Miss Directed. Weight Loss

I went to my boxdoc today for my semi-annual checkup.  I made a very disconcerting discovery last week, and I called and made an appointment immediately.  Not disconcerting like I found a lump or anything, so calm down (but you – yeah, you – go get that checked).  When I had my fitness assessment check up on the 16th with my trainer, we discovered some very interesting things that made me feel horrible.  In six weeks, my body fat percentage stayed the same, and none of my measurements went up.  In fact, my arm, chest and hip measurements went down (only slightly, but I’ll take any victory I can get).  And then I got on the scale.  I’d gained 11 pounds.  Actually, when you factor in the 3 pounds I lost my first two weeks working with Taylor, I’d gained 14 pounds. FOURTEEN FUCKING POUNDS.  I immediately burst into tears.  This puts me less than 10 pounds from my heaviest weight ever.  The weight I swore I’d never allow myself to reach again.  I’m busting my ass to look great at my high school reunion at the end of July, and I’m gaining weight like whoa.  So I started thinking about things. 

Now granted, Taylor increased my calorie intake by quite a bit when I started at the gym. I had some initial weight gain but had started to lose, so I discounted that.  I thought and thought and thought.  And then it hit me.  I was down those three pounds on May 11.  I started my new birth control May 14.  Between May 11 and June 16, I gained 14 pounds.  I think the logical conclusion is that these pills have something to do with it, especially since every woman knows that some pills make you gain weight and some don’t, and every woman has different pills that trigger weight gain.  I want off these pills.

I bring all this up at my doctor’s appointment today.  And do you know what he had the balls to do?  He pulls my sock down and pokes my ankle.  “Well, you’re not swollen, which would happen if the pills are causing weight gain.  In fact, we’ve never had anyone complain about weight gain on Loestrin.  It must be something else.  Does your trainer have you eating a lot of fruit?” Now, let me back track and mention that my doctor lost 25 pounds by cutting down on carbs and sugars.  First of all, he’s a man, and men tend to drop weight faster as a result of eliminating those things.  Second, he does not have the horrible genes passed down to me by my family.  “He has me eating one small piece of fruit a day.” “What about carbs?” he asked.  “Well, I have half of a mini bagel for breakfast and two slices of whole wheat bread for my sandwich at lunch.  I rarely eat carbs at dinner.” “IT’S OBVIOUSLY THE FRUIT,” he claimed.  Okay people.  Does this guy really expect me to believe that a plum with 36 calories has so much sugar that I’m gaining half a pound a day?  We discussed a few other pills.  Alesse, my first ever pill, shot my libido through the floor.  Even kissing was icky to me on that shit.  Orthotricyclen gave me wicked side effects.  The generic I was last on was so low dose (which I have to have now due to my bp) that I was having TWO periods a month.  And now wicked weight gain.  I get dressed in the morning and am so miserable I want to off myself, and this guy thinks fruit is my problem.  The only pill that’s worked great for me lately is $45 a month on my insurance, and I just can’t afford that.  So rather than put me on another generic, he decided I should stay with Loestrin for another couple of months.  Even putting aside the fact that I HATE THESE MOTHERFUCKING PILLS, there’s the fact that the office has been giving me sample packs, because, just like Yasmin, Loestrin is $45 a month on my insurance.  So even if these work great in the end, when the samples dry up I’ll be asking for something else.

I was so stunned at this turn of events I didn’t even say anything.  By the time I was done paying for my appointment, I was barely holding back the tears.  I sobbed to my mother the entire time it took me to get back to work.  I will be hearing from them by Monday to discuss my pap results, and I am going to demand to be taken off these pills.  If they won’t take me off of them, I’ll quit taking the pill and find a doctor who will listen to my wants and needs.  Medicine is a service industry.  When did doctors stop listening to the patient?  Like this man who sticks his hand up me twice a year for 2 minutes knows my body better than I do? 

Oh, and another joyful bonus from my visit today?  My last pap showed abnormal cells, but no dysplasia or HPV.  If there are any abnormal cells at all in this one, I’ve got another painful, expensive cervical biopsy to look forward to!  I just paid the last one off, and I need another one. 

I wonder how much a hysterectomy would cost me…

Never, ever, EVER go to the regional passport agency if you can possibly avoid it.  My “appointment” was at 10:30.  Come to find out, all an “appointment” gets you is a place in a line 10 miles long.  All it does is guarantee you will be seen on that day.  They schedule 80 appointments every hour That would mean that if all 10 lanes were open, each appointment should last about 7 minutes.  There were 6 out of 10 lanes open on average, and that would mean an appointment of just over 4 minutes.  Only with each appointment you can include up to 7 family members.  And there were lots of families.  LOTS OF FAMILIES WITH SMALL, SCREAMING CHILDREN.

I arrived at 10, and found the line out of the passport office and wrapped more than halfway around the floor’s corridors.  I was standing between a really friendly chick and a cute guy I am pretty sure was gay (if not, he was a seriously gay straight guy).  We ended up chatting and keeping each other entertained for the 90 minutes it took us to get into the actual passport office, and then the next hour it took us to get through the remaining snake line to verify we had everything we needed and get assigned a number.  Then, and only then, do you get to wait anywhere from 10-40 minutes before seeing a booth attendant who will have you sign everything and pay them. 

We all finished around the same time, but the girl didn’t need her passport today, so she opted to go back tomorrow to pick it up.  Our pickup time was listed as 2:30, and it was 12:30, so I headed out to lunch.  I was back at the passport office just over an hour later.  My new guy friend came in shortly after me, and he helped keep me awake while we waited for 2:30.  Because, of course, the one day of the year when I absolutely needed to bring a book with me, I forgot.  I ALWAYS have a book in my car!  Not today.  Arg.  Anyway, 2:30 came and went.  The screaming children of the morning were now either a) screaming louder because they missed nap time or b) passed out in their parent’s laps.  I liked the b children much better.

I finally received my passport at 4:27.  I walked the 5 blocks back to my car (which was really fun in the morning – when it was pouring and I had no umbrella, and damn you Rhianna for ruining that word because every time I use it I get your lame ass song in my head) and now here I am.  Pretending to do work. 

But you know what?  My trip is really going to happen now since I got my passport sorted.  And that? Totally makes it worth it.

I’m not someone that loses paperwork at work.  I’m just not.  Sometimes I’ll put something in a “safe place” and forget where that is for a day or so, but I ALWAYS remember where it is.  The way I keep from losing things is that I generally leave them exactly where they are until I’m ready to do something with them.  This usually means my inbox on my desk.  If paperwork just needs to be entered into the system and there is no time rush, things can sit in my inbox for a month or more until I get around to entering them.  But when I get the time, I know exactly where they are because I haven’t moved them. 

I had two such things in my inbox a couple of weeks ago.  I noted that they were there before I left for Scotland.  I placed them face down in the bottom of my tray and then went about my business.  There was a big stack of stuff on top of them.

Last week when I got back, I went to get those documents.  I can’t find them.  I’ve been through every folder, every file, every scrap of paper I have within a 10 foot radius of my desk, and nothing.  I’ve emailed my boss and VP and determined neither took anything out of my inbox while I was on vacation.  And now, blind panic has set in.

These two documents could cause serious problems for us on the audit coming up next week.  SERIOUS.  As in, I could lose my job over this.  So if you know anyone that needs an (apparently incompetent) admin, please let me know.  Because I seem to be totally fucked here

Okay.  Correct me if I’m wrong, but this IS the year 2007, is it not?  I mean, we, as a society, are pretty technologically advanced, right?  We DO have the capability to retrieve seemingly lost data and such, right? 

Earlier this week I killed my work computer.  I came in Monday morning and it wouldn’t turn on.  Well, it turned on, but there was no information going from the tower to the monitor.  So I got a new computer.  No big deal, right?  Until I opened my email.  And there was NOTHING.  I wasn’t really concerned about this. I figured IT would go in and find my email on the email server and pop it into my new mailbox. 

Only, come to find out, we don’t HAVE an email server.  WTF?

Who doesn’t have an email server?  I work at a company where it is required that objective evidence (read: a paper trail) be kept for everything done, every decision made.  The evidence has to be kept anywhere from three to 10 years.  That’s a long time to keep things.  As a result, I was encouraged to keep all of my email.  Fine.  No problem.  But if that’s going to be the case, shouldn’t that email be backed up somewhere?  I’ve been told that I may not be able to get my email back if my hard drive is messed up – once the email pops up in my inbox, it’s on my hard drive and nowhere else. 

Fucking great!  I have a few things that I do in weekly cycles here.  I save up all emails telling me about file distributions and print them all out on Monday when I get to work.  Well, last week’s distribution emails are gone, and I have no idea which ones were made.  I also store up returned vendor surveys and print them as a batch to give my boss once a week.  I send out about 20 surveys a week.  Some people respond right away, some take months.  I received about 8 last week that hadn’t been printed.  I have no idea who sent them, and no way to find out.  That information is just lost.

I wish the company leadership would get over themselves and buy this company Outlook.  Oh yeah, we don’t even have Outlook.  Not even Outlook Express.  We use fucking NETSCAPE here. 

In some respects, this company is so far technologically advanced it amazes me.  In other ways, we are so in the dark ages.  Grrr…

So yesterday morning I was listening to the radio on my way to work.  My normal station had a commercial on, so I was flipping. I tuned to another station just in time to hear that there has been a change to the Texas Pledge.  Until quite recently, the Texas pledge went like this:

Honor the Texas flag.
I pledge allegiance to thee.
Texas, one and indivisible.

Upon hearing the pledge had been changed, I was nearly ecstatic.  Why?  Because I figured I knew what the change was.  See, for years this pledge has bugged the ever living shit outta me because Texas, as defined by it’s constitution, is the ONLY STATE IN THE UNION that can be divided into five separate states if its people so choose.  So that “one and indivisible” bit?  Kinda stupid.  Could work for any other state, but not for this one.

But is that the change?  NOPE!

Instead, Texas has set itself up for controversy galore.  The leadership of this state have taken a stand firmly in the “We <3 Bush!” camp (as if we didn’t know that’s where they stood already?) and added a line to the pledge.  This fall, children all over Texas will be reciting our “new and improved!” (can’t you taste the sarcasm?) pledge:

Honor the Texas flag.
I pledge allegiance to thee.
One state, under God,
Texas, one and indivisible.

After the first caller called in and said that she didn’t care about the new line because all religions pray to some kind of god, so why should this matter, I turned it off.  Okay, honestly I didn’t turn it off until after I yelled at her that all religions pray to some form of higher power, but only Christians call it God.  Bet the bitch would choke if her daughter had to say “One state, under Allah” or “under Buddha.” If we’re going for mass religious appeal, perhaps it should say instead “One state, under some higher power” or even just “under a god.” A lot could get solved by just losing that capital letter, I’d wager.

Sometimes I’m embarrassed to be a Texan.

Dear Cough,

I am writing to say that I am officially over you.  That’s right.  I. Am over.  YOU.  I haven’t had a decent night of sleep in three weeks.  Just last night I fell asleep around 11:30, woke up at 2, coughed and cried and coughed until 3:30, and then finally relented and got out of bed.  I turned the air down, got some water, took some pirin tablets, and climbed back in bed.  Only after all that moving around, I was awake.  And so it was that I watched the minutes slowly tick down until it was time for me to get up.  The last time I saw the clock before falling into fitful sleep, it was 5:37. 

I am a zombie at work these days.  I really feel like the walking dead.  I’m pretty sure I only have one lung left in my chest, as surely the other one has disintegrated and slowly been being expelled during these coughing fits.  I know I have at least one lung left because, well, a) I’m still half alive and breathing, and b) I can feel that annoying tickle itch thing right at the top of my right lung. 

I fear I must learn to coexist with you, Cough.  If that is the case, I have but one request.  If you could just let me have at least one full night of sleep a week, I will stop complaining.  Just give me one.  That’s all I ask.  I think the terms I’m setting forth are reasonable, so leave me the fuck alone tonight, would ya?

Hoping that this, my friend, is what they call closure,

MissDirected

So a few nights ago I was watching telly, and for once it was something actually running real time because I was watching commercials.  (Side note:  Who would’ve guessed that an ad junkie like me would one day enjoy fast forwarding through commercials.  I used to LOVE the suckers!) And as I’m sitting there, wishing the commercials would hurry up, and wondering why whenever I’m flipping between two shows they always somehow manage to do their commercial breaks at exactly the same time, an ad for Radio Shack came on my screen.

The ad shows two remote control cars go out a door, down a walkway, turn onto the sidewalk, turn up another walkway, and then start ramming into a front door.  This, right away, pissed me off. I’d be hella peeved if someone was ramming a remote control car into my front door.  Anyway, a little grandmotherly old lady comes to the door, and looks around.  When she finally looks down, what appears to be an ipod turns on and there is a video of three kids singing “We Wish You A Merry Christmas.” The lady smiles and laughs, and looks to her left…

Where the three kids are waving in the window next door.

Since when did we, as a society, become so lazy that Christmas caroling became dependent upon technology?  Huh?  HUH?  Riddle me that, Batman.  If I’d been that old lady, I would have scooped up the ipod, mouthed “Thanks for the gift,” kicked the cars over so they’d have to come over anyway to pick them up, and closed the door. 

What do you mean I’m going to be the old lady whose house kids hate walking by?  I have no idea where you’d get that idea!

And another thing that’s bothering me… Why are there two cars in the ad?  The ipod is only in one car.  Why is there a superfluous car? 

These are the things that keep me up at night, people.  It’s a sad, sad, world I live in.

Today can fuck right off, as far as I’m concerned.  I started today in such a happy mood.  First came the T announcement, which made me heartsick.  Then came a massive screaming match with Direct TV.  Please.  For the love of god.  Do not EVER get Direct TV (which I totally want to abbreviate as DTV, but I just can’t do that because it would taint such a great movie association).  My receiver broke, and they sent me a new one.  No problem.  Only now the new one is doing what the old one was doing.  And they charged me a $25 shipping charge they never bothered to mention.  And they upped my account to a premium account which is $15 more a month than my current account.  AND they tacked on HBO, Cinemax, and Showtime for an additional $24 a month.  The guy I talked to probably can’t sit down comfortably I chewed his ass up so bad. 

In addition to all that shite, it’s supposed to pour down rain all day tomorrow.  While I’m moving.  The stupid fucking plant lady hasn’t moved her damn cacti.  And am I packed?  NOPE!  I have so much to do tonight I am overwhelmed, which just makes me want to curl into a ball on the couch.

It’s gonna be a loooooong night.  Followed by a very early morning, as the movers arrive at 8 a.m.

This year, right after the audit, I caught The Death.  I went in late Monday, left early Wednesday, called in Thursday, and had already taken today off for vacation.  Because my sister lands in town in about an hour.  I don’t even want to drive over to Kingwood to see her because I don’t want to give this to her, mom, or dad.  I feel like I’m in a fog.  I’m not so much achy as… well… I feel like I’m walking through water.  I’ve been doing water aerobics for the last four days.  I’m exhausted, but thanks to hindered breathing I’m not really sleeping well.  I feel like there’s a big weight on my face because my sinuses are so congested.  The neti pot?  Yeah.  That water can’t even find a way through anymore.  Constant headache.  A continuous low grade fever.  Good times.

Oh, and that weight on my face thing?  I came up with the weight part after I called in Thursday and had the following conversation with my boss.

Boss Man: Hello?
MD: Hi.  I don’t think I’m gonna make it in today.
BM: Really?  Because you sound totally fine. (/sarcasm)
MD: I’m sure I do, but I spent my whole night taking 15 minute cat naps, and it feels like somebody is sitting on my face there’s so much sinus pressure.  Wait…
BM: HAHAHAHAHA!
MD: I so didn’t mean it like that!
BM: Well, I’ll let you get back to bed then. 
MD: Thanks.  And shut up!

So.  This year I said something about someone sitting on my face, and last year (granted, whilst we were all drunk) I made some snarky remark about multiple orgasms.  It’s hard having a boss only a year older than you.  Especially one who went to the same high school as you and with whom you share mutual friends.  It’s easy to forget he’s your boss because of all that. 

So yeah.  Back to bed with me, so that I can maybe muster up the energy to drive to the Wood later.