Wednesday, June 25, 2008

So, Drastic Times....

I'm going in for a consultation on lap band surgery tomorrow. I've been struggling with weight for at least 22 years. Even when I lose weight, it comes back with a vengeance and the only benefit, regardless of the yo-yo, is that my boobs manage to get and stay bigger. However, it's only a matter of time before they're flap-jacks down to my waist. And by time, I mean probably twenty years or so, but still.

So, I spoke with HLC's mom who had the surgery, and she's all for it. And, unlike my mom, I don't feel judged by her. She has true empathy, and similar experiences with her own mother and her own weight battle. So, what the hell.

Here's the problem. I'm probably not fat enough to have the surgery. How ridiculous is that? You need to have a BMI of 40+. Me? I'm at 35.7. If your BMI is 35-40, you have to have one or two obesity related co-morbidity factors. Here are some of them and here's why I probably won't be considered to have any of them.

1. High blood pressure: Despite my best efforts at smoking a pack a day, I have LOW blood pressure.

2. Sleep apnea: Sleep study proved that I don't have sleep apnea (yet failed to discover anything related to my insomnia - thanks Trinity)

3. Prediabetes: Nope, completely normal blood sugar.

4. High cholestrol: again, despite my best efforts, normal cholestrol.

5. Asthma: Nope, again, despite my best efforts. I grew up in a polluted power plant/coal mine town and, again, I love the Marbs, but still no asthma.

6. Back pain: Yes, but related to my three-car pile up in April.

7. Joint pain: Yes, but related to my BROKEN ankle that was diagnosed 13 years after the fact and my knee surgery, both from ski injuries. And, unfortunately, I did not fall because I was too fat.

8. Thyroid: completely normal (much to my mother's disappointment, both times I've had it tested in my life)

9. Depression: Not weight-related. Just life-related, and probably genetic.

10. Maybe the fact that my grandmother was a trainwreck of a human speciment might help. Heart disease, stroke and diabetes, along with an anxiety disorder. She's dead, of course (based on the above), but she hasn't seemed to have passed along any of those traits to her children.

11 My dad has high blood pressure but, as I indicated, but he's so type A that I don't know how he couldn't. And, who knows, maybe if I didn't smoke, my blood pressure would be so low I'd be dead. See No. 1, supra.

12. Gastric Reflux: Maybe, but I've already been diagnosed with an ulcer (I can't imagine why).

13. Anxiety disorder: check but, again, not weight related.

14. Insomnia: check, but not on the list of obesity-related factors.

Unfortunately, as my doctor told me a few years ago, with somewhat astonishment, I am "remarkably healthy." I just can't get control over the issue, and I'd like some assistance that's not in the form of a christmas gift of LA Weightloss. Yeah, I'm still a little bitter.

The downside is that I would have to give up food, diet coke and smoking. Those are all serious quality of life issues for me. I would love to give up the food, and I accept that the smoking has to stop. but the diet coke? really?

Here's some more info if you're curious.

I'll keep you posted.

Saturday, June 21, 2008

I'm fat. It's that simple, really. Just plain fat.

So fat, I don't even like to look at myself in the mirror anymore. So fat that I have a hard time imagining that anyone would want to touch me, much less kiss me or seriously consider dating me. So fat that I don't even like going out much anymore. You can put lipstick on a pig, but...Anyway, the bottom line is that I am so fat that I am no longer cute. And, as each year passes, I feel like I've lost another battle. I'm going to go through my lifetime chronogoly, with snippets of soul-crushing experiences that have made me who I am today: fat and with a very poor body image and poor outlook on my health. Even my family (especially my family) feels as though I've given up. I probably have. I was relatively thin (size 12-14) when I moved to Minneaolis, and then somewhat slimmer when I moved to Minot. And then it was a free-for-alll.

The long and the short of it is this: I've lost the war. And it's time to wage one of my own. Wiht a ltitle luck and some as yet to be uncovered serious medical concerns, I should be a shoo-in. I may have a chance to control my own destiny and, by using this blog as its intended purpose, I'll chronologically go through the mini-mmovie films of my past that play on a almost-continuously loop day in and day out.

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

Ten Things I've done in Ten Days

1. Turned 30 and survived without so much as hint of female pattern baldness.

2. Looked on, completely horrified, as Huxley ate cat poop.

3. Stopped him from going back for more.

4. Spent an obsessive amount of time trying to track down the source of the nasty cat pee smell in my house. After a good hour or two, I deduced it was the litter box. And only the litter box. My nose hurts from trying to sniff out the source. Will dismantle and disinfect electronic litter box tomorrow. Decided just to smoke and open windows in the meantime.

5. Overslept for a networking meeting at 7 a.m. this morning. No idea why I even bothered to sign up. Rule No. 1: Know your limitations.

6. Made this list.

7. Wore brown flip flops with black sweater. Movie theaters are dark. And I've clearly given up on myself.

8. Fired a client for the first time ever.

9. Decided that it won't be obvious that the lawn needs to be mowed until after I move out in two weeks.

10. Curled my hair like it was 1998. see No. 1.

Monday, May 5, 2008

And the winner is....

Well, I have about 22 minutes left of smoking. And, it looks like I'm not really going to quit. The probable ulcer and the job stress and the sky stress and the fact that I really, really like it makes quitting a nay. So, pay each other appropriately.

Thirty sucks. Today sucked especially. I had a hearing in the Magic City and I was worried about getting shot in the face for at least part of the time. Managed to make it out safely.

HLC and Tiki planned a great event for me on Saturday. We went to the casino. And I threw up all over the lobby. And I wasn't even drunk. Think it has to do with a whiskey coke and the probable ulcer. It was awesome. Here's how it went.

Sour Girl excuses herself from the black jack table and walks to nearest bathroom.

Nearest bathroom closed for cleaning.

Sour Girl walks to lobby to next nearest bathroom.

Sour Girl starts to gag and covers mouth with hand.

Sour Girl projectile vomits all over floor. In front of at least 10 people.

Sour Girl walks to front desk.

SG: "Yeah, I just threw up. And I'm really sorry. You might want to call someone to clean that up."

Front Desk Guy: [total look of disgust]. "You need to tell housekeeping."

SG: "Yeah, right. Normally, that's what I would do but, see, I have to go throw up again." [walks off to bathroom with hand over mouth again and barely makes it to the toilet.]

After about 20 minutes in the bathroom, I managed to stop throwing up, clean most of the puke off of myself and my clothes, flip my tank from front to back (so the wet spot wouldn't show out the front of my cardigan) and find my friends to join them in the limo for the ride home.

So, I was totally awesome. In a completely different way. Aside from the puking, though, it seems as though a fun time was had by all. Birthday girl, included.

I need less stress. Really.

Monday, April 28, 2008


So, Sky called this afternoon, after a very long weekend of silence. Unfortunately, he wasn't dead or severely injured in a car accident. Nope, he was actually avoiding me because he wanted to avoid the fallout that would happen when he told me his wife was moving back into the house. The one he's divorcing. That wife. He knew I would stop talking to him if he told me, thus the four long days of silence.

He still wanted to be friends. And he meant it. He's the only person I've ever known to utter that phrase with sincerity. In pleading his case, he said that I have a lot of male friends, and he's not sure why he couldn't be one of them. Yeah. We aren't friends. We never were, and we certainly aren't going to be in the future. As Marky Mark once said, if you're not in it to win it, then get the hell out. I command you to dance, now feel the vibration. OK, too far. Anyway, you get my gist.

When confronted with my comment that we aren't friends and the point of us talking was because I thought there was potential, he back-pedaled saying that, if we weren't friends, he wasn't sure why we talked so much (every day for about four months). After all, he is married, hasn't seen me in years and we live far away. Um, maybe because I love him, and he asked me if we were a possibility and we approached this whole thing with the idea that, maybe, we'd some day be together. That's why. So, I told him to fuck himself for saying that this was all my fault and I should have known better. True, I should have. But it wasn't just me. Married men who are staying with their wives don't email people they've never met to plan a surprise visit for my birthday. Those men don't talk about the future. Those men don't buy me thoughtful gifts. Those men don't call every day, multiple times a day. They don't talk about moving to the frozen tundra. And so on and so forth.

So, I spent half the day devastated. And angry. And crying.

And then he called back a few hours later. He sounded sheepish and asked if I wanted to hear something "funny." Indeed, I did, as I was in need of a good laugh. Turns out, his wife is not moving in and, in fact, they are no longer reconciling. He acted as though I'd think that was good news. I said it was actually pretty funny. Because now he's left with none. He said he felt stupid. I said that, strangely, I knew exactly how he felt. With quite a bit of sarcasm and irony included. He then launched into the whole "friends" thing and it would be a shame if we no longer talked because he really liked talking to me.

I then told him to fuck himself for suggesting that the onus for my feeling bad was all on me. He couldn't understand why I wouldn't talk to him if "we" were off the table. Not to say "we" is off the table, but, you know, just hypothetically. That's when I pointed out that I'm not 19. I don't talk to ex-boyfriends or hook up with them, as it's a waste of time. I certainly don't entertain the thought of them moving here or driving 1000 miles to see me. What would be the point? I have enough friends. What I'm lacking is mate. And, I'd prefer one that isn't in the form of a mallet I keep hitting myself with over the head. Or a knife I keep stabbing into my heart. Or, well, you get the point.

Right or wrong, I can't be friends with him with the feelings I have for him if he doesn't have the same feelings for me. That makes me a jealous, vindictive person but, you know what, at least I'm honest about it. I can't suppress that and I can't be devastated every time he does this or finds a new girl to fall in love with. Why would I subject myself to that? Would I want to hear about him talk about other girls? I asked what he wanted me to do. Perhaps I could hook him up with my friends, find him a good wife? He didn't appreciate that sentiment either.

Anyway, he was exasperated by the end of that 2nd phone call, saying "I've really made a fucking mess of things." Yes, yes you have. I guarantee you he wishes he would have delayed that first phone call to me, so I would have been none the wiser.

Admittedly, I feel much better after the second conversation. Why? I'm not sure, although I think it has to do with a conversation I had with Sky five years ago. In the middle of a fight, during one of our multiple "on again" periods, he asked me what I wanted. I told him I wanted him to feel as badly as I did. I don't think he feels as bad as I do. But, I think he's getting an idea of what that might feel like. Or, at least I can hope.

Now, I know what you're all thinking. And, trust me, I'm thinking the same thing. Shame on me for this. Really. But I really wanted to drink the kool-aid and prove that, in fact, it really is just kool-aid. Poison-free and rather enjoyable. I wanted to believe that it's possible to get what I need and what I want, all rolled up into one Dolce & Gabanna wrapped package.

Nope. Turns out sometimes shit is really just shit. No matter how much you want to believe it's really a boyfriend, fly it up here, and spend your 30th birthday with it.

Down with love.

Wednesday, April 23, 2008

Just phoning it in.

So, today was a big day. It is my two year anniversary from getting canned by Evil Spawn and His Incompetent Twin, P.C. And, as luck (fate) would have it, I had a meeting with my mentor. It was an opportunity to tell me everything I'm doing wrong. This was not relayed ahead of time, although I assumed it would be what it was because, well, I'm me. Anyway, we went to the bar and he pulled out a list of complaints written down on a piece of notebook paper. They are listed in order of importance and level of concern, with 1 being the greatest concern.

1. Facetime. My commitment to the M has been questioned because I'm not there enough. It seems that the staff and some of the attorneys (yes, I said staff) doesn't believe that I put in enough time to make them feel as though I really want to work there. So, to make everyone feel better about themselves, I need to be there from 8:45 a.m. to 5:30 every day, and no leaving for anything in the middle.

I pointed out that I've been doing "lawyer" things when I've been out of the office and Partner said that he knew that, but I maybe shouldn't do those things for awhile. Seriously. Apparently, it was a big mistake for me to go to the state bar association events that our firm encouraged us to go to. I've been to Siouxland twice in the last month and, apparently, that has ruffled some feathers because I'm galavanting across the state to make it look like both me and the firm are involved in the legal community. I was actually rear-ended on my way to one of those events, but still I went.

Which brings me to my next "excuse" for being out of the office: I was rear-ended. This resulted in several doctor appointments that had to happen before 5 p.m.

Oh, yeah, and I was out of the office for my TRIAL. That I won.

The Partner then said it's probably just the perception and it doesn't really matter to anyone that I'm actually working when I'm gone. Which is why I shouldn't do any bar activities or CLEs (i.e. education that I need to be a better attorney and I'm ethically obligated to attend) and things of that nature for at least 6-7 months.

So, because I'm out of the office working, the M questions whether I want to work there because I'm gone so frequently. Working.

2. I don't ask the partners for help.

Now, you think this would come after I screwed something up and did so because I didn't have the expertise to handle it myself. Nope, nothing wrong with my quality of work. The partners just think I should, as an associate, need more help. I'm supposed to ask partners who have never spent one day practicing family law for help. With my family law cases.

Here's the problem: I have asked for help multiple times. And I rarely get it. Partner is my mentor and, no shit, this is what happens when I ask for help.

Me: [timid knock on his door] Do you have 5 minutes for me?
Partner: No.
Me: [blank stare, unsure what to do next].
Partner: [sigh] I'll find you in a few minutes to see what you need.
Me: OK, that'd be great.
Partner: [never to be seen again].

He did say that it's his fault that he isn't more available, but that I need to make him listen to me and make him help me, even when he's too busy. So, apparently, the conversation should be as follows:

Me: [kick open office door and storm in] I need some help.
Partner: [surprised look on his face] No.
Me: No, I'm not fucking around this time. I need some fucking help.
Partner: No, I really don't have time.
Me: [sitting in chair] I'm not leaving until I get some help.
Partner: I am in the middle of something. I will come find you.
Me: I'm not falling for that one again. I'll just sit here until you're ready to deal with me.
Partner: Get out!
Me: No!
Partner: [calls security]

3. Time
I know what you're thinking. You're thinking they're upset about my billable hours. Nope. Wrong. I need to have my time entered before the end of the month. Before the bill cut off. Before I even bill it, maybe. See, we have a fee entry cut-off. No bills go out before then. So, me being logical, I don't enter my time into the computer program (I keep track on paper during the month) until the day before it's due. Apparently, this is not the right way to do things. I'm not entirely sure of the point of this, but it pisses them off.

4. Communication & Deadlines
I need to communicate with partners better, especially if I'm going to miss a deadline on one of their projects.

That's great, except (1) I don't do projects for other attorneys and, (2) I haven't missed a deadline.

I think, in all honesty, this is a firm-wide problem partners have with associates, so it was lumped in with all the other shit just as an FYI.

So, the bottom line, is that I love my job. Love it, love it, love it, love it.

I'm not sure what to do about court appearances. Maybe I can phone it in. Just like I've apparently been doing all along.