Paranormal

I have tried, tried, tried to come up with some sort of Halloween story from growing up and I for the life of me cannot remember anything out of the normal trick or treating that ever happened to me.  I think that on last years’ Halloween show, I mentioned my experiences with Rocky Horror and Ouija boards.  And while trying to plan this episode, all I could think about was Rocky Horror and the Ouija boards which confirmed to me, Halloween really isn’t my thing.

So I put some thought into what sort of spooky, weird thing could I talk about.  Then I figured, I would talk about my thoughts on the paranormal.  Again, I know some of y’all think it’s made up stuff, but I feel that there is something out there.  I don’t feel that when we die, that’s it.  I have no proof, but I know what I feel and what I have experienced.

I have always had a fascination with things unknown, except aliens.  I have no interest in aliens.  It stems from something I saw when I was eleven or twelve years old.  I was lying in bed and it was pretty quiet, with the exception of the low buzz of the TV in the living room.  Something made me turn over and look at the closet.  There was a sizable misty thing floating there.  It has a face, I felt it was male.  And I panicked.  I pulled my covers over my head and thought in my head, “Go away!  Go away!  Go away!”   I peeked my head out and it was gone.  This also started my need to have a radio or TV on when I go to sleep.  Somewhere in my twelve year old mind, the music kept the ghost away.

The next night, I kept looking over to the closet area to see if the mystery man and he didn’t reappear.  I was so relieved.  I was too old to tell my mommie that I was seeing the boogie man or whatever.  But she probably wouldn’t be surprised being that I was her child that was scared of Herman Munster walking through his front door, Thriller with Michael Jackson, and Ghostbusters.  Yes, Ghostbusters.  The next night I still looked for the ghost man and again nothing.  I think it was a week before I stopped looking.  I think the night I didn't consciously think about the ghost man, I crawled into bed and curled up with my pillow.  I was half asleep when I got that, "I should turn around" feeling again.  I refused to turn over.  I didn’t want to turn around.  But then something happened that made me turn around.  Something grabbed my foot.  And it didn't really feel like a hand, it was cold and almost claw like.  Or maybe someone with long finger nails.  I turned over so fast, I almost fell out of bed.  There was nothing there.  I got up and turned on the light, looked under my bed, I have no idea what happened.  This occurrence made me extremely curious as to what I saw and what the hell touched my foot!

I would check books out at libraries and read as much as I could and look at as many pictures I could get my hands on.  I think part of my curiosity was I didn’t want to be crazy.  This led into my fascination with séances and witches.  At some point, I tried to have a séance to contact Elvis with my friend Trishauna and my sister.  When I asked, "Elvis, are you here?"  My sister promptly said in her best Elvis, "No, I'm upstairs, taking a crap."  That ended that séance.

My pal Shannon, whom I talked about in my last post, and I were convinced we had some sort of power.   We had found a book on spells somewhere and in it was a spell to stop the rain.  We were in the middle of a drought so we changed the words around to stop the heat and bring on the rain.  It was such a coincidence that it started raining an hour later.  And not just a sprinkle, a full blown thunder storm.   It became our little secret that we were witches.  We would collect stones said to have healing powers and read books on using the elements on talking to the dead and casting spells.  No, we didn’t do drugs.  We were impressionable 14 year old girls reading too much teen fiction.  

All joking aside, my interest in the paranormal has continued and I am still curious about things I see and hear.  I enjoy a lot of shows like Ghost Adventures (which i affectionately call the douchebag show), Ghost Hunters, and Dead Files.  And with recent dreams I have had, it has me more intrigued.  I don’t know that I could do a ghost hunt; the thought of hearing a voice or seeing something petrifies me.  I'm afraid I won't like what I hear and see.  Maybe someday I will grow the balls to go to a haunted house.  Or, I will let the professionals do it on TV.

I'll Make a Man Out of You

I was having a bit of a problem coming up with something to talk about and took to the Twitters and Google + to see if I could milk my listener pals for ideas.  My non-sexual life partner Bjorn gave me the idea of talking about trips I have taken or meeting people.  Then I realized that tomorrow is an old friend of mine’s birthday.  And although I have talked about Shannon before, I thought I could go a little more into detail of our friendship and things we did as kids.

A refresher on when Shannon and I met.  We were in the seventh grade.  He mother was an aide for our middle school and she had transferred back.  Shannon was and is a gorgeous girl and was dating my crush Michael.  A side note to Michael is my mom kinda dated his father when I was in high school.  Moving on.  Michael and I talked a lot about his drawing.  Not only was he cute he was an artist.  Shannon confronted me on trying to steal her man.  And me, not being one for confrontation, caved and said oh no, we’re just friends, we talk about art.  And through that, we because close friends and I was close with her parents and younger brother.

A little back story before I get into my first Shannon story.  When I was 13, I met the first love of my life David and his friend Mike.  They were 15 and soooo dreamy.  I think initially, David and my pal Janessa were trying to hook Mike and me up, but neither of us were interested.  But Mike and I turned out to be great friends for a good amount of time.  I thought Mike and Shannon would be a great couple and I made it so. 

The three of us hung out together a lot, but I did know when to make myself scarce.  A lot of dinners, movies, or just hanging out at Shannon’s house.  If there were nights Shannon couldn’t come out, Mike and I would go park in some random parking lot and listen to really bad music.  Mostly Bon Jovi.  He would try and teach me the “joys” of Metallica and talk about how he wanted an Acura Integra.  On the weekends from time to time when Mike had to work, Shannon and/or I would go hang out with him as they closed.  One Friday, my stepdad was going to take  us, but as he drove out of the drive way, the brakes went out on the car.  So Shannon and I hopped on the bus.  We came to find out that the bus wasn’t going its usual route and dropped us off about two miles down the road from the Round Table Pizza Mike worked at.  In order to get there, we had to walk over this bridge that had no lighting.  We were scared that someone was going to come grab us.  So we marched down the road “singing” Ace of Base.  And by singing, I mean loudly screeching.  And we were laughing so hard we almost peed our pants.  But that’s how we rolled; that’s kind of how I roll now. 

When we were sixteen, Shannon had just returned from living in Colorado for a year and her parents needed to go back and pick up some little things that were left behind and invited me to go along.  So Shannon and I climbed into the back seat of their black Pinto station wagon with red interior and we headed up to Grandby, Colorado.  I can say that I have seen the Rocky Mountains and they are quite amazing. 

Once night, on our way to Colorado, we stopped in St. George, Utah.  We were sleeping in a motel 6 or similar.  Shannon and I in one bed, parent in the other, and Ricky (the little brother) on the floor.  At some point in the night, Shannon threw her arms around me and mumbled in her sleep that she would make a man out of me.  I started laughing so hard, I woke he up.  It became the long running joke of the trip how Shannon was gonna make a man out of me yet. 

From St. George we made our way to Virgin River, Nevada.  On the way there, Shannon’s dad, whose name is Dave but I called Cliff joked that he was going to throw us in the Virgin River and if we sank, he knew who was a good girl and who wasn’t.  And while the parents were betting their nickels in, us kids played in the arcade, had $4.99 prime rib dinners, and crashed in the hotel. 

When we finally made it to Grandby, the parents showed me around the very small town.  Took me to little shops, and basically made me fall in love with the place.  I got to meet Shannon’s friends she made in Colorado where they took us out and I bought cigarettes and felt super cool because she didn’t even card me.  We went to some random guys house and drank Coors.  Shannon told me if we sucked on pennies, the parents wouldn’t be able to smell the beer on us.  So like fools, we sucked on dirty pennies.  BARF!  The parents may have known, but didn’t say anything. 

On the drive back from Colorado, Shannon and I decided that we were going to start a band and call it Greg after one of her hot guy friends.  I had found a touristy Sherriff Greg pin at a gas station and of course we had to buy one.  After a while, we both got a little sad.  Shannon missed her pals in Colorado, and I had fallen in love with the place, I was sad to be leaving. 

Shannon and I shared an affinity for music; all kinds.  We used to listen to everything from Pearl Jam, Hole, Elvis, to Garth Brooks all in the same night.  For my graduation, I was given Alanis Morrisette tickets and I took her.  When Violent Femmes came to town, we drove down to the club and rocked out on the beach outside. 

Shannon is in Idaho somewhere with her now husband and their two and a half children.  I said in my show about girlfriends that i wished we were still as close, but things happen, people grow apart.  I am also questioning her taste in music now a days.  But I will always have a genuine fondness for her and hope she's having a happy birthday.

Ho-Hum

I am hesitant to discuss this next topic.  But because I have upset some people with my comments, I feel the need to apologize and give my side of the story.  

The Podcast Awards are going on and a few of my fellow podcasting pals have been nominated.  So I want to first congratulate Ramble Redhead, Cocktails and Cream Puffs, Pod is My Copilot, and Greetings From Nowhere for their nominations.  If you listen to these shows you can participate at  http://www.podcastawards.com/ and vote for  them.  

Here is where my outlook on this isn't so popular.  My goal has always been to interact with people and get to know them.  That is how I choose the shows I listen to.  I enjoy getting to know the hosts and hearing about their lives.  I have found that in the last four years I have been involved in podcasting, this award show turns a lot of my favorite shows into 30-60 minute campaign speeches and the constant reminders of how I need to vote makes my online life miserable.  The worst part for me is having three of my favorite shows nominated in one category.  I don't want to pick who I like more because they are three different shows that I listen to for three different reasons.  I am afraid that someones' feelings will get hurt.  I don't want to be responsible for that.  Podcasting is supposed to be fun and this is not fun to me.  The only positive I can see coming out of this is more exposure for Pride48.com.  Which, in my opinion, deserves the recognition for bringing us all together.  

I know that I made some bitchy comments on Twitter and Google + and they have made people feel bad.  For that I am so very sorry.  I do wish my fellow podcasters the best of luck and I do vote everyday, I just won't tell you who I vote for.  Except for Greetings for Nowhere, those are my girls and they are not competing against any of the other shows I enjoy.

Now with that crap out of the way.

So Derek went for his physical for work and came back with some concerning news.  Now Derek is 5'7" and a huge 138 pounds.  But the nurse informed Derek that his blood pressure was very high.  I believe he said it was 159/90.  I about fell out of my chair.  And with just finding out that one of the contributing factors of my father's death was his blood pressure, I panicked.  Even his parents got loud with him, and they never do.  So I told Derek my fears and explained that he needed to do something about it.  He gave me his same sing song of yeah yeah he'll get to it.  I lost it.  I think me getting loud and pointing out things about how he was feeling that he didn't know I knew, like the getting dizzy when he stands up, really got to him.  And for the last few days, he hsa been trying to wake up at decent times, exercise, and not live on what junk food is within walking distance.  He is also going to try to quit smoking, which I love the idea of.  He stinks most of the time.  bleck.

Other than that, life has been very ho-hum.  Work is great, I am still swimming almost everyday.  And we're getting Derek ready to start work in November.  I think he's pretty excited that he doesn't have to wear a uniform and he will be making a considerable amount of money.  All he wants to do is take care of me and he told me that this gives him the opportunity to do so.  Made me feel good to see him so confident and happy.

So I close out this post with a happy birthday to my pal Nought.  He is 36 today and will always be older than me.  Many happy returns to you my dear.

Relief

I took last weekend off from doing the little show, things got extremely hard for me.  And not in the fun way.  I guess I should start with the dream I had.

Now I know some of you don't believe in a higher power, some of you do, and some of you think psychics are charlatans.  I; however, believe there is something out there beyond our understanding, and while some people claim to have some sort of powers, I do believe some people have gifts.  And I do believe that people who have passed do try to contact you.

When I initially started my anti-depressants, I didn't have one single dream I could remember.  I did go to my doctor's to have my dosage adjusted because I was becoming lethargic and numb.  And while I don't want to feel heartache and pain, I would rather feel that versus nothing.

After a few days of the lower dosage, I had a dream that if I hadn't woken up, I would have sworn it was real.  My sister and I were working in a Jack in a Box, but we were owners or a higher up person because we were dressed in business attire.  My sister came to my office and said, "He's here to talk to you."  I asked her if he had talked to her and she said yes.  I walked out into what looked like a hospital waiting room, but was still a Jack in the Box.  There was two men sitting together, laughing.  One older than the other.  I walked up to the younger and cleared my throat.  He looked at me, and it was like looking into my own eyes.  I knew it was my father.  I stuck my hand out and introduced myself.  He laughed and said, "I know who you are."  I said something like, well I haven't seen you in 17 years, I wasn't sure if you would.

He looked at me sternly and said we need to talk and I agreed.  He got up and started walking out the door.  He walked with a limp, but walked fast.  I walked out the door into what looked like a hospital, or maybe a hotel hallway.  My father had walked to a set of double doors that you would find in any major grocery store and I followed.  I was yelling, "Hey, I want answers, I want to know where you were."  We walked through the doors that looked like a parking lot full of green cars.  He turned and said "I was in the middle of nowhere."  Then turned and kept walking.  I again yelled, "I want answers, I want to know why you left."  He turned and kinda laughed and said, "Why does it matter, I'm dead."  I kind of stared at him and stuttered that I deserved to know.  He said, "Vanessa, you deserve a great deal, but you will never get it from me."  Then I woke up.  And when I woke up, I was more stunned that I had waken up in my own bed then the dream I had.

So a few days had passed and the box the coroner sent with my father's belongings arrived.  I wanted to tear it open right away, but couldn't bring myself to do it.  i got some reassurance from my twitter pals that it would be ok to wait until I was ready.  I made it to later that night.  The first thing i pulled out was a picture of a grade school class with five or six older men sitting in with them.  I finally see a picture of my father after 17 years of not really remembering what he looked like.  I handed the picture to Derek and asked him to pick out which one was my father.  I had to be sure I recognized the right man.  Derek said, this is him, you have the same eyes.  Looking at additional pictures, my father had a cane.  He had knee surgery that affected how he walked.  He was also in a wheel chair at some point.  It could be a coincidence that my father had a limp in my dream, but he didn't have one the last time I saw him, why would I give him one in my dream?

Also in the box was pictures of eagles, pictures of military ships, his wallet, photo albums, his hat, his vest, his bible, his jewelry box, a collection of military pins, five or six zippo lighters with eagles on them, an eagle belt buckle, a few random craft things he made.  And as I went through everything, I felt nothing.  I really felt like I just got a random stranger's things in the mail.  Essentially that is what it was.

Then there was his medical records from when he moved to Wyoming and going to the VA hospital there.  What I read was extremely heartbreaking.  My father was severely mentally and physically ill.  He was physically and mentally abused as a child and his father was an alcoholic.  There was mention of multiple suicide attempts, hearing a voice that told him to kill himself, was on drugs for everything from cholesterol to psychosis.  He did reference my sister and I a few times.  He initially said he was afraid of physically hurting us.  He also said he felt guilty for leaving us and losing contact.  He was most recently diagnosed with agoraphobia and wouldn't leave his house, even to go to the doctors.  He had a case worker that had to check on him every so often just to make sure he was alive and taking care of himself.  Which is how they found out he passed away.

At this point, I still hadn't found out how my father passed and the death certificate was not in the box.  I called the coroner and asked for her to either send it or call and tell me how he went.  With everything in his medical records, I was 99% sure that I was going to be told he overdosed and it wouldn't be an accident.

I received his death certificate in the mail yesterday.  I have never been so relieved to be wrong.  He had a heart attack.  And while it can be explained that he did it to himself due to his horrible diet and pack and a half a day habit, he didn't swallow a ton of pills or whatever form of suicide he could have chosen.  And while I am not happy that my father is dead, I am so damn happy I was wrong.

I also received a letter from the cemetery his ashes were buried in that every quarter they have a ceremony for soldiers who did not have a ceremony when they were buried.  They played taps, shot the guns, read his name, rank, and place of birth, and presented a flag in his honor.  That gave me some comfort because I felt guilty that no one was there when he was buried.  No one was there to show any love, grief, or support.  And while my father and I did not have any sort of relationship, he was still a human being who was in the Navy during Vietnam.  He deserved something.

And for the first time since this all started, I can breath without my chest hurting, I can almost fall asleep with no problem, and I don't start crying at the mention of him passing.  I have the biggest sense of relief that I can really stop searching, I really do know where he is, and he had feelings about leaving his family behind.

Vegas with Pride48

So last Friday, the 16th, I hopped in a cab and made my way to Tucson International Airport and made my way to Las Vegas to FINALLY meet a group of podcasters and a handful of listeners that I have only known by voice and picture.  Normally, I would have been scared shitless, but for some reason, I was actually pretty calm.  It may be that I was medicated, but I really think I was just so damn excited to see everyone, I didn't let my nerves get the best of me.  The flight from Phoenix to Vegas was BLAH!  Most of you know I am a fat girl, so I get hot easy.  Well that, and it's a side affect of one of the pills I take.  So I squeeze my ass into my seat, only to have a big boy squeeze into the seat next to me.  Oh yeah, no air-conditioning.  I was a sweaty mess by the time I got to the baggage area and looked for the darling Melissa.  She very graciously came and picked me up and dropped me back off at the airport.  Can I tell you what a gem she is?  Well she is one.  A pretty, sweet thing she is.

When we finally get to the Luxor, I start running into folks, new and familiar.  All within 10 minutes I saw the Foul Monkeys, That's What She Said, Ramble Redhead, and one Cocktail and Cream puff.  And this is also where Nessa got her first bong of juicy goodness!  A giant slushie drink with booze!  I was a toasted girl thanks to my BFF Waylon!

I got to my room, showered, and made my way to the podcasting suite where I met more familiar faces and voices.  And as i looked around the room, I counted the penises I had seen.  By the time the trip was over, I was up to six and one set of balls.  I know, my mother is so proud.

Friday night, I did a little Casina with some pals and went upstairs to listen to Ricky snore and have him knee me in the butt several times.  There was little sleep had that night, but I was fine with it.  The lack of sleep probably contributed to my drunken state on Saturday, that and the large amount of Vodka I consumed.  I couldn't feel my face at some point and it became the running joke.  People continuing to ask me the next day if I could feel my face.  After the shows, I spent some time with Christina and Nicole.  Teaching Nicole how to gamble.  It was tons of fun!

Sunday was a little sad because I had to say good bye to my roommates for the weekend.  But I will be making my way to Chicago soon to see them!  I promise!  But I had lots of shows to listen to and participate in.  I had a fabulous time.  Then I started my goodbyes and started doing what I do best....Cry.

I didn't do a show of my own due to lack of time on the schedule and I was really going as a fan.  But I was surprised and thankful that I got to make several guest appearances on other shows and the opening skit.  Can I tell you listener pals how proud and happy I was to be involved in Pride48 this year?  The enormity of it all, the very special, fabulous people I got to meet.  And with a group that large, you would think there would be some drama.  We really did all get along famously.  I really feel like I made some great friends and look forward to interacting with the group and having more people show up next year!  Oh yes listener pals, Pride48 2012 will be happening, and I will be in attendance.

I know that some of you want juicy gossip and want to know the details not available live on the stream.  But you know what they say, What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.

I do want to give an update on my health, mental and otherwise.  I went to the doctors on this past Friday and I have lost more weight and my blood pressure was normal.  Not high, not borderline high, but normal!  I have been borderline high for the last six years.  Also, my anti-depressant medication was adjusted so I am not so lethargic and unfocused.  I feel good.  I will say that the coroner did send my father's belongings to me that I am expecting any day.  I am anxious about it, but I think I will handle it considerably better then maybe a month ago.

Heigh Ho, Heigh Ho

So exciting news in Casa de Hello Nessa this week.  Derek found a job!  And not just any job; he will be joining the GEICO family as a Claims representative.  Because we love in the same home and are a couple, he couldn't work in my department, but he went through the hoops they call a hiring process and starts on November 7th.

I am very proud of him for putting in his effort and not settling for another retail job.  Not that that would be necessarily bad, but I know Derek was frustrated in his last position as a shift supervisor at Rite Aid.  GEICO will give him opportunities to use his smarts and to really get to a good place in the company.  It was great to see him walk into the house with his chest a little puffed out and him be proud of himself.  I am a very proud ex-wife right now.

After some victory laps around the living room, dancing around how he got a job, he went into the bedroom and grabbed my engagement ring and came out and said, "now that I can take care of you, will you marry me again?"  He was in his boxer shorts and had the biggest grin on his face.  How could I say no?

The best part of the interview process and Derek getting a job was the night before his final interview.  I take a tranquilizer for my anxiety and was passed out.  I get shaken by a very concerned Derek.  He sounds like he is on the verge of tears.  He says, "Baby, I was trimming my fringe (bangs) and thought my sides looked too long, so I took a razor and trimmed those.  Then I figured the back might look shaggy so i tried to trim it with the razor, but I can't see it.  Can you tell me if it looks ok?!"  I look up and see this:

I think I counted 13 patches where Derek had tried to trim his hair, but just shaved himself bald.  I was dopey because of the meds and couldn't get up to fix it right away.  So I tell him, DONT TOUCH YOUR HAIR, I will fix it in the morning.  I just kept telling him to not touch his hair until I passed back out.

At some point, Derek walked to Wal-Mart and bought clippers and attempted to fix his hair.  It looks ok for the most part.  Minus the 13 bald spots.  He told the manager who interviewed him that "his wife was a better cook than a hairdresser."  If I ever meet this man, I am going to have to pretend I fucked up Derek's head.  Butthead!

Sedated

After my last show, I thought getting some more things off my chest would make me feel better.  And it did, to an extent.  Monday Derek came to live here permanently, which has also helped.  I started swimming for about an hour almost every day, and that helped.  But the physical pain I was feeling, the inability to turn my brain off at night, and the random waves of anger and sadness.  I knew I wasn't "back to normal."  In fact, I was finding new things to stress and worry about.  I can't relax and let it go like I used to.  I was also worried that what if I did have a heart attack and they misdiagnosed me.  I was driving myself crazy.

I had a follow up appointment with Dr. Abraham, who will be my primary care physician.  He is a soft spoken man, bald, with a wild beard.  He was also wearing a bolo tie.  Something about him, I instantly liked and felt comfortable with.  I found out three things during this visit.  I lost five pounds in the last week, I am indeed 5'8" and not 5'6" as I always thought, and I have depression with a side of sever anxiety.  Oh, and I didn't have a heart attack.  My blood pressure was actually closer to normal than high.

We talked about my different option to handle my stuff and the doctor decided that Cymbolta with a side of Lorazapan would be best.  I take them both at night because I have a low tolerance to pills that make me sleepy. But I have found that if I sleep through the night, the day time isn't so difficult.  The doctor said it will take two weeks for my body to regulate.  I am trying to be patient, but I am so eager to feel normal, it's hard.  He did sign me out for two days a month in case I have bad reactions or just have bad days.  I won't use them, but it a comfort to know I won't lose my job because I am having mental issues.

My next step is to stick to the pills, stick to the swimming, and find a good therapist.  As much as I share with you all, I feel like I need someone who can show me tools that will help me with everything.  I am really working on me right now, and for the first time, I don't feel selfish about it.

In other news, Derek is here and hey we're living in sin.  Our divorce was final on September 1st.  We both have agreed that we want to remarry, I am just waiting for him to ask me.  He is trying so hard to be understanding with my break downs and is being tremendously supportive of me trying to be healthy physically and mentally.  This is a much more mature Derek.  I am proud of him for his efforts.  He is diligently looking for a job and keeps the house relatively clean.  He's taking care of me when I need it, and is giving me space when I need that.  I wish we didn't have to go through the last year, but I don't think I would appreciate him as much as I do if we hadn't.

Nothing too exciting this week, just really working on feeling better.  I want to be decent for pride48 in Vegas on the 15th.  I am super happy that I will get to see a bunch of people again, plus meet some new folks.  Put faces to the names.  I really can't wait!

Anxiety

I really thought I had a grasp on my father's death.  The more I tried not to think about it, the more it consumed every thought I had.  It got to the point where sleeping was hard to do and concentrating on anything was nearly impossible.

On Monday night, I felt ok.  Climbed into bed and was struck with a feeling of confusion and panic.  I took some deep breaths and told myself I would be okay and try to sleep.  I would doze off and my arm would jerk and I would go through the same cycle of trying to relax and go back to sleep.  With every little noise and every breath I took, I could not shake the feeling something was wrong with me.  Almost like a feeling that someone was watching me.  Then the pains started.  My chest got tight, I got shooting pains in my arms and legs.  I was freaking out.

Tuesday, I called in sick to work.  The lack of sleep and the constant feeling that I was on the verge of having a breakdown, I couldn't go to work like that.  So I tried watching TV, I tried playing around on the computer, I slept in tiny increments, but nothing solid.  I fell asleep that night pretty easy, probably because I was so tired from the night before.

Wednesday, I woke up and was having heat flashes, more pains in the arms and chest, shaky and nauseous.  I talked myself out of going to the hospital, I would go after work.  I don't want my new co-workers thinking I'm a wimp and already calling in after two months.  I get to work, log in, and start crying.  I couldn't stop.  I know I said at some point, I think I am freaking out.  I vaguely remember getting to the emergency room.  I do remember telling the lady inside I was having a heart attack and crying.  They put a bracelet on my wrist and asked me a million questions that I don't even remember.

I was taken to a room in the back where I got to wear a nice hospital gown and "watch" some NCIS show.  I couldn't stop crying.  Someone would come in and ask what has happened in the last few months and each nurse was surprised I hadn't been in sooner.  Then they called in the mental health manager.  She held my hand, reassured me I wasn't crazy, and I was normal.  Let me talk and cry it out.  She even gave me a hug, which I desperately needed.  She told me I am internalizing too much and it is ok to reach out to others for help.  Something I am not terribly good at.  I don't want people to feel sorry for me or pity me.  But I am realizing after several talks with my mom, that it is okay to reach out and have someone on my side.  I wish it wasn't so hard for me to do that.

After two hours of monitoring me to make sure I didn't have a heart attack, they gave me a prescription for an anti-anxiety medicine, gave me a booklet on grief, a phone number for grief counseling, and a note to skip work for another day.  The physical pains are subsiding a bit, I still feel a little weird, but I know I will be okay after taking some deep breaths and letting myself grieve my loss over again.

I am doing okay for right now.  I am mostly during the day, but when it gets dark and quiet, my brain won't let me turn it off.  That's when I take a pill.  I can mellow out and just sleep.  The truth is, I am more angry at my father than sad he is gone.  I mean, he had been gone from my life for nearly 20 years.  I accepted that he was gone.  I mourned him then.  I didn't expect or want to mourn him again.

What really is pissing me off is my father was mentally ill.  To what extent I don't know yet.  But people keep saying to me that his leaving was the best thing he could have ever done for me, knowing how abusive he was to me.  And as an adult, I get that.  As a daughter, I don't know if I will be able to understand why.

My whole life I wanted to know why my father left.  I will never hear the answer I want or deserve and that has pissed me off.  I am also holding a lot of guilt.  The thought of my father suffering with his demons alone, dying alone, and being buried alone haunts me.  I have that gene that wants to help and fix everyone.  I couldn't fix my father, nor did I get a chance to try.  Logically I know that I couldn't fix him, I couldn't help him, and it is certainly not my fault he was alone.  But as his daughter, it's a harsh reality and a very hard pill to swallow.

In all this, I had one moment of complete peace.  I had just returned home from the pharmacy and on the railing heading up to my upstairs neighbor was a hawk or eagle of some sort.  It was the largest bird I had ever seen outside a zoo.  I stopped walking and just stared at him and he stared at me.  And my mind was quiet.  As silly as it sounds I started talking to him.  Asking him to hold still so I could take his picture and I just thought he was so amazing.  He cocked his head from side to side like he was listening to me.  After I took his picture, I told him thank you and walked away, looking back to see if he flew off.  But he just sat there and watched me leave.  That three to five minutes I stood there with this bird, I may sound nuts to some of you, but it was an amazing silence and I could finally breath.

HN59 Girlfriends

So, on Thursday night we were having another monsoon storm when I heard a thunder crack so loud it made me jump out of my chair.  I decided to lay off the internet and catch up on my DVR.  Turn on the TV and...nothing.

Restart the DVR...Nothing...No satellite signal.  I figured it was because the storm was still in the area so I went to bed.  Woke up the next day...No satellite signal.  I call the Direct TV and BWA BWA no TV until Monday.

Then I remembered that because I have HBO, I can access shows online.  I have been on this Sex in the City kick.  I didn't ever see the show when it originally ran and I haven't seen the first movie.  But I was catching the edited shows on E! and all of a sudden I needed to watch them.  So I log onto the HBO and start watching from episode one.

At first I was endeared with the friendship the woman had...Then the show turned into something I could not relate to at all.  Granted, I don't have a core group of girlfriends, but I used to.  In jr. high and high school, I had a core group of girlfriends I couldn't live without.

In Jr. High it was:

Janessa was a short blonde with green eyes.  Everyone expected us to be best pals because of the name and we didn't disappoint.  i spent the night at her dad's house all the time.  We swapped boyfriends more than once.  We even tried to hatch a plan to fix my mother up with her father.  Her and I went to our first concert together.  I was the first person she called when she lost her virginity.  I got into more fights with Janessa then anyone.  Probably because I loved her so much and I was watching her self-destruct.  Sometimes you have to let them go.  I saw her about six-months before I left and she's doing great.

Heather was the new girl in school.  Blonde and pretty.  The "popular" girls made fun of her because she was wearing white jeans and they had a red Levi tag on the ass.  They teased her about starting her period and almost made her cry.  I didn't give a shit.  She seemed nice enough so I introduced myself and we were instant friends.  I spent a lot of time with her and her mom.  The first time I saw Rocky Horror was with Heather.  The first time I got drunk was with Heather.  We were 15 and at her neighbors house drinking Coronas.  Her neighbors brother just got of jail and his 19 year old self was quite smitten with Heather.  So much so, he tried to put it in her butt.  I saw Heather run out of the closet they were hiding in and into the bathroom.  I said something like, take a shit, you'll feel better.  She and I swapped one boyfriend.  Turns out once was enough and our friendship dwindled.

Shannon was a classroom aid's daughter.  She was a petite, blonde, big blue eyes, and beautiful.  We came together because we like the same boy.  Mike Mysak.  He was dreamy and an artist and was Shannon's boyfriend.  And how dare I be talking to him.  I don't remember what we talked about, but we became fast friends.  I also became fast friends with her family.  I spend a lot of time with Shannon and her family through jr. high and high school.  Even if we didn't hang out in the same circles in high school.  I was still in her life and she was still in mine.  I was one of the first people to know that Shannon was having a baby.  I remember when Chloe was born.  I had come home from Taco Bell, Nachos in hand and my mom said Gayle, Shannon's mom, had called and said Chloe arrived.  I dropped my Nachos on the ground, ran to my car, and hauled ass to the hospital.  Chloe was perfect.  Shannon is someone I wish was still in my life as a constant, but I get her in small flashes.  I will take it.  She is an amazing mom to two girls and a step mom to another and still beautiful in every way.

In high school, I was in a different district from my girls and the year apart took it's toll.  When I transferred to the same school as my girls, it was very different.  And I went on a search for a new core group.  This brought Gina, Karen, and Karin.

I have talked about Gina before, so I will spare the details again.

Karen with an 'E' was Gina's best friend since elementary school and lived in the same Town houses.  I somehow fit myself in and Karen and I found we had something in common.  We liked to tease Gina.  Oh and we liked to flirt with the security guard so he would buy us cigarettes.  Karen made me laugh, and loud.  We were goof balls.  But as Gina and I grew closer, Karen and I grew apart.  I was taking her childhood friend as far as she was concerned and that was unforgivable.  She lives in Kentucky with her son and is a born again.

Karin with an "I" also lived in the same town houses as Gina and Karen.  I met her when she started working at Burger King.  She had a Honda Civic and listened to Keith Sweat and DMX.  Karin made me laugh all the time.  We used to drive around in her car and to amuse herself, she would roll up the windows and turn the heat on so it blew on our feet.  I would yell at her my feet are hot and she would laugh her big laugh.  For those of you who comment on my laugh,  you would love Karin's laugh.  She married her long time boyfriend and ended up divorcing fairly quickly.  But she isn't one to let life keep her down.  She owns her own condo, has a hunky marine boyfriend, and seems to be very happy.

So while watching Sex in the City did resonate with me like it must have with other women, it did remind me that I didn't always not get along with females and that I actually did have some really great friends.  And while I may not be close with them anymore, I still have a lot of good memories, and that has made me feel good this week.

I Hope He Did

Long time listener pals will know that I have often joked about having daddy issues.  I have wanted to do a show about my father for a long time.  I could never find the right time to sit and talk about things I have been ashamed of for the majority of my life.  But I have come to a point where if I don't purge these things, I will never feel better about myself or my relationship with my father.

I will start off by saying that these are my memories and they may not be accurate.  I really think I have blocked some things out.  

My father's name was Odin, he went by Lee.  He was born in 1957 in Colorado, but I am not sure.  He married my mom in November of 1978, when I was six-months old.  I don't know what he did for a living when I was a baby, but I remember him being a security guard.  He took me to work with him once.  A nice lady gave me candy.

I don't remember the first time my father hit me, nor do I remember the last time.  I do remember the routine.  He would go in his room and get his belt, close my bedroom window, close my bedroom door, and tell me to bend over in front of the closet.  I remember him telling me if I screamed he's hit me harder.  I remember always being afraid.  I used to think that my father got off on hearing me cry and scream.  He used to lock me in the trunk of the car and laugh when I would scream to get out.  He told me I needed to toughen up.

I remember once I had done something that made him mad, but he didn't have time to "discipline" me then.  Told me I was lucky.  Two days later we had picked up a bed for my sister.  He built the bed, made it, then looked at me and said, it time to take care of you now.  He pushed me into my room and did the routine.  He would tell me in the morning he was going to come home and whip me and I would spend all day praying he would forget.  He never did.

When I was six, I had a pink shirt with Garfield on the front.  I remember him telling me to put it away.  I was six...I folded it as best a six year old could and put it in the wrong drawer.  This set him off.  This was the angriest I remember him being.  I couldn't go to school after the incident.  When I did return, I remember my teacher asking me something that lead me to say my daddy hit me.  She sent me to the nurse and the nurse checked me for bruises.  The police were called to my house.  I don't remember anything about them being there other than they being there and my mother being furious at me for showing the nurse my backside.  Shortly after, my mother and father split up and My mother, sister, and I moved in with my grandparents.

At first, my dad was attentive.  We saw him every weekend.  Talked to him on the phone almost every day.  But one day I had called, and he couldn't hear me.  I called again, he couldn't hear me.  I called the next day,  he couldn't hear me.  I called again and his girlfriend, Pam, could and put him on the phone.  He said he didn't know why he couldn't hear me and it must have been the connection.  This happened for a month.  I wasn't stupid and when he answered the phone I yelled at the top of my lungs, "Daddy i know you can hear me and I love you and wish you would love me."  He hung up.

In this time frame, the excuses started with why he couldn't see up.  The last time my mom tried to drop us off, he answered the door, I remember him being naked.  He told us we had to leave, that we couldn't visit and closed the door.  That was the last time I was dropped off for a visit.  I was eight.  There were a few phone calls, promises of visits, promises of lots of things.  It is heartbreaking to know at the age of eight that your father has no intention of taking care of you or seeing you, and soon even talking to you.

A few years later, I answered the phone and heard a very familiar voice ask for my mother.  She was at work.  He asked me if I knew who he was.  I said, "Yes, Lee.  I know who you are."  He went into a I've missed you, I want to make it up to you, but I've been sick.  Same speech I had heard a dozen times.  After we hung up, I called my mother at work asking why she had been hiding him from me.  In my mind, she knew where he was and was talking to him, but didn't tell me.  She was hiding him from me.  For my own good, now that i can look back as an adult.  I was so confused.  We did end up seeing him...In a mental hospital, where he had been committed for trying to commit suicide.  That was the last time I saw my father.  I was 12.

When my father was released, he moved to Colorado to take care of his mother.  And at first, the phone calls were regular, I think there were some letters.  For Christmas, he sent me a bible.  I am not nor have i ever been religious and didn't understand the gift.  My father was angry because I didn't appreciate it.  I was 12!  All I cared about was New Kids on the Block and having bangs.  I still have the bible.  He wrote in it.  It's the only gift he had given me.  And while I may not have any interest in reading it, I know it is there.

Soon the letters stopped, the phone calls dwindled.  Soon his phone was disconnected.  I would have to call my grandmother and tell her I lost his number and she would give me the new one.  This game continued until 1994.  Around this time, my father wanted me to go to Colorado and see him.  Told me he was saving up to buy my an airplane ticket.  Called me one day to tell me he had purchased it with United and he couldn't wait to see me.  I called United and what do you know, no plane ticket.  I called him out and the lies started flowing how the airline made a mistake and he would fix it.  I gave up.

My best friend in high school's name was Shannon.  She had moved to Colorado for a year and came back.  Her family had to drive up to pick up a few things and invited me to come along.  I accepted.  Shannon's father asked me if i wanted to see my dad.  That he would drive me to Denver if i wanted.  I declined.  I knew Lee wouldn't want to see me.  I enjoyed my trip and seeing parts of the land that I may have never seen otherwise.

While I was gone, my father had called.  I don't know  how the conversation went, but he knew I had been in Colorado.  The phone call I got when I was back home I have titled "The Best and Worst Moment of My Life."  Lee screamed at me, what an ungrateful bitch I was, and how dare I not tell him I was going to Colorado.  How dare I keep that from him.  I stuck up for myself.  I said he hadn't given two shits about me for years, he lied all the time, and I deserve better.  He then told me I was not to talk to my father that way.  I told him, if you acted like my father, even once, maybe I could show you that respect.  I also said, I know you are lying to Grandma about why you don't talk to us and why you don't see us.  She was ill at that time, so i told him, I will let her continue thinking that her only son is a model human being and father.  He thanked me.  He thanked me for protecting him from my poor grandmother who thought my mother was keeping us from her.  He then said to me that if I wanted to be in his life, I had to call him.  I said NO!  You are the adult, you are my father, if you want to be in my life, you will call me.  I was 16...I never talked to him again.

On July 28th, my mother called me telling me that a police officer had come to her door looking for my sister. That my sister had to call someone regarding a person in Wyoming.  My mother called and got in touch with a lovely woman.  This lovely woman is a coroner and was trying to find my sister to notify her my father was dead.

I was and still am a little in shock.  I never thought I would know when Lee passed away.  I thought it would happen and I would spend my entire life wondering.  I have looked for my father every year, around his birthday, and hope I could find him.  I don't have to look anymore.

After 20 years of not having Lee in my life,  he is now overwhelming it.  I have had to sign documents giving permission to cremate him, sell what belongings he had, and provide what information I could for his death certificate.  Which I suppose is normal for a child to do for their parent, but I can't help feeling like I shouldn't have had to do this.  Then all my anger rose to the surface again.  And what saved me from completely going into some weird rage-filled place was this coroner.

She has gone beyond the duties of her job.  Really.  I don't know anything specific because she can't tell me until his case is closed.  But she told me that he lived alone, his neighbors didn't see him for weeks at a time.  Even his close friend said he wouldn't see him for weeks.  That he was having a very hard time coping with trauma he experienced as a child.  His records indicate suicidal thoughts, anger problems, and he was not dealing with it all well.  The only reason anyone knew he passed was he was a Veteran, a fact I did not know.  They do welfare calls to check on vets from time to time.  He didn't answer his phone.

He died alone.  He died alone and probably felt like no one loved him.  And as much as I had been angry with him, I found that I was beginning to feel sad for him.  That whatever demons he had, they were too much for him.  And in all this anger and sadness, I found that I did have love for my father.  That he gave me life, and maybe that was all he could give me.

I know I will never get the answers I want as to why my father chose to leave us behind and battle his thoughts alone.  I will never quite understand.  Maybe it was to spare us from watching him deteriorate.  Maybe he didn't want to make his demons, mine and my sisters'.  Little did he know that he did.

I wish he knew that I never stopped looking and I would have done anything to help him.  In the end I just wanted him to love me, and I hope he did.  

I Can't Drive

My first car was a 1991 Ford Escort LX that I named Mollie.  I purchased Mollie before I even had a license.  I didn't get my license until I was 18.  I wasn't in a super hurry to get a car or anything, but it got to a point where if I wanted to go anywhere, I had to do it myself.  I failed my driving test the first time.  I didn't even get to finish my test, I messed up so bad, the lady had me go back to the DMV.  The second time, I barely passed.  I think I had one more error I could make before failing again.

The first thing I did when I got my license was drive to my friend April's house in Mollie, rocking out to No Doubt's Tragic Kingdom.  Mollie gave me the freedom to come and go as I pleased.  I could go to friends' houses without having to take a bus or get a ride.  I could drive to and from work.  I could take care of myself.  One night I was driving on the 8 east in San Diego when my check engine light came on, the car turned off, and at 2 in the morning, was able to take an off ramp and park in a parking lot.  She wouldn't re-start.  I called Jody and he came and picked me up and dropped me off at home.  At 6am, the tow truck dropped Mollie off in front of my house.  I don't remember what exactly happened, but it would require a new engine.  I sold Mollie to one of Jody's co-worker's for $600 and he put a new engine in it for his daughter.  I was completely devastated.  I cried when they towed her away.  I didn't take care of her like I should have.  I was completely naive to oil changes and tune ups.  I hope where ever she ended up, she was taken care of.

My second car was a 1992 Pontiac Sunbird.  It was a white convertible.  I thought it was cute and I needed a car.  Almost immediately, I started having problems with her.  I didn't even name her.  She cost me so much stress and headache, I actually came to resent the car.  It was my fault for not shopping around and I know that.  I am such an impulse shopper.  You would think I would learn from my mistakes.  

My third car was a 1998 Plymouth Breeze.  She was gold and I named her Dorothy.  I made sure I took car of this car.  Made sure all my oil changes, tune ups, ect was taken care of.  She was a good car.  She was also a grandma car.  At least that's what most of my friends said.  But I didn't care, I felt safe in Dorothy and would rather feel safe then not.  I had Dorothy for five years.  As good as she was, her repairs were becoming more costly and soon becoming more than what she was worth.  So I traded her in for my current car, BoJangles, or, BoJo for short.

BoJo is a 2003 Blue PT Cruiser.  He was the first car I purchased without a parent co-signing and the first car I felt had a male personality.  I always wanted a PT Cruiser because it had an old car look to it.  Again, I made sure I kept up on maintenance and took good care of the BoJo.  I was smart enough to purchase a warranty for BoJo and thank the heavens I did.  Between sensor and CPU problems, Without the warranty, I would have had to put in $7k-$8k in repairs for him in the last year.  My warranty expired in April of this year.  Just in time for my transmission to start leaking, my CPU to crash, my sensors to give out.  I have been in Tucson for 28 days.  I have been to the mechanic seven times.  I  have paid $2k in repairs and I am getting to the point where I am ready to move on.  Part of me is extremely sad about that.  I love BoJo, but I don't have the funds to shell out $500 every three months.  Also, with the last break down, I don't know that I feel safe.  Even thought the Service Manager and the mechanic both have reassured me he is safe to drive.  

So I am thinking that after I pay off the debt I have accumulated from his repairs, I will be looking into getting a new car.  I think I want a Honda.  But I am not sure.  I have some time to think and consider.  I am also taking suggestions.  

I will say that I think BoJo is finally fixed.  Just in time for me to run a red light, which I swear was yellow, Getting my picture taken by the lovely red light camera, and barely miss hitting someone making a u-turn who obviously didn't look to see if more cars were coming.  From what I understand, Arizona law is you have to serve a person with a ticket in person.  That if they send it via mail, I am not obligated to pay it.  So, I will have to see if I even get one.  Apparently the camera also can tell if you were speeding.  Well, when I saw the light turn yellow, I stepped on the gas.  I don't know if I was speeding, but I may be ticketed  for speeding too.  Opps!  I am just so over cars and driving right now.

Anniversaries

Two anniversaries have happened in the last week, week and a half.  On July 7th, Derek and I have been married for eight years.  Even though we spent the 7th year and the beginning of our 8th apart, we are both very excited what the rest of the year will bring us.  We have both done a lot of soul searching, a lot of growing up.  I think we are both kicking ourselves for wasting the last year.  But who knows what would have happened to us if we didn't experience it.  I think about it from time to time.  Would we still be married?  Would I be in Tucson? We will never know and there really is no reason to dwell on it.  As hard as the last year was for me, I am thankful for it.  I really am.

The second event, for lack of a better term, was on the 15th.  On July 15, 2010, I released the first Hello Nessa episode.  The show that I started for three reasons.  The first was I still wanted my foot planted in the podcasting community.  Second was I needed a place to vent my frustrations.  And third, I really had no idea who I was or wanted to be.  All I knew was I was lost, frustrated, and hurting.  As most of you can tell, I am an emotional girl.  I was so scared that me showing that side of myself would scare some of you off, or, like in elementary school, I would be teased relentlessly.  I was surprised, grateful, and humbled by the support and love I received from my listener pals.  I was able to connect with you, share your stories, be supportive.

I originally got into podcasting because the podcasters I interacted with took their time and made me feel like I belonged and made me feel like I was apart of something special.  I wanted to do that for others.  I wanted to interact with people everywhere and have them feel as important as the podcasters I loved made me feel.  I hope I have succeeded; even on a small scale.

As some of you know, I have been a podcaster for four years across three different shows.  It wasn't always fun, and lets face it, some of it was drama infested and almost ruined it for me.  But I was encouraged to keep going and my voice was important.  I am so very grateful for those who did and continue to encourage me, support me, and have shared their lives with me.

Donna Suggarz from Big Silly Homo asked me what was my favorite episode I did.  The first one that came to my mind was episode 15 called Ally.  I discussed my thoughts and feelings on the gay youth committing suicide.  Having one person contact me and say, "You made me think."  was worth it.  I have done 54 episodes over the last year and I am proud of every single one of them.  Each of them have given me an outlet to express my self.  They have given me an opportunity to grieve, an opportunity to celebrate, an opportunity to connect with my listener pals, and lastly, understand myself a little bit more.

As I tackle more subjects, I will be honest as I can with you.  As the bad parts are tackled, there will be more room for me to let in the good.  And as those good times happen, I will share them with me as long as you'll let me.  So, as I reflect on this journey to get to know myself, what have I learned...I  have learned:

Letting my guard down is so very hard
Sometimes you need to face the bad in your life to heal and to appreciate the good
I will eventually like myself

Am I perfect, no.  Will I be?  I hope not.  I am learning to embrace what makes me, me.  And I am finding that I am not so bad.

Between the Two

I had a hell of a time trying to come up with a topic for this week.  The more I thought about it, the more blocked I became.  And no fiber jokes, thank you very much.

So I took to the twitters and said I had pod-block.  Both Big Fatty and Virginia suggested that I talk about the differences between San Diego and Tucson.  Great idea that I should have totally thought about.

I think the first thing I really noticed between the two cities was the traffic lights.  In San Diego, the cars turning get the green light first.  In Tucson, the straight-a-way cars get first dibs, then the turning lanes get to go.  Keeping on the subject of cars; In San Diego, when you have to have an emissions test, you have to make an appointment, pay $60-$100 bucks (depending on the car) and the test takes 10-15 minutes.  In Tucson, you don't make an appointment, you can check online the wait times at the stations, the test costs $12.25 and took less than two minutes.  Then the DMV!  i don't know if I lucked out or what, but here in Arizona you don't make an appointment.  You get your number and wait.  I was called to the window before the lady had let go of the number.  I re-registered my car and had my new license plate in hand in 10 minutes. I got my picture taken and had my Arizona driver's license in hand and registered to vote in five.  California DMV?  Forget it.  You have to make an appointment to get a number to wait.  It takes forever, costs more, and they mail your plates and license to you.  It just seems like Arizona is more organized.  I was only out of the house for maybe an hour and a half with driving time.  I was amazed!

People seem more relaxed here in Tucson.  Like it's too damn hot to be stressed and angry.  And they're nicer than people you would run across in San Diego.  Like today, I was at the Safeway, or Vons Southwest, and a guy smiled and asked me how my day was going.  The other day, I went to a "Tucson Institution" called Eegees.  They do slushies and sammies and I told the cashier I had never been there.  She told me what was popular and what she liked.  She didn't sound like she was forced to do it.  She even pointed out a menu I could take home if I wanted.  When I rented a car, the agent pulled out a map and outlined where I was looking to go instead of selling me the GPS rental.  She also gave me her pen because it was purple and she could tell I liked purple.  I haven't met one person that was rude or indifferent.  Its bizarre.

As far as geography is concerned, Tucson is flat and surrounded by mountains.  Where I lived in San Diego, it was a valley, lots of hills, and windy roads and I would get lost all the time.  Everything here is pretty square and easy to navigate.  I haven't been lost once.  Makes me feel more confident about my move that I am not stuck in one spot because everything is hard to find.  Also...I don't have to get on a freeway or highway to get to the airport.  In San Diego it was the 125 to the 94 to the 5.  Tucson is heaven for a driver like me.

Mom and pop places seem to thrive out here too.  There are the McDonalds, the Chilis, the Pizza Huts.  But there are just as many family owned joints that are making it.  I love that.  San Diego...Not so much.

Big Fatty specifically asked about dust storms.  I have not witnessed one, but there was a "SEVERE WEATHER WARNING" for one that said when it starts, you pull over to the side of the road, turn off your car and lights and wait it out.  Heather in Phoenix told me that if you keep your lights on, someone may try to follow you and rear-end you.  I am sure I will be caught in one eventually, but so far so good.  Everyday that I have been here, there has been some sort of weather warning.  Between the heat and the monsoon storms, it's heat this, flash flood that.  But I am getting used to the heat and everything.  Today it was 90 and I felt like it was cooler.  Well granted 90 is cooler than 100, but I wasn't immediately sweating.

All in all, I would say that Tucson has a small town feeling to it.  I don't feel like everything is so smashed together.  I like the vibe of the city.  OH and people are fat here!  LOL!  I should say fat, a better description would be chubby.  At my old office, we had a ton of itty bitties and a couple chubbies.  In my new office, there are more chubby girls than the itty bittys.  Probably because its TOO DAMN HOT to go outside.  :)

I think that's a good place to stop.  I am digging my new home, I don't miss San Diego so much as I miss my sister and my friends.  But I am finding my nitch here.  I dig it.

I do not, however, love my upstairs neighbors.  I have decided they all weight 700 pounds and are doing Sweating to the Oldies work outs as noisy as they are.  JEBUS!

Five Hours and Fifty-Five Minutes

This is how long it took me to drive from Santee, CA to Tucson AZ.  Derek had worked things out with his job to come with me for a few days because I was overwhelmed.  The long drive and the thought of being alone kicked in and I was stressed out.  So at 4:00 am, Derek and I climbed into BoJo (the car) and set out on Highway 8 towards Yuma.  The animals behaved themselves wonderfully and the drive went off without a hitch.

This drive really had me freaked.  I had never driven further than Palm Springs, and half way home from that trip I was ready to die.  But I managed to keep calm and focused, even after 3 hours of sleep, and not get lost once!  It would actually be hard to get lost since it is one highway for 75% of the time.

We arrived at a Circle K gas station down the street from my new place at 9:55 am.  We stopped so I could pick up another 5 hour energy drink and Derek could get a doughnut.  I called my new place's leasing office and made my way down to sign everything and get the keys.

We got in and I set the litter box up and we unloaded the car of what little contents it had.  I drank what was probably my 10th bottle of water and laid on my new bedroom floor waiting for Todd (the work husband) and Chris (work husband's cousin in law) to arrive with the Uhaul.  They arrived at noon when it was 104 degrees.  I have found that when it is 110, 113 degrees, 104 is damn nice.  I never thought I would ever walk outside ant it be 100 degrees, I would think wow, it's nice out.

Todd, Chris, and Derek unloaded the Uhaul in record time, an hour tops.  I started unpacking, made the bed, found towels for the boys so they could shower.  Derek played Mario Kart while Todd and I joked about co-workers and laughed.  Then came the goodbye I didn't want to make.  I took Todd and Chris to the airport.  Over the last six years, I have considered Todd to be my best friend.  He was my work husband.  He made sure I was ok.  And here I was, hugging him good bye telling him that his next wife better not be a bitch.  I really hope that he and I keep in touch.  I love the kid.  He is a kind soul.  He's just a good man.  I miss seeing his mug already.

On Derek's last full day here in Tucson and my third day here, we decided that we would go to this 32,000 square foot antique place up the road and maybe find me a dresser.  We went to lunch and as I got back on the road, my battery light came on.  I said, what the fuck!  by the time I finished that sentence, my check engine and oil light came on and the car died.  I managed to get BoJo to the side and luckily there was a tree!  We waited for the tow truck to take us to my local Chrysler dealership.  The good news is, Bojo didn't break down on my way here.  The bad is it cost $1,300 to fix him.  The CPU that feeds the power to the car died.  I am so glad my new commute is less than one mile.

So I dropped Derek off at the airport on Wednesday and came home and slept.  The heat does take a lot out of you and plus I hadn't slept right due to the move, being in a new place, and dealing with Jazzmin who has decided that meowing at 4 in the morning is fun.  Early Thursday morning, I experienced my first monsoon storm.  Thunder, lightning, and rain that fell so hard, I thought it was hailing.  Eddie, a twitter pal and a Tucson resident, said I will learn to love them.  It just scared the shit out of me.  The thunder shook the house.

I went to work on Thursday and met my new co-workers.  It is a very small department right now.  And the building set up is so bizarre.  But I feel good about the people I am going to work with.  They seem to have my sense of humor and really made me feel welcome.  I don't regret my move at all.  I do miss Derek and my friends a ton, but I feel good about my choice.

I was supposed to start work on the third, but because of license issues, I can't start until Tuesday.  All this time off has me a little bored.  And with it being 113 yesterday, I don't feel like climbing into my car and heading out.  So I am learning how my direct TV works and playing Mario Kart.  Looking at different places on Yelp that I want to go to, waiting for it to be cool enough to take Maggie out to play.  Who knew 100 degrees would be cool enough.  It is currently 12:41 am as I write this and it is 92.  Ugh.  Everyone told me, it would be hot, but Christ on crutches!

So, while Derek was here we made it a point to visit different places while he was here.  I was surprised how open he was to try different things.  Instead of immediately shunning things, he gave it a try.  We ate at little mom and pop places and talked about us a lot.  It was really like how he and I were in the beginning.  We both have let so much of our anger and frustration go and found we really do have love and adoration for one another and both want to share that with each other.  I miss him terribly.  He is coming to visit at the end of the month.  Then he will move here at the end of August.  Just in time for our divorce to be final LOL!  But Derek has said he is going to ask me to marry him again.  I can't explain how I feel to know that Derek fought for me once and was willing to do it again.  I know he loves me and I am sad that I ever doubted that.  But whatever is out there has given us a second chance to be together.

My friends, a magical thing happens when two people find each other that normally wouldn't have.  If you know in your heart that what you feel is right and true, I say chase after it.  We all deserve to be happy and complete.  You never know where you will find the person who sparks that happiness inside you.  If could be in the produce department at Vons, It could be someone standing in line with you at the DMV, it could be someone you met on the internet.  I believe things happen for a reason and have purpose.  If you are lucky to recognize the chance presented to you, embrace it!  Even if the happiness is just for one week, one month, forever, embrace it.  This has been the lesson I have learned over the last few months and I share that with you my listener pals, my friends.

http://youtu.be/yAiHve2JZvU - Samson, Regina Spektor (with lyrics)

A return to blogging and transcriptions

After learning that a friend of mine has lost the majority of his hearing, I immediately thought about how I was going to keep him involved in my life.  My poor neglected blog was the first thing that sprung to mind.  So this blog will now become a loose transcript of what my podcasts are.  For my dear friend and for anyone else who cares to read.

Today, I was driving to the mechanic when Backstabber, by the Dresden Dolls came on.  I am a big fan of Amanda Palmer and have always loved this song.  Problem with me and songs is I always relate them to something or someone.  I have "dedicated" Backstabber to several people.  Mostly women.

Growing up, I don't think I ever had a good relationship with another woman.  I think this may relate to the daddy issues I have.  Women are too competitive and extremely judgey.  Of course, this isn't every woman and I am being extremely general.  I am speaking from my own experiences and only those.  I would hope I don't fall into this category, but I know I have more than a time or two.

I have very few female friends and it takes a lot to let a female into my "circle."  I am always guarded when it comes to actually befriending another woman.  My experiences have not been pleasant.  I all too often throw my heart into the ring, only to have something happen that leaves me crushed.  A prime example of this is Gina.  I wrote a blog about Gina some time ago, but I can't seem to find it.  I met Gina in the 10th grade and we immediately hit it off.  Her and I became fast, and best friends and spent a lot of time together.  Gina and I got our first jobs at the same place, spent at least six out of seven days of the week together, and lived together on three separate occasions.

During high school, a mutual friend of our told me that Gina had been sleeping with our married boss.  I didn't believe her.  I asked Gina and she swore on anything it wasn't true and the friend was jealous of our friendship and trying to split us up.  I went to this girl's house ready to beat some ass.  How dare anyone make Gina sound like anything less than goodness and light!  I confronted the girl and she stuck to her story.  I told her I couldn't be her friend if she was going to lie and Gina and I continued on our friendly way.

Five or six years later, Gina and I were living together and she got pregnant.  The father had no job, no car, other children from different women, sold and did drugs.  She let him move in without asking .  He hated my cats, he didn't think he should have to contribute to cleaning or paying any bills, and he was letting people in and out of the house.  It was miserable.  When our lease was up, I moved out.  I gave my rent and bill money to Gina and said adios.  Gina didn't pay the rent that month.  A year later, I had collections calling me for the $600 balance when the deposit couldn't cover the rent.  Gina was no where to be found.  I coughed up the funds.

Gina emailed me about a month later and her message was like we were still thick as thieves.  Of course, I address the money and she disappears again.  I just let it go.  Obviously she needed the money.  With a new son and a worthless baby-daddy, it wasn't worth fighting about.

I got together for lunch with another mutual friend of mine and she said her and Gina had a "truth day."  They got together and asked one another questions and they answered then honestly.  Turns out Gina was sleeping with the married boss.  And had lied straight to my face about it.  I was devastated.  Not only because she lied, but I left another friendship in the dust because I thought she was lying.  It was one of the times that really broke my heart.  I have since apologized to the person who was truthful, but what does it even mean almost ten years later?

A couple years ago, I learned Gina had breast cancer and wanted to reconnect.  I have decided not to.  I am sorry she has to experience it, I feel worse for her sons because, from what I understand, she may not make it more than five years.  I feel for her as a person, but the Gina I was friends with didn't exist.

There have been others along the way that have earned their Backstabber "dedication."  I have let it affect how I make friends, especially with women.  In addition to the competitiveness and judgement, i also find that I don't have a great deal in common with women.  I find that I would rather drink and party with the boys because I don't have to worry about them knit-picking what I say, do, or wear.  Some say my friendships with gay men is just like befriending a woman.  I think that statement is hilariously inaccurate.  Those boys love me for me, and that's it.  I don't think I have ever had that with a female, and don't think I could.

My biggest blessing and my biggest curse is that I wear my heart on my sleeve and will love anyone who will let me.  I have met some outstanding people and a few bitches and assholes.  I can't stop reaching out to people because I am afraid they are going to hurt me.  I might miss out on a really great human being if I live that way.

Another subject - my internet/podcasting pals.

It is easy to say I love you or I adore you online without any meaning behind it.  I do throw around the term "I love you" pretty loosely.  I will say that I have a genuine affection for anyone who has taken the time to listen to something I say or read something I wrote.  There are some of you that I correspond with on a regular basis that I genuinely care for, love, and/or admire.  There are also a handful of you that have broke my heart.  Just keep in mind that while it is easy to put a persona out there, there are human beings behind it.  And sometimes things said or not said, done or not done, hurt just as much.

To go out on a good note- With my move to Tucson, I feel like I am in for a new batch of people that could change my mind.  I don't plan on letting my past experiences taint what relationships I could have with whomever I may meet.  I am very excited about that.