Diesel Sweeties

My friend Tomkolson turned me onto this comic strip, Diesel Sweeties. Check out this strip. It's relevance to my life is a little astounding....

The Origin of Mr. Zips

I recently received a question from a friend - what is the origin of the name Mr. Zips? Well, it's kinda convoluted, but if you know me, that's not surprising.

Mr. Zips and I are both fans of random Internet mayhem. People who have too much time on their hands. To this I offer up b3ta as evidence. Sign up for their newsletter, you won't be disappointed. Mr. Zips is a particular fan of old-school favorite Strong Bad. And especially liked this episode. In it, Dangeresque calls a young lady "Cutsie Buttons." Arrive my nickname. And, not to be outdown, I baptised him Mr. Handsome Zips. Abbreviated to Mr. Zips.

It's convoluted, but it works.

And if I haven't mentioned it enough lately -- to him or to my blog -- I love him.

Hormones Suck

Being a woman sucks. No, I correct myself. Being a woman is great. It's having estrogen that sucks.

Why you ask?

I know two women, both of whom are on birth control. Now, I'm not a big fan of synthetic hormones and/or artifical means of adding hormones to one's body, one's ecosystem, etc. But they do indeed serve a very practical purpose (more on that later). And, so, I return to these two women. One of whom had to recently double up on her dosage because she missed a dose. Cramping, nauseousness, and fever ensued. The other of whom has just begun a new form of birth control and has been 1) having migraines and 2) crying uncontrollably for days.

And then, there's me. I have felt PMS'y for days. Familiar story for me, true enough. I guess I shouldn't be surprised, I've never been regular, never had a cycle that levels me at an even keel. But I've been mood-swinging for days - complete with crying jags - and more than a month and a half since my last period. That's not fun math for a non-breeder.

Tomorrow I'm supposed to go to my gyn for a quarterly visit (ah, yes, the beauty of non-specific, abnormal results) and get another nasty procedure done. (Run of the mill pap smears are for the faint of heart!) And I'm not sure if I'd rather get my period, so that I don't have to go and know for sure I'm not pregant or if I'd rather not get my period and know for sure I don't have cancer.

See, like I said, having estrogen sucks.

By the way - if you have a young friend, daughter, etc. PLEASE advise them to get the HPV vaccine!

Losing My Mind

I know alcohol kills brain cells, but this is ridiculous.

I think I'm truly losing my mind.

Exhibit 1: Last night, I went to the store. I wanted to get Mr. Zips some sleepy-time tea. But I NEEDED to get toilet paper. (We go through a lot of toilet paper in my house. If FuzzyKitty would learn to pee in the litterbox instead of over the litterbox, we'd go through much less toilet paper. But I digress.) So, I went to the store. I bought tea. I bought bath salts. I bought apple juice. I did not buy toilet paper. I have to go back to the store tonight.

Exhibit B: I was getting dressed this a.m. I am so excited by the warming weather that I was going to go all out and wear a skirt. I sat down on my bed and started putting on my pantyhose. Mr. Zips asks me, "Um, aren't you going to wear underwear?" Oh, right, underwear. Forgot that.

Exhibit III: I went out to grab the daily soup from the dreaded ABP. (I try to get there early because from about 11:50 until 2 p.m., it's absolute insanity in there and you're taking your own life in your hands even trying to ladle out lunch. ) I got to the store. I left the store. Because I had no wallet.

I can only imagine what the gym is going to be like tonight. When you see someone go flying off the treadmill because she's still wearing her high heels, that will be me.

Why Am I Not Surprised?

Well, the tradeshow and Florida trip is over and went well by all accounts. I did nothing silly or stupid (although I did witness someone throwing his career away - or, more accurately, into the pool) and I managed to actually come to care a smidge about what it is I do. And now it's over and except for throbbing, swollen feet, I'm not really the worse for the wear.

Except, I am.

For some reason, I'm massively wound up, sad, angry, depressed, whatever. Probably because I was reading my alumni magazine today and found that there's all sorts of kids who graduated years after I did doing amazing things with their lives. And I'm still balancing my checkbook wondering when I'm actually going to be able to pay off my credit cards and/or afford a pair of curtains I desperately want.

In short, I'm feeling old and unaccomplished.

I know this is not really true, as I've actually had some amazing experiences, done some pretty cool things, and have a decent life to show for it. But still...

Garrison Keillor calls it the spring blues. Because the world, life, and everyone around us is telling us we should be happy and be enjoying every moment. And that's a lot of pressure to put on someone.

So I've got the spring blues. And I do the stupidest thing possible - I call my mother.

When am I going to learn?

Instead of listening to me or supporting me or anything helpful, she basically shut me down. Got off the phone faster than you could say Boo.

I listen to her whenever she needs it. I hear her tales of woe and misery and I do everything in my power I can to help. And she hangs up on me.

This helps me not at all.

To top it off, Mr. Zips is on his way over here and he's being very sweet and supportive and, you know what? I just feel like Marsha Mason in The Goodbye Girl.

I'm angry. And I don't want to lose it.