Laying it all out there

I've never done this before, and I'm scared/nervous as hell. In the past I've made a separate, semi-private blog for something like this.

I know myself very well. A lot of people don't have much self awareness. They delude themselves into thinking they are something they are not. I know that I can be very stubborn at times (supposedly a common trait in Tauruses), I turn sensitive once a month and cry easily, I know that I get very infatuated with things but then lose interest down the line (this includes people sometimes), I am incredibly indecisive, I can be down right cruel in a very heated argument, and many more negative things. However, I am also funny and often uplift people with my humor, I am a great listener and find people share a lot about themselves with me, I can be very romantic in relationships, I am sensible (I can tell when things are and are not appropriate), and many more positive things.

With that being said, I have no idea if this will work for me. But I know if I don't put it all out there, I'll never know if this could have worked. I am hoping that being held accountable on a massive scale will work. The more people I tell, the more I won't want to let people down (including myself), right? Right. So here it goes:

I weighed in today at 212 pounds. I'm 5'4.5" tall (don't laugh, I swear i'm right between 5'4" and 5'5"). I wear a size 20 or 18 dress/pants (although I do own a couple size 16 pants that I fit into... sometimes it's just the cut/brand of the clothes) and a XL shirt (sometimes XXL, sometimes L again depending on the brand/cut).

I'm fat. I'm fat because I'm lazy. That's all there is to it. Lots of people in the world are fat because of medical conditions, genetic mutations, and many other completely understandable reasons... but not me. I hate that about myself.

I'm lazy and I have no idea how to fix this about myself. I know the mechanics of how to lose weight, how to become healthier, how to eat better, how to exercise, but I'm too lazy to put those things into practice and it is that part that I don't know how to change. They say that once you start and stick to it, it becomes easier, but it's the sticking to it that I can't do.

My friends and family are great, they support me, but no one gives me that kick in the pants that I need. But they shouldn't have to. I should be motivation enough. I should be able to have the will power to not do the things I do and to instead do the things I don't. Up until now, I haven't had that consistent willpower. I don't even know if I have it now, but I know that I need to try something.

Did you know that I tried to give up french fries for the 2011 year? (French Fries are one of my favorite foods by the way... God bless the person who first decided to try eating a potato) I succeeded for about 3.5 months. Then I gave in. To be honest, I didn't mean to give in. I forgot to NOT order a "meal." I meant to just order a sandwich and a drink, but instead "meal" came out and it wasn't until I had paid and walked away that I realized the error. Rather than throw away the fries and "waste money" I ate them... and that was the end of 0 fries in 2011. Sure, I could have gotten right back on the wagon and only had that 1 slip up, but that didn't happen. Because of will power. I lack it. Not always, but a lot of the time.

My father once told me that I have a crowd mentality. He's right. I'm pretty much a sheep. I prefer to go with the flow and only differ when I feel strongly about something. I'm beginning to believe this is because I lack the will power to branch out on my own.

What I also hate about this whole thing are the semi excuses I make for myself. For instance: I know there are people worse off than me. People that would kill to have my body instead of their own. People that weigh 100+ pounds more than me that wish they could lose weight... and yet I complain about myself. I feel guilty, but I know that it is all perspective. I can't let this "excuse" stop me from becoming the woman that I want to be. I don't want to be the old, fat, single one of my friends. Also, I hate my stomach, but actually really like my large breasts. They make me feel feminine despite my large body. I have used them as an excuse in the past to not lose weight.

I have joined Weight Watchers Online to help me on my journey. I know myself well enough to know that I wouldn't go to meetings if I tried that route, so I took the alternative.

I'm fat, but this will change. I WILL change. It has to... I have too...

I hope.

This is one of my least favorite photos of myself. It was taken on July 4, 2007. I weighed my highest ever in this photo. Something around 230 or 235. This was just a terrible day altogether. A couple of hours after this photo was taken, my mother called to tell me that our cat had just died. Ugh.

10/18/1993 - 07/04/2007

I have a post that has been in the making for a while... it's about my dog. I don't know when I'll finish it. In the mean time, I'm posting something that I've kept close to my heart for years.

When my cat passed away, I came across the following post:
http://turbulence.org/Works/saddest/index.php?id=43
It takes you to a page called The Saddest Thing I Own: Cat Ashes. There are plenty of other "saddest thing I own" posts, but I first saw this one and it helped. It was nice to know that I wasn't the only one who loved my cat so much that it hurt. I know it sounds morbid, but if you're ever suffering the loss of a pet, I'd suggest giving it (and the comments) a read. For me, it was calming, sobering, sad, and heartfelt. For me, it helped.

It was also the first place I wrote about the story of my cat to the world. My comment can be found posted on Friday July 13, 1007.

I miss you, Butterscotch.

You too, Abbey.

I could get lost in those eyes...

I have never been one to go fanatical, drooly, teenage girl over guys with blue eyes. Sure, they can be pretty, gorgeous even, but nothing that made me swoon. I have usually prefered, dark, mysterous, brown eyes. Brown eyes make me feel warm and comfortable, like being wrapped up in a thick quilt on a rainy day.

... but his eyes...

Well, let's just say that I now understand what it means to get lost in the sea of a pair of blue eyes. I know what it's like to feel like you're drowning when you look into someone's eyes, like you're far out to sea where no one can hear you... but in a good way.

And I will not see those eyes again. Most likely, ever.

I can only hope that I get the chance to feel that again someday.

How does this... I don't even... It's just so... I'm at a loss

I have slowly been working on a blog post about taking a drug test for my new job, but the more I read it the less it seems as funny as it did the day it happened. Maybe I'll get to it later on, but for now, I'm leaving it alone for a while and instead I'll just tell you how the job is going now. :)

Okay wait... I'm not going to, instead can I please tackle the issue of this hair style that is popular for guys lately? Like... the past couple of years I've been noticing this hair style of having their hair swept forward, almost bangish like.... no who am I kidding... it's totally bangs. It's like they're trying to cover their foreheads. Like these:

Or like new teen pop sensation Justin Bieber:

Now I'm not saying that anyone of these young boys are unattractive... just that their hair is! (Well... I'll make an exception for that guy in the 2nd photo with the red in his hair... I hope he's over 18 because that guy is hot!) Anyway, moving on. I just don't understand this haircut for boys lately. I first noticed it while watching Two-A-Days on MTV in 2007. I think all but 2 of the guys showcased on the show had this swept-over-their-forehead look. I remember sitting there, with my friend Amanda, watching the show and we were just confused... when did this look become the fashion? We assumed it was just a mid-west thing... but slowly it crept over the nation and now it's THE LOOK for teenage boys.

I just have a feeling this is going to turn into one of those regretted hair styles... much like the bangs of the 80's:

The guy haircut is just too... emo? or something for me? I don't know... I just don't like it and I hope that if I ever have a son that this hairstyle is outdated at that point... *sigh*

That time when I unintentionally, intentionally hurt nature...

A little while ago, I left a comment over at Hyperbole and a Half (who by the way, is incredibly hilarious) in regards to her goose encounter. If you've never read her blog, then you must go NOW to that post and read that in the least. It is... I don't even know how to... it's just... Allie is funny and awesome and all of her greatness is visible in that post. Go now and read it... then come back here, please. Thanks!

Okay, so her post got me thinking about how I should just post my goose attack story here, unfortunately it's not nearly as funny as Allie's, so I hope you all read hers and maybe some residual hilarity will rub off on mine... so here it goes:

Unfortunately I don't remember the year, but it was over 10 years ago. (somewhere in either Junior High or High School) Stephanie was babysitting for her dad's co-worker, who also happened to live across the street from my house. She decided to take the little girl for a walk around the lake to feed the ducks with some bread and I tagged along. If I remember correctly, the little girl's name was Katie (... or something with a K sound... I'm not really sure now, but I'm going to call her Katie anyway), and she was probably 3ish? These are all useless details to you, but I want to remember this story forever, so I'm trying to be detailed for me here. Anyway, we packed Katie up into her stroller and headed to the lake.



It really is a gorgeous lake, isn't it? You can't tell from that picture, but it has a ton of ducks, geese, egrets, and other various fowl hanging out there. This photo is actually not terribly far from where the incident took place. Just around the bend, behind where this photo was taken, we stopped our walk and decided to feed a group of ducks and geese. A gaggle of geese? Is that what they're called? By the way, who the hell came up with gaggle? That is a terrible sounding word! Seriously. Say it out loud. Gaggle. It's an ugly word isn't it? Moving on... So we stopped to feed the birds. We threw the rest of our pieces of bread to them and realized we were out of bread. I think we may have even apologized to them. I frequently talk to animals, (in a completely sane, normal, non-Dr. Dolittle sort of way, of course) so it wouldn't surprise me if I said "That's it guys. No more for you today. Sorry! All gone" and waved my empty hands at them to show them that there was no more food. Oh, except I was carrying Katie, so I couldn't have waved my hands at them, could I? Hmm... Regardless, we were out of bread and were turning to walk away. I had picked up Katie and was walking away and Steph was pushing the stroller ahead of us on the path.

Now, let me explain something here real quick. I had lived near The Lake my whole life at that point. So I knew that the birds would follow you when you stopped feeding them. I knew it technically wasn't good to feed them, but I would do it on occasion anyway. I knew, from experience, that when you walk away the best method to get the geese to not follow you is to begin to walk away, then quickly turn and rush them aggressively. This confuses them, causes them to momentarily panic, and scatter. Then you can leave the area not being stalked/harassed by large, waddling, sometimes hissing, birds who are just trying to get their last bread-fix. You see, I knew all this. It is and has always been ingrained in my mind. I should have been more careful, but I was young and reckless, and holding a small child.

So, there I was, holding Katie, walking away from the gaggle (ugh) of geese completely unaware that there was a goose with a bread hunger that had gone unfulfilled. I was about to take a step, when the goose bit me. Let me say that again. I had been walking and was about to take another step, when the little bugger bit me! Do you know, what position your legs are in when you've been walking a couple steps and you're about to take another? Your legs are apart. In this case, my right foot/leg was forward, my leg foot/leg was back. Leaving my soft, fleshy, barely sees the light of day, inner thigh exposed! (I was wearing jeans, so it wasn't really "exposed" in that way, but you get my drift) The goose bit my inner thigh! I didn't even know his name and he was already trying to get to 3rd base!

I'm not sure what went through my head in the split second between being bit and the action my body took. It was pure instinct. I didn't think. I didn't even pause. I just acted. I actually didn't even know that there was a goose behind me. I just knew that something had pinched my thigh really hard and it hurt. A lot. So I did what came naturally.

I turned around swinging.

You know when a fly is buzzing around your head and you swat it at, sort've haphazardly with the back of your hand? Well, imaging doing that, but instead of a fly imagine a goose... and instead of your hand imagine using your whole arm. That's sort've what it was like. I unknowingly, back-handed the goose. I turned around rapidly, while yelling (It could have been "ouch." It could have been "hey." Whatever sound you make when you're caught by surprise in a painful way) with my arm stretched out and I hit something with it. Turns out... I had hit the goose. Okay, to be completely honest, I didn't just hit the goose. My arm caught the neck of the goose. I don't know how I happened to hit it in the exact location to send it flying back. I guess it bit me and then lifted it's head, which was unfortunate on its part. I just caught it perfectly to send it wings spread, reeling backwards toward the ground.

Actually... it sort've looked like this when I turned around (minus the pole sticking out of it's hoo-hah)...

Like I said, it had its wings spread and it was moving in a backwards motion because of the impact of my arm... not because it decided to back away slowly. In fact, its neck was sort've curved like that too. When I looked and saw what it was I had hit, I was shocked. Not so much shocked at the fact that a goose had just bit me, although I was a little surprised it happened to ME, but more so shocked that I had just unintentionally, intentionally hit something... and that something was a freaking goose!

At this point, Stephanie whipped around and was instantly concerned about what happened... to Katie. Now, I understand this. It's completely valid and responsible for her to be concerned about the small child that was entrusted into her care... except that at the time I was the one that was bit! She asked if Katie was okay and I think I may have said, "Yes! But I'm not!" She took Katie from me and I looked down to see if I was bleeding. Thankfully, there was no blood on my jeans, but my leg was still really hurting. I put pressure on it, to ease some of the pain, but I just wanted to go home and inspect my thigh in the privacy of my own bathroom.

That was the end of our walk around The Lake. We headed home, well I headed home and Stephanie headed across the street to Katie's home.

For reference, the goose wasn't a Canadian Goose. It was white with a black beak. I've never seen one like that around The Lake since. In fact, I have been searching the Internet for a picture of a similar goose, or at least a description of the specific breed of goose it might be, but I'm coming up with nothing.

In the end, all was okay. The goose didn't break any skin, but it did leave a bruise. :( That was the last day that I fed the birds at The Lake. But I think the geese fear me a little more now. They know I don't take any sh*t from them.

Now when I see geese around the lake, I get a little less this:

and a little more this:

The one where I cry because I want a burger and instead settle for a freezer-burned Popsicle.

Sometimes I think I have an illness. Like some sort of emotional retardation, and I think Hey, maybe that is why you're still single. Then I realize... no, it's just PMS.

I cried 3 times today. 3 whole times in a span of an hour... so maybe it was just one long cry with dry spells in between?

So, generally speaking, right before I start my period I get very emotional. (Oh, was I supposed to warn you before I said something like that? Oh, oops. My bad.) Very emotional. As in, I cry over nothing. (Literally and figuratively) I might cry because nothing is happening in my life or I might cry because I can't decide if I want my bed to be put up on risers while it is in my "new" bedroom. Today it was the later reason.

You see, my sister moved out (Yay sister! So proud of you for taking the big move-in-with-a-man leap.) to go live with her FIANCEE. Yes, my sis got engaged. Woo! Go sis! I capitalized fiancee because I constantly still call him her boyfriend which is both incorrect and annoying to those who catch my error. Anyway, so she moved out and I moved into her room. I moved not because it's larger than my room, which it totally is and how did I not notice this until it was pointed out to me just days ago?!, but because my mother wants to remove the popcorn ceiling in my room, paint it, and paint the walls as she did to most of the rest of the house years ago. We literally moved the last of my sister's big stuff out on Monday. I mean she's been moving out for a while now, but we had to wait until it was dry to move her bed and entertainment center so we could use the truck. Why am I explaining this? You don't care. Anyway, on Monday my mom immediately started moving my stuff into "Sis' room"... I think I'll forever call it her room... even though none of her stuff is in here now. Last night I slept on my mattress in my room, while nearly everything else was in the other room. It was weird. I had to go into her room to get dressed today because that's where my dresser was.

Tonight though... well... tonight it's going to be strange to sleep in here. I mean, I've totally slept in here before. I actually have memories of being in a crib in my sister's room. I would stand up in my crib and... wait... have I mentioned this here before? Ugh. I totally have. Sorry about that.

Wow, I have strayed far away from what I was saying at first. Well... I had to decide today if I wanted my bed up on risers, as it was in my room, or not while my bed is in the "other bedroom." I'm only going to be in here for 2 weeks or so while we finish my room... maybe longer if I like it in the bigger room... but that decision brought me to tears and I think I may have frightened both of my parents. I know it shouldn't be a hard decision, but I got to thinking about how when sister's bed was in here, the dog would climb up on it and maybe, just maybe if I don't have risers the dog will feel good enough (she's got arthritis) to jump up on MY bed and snuggle with me like she used to when I had a futon. But then I realized that my bed even without the risers is still taller than sister's bed because her box spring is thinner than mine and I realized that dog probably won't jump on my bed anyway because she has a hard time jumping up on her favorite couch as it is now. AND if I don't put it up on risers then where would I put the things that I have stored under my bed?! Only a couple of the things that I currently have under it will still fit if I don't use the risers. AND I was hungry and didn't want to make that decision. So, all those things were going through my head and my mom wanted a decision right there and there, and my emotional PMS monster reared its ugly head and I broke down and cried. Now mind you, I wasn't a sobbing mess, (that came later while I was in the car, talking to my sister and my best friend, parked in the neighborhood where my other best friend will potentially be moving to in a couple months... I'll get to that...) but I was crying.

This is where the burger comes into play. It was at that moment that I realized that I'm hungry and I've been on my period for 2 days now and I haven't yet had grease. I know that sounds strange, but I CRAVE anything greasy the first day of my period. Suddenly ALL I WANTED WHAT A MOTHER F-ING CHEESEBURGER. But, today I had a weigh-in, and I didn't want to ruin any progress I may have made, so I knew I couldn't/shouldn't have one... I searched the house for something to eat, but I knew if I ate something I would still have that craving and it would haunt me. I was going to make a sandwich, but suddenly the bread that we had, multi-grain with those little annoying grain seeds in it, was disgusting to me. I was going to have some leftover lasagna, but that didn't sound good either. So, after frantically searching the house (actually... I was totally meandering through the kitchen and garage, walking slower than normal because I was sad), I started crying yet again. I wanted that cheeseburger, but I knew my parents would remind me that I didn't need it, that I had a weigh-in later, and that there are plenty of other things to eat in the house. But had they said any of that, all I would have heard would be YOU'RE FAT! Of course they wouldn't have said that, but that doesn't matter, that's all I would have heard... so I continued to cry. Until I saw the freezer-burned Popsicle in the freezer and I ate it. That helped. A little.

Then my mom and I got in an argument over moving something out of my closet and into the closet in the other room and I lost it. 45 minutes later I was in the car, with Burger King next to me, crying on the phone with my sister, while it was pouring rain outside, sitting in front of a stranger's house. I had decided that I needed that cheeseburger more than I needed a good number on the scale, so I left. I also needed out of the house. So while I got food I decided to try and find the house my friend bought. I found it and I was going to call her to make sure I had found it, when my phone rang. It was sister. The first thing out of her mouth is, "You got fast food for dinner?! We have to weigh-in tonight" and I lost my shit. I really did. I went from happy-go-lucky-I'm-going-to-call-my-friend-to-see-if-this-is-the-right-house (albeit a little ashamed of having Burger King in the car), to suddenly yelling and crying hysterically. My sister was able to calm me down and I drove home. When I got home, my another dear, dear friend called and she made me giggle, which I totally needed. Since then, I've been fine.

My numbers on the scale didn't reflect any change from the original weigh-in, but I still have time to show change, and at least now I have no cold, I feel great emotionally, and I no longer have a craving. WIN!

...

Does God even make a man strong enough to deal with that? I hope so.

I no longer feel like I'm prematurely dying....

....I just feel like I'm dying a normal rate. ***** please let it be known that I have had this entry in-progress since January 10. I am such a procrastinator, le sigh. Also, I use bad grammar, syntax, whatever it's called. I jump from past to present tense a couple times here... just go with it and enjoy the story*****

I had a cold. It was an icky cold, but totally live-through-able (don't mock my made-up language!). I had the usual, runny/stuffy nose, sore throat, cough, but it wasn't extreme and I had no other effects. I just tried to not breathe on anything or anyone. I carried tissues with me everywhere and I took cold medicine. It took me like 2 weeks to get over it... then I was fine for 1 or 2 days.

Yes, you read that right... just one or two measly little days. wtf cold?! When it came back... I assumed it was the same cold. It started the same way my last one ended, but I stopped taking medicine because I thought "oh, this is the end of the cold, I'll be fine in a day".... that "day" turned into 2 and then it turned into 3 and then I was almost dying on an airplane!


Literally. I thought I was dying.


Okay, you're right... that was an exaggeration. I didn't just think I was dying. I knew I was. And you'll find out how I knew it below...

They called the A group to line up quite a while before they loaded us on the plane. Had I known I would be standing there forever, I wouldn't have left my seat so soon, but as it was I got up, put on my jacket and backpack and wheeled my luggage over to the A 41-45 group section. Then I stood there... and get hot... and got even hotter... and got super hot. I kept thinking they'll call us into the plan, I can take my jacket off, turn the air on above me and be fine... but no. I had already been standing there for a good 15 minutes with people crowded all around me, trying my hardest not to cough or blow my nose so as not to get the evil "omg, you have the black plague, get away from me" look. Finally I decided, screw it, we're not going anywhere anytime soon and I put my hair up in a clip and took my backpack off. That helped a little bit, but not enough. I wanted to take off my jacket. I should have taken off my jacket, but... ... okay, so I was afraid that because I was so hot that I would have sweated in my shirt and I didn't want those around me to see any sweat marks *sigh* Anyway, they finally boarded us and I took a seat some-what close to the front of the plane so I could deboard faster when we got to Oakland. It turned out to be a full flight, but I boarded fairly early on, so I got to sit down, take my jacket off, and let the cool air blow on my face. It was nice... but the niceness left me all too swiftly.

The flight fills quickly and I know it's only a matter of time before someone sits down next to me. I've had some strange experiences with the people who sit next to me (i.e. the guy who fell asleep on me, the 31 year old woman who had a teddy bear and a one of those dead-fish-like handshakes, and the woman who didn't want to put the arm rest down). I didn't see him coming. Had I seen him coming, I might have tried to cough or blow my nose to deter him... maybe even glare menacingly at him. Before I know it, a man appears and as I'm glancing up, I hear the woman sitting in the aisle seat say that no one is sitting between us... The man who takes the seat next to me was wearing a HUGE wool coat... wtf?!?! A wool coat on an airplane! Dude... take that thing off! I've never been on an airplane that was cold... okay... again I lied. The flight from Atlanta to Valdosta in November was cold, but only my feet were cold, my upper body wasn't... anyway, I digress. So I'm already hot. Remember? I took my jacket off when I got to my seat and I opened the vent above me pointing it directly at me... It HAD felt nice... until Mr. HugeWoolCoat sat down.

I couldn't even try to fight for the arm rest. His wool coat was like my kryptonite at that moment. I tried to lean against the window, I fanned myself with my book, I tried to sleep to ignore the heat. I was getting so hot, I even kicked off my shoes. I never take my shoes off on airplanes (I don't know what's been on those airplane floors), but I did this time. I was all over the place in my chair trying to get away from him, but still get the full blast of air from my vent. I can only imagine what the people behind me thought. My hand was over the back of the seat, it was plastered on the wall, it was reaching up every couple minutes to the vent. They must've thought I was crazy. Suddenly, my heat turned to something else. I started to feel nauseous. I had hoped that the feeling would pass, but no... it only grew worse. On top of that, I still had a cold, so I was coughing every now and again. Every time I coughed I thought I was going to throw up right then and there. I frantically searched the seat back in front of me for one of those air sick bags, but there was none. Since when did airlines stop keeping those at each seat?!?! We hadn't even been in the air long enough for the pilot to turn off the seat belt sign. I ordered a ginger ale when the stewardess came around, hoping that I'd get it quickly and it would cool me down and settle my stomach. When the drink finally came, I did feel a little better, which was nice... but it only lasted for a couple seconds. Again, I felt the sensation to vomit. I held it in, but new that I had to get to the restroom and fast. I pushed the steward call button to ask if I could use the restroom even though the seat belt light was still on. About 30 seconds later the seat belt light turned off. Oh, lucky day!! I turned the steward light off, and told Mr. HugeWoolCoat and aisle girl "I'm sorry, but I need to use the restroom." Mr. HugeWoolCoat looked shocked... maybe people he travels with never pee, I don't know... and aisle girl looks annoyed, surely she can see that I'm dying here and will throw up at any second. There is no need for her to give me an evil glare. (Maybe I should have just paused and thrown up on her?) Anyway, the moment I'm standing up in the aisle and away from Mr. HugeWoolCoat, I start to feel better. I'm not feeling normal, mind you, but just a little better. Then I realize that I never put my shoes back on and am now walking down the darkened airplane in my socks with a presumable sweat-soaked shirt. What a mess! (Not even a hot mess... just a mess... that's how bad I felt) Crap! The stewardess is blocking my path to the restroom and doesn't even know that I'm standing behind her trying to pass... argh! It's like the whole plane is working against me!

Finally, I tap her on the shoulder, because clearly she can't hear me whenever I say "excuse me." She moves and I'm home free!!! I practically run/hobble the rest of the way to the restroom. Literally. I even got strange looks from the other two stewards that were busy making beverages at the back of the plane. (You might be wondering why I went to the back of the plane instead of the front restroom when I said that I was seated towards the front... wait, you weren't wondering that until I just pointed out that you should be wondering that? Oh... well... you're wondering it now, so I'll tell you. I am used to sitting towards the back of the plane. I like sitting behind the week and watching the little flap things on the plane during landing, so it was sort've by habit that I started heading that direction... but I also think it was by some divine intervention as well, because I'd only taken 4 steps towards the back when I see a man carrying a young child heading towards the front of the plane to use the restroom... I know this because I turned around while I was waiting for the stewardess to move out of my way and I saw the lavatory light shut off... so there... that's why) I take a look at myself in the mirror and realize I look the same as I always do. I'm a smidgen paler, but not a ton, there are no sweat marks on my shirt, I'm not even that red... I'm not a mess after all... but I still feel like crap.

They have a vent in the restroom too, so I turn that up and aim it at my neck. Ahhh.... If you've ever been in an airplane lavatory, then you know how tiny they are... but to me it felt like my own personal sanctuary for a moment. No wool coats to be found, cool water, tissues, it was amazing. I stayed in there for at least 5 minutes. The other passengers were probably mad at me, but whatever. It was better for us all this way. I some bags that are supposed to be used to toss your "sanitary napkins" away in a sanitary way and figured I could take one and use it as a barf bag if need be. I also splashed water on my face (but not too much, because there is a sign in there saying not to drink the water in there, so I really more like sprinkled water on my cheeks and neck) got a paper towel wet and put it on my neck. I actually started to feel a lot better... nice. So I decide to head out.

I make it back to my seat and I start to feel warm again, but this time I have a cold, wet, paper towel to put on my neck and arms and I feel better. For the rest of the flight, anytime I needed a little refresher I just used the towel. We get to Oakland and as I'm walking towards the outside to meet my sister I recognize the backs of two heads in front of me... I know that I know these people... what are their names? Oh... oh... it's... I play fantasy football with him and his wife is in my mom's sorority... oh man... it's... it's... oh it's Mary? Mary Anne? I don't know there are so many Mary's, Marianne's, Mary Ann's in that sorority I can't keep them all straight. So I tap her on the shoulder and say Mary Anne? And she looks at me and says "It's Mary" and I'm like... Oh, I'm sorry! And I tell her, who I am and say hi to her husband and they tell me that we were just on the same flight! They were visiting their youngest son in San Diego and my mom had told them I was down visiting friends. We say how nice it is to see each other (although truth be told, hardly anyone looks nice after a plane flight) and we go on our ways. I head outside while they head to baggage claim. So... as you may have guessed, I didn't die. Yay! And I didn't throw up either, which is a doubly good thing because 1. that would have ROYALLY sucked, but also 2. I knew people on that flight!

So... after all was said and done, about a week after that flight, I started to feel better cold wise. As of about the 10th, I've started to feel normal again. Even now, as of finally posting this, I still have a stuffy nose and coughs now and again, but I feel worlds better than I did on that flight and the days after. I never felt like throwing up again, never had any aches or pains through this whole cold, it's just been one long cold... which I think has something to do with the dry air from using the heater, and hmm.. maybe we need to change the filters in our heater, that would probably help. Anyways... my point is, I'm not dying quicker than I should be and I feel a lot better. :)