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.