Happy Middle Name Pride Day! Let’s play a middle name game via Happy Middle Name Pride Day – Hot Mess Memoir
Have you ever gone out with a large group and wonder how they get everyone’s meals to arrive at almost the same time? Well this isn’t that story. This is the story of my meltdown via One Hangry B**** – Hot Mess Memoir
I did something the other night I’ve always wanted to do, take an IQ test! And how did I do? You can see my results via Hot Mess and the IQ Test – Hot Mess Memoir
Just a quick note that I am not slacking on posting or reading everyone’s posts. I do apologize! I have to take care of a few things that I anticipated would take 3 evenings tops…I’m on evening #5. Obviously I was a little off. Anyway, I’ll be a mean lean posting and reading machine starting Sunday….that’s if I didn’t underestimate again. Hope all of you are having a great Saturday!
One day I awoke to an uneventful Saturday. I was 21 and my best friend and I had big plans to hit the town mall. I always looked forward to days like these. I really didn’t have a care in the world. Sure, at 5 I had to be back at my father’s restaurant to waitress but I had the whole afternoon to be silly.
Emily (my best friend) and I took our lunch in the food court of the mall. The food court featured such delicacies as Arthur Treacher’s Fish and Chips (Emily worked there), Mc Donalds and Sabarros. It was right before Easter and I still believed I was a good Catholic so I got a fish sandwich, fries and a coke.
As I ate and drank my coke I noticed my mouth would not tighten around the straw like normal.
“That’s funny,” I said as I pulled the straw from my coke.
“What?” Emily asked.
“This is silly but my mouth won’t tighten around my straw.” I responded.
Emily being my best friend for almost a decade responded with a “that’s weird, I wonder what could cause that?”
Being 21, you really don’t think anything as silly as your mouth not fitting around your straw being an issue. We quickly dismissed it and focused on the collar necklaces at Claire’s Boutique.
Later that night I looked in the mirror and realized I couldn’t smile, at least not half of my face anyways. The left side of my face went up while the other did not. I worried a little but decided to wait till the next morning to loose my shit.
The next morning came and in addition to not being able to smile, my right eye lid wouldn’t shut. I officially lost it. The entire right side of my face was paralyzed.
I lived about 30 minutes away from the family doctor. I cried on the phone to my mother the whole drive there. My mom was already at the doctors office when I pulled in. Normally our physician was a hot-a young Italian but he was unavailable for the day.
Like a freak, I was quickly moved into the “infectious waiting area” because my ailment was making me act like Snots from Christmas Vacation. I don’t know why but it was making me sneeze a lot and the drainage was awful.
After a few minutes we were allowed through the door that led to the examining rooms only we didn’t make to to a room. We were in some sort of make shift ER that was empty.
A young Indian woman stood before us with her left leg crossed over her right, arms folded, leaning against a gurney.
“Bell’s Palsy.” She said in a deep Indian accent.
“Excuse me?” My mom asked.
“Bell’s Palsy. That is what she has.”
That bitch knew what I had without even examining me. Turns out Bell’s Palsy is a paralysis of one side of the face caused by stress. A nerve in the back of your neck is pinched thus halting all actions on that side.
I was given essentially horse tranquilizers and told to take them but also massage my face 3’s a day so that nothing would get weak and stay paralyzed. If I did this, my face would go back to normal.
As embarrassing as it was, I still had to work at my father’s restaurant with a 1/2 paralyzed face. I looked like the hunch back of Notre Dame.
One evening, 2 bar patrons sat at the bar. I asked what they would like to drink . After they gave me their drink list I smiled but then quickly realized it was a 1/2 smile so I bent my head down even further to disguise it.
Eventually I explained to them why only half of my face would smile.
“Naw, it doesn’t look bad” hill billy 1 called out. “You look like that Dr Quinn, Medicine Woman.”
‘What? How do you get complete right face paralysis with Dr. Quinn, medicine woman?’
But as time went by I appreciated the comment because I felt ugly and horrible for several weeks. I continued to massage my face like a crazy person and eventually movement began to come back.
All told my mouth still shows a very slight droop. I don’t think anyone would notice unless I pointed it out. To this day I am so scared it’s going to come back and I will then again have to explain why I look like a zombie.
No one is calling anyone the B-word*. It’s a term of endearment for all of you I’m getting to know. Promise! When I went for a title, this was the first thing that popped in my head. Yes I know, I do need to speak with a licensed professional.
This award made my day and a HUGE thank you to Chatty Kerry for the nomination. This is even after ruining the Divergent series ending for her through a post from this morning. Please go to Kerry’s blog immediately, follow her, sign up with all forms of social media and love her! 🙂
So below are some questions I have to answer in order to keep my nomination. Like the last nomination I will ask it again: Will there be an evening gown competition? I need to go to David’s Bridal if that is the case.
1. You are awesome; tell us why.
Have you seen my gravatar? After asking my cousin (who is more of a hot mess than me) what image to use for my gravatar, she managed to get it right the first time with a Chinese Crested dog. Honestly, I didn’t even know “Chinese Crested” was a dog. I thought Chinese Crested was a food. Well….maybe it is in some parts of the world….who knows.
2. You are my friend; tell us about other friends.
I have different groups of friends. I have my sister and 2 cousins that know the real me. Whether it’s me calling Cousin #1 while stumbling around China Town during a business trip possibly drunk, Cousin #2 with the perfect gravatar or my sister who dealt with everything I dealt with while growing up; they know the most. I have my best friend I met almost 20 years ago, the gals in the hood (ok, let’s be real here…it’s the burbs) and now the new friendships I am starting to have with awesome bloggers.
3. Be creative, but it’s ok if you are having trouble with this one/ There are no direct questions to answer; let yourself run wild!
How is it I’m drawing a complete blank? I thought maybe if I start writing something will come. Oh wow, something is coming to me and it’s really stupid. I’m sorry. Just let it run it’s course. COPS. I just watched COPS with my son and have a few thoughts:
- Why does the criminal think that if they claim something is “not theirs” the cops will be satisfied and no further testing will be conducted.
- Do all criminals on COPS call each other the night before to plan their outfits? TWINSIES! The uniform, without fail consists of the following:
- no shirt or white tank
- cargo shorts
- flip flops, knock off high tops or no shoes at all
- I would love to know the stats of how many of the “runners” have actually gotten away.
- When I sit down with my son to watch COPS, I pray that the inevitable cross dressing hooker episode doesn’t run.
- Did every one of these criminals sign off to Fox/COPS for their image to be shown? If I’m busted with drugs while soliciting a hooker, I’m guessing this would put a damper on relationships as well as future employment.
4. Now notify your nominees and thank the blogger who nominated you.
Thank you again to Kerry at Postcards From Kerry. You are awesome and I am honored for this!
My awesome nominees are below. Like Charlie Sheen and alcohol, I have a high tolerance when it comes to comedy and these broads make me laugh….a lot!
My sister’s long term boyfriend decided a few months ago to get a desk job as a Financial Advisor. He is a ridiculously talented Artist yet it’s hard to find a great paying art gig, especially in the Midwest. “Starving Artist” sales weren’t ironically created. If you are an artist in any city other than NY, LA, Paris or London, I’m guessing you’re screwed.
Begrudgingly I agreed to a 1.5 hour long meeting to see what he has to offer in way of financial products and to support him. I love my sister and this was one way I could support them….for free.
At 3 PM I made the 45 minute journey to his office located in an overly priced business location of a “Lifestyle Center”. For anyone that doesn’t know what a lifestyle center is, it’s like a shopping center on steroids with usually indoor and outdoor shops along with even apartments.
I walked in to see S chatting with a co-worker. I suddenly had flashbacks of Wolf of Wall Street, though I didn’t anticipate any Advisors snorting coke off a hooker’s ass thank God.
This was the first time I saw him in a suit and it was borderline weird. This is the guy that wears newsboy caps, jeans and plaid snap shirts. This suit wasn’t him.
S guided me into a small conference room off the lobby. It had 4 plush chairs and a round cherry table. We made pleasantries for a few minutes then he unzipped a leather portfolio that probably was borrowed and pulled out a thick white paper that said CONFIDENTIAL at the top.
“We’ll go over this after I walk you through the financial cycle.” He said as he also pulled out a laminated 8″x 10″ card with what was a flow chart of some sort. My eyes began to glaze over.
He points to the first group of words. “Now this is where you decide what your goals are.” He pointed to the second group of words, “And this is where you make a plan on how to get there. Next you act on this plan,” he said as he pointed to the third grouping.
“I need you to stop right there,” I said holding 1 finger up. He stopped.
“See, here is where you should technically be my 2nd stop on the financial train. Your company, or any other company needs to employ Psychiatrists. You guys can preach this till the cows come home but if I can’t say no to my recent purchase of a gold, Nate Berkus stapler at Target because it’s 20% off, well then it’s all for nothing. I need to learn willpower and impulse control. This will never work.”
My revelation really didn’t lead to anything, just a floating ADD idea. I get a lot of these. After we went through the circle of life, he then focused his attention on the large, CONFIDENTIAL document that I knew would sting like a flu shot.
“Now this is the part no one likes,” he said. ‘You have no idea,’ I thought. Below is a brief outline of some of the questions, how I answered it and how I really wanted to answer it:
Q. Where do you want to be financially at retirement?
Answer in head: I want to be so fucking rich that I can buy whatever I want, whenever I want. Money is no object.
Actual answer given: Oh, good question. What am I allowed to say? Um, well enough money to bury me in the ground. No, mausoleum, mausoleum. It has to be a mausoleum, I’m claustrophobic. Money to put the boys through college and enough money that I don’t have to work part time at Wal-Mart as a greeter.
Q. Do you have student loans?
Answer in my head and actual answer given: Yes but I haven’t paid them in years and I have no idea how much I owe.
Q. Are you healthy?
Answer in my head: I haven’t exercised in 2 years. The only thing keeping me skinny is my anti-cancer medicine and my Ritalin.
Actual answer given: I thought I was healthy till my chance of breast cancer shot up by 400% after the Atypical Ductal Hyperplasia. That is that medicine I have to take for the next 5 years. Remember?
After about 30 minutes of airing my very dirty financial laundry, not to mention I was hangry and it was feeding time, I looked at S and in a very firm and serious tone, I laid out the train wreck before him.
“Look S, I am just trying to get to the point where I open my mail. I operate under ignorance is bliss. Definitely not a healthy approach and this is why I said my first stop needs to be a Psychiatrist. Can I just give you my mail? Can you just open it for me and tell me what I need to do?”
His jaw had dropped half way through my revelation and there was complete silence. I, being the type that hates awkward silence, flung myself back in my chair and whined, “can we just do something like Brittany Spears where you just deal with this stuff and I’m given an allowance or something?”
“I can’t do that.” He said matter of a fact.
“I know, but it’s a nice thought.”
I didn’t get laid. Get your minds out of the gutter folks. I wouldn’t introduce myself that way. This isn’t a “She’s My Cherry Pie” blog. No, I mean I just scored about another 15-25 min to write my first blog. The Columbus Crew are currently playing in some playoff thing, have yet to score and my husband wants to finish watching it despite a solid 22 minutes into the Walking Dead. WD can wait, I need to write.
So who am I? “Why I’m a Zizzer Zazzer Zuzz as you can plainly see”- Dr. Seuss, Dr. Seuss’s ABC, 1963. Sorry, couldn’t help myself. I have 2 sons and Dr. Seuss books were really the only ones I used to be able to enjoy, except the 400 page novel, Green Eggs and Ham, which I would be envisioning the slicing of my wrists just before Sam got him to eat the damn eggs and ham. “Their spoiled! Don’t eat them!” I would secretly cry to the trippin’ high hot mess thing the Dr. Seuss artist created.
Getting back to who am I. Well, I guess I’m a writer now. I’ve written about 4 books. My direct line to the publishing world is buried in a project that I hope all of you will hear about over the next year. I asked him if I should pursue an agent, publishing on my own, etc. and he said I should wait on him since it’s virtually impossible to get your foot in the door on your own. Normally this would be the point in time where all of you are saying “Don’t listen to him. He’s stringing you along.” Alas, I know he isn’t. I know because his mother is my neighbor and my friend. She would kick his ass if he didn’t follow through with his commitment to help me. I hate not taking the bull by the horns and figuring it out on my own so until that ball is rolling, you are stuck with this blog.
My publishing friend in which we will call D, said something that really stuck one day: funny always finds us. He couldn’t be more right. I had the same philosophy, only I always say: If irony had a job, he would be a comedian. I don’t know why I made irony a man.
I am 30 something, married with 2 perfect sons that drive me to drink Cabernet just about every night. It’s not uncommon to roll over the next morning and find 26 “likes” on Facebook to which my blood turns cold, my face hot and in my mind I am screaming ‘FUCK! What did I write?’ I find myself deleting about 1/3 of the posts. I even received the following in a private message one morning:
Hey, I think this picture is inappropriate and should not be on Facebook. Would you please take it down?
I’m not saying it was an image of me feeding the homeless but it sure as hell wasn’t of me kicking kittens.
Well damn it, the Crew game is over and I have to go downstairs. After we get all of these formalities out of the way we can have some fun and I can assure you I have stories to tell. Good night. 🙂