onto the chair like a cat, and I swear to God if you pull out a drill, I will probably claw my way up to the ceiling, so pretty much I just want to make sure you remember that I get really nervous and shit up in here, and um, yeah, also my tooth really hurts, which is why I’m here, but if you could just check it from across the room, that would be great.”
So the dentist called the psych ward.  Nah, just kidding.  (Sort of.)
What the dentist really did was mock me with her eyes, because all I could see behind that little mask of hers were her eyes, but they looked pretty mocking, if you ask me.  And she promised that all she was going to do was x-ray the tooth and poke at it to see if she could determine the problem.  I agreed to let her do that, but I did also swear on all that is holy that I would bite her finger off if she tried any monkey business.  So we had a working deal.
So she x-rayed the tooth.  And then she whacked on it with a little metal hammer, because it wasn’t bad enough that I was already thinking the tooth was about ready to break in half and fall out of my face.  So yeah, it was really good that she tested the street-worthiness of the tooth, you know, just to make sure it would hold up to any jackhammers I might encounter on my way home.  And guess what?  Our suspicions were confirmed…the little hammer definitely hurt like hell.
Diagnosis:  I need a root canal.
Problem:  I can’t even manage to sit in a dentist’s chair and get through a filling.
Well, crap.
So she sent me away with a prescription for some awesome pain meds, because apparently eating ibuprofen like M&Ms is not the healthiest solution.  Who knew?
I am also under strict instructions to call the drug-dentist.  That’s the dentist who will do this procedure while fully medicating me, because I’m guessing that my dentist doesn’t want to have to deal with pulling my sorry ass off the ceiling during the middle of a fairly standard procedure.  I told her to send me to someone who will numb me from the shoulders up and pretty much gas me enough to make me feel like I’m levitating off the chair.  I don’t think that’s too much to ask.
In the meantime, I’m telling my kids that the dentist is a happy, happy place…a land of free toothbrushes and floss, of cartoons and toy chests, a place where gleaming pearly whites come to fruition.  Just keep me out of that damned devil cave, because I’m more than positive that Beelzebub himself is out to get my teeth.
Now, where are my pain meds?