Thursday, July 30, 2009

"Duffman thrusting in the direction of the problem!"

This is going to be long. Don't say you weren't warned.

Part I: Monday

I have been trying to eliminate chemicals from my diet for a while now. This includes preservatives, dyes, food that was genetically engineered, etc. I am not going to preach to you, because most days I wake up and want nothing more than powdered cheese with processed noodles and milk drowning in hormones. This is one of the hardest things I have ever done. And if you are not yet educated on this subject - DO NOT READ A THING. IT WILL RUIN YOUR LIFE FOREVER. When I invent a time machine, I am going back in time and beating the crap out myself the day I decided that it can't hurt to be educated. Then I will drink my body weight in Dr. Pepper.

I went online and found a bunch of things to drink that were not water, but still met the criteria I am trying to stick to. I also found tons of coupons for Amazon and their organic grocery store, so I went a little crazy buying various things that sounded yummy. But, mainly, I bought three cases of carbonated fruit juice to quench that craving for soda I have been struggling to kick.

Stay with me. It is all coming together.

Part II: Today After Work

On the way home, I decided that I was sick and tired of stopping all the time to pick up beer. The people at the gas station started to ask where I was when I didn't show up for more than a few days at a time. I am not even kidding. THEY KNOW ME BY NAME. (Hi. Intervention? It's Erratic and it's time.) So, I go to Sam's Club, because it is cheap and comes in big girl size. (That is what I call those big bottles of wine. It is also what I call the glass of wine when you pour it all the way to the top. I am so classy.) I grab two cases of beer and am perusing the wine. I turn around and there is a woman standing there. She has her foot up on the bar of the cart and is leaning on the cart looking at me. She is wearing a name tag, but it is not a Sam's Club name tag.

Crazy Woman: "Do you feel better?"

Erratic: "Since when?"

C: "Your shoes. You went and changed them."

E: "Ma'am, we have never met and I have been wearing these shoes all day."

CW: laughs awkwardly, still maintaining eye contact.

E: "Heh." I put something in my cart thinking, maybe, she thinks it is hers.

CW: "It's really windy in here."

E: (frantically looking around) "Yep, sure is windy outside."

CW: "No, silly, inside the building."

E: "Heh. Oh yeah."

CW: "You having a party?" (I have been nervously shoving all alcohol in sight into my cart.)

E: "Heh. Yeah, this weekend. Big party. Lots to buy." (note: there is no party)

CW: "Where do you live?"

E: "Oh, on the other side of town, this is just close to work." (I could walk to the Sam's from my house. I thought she was going to follow me home.)

CW: "I love parties"

E: "Well, I really have to go"

I walk towards my cart. She does not move. I sort of push her out of the way with my hip and walk away as fast as any human being has ever walked without breaking into a sprint.

Part III: Today when I got home

I get home and pull up to the house, already dreading the load I have to carry in because I bought, ahem, two cases of beer and 5 bottles of wine. I look up and there are three HUGE boxes from Amazon on the front porch. Plus, I had already gotten the mail, which had a package in it. So, I start unloading everything and bringing it in the house. I have just recently learned how to properly lift in rehab, so every time I lift, I roll my hips backwards, stick my butt out, lean forward, keeping my head up, and bend my knees. However...this takes me about 45 seconds each time I bend over. I only realize as I am lifting the last box that my neighbor who is outside stealing WiFi is watching the whole thing with a look on his face that is a combination of laughter, pity, and horror. I wave and sort of shrug my shoulders, the universal sign to queue the sitcom "wah wah wah waaaahhh" music where the other person shakes their head in understanding. I mean, that is how that works, right????

Without further ado...the fridge:

Scary, right? So, you know, if you're in the neighborhood this weekend, stop by and have a beer. Or a carbonated fruit juice. Or maybe a bottle of water and a Gatorade.

Also, I was watching the Simpson's while I typed this. Ha ha. Duffman.

Friday, July 24, 2009

Am I an ass hole?

I was sitting in the lunch room enjoying some leftover spaghetti carbonara and salad and this story came on the news. I looked around.

"This man just stopped on the highway on his way to work and pulled a child out of a burning vehicle."

"Oh, that is old news. It was a few days ago."

Burning vehicle. That could blow up at any moment. I get back to my desk and start reading articles. He's humble. He doesn't want money or fame. He just wanted to save that little girl. He truly believes anyone else would have done the same. I think of "What Would you Do?" and know that, in fact, other people would not have done the same.
What would I do? I cannot see myself walking away from a child trapped in a burning car. But, would fear take over? Would my own survival instincts render me useless? What if the situation was not life threatening, like on "What Would You Do?" Would I stop and help the homeless person who collapsed on the street? Would I stop the gay bashing? Or the racism if I was in that store shopping?

I want to say yes. I believe in the latter situations that is the truth. A burning vehicle? I hope the answer is yes. I hope that I am not one of those ass holes who saves himself and lets everyone else be put in harms way. But how do you really know until you are in that situation?

Thursday, July 23, 2009


It wasn't any worse than yesterday. As I walked out, I felt the weight of it all melt away. The rain kept the air cool, so I drove with my windows down and my iPod on shuffle. "Fake It" by Seether came on and I laughed at the absurdity of it.

I sit in meetings and fight for what I know is the right thing to do. I am told to be quiet, to do what I am told, to sit down and shut up. I fight anyway. As they laugh at me, me on my soapbox fighting for the way I think things should be done. Silly girl. Fake it.

The sky is dark from the days storms and I am so mad that there are tears in my eyes. Mad at the people who refuse to listen, mad at the way my career has turned out. Mad at myself for letting my life get here. Mad for being so angry and doing nothing about it. Mad because I know, even as I write this, that I won't do anything to change it.

I struggle with change for the sake of change. I struggle to take a system that works and turn it upside down because no one is willing to listen to reason, to compromise, to find a solution instead of creating another problem. I struggle to do what I am told knowing it is the wrong thing to do.

I walk in the front door and smell the bacon from dinner last night. Two wet noses and excited tails greet me and I smile. This I don't have to fake.

"Let's go for a walk boys."

Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Satan sent me a windshield wiper.

Here is how my evening was supposed to go:

Drive home from work, uneventfully.

Stop at the store to pick up stuff for dinner and beer.

Get gas.

Go home and work out.

Organize shoes in closet.

Cook dinner.

Eat dinner.

Drink beer.

Watch T.V.


Here is how my night is actually going:

Drive home from work.


Pull over in pouring down rain at some business whose entire staff is leaving at that exact moment to stare at me while I fix windshield wiper.

Continue driving home.

Pull over on side of highway to fix windshield wiper that hates me.

Continue driving home.

Exit highway and pull into gas station to fix windshield wiper again. Try to diagnose problem, but it is raining too hard to see anything but rain.

Continue driving home on back roads to avoid accidentally ramming into the back of a semi-truck.

Pull over on side of road to fix windshield wiper. Tempted to rip windshield wiper from car and beat it on the ground until it shatters into 100 pieces.

Continue driving home. Only use windshield wipers when visibility is zero as to save the remaining life on crappiest windshield wiper ever.

Pull over on side of road to fix windshield wiper sent to earth by Satan. Contemplate if this is payback for all my sinful ways.

Get home. Change out of soaking wet clothes, towel dry hair. Grumble words of animosity under breath while stomping around the house.

Open beer and sit on couch.


Exhibit A:

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

This did not just happen.

I have been in a training class the past two days and the instructor is, well, kind of odd. He showed us a video of a BABE car rally where he was dressed as superman. In spandex. Right.

Granted, in a professional setting I am not always what you would call...professional. I tend to swear and say inappropriate things. I totally called someone a twat yesterday and we had a brief conversation about an orgy. I can't remember why we were talking about an orgy, but we were.

So, we are sitting there, all minding our own business during a break, and the instructor lifts his left butt cheek and just rips ass. Let me go ahead and repeat this. He lifted his butt cheek and farted. In a professional setting where, he, the vendor, was training, us, the customer on his system upgrades. LIFTED HIS BUTT CHEEK AND FARTED. I did not know how to react. I mean, I couldn't call him out on it, although the butt cheek was lifted in my direction, so I was a tad offended.

After he left, we decided it was the Mexican food he had for lunch and that tomorrow we were feeding him Beano and toast.

Monday, July 20, 2009

Pride and Harry Potter

I love this site. However, this made me laugh out loud...and then made me ashamed because I honestly can't say that it wouldn't have worked on me in my single days.

(905): so I was like, you know platform 9 3/4? I know something else with those measurements. best. pick up line. ever.

Let's have a moment of silence for my pride...oh, wait, I am not done!

I went and saw the movie opening day with my dad, Krackle, and some other people I never talk about here. Not the midnight showing, because, I have some semblance of self control. Ha. I had an 8:30 am meeting.

However, I was sorely disappointed. Not in the movie, but in the fan hysteria. I saw ONE person in a T-shirt that said muggle. There was no one in a cape, hat, no wands, no gryffindor scarves. I have never actually gone to a midnight showing, but have always loved the mass hysteria this movie brings opening weekend. It is like going to a home game. It just unites people. You make random friends in the crowd. You start talking about how you liked the other movies, what your favorite book is while you shovel popcorn and drink soda, and sit on the dirty movie theatre floor waiting for them to FINALLY open the doors. Then you sit through the 2 hours at the edge of your seat, waiting for every favorite moment, hoping that they did the books justice and when it is all over, you are exhausted. And it takes everything you have to not get in line again and do it all overagain.

OK, maybe this is just me. Crap...I think the people with the white coats are coming to take me away again...

It was fun, the movie was amazing, but I missed the hysteria. Admittedly, most of the people sharing in this hysteria are rarely old enough to drink, but whatever. Don't judge. Everyone has their vice. We'll just pretend this is my only one.

Update: I have no idea what is going on with the font and spacing of this post and am too impatient to correct it. Sorry. I tried. Don't hate me.

Thursday, July 16, 2009

The Erratic Crazy Train

I called my mom on Sunday to check in and see how everything was going. We did the usual catch up stuff and then this happened:

Mom: "Your grandmother thinks you are mad at her."
Erratic: "OK, I'll play along. Why?"
Mom: "Because you haven't called her since I came to visit."
Erratic: "I have talked to her, like, 5 times since you left. I have just been busy."
Mom: "I know, but she is calling me and driving me crazy because she thinks I told you something about her and now you are mad."
Erratic: "I have nothing here. Do you want me to call her?"
Mom: "Only if you want to."
Erratic: "I'll call her this weekend."
Mom: "Oh, and she told me that there was some investigation into your postman?"
Erratic: "You have got to be kidding."
Mom: "No. Is he really stealing your mail?"
Erratic: "She is just spewing crazy now. No, mom, I am getting everything except what she sends. Maybe HER mailman is stealing HER mail."
Mom: "Christ, Erratic, don't tell her that. She'll have the fucking FBI involved by Friday. Just call her so she gets off my back."
Erratic: "Done. Love you."
Mom: "Sorry about the genes. Love you too."

Wednesday, July 8, 2009

A typical night in the erratic household.

Note: we are yelling; the boy is upstairs, I am downstairs.

Erratic: Ooh! Hell's Kitchen is coming back soon. That is all kinds of awesomeness
The Boy: I thought that was me.
Erratic: No, that is Hell's Kitchen. Top Chef is on tonight!
The Boy: I thought you didn't like the masters version.
Erratic: I mean, it's not as good as Top Chef, but it is still, you know, awesome food.
The Boy: Oooohhhhh
Erratic: Right. So You Think You Can Dance is back on.
The Boy: I'll be upstairs.

More than likely watching some sort of extreme fishing on ice in a truck or some shit.

I seriously love this man.

P.S. As soon as I hit publish post, I will yell up - "I just blogged about you" and he will instantly check his iPhone. It's what we do.


Erratic: I posted about you.
The Boy: Uh-Oh
Erratic: Just read it.
The Boy: OK

Erratic: Did you read it?
The Boy: No.
Erratic: You are turning me into a liar here.
The Boy: ha ha check your comments
Erratic: You're a dick face.

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

Rehab - Not the Amy Winehouse kind.

I try really hard not to talk about all of the bullshit that is going on with my back because it tends to sound like whining and complaining. I also don't necessarily know what to say. It hurts, it sucks, the end. It is just hard to put into words this weird, constant struggle that has become the back pain. And the doctors. And the physical therapy. And the constant stream of ass holes that is the medical profession in this country.*

Something kind of awesome happened today, though, and I wanted to talk about it. Briefly. Because I know it is boring. But, this is all about me, so suck it.

My family doctor referred me to a neurosurgeon back in May. I finally went to see him a few weeks ago. I was petrified. NeuroSURGEON. I am too young for back surgery and medical leave and shit. I just didn't know what to expect. Well, neurosurgeon referred me to a Spinal Rehabilitation Clinic. Let me tell you kids, I shit my pants on the spot. Also, why did I just call you kids?

Spinal Rehab? I have been through physical therapy 3 times in my life. Once for the car accident in 2001 that caused all of this, once in October 2007, and this spring. Every single time I had the same experience. Do this stretch while I gossip to my coworkers. Lift this weight while I see another patient. Here is some shit to do at home. Don't let the door hit you on the way out. It was frustrating and I wasn't getting any better. It never helped, it only pissed me off. So, when neurosurgeon said that this would be the opposite of physical therapy, I was both excited and terrified.

I had an evaluation with the Spinal Rehab guy and he put together a recovery plan for me. Today was my first day of rehab. And, yes, I am telling everyone I am in rehab because the look on my coworkers faces are priceless. Someone actually asked me if it was for drugs or alcohol today. I caved and told them the truth, but it would have been really funny if I had the balls to tell them it was meth and then twitch a little.

Spinal rehab is basically an hour of a physical therapist telling you how crappy your posture is and how to correct it. At one point she took my hips (by the bone - who knew you could still feel those) and repositioned me. It was like someone gave me the best pain killer ever. Apparently, I need to stick my ass out more. She taught me how to sit right, how to walk right, how to bend, right, I COULD GO ON FOREVER. This seems so easy, I know. Most of you probably do this naturally. But, when you have a back problem, you guard. Your muscles change. You try to protect your spine in anyway you can. You never relax. SHE TAUGHT ME HOW TO RELAX.

See, this is why I never talk about this. Because all of you right now are thinking, um, I am sitting right now and I am fine. This bitch is crazy. It is sitting. I learned how to do this when I was an infant. Trust me, I feel just as ridiculous when someone has to show me how very wrong I do the basic things in life. But, I have hope and that is something new. That is something I haven't felt yet.

The best part? The absolute most amazing part? I was specifically instructed to stop working out until they create a custom workout plan for me - IN 4 WEEKS. I realize I shouldn't be excited about this, but I just can't help it. Man, I hate working out.

*Except for nurses. My experience with nurses has been nothing but amazing and I believe that they are single handily holding the medical profession together. I want to hug every single one of them, but I fear that there is a limit to the number of restraining orders you can have against you.

Big Jed's Ass

Oh, how I wish I had her drive home. This guy should be selling this shit. Or at the very least, spray painting it somewhere I drive by. Oh, how jealous I am of the Big Jed Art Collection.

Monday, July 6, 2009

When Dorks Cohabitate.

Yes, you are seeing correctly, there are 6 laptops and an iPhone in my living room. And a bunch of crap under the coffee table. But, hey, if you can't share your pile of junk with the Internet, who can you share it with?

And, no, my house was not built on the side of a hill. I just wasn't paying a lot of attention.

Sunday, July 5, 2009

The Boys

July 4th is my dog's birthdays. Both of them were adopted and their age was unknown, so I was allowed to choose. Kobi is probably closer to the beginning of September, and Shorty was too old when I got him to really tell.

My dogs chose me. When I got Kobi, I walked into a filthy adoption center and saw this puppy cowering in the back of the cage. The moment I saw him, I knew he was mine. I spent a few days trying to figure out what to name him and with the help of Krackle, came up with Kobi. He was a horrific puppy who destroyed everything in his sight. At one point, I seriously considered getting rid of him because I wasn't sure I could afford any more damage. Luckily, he mellowed and became the best dog any person could hope for.

When I got Kobi, Krackle and I lived together and she had Kaya, and later, Ally. When Krackle moved out, Kobi got lonely. So, I started looking. I found a dog on petfinder that looked exactly like Kobi, so I decided to check it out. I went to the foster home and it was like this dog was made for me. His name at the time was Hawthorne and he was immediately attached to me. The lady who was fostering him handed me a leash and said call me if you don't want him. He has been mine ever since. The day I found out that I had been approved for his adoption, I took one look at him and said; "He is the short dog!" His name has been Shorty ever since.

I watched Marley and Me tonight. I don't know why. I have been avoiding this movie since it was released because I knew how it ended and I knew I would be a mess. But, the boy was at a concert and I was avoiding all responsibility, so I ordered the movie. And I laughed. And I cried. And I cuddled with my dogs and I thought about how they have changed my life. I thought about how each of them represents a time in my life where I needed them. How they found me and
how I needed them more than I ever knew possible.

Happy Birthday, boys. Mommy loves you.

Wednesday, July 1, 2009


I was having a horrible day. It just felt like one thing after the other was raining down on me and I lost the strength to hold it all up a long time ago. I was sitting on the couch working and catching up on my DVR when I get a picture message from Big Jed:

I didn't think anything could cheer me up. And I am not sure much else would have worked. But, a graffiti penis? Yep, that made me laugh pretty fucking hard. Especially the artful, ahem, secretion.