Hi. You probably know me as hellohahanarf from my years of commenting around the world wide internetz, yet never having a blog. Well my friends, that has changed. Welcome to MY site.
Recently I have made a few really, really stupid decisions in an effort to spare my heart. For me, Denial is not just another river in Egypt. Problem is, as much as I try to hide or ignore people or things in an effort to “stay strong” I will never actually find the strength to just fucking deal in the first place if I don’t admit that there is a fucking problem. Dealing and acceptance are the only things that will make it all better, not hiding.
Huge, heavy sigh.
To anyone who listened to “Clearly You’re Retarded” last night, thanks for letting me say something that I have never said before. While I certainly didn’t expect that show to play shrink for me, I am glad I was apart of it. And I appreciated the gentle mirror, held up for me to look into.
I will do my best to make my wrongs right. If I can’t, I have no one to blame. If I can, it is because the others are much better friends than I deserve.
Speaking of friends, I really am grateful for all of you. Very thankful that you are in my life.
I am not one for wishing away the days. As sappy as it sounds, I really am one of those “enjoy every moment” kind of people. Yet Monday I will be doing my best to concentrate on my busy work day and look forward to my dinner with family (Cousin Sarah will join me at our aunt and uncle’s house) so that I don’t have to be alone with my thoughts.
As much as I love birthdays, I can’t be happy because Mom isn’t here for me to fuss over. The vice on my heart as midnight approaches can be pushed down and tucked away when I have a lot to concentrate on. But is that coping? Is that dealing with reality?
No. No, it is not.
And I am ok with that. For now it is exactly what I need. So I will wish that Monday passes quickly. I will pray that snow will fall and I can focus on the beauty of the day instead of the ache inside and the nagging question of whether or not I am normal or just a great big baby for wanting to curl up in a ball and cry.
So all Tuesday I was sad because a wonderful man who was only 39 years old passed away. Stupid cancer and heart attacks didn’t get him, but the complications from the blood marrow transplant finally did. All day images of his two young toddlers would pop into my head. If it wasn’t that, I found myself imagining his young wife, trying to raise those boys alone. Thankfully I was busy at the office so that I could stay distracted.
Aunt Tinkle Tom Tom invited me over for dinner. She had met Patrick and knew how wonderful he was so she figured a little wine and food with family would be better than me being home with my dogs. Yay for thoughtful family!
A marinated London broil, some broccoli, some wine…yep, it was working. But cousin Sarah was very uncomfortable. Little Donnie (also might be known as Jordan Quinn) isn’t due until Christmas day, yet contractions and other things I am not even going to describe caused some concern. A quick phone call to the doctor brought about the suggestion to go to the doctor in order to ensure the baby is ok and all.
I’ve never had a baby, won’t be having a baby ever, so Sarah’s including me on sonograms and doctor appointments has been very cool. We managed to beat the hockey game traffic and get to the hospital in no time. They don’t play around over at the Women’s hospital, which meant that we were whisked into an exam room quickly. I stayed through the entire thing. Ouch. Just…ouch.
Anyhow, I just wanted to say how proud I am of my beautiful young cousin. She listened to her body and did the right thing by going in for an uncomfortable check up, her first internal exam, even when “we” (ok, we equals her mom) sort of gave her grief about sucking it up. Sarah is really doing well with this whole pregnancy and I am thrilled to be a part of it.
Gonna miss her when her husband returns from Iraq and she moves to the military base out of state in the spring. For now, I’m gonna enjoy her company as much as possible!
Hi. I’m (about to be) in Denver. Today is the last day of September. Although it is the last day of Ovarian Cancer Awareness Month, please keep praying for a cure and don’t let this killer escape your thoughts the other 12 months of the year.
I’m hating that my friend Lisa has to battle this terrible disease. Fuck cancer.
And fuck the Ravens. Stillers win!!! Waaaaaahooooooo! It was nice to have Monday Night Football keep me company while I worked late and then got to packing.
The funniest thing I have seen in a long time would have to be Karl’s final birthday dare. Never have I heard of someone doing dares in celebration of their birthday, but I now love the idea. Not that anyone could top Karl. Having his back waxed on video for us was pretty awesome, putting on the adult diaper and going through the drive thru was funny, but his video for Katy Perry’s “I Kissed a Girl” was down right hysterical. I actually hurt myself laughing. And I even watched the damn thing more than once. Probably as much for his balls sticking out of the skirt as to check out the butt of the girl crawling over to him around the 45 second mark. Yeah, I said it.
(P.S. Yes, Karl is the same Karl of the “whacking it, jacking it, peeing on the floor” fame. The guy is to awesome for words!)
Ok, it was so good that I decided to embed the video. You need to watch this, then go over to Karl‘s and check out his other birthday dares. Karl, you really are the king! (Your crown is still in my garage. I’ll bring it to the Halloween party.)
A day short of four years ago was one hell of a rainy Friday. I was downtown at work, so what did I care if Hurricane Ivan’s remnants poured down buckets all day while I was being paid to be inside? Late in the day my best friend called to tell me she just saw my apartment on the news, that there was water up to my front porch’s top step. “Get the hell outta here!” or something similar flew out of my mouth. She replied, “No one else has that dumbass flag like you do, I know where you live!” (For the record, it was SO not a dumbass flag. And I still have one just like it. Black and gold stripes instead of red and white. Then instead of stars there is the City of Pittsburgh skyline in silver on a black background.)
Hmmmm. Water up to my front porch, eh? Not good. Better call the senior citizen who lived across the street. She said she was fine, but that the water was pretty deep outside and that I probably wouldn’t be able to get home. I hung up, assuring her that I would get home to take care of my dogs, come hell or high water. Didn’t expect BOTH hell AND high water, though.
Told the boss that I had to leave early, jumped into my little lightweight, rear wheel drive 1986 Volvo. (Shall I stop now for you fuckers to make fun of my ancient car?) The drive towards home was brutal due to other drivers traveling at a snail’s pace and the rain coming down so hard that I could barely see, regardless of how fast or slow the wipers were moving. My mom called and asked me to come up to stay with her, but she didn’t have a fenced in yard for the boys, plus rumor had it that many roads leading to her place were flooded out. I called Aunt Mary, knowing that her home is dog friendly and has a fence. She picked up quickly, telling me she was at the grocery store, but they had just lost power so she would leave to get my dogs for me.
Aunt Mare would have been coming from a direction that wouldn’t have permitted her to get down my flooded street, but I was coming from another direction that put me at the other side of the flood. I had no trouble with me wading (swimming?) in the water, but would never dare to ask my aunt to do that kind of stupid behavior. Problem was, I couldn’t even get remotely close to home. I had to take a different exit due to a massive lake that accumulated at the end of the Carnegie exit. Coming down Mansfield through Greentree was painfully slow, partially due to the water shooting out of the manhole covers like fountains. I prayed, asking God to please be with my dogs because I had no idea if I would be able to get home and what I would find if I did.
Eventually I got into Carnegie, but every time I tried to turn right to get home the street was halfway full of brown water. I had always heard that you shouldn’t drive into flood water, so I kept going straight until I found a left turn that afforded a parking spot on a hill. Walking to find the best place to cross I came upon a firetruck. As calmly as possible I asked the driver where the shallowest place to cross might be and I was told that I can’t cross, no one can. It was then that I lost it. Somehow I managed to utter, “Fuck can’t! You tell me how! I have to get home to my dogs. They are all alone and I need to get there to get them out. You tell me how and don’t you dare fucking say “can’t” again. I don’t mind swimming.” Poor guy. He tried to tell me that the flood waters were too swift, but I was unbuttoning my Levi’s and walking away. (Anyone else out there hear that jeans are too heavy when wet and that you should never swim in them?) I prayed some more, telling God that I didn’t care about the material possessions, but that He knew how much those dogs meant to me and that I needed Him to help Reilly & Ludo be safe.
Keep in mind that the captain of police got stuck exactly where I wanted to swim across. Seems he was trying to rescue about 20 people when he also got trapped. They were all rescued by boat. While on top of a bridge. Yeah. Stupid, stupid flood. More praying, telling God in no uncertain terms that He could have everything, that it was all His anyhow, but that I absolutely needed His help with keeping my dogs healthy and safe.
ANYhow, here I am taking off my jeans when my phone rang. On a day when no one had regular phone service let alone cellular service, mine rings. Seems my aunt is on my front porch, opening my door. Something about waters receding (receding!!) and getting the key from my neighbor. It was difficult to tell exactly what she was saying because when I heard Reilly & Ludo bark I could concentrate on nothing but the happiest sound I had ever heard in my life. Sure, that sounds melodramatic, but you have to understand how stressed I was until this point. Aunt Mary said to get out of Carnegie and to get to her house, that she would make sure the dogs got there safely.
I found my car and slowly made my way through the traffic to Aunt Mary’s house, thanking God for Reilly & Ludo the entire drive. Aunt Mare saw me parking in front and hurrying to her gate so she opened the door to let my dogs out. They tore across the driveway to me and I collapsed right there in the pouring rain and whipping wind, fell to my knees in the driveway sobbing and sobbing with relief that the dogs were safe. I was safe.
Mare had grabbed the plastic wheeled container which held 40 pounds of dog food and a pair of sweatpants for me so it was great that the boys ate, plus I was finally both warm and dry. Her electricity had been out so we talked by candlelight before going to sleep, no radio, no television and no internet to give us updates. Saturday morning an aunt and uncle who lived around the corner invited us up for breakfast since they had enough food for a small army (the mountain house getaway was canceled due to flooding that prevented anyone from traveling to Somerset). We laughed and talked and ate, having a marvelous (and oblivious) morning until my landlord called.
“Oh Becky, I am so sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it, Joe. My aunt got my dogs and said she saw some water in the basement, but that shouldn’t be a big cleanup deal. I’m not worried about it.”
“I don’t think you understand. Oh Becky, I’m just so sorry. It is gone. All ruined. I’m so sorry.”
“Huh? Ruined? What?”
“Everything”
“…”
Several of us piled into my uncle’s van, a bunch of folks went in Aunt Mary’s SUV, hell I don’t even know how many of us pulled up in front of my adorable two bedroom apartment. Former adorable apartment. The stench in the neighborhood was stomach churning, the mud was caked inches thick on the streets…and the inside of my apartment was not much better. Joe had gotten there earlier and had a sump pump started which was getting the water pumped out (thank God for the guy who had the generator across the street because there was no gas, no electricity). I was numb as I walked across the muddy tiled floor to the basement door. Instead of seeing rickety stairs I saw dark water. To the very top of what should have been stairs was nothing but dark water. I reeled backwards, thinking of everything I had stored in the basement that was now worthless and totally ruined by the sewage flood water. Smells are something that I have always been sensitive to and the stench had me on the verge of vomiting. Walking though the living room and hearing the squish of my shoes wasn’t helping, nor was literally seeing the water splash when I walked through the dining room.
It was starting to get overwhelming and I wanted to go. Reminding myself that I told God all I wanted was Reilly & Louie was pretty damn close to not helping anymore and I needed to get out of there, to not see my ruined cowboy boots laying in the muddy hall, to not look at the couch that was now wet garbage, to not see the hundred plus dollars of dog toys soaking wet, to not see that terrible dark water, to not smell that Bog of Eternal Stench odor that had enveloped the neighborhood, to not deal with anything anymore. It was right about then when one of my aunts picked up my “Miracle Mop” that we had purchased together at the home show. It had been standing in the kitchen closet, mop head side up, so she unwrapped the plastic from the mop head, ran it under some fresh water, and drew a white line in the mud of the tiled kitchen floor. I froze, starting to think that maybe this disaster wasn’t as overwhelming as I had originally thought. She smiled and said, “Just like eating an elephant. One bite at a time.”
I’ll save the rest of the good news for tomorrow, the actual anniversary of my life changing event.
Until then here are some photos of that crazy flood.
10th Street Bypass, facing downstream
10th Street Bypass, facing upsteam:
A marina broke loose and floated downstream.
376 West:
Obviously these photos were taken the day after the rain stopped. Water level had actually gone drastically down. For example, in this final photo, the water is under the bridge! September 17, 2004 the Carnegie police chief and about 20 others had to be rescued from on top of the bridge by boat. By boat! There was so much water that the top of that semi would have barely been visible. (And my dumb ass was thinking of swimming??)
I am so thankful for the extra day off from work this week. Just perfect timing. If you have to work today, thank you. You are appreciated.
Instead of going into the office I am going to take one of the dogs down to the parade. Joe Biden will be town, riding in the parade. Wonder if that will make it more crowded than normal.
I love parades. For some reason they give me some goofy patriotic surge. Especially when the fire trucks or the marching bands go by. For a city girl, I suddenly feel small town. And I like it.
In May I went to Philly to meet a bunch of bloggers I had read for a long time and many that I had never even heard of. I’ll be honest and say that I barely read Lisa, of Clusterfook, before TequilaCon. Yet when I met her it felt as though I had known her forever. As most of you know, she is battling cancer again, for the third time. Too weak from chemo for parades and parties, Lisa will be home, recovering from another round of poison sent to destroy the cancer. Yet even Sunday while terribly sick she is thinking of those of us out here in the blogosphere. This I know because she sent me this wonderful little button:
I wish I knew how to make the button take you HERE when you clicked on it, but alas I am oh so not technically gifted. Point is, there are early warning signs. Signs that are so easily overlooked. Being familiar with these signs may assist in early detection. Please take a moment out of your day and click over for the quick reading.
This is Ovarian Cancer Awareness Month. When you see a teal ribbon, will you say a prayer for my friend Lisa? I would really enjoy the opportunity to hang out with her again.
So the Olympics are done. I barely watched them, but what I did manage to see was pretty damn amazing. We have such tremendous athletic talent in this country. I do buy into the patriotic everything that I get fed and watching these kids succeed could easily make me swell with USA pride.
What I saw of the closing ceremony was incredible. The months of practice paid off. My Mudder would have loved the show. And the way the announcers kept talking about how wonderful the people of Beijing were to the foreign athletes and tourists would have thrilled her.
Mom always loved China and would defend their culture when I would bitch that too much of our products were made in China. “Buy American!” was always met with her somehow turning the conversation to the wonderful people of China and not politics.
It should have come as no surprise when Mom announced that she was going on a AAA trip to China. In January. She was over 60 and I was terrified for her safety in the middle of winter. IN! CHINA! When I started asking questions about the trip halfway around the fucking world that she stumbled upon in the Triple A newspaper thingy, she had all of the answers, including that she had just bought a floor length down coat with a (fake!) fur trimmed hood to keep her warm.
My favorite volley? “Well, just who do you plan on going to China with?” “19 friends I haven’t met yet.”
I am so my mother’s daughter, no matter how I try to fight it.
This is most likely an oldie that I hadn’t seen before, and it is so wrong, yet it really hit my funny bone. Yep, I recognize that I was in the mood to laugh. And that Mom, the former nun, would have cracked up at this…
While shopping in a food store, two nuns happened to pass by the beer section.
One asked the other if she would like a beer.
The second nun answered that, indeed, it would be very nice to have one, but that she wouldn’t feel comfortable about buying it.
The first nun replied that she could handle that without a problem.
She picked up a six-pack and took it to the cashier.
The cashier had a surprised look on his face, so the nun said, ‘We use beer for washing our hair; a sort of shampoo, if you will.’
Without blinking an eye, the cashier reached under the counter, pulled out a package of pretzels and placed them in the bag with the beer. He then looked the nun straight in the eye, smiled, and said, ‘The curlers are on the house.’
