Since I was a teenager, I have noticed a yucky trend in my life.  Every year that I can remember since at least my late teens, I am sick as hell on my birthday.  Every. Year.  (there was another trend that involved being on my period on every single vacation I took, no matter when I took it, but that trend has been surgically eradicated)

Today is 2 days from my birthday (2 days people!) and I woke up this morning and felt fine!  No sniffles, no aches, no congestion.  Right on!!!  Chances are looking pretty slim that I’ll be sick on my birthday this year.  For the first time in forever it seems.  I got up, peed, put slippers on and headed downstairs to take Satan out.  I got about halfway down the stairs when I stepped down just slightly wrong on my right foot (the one I broke in September).  If my foot was not healing from a recent accident, it would have been no big deal.  But no, my foot is still damaged from September, so as it turns out it is indeed a big deal.

My foot got swollen pretty quickly, but I shoved it into a sneaker and trudged in to work.  At 8:30 this morning I got up to go to the bathroom and put weight on it after sitting for an hour and a half.  I actually cried out, just as L, one of the girls that sits in my office came in the door.  She reached out to steady me, asking what happened, of course.  I gave her the quick version, and hobbled to the bathroom (still had to pee).

I came back to my desk and called around looking for an orthopedic office that could see me today.  First one I called told me their first available appointment is in MARCH.  Uh, no thanks.  I found a sports orthopedic office that could see me today.  YAY!

I got there, and they x-rayed my foot.  Again.  My foot is going to glow green in the dark from all the radiation exposure lately.  Doctor came in and said he had good new and not good news.

Good news:  foot is not broken.  He said that he could see where the other breaks were, but they are healed and look good.  No re breaks there, no new broken bones.  Awesome.

Bad news:  the tendons I tore before are still not healed (they take forever to heal) and in fact, this little adventure down the stairs tore them further.  Not awesome.

He then began talking about putting me in a cast.  I had a slight meltdown in his office.  I cried.  I am still very emotionally raw from all the upheaval in my life, living by myself for the first time ever, in a place I’ve never been before and desperately trying to understand my new job which is a little above my head (but not too bad).  He wanted to put my RIGHT foot in a cast.  Right then.  I panicked.  How would I get home?  I can’t drive with a cast on my foot!  How would I get to work???

So, I did the very adult thing.  I cried.

It worked though.  He did put my back in a ortho boot (looks exactly like the one in the picture in the old post linked above), but this one is a little taller (almost to my knee) and is slightly different on the bottom.  Which is not awesome because I haven’t figured out how to walk in it yet.  I got pretty good at walking almost normal in the boot I had in September.  This one is weird.

I got fitted for my boot (again), which I will be wearing for the next two weeks.  Such a pain in the foot ass.  I stopped on the way home (driving without the boot, of course) and picked up my prescription for pain killers and a 12 pack of Diet Coke (you know, the necessities)  and came home.  I’m supposed to keep it elevated as much as possible, ice when I don’t have the boot on, yadda yadda yadda yadda.  Yes, I know the steps to this dance, I’m afraid.

**sigh**

This week at work seemed to take at least 3 years.  Of course, it was aided along in its longevity by copious amounts of Vicodin.  I so very rarely take those kind of drugs that they really, really hit me hard when I do.  Having to sit at my desk all week with this stupid broken foot was just pure torture.  I was supposed to be keeping it elevated!  Sadly, I couldn’t do that because it would just not be ladeeee-like to keep my foot up on my desk while I tried to work.

The sweet little boys that sit by me (the Cub Scouts) were complaining because I was so quiet all week.  Thankfully, my dear friend Gypsy911 explained to them that I was riding the Vicodin Train and that is why I was so unnaturally quiet.  I did not take any pain meds today, and they were very happy about that. 

In the shower this morning, I was bent over washing my legs/feet and noticed that my 3rd and 4th toes on the right foot were black.  Upon further inspection, holy hell, the whole top of my foot is now black.  Awesome.  It’s been a week!!!

OH!  Another fantastic example of what a passive aggressive BEAST my mother is….I talked to her this morning and told her about breaking my foot.  You know what her response was?  Seriously?  “I guess you should have stayed in ballet longer when you were a kid.”

HO-LEEEE crap.  Seriously?  Not, “Jeeze, I’m so sorry, only child of mine that your broke your foot and are in pain.”  Just basically, “I’m sorry you are such a clumsy bitch.”  Gah.

I have sat in my chair in my (spotless because the Terrorist was in trouble this week and is trying to suck up to me) livingroom with my foot propped up all evening.  It’s feeling a little bit better, but I am ready to go take this hateful boot off and head to bed.    Nighterz y’all.

I alluded to the fact that I hurt my foot on Friday while in NYC in my last post.  I fell on Friday morning and turned my ankle and was fairly certain that I broke my ankle or foot.  However, I still had a lot of stuff to do during the remainder of my trip in NYC.  So, I did not go to the ER immediately when it happened (yes, I know, it was a dumbass thing to do, blah blah blah).  I walked all over the place on that foot, just dealing with the pain.  Hell, I got up and danced Friday night at the Kill Hannah show.  It wasn’t pretty (but then, it never really is, even when my foot isn’t all janked up) but I did it.  I got off the plane when I got home to Hell and went immediately to the ER.  They x-rayed it, said it looked broken, but because their equipment wasn’t great, and it was late enough in the evening that the radiology department was gone already, they weren’t 100% sure.  To be safe, they put me in a soft cast (horribly uncomfortable, by the way) and told me to go see an orthopedist to have it properly checked out.

That appointment was today at 2pm.  I got there, got checked in, called back and waited for the doctor.  He came in a short time later (and I nearly fell off the exam table…..tall, blonde, young, good looking, funny, nice, did I say good looking?) and looked at my poor swollen and black and blue foot and announced that I had done a real number on it.  He was pretty sure there was a break in my foot, but not my ankle (which is a good thing), but it was hard to tell on the x-ray partially because of the angle at which they took the x-rays and partially because I was so swollen.  Additionally, the ligament that connects the ankle to the foot is just ALL kinds of messed up.  It is either very strained or is actually torn.  **sigh**

So, he manipulated my foot to see how much range of motion I have (for the record?  not much, and what I do have hurts like hell) and looked me dead in the face, in all seriousness and said “Miss, you really, really screwed your foot up.”

I love my new doctor.

He decided to put my in a “break boot” for 2 weeks and is having me do some light physical therapy.  I go back in 2 weeks and then he’s going to take another x-ray of my foot and see where we’re at.  At that point, we discuss further options.  Hard casting to set it all or surgery to pin it was discussed.  He said if in 2 weeks we don’t need a hard cast or surgery, not to get too excited about getting out of the boot because, as he reminded me, I am not 14 and would likely not heal that fast.  If I don’t have to do anything further in 2 weeks, I was told to expect to be in this boot for at least 6 weeks.

Awesome.  Up to 6 weeks in this big, clunky, clonky thing.  Because, my size 10 foot isn’t quite big enough I suppose.  This boot weighs a ton and makes me an inch taller on my right side.

The Terrorist got a Bedazzler from my folks for Christmas a few years ago.  I’m gonna go find it and bedazzle the daylights out of this ugly ass boot.

(to be fair, this boot is far more comfortable than the temporary soft cast I had and I can take it off to shower, sleep and scratch if I need to, unlike a hard cast……)

So, Thursday after work I was in a car accident.  Not a bad one, and I am fine.  Thought my nose was broken, but its not (just lots of blood) and I’m so sore from the seat belt catching me (and thank god it did).  I put on my big girl panties though and got up to go to work on Friday.  Yay me.  I woke up Friday not feeling well, but I blamed the soreness in my chest from the accident.  By Friday night after work, it was becoming obvious that it wasn’t just that.

I got up Saturday morning with my chest tight, lungs congested, nose plugged up.  Great.  Despite beginning to feel crappy, I got out and went to go see District 9.  SOOOO good.  That movie is so worth seeing in the theater.  No lie.  After the movie, I stopped at the grocery store to pick up the stuff I needed to make home made chicken noodle soup and went home.  I got the soup going on the stove and sat down and the crushing weight of TIRED came over me.

I am so totally sick.  I haven’t been sick with a cold like this in a long time.  Misery be my name right now.  I’m achy, clugged up in my nose, coughing, sore throat….but no fever (so, no oink flu jokes, mmkay?).  I literally laid on my bed all day and napped off and on.  I took a heap of NyQuil last night so I got some decent sleep, but I feel like I could have slept for 3 days straight (and I still do).

So this whole weekend has been much teh suxxor.  Thanks for asking. 

Today I was planning to write about a salad that I made for dinner last night.  I ate so much of it I was nearly sick afterwards and am having it for lunch.  See the recipe here.

Instead, I came in to work to find an email from my old Director in Houston, in response to my “What’s going on with the job?” question I sent him yesterday.

The short answer is I am not going to be offered the job.  Congress and the White House are very predictably slashing budget on my industry as the Democrats do each and every time they are elected to office and it appears that NASA is taking a HUGE hit this time around (oh, never you fear, they are also slashing the shit out of military budgets too, yet continuing to send men and women overseas to fight – without enough or new equipment to help them – yay! /sarcasm).  The Director said he didn’t want to bring me back right now, just to see me get caught up in the layoffs they expect next year.

There are not words to express how upset and devastated I am by this.  No words.

…..how many times a day you reach up to pull on, tug or scratch your ear every single day.  I have learned this the hard way, by getting my tragus pierced.  It doesn’t hurt, in fact, I don’t even normally notice its even there.  EXCEPT.  OMG the itching is making me NUTS.  It is healing, which is gooooood, but oh my ever loving Jesus.  It ITCHES.

I managed to get an itch deep down inside my ear today at work.  It nearly drove me nuts.  Clearly I need a stockpile of q-tips at my desk from now on.

OMG, q-tips or not, this bitch itches like a, well, BITCH.  I hope this bullshit passes quickly.  Srsly.

I am completely, totally made of lamesauce.  And right now, I feel so sick and sad.

Let me explain.

I finally got some news on the job I’ve been waiting for in Houston.  The one that was created FOR ME, specifically tailored for me with my skills detailed in the job requisition.

The news is not good.  I was told today that they will have a firm decision by end of business today, but that the decision is most likely going to be to cancel the requisition and not fill the position.  Which means no job for me, no move back home for me, no happy for me.  That explains the sick and sad part.

The lamesauce part?  Check this out.

Remember that post before where I proudly crowed about telling my Daddy not to make any calls for me, not to try and help me get this job?  Yeah.  I made that call today.  2 minutes after I got the email telling me they were going to cancel the requisition, I called him and told him, through my sobs, that they were going to cancel the requisition for my job and would he please call the Director?

I have spent 12 years in this company VERY carefully avoiding ever doing this very thing.  Avoided using my relationship with a top level executive in this company to get my way or get what I want (which is probably why I’m stuck doing a shitty job I hate – but hey!  I at least had integrity and pride that I earned my little slice in hell HONESTLY).

My Daddy and this Director are friends.  They have been for 20 years.  And about 10 years ago my Daddy rescued the Director from a very similar situation.  He had gotten mad at some situation in Houston, and took a job in Seattle.  Before a year was up, he called my Daddy and begged him to get him home to Houston.  So, the way my Daddy sees it, the Director owes him one.

So he called him.  And now I’m waiting for the Director to call me.  He told Daddy that he thinks there may be an opportunity there in Houston for me.  I’m also supposed to make sure that the Director understands that I’ll take the job with or without the relocation package.  That’s no problem, it was never a deal breaker.  So now I’m wondering if HR didn’t step in and squash their choice of me because I would need the relocation package, rather than someone that is local there – and if that is why they are just going to cancel the requisition because they want me and if they can’t have me, they don’t want the other candidates.  It was MY requisition after all.

But god, I suck.  Made of lamesauce.

I still can’t believe I made that call.  Hypocrithia be my name.

I had a supremely crappy morning.  Really.  I woke up with a banging headache.  Really terrible.  I got up and trudged into the shower, blow dried my hair, barely put any make up on and scooted out the door for work at 7:10am.  My 20 minute commute to work?  Not so much this morning.  Took me an hour and a half because of a BAD accident on the freeway 3 miles from my house.  Took me nearly an hour to get through that mess.  All lanes were blocked and traffic was having to scoot by on the shoulder.  Cops, firetrucks, ambulances, tow trucks.  It was a mess.  It’s grey outside, and gloomy.  All I really want to do is go back home, and crawl back into bed, snuggle the dog and sleep all afternoon.  But I can’t.  Bleh.

If you are still reading this, I did a meme I found on Facebook – it’s under the jump.  I like doing these occasionally.  It’s kind of like a mini-interview, yeah?

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I’m so tired.  So very tired tonight.  I was up very late last night because I just can’t shut my brain off.  So of course, the alarm at 5:30 really sucked.  I figured that I would of course be able to nod out quickly tonight.  Yeah, not so much.

Someone come sing me a lullaby.  Read me a story.  A glass of warm milk (acutally….ewwww.  please don’t).  Something, ANYTHING so I will fall asleep.

I’m going to  head off to try the sleeping thing again. I’m taking a book with me this time, but I don’t think it wll help as my thoughts will inevitably shift right back to the forefront.

Wish me well…..

It’s been a fucked up night.  The day didn’t start out that way, to be sure, but it ended up that way.

I woke up this morning and took the Terrorist to go try out for the swim team.  She was a lap racing swimmer from age 4 to about 8 years old.  At that time (while we still lived in Texas) she decided to join the synchronized swimming team.  Unfortunately, there isn’t a good synchro team here in St. Louis.  Why?  Oh, yeah, because ST. LOUIS FUCKING SUCKS.  That’s why.

After a year and a half of calling/asking/inquiring/pleading, I got a try out for her for the community swim team.  While she was less than thrilled to be awake at 7am on a Saturday, she pretty happily got up and got ready and we were off to her try out.  She nearly drowned (poor baby) during the required lap of butterfly, but she made the team.  Makes me so happy.  I was a competitive swimmer from age 5 through high school so that apple doesn’t stray far from the tree, yeah?  She begins workouts on 4/15/09.

Then it was home to do laundry and pack my Monkey up for a week long trip to Washinton, D.C. with my mom and dad.  We were to pack a suitcase and have him ready to go this afternoon.  My paternal grandmother is turning 80 this coming week.  She’s an amazing, spry, feisty 80 year old woman.  I love my grams.  Dinner was Mexican food and it was gooooood!    While waiting for my mom (who was LATE – and she threatened ME if I was late.  Hummmpf) the Terrorist and I took this picture.  I’m told she looks just like me…….

After dinner, we came home and pretty immediately the Terrorist took off.  She’s been fighting with K-Fed and wanted to go to a friends house to catch some teenage consolation about her problem.  I can’t blame her.  Boys SUCK.

I had to send a message to a person tonight whom I’ve been in love with for over 20 years.  He was my first love and has been sniffing around for the past few years.  He sniffs, then disappears.  Sniffs, then disappears.  Well, you know what?  Fuck you.  Fuck you and the fucking sheep you fucked in on.

The message I sent basically told him to FUCK OFF and LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE.  It might have also indicated why I thought every single one of his relationships had failed – he’s an emotionally abusive mother fucker.  He’s done it to me since we were teenagers.  I told him that if he found a woman that was willing to put up with that shit, then kudos to him, but he better not EVER sniff around my pants ever, ever EVER again because I was done with him.  Oh, and I might have also mentioned something about the fact that his current ‘woman’ is an alcoholic might just be related to the fact that he is an abusive fuck – maybe.

I’m thinking that will make him go away from me.

But it doesn’t make it hurt any less, ya know?