Beware Dish Network!

About a month ago, my roommate and I were evaluating our monthly expenses and figuring out where we could cut back and save a little bit of money. Sadly, we decided that cable TV really needed to go. We didn't watch it enough to justify keeping it, and after almost 4 years of service, we knew we were out of our contract.

Called the company, and as predicted, they offered us the moon and some really good discounts to keep the service. Nonetheless, we declined, and the representative said that we needed to return our two receivers and two remotes, and they'd even send out prepaid boxes to get them back to the company. A week later, the boxes arrived. So far so good. 

Okay, our fault, didn't box the packages up immediately, and the UPS man came to pick them up before they were ready. I apologized to the UPS guy, he said it was no problem, he'd be back around the next day, and just leave the packages on the porch. Now, I'm not leaving $600 worth of equipment outside, but I knew that someone was going to be home at all times for the next couple of days. 

Here's the thing, he never came back. 

Dish Network sends us a notice in the mail saying that if the equipment isn't returned by November 2nd, they will withdraw $601.47 from my bank account, which has been used to pay the bill in the past. Sufficiently warned, I took the boxes to the UPS store instead of waiting for the UPS driver to return. I calculated the days and figured that there were more than enough business days between then and November 2nd to  travel between here and there, and thought nothing about it. 

Until this morning. 

I started receiving the overdraft notices on my account overnight last night. By the time I logged into my email, there were 5. Three more were sent later to my phone. Panicked, I logged into my email and saw that Dish had processed a charge on my account in the amount of $601.47.

Um. It's Thursday, October 28th. November 2nd is next Tuesday, (which everyone who plans to vote in any election should know by now is the day the political ads will stop!)

I make a decent living, but it's still paycheck to paycheck, and folks, I don't have an extra $600 in my bank account. My account is overdrawn in excess of $400.

I called Dish Network, and the customer care rep says that there is nothing that she can do. She didn't care that the receivers were in transit, and she refused to take down the tracking numbers. She said that it didn't matter, that there was nothing that could be done, she didn't care that it was charged early, and she was powerless to reverse or refund the charges. 

I called back and immediately asked for a supervisor. Look, I work on the phones, too, and it's not fair to bitch out the first person who answers the call. They likely don't have enough clout to get the job done anyway, so why wait until they transfer the call? 

I spoke to a supervisor named Richmond. (Yes, I have his number, as well.) He told me that he has no idea why I was mailed any paperwork at all, and he doesn't know where the date of November 2nd came from. I assured him that I would be happy to fax him a copy, and got the fax number. He also told me that he has no record of the account being charged, and again I said I would be happy to fax a copy of my overdrawn bank statement.

Then he goes on to tell me that I should just be happy that Dish Network didn't charge me earlier, and that I was beyond my 30 day limit to return the equipment, and that Dish had cut me a "break" by not charging earlier. 

I...I'm sorry. Didn't you just tell me that you have no record of the account being charged?

I asked him if he could see the receivers in transit to his location and he said that yes, he could. Now, if they're in transit to Dish using a PRE-PAID label that DISH PROVIDED, and he can TRACK THEM, where the hell else are they going to wind up? He can see them on their way! I asked why I was being charged if he could see them in transit.

He again reiterated that it was beyond 30 days, and I told him once again that I have the paperwork that states that November 2nd is my deadline day. I could tell that I was getting to him, because his voice started shaking at this point. 

I said, fine. You can see that they're getting there on Tuesday. Now, when will you be refunding the money you took out of my account early? He said that I needed to watch the tracking numbers and see when they arrived at the station, then call and request my refund. 

I asked why the refund wouldn't be processed automatically once they had their equipment? He said that it didn't work that way, that customers have to call and ask for their refunds when returning equipment. (Um, hello, scam much? Imagine people everywhere returning items for a refund and having the nerve to expect that a company would...I don't know...refund them when the equipment is mailed back?)

Fine. Since suddenly there is miraculously no disagreement that they charged my account, (EARLY!) I asked how long it took to process refunds. 7-10 days if they decide to mail me a check. 

Let's review: 

I mail the receivers back with a prepaid label that will have them arrive on November 2nd.

I have paperwork in my hand that says I will not be charged for no-equipment return until November 2nd.

Dish charges me on October 28th for not returning their equipment.

Dish initially states that they DIDN'T charge me, then recants, saying I should be glad they didn't charge me earlier. 

Dish states that my refund won't be processed when the equipment arrives on November 2nd, (which is when they should have charged me in the first place.) I have to call, again, and request a refund. 

Dish states there is nothing they can do and that I am in the wrong. 

I have been a GOOD customer of Dish for nearly 4 years.

I have NEVER made a payment late. 

I didn't JUST have basic cable, but a Top package.

I complied with their request to have their equipment back on November 2nd.

And they charged me early, overdrew my account, and cannot offer an explanation as to why. 

I can. 

Because their system is set up to screw people. They are banking on the fact that people will mail back their equipment and forget to call to notify Dish that the packages have arrived, so that Dish will charge customers a non-return fee. (What, there's no one monitoring the loading docks? Packages just sit out there unnoticed?) They're banking on the fact that most people fear confrontation enough that they won't call to complain that they were charged a fee they didn't deserve. 

They were banking on the fact that I wouldn't notice that October 28th is NOT November 2nd and that they took $601.47 out of my account prior to when my contract with them said they could. 

And then they had the NERVE to tell me I should be glad it hadn't been taken out sooner. 

Shame on you, Dish Network. I've been an excellent customer for nearly 4 years, and this is the level of customer service you provide? I will never again be a customer of yours.

30 Days of Truth - Day 07

Day 07 → Someone who has made your life worth living for.


The cursor sits blinking back at me from the white page, the pulse of my frustration. It’s laughing at me, I know it. Laughing from its post on my desktop where it has sat for four days, waiting for me to complete this entry.

I’ve been thinking through everyone in my life, every person I’ve ever met, everything I’ve ever accomplished. I’ve read other entries to this Day of Truth to seek inspiration or a jogged memory.
What I’ve been left with has left me heartbroken. I don’t have a spouse. I don’t have children. My parents and I have a strained relationship…and strained is putting it mildly.
“Worth living for…” That’s such a powerful phrase, isn’t it? To me, it means if everything else fell apart, the world came crashing down and life turned to crap, there would be that one person in your life, that on being that you could look to and go, as long as I have you around, I know it’ll be okay. I can overcome whatever life throws at me.

I don’t have that.

But then I sit here and think about is some more, and I realize;

I am blessed with a group of amazing friends who I love like my family and would give anything for. I’m thankful every day for their companionship on this crazy life-adventure we’re on. I have friends whom I’ve known since before I started pre-school and we’ve been through every challenge life could through at us together. I have friends that I’ve traveled the country with, and friends that I’ve played in the backyard with. I’ve seen births, deaths, weddings and first-day-of-schools. We’ve been through hurricanes, terrorist attacks, and lightings of Christmas Lights and fireworks. These are the people that I know would pick up the phone, even if we haven’t talked in months, even years. These are the people that I would drop anything for and jump on a plane if they needed my help. My friends. My family. My reason for living.

You know who you are.

And you make my life worth living.

Footprints on my Heart

This is a prompt from Mama Kat’s Writer’s Workshop: What made them so interesting? Remember a unique classmate from your past. Write about him/her.

(inspired by writingfix.com).

The breeze hits my face as I stand on the brick walkway of the courtyard – hot. I’m not used to hot. I’m used to every breeze bringing a chill, and very likely a sting of rainfall. I’m used to Seattle. This…this is very much not Seattle.

I stare down at the paper in my hand, trying to interpret the tiny map of my new college campus. My roommate stares over my shoulder, just as lost as I am as I turn the paper around. If I line the map upside down with the lake in front of me, I’ll be able to see where I’m going, right?

“All I need to do is find the fricking bookstore!” I complain, a little too loudly. Only, I didn’t say fricking. After the words leave my mouth, I bite my lip and look around, nervously. I already stand out from the crowd, my bleach-blonde hair slightly orange from a botched job and my ultra-pale skin practically glowing against the sun-bronzed flesh of the native Floridians around me. I’m already the odd-new-kid-from-the-rainy-city getting the critical stares from the passers-by, I don’t need to be the potty-mouthed-odd-new-kid, too. Luckily, no one heard me.

“Hi! Are you lost?”

Crap. Make that ALMOST no one.

I turn around, plastering on my fake, friendly smile, and nod. “Yes, a little.” I admit, feeling my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. The pixie-ish woman in front of me doesn’t seem to notice.

“It’s okay, it’s an odd campus. Where are you headed?” She reaches to take the stack of papers from my hand, looking down at my schedule peeking out from behind the map. Her voice holds the tinge of an accent which I pinpoint as northeastern. Huh. Evidently, I’m not the only one a long way from home.

“The bookstore. Can you point me in the right direction?” I ask, hoping that she’s not one of those vindictive types that likes to run the new girl in town around in circles.

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Another bright smile. “I’m actually on the way.” She hands my paperwork back to me. “And you’re in one of my classes. You’ll like Dr. Singer, she’s great. Quirky, and if you get on her bad side, you’ll be there until graduation, but I’m sure you won’t have a problem.”

As we walk to the bookstore, we talk. I learn that her name is Eve (name changed to protect the totally awesome), she’s from Maryland, a feminist/vegetarian/radio show host/activist/honors student who had the gumption to petition the school to create her own major. I immediately feel out of my element and slightly ashamed when I confess that I’m just a new girl who’s spent the last 8 years of her life as an actress, (which, let’s face it, is one of the most superficial industries around), and that this is my first time in a “real” college. She doesn’t seem to mind, though, and when I see her come through the classroom door on Monday, she immediately pulls out the seat next to me and sits down.

Eve and I were practically inseparable for the next 4 years. She and I were exact opposites, which is probably why we got along so well. She was passionate about her causes, an active member of Amnesty International, leader of the GLBTA group on campus, and an outspoken (read: loud) advocate for the rights of women and children. She was one of those speakers who can so passionately articulate their point of view that it’s hard not to get swept up in their enthusiasm. Me? I was lucky if I could get a sentence out without rambling nervously.

Eve had been all over the world and new amazing bits of cultural information from countries I’d never even heard of. She cooked me (vegetarian) traditional recipes from Argentina and Brazil, and served me a traditional drink, yerba mata, in a guampa con una bombilla (gourd with a long metal straw) every time we pulled an all-nighter to complete a paper. (Which, I’ll just be honest, was pretty often.) She’d even spent a semester as an exchange student in South America. The furthest I’d ever been was Mexico…Mazatlan, the touristy side in particular..which definitely doesn’t count for exciting cultural adventures. She read important novels written by Gloria Steinem, Emmanuel Kant, and Friedrich Nietsche. I re-read The Lord of the Rings and Rice’s The Vampire Chronicles.

We couldn’t be more opposite…and we couldn’t have been closer. She even moved into the same apartment complex I did. She was the first person I met at Orientation, and we graduated mid-year together. She challenged me in ways that I don’t even think she understood, and I know that a big portion of the determined, strong, passionate woman I am today is due to the wonderful person she was, and is.

We don’t talk anymore. She’s back on the east coast, and I’m in Seattle. I know she’s continued with her broadcasting; I picked up one of her radio shows on satellite radio once, and grinned like an idiot at her familiar voice. She’s still writing, and I stumble across something she’s done online every now and again, but we haven’t had an actual conversation in years.

Sometimes, I think about her, and then that old quote pops into my head, “Some people come into our lives and quickly go. Some stay for awhile and leave footprints on our hearts. And we are never, ever the same.”

30 Days of Truth - Day 06

Day 06 → Something you hope you never have to do


I know that every child has a fear of losing their parents, even though we know deep down in our hearts that the odds are that we will be burying them at some point in our lives. Finding out at an early age that my mother had a debilitating disease was heartbreaking for me; learning as I grew that most victims of MS die as a result of complications from the disease was devastating for me. Every cold makes my heart stop, wondering if this will turn into pneumonia (we’ve already been there once this year). Little things like a cough can turn into choking or breathing challenges very quickly, and I can’t count the number of days she’s spent in the hospital this year. I always worry that each time she’s admitted will be the last time. And I always worry that when I walk in her room and she’s sleeping, laying there so still, that I’m going to see her take her last breath.

One of the more recent times that she’s been admitted, it didn’t look good. I mean, it REALLY didn’t look good, as in my dad stopped by because he’d been asked by the doctors whether or not he wanted to sign a DNR – Do Not Resuscitate – order. For those not familiar, that would mean that no extraordinary measures would be taken in the event that her vitals were to crash while in the hospital; no respirator, ventilator, shock paddles, nothing. It doesn’t STOP treatment by any means, it’s not giving up on her. It’s simply letting her go when her body decides it’s had enough. Having that discussion and considering all of the options and potential outcomes…things I’d hoped I’d never have to deal with. Actually having to follow through on that decision…that’s something that I hope that I never have to do.

I'm broken...

Ay me, so funny story to tell about a clutzy little girl named Scarlett...

Last weekend, I was helping my mother at her place. (She has severe Multiple Sclerosis and requires 24/7 care since she can no longer leave her bed.) I was downstairs in the kitchen, cooking, when she called me.

I ran up the stairs, same as I had hundreds...no, scratch that, THOUSANDS of times before, just like I did when I was a kid and still lived in that house. Only, all those times I ran upstairs as a kid, there wasn't a 12 inch metal wheelchair track running up the side of the stairs.

You see where this is going, don't you?

Yep, I'm so talented that I trip going UP the stairs, not falling DOWN them, and land unceremoniously on the jutting metal end of the chair track, which cuts me in the upper left quadrant of my stomach. I pick myself up and hobble into my mom's room, cursing inwardly in every language I know...where she proceeds to tell me to be careful and not fall on the stairs.

Uh, thanks mom. Got the memo on that one a little late.

Anyway, after a few days, the pain just wasn't going away, and on Tuesday, I couldn't even get out of bed to go to work. I started to get a little worried that I'd actually hurt something other than my pride, and on Wednesday, I went to the walk in clinic.

Turns out I fell a little harder than I thought. That pain I felt? Broken rib. Bruised muscles. Messed up cartilage and back. Terrific...

Luckily, the doctor was awesome and prescribed me some medicinal goodies that made the rest of this week MUCH more bearable. (Though, trying to get all the proper HR verbiage out when offering someone a job? Much, much harder to do through the Vicodin fog! Thankfully, the new employee was forgiving.)

So, yes, this has been my crazy week. How was yours?

30 Days of Truth - Day 05

Day 05 → Something you hope to do in your life.

I published my first book when I was 5 years old. Okay, well, it wasn't so much "published" as my book was laminated and spiralbound, and submitted to my elementary school classroom's library collection.

You see, I was fortunate enough to go to a school where writing and creativity were strongly encouraged. I thank my teacher mentally every day that she took a little girl who loved making up stories, and handed her lined paper and a crayon and told her to go wild.

And I did. I wrote book after book, painting pages with watercolors and stick figure portraits. I meticulously printed each letter carefully on the paper, careful to stay within the lines and use my proper penmanship skills. When I was done, I would carefully and proudly take my collection up to Mrs. Hanus or Mrs. Reed, and she would take my hand and guide me town the hall to the library to laminate it.

The laminating machine at my school was one of those huge ones which had two rolls of plastic running through a heat-sealer. I was fascinated by the process, and I loved watching my construction paper pages slide in between the sheets and come out carefully protected.

I wasn't allowed to put the paper in myself, but after a sufficient amount of begging, I was allowed to catch the long roll of plastic on the other size and use the Big Kid Scissors to carefully free each page from their confines. I felt so accomplished and proud as I was allowed to pull the heavy handle on the binder to link the pages together before sliding it into the bookshelf.

When I was a kid, that was the biggest thing that I could imagine - the ultimate accomplishment and acknowledgment of my writing was to have my work published in a classroom setting.I remember that feeling, and I remember the way that I couldn't wipe the smile off of my face every time my parents told their friends that I, in fact was, A Writer.

My ultimate goal in my life is to have that feeling as an adult. I want to go to a bookshelf and see my name written sideways on a spine, I want to crack open a book, My Book, and smell the glue and paper, hear the crackling as the binding is open for the very first time.

30 Days of Truth - Day 04

Day 04 → Something you have to forgive someone for.

I need to forgive the man who took my virginity without my consent, because hanging on to the pain, fear, and resentment is killing me.

If you have been a survivor of sexual assault or molestation, please, know that you are not alone. There is no timeline,everyone heals in their own way and in their own time.

There are amazing folks all around the world who can help. I personally support RAINN, because they helped support me. If speaking to a counselor in person is too much for you to deal with, I hope you check out their online helpline.

30 Days of Truth - Day 03

Day 03 → Something you have to forgive yourself for.

Everyone has it, whether you admit to it or not. You may not have written yours down, it may only have existed in the shadows in the back of your mind, but it was there. It was:

THE PLAN.

You know which one I mean. "When I grow up, I'm going to be a...." "By the time I'm 30, I'm going to..." "I'm going to marry ...." The bucket list. The best intentions. The vision you had for yourself and where your life was going to lead you.

My plan was to be an actress and a writer. I didn't anticipate being a superstar or having my name splashed across Broadway in bright bulb lights. I just wanted to be on stage, smelling the musty air of an aging theater, hearing the creaking of the casters as they pulled the heavy curtain open, being blinded by the harsh light of the follow spot, listening to the gasps and laughs of a enraptured audience, washing the grease paint off of my face every night...that was my world, and all I wanted to be.

I was on the right path, too. School theater, followed by community theater and a gig on a professional stage crew at a local performing arts center. I earned acceptance into an arts conservatory for college (really, it was like Fame High School - the College Years), performed in student films, local theater, even landed a spot as an extra in a major motion picture.

I moved to Orlando, where I thought I'd have a better chance of breaking into the industry. Don't laugh; at the time, Orlando was the heart and soul of pop culture, and there were a lot of smaller movie studios and theater companies that were setting up shop in the City that Tourism Built. I transferred colleges, packed up my car and my cat, and drove 3,000 miles to start a new life in a new city.

I wish I could tell you where it all went wrong. It started slowly enough; the theater at my new college, like at most colleges, was very exclusive. If you hadn't come up in the department like everyone else, it was very hard to get cast in anything, no matter what was on your resume. I did manage to do a student film for a local film school. I even recorded a few songs for a demo. But...then...one thing led to another. School took up more and more of my time, then I had to get a job, and then..."real" life took over, and I had to put aside all of that.

It was the first of many boxes on my "To Do By 30" list that never got checked off. "Have my Masters", "Marry", "Have a Career" and "Have my First Child" were soon to follow. I'm a member of the generation that was fed the lie of  "go to college, get a degree, and your career will find YOU." We played by the rules, got the grades, went to school...and then the economy tanked. Some blame 9/11. Some blame the president (take your pick which one). Some just blame the natural state of the bottom dropping out on an economy built on debt. Whatever the cause, I graduated with a degree in a field that was rapidly disappearing, and instead of looking for my Dream Job, I was scrambling to get ANY job that would keep my rent paid and my lights on.

I've spent years berating myself for everything that I wanted that I just couldn't achieve. If I could learn to forgive myself for anything, it would be for not achieving what I thought was my ideal for my life. I would forgive myself for holding myself to the standards set by my parents, society, my friends and family....myself....and I would somehow...someway...find peace in knowing that sometimes, you land exactly where you're supposed to be, even if you're not sure of how you wound up there in the first place.

30 Days of Truth - Day 02

Day 02 → Something you love about yourself.

It’s the middle of the day, and the sun, making a rare spring appearance, is just beginning to warm the earth. All around me the mist of the morning dew is rising as it evaporates off the grass and leaves. I kneel on the ground, not caring about the green streaks on the knees of my jeans and lower my head to peer into the mist. I blow gently, a short puff of air, and dissolve into giggles as the dense cloud parts in front of my lips. Like a mighty goddess controlling the clouds over the some distant planet, I reach out with my fingertips and rake them through the clouds, drawing patterns and designs, only to watch them fade swiftly as the fog once again covers all traces of my play.

The world is my etch-a-sketch.

I jump as I hear a stick crack on the ground behind me, and I freeze. Motionless, I shift my eyes from side to side, listening as another soft footstep sounds behind me. Mentally, I chide myself for getting lost in the moment when there was so much work to be done. I slowly reach to my right, gliding my hand over the grass to my sword, gripping the hilt with a practiced movement. In one smooth action, I leap to my feet and turn to face my attacker, yelling at the top of my lungs.

The battle is long – it’s as though the masked attacker knows me better than I know myself. Every move I make is perfectly countered. Back and forth we go for what seems like hours. I land a hit on his shoulder, but as I step backward to regain my footing, he jabs forward and slices into my side before I can get out of the way. I lunge forward, fighting through the pain to take a swing. It glances off the armor on my opponent’s shoulder, useless. I groan as I roll across the ground, not even feeling the sharp rocks as they dig into my back, and rise to my feet to deliver a fatal blow to his midsection. I raise my sword over my head in triumph, cheering my victory.

Over the sound of my voice, another one calls out my name.

“Scarlett! Scaaaaaarlett!”

I groaned, my sword turning back into a stick and falling to the ground.

“Mothers.” I grumble to a passing beetle. Nonplussed, he continues on his way. I offer a heaving sigh and trudge back across the backyard to where my mother stands, hands on her hips.

“Honestly,” she sighs. “how many times have I told you about hitting that tree?” She ushers me into the house and helps me unzip my jacked. “You’re chipping off the bark, you’re going to kill it!”

“But mom…” I protest “the knight was attacking me, and he had a mask, and a sword, and he was going to…”
“No ‘buts’!” Mom dusts the dirt off my jeans with a little more force than necessary. “You have SOME imagination…and LOOK at these grass stains. I just washed these yesterday.”

She guides me into the bathroom to begin the cleaning up process, all the while going on and on under her breath about how much trouble my imagination is going to get me into one of these days. And she’s right, it has.
Over the years, I spent more time in class with my head bowed over a notebook, scribbling stories, than doing homework. Fully grown (physically, anyway, I’m not so sure about mentally), with three decades under my belt, and I’m still lost in my own fantasy world of imagination and stories. And I love each and every minute.

30 Days of Truth: Day 01

Day 01 → Something you hate about yourself.


I tap my pencil against the notepad on my desk, thinking it through. Why on earth do we have to kick this whole thing off on a negative. What do I hate about myself? The thought haunts me as I get up from my chair and go about my morning, getting ready for work. Ideas and issues swirl in my head. I’m neurotic, flawed, and dramafilled, there is no doubt. But..well, HATE has always been a strong word. I don’t know that, even through all of my issues, there’s any single one that I really HATE myself for. Things I wish I could change? Oh, yes. Believe me.

If you’ve been around me for any length of time, you’ll know that I am easily irritated. And, by irritated, I mean my temper is quick to flare and slow to cool. I have a VERY limited BS tolerance, and I have really high standards for everything – my highest standards are for myself. Something that seems very small to someone else will completely set me off on a tangent. Being late is a biggie; I will curse a blue storm at every stupid driver and red light along my way if I’m running behind. (Which, I’ll be honest, is most of the time).

My mouth gets me into trouble a lot because, well, I’ve never really been good at this whole “subtlety” thing. (And yet, I work in HR at work…how did I land this job again?) I call things like I see them, and I’m not really one for the silent treatment. If I’m pissed off at you, you’re going to know it, and you’re going to know exactly WHY I’m pissed off, because I’ll tell you flat out. I’ve never really understood people who get mad and just keep it in. How unfair is it to be upset at someone, letting them feel the consequences of it, and not actually telling them WHY. I’d rather put it out there and deal with the repercussions, because at least then you’re dealing with something true and honest.

Somedays, I really wish I could just lighten up and be more relaxed. My roommate is the complete opposite of me. She is unaffected by anything and everything, refusing to react or show she cares about things I think she should be up in arms about. We bicker like an old married couple, much to the amusement of everyone around us. Something like paying a bill late will completely set me off, and she just shrugs it off. She tore the bathroom door off of its hinges (entirely on accident) and honestly couldn’t understand why I was so upset or so insistent that she grab the damn tool kit and fix it right away. It just wasn’t that big of a deal to her.

I WISH I had that. I wish I could let things go. I wish I didn’t fly off the handle like I do. It’d make my life so much easier. I’d probably play the workplace-politics scene much better, because let’s face it, where I work is like high school. We have the popular kids, the teacher’s pets, the stoners, the brains, and lord almighty, do we have the gossip mill. I’m pretty content to be the quiet one in the corner who doesn’t play into The Game. Not because I’m above it, but because frankly, I just don’t have the patience.


Meditation? Been there. Tried that. Lavender and chamomile tea to relax? Drank that. St. John’s Wort combo-pill for mood improvement? Spent a day’s worth of pay on that and was sorely disappointed. I’m just feisty, that’s the way it is. And though I hate the consequences that brings, and wish I could borrow a little bit of the blasé attitude that my roomie has down to perfection, ultimately…here’s the real Truth of the day…I kind of like it this way.

30 Days of Truth

I wish I could tell you where I found this. The truth is, I know way too many people on Blogger who are doing the 30 Days of Truth to even attempt to figure out where it originated from first. Suffice it to say, I didn't create it, I'm just co-opting the concept for my own purposes. So, here goes, my list:

Day 01 → Something you hate about yourself.
Day 02 → Something you love about yourself.
Day 03 → Something you have to forgive yourself for.
Day 04 → Something you have to forgive someone for.
Day 05 → Something you hope to do in your life.
Day 06 → Something you hope you never have to do.
Day 07 → Someone who has made your life worth living for.
Day 08 → Someone who made your life hell, or treated you like shit.
Day 09 → Someone you didn’t want to let go, but just drifted.
Day 10 → Someone you need to let go, or wish you didn’t know.
Day 11 → Something people seem to compliment you the most on.
Day 12 → Something you never get compliments on.
Day 13 → A band or artist that has gotten you through some tough ass days. (write a letter.)
Day 14 → A hero that has let you down. (letter)
Day 15 → Something or someone you couldn’t live without, because you’ve tried living without it.
Day 16 → Someone or something you definitely could live without.
Day 17 → A book you’ve read that changed your views on something.
Day 18 → Your views on gay marriage.
Day 19 → What do you think of religion? Or what do you think of politics?
Day 20 → Your views on drugs and alcohol.
Day 21 → (scenario) Your best friend is in a car accident and you two got into a fight an hour before. What do you do?
Day 22 → Something you wish you hadn’t done in your life.
Day 23 → Something you wish you had done in your life.
Day 24 → Make a playlist to someone, and explain why you chose all the songs. (Just post the titles and artists and letter)
Day 25 → The reason you believe you’re still alive today.
Day 26 → Have you ever thought about giving up on life? If so, when and why?
Day 27 → What’s the best thing going for you right now?
Day 28 → What if you were pregnant or got someone pregnant, what would you do?
Day 29 → Something you hope to change about yourself. And why.
Day 30 → A letter to yourself, tell yourself EVERYTHING you love about yourself

Life After Dark

The sound of the alarm on my phone tears through the dark of my bedroom like a knife. The dog sprawled across my legs, pinning me to the mattress, huffs loudly in protest. “Yeah, yeah, I hate it, too…ugh!” As I stretch towards my nightstand, I ask myself (for about the 150^th  time this year- the length of time I’ve held a temporary place in my company’s HR department) why on earth I’m awake at this hour.

This hour, in case you’re wondering, is 7 am. I know, I know, I can hear you from all the way over here in Seattle. 7am is normal. YOU’RE up by 7. Hell, you’ve gotten your kids dressed, fed, and out the door by 7am. Well, that’s just fine and dandy for you. For me, however, 7am? Not normal. Not natural. And most DEFINITELY, not wanted.

The most magical time of day for me is actually around 1 am. I love the feel of night. I love the darkness, I love the chill on the air and the energy of a city operating after-hours. I adore the sound of nighttime trains speeding by, their whistles echoing across the quiet valley from miles away. I am hypnotized by the sight of headlights and breaklights cutting through the streets in the dark of night, and I get a thrill from watching nighttime fog swirling around my feet as I step across dark pavement.

I am a night owl, and very much proud to be so.

I always have been. As a child, I resisted going to be bed. My mom finally figured out that the only way to get me in bed and KEEP me there was to allow me to listen to radio-theater on KIRO710 after 9:00 pm. I’d listen to great late-night drama (The Shadow Knows!), and imagine myself sleuthing alongside the detectives long after the radio was turned off. My imagination took me on my own adventures long after the clock ticked past midnight before giving in to exhaustion sometime in the hours before dawn.

I’ve tried the morning shift business. I worked at 6 am or earlier for several years, each time hoping and praying that my body would miraculously adjust and become “normal”. I tried to bribe it with early-hour salt-bagels and Dunkin Donuts coffee. I tried to fool it by getting up an hour before I really had to and starting my day with a round of workout DVD. Each and every time, for years on end, my body held fast to its ideals, demanding that I stay awake long past my new limit, and refusing to start the day without wanting to collapse. I become physically ill if I wake up too early. No, really. I do. I’ve spent more than one morning hugging the porcelain god with no other reason than it’s before dawn and I just can’t face it.
 
As I’ve grown, I’ve learned to embrace my night owlness. I (generally speaking) work swing shift, and quite happily. While most of my colleagues are scrambling to get on the day shift, (and my insane roommate starts her work day at 5 am, what the hell is SHE thinking?!), I’m perfectly content to close up shop and deal with the late night crazy customers. I get off work around 11-ish, and come home to a late night DVD and a glass of wine, chatting with friends online for a few hours before lazily wandering into bed. I sleep-in in the morning and wake up without an alarm. This is when I feel my best and most alive.

What’s YOUR favorite time of day? Are you a morning-bird? A night-owl? A midday maven? 

Via: Psychology Degree

Against the Mirror

Everyday I fight a war against the mirror

I can’t take the person staring back at me

I’m a hazard to myself….

~Pink~

It’s early morning; far too early to be walking around un-caffeinated. Nonetheless, it’s a work day, so I’m stumbling out of be while it’s still dark outside. As my feet hit the floor, I shiver. We’re in that break between summer and autumn where it’s too warm to turn the house heat on and too chilly to be comfortable. As I stumble to the bathroom, I make a mental note for the umpteenth time to clean out the pellet stove this weekend and get it ready for the chill, which is creeping on way too fast.

It’s a mental note that is likely to be forgotten or ignored when the weekend arrives and the opportunity to sleep beckons.

I blink in the blinding light of the bathroom. (Why on earth did I decide to put cool white on the walls?) My argument about brightening and widening the cramped space is lost in my muddled mind as I strip and get ready to shower. I make a face in the mirror and run my hands over my face. Too pale. So pale that small bumps of acne are visible under my skin. I’ve never had an acne problem in my life – suddenly, I’m 30 and my body decides to rebel. I poke at my cheeks, grimacing and reaching to pull the skin back against my cheekbones, the heavy flesh still unfamiliar and disorienting. I contemplate the annoying ads on the radio advertising monthly specials at the plastic surgeon (“only $999 for liposuction on the area of your choice! Hurry, make your appointment today!), and then shake the thoughts away with a quick turn of my head. Please. I can’t make my house payment, I certainly can’t afford lipo.

I sigh, opening the medicine cabinet to avoid looking in the mirror, the stretch marks across my skin like purple spiderwebs too much to take. With one foot, I reach under the shelf and pull out the scale, stepping on and looking down. I blink.

No.

That can’t be right.

I step off and check the balance. The scale sits right at zero, set perfectly. I step back on. The spinning dial sways back and forth before settling on a number. Tears spring to my eyes.

It’s not fair! My mind screams. I’ve done everything right!

And it’s true, I have. After years of putting my body through every fad diet on the planet, I’ve been playing by the rules. I’ve been eating better (2 weight-loss shakes a day plus a relatively sensible meal), drinking more water (at least 64 oz a day), working out (Zumba 2 or 3 nights a week and walking every day), and yes, taking one or two diet pills a day to boost energy/metabolism. I cut out my morning coffee from the cute coffee shop to avoid the empty calories. I limit myself to a few bites of anything sweet, not a full serving.

And I’m GAINING weight.

I know the formula; burn off more calories than you consume and you’ll lose weight. Somehow, I think my body is like my mind and simply can’t do the math required to make this work. I step off the scale, my already limited energy tapped out for the day. As I shower, I blink back frustrated tears, chronicling every weight loss program I’ve been on in my lifetime.

The lemonade diet (actually not too bad, except for the saltwater- if you’ve been on it, you know what I mean!), the water diet (exactly what it sounds like), the South Beach diet (good, but expensive. Also not effective if you’re the only person in your house on it), going vegan (to expensive), going vegetarian(challenging when shopping for a whole house), running miles on the treadmill until I pass out, eating only a jar of babyfood every day, living off of a can of tuna…if there’s been a way to tear my body apart trying to lose weight, believe me, I’ve done it.

I go about the rest of my morning in a daze - blow out my hair, curl the ends, apply makeup, dress, locate my work badge/RFID, let the dog out, let the dog back in, find the car keys, and get myself out the door, all the while swearing at the clock for moving ahead waaaaay to quickly. 

Somewhere on the drive into work, I start to think. 

I've been feeling really good lately. My clothes have been fitting more loosely, I've had more energy. I can walk from home to Zumba without feeling winded. I can make it though an entire workout without huffing and turning bright red. I've felt more flexible and my joints don't hurt. They're even starting to not crack and pop every time I move. My body is getting stronger, fitter, ad healthier. Up until the moment I stepped on the scale, I'd been feeling pretty fantastic.

So why does one number have the ability to take me from 100 to 0 in less than 3 seconds? Why are all of the benefits I've been experiencing completely eliminated by the fact that the scale is moving in the wrong direction? Muscle weighs more than fat...maybe I'm just building up new muscle and shedding fat, not pounds. 

I don't think I'm alone in this, am I? Am I really so out of tune with my body that all I care about is what a scale on the floor tells me? And what exactly is so wrong with that number being a little higher than everyone else's, if I'm feeling good and strong? 

It's made me think a lot about the negative energy I spend on my body. How many times a day I look in the mirror and hate who I see, how many times I berate myself for eating, how often I justify others' unkindness as responding to my weight and imperfection. If I spend half the energy that I spend on hating myself on changing the world for the better, I would be a force to be reckoned with. 

I listen to my friends do it, too. It's almost inappropriate to say anything POSITIVE about yourself. If someone were to say to you "hey, my ass looks fabulous in this skirt!", you'd think they were conceited or drinking, wouldn't you? Because it's not really DONE. Even the prettiest, loveliest women in my social circle can't see themselves for what they are. One of my close friends is stunning, and personally, I'd consider homicide for her body, and yet, all she can see or comment on is her chubby tummy. Which is neither chubby nor something to be ashamed over.

So, how do we do this? How do we go about changing our perspectives on our bodies? How do we learn to love one another and ourselves, instead of hating what we are and how we look? And how did we get this way to start with?

It's Monday!

You know what that means; you can catch today's blog over at Ramblings of A Texas Housewife where I'll be showing you how to make a delicious Pumpkin Gnocchi with Ginger-Cream Sauce.

Shieldmaiden Challenge Update

You have walked 50 miles.
You have passed Woody End.
It is 2 miles to the next landmark.
You have 408 miles to reach Rivendell.

The day's march promised to be warm and tiring work. After some miles, however, the road ceased to roll up and down: it climbed to the top of a steep bank in a weary zig-zagging sort of way, and then prepared to go down for the last time. In front of them they saw the lower lands dotted with small clumps of trees that melted away in the distance to a brown woodland haze. They were looking across the Woody End towards the Brandywine River. The road wound away before them like a piece of string.