I live with chronic pain. No, I don't have a boyfriend or girlfriend. It's real pain and I guess it's payback because of my childhood behavior. But I don't think I was bad enough to be blessed with feeling like I have the flu on most days. You know that pain, right? Like a truck ran you over and then backed up to do it again. It's as though I ran 10 miles and got the crap beat out of me at the finish line. Aching muscles and feeling bruised.
Waking up is always a blast. I look more like an 89 year old than a once fit 49 year old whose job sometimes requires strength and endurance. My dogs start to whine at about 7am, if I'm lucky. After a night of tossing and turning to find the right position, I whine back. Sleeping straight through the night, or for a good few hours, is a mixed blessing to those of us with invisible illnesses. Yes, it's nice to see you slept for more than a few hours but with every hour of actual sleep, another body part stiffens up. With my eyes closed, I assess my physical being. A typical morning usually goes like this:
Left leg has pins & needles,
Left hand the same but with pain so bad it's as though Freeze Meister has taken up residence in my bones.
Headache or no headache? Is it weather related or from grinding my teeth?
My back is so stiff that I think I have a Plaster of Paris cast on my torso.
Arms up - Crack. Crack. Crack. Pop. Ahhh
Swing legs to the side of the bed. They weighlike 600lbs.....Each.
I roll on to my stomach and slither off my very high bed.
Ouch. I forgot my foot is still asleep.
Slippers on. I push myself up (half way). As I walk into the kitchen, my posture improves like that human evolution picture. Ugh. My hip.
Sunday, May 10, 2015
Funeral For A Hero
There is nothing more moving than experiencing a police funeral.
Hearing trumpets playing "Taps" in the distance.
Feeling the weight of the helicopters flying over in unison leaving one space empty for the deceased.
Witnessing the final procession being led by bagpipers somberly walking as drummers beat a dirge which gets louder and louder.
The body of a hero passing by one final time in a hearse covered with flowers.
The family members being escorted by the department protecting them in vehicles with tinted windows.
Through the dark windows you get an unexpected glimpse of a wife holding their infant child, a exhausted mother resting her head on a strong shoulder, a child wearing his father's police cap staring in awe or a sister pressing a hand on the window whispering "Thank you. Thank you."
Hearing trumpets playing "Taps" in the distance.
Feeling the weight of the helicopters flying over in unison leaving one space empty for the deceased.
Witnessing the final procession being led by bagpipers somberly walking as drummers beat a dirge which gets louder and louder.
The body of a hero passing by one final time in a hearse covered with flowers.
The family members being escorted by the department protecting them in vehicles with tinted windows.
Through the dark windows you get an unexpected glimpse of a wife holding their infant child, a exhausted mother resting her head on a strong shoulder, a child wearing his father's police cap staring in awe or a sister pressing a hand on the window whispering "Thank you. Thank you."
Tuesday, May 5, 2015
He Was A Police Officer
He was so young and full of life.
He was a rookie who had his whole adult life ahead of him.
He came from a family of cops who made it home night after night. He was a son, a friend and a Police Officer.
He was supposed to find a girl, get married and have babies.
He was going to buy a home that he could fill with relatives and friends for holidays and the big game.
He would see his children run to the door when they heard his car pull in the driveway.
He was a Police Officer.
He was introduced by his name, which was always followed by "He's a police officer."
He wanted to go home after work but he ended up on life-support instead
"He was a Police Officer who was murdered in cold blood." will always follow his name now.
He was a Police Officer.
HE WAS A POLICE OFFICER!!!
His life was taken from him.
Why?
Kelly G.
05/04/2015
He was a rookie who had his whole adult life ahead of him.
He came from a family of cops who made it home night after night. He was a son, a friend and a Police Officer.
He was supposed to find a girl, get married and have babies.
He was going to buy a home that he could fill with relatives and friends for holidays and the big game.
He would see his children run to the door when they heard his car pull in the driveway.
He was a Police Officer.
He was introduced by his name, which was always followed by "He's a police officer."
He wanted to go home after work but he ended up on life-support instead
"He was a Police Officer who was murdered in cold blood." will always follow his name now.
He was a Police Officer.
HE WAS A POLICE OFFICER!!!
His life was taken from him.
Why?
Kelly G.
05/04/2015
Tuesday, May 20, 2014
Yes, It's Definitely "The Little Things"
Saturday, May 18, 2013
Stupid Storm Sandy - I Hate Her
I infrequently use the word "hate" but SS Sandy deserves to be hated, detested, abhorred and any other synonym associates with hatred.
SS Sandy destroyed my cute, little house by surrounding it in about four feet of filthy water that seeped inside, stopping between a foot and a half to two feet Above the floor. The wood floors that the past owners and their friends so lovingly installed. This water wasn't just salt water, it was contaminated with sewage, gasoline, fuel oil, pesticides, chemicals and heaven knows what else lurked within its brownness. Therefore, about 90% of my property had to be tossed out to the curb for "the claw" to claim. Heartbreaking? Yes. Horrifying? Yes. Traumatizing? Absolutely.
I'll add more when I'm not so tired and scatterbrained but I wanted to let my 2 followers know where I've been (although I'm friends with you both, so you already know why I haven't written a darn thing in months). Anyway, I did go on at least one date - with a guy who does business analysis. Talk about a boring job!!! I'll jot that down soon and post it.
Until then, read a book. Try Haven Kimmel's memoir: A Girl Named Zippy
SS Sandy destroyed my cute, little house by surrounding it in about four feet of filthy water that seeped inside, stopping between a foot and a half to two feet Above the floor. The wood floors that the past owners and their friends so lovingly installed. This water wasn't just salt water, it was contaminated with sewage, gasoline, fuel oil, pesticides, chemicals and heaven knows what else lurked within its brownness. Therefore, about 90% of my property had to be tossed out to the curb for "the claw" to claim. Heartbreaking? Yes. Horrifying? Yes. Traumatizing? Absolutely.
I'll add more when I'm not so tired and scatterbrained but I wanted to let my 2 followers know where I've been (although I'm friends with you both, so you already know why I haven't written a darn thing in months). Anyway, I did go on at least one date - with a guy who does business analysis. Talk about a boring job!!! I'll jot that down soon and post it.
Until then, read a book. Try Haven Kimmel's memoir: A Girl Named Zippy
Friday, October 26, 2012
Only in NY
This week I went to two concerts in NYC. Here's the story of number one:
On Monday, I went to see Alanis Morrisette at Terminal 5. It was pretty darn crowded and all the early birds and fancy people, who had VIP passes, were able to see what was going on. I was just a regular girl who arrived on time. Since I don't have a lot of friends who appreciate my taste in music - especially the "angry girl" artists that I tend to drift towards - I went by myself.
The funny thing is that I'm not generally an angry girl. I'd consider myself experienced in life and, therefore, entitled to be me, but I'm not 'angry'. There's something about "angry girl" music that connects me to them. Maybe it's because we've all been there, regardless of our station in life. And sometimes it's nice to think that even famous musicians get dumped. I know there's a lot of music out there drafted by professional song writers but it's the singer/songwriter that I'm drawn to. The rawness of the words. The anger. The desperation of wanting to be loved. They write about it all. They're different than country singer/songwriters who are more detailed about the events leading to their heartache. "Angry chick" lyrics are all about saying eff you, you broke my heart and here's what's left. Even the music that supports these words is pissed off. Anyway, Alanis is undoubtedly the poster child for "angry chick" music - and I love her!
I walked into a sweltering, hot theater with very high ceilings and wrap-around balconies on 2 higher floors. There was also an open-air rooftop bar that you were able to enjoy while you puffed your life away. I wandered around from floor to floor to find a place to stand. Unfortunately, there are a lot more Alanis fans than I thought there would be. A large portion of them were gay men and younger females - straight and gay. Some of the straight girls dragged poor, unsuspecting men with them. This kind of annoyed me because these "non-fans" were taking up prime real estate at a concert for an artist that I was a fan of. These guys weren't interested in being there. They were suffering through "pissed-off chick" tunes in order to get lucky. They were most likely lured into going to the show by their whimpering GF who held booty over their heads - yes, heads. Both of them.
Anyway, Alanis popped on stage after her husband "Souleye" performed. Souleye?! Really?! M.C. Souleye to be exact. Girls were bouncing up and down and gay boys were whispering to each other about how excited they were to be there. On the upper floors, people were trying to catch a glimpse of the stage by kneeling down to look between the legs of the early birds. I'm sorry but I'm not getting on my knees for Alanis, or, in fact, any musician (ok. I'll admit it - there is an exception, my love, Eddie Vedder).
I stood around, unable to see and listened to Alanis screech. I started to feel way too hot (peri-menopause is awesome at a concert in a hot theater). I walked to the back of the room and found the only cool place in the joint. I hung out there for a few songs and then decided that since I wasn't actually witnessing the show, I might as well go up and check out the roof. I was in the middle of NYC and it was surprisingly peaceful. There were a handful of people quietly chatting and I was able to watch the concert on a tv. It was like being at home - except that I don't watch that much tv and if I did, I wouldn't be watching a concert. I decided to relax, suck it up and enjoy the cool air. With that, some people walked through the door and, BAM!, the peaceful atmosphere immediately vanished. One of the members of the group was clearly the "I have to be the center of attention" type. He spoke loudly and flitted about making everyone aware of his presence - whether we liked it or not. I tend to be a magnet that attracts annoying people, so, naturally, he made his way over to where I was quietly sitting. He called his friends over. Fortunately, they convinced him to join them on the other side. The two boys next to me sighed with relief at the same time I did. We smiled simultaneously when they left after they smoked a couple of cigarettes.
Towards the end of the show, a very drunk gay boy danced past me, saw what I was doing and sang "Did you forget about me, Mrs. Duplicity, I hate to bug you in the middle of texting." I loved it. We laughed in unison. On his way back from the bathroom, "Rick" introduced himself and we chatted about something insignificant that made us laugh. In a matter of seconds, I noticed a bitter-looking 50something year old woman standing over Rick. While clutching a red, medium sized Macy's shopping bag, she sneered at me. Then, without moving her wrinkled, lipstick stained mouth, she scolded Rick for taking too long. He smiled at me and said a quick good-bye. I laughed, shook my head and thought "Only I can make a gay man's hag jealous". Only in NY. Only me!!
On Monday, I went to see Alanis Morrisette at Terminal 5. It was pretty darn crowded and all the early birds and fancy people, who had VIP passes, were able to see what was going on. I was just a regular girl who arrived on time. Since I don't have a lot of friends who appreciate my taste in music - especially the "angry girl" artists that I tend to drift towards - I went by myself.
The funny thing is that I'm not generally an angry girl. I'd consider myself experienced in life and, therefore, entitled to be me, but I'm not 'angry'. There's something about "angry girl" music that connects me to them. Maybe it's because we've all been there, regardless of our station in life. And sometimes it's nice to think that even famous musicians get dumped. I know there's a lot of music out there drafted by professional song writers but it's the singer/songwriter that I'm drawn to. The rawness of the words. The anger. The desperation of wanting to be loved. They write about it all. They're different than country singer/songwriters who are more detailed about the events leading to their heartache. "Angry chick" lyrics are all about saying eff you, you broke my heart and here's what's left. Even the music that supports these words is pissed off. Anyway, Alanis is undoubtedly the poster child for "angry chick" music - and I love her!
I walked into a sweltering, hot theater with very high ceilings and wrap-around balconies on 2 higher floors. There was also an open-air rooftop bar that you were able to enjoy while you puffed your life away. I wandered around from floor to floor to find a place to stand. Unfortunately, there are a lot more Alanis fans than I thought there would be. A large portion of them were gay men and younger females - straight and gay. Some of the straight girls dragged poor, unsuspecting men with them. This kind of annoyed me because these "non-fans" were taking up prime real estate at a concert for an artist that I was a fan of. These guys weren't interested in being there. They were suffering through "pissed-off chick" tunes in order to get lucky. They were most likely lured into going to the show by their whimpering GF who held booty over their heads - yes, heads. Both of them.
Anyway, Alanis popped on stage after her husband "Souleye" performed. Souleye?! Really?! M.C. Souleye to be exact. Girls were bouncing up and down and gay boys were whispering to each other about how excited they were to be there. On the upper floors, people were trying to catch a glimpse of the stage by kneeling down to look between the legs of the early birds. I'm sorry but I'm not getting on my knees for Alanis, or, in fact, any musician (ok. I'll admit it - there is an exception, my love, Eddie Vedder).
I stood around, unable to see and listened to Alanis screech. I started to feel way too hot (peri-menopause is awesome at a concert in a hot theater). I walked to the back of the room and found the only cool place in the joint. I hung out there for a few songs and then decided that since I wasn't actually witnessing the show, I might as well go up and check out the roof. I was in the middle of NYC and it was surprisingly peaceful. There were a handful of people quietly chatting and I was able to watch the concert on a tv. It was like being at home - except that I don't watch that much tv and if I did, I wouldn't be watching a concert. I decided to relax, suck it up and enjoy the cool air. With that, some people walked through the door and, BAM!, the peaceful atmosphere immediately vanished. One of the members of the group was clearly the "I have to be the center of attention" type. He spoke loudly and flitted about making everyone aware of his presence - whether we liked it or not. I tend to be a magnet that attracts annoying people, so, naturally, he made his way over to where I was quietly sitting. He called his friends over. Fortunately, they convinced him to join them on the other side. The two boys next to me sighed with relief at the same time I did. We smiled simultaneously when they left after they smoked a couple of cigarettes.
Towards the end of the show, a very drunk gay boy danced past me, saw what I was doing and sang "Did you forget about me, Mrs. Duplicity, I hate to bug you in the middle of texting." I loved it. We laughed in unison. On his way back from the bathroom, "Rick" introduced himself and we chatted about something insignificant that made us laugh. In a matter of seconds, I noticed a bitter-looking 50something year old woman standing over Rick. While clutching a red, medium sized Macy's shopping bag, she sneered at me. Then, without moving her wrinkled, lipstick stained mouth, she scolded Rick for taking too long. He smiled at me and said a quick good-bye. I laughed, shook my head and thought "Only I can make a gay man's hag jealous". Only in NY. Only me!!
Thursday, October 25, 2012
Online Dating: The Saga Continues
I'm getting a little fed up lately with online dating. There are so many fake profiles that I'm thinking of deleting my accounts - on all 5 sites. Today I read that two women from the Midwest were arrested by the FBI for scamming women out of hundreds and thousands of dollars in a Nigerian scam. WTF?!! The worst part (aside from scamming their own gender) is that they posed as US Servicemen. I've been telling my friends about all the pictures of military guys lately and I know they were stolen from some poor guy who is out there protecting our country.
I purposely contacted a few of these "men" and I had this conversation (in parts) with "Dan, from The Bronx":
:in camp? with wifi?
:yes I am inn Fort Hamilton in Brooklyn at the moment, online dating is not allowed but I am just sneaking up to see what's good here
:haaa
:that's funny
:by the bridge?
:so am i worth sneaking up for?!
:ohhhhh
thank you
Interesting. A little questionable.
:why do you have to stay outside? don't they have barracks?
(9:25:39pm)me: Oh
:i really don't know much about military terms, etc
:where are you from?
:always from the bronx?
:I grew up on long island
:very cool
:yes, it's not like you're on vacation
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