Pants, pants, PANTS!

When I dropped Grandma off on Saturday night she promptly told her husband that I’m, “A good driver, but scary.”

In an attempt at damage, control I mentioned that she and her husband haven’t driven on freeways in YEARS and that Utah drivers have a fondness for the tailgating and generally driving like assholes. (You may remember me writing about how Utah drivers do not have a very Christian-like attitude on the road. Sometimes their antics make me yearn for L.A. during rush hour. SERIOUSLY.)

Grandpa’s response? “You know what it is? IT’S THE GANG BANGERS.”

First, you don’t know weird from until you’ve heard a 94 year old man say the words “gang bangers.” Second, there doesn’t seem to be a high gang banger population in suburban Utah.

Are we all destined to become worry wart old folks? My Grandma and Grandpa are totally addicted to fear-based news. They watch and they worry, then they worry some more, and OH YEAH(!) they worry!

Grandma and I passed a fire on our way to the birthday party and she made me call Grandpa because he was probably watching the news and would be worried. Good thing I called because he was watching the news and he was worried. When I lived in Oakland they both totally FREAKED OUT. Every time I came to visit he would pop off with the Oakland murder toll and recount all the violence he’d seen on the news related to Oakland and his favorite topic: gang bangers.

I never saw ANYTHING shady while living in Oakland. I lived in a very charming neighborhood! I could walk to pretty much any type of restaurant, bar, grocery store, two movie theaters, all sorts of retail stores, and public transportation. Oakland’s got a bad rap, yo! My car was never broken into, I never had any shady peeping tom incidents or problems with creepy neighbors; though I had all of those problems when I lived in Whitey Mc Whitey Suburbia.

Sometimes, after hanging out with Grandma and Grandpa, I worry that it’s impossible to grow old without becoming a totally freaked out, worry wart, senior citizen. Then I remember my other Grandma who could care less about any of those things, though she’s not really the most sensitive. Hopefully I’ll master a sensible mix of both.

This guest post is brought to you by an anonymous participant in -R-’s Blog Share. Please see the post below this to read the other anonymous Blog Share posts! xoxo

My Unquiet Mind

I’ve struggled with what to write for this BlogShare. There are so many things rattling around in my brain right now that I’ve had difficulty settling on one topic. Then, I realized I should just write about the fact I have so much rattling around in my brain.

Several years back I was diagnosed with Bipolar I. This mental disease is caused by many factors – family history, trauma (known or unknown), an imbalance in brain chemicals, and also a lot of unknown reasons. It cannot be diagnosed by any sort of test. Instead it is diagnosed based on the occurrence of several behaviors for extended periods of time.

I manage quite well. I go to support group meetings and am one of few who can manage a full-time job. Not only do I have a full-time job, but it is a full-time professional. I am pleased with my accomplishments and am thankful I manage my disease so well (and have such a great support system), but that doesn’t mean things are ever perfect – or close to perfect.

I struggle with my disorder everyday. Having bipolar is a daily battle – even on the right dosages of medication and with the right medical team and support system. My mood swings aren’t typically bad – small highs and small lows. My last hospitalization was over two years ago. But, lately I’ve been going a little batty in my brain – or at least feeling that way.

I think it may be the onset of the coming season and building anxiety about all the major events I have to plan and host. There comes a time when the work and the deadlines pile drastically on top of each other and my work (including weekends) doesn’t seem to slow down for several months. I acknowledge I may be on the verge of hypomania and if hypomania is not treated properly it can lead to full blown mania – which is where things can (but not necessarily) get REALLY bad.

So, my mind is racing – going from one fleeting thought to another, not able to finish one task before leaping to the next, not able to maintain focus in conversations or stay on track with one topic of discussion. I hope it slows down soon. Fortunately, I do take medication to help calm the thoughts at night and I am able to get a full and rested night of sleep. Unfortunately, I am currently being drawn to sleep for hours on end – it’s not a desire to escape, it’s just a desire to sleep because it feels so good to sleep. So, am I in a mixed state (both mania and depression at the same time)? I don’t think so. I think maybe sleeping is the way I am able to get my mind to escape from the racing thoughts and endless energy. Maybe I think if I sleep enough the mania will go away. If I’m asleep I can’t be manic, right? Sleeping is typically a sign of depression. Not that I want to be depressed – I just want to be stable. Part of mania is not slowing down, being too productive, doing to much. If I’m sleeping I can’t do that.

I don’t know if this post makes sense or if I am jumping around too much, but either way, I hope this gives you a little insight into mental illness – insight you perhaps haven’t had before.

Here is the complete list of Blog Share participants; I cannot wait to read my way through it!

Vent Vox
Turn On The Stars
Trudie – Life After AC
Swimming With Sharks
Stefanie Says
Shhh! Librarian-In-Training
Sauntering Soul
Sass Attack
Reflections in the Snow Covered Hills
Red Red Whine
Our Simplicity
One New Duck
Oh My Seven
The Occasional Truth
No Lady
Nancy Pearl Wannabe
Muse On Vacation
Messing With Texas
Melliferous Pants
Lizland
Live Work Dream
Just Below 63
Jonniker
Java Literally
Heidikins
Full of Snark
Face Down
Ex Everything
Everything I Like Causes Cancer
Did I Say That Outloud?
The Daily Tannenbaum
The Coconut Diaries
Citystreams
Catheroominations
Bright Yellow World
Breath Smiles Tears
And You Know What Else
Alyndabear
3 Carnations

My Saturday was nearly perfect! I started it off by breaking my SLC Farmers Market cherry with Aimee. Then we had lunch and a visit to my new favorite store, Elemente! Aim found the most incredible chairs for her kitchen!

How adorable is this platter?

Pantry chair. Love it!

Totally freaking cute purse.

After our downtown adventures, I headed over to pick up my grandma. She’s 88, no longer drives and desperately wanted to attend her uncle’s 90th birthday celebration, one hour north. That wasn’t a typo, grandma is 88 and her uncle is 90. Welcome to Mormonism!

The drive went smoothly and Grandma only jerked her leg up and slammed it down on her imaginary brake twenty, or so, times during our one hour drive. She told me, “You’re a good driver, but scary.” Which she continued to tell everyone we met: birthday boy, table of elderly men we sat with at the party, woman who directed us to the restroom, people waiting to be seated at the “Mexican Restaurant” (parentheses are used correctly, Utah’s version of Mexican food is NOT real) and to her husband when I dropped her off.

My favorite moment was when Grandma was looking for a tissue. I asked her if she needed one and she replied, “No thanks. I have a secret hiding spot in my bazooms. It looks a little naughty when I reach for them, but it works.”

It was great to have Grandma to myself for a couple of hours. Her husband is 94 and doesn’t like to leave the house. He does have some health issues, but nothing too outrageous for 94. Grandma doesn’t like to be without him, so she doesn’t get out as much as she’d like to. I think I’m going to have to start planning regular dates with Grandma.

Ended my night with a cocktail, watering the garden. I’m sure Grandma would be thrilled to know the cash she gave me went directly to the State Liquor Store.

Usually there would be a lot more said/heard/overheard, but I spent too much time barfing.

“So your foot smells like vagina now?”

“I want to eat my armpits.”

“The new name for my vagina is the Grub Shack.”

“NUM, NUM, NUM! I’m going to say that the next time I get a boner in my mouth.”