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So, how high is your pain tolerance?

I willingly allow people to inflict pain upon me and even worse, I pay them to do it.  I am of course talking about my tattoo artists and my dentist.

Tim & Gil, they know how stubborn and hardcore I am when it comes to my tattoos.  For me, getting tattooed is about as close to a spiritual moment I can get.  I could go on and on about my tattoos, but I do that enough already.  In any case, I get to pick and choose my tattoos, the placement, the location. The whole 9.

My dental work however is a whole other story. I make a commendable effort to take care of my teeth.  Especially given the thousands of dollars I’ve currently invested in them as of late.  So last time when I went on a dental shopping spree of sorts, my dentist asked me the one question I feel everyone should dread:

How high is your pain tolerance?  

Come again? 

You see, I was getting some repair work done on one of my front teeth.  She didn’t want to give me the Novocaine shot if she could help it, said it wasn’t pleasant.  So I thought that having a fairly high pain tolerance, I could take it.  Well turns out that she was closer to the nerve than I was aware of  and once the tears started streaming down my face in a silent homage to pain, because tooth pain sucks balls on so many levels; I had to cave and ask for the Novocaine.  Which normally isn’t too bad.  However getting a shot of Novocaine on the very front of your face?

FRIGHTENING!

OMFG…  I could feel that needle underneath my right eye.  Most disturbing feeling ever!  Also? My sinuses and half my face were frozen solid for the better part of three hours. Always a good time!  So when I recently discovered the beginnings of a small cavity on another tooth, I got my ass into her office right away.  The faster you get these things fixed, the less it hurts later.  I am of course talking about you and your bank account.  So there’s an x-ray taken and she’s all, oh it’s small, you don’t need any Novocaine.

Um sure…  That’s what you said last time dentist of mine!  Except this time it wasn’t too bad.  It sucked a little bit, not going to lie.  I do however now have bragging rights:

I got a filling with no Novocaine. Take that bitches!

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That heart stopping moment when you reach for a lid, in the dark & come face to face with a flamingo-at work.

Yes that really did happen, but that’s a story for another day…  I’ll just leave you wondering why on earth there’s a flamingo at the daycare I work at.

In other news, there’s a vibrator museum. Really. No i’m not providing you with the link. I’ll just leave you to ponder how I know this, along with that whole flamingo thing.

In all seriousness though, I have gotten e-mails inquiring about the last post that I wrote. I’m OK. Really. What I did there was just something I felt the need to do, it was a long time coming. I just finally got off my ass and did it. Simple as that.  So fear not, I’m doing pretty good for myself these days.  With the exception of my head.  Post concussion syndrome anyone?  Trip to the neurologist to make sure that everything is OK and I don’t end up on strange and unusual deaths due to smashing the back of my head into a cupboard? Working on it. So yeah.  Been thinking a lot lately about how people assume, presume and otherwise take certain things and end up misconstrued…  

So I ask questions, even if I run the risk of looking completely and utterly stupid. Because at the end of the day, at least I don’t look like an ass because I assumed something.  Even if it is a little irritating.  Anyway I’ve been thinking of someone a lot these days, someone who’s not a part of my life anymore and hasn’t been for a long time.  Not so much them, more so the crushed look on their face when they claimed that I was getting too attached to them (when in reality, it was the other way around).  After I wiped the puzzled look off my face, I asked them why they felt that way (I have serious issues with co-dependence. I’m not that way and I really don’t much care for people who are that way), their response? You do all these nice things for me.

Come again?   

I really am a nice girl, and if doing what I normally do for pretty much everyone who crosses my path is of some issue to you, then so be it.

I believe that everything happens for a reason and people come into your life for a reason.
For the most part, I treat people the same. I am an equal opportunity person and if I truly can’t stand you, yet am still reasonably respectful to you, it’s because i’m paid to.

Otherwise I’ll do nice things. Like make you dinner. Because i’m a Chef, feeding people is what I do and also? I’m a huge nerd, so in some random way you’ve become my guinea pig/taste tester. So it’s somewhat infuritating when people (usually guys) assume that I want to fuck them because I made them dinner.

I felt kind of bad when I told him that I didn’t treat him any differently than I did anyone else.  Mostly because he looked crushed.  We were just FWB, so to me your the friend I have that’s not only seen my naughty bits, but also my sex face.  In the end, it turns out he was in love with me.

Somehow that’s my fault? 

Bottom line and the most central point to this post?

Don’t make assumptions. Ever.

Because not only will you end up looking like an ass, it will also bite you in the ass.

Assume nothing, question everything. Even if it makes you look a few brain cells short (which I apparently am these days)/

 

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What they don’t tell you about loosing your best friend.

I read post on thought catalog called: What they don’t tell you about grief. It hit home and it hit home huge.  Jason’s death is no secret, nor is the fact that it changed me on a number of levels. I still never really talked about how it really made me feel.  I’ve never been one to put myself out there from an emotional standpoint. I’m not an easy person to read and the mere thought of being vulnerable makes me break out in a rash.  Except, it’s coming up to the third year since I lost Jason and now I think that it’s time. So thank you Katherine Milan for sharing your grief and for inspiring me to finally talk about my own.

The back story: Jason (in case you’re new here or live under a rock) committed suicide on September 3rd 2009 somewhere between 12-1:30am at a school.  Because he shot himself at a school, and a group of teenagers found him; there was a media storm that followed.  Full of details that I didn’t need to read.  I am however getting ahead of myself just a little bit. I had a bad feeling for months, I knew in my heart that he was going to commit suicide.  I just didn’t know when.  Jason was diagnosed with bi-polar/anxiety disorder at a really young age and his mother was told that there was no hope for her child.  This wasn’t his first attempt and while he gave me his word that he wouldn’t do that to me/his family/other friends and I desperately wanted to believe him I knew that he was only saying that to pacify me.  Some things I have learned, you can not control.  It was a Thursday, I had a bad feeling all day and when I came home from work I found out via a friends blog that Jason had died.  Here’s what they don’t tell you:

How the media exploits what happened and so do members of the community at large.  How nothing can prepare you for having to read that your friend didn’t have a face left.  How he’s painted as a monster and yet you know different.  The shock, the pain, the seemingly never ending flow of tears.  How no matter how loud you scream, no one will hear you.  How you constantly kick yourself for not taking five minutes out of your day to send them an e-mail to let them know that your you’re doing all right and you’re going to be OK.  Knowing that the last e-mail you sent him was cryptic and you hesitated to tell him that you loved him and in the end never did.  You were planning on it, but you forgot and you foolishly thought that you had more time.

Except now you don’t. Because they’re dead now and nothing you say or do will bring them back.

No one tells you that in spite of how much death you’ve experienced in your life that nothing knocks you on your ass quite like this does. No one prepares you for the numbing shock that your body, soul and spirit goes through. Rendering you almost dead inside. Where you know that you’re alive, but you are no longer living.  You discover that the boyfriend you thought you knew, became a total insensitive, douche bag. Which leads you to breaking up with him at 2am via e-mail that you send to him at work. You find it hard to care about how callous a move that is because he never gave a shit about your feelings, so why should you care about his? How you got fired from your job, your boss claiming that you’re being defiant.  Except you aren’t being defiant, you’re silently suffering from depression; you’re not entirely aware of this. People like you don’t suffer from depression, it’s un-thinkable.

How hearing the sound of a car backfiring wakes you up in the middle of the night and makes you think of him and what he did. You find yourself crying all over again. How you finally make it home to see your family for the holidays and you’re standing there talking to your mom & your gun toting father pulls out a 12 gauge shotgun to show someone else and you catch it out of the corner of your eye and you get your first taste of PTSD and it scares the daylights out of you.  How you learn to fear that your life might never be the same again, and is your life ever going to be ‘normal’ again? How you discover just how desperately you need help, yet you don’t know the first place to look.  How much effort it takes just to get out of bed in the morning.  You learn that you either need to fix it, or end it. There really isn’t that many options left on the table anymore.

How you discover how much strength you have, when being strong is the only choice that you have.  The metaphor of living in a perfectly sculpted snow globe. You & your friend have everything all planned out, you nailed it and now you just need to kill it.  Except when they commit suicide, it feels like a giant hand has come from the sky and taken your proverbial snow globe and smashed it into a billion pieces.  Leaving you on your knees, scrambling to find the pieces of your decimated life.  How you found someone that was better and more honest and you fell in love with them at the absolute wrong time. How that person managed to piss you off so much to the point that you loose it completely.

Where three days later, that same person however stood there, held you while you cried all over them. Standing in your bare feet wearing a fuzzy black bathrobe in a puddle created at their feet and you discover the true meaning of hitting rock bottom.  You realize just how many people hurt, because you hurt.  How you crawl into bed and cry for hours on end and out of no where the universe decides that you’ve had enough and you have an epiphany of sorts and you accept that you need help, because no one can help you if you’re not willing to help yourself.  You get out of bed and spend hours searching for someone, or something that can help you because you just can’t take it anymore.  Things need to change or you will destroy yourself and everyone around you.  You finally work up the nerve to make the call and impatiently wait for the person on the other end to return it.

I’ll never forget the first time I walked into therapy. I stood at the door and I debated actually going in.  I worked up the nerve, walked in the door and when asked why I was there, I gave the most honest reply I think I have ever given in my entire life: ” I’m broken and really messed up inside. Please help me.” The elation I felt knowing that for once during this entire journey, I actually felt that I was going to be OK.

And I am. 

 

 

 

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Nagging bitches, my book & Karma.

Yes some posts I can be bothered to separate, but not today. After all, it’s Monday and I’m tired.  For this, I blame Karma. I was teasing someone last night about how I don’t have to get up stupid early in the morning to go to work like they do (still early none the less) and I was going to text them in the morning for the sheer purpose of rubbing it in that I A: just woke up (after him) B: was still in bed. Yeah well, that was a lovely thought.  I woke up around 4:45-ish and my first thought was sonofabitch! Of course I had to pee. Then, you’d think I’d be able to go back to sleep, but no not really.  It was one of those drifting in and out of sleep moments that aren’t really satisfying. Although I still got to lounge around in bed, which is warm, cozy and uber comfy in my jammies. So damn right I sent that text, to which I was informed that I missed the sun rise that morning. I’m sure it was beautiful and pondering that comment briefly after I woke up I thought to myself, yeah fuck that I catch enough sunrises in the dead of winter. You know when it’s dark until 8am :p So that’s that. He clearly won that round!  Needless to say, I won’t be saying that again.

Nagging bitches: I don’t get it! Why on earth do some people (usually woman, I hate to stereotype but they do exist for a reason) feel that nagging someone endlessly will garner results? It’s really, really fucking irritating! STOP IT! I work with someone who thinks that by constantly harping on your ass, about things that are of NO concern to them none the less; will make a difference. Personal cheerleader my ass. Jesus Christ, leave me and the countless other people you annoy the shit out of alone!  There are some things that *I* feel should be of no involvement of others, especially at work and my boss agrees with me.  Granted there are some things that you need to get on my ass about until I give them to you.  IE: the menu, the milk order.  Because I occasionally forget those things and the reminder is helpful and usually welcome. However when you’re getting on my case about how I choose to live my life, especially when we only have a working relationship? Drop dead.  I don’t care how you justify it to yourself in your mind, you are not my mom, I am not burger king, therefore you can not have it your way!  Because of her (especially because of her) I can totally understand and relate to why men hate woman who nag incessantly.  It gives me a headache!

In other news, I’m working on making food porn v 2.0 become a reality.  Going to purchase the ISBN and the whole nine yards for this one I think.  Essentially I plan to do an edit of the original one and make some more grown up modifications to the recipes themselves.  Stephanie’s secret’s, which became the working title (thanks to a clients suggestion) has officially sold out and while I could do a second printing, it’s a costly investment and unless I have enough people willing to do pre-sale on it, I won’t bother with it.  It’s a little known fact that my self published book titled food porn really does exist.  There’s only three copies of it period. It’s what one might say a collectors item, if you’re into that sort of thing.  Funny enough, I was paging through it earlier and clearly my proof reading skills need some work, as does my grammar >.< I was in a rush to get it printed because I wanted it ready as a gift for someone’s birthday. Clearly that wasn’t my best idea!  However, when Stephanie’s secrets came to life in a gorgeous 8.5×11 format thanks to Maggie’s dedication, formatting and editing skills and her printing team at Wynterblue publishing it looks amazing!  Except this time, I want it to be in a hardcover format. Sadly, they don’t offer the type of cover & binding I need for this project but I might get them to once again rock out the printing of the book & have it sent to another company to be bound.

We’ll see. In any case, let it be known that the hardcover edition will also be limited and we’re working on the cover art right now, thanks to the help of a photographer friend.