As if I didn’t already think I was born in the wrong decade…

Sugar and Spice and Everything VICE.

Going big is much preferred than going home, in my book.

I am one of those people who, rather than trying something, and taking baby steps, I have a higher rate of success if I dive in, full force, to the extreme. I wish this wasn’t the case, but alas… This is one of the many faulty details that make me who I am.

Over the years, I have been addicted to many things. MANY. I hate to say it, but I have one of those awful “addictive personalities”. Rolling all the way back to my early days in life, I had a passion. A more than serious addiction. It took control of my life, plagued my family, and was something that I am not proud of.

For ten years, TEN, I struggled with this vice. It is not pretty, and like many addictions, affected the way I looked, particularly my teeth.

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“My name is Delphine Scarlett, and I am a thumb suck-aholic.”

A common vice among the young, but I was extreme. Afraid of slumber parties (not that I was allowed to go until later in life), camp, and falling asleep in public places, this habit plagued me, but at the same time, was my answer to all of life’s stressors. Every possible remedy failed me, every poisonous, disgusting “fix”, could not keep me from my delicious digit.

Finally, in an act of God, I assume, I went to a camp where I was thrown into a tent with the cool older girls. Why? I have no idea, and this lead to me not having a very solid opportunity to make friends at said camp. It was a decent time, but they were strange and only talked about things I had not experienced, while the rest of the group avoided the tent like the plague, as these ladies were less than nice.

Sleeping on a top bunk for the first few days of camp, I could hide my secret. When we switched to tents, a smaller space, where one could view anyone in slumber land, I started to get nervous. To top it all off, I am queen of falling asleep first, so my deep dark skeleton would be forced out of the closet. The first night, I tossed and turned, felt the tent walls closing in on me, and feared the rest of my time there, knowing that my explosive temper could overwhelm anyone, due to the thumb detox. Somehow, though I found myself okay the next nights, wanting to be normal, and not embarrassing myself in front of these older 12 and 13 year old bitches.

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This was the end of my first vice. Like I said, an act of a higher power.

muppet.wikia.com/wiki/ Bye-Bye,_Thumb-Sucking

I have had many other addictions. Everything from food, drink, cigarettes, eating, not eating, and changing my hair color, this is something that is a large part of my life. The largest addiction as of late, depending who you ask, is a bad one. It is something that I became aware of suddenly, and makes me concerned not only for my appearance, but my overall health.

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I am 100%, whole heartedly,out of control addicted to sugar.

I could eat candy until my face turns blue, until my teeth rot out of my head,until I am overwhelmed with digestive conflict. I love sweet, I love sour, I love fruity flavors, I love chocolate-y goodness. I can live off of any food that falls into the category of “no nutritional value whatsoever”.

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I would, in fact, be the kid who gets stuck in the tube of any kind of candy, in the hopes of just having one more hit.

So, a handful of weeks ago, a light bulb went off in my head. It hit me like a ton of bricks, landing on me, whether I wanted it or not. I started reading up on sugar, reading about the effects of ingesting my perfect drug.

As someone who struggles with skin nonsense (eczema), IBS, and mood swings, I found that all of these things are overwhelmingly affected by sugar. I started looking further and further, drowning myself in information, drowning myself in education about the negative results of my favorite thing in the world.

I made the executive decision. Go big. Don’t go home. Give up sugar. All or nothing.

As I started prepping for it, I found a balance of nerves and excitement. I wanted to start right away, but Man-Friend reminded me that we were very close to Halloween, and that was just begging for failure. So, as of November 1st, 2009, I became sugar free.

I felt less than great by Day 4.

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Scratch that, I felt like death. Through days 4-8, I was in detox hell. I was dealing with a pounding migraine, cold sweaty clamminess, extraordinarily blemished skin. I had cold chills, nausea, and my digestive system was less than receptive to food.

But I was doing it.

People kept saying- you can’t go cold turkey. You will fail. You should taper off, and see how it goes.

This never works for me, and the statements of my imminent fail, just motivate me to succeed. I consider it to be my own personal Popeye spinach. The assumption of failure, just pushes me farther.

As I got to the two week point, I became very aware of my addiction. It is easy to joke about being addicted to candy, but going through the honest to goodness detox, opened my eyes. I was addicted, and probably would have found a doctor telling me in the not so far off future that I could no longer have it, which would make it so much worse, not doing it on my own terms.

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The holidays are not the perfect time, but my motivation stayed strong.

Today, I am on Day 36 of my sugar-less life. I feel good. I feel like I am finally doing something for me, for my own health, and to remind myself that I have the power to change. Focusing on my overall health,rather than the hope of fad diets fixing my weight and self-esteem, has also made me proud of me.

So…I am still in the midst of this lifestyle change. I am still working to create a better me. I am still avoiding any and all refined sugar and white carbs and all pop.

And for the record, I am still far from perfect. I have no problem admitting that I have thought about dropping bows on anyone sipping a diet coke in my presence, just to steal the tiniest taste.

I have far to go. But so far, no one has been harmed in this experiment. So far.

www.squidoo.com/ added-sugar-a-culprit

*DS

A couple nights ago, I woke up to bring Ollie outside with Man-Friend in the middle of the night. 

 

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When this happens, almost every night, Man-Friend and I stumble out of bed, and attempt to find shoes, leash, plastic bag, and somewhere in the midst of all of that, a dog that really has to relieve himself. Ollie has gotten much better about making it longer through the night, as well as whimpering in his training crate when the time to go is upon him.

Side note: I have my nose pierced. I am usually a small tight fitting hoop girl, but at some point after the wedding, I found it worthwhile to switch back to the stud, purely for easy removal for important work meetings. Also, a tiny itty bitty white gold star is wicked cute.

A nose stud:

 

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 A nose hoop:

 

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But not to be confused with:

 

Now that you have been updated…

So Man-Friend are outside in the middle of the night, and I itch my nose. I tend to be a very itchy person, so this is completely normal. 

No nose ring. 

These are the kind of things that freak me out in unreasonable ways. When we got back upstairs, I made the whole house (including the animals, of course) search the place like there was a warrant.

No dice. 

What is one to do? I have a weird nose that heals extremely fast, so I knew that if I left it for the rest of the night, it would hurt like a bitch when putting a piece of jewely in. Also, due to situations like this, I have had to have my nose re-pierced three times. Not cool. Also, I have a stupid amount of scar tissue there now.

Finally, after another warrant search, I found my trusty hoop. 

To be honest, I feel much more myself with the hoop in anyway. I think I am just afraid that people will judge more harshly if a hoop is there, as it is more noticeable. All in all, I feel better. I could rest easy at least until morning, knowing that the hole would not close.

And when morning came? I found the star stud. Some how, in my sleep… 

I removed the stud from my nose, and put it in my right ear. 

*DS

What’s in a name?

Today is my last summer Friday off. Officially, it is the last day I will have in a long time, where I don’t have a million places to be at the same time that any and all government official offices are open. 

It’s probably the shittiest way I can think of to spend my last weekday of summer off. 

I have researched, and researched, and gathered, and researched some more. I think I have all the documents needed. I think I have all the addresses and office hours and everything in between found. I think I know what book I will bring to pass the time. 

I just don’t know how I feel yet about changing my name. 

I assume by saying “I do” that means I am ready. There is a lot that goes along with a name, though. I can think of about a million people who refer to me purely by my last name. And I like that. I also can think of about a million more people who refer to me by my combined first and last name as one. I like that, too. Many refer to be by my first name, which is fine, but there is something about my last name. I just really like it. 

I  plan on doing the whole obnoxious keep you current last name as your middle name kind of a thing, but that makes things complicated too. No hyphen, though. That is just asking for trouble. 

As I sit here, on my couch, in my pajama, staring at my Frankestein hand, I just keep wondering: Am I ready to do this? Am I ready to add something legally official to who I am that changes how everyone has ever known me for the past 27 years? Am I ready to accept that my cool eastern european name will be joined by a short, simple, lovely name, that may or may not (depending who you ask) make you feel like I should either own a sausage farm or be a movie star?

 

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I honestly don’t know. This has nothing to do with my relationship, it is more me dealing with feeling like me. 

As I sit on the couch, in my pajamas, staring at my Frankenstein hand, I realize that each moment that passes results in less time to get this done. 

And I am not sure if I am okay with it or not.

meh.

 

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For some reason, as I was on my way home from work today, I found myself descending into a rather foul mood. Why this is, I have no idea, but that is the mystery of the brain, I would guess.

Luckily, I have a plethora of creatures in my home to make me smile. 

For one, I have two cats who have been fighting over a fantastic new bed that they have discovered. Now, don’t get it twisted, Man-Friend and I have purchased a ton of super rad, soft, cozy, cute beds for these felines. Those were looked at upon arrival, and then the cats proceeded to look down their noses at said cushy beds, as they strolled past haughtily. 

No, no, the newest furniture piece is not cushy, nor is it a real home accessory. It is the top of a box. 

This box top has been filled with cat since the moment it fell of the box of comics it covered. I don’t know what it is, but these cats get crazy with the cardboard. Flea definitely has the upper hand, as he is approximately 10lbs heavier than D, so he is usually there. It is more entertaining anyway, as he literally lays there, resting his head on the corner, wile the rest of his fleshy fur settle under him and expands into the corners of it. This feline fills the whole box. 

For the record, this is not Flea in his current condition, nor in his current favorite box. That is a box from the days of old, when he was younger and smaller, in the home we created together, just the two of us. 

Now, as I type, a heavier, crankier Flea is watching me, from said box top, as if he knows I am typing about him. At the same time, I have Ollie, who has been getting adjusted to hanging on the couch with Man-Friend and I. Ollie is allowed in his crate, on a leash outside, and in his play pen fence thing in the living room. The only time he can play and move around more is when we let him kick it on the couch with us. We have been slowly introducing him to it, preferably when he is sleepy, so that he does not run back and forth from one arm rest to the other. Also, Sleepy Ollie=Snuggly Ollie.  

Ollie has gotten a bit more comfortable with chilling on the couch. His legs have also gotten strangely long. The pups got gams!

Not only is he finding more comfort in chilling on the couch, he also enjoys hiding behind pillows and messing up each and every cushion in his own special way.

Without a doubt, his favorite couch activity is cleaning it… with his tongue. Okay, maybe he isn’t cleaning it, maybe he is making out with the couch. Either way, it makes me smile. 

Which is nice on a rainy evening at home, when I am feeling down in the dumps for no apparent reason. 

Figuring out why one is feeling like shit is never easy. It is the most frustrating when there is no reason. 

Reasons I should officially *NOT* be a sad sack:

1) I have a rad Man-Friend who married me. I can’t even be down that I am not an honest woman. I am. It’s true!

2) My pets love me, no matter what. They are cute and have spectacular personality. They will love me even when I think no one else does.

3) I have a day job that I am passionate about. Like, I don’t always feel the need to run out the door at 4:59 PM. I actually sometimes want to stay to finish stuff, so I can work on cool new things that will help people the next day. 

4) Although I am currently a gimp, when I am doing hair, my clients are 95% people I would be friends with, that is, if I was not working all the time. 

So what is it? Perhaps I will never know. Perhaps, I will wake up in the morning in a bright and/or bushy tailed stupor. Hell, I might even close the computer after typing this and come to the realization that writing the damn blog about feeling crappy is actually the culprit. 

Only time will tell. All I know is that I will feel better eventually. And knowing that is all that matters.

*DS

Tough Cookies.

Ollie is seriously growing. He officially “graduated” from getting his puppy intro shots and checkups tonight. He is even vaccinated against rabies! 

That’s right- no brain inflaming zoonotic diseases in this family! (By the way, did you know that September 28th is World Rabies Day?)

As we talked with the Vet, who is FANTASTIC, we discussed the officially “altering” of young Ollie. He is coming up on 4 months old, and usually altering is done at 6 months. For some reason, I just really really really want to get it done. Like, yesterday. 

 

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Maybe I am on a surgery kick, but from what I hear, life is way easier with an altered puppy. My rad doctor is all about doing it at 6 months, but can’t we just do it now? I wonder if my dear Ollie would give me nearly as many kisses if he knew how badly I wanted to get his balls removed.  Like I said, it may  just be that I am all about surgery these days.

Speaking of slicing skin, tendons, and tunnels, I got my smelly, nasty cast off yesterday! Shit, yea! I am a new woman. For reals. I am a new woman with a Frankenstein wrist. 

 

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Not only have I been able to get my stitches out, this morning I was able to take a shower using two, count ‘em, TWO hands. 

While chatting with my surgeon during the stitch removal, he made a comment that officially made me feel tough. Sometimes, as much as I hate to admit it, I really love when I receive verification that a) I did the right thing (have surgery) and even more so B) I AM NOT A SALLY. 

 

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The surgeon told me that in his 40-ish years as a surgeon, my wrist was the worst he had seen with this condition. Crazy, right? He officially told me that my wrist was a mess. Awesome. 

Unfortunately, I have a new wrist cast thingy. It is one of those awful ones that are velcro that you could buy at any drugstore. I know for sure that when I see people wearing these, I think to myself “pull it together! why are you wearing that nonsense that probably does not do anything?” Also, depending on the person, my mood, or the situation, I also have been known to assume the person is a hypochondriac who wants attention.

I am now that person that everyone judges. 

 

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Watching stitches get taken out of your skin is a strange situation. It is more satisfying than lacing shoelaces in a new pair of shoes that you have wanted since you got the 17 lb., fall issue of Vogue, but also strangely makes your whole entire body shudder in nauseous discomfort while watching strings get pulled through your skin in a cheap hotel sewing kit kind of fashion. But in the end, I am relieved to have painful use of my hand, sort of.  While every time I move my hand I feel like a rubber band is being stretched to the utmost, painful, extreme, I am pumped because I know the worst is over. And now, I have a hand that looks like this:

As far as I am concerned, scars are cool. I don’t care what anyone says, I don’t care how messed up it sounds, everyone knows they kind of think scars are cool. They tell a story. No matter what anyone says, when an event in your life leaves a natural permanent mark on your skin, it is significant, and you will always remember it. 

*DS

paws.

This is currently what my right paw looks like. 

A few weeks ago, I decided that having a paralyzed right (dominant) hand every time I awoke from slumber was unacceptable. This was the final straw, following the realization of my lack of right hand plate carrying abilities. Being able to carry a plate in one hand is important. Waking up with a paralyzed claw as an extremity wins when it comes to reasons to go to the doctor. 

After a handful (no pun intended) of questions, nerve tests, and uncomfortable movement, my fantastic hand man informed me that my tendons want my hand to be paralyzed. RAD. Long story short, tendons were too inflamed to move anywhere else in my hand successfully. Due to my lack of finding myself worthy enough to take care of extreme pains in my body (or, in reference to my part time gig- specifically  ”The money maker”), I had to go under the knife. 

So last week I was sliced and diced, and am in the healing process as I type. Which I am *technically* not supposed to do. At least not as much as I need to in my everyday life. 

The surgery went well, although there were a few little complications. My favorite is definitely that the surgeon had to go out to the waiting room and tell Man-Friend that I have a genetic deformity. 

“Ha!! Take the Sucker! I am genetically incorrect! And you have already been locked down in matrimony!”

 

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It is honestly not as cool as it sounds… It is really just a tendon issue. I have tendons that not only are too big for the space provided in my hand,they were fraying from inflammation, AND they were battling it out inside my wrist to stop my hand from moving. Basically, the situation was a battle of the Super Tendons. Comic book story line, anyone?

Anyway- things are healing nicely, that is, as long as I don’t overdo it at work, like I did today. I have a swollen knuckle that is currently trying to spill out of the top of my cast. This awesome decision of mine to work too hard has led me to a lovely evening of pain pills and blogging. Which, I am most definitely not complaining about. 

In the category of THE BEST NEWS OF ALL TIME!!! Man-Friend finally broke down and said yes to my constant pleas to get a dog. 

This is Ollie:

He is only 8 weeks old here, so clearly, he looks like a stuffed animal. He is pretty much the best little canine creature a person could ask for.

Here, you can see his Batman ears:

Pardon the fuzzy phone picture.

He wakes Man-Friend and I up at least once a night to pee, and for a solid week had the craziest excrement ever, and we both are absolutely in love with him. He drives us bonkers with frustration, sleep-deprivation, and wonderful kisses. Neither of us can seem to get enough of the puppy kisses. 

Dog tongues are so much softer than cat tongues! 

Our home, our tiny, itsy bitsy one bedroom condo that is filled to the brim with crap, should now be considered a zoo. 

So… the dream has come true. 

And for the record, his paws? Waaaaaay cuter than mine. 

 

My Little Monster

*DS

I want to go to there.again.

 

I just got home about an hour ago.

I think I might officially be in need of grieving time. I found myself damn near in tears when I got off the final plane and realized that my honeymoon was over, and I am no longer living my dream of being an island woman. 

No. Seriously- St. Lucia is so F*ing rad. I cannot put words into how much I love this place. It is so beautiful. Truly, the views made me lose my breath at times.

 

Other than kicking it all day at the pools and at the swim up bar… Man-Friend and I went snorkeling twice. 

Some of the things we saw…

 

Tons of Blue Tang Fish!

I got lots of salt water up my nose from the Caribbean Sea, as well at the Atlantic Ocean. 

 

We saw a whole crew of Squids! They swim together in formations...

 

It's a Jellyfish!I can even say that both Man-Friend and I got minor stings from a cluster of baby jelly fish...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I woke up every morning at 5:30 AM so that I had a chance to take in the ocean and breath, and be thankful for the opportunity to experience this place. 

This was the view…

Coconut Bay St. Lucia

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Real life is starting again. 

Man-Friend and I had such a nice time together. I am honestly sad to say that I am also grieving the fact that him and I have to go back to regular life with stress, work, frustrations, and things that keep us from spending as much quality time together as we should. Having a solid week of just us… truly priceless.

I keep saying that I want to grab my bindle, build my own shanty and start growing vegetables to live off of… I think I could probably get a job at one of the many banana plantations in St. Lucia. Other than that… there are probably only a few other details to pin down…

Between the sun, the ocean, the bananas, and the stray dogs throughout the island… I am pretty sure I found heaven. 

I want to go to there.

*DS

That Can’t Be Right, Can It??

According to this website, I have not written on hear since April 29, 2009. Shit man, that is ridiculous and unfortunate. It probably would have helped me a lot to write down the chaos in my brain over the past few months. Oh well. 

It is official.

I am a married woman. 

 

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Everything came together in such a fantastic way. People told me ahead of time that there are always things that go wrong, and there was, but nothing that mattered. It was RAD. I loved my wedding. I would NOT go back and do it all over again, as I have perfect memories of it already. 

Although, that is not to say that at least once a day for the past few months, I was overwhelmed to the point that I wish I had a no questions asked pharmacy to make things better…

 

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But alas, I lived through the event, having only minor medication adjustments. 

 

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 What I am really struggling with now, is how the hell could it possibly be that I have not written since April. How the shit is it June already?? 

Now that the chaos of planning a wedding, going to college, working day time hours at a non-profit,  working evening and weekend hours at the salon, and not having a day of the week off to call my own, I am becoming aware of the importance of taking time for oneself. I have been neglecting myself more than I ever thought I would/could. I am suddenly so aware of how nice it is to have a real conversation with people that I love. The realization of how close to the edge I was is starting to hit home. 

How do I make my way back?

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Not just sleeping full nights or eating something other than shit… but actually being alone for longer than a train ride to one job or another, actually thinking about what I might like to do this weekend, or this summer, or even (oh my!) hanging out with Man-Friend (my now husband!) when it is light out, and I am not falling asleep on the couch. I have pretty much completely ignored every natural need/want that I have had for the past two and a half months.

I am not going to let myself ruin my life, my friendships, my marriage,  because I feel like I should be working 14 hours a day, just because I can.  I cannot ignore the fact that  during peak wedding planning time, startling dreams woke me every few hours in a panic, reminding me that there are 24 valuable hours in every day and I was wasting some by actually attempting to sleep for more than 3. I am not going to become the  people in my life who I have watched allow their own lives deteriorate due to self-neglect. 

This is me taking a stand for myself. I don’t know how I am going to find my way back, but I know I need to. I am not allowing myself to be unhappy with my physical, mental, and spiritual state in the hopes of paying bills and making others happy anymore. 

 

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This wedding is over. It was phenomenal. I worked hard as hell to make it happen, and now I am going to work hard as hell on me.

Don’t judge a book by its…

 

What would people think of you if the only information they were shown were the books that are recommended to you by Amazon after you make a purchase?

I would not have any friends. Also, for the record, I would not elect myself to befriend those who are the folks behind “other recommendations from people who bought this”. My online anonymity can really let out the lame. 

 

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 I am just saying.