Welcome to a new feature here on Finding Yourself, The Weekend Confessional. Here you can unload your sins and air your dirty laundry. None of us is perfect and absolution is good for the soul. Step forth my readers and have these burdens lifted from your shoulders.

Forgiven me bloggers for I have sinned. It has been 3 months since I pretended to clean my refrigerator, apparently it has been over 6 months since I have done it for real. It’s hard to deny the cold hard facts of expiration dates and liquefied moldy peppers. I found lemon juice that expired in October 2005, yes OCTOBER 2005. Lemon juice keeps for about 9 months so that means this lemon juice has been haunting my fridge for a solid year. To make matters worse, it was not banished to the nether regions of the back of the fridge, nay, it was on the door. Accompanying this grossly outdated lemon juice was another key ingredient for my famous hummus, a yellow pepper. Not just any ordinary yellow pepper, one who might very possibly predate the pyramids.

You can’t get that kind of liquidfication and spore activity inside of a few weeks.

I could fill a book with my sins this week but I want to give you a chance to bare your soul. Click on Hail Marys and absolve yourself. If this catches on, the Weekend Confessional will make weekly appearances.

What happens when you put two crazy people and $70 worth of stainless steel chains together?

Well first you get this:

But eventually you get 4 new swings (see post below).

Happy Half Nekkid Thursday everyone.

If you are digging the new look around here, show me and my design mistress Izzy some love. You can visit her design studio HERE or check out her amusing blog HERE

If you are feeling extra fuzzy love you can also check out my good friend Robyn HERE She’s new to the blog-o-sphere and made her HNT debut last week.

With hair streaming back into the wind like ribbons unfurling, I am free. My legs moving rhythmically, slicing into the night, stretch longer before me like I am growing. I tip backwards until my stomach flip flops and a pleasant buzzing fills my head. All my responsibilities and expectations slide away and there is just me.

It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed a moment like this. As a teenager we would sneak into parks after dark jonsing for a good swing. I would be high in the air, my chains slack and then SNAP! as I descended into the arc. My companion would be more reserved, swaying slowly back and forth with the bright red cherry end of a cigarette glowing.

Once upon a time when there was only myself, The Hubster, and a little black dog named Jake we would walk to the park at 4 am when The Hubster would come home from his graveyard shift. The swings there were not particularly good for adults. The ear splitting groaning sound that would emit attracted the unwanted attention of the local cops and we would crouch in the tube slide, clinging to one another while the little dog scratched ferociously trying to get a grip on the slick plastic. Since then, it is a rare thing that I have more than a brief moment to revel in the feeling of flying. Flying is in my blood, my father was a pilot. This weekend marked the beginning of a new phase of flying for me - in my own backyard.

A few years ago my husband was frantically working any side job he could pull to pay for our Cobra health coverage - Cobra ain’t cheap. One of his side gigs involved a local charter school. He and a few buddies took apart the playground and moved it to the school’s new digs. They decided not to bring the old swing set and it naturally fell into our possession. At the time we were living in a townhouse, no yard to call our own and passed it on to some friends. These friends are leaving, returning to whence they came and in turn have returned the swing set to whence it came. We now have a yard (almost 1/4 of an acre) and the Hubster spent the weekend fixing up the swing set. It’s now firmly ensconced in my backyard, 3 bench swings and a double boat swing for the itty bitty set. One of the swings is just high enough for me. The whole thing is FIRMLY concreted into the ground so I can swing as high as I want without fear of tipping the whole set-up over. I am please, The Hubster is pleased and the kiddos seem pleased.

Folks I am about to plotz, there are big changes coming soon to Finding Yourself Despite Yourself. 1 1/2 years into blogging it’s finally time to make an investment. Very soon my new look will be unveiled. Suffice to say I will be heavily pimping the design master. Much joy will be had, many people will be plotzing and I may wet myself just from sheer joy.

I just had to add this because it’s HILARIOUS

Apparently though this search CLICK HERE I am the number one result if you are looking for “couch fucking” BWHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA Apparently THIS POST carried me into this auspicious position (ahem…. cough, cough).

I am angry about the sense of entitlement that so many people feel. No one seems to do things simply because they are moral but rather to get what they can. I can not count the number of times myself or my husband have walked back into a store to pay for something that was overlooked when we were rung up - things as little as $1 on up to things that were priced well over $100. And every time, our honesty has been greeted with incredulity or suspicion. We have found dogs and returned them home. One stayed with us for well over a week and we sought no reward, no compensation for the food and time invested. We turn in wallets, keys, & other items. We inform customer service when someone leaves their lights on in the parking lots. They are all little things that make life more pleasant and bearable. They are all things that I hope I can expect out of my fellow man.

A little background here: We are the minority in the neighborhood and many of the neighbors don’t even bother to nod Hi when we walk by. I’ve heard mention that we are “those crazy white folks”. People around here seem to think we have tons of money because we have been working so hard at fixing up this house. We don’t have tons of money, we lived her for over a year before we managed to pay to have the house stuccoed and WE painted it ourselves. We drained our savings to stucco the front and sides (the back is still block b/c we could not afford the extra $$ to have it done). Our front yard looks lush because my husband works for a company that deals in lawns - this should be quite obvious b/c the of the company vehicle that’s always here. Every other change we’ve made like screening in the carport have been minor and low cost. I don’t think many of the neighbors realize what a coat of paint and regular maintenance can accomplish….

Today Pickles ran off (yes again). That little dog is slicker than a greased pig. The people one street over found him and called. We notice the dog missing approximately 20 minutes before I found him at the neighbors. He could not have been missing of more than an hour because that is the time frame that my DH unlatched the gate. The folks who found him know us by face and when they saw me coming told me they had him. I thanked the boys and let them know that my little girls would be so happy to have their dog safely back home. I did not have any cash to offer them so I decided that I would bake some cookies this evening and return tomorrow after school let out. About 45 minutes after I returned home the phone rings:

“Did you lose a dog?”

“Yes, but I already came and got him”

(silence, shuffling, mumbling)

“Do you have any money?”

“Um, no I don’t have any money but we really appreciate you finding him”

“Can you bring us money tomorrow?”

“No, I really don’t have any money”

“oh (click)”

Kiss your fresh baked cookies goodbye boys. What is your take on this? My mind is a bite boggled…

Do you think they were encouraged to phone us and ask for money? Do you think it’s something they decided to do on their own? Do you think what they did was appropriate? Should I have agreed to bring them money after they so boldly called me? And do you think it’s wrong that I feel so offended that I now do not want to bring them the cookies I was originally going to make for them?

Lately my house has been filled with fur balls and snot rags. For you allergyless and petless folks, there is no surer sign that spring has arrived. I have been wearing flip flops regularly since February but the nights were still could enough to warrant fuzzy socks (NEVER worn WITH sandal’s you blaphemous northerners!) Once the days creep into the 80’s and the nights stop falling below 60, the oak trees that line the front and back of my yard explode forth with a psychedelic yellow haze that curtains the car and packs my delicate nasal tissue with yards of gooey magic nose goblins. This year, we have all fallen victim.

At any given moment our house is a symphony of sneezes, sniffles, snorts and coughs. Our conversation topics have shifted to the comparing and contrasting of our mucus “oysters” which we dislodge from our throat immediately upon awakening. The kids have been spending more time then usual 2 knuckles deep and it’s beginning to affect their other activities.

My kids have never been very orifice fixated. Sure their finger is magnetically drawn into their nostril at the most inappropriate times, but spending 1/2 a day in such as manner has their little wheels turning, thinking about what else fits up there.

Yesterday morning I greeted the day when I fluttered my eyes open and discovered my two mischievous monkeys trying to shove a hanger up my nose - an unpleasant prospect had I been the one trying to insert it but now put this evil implement in the hands of a giggly 4 year old and a devious 2 1/2 year old. We’ll just leave the aftermath of this as a simple OUCH. Then this morning, Mira, miss priss of everything ew and yuck decided to cram a pretzel up her nose.

#1 Do not ask me where the pretzel came from

#2 Do not ask me how OLD said pretzel was

#3 Do not ask me why this seemed like a good idea to her

My first conscious memory this morning is of my darling husband yelling “No, no don’t shove it up further! Blow it out, blow it out!” - Tip top, just want I wanted to hear first thing on, this, our 5th wedding anniversary.

Happy anniversary baby, there is no one’s side I’d rather sit by while a doctor surgically removes a foreign object from the nasal cavity of one of my children.

Have you ever needed to be picked up off the pavement? Have you ever crashed so wholly and completely that in those moments you doubted your ability to pick up the pieces, even questioned your own desire to bother breathing? I have found myself there before, my mother’s back turned from my pain. She couldn’t handle guiding me out when it touched so close to her own. For a long time it affected how I perceived my mother, forming a wall. At the same time it drew my best friend closer to my heart. We have always had a connection, knowing when something is off in one another’s lives. We may go weeks, occasionally months without talking but in the midst of crisis or uncertain times the phone will ring.

My hand cradling the receiver, her voice pouring over me like warm honey, my anxiety takes a back seat. She is a wonderful listener and I do my best to reciprocate. She brings new perspective and ideas, leaving me to feel like it’s possible that somehow I will get through it (whatever it is). She is someone that always has a favored place in my heart- no matter the turns in life, whatever is thrown at me, and whatever may separate us. She could renounce our friendship today and though it would pain me, I would still hold her in my heart. I have her to thank for my life.

In the darkest, most bewildering time she came and kept me from eroding away. Without so much as toothbrush she walked out of her life and stepped into mine. That terrible day is something that blackens a corner of my heart and warms another - a strange dichotomy.

As I stood in my living room that day, with a policeman casting a watchful weary eye towards me, I sobbed into the phone “I need you”. That was enough, 3 hours later she was there. She stayed for days, calling in to work, skipping her college classes. She argued with my health insurance company and drove me to a therapist. She peed with the door open so I wouldn’t have to be alone for even a minute and refused to allow me to entertain my mother’s solution -emergency in-patient admittance to the mental hospital. She understood I needed the closure of attending the funeral. At night she spent hours listening to me talk it all out, letting me sob. We burned candles playing the same ‘My Friend Steve’ CD over and over as I ruminated over and over about the missed signs and details. She took me shopping for a black dress, helping me to find something fitting when I could barely stand to lift my own eyes to my reflection. It was a time when everyone else fell away, unable to withstand the screaming personal pain that I radiated.

It was that time, the investment she made not only in our friendship, but in me that helped me to face life again. Without it I would have probably floundered for years, missing the new opportunities that have led me to the place where I belong. I am certain that I would have missed out on my husband, on trusting another person again had she not so selflessly helped me to recover.

I think about this every year on her birthday. I think about how damn lucky I am and I think about how happy I am to have her in my life.

You can go see her at her photography site by CLICKING HERE

(for those readers who are new to my blog, the time in my life I am referring too is when my boyfriend committed suicide

He listened to “Last dance with Mary Jane” laid down on his bed and put a gun to his head. The moment it happened I was out dancing. I got so dizzy I almost fell down and did not know what was wrong. 2 days later his brother was pounding on my door screaming for me. I ran down the street praying that it was a joke. Ran up to his room - the neighbor tried to stop me “Is he dead? Just tell me is he fucking dead?” He didn’t know so I had to go in. The smell of rot clung to my face and I looked down at him. His face had bloated and distorted into a weird bloody triangle. There was blood in his golden curls and spattered on the wall. I had to touch him to look for a pulse and he was dead… Just dead. I stumbled down the stairs screaming about how I knew he shouldn’t have a gun. I fell out his front door and into the grass. I was rolling in an ant pile but everyone was afraid of my grief and left me to be bitten. His phone started ringing and I heard his voice. I wailed “Close the damn door he’s dead and talking to me!” The breeze blew the scent of his cologne to me and I started dry heaving. His brother had been living in the house for 2 days with a dead body and didn’t think to check. The smell was horrific and he didn’t think to check. The overwhelming guilt that belongs to the survivors is enough to crush a person forever. The anger, the what ifs, the missed signs… It took me so long to get past it.

The entire post on this is located HERE )

Happy Birthday Liz, I think we have Weezer to thank for our friendship for without “The Sweater Song” I doubt I could have come up with an opening comment dazzling enough.

This is my daily pill intake, note the number of HUGE pills I must swallow. I guess my time in college HAS come in handy. All those nights I spent wide mouthed gulping is being put to good use……

There’s not much difference in the swallowing technique between gulping pills and downing other unplatable things. Just open your throat, toss it back, and swallow big (taking care not to set off your gag reflex). This technique got me through my time spent with assholes.. Well playing asshole. On the rare occasion that I did not rise to the position of El Presidente I implemented this tactic for the hooch laden jello shots (sheesh what did YOU think I was swallowing?)

Lovely photo isn’t it? This is just a hint of the chaotic weekend I spent in and out of various doctors offices. Nothing to serious, just 3 separate and demanding medical issues that had the potential to be deadly… Well my problem is not immediately deadly, more like a slow death. Though both The Hubster and my Slacker Brother were in considerably more immediate and worrisome danger.

(Wavy lines) Do do do do. Do do do do… Friday at 2 pm, the kids are climbing the walls of my doctor’s office. 2:10 pm We are singing our 20th verse of ‘the Wheels on the Bus.’ 2:20 I am begging the girls to stop fishing around in the sharps container. 2:30 I am fishing around in the sharps container hoping one of the used syringes has some left over sedatives. 2:48 the doctor finally comes in. The good and bad thing about my doctor is that she will talk and she will listen. She will stay in the room with you for 20, 30, 40 minutes - what ever it takes to start you getting well, ease your mind and answer all of your questions. This is fantastic unless you are waiting for her to finish doing the above things for the person whose appointment was before you.

Yes, my hormone levels are in the toilet but apparently they are not the source of my problem! Despite being abysmally low, they are in a good ratio to one another so they should not be the cause of my symptoms. Instead she thinks it’s something called Adrenal Fatigue… Its caused by stress (is anyone surprised?). I have to start a 6 month supplement program (not covered by my insurance of course). After a month I should begin to feel better if this is indeed the problem. Additionally I need to cut down on any stress that I do have control over (hmmm MY BROTHER???).

As soon as I left the office I vowed I would let myself relax more and not feel so upset over the things I haven’t been and cant seem to get done. Now that I have a valid reason for feeling tired, worn out, and foggy I can cut myself some slack. Keeping this promise is harder than it seems though. My appointment having taken so long caused me to have race home grab the hubster and high tail it over to the chiropractor where EVERYONE got adjusted. Poor little Tessa was so far out of alignment I was horrified and yet strangely pleased at the all popping and cracking her tiny body did. The Hubster and I both were a mess in our shoulder area and both were drooling and making embarrassing ohh ahhh noises the whole time.

We strolled out of there feeling good and decided to test the boundaries of childhood patience. My kids had just managed to make it through 2 doctors offices, let’s go for a 3rd. The Hubster has been hack and coughing for 6 weeks and on Friday he started getting dizzy. After being adjusted he was still having some vertigo so we hit the walk in doctor. Ahh yes, the hubster had a sinus infection and was given antibiotics and allergy meds. That night after his first dose of OmniCef (a generally benign antibiotic that even Tessa tolerated at 1 month old) The Hubster’s heart began racing and his chest tightened. 2 am I call the doctor who instructs me to give him Benedryl and if there is any doubt in our minds to head straight for the ER… There is lots of doubt but we wait it out. Saturday morning we hop up out of bed, wake The Slacker and turn our children over to his care. I take The Hubster in for an EKG to make sure the antibiotic didn’t cause any sort of last arythemias and we are fully prepared to head the hospital if need be. Ahh but this is NOT how I ended up with my lovely photo visitors pass.. oh nay, not at all. In fact he was given a clean bill, a referral to a cardiology for a follow up and a new script for antibiotics which he is refusing to fill (I don’t blame him!). No, indeed. Last night I though we could finally breath easy. We know what may be going on with me, The Hubster’s heart is beating normally again and we are all adjusted… Then the phone rings… It’s my Slacker Brother, He’s in the ER with a concussion and a head wound - FUN TIMES! 8:45 pm I have to get dressed and drive downtown to pick him up. I also get to witness the doctors poke around in his wound with needles and then staple his head shut. We’ll not even discuss the trauma of finding a parking spot that is not a 2 mile hike as I did not have the $10 they wanted for VALET parking.. That’s right, they will VALET your car if you come to the ER but you have to PAY - like the $20 they charge for Tylenol couldn’t help pay the salary of a valet.
Here’s The Slacker, note the blood stains

Deep breath in, …….and let it out. Not only am I done with doctors for awhile (please please please) but I am seriously done with stress (I mean I’ll try, sort of… Maybe - who the hell am I kidding?)

You think I can do it right?

PS after spending all weekend turning infected door knobs and swapping sneeze particles with every flu victim in the greater Orlando area I seem to have contracted it myself. At first I tried to blame the achy body on the gym, but when I sneezed so hard my spine felt like it was going to rocket out of my body I accepted my fate.

blogger is sucking hard core today!