"And now the hard part begins . . . "
Those were the wise parting words of the surgeon that performed my knee surgery. I now am the proud recipient of a new ACL, a new MCL, and a refurbished meniscus. It was quite the surgery, and there was more damage than originally thought. And, since I had a blood clot when I originally hurt my knee, I had the please of giving myself daily shots for the first three weeks following my surgery. My stomach looks like Oscar De La Hoya has been using it for a punching bag.
However, with the help of my friends, family, and lots of Percocet, am I doing very well. I am making remarkable progress. I have been busting butt with insane amounts of physical therapy and the motivation to walk normally. I had a Dr's appointment yesterday and my brilliant surgeon informed me that I am making better progress than anyone he has ever seen. (He even made reference to a Cornell Wrestler that had the same surgery, saying I am "putting him to shame.")
Naturally I came home excited to share the fabulous news with my dear hubby Paco. By no means have I ever been referred to as a model patient, so I was very eager to brag. After giving my dear hubby the Cliff Notes version of my appointment, I received the following response: "Well, if I sat around all day and did therapy than I would be ahead if the game too. What did he say about mopping?"
Bitter much?
"Well, he told me to avoid any housework for at least six months." (Take THAT you grumpy turd. My Dr. has got my back!)
I realize that I haven't been much of a household asset the last few weeks, but a little sympathy would be nice. Seriously, I just had MAJOR surgery. Most people in my position aren't even walking. My instructions were to rest, rest, and REST!
Thus, that is why I have not written in ages. I have been quite pathetic really. Too pathetic to even type. I have spent the last month on the couch watching really bad television and ready anything I can get my hands on. I am now an expert on The Atlanta Housewives (they drive me insane, but I always love a good train wreck.), Rachel Zoe (I die. I die.), Entourage, One Tree Hill, Californication (I would be Hank if I were a guy.), True Blood (weird, but addictive), The Vampire Diaries (hello, sexy vampires. Stefan, I swoon for you.), and GLEE, which is quite possibly the best-show-ever.
I plan on making it all up to you in the near future with many fabulous stories. I am finally motivated to move a bit, and I am feeling of the human variety again. Sadly, I have to wear a brace that extends from my ankle to my woo-woo, so my dreams of being an exotic dancer won't be happening any time soon. But, stay tuned, with me, you never know . . .
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Thursday, August 27, 2009
More Potty Talk
My youngest son Trey always accompanies me in public restrooms. Even if Paco is around, Trey insists on going in with me.
Trey is an animated little guy, and he always has a lot to say. He loves to give play-by-play details on every situation.
This is an actual conversation that Trey and I had recently in a very crowded gas-station bathroom.
Trey: "Mom, I have skid marks and I can't erase them."
Me: "I am very disappointed that you have skid marks. You need to tell Mommy when you have to go potty."
Trey: "one time Dad had skid marks"
Me: "your Dad didn't have skid marks"
Trey: "Yes-Huh. I saw them. They smelled really bad."
Me: "Hurry up and get going so I can go to the potty."
Trey: "Are you going number one or number two?"
Me: "number one. hurry up."
a few minutes later . . .
Trey: "mom, why do you always put the papers on the toilet?"
Me: "it keeps the toilet seat clean so you don't get germs."
Trey: "why don't we have the papers at home?"
Me: "mommy cleans the toilet so that there aren't any germs."
Trey: "MOM!!!! You are going poop!!!!!! I can smell it!!!!!!"
Me: "ssshhhhhhhh" (courtesy flush)
Trey: "Ewwwwwwwww! It smells gross!"
Trey: "Your poop broke the paper!!! Now you are gonna get germs!!!!!"
I could hear the laughter from outside the stall. Needless to say I left with a VERY red face.
Trey is an animated little guy, and he always has a lot to say. He loves to give play-by-play details on every situation.
This is an actual conversation that Trey and I had recently in a very crowded gas-station bathroom.
Trey: "Mom, I have skid marks and I can't erase them."
Me: "I am very disappointed that you have skid marks. You need to tell Mommy when you have to go potty."
Trey: "one time Dad had skid marks"
Me: "your Dad didn't have skid marks"
Trey: "Yes-Huh. I saw them. They smelled really bad."
Me: "Hurry up and get going so I can go to the potty."
Trey: "Are you going number one or number two?"
Me: "number one. hurry up."
a few minutes later . . .
Trey: "mom, why do you always put the papers on the toilet?"
Me: "it keeps the toilet seat clean so you don't get germs."
Trey: "why don't we have the papers at home?"
Me: "mommy cleans the toilet so that there aren't any germs."
Trey: "MOM!!!! You are going poop!!!!!! I can smell it!!!!!!"
Me: "ssshhhhhhhh" (courtesy flush)
Trey: "Ewwwwwwwww! It smells gross!"
Trey: "Your poop broke the paper!!! Now you are gonna get germs!!!!!"
I could hear the laughter from outside the stall. Needless to say I left with a VERY red face.
Eating Healthy Can Be Bad For Your Health. Seriously.
In a desperate attempt to lose all the weight I have gained since I injured myself, I have rid my house of all processed foods and evil temptations and stocked it with only healthy and nutritious foods. (Well, I did keep the many bottles of wine because I'm sure I read somewhere that it is good for you.)
To start off my fabulous new healthy-eating lifestyle, I went to our local natural grocery store and spent over $100 on things like steel-cut oats, quinoa, organic wild rice, grapeseed oil, lentils, and tofu. (I know this sounds weird coming from me, but I promise that I will continue to shave my arm-pits and I will NEVER own a pair of Birkenstocks. Pinky swear.)
I was a bit concerned about my new diet as I have had past experiences with health food where I could have sworn that I was eating pine-bark and toenails. But, desperate times call for desperate measures and I felt that this was the way to go.
I started out my first day with a warm bowl of steel-cut oats with fresh strawberries and soymilk. This was very yummy and kept me full until lunchtime. My lunch consisted of lentil salad. Again, quite yummy. Dinner was a salad I concocted out of quinoa, tomatoes, basil, feta, garlic, and a balsalmic vinagrette. Once I got past the texture of the quinoa, the flavors were really quite wonderful. I went to bed feeling proud and satisfied. I was on my way to being the poster-child for good eating.
Day 2 I started my morning with another bowl of steel-cut oats with soymilk. I packed myself a healthy lunch of salad with herbed-tofu, and I headed out for a 9:00 meeting with a client.
As I started driving, I could hear my digestive tract kicking in as faint snap, crackle, and pops could be heard from my lower abdomen.
About half way to work, I felt a bit, um, gaseous, so I discreetly let a few butt-bombs in the privacy of my mini-van. After about 200 or so, I figured I was safe and I headed to my meeting.
My client arrived promptly at 9 and we sat across from one another on some modern leather chairs. (I figured if I um, accidentally let a little one slip, I would pretend that it was the leather chair squeaking.)
About 10 minutes into our meeting, I could feel some strange cramping in my bowels. Again, I could feel the snaps, crackles, and pops, only now they were beginning to register on the Richter Scale.
At this point, I am in excruciating pain. I am rocking side to side and my legs are twitching. I have my butt cheeks squeezed together so tightly that I am now starting to sweat. I am afraid to move an inch for fear that the gas I am holding in will erupt like Mt. Vesuvious.
Within 5 minutes my face is red, I am sweating profusely, and I am sitting in the chair half hunched over. My client is clearly concerned about my pain, and naturally assumes it is my knee.
"Oh, yes, my knee is killing me right now. Yes, my knee. I apologize. It, um, hasn't been this painful for a while. Can you excuse me for a few minutes? I just want to go to the bathroom and um, splash some water on my face."
I do a baby duck waddle to the bathroom. (I couldn't take a full step with my cheeks squeezed so tightly together.)
I finally make it to the potty and what happens next . . . well, I don't even dare tell you. All I can say is that it was a scene very reminiscent of the movie Dumb and Dumber where Lloyd is at some girl's mansion and proceeds to drop the loudest two-sie in history. (I could have provided the sound effects. It was that baaaaaaad.) I actually had to look into the toilet bowl because I was quite sure that my bowels had literally exploded. I was certain I would find an organ or two in there. Or some spare car parts.
Seriously, the effect was similar to steel wool and a power-washer. Not pretty. After about 10 minutes, I was finally able to remove myself from the throne.
Lucky for me, my bathroom is located in a small room off of our storeroom, so there are heavy doors providing privacy (and a bit of sound proofing). However, if my client didn't hear my little episode, I'm sure the fact that I reeked of Spring Meadows after being gone for 15 minutes was probably a dead giveaway. (I'm pretty sure I was waddling a bit bow-legged as well.)
Needless to say, my meeting ended shortly thereafter. I spent the rest of the day worshiping the porcelain god. (And I have since come to the conclusion that I will never buy anything less than two-ply TP ever again.)
I promptly bought myself an industrial-size bottle of Bean-O and I have have started eating an insane amount of cheese.
I am proud to proclaim that I have had a thorough power-cleaning from my rooter to my tooter. However, I have eased up a bit on the fiber, and try to limit it to once a day.
Who knew that eating healthy could be bad for your health?
To start off my fabulous new healthy-eating lifestyle, I went to our local natural grocery store and spent over $100 on things like steel-cut oats, quinoa, organic wild rice, grapeseed oil, lentils, and tofu. (I know this sounds weird coming from me, but I promise that I will continue to shave my arm-pits and I will NEVER own a pair of Birkenstocks. Pinky swear.)
I was a bit concerned about my new diet as I have had past experiences with health food where I could have sworn that I was eating pine-bark and toenails. But, desperate times call for desperate measures and I felt that this was the way to go.
I started out my first day with a warm bowl of steel-cut oats with fresh strawberries and soymilk. This was very yummy and kept me full until lunchtime. My lunch consisted of lentil salad. Again, quite yummy. Dinner was a salad I concocted out of quinoa, tomatoes, basil, feta, garlic, and a balsalmic vinagrette. Once I got past the texture of the quinoa, the flavors were really quite wonderful. I went to bed feeling proud and satisfied. I was on my way to being the poster-child for good eating.
Day 2 I started my morning with another bowl of steel-cut oats with soymilk. I packed myself a healthy lunch of salad with herbed-tofu, and I headed out for a 9:00 meeting with a client.
As I started driving, I could hear my digestive tract kicking in as faint snap, crackle, and pops could be heard from my lower abdomen.
About half way to work, I felt a bit, um, gaseous, so I discreetly let a few butt-bombs in the privacy of my mini-van. After about 200 or so, I figured I was safe and I headed to my meeting.
My client arrived promptly at 9 and we sat across from one another on some modern leather chairs. (I figured if I um, accidentally let a little one slip, I would pretend that it was the leather chair squeaking.)
About 10 minutes into our meeting, I could feel some strange cramping in my bowels. Again, I could feel the snaps, crackles, and pops, only now they were beginning to register on the Richter Scale.
At this point, I am in excruciating pain. I am rocking side to side and my legs are twitching. I have my butt cheeks squeezed together so tightly that I am now starting to sweat. I am afraid to move an inch for fear that the gas I am holding in will erupt like Mt. Vesuvious.
Within 5 minutes my face is red, I am sweating profusely, and I am sitting in the chair half hunched over. My client is clearly concerned about my pain, and naturally assumes it is my knee.
"Oh, yes, my knee is killing me right now. Yes, my knee. I apologize. It, um, hasn't been this painful for a while. Can you excuse me for a few minutes? I just want to go to the bathroom and um, splash some water on my face."
I do a baby duck waddle to the bathroom. (I couldn't take a full step with my cheeks squeezed so tightly together.)
I finally make it to the potty and what happens next . . . well, I don't even dare tell you. All I can say is that it was a scene very reminiscent of the movie Dumb and Dumber where Lloyd is at some girl's mansion and proceeds to drop the loudest two-sie in history. (I could have provided the sound effects. It was that baaaaaaad.) I actually had to look into the toilet bowl because I was quite sure that my bowels had literally exploded. I was certain I would find an organ or two in there. Or some spare car parts.
Seriously, the effect was similar to steel wool and a power-washer. Not pretty. After about 10 minutes, I was finally able to remove myself from the throne.
Lucky for me, my bathroom is located in a small room off of our storeroom, so there are heavy doors providing privacy (and a bit of sound proofing). However, if my client didn't hear my little episode, I'm sure the fact that I reeked of Spring Meadows after being gone for 15 minutes was probably a dead giveaway. (I'm pretty sure I was waddling a bit bow-legged as well.)
Needless to say, my meeting ended shortly thereafter. I spent the rest of the day worshiping the porcelain god. (And I have since come to the conclusion that I will never buy anything less than two-ply TP ever again.)
I promptly bought myself an industrial-size bottle of Bean-O and I have have started eating an insane amount of cheese.
I am proud to proclaim that I have had a thorough power-cleaning from my rooter to my tooter. However, I have eased up a bit on the fiber, and try to limit it to once a day.
Who knew that eating healthy could be bad for your health?
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
The Grocery Getter
I drive a mini-van. I feel like that should be the opening line to Mother's Anonymous. It has been 14 minutes and 12 seconds since I last drove my minivan.
It is the true and official symbol that my care-free days are over. I used to pick on people that drove mini-vans by saying things like "where is your Soccer Mom bumper sticker?" And naturally I had to stick my foot in my mouth the day one showed up in my driveway.
Not only do I drive a mini-van, but it is a dirty mini-van with 2 honkin' dents in it as well. And, I'm pretty sure if you look really closely under the driver's window you can see the faint markings of the words "pee" and "poop" forever etched in the paint.
I drive a mini van with the full knowledge that I am now in the ranks of Soccer Mom. And, that every time I open one of the doors, a bevy of children are expected to come pouring out. I get this.
That is why it never ceases to amaze me when men flirt with me while I am in my mini-van. Seriously, would you even want to flirt with a guy that attempts to hit on a woman in a mini-van?
Even my niece has told me that every time she drives my van someone flirts with her or tries to pick her up. So, at least I know it's not just me.
On my way in to work today, I was sitting at a stop light and I started swatting at a baby bee that was buzzing around my van. I had my hand up, and was waving it around trying to swat the bee. The guy in the red truck next to me thought I was waving at him, so he smiled and waved back. And, when I rolled down the window to shoo out the bee, he rolled his window down, thinking that I was ready to chat.
I should have been flattered. I wasn't.
Clearly I drive a mini-van because I have children. LOTS of children. More children than the average car can hold. I do not drive a mini-van for looks or for gas mileage. (They are both ugly and gas guzzlers.)
I can't really fault the guy. From his perspective, I was a blonde babe waving at him. (I was wearing sunglasses that cleverly conceal my wrinkles and my fat ass is not visible from the window. So, clearly my best view.) But, come on . . . the mini-van should have been a dead giveaway.
I was tempted to flirt back. And teach him a lesson. But then I remembered a story my GirlFriend told me recently about her four-wheeled flirting experience.
In a nutshell, my Hottie GirlFriend was in her SUV at a stop light and she was giving "the smile" to the cute 20-something guy in the big truck next to her. He smiled back and they played flirty-face for the next 3 stop lights. At the fourth stop light, my Hottie GirlFriend looked over and noticed that the cute 20-something in the truck was um, stroking his, er, gearshaft. (Yeah, I hope you get the picture here because that is all the details I am gonna give.) And, um, at the next stop light, she could tell that the um, er gearshaft had been freshly oiled. Yeah. True story.
So naturally, that's all I was thinking today when the guy in the truck next to me was trying to be amorous. What was my reaction? I yelled "Hey Scooter, can you have one of your 6 brothers hand me a fresh PBR and my ciggarettes" to the empty back seat.
He peeled out as soon as the light turned green. And I peed my pants laughing all the way to work.
It is the true and official symbol that my care-free days are over. I used to pick on people that drove mini-vans by saying things like "where is your Soccer Mom bumper sticker?" And naturally I had to stick my foot in my mouth the day one showed up in my driveway.
Not only do I drive a mini-van, but it is a dirty mini-van with 2 honkin' dents in it as well. And, I'm pretty sure if you look really closely under the driver's window you can see the faint markings of the words "pee" and "poop" forever etched in the paint.
I drive a mini van with the full knowledge that I am now in the ranks of Soccer Mom. And, that every time I open one of the doors, a bevy of children are expected to come pouring out. I get this.
That is why it never ceases to amaze me when men flirt with me while I am in my mini-van. Seriously, would you even want to flirt with a guy that attempts to hit on a woman in a mini-van?
Even my niece has told me that every time she drives my van someone flirts with her or tries to pick her up. So, at least I know it's not just me.
On my way in to work today, I was sitting at a stop light and I started swatting at a baby bee that was buzzing around my van. I had my hand up, and was waving it around trying to swat the bee. The guy in the red truck next to me thought I was waving at him, so he smiled and waved back. And, when I rolled down the window to shoo out the bee, he rolled his window down, thinking that I was ready to chat.
I should have been flattered. I wasn't.
Clearly I drive a mini-van because I have children. LOTS of children. More children than the average car can hold. I do not drive a mini-van for looks or for gas mileage. (They are both ugly and gas guzzlers.)
I can't really fault the guy. From his perspective, I was a blonde babe waving at him. (I was wearing sunglasses that cleverly conceal my wrinkles and my fat ass is not visible from the window. So, clearly my best view.) But, come on . . . the mini-van should have been a dead giveaway.
I was tempted to flirt back. And teach him a lesson. But then I remembered a story my GirlFriend told me recently about her four-wheeled flirting experience.
In a nutshell, my Hottie GirlFriend was in her SUV at a stop light and she was giving "the smile" to the cute 20-something guy in the big truck next to her. He smiled back and they played flirty-face for the next 3 stop lights. At the fourth stop light, my Hottie GirlFriend looked over and noticed that the cute 20-something in the truck was um, stroking his, er, gearshaft. (Yeah, I hope you get the picture here because that is all the details I am gonna give.) And, um, at the next stop light, she could tell that the um, er gearshaft had been freshly oiled. Yeah. True story.
So naturally, that's all I was thinking today when the guy in the truck next to me was trying to be amorous. What was my reaction? I yelled "Hey Scooter, can you have one of your 6 brothers hand me a fresh PBR and my ciggarettes" to the empty back seat.
He peeled out as soon as the light turned green. And I peed my pants laughing all the way to work.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Rockin' Robin
Tweet Tweet, Tweetle leet.
I have lost my obsession with Facebook. I am now on to Twitter. I tweet.
Twitter is like a lazy Facebook. It is a site that gives you 140 characters to let people know what you are up to. It's like a status update play by play.
But, you can follow anyone. I follow some of my friends as well as people like Tina Fey, CNN Breaking News, David Letterman, P. Diddy and Chewbacca. It's really quite fun. You get a brief glimpse into their lives. I have certain updates sent right to my cell phone, so I get a daily play by play of what people are up to. And you can reply back and get instant feedback. It's really quite fun.
I find that I am much more honest on Twitter. On Facebook, I have tend to be more subdued since some of my friends are colleagues and students of my husband. But on Twitter, I find that anything goes.
I find that it is a way for me to sort of mini-blog about what is going on in my day. My Twitter name is JPwiczer. If I haven't blogged for a while, then check me out on Twitter and you will know what I have been up to.
I will share with you some of my recent tweets:
jpwiczer 23 days until Disney & three boys with strep. . .
jpwiczer thinks light up shoes are just weird.
jpwiczer is fascinated that the couple sitting across from me named their daughter Sparkle.
jpwiczer Sparkle is NOT happy.
jpwiczer wishing I was British so I could get away with saying things like "lit-ull" and "snog."
jpwiczer meeting with the Priest about the boys First Communion. Let's hope it doesn't end in a shouting match like last time.
jpwiczer escaped my meeting with no yelling. But I did pilfer a Reader's Digest. Hell for sure.
jpwiczer has killed two more houseplants. Apparently aquaglobes only work if you actually refill them.
That should give you a bit of insight into my life in the last few days. However, I will now share with you my latest tweet, which happens to be one of the best.
jpwiczer my mom stopped by and saw me tweeting and asked why I would want to "twat." I almost passed out from laughing so hard.
Happy "twatting" ya'll!
I have lost my obsession with Facebook. I am now on to Twitter. I tweet.
Twitter is like a lazy Facebook. It is a site that gives you 140 characters to let people know what you are up to. It's like a status update play by play.
But, you can follow anyone. I follow some of my friends as well as people like Tina Fey, CNN Breaking News, David Letterman, P. Diddy and Chewbacca. It's really quite fun. You get a brief glimpse into their lives. I have certain updates sent right to my cell phone, so I get a daily play by play of what people are up to. And you can reply back and get instant feedback. It's really quite fun.
I find that I am much more honest on Twitter. On Facebook, I have tend to be more subdued since some of my friends are colleagues and students of my husband. But on Twitter, I find that anything goes.
I find that it is a way for me to sort of mini-blog about what is going on in my day. My Twitter name is JPwiczer. If I haven't blogged for a while, then check me out on Twitter and you will know what I have been up to.
I will share with you some of my recent tweets:
jpwiczer 23 days until Disney & three boys with strep. . .
jpwiczer thinks light up shoes are just weird.
jpwiczer is fascinated that the couple sitting across from me named their daughter Sparkle.
jpwiczer Sparkle is NOT happy.
jpwiczer wishing I was British so I could get away with saying things like "lit-ull" and "snog."
jpwiczer meeting with the Priest about the boys First Communion. Let's hope it doesn't end in a shouting match like last time.
jpwiczer escaped my meeting with no yelling. But I did pilfer a Reader's Digest. Hell for sure.
jpwiczer has killed two more houseplants. Apparently aquaglobes only work if you actually refill them.
That should give you a bit of insight into my life in the last few days. However, I will now share with you my latest tweet, which happens to be one of the best.
jpwiczer my mom stopped by and saw me tweeting and asked why I would want to "twat." I almost passed out from laughing so hard.
Happy "twatting" ya'll!
My Inner Hooker
Today I had a meeting with the Priest at our church. Both Ace and Deuce were being interviewed to see if they are ready to take their First Communion. I was a bit nervous, to say the least.
The last time I met with this Priest, well, it didn't go so well. There was yelling, screaming, and accusations of being a "bad Catholic" in addition to accusations of being a "Priest who is as welcoming as gonorrhea." Yes, we all know that I will likely end up in hell (even though I regularly ask for forgiveness.) But, having a yelling match with the leader of our church is a surefire way to get the express train. (In my defense, this Priest was forced to take anger management classes. So, naturally, it wasn't all my fault.) However, I am probably one of the few people willing to take on a Priest in full on bout of mud-slinging. (And I'm not afraid to take on football coaches either, but I'll explain that in another post.)
My husband felt it best to accompany me today. All four of us entered the rectory and announced that we were here for our First Communion interviews. Sister Whitehair kindly looked at her schedule and then quickly looked right up at me and said "Oh, you are the so-and-so family. Yes, we have been expecting you." So, um, clearly she was aware of my last, um, meeting.
I promised my husband I would be on my best behavior. I dressed nicely, had the boys looking their best, and I even took a Xanax so I would lose my stabby rage that sometimes gets the best of me.
What I didn't expect was that my supercute front-closing bra would unhook itself the minute we stepped inside his office. Yes folks, only I could have my Girls Go Wild while I am trying to be on my best behavior for our PRIEST. And since my girls are such a prominent feature, the fact that they were on the loose is not something I could easily hide. While we were sitting, I was able to do the arm cross maneuver. But, when we had to get up to leave and shake hands, well, it wasn't pretty.
I tried to keep one arm across my chest while shaking hands with the other arm. However, this maneuver actually made me push my girlies right up into my neck. It was like they were caged animals trying to escape. Not the impression I was trying to make.
We shook hands, and I sighed in relief, thinking I was now in the clear. And that is when I noticed my crutches leaning by the door. Yes, braless Jen had to CRUTCH her way out of the Priest's office with her loosey goosies blowing in the wind. (The term "Shake-elies" as my son refers to them was extremely appropriate here.)
I will leave the rest to your imagination. The good news? The boys were both accepted as candidates for their First Communion. The bad news? I will now resort to duct tape for any future church meetings.
The last time I met with this Priest, well, it didn't go so well. There was yelling, screaming, and accusations of being a "bad Catholic" in addition to accusations of being a "Priest who is as welcoming as gonorrhea." Yes, we all know that I will likely end up in hell (even though I regularly ask for forgiveness.) But, having a yelling match with the leader of our church is a surefire way to get the express train. (In my defense, this Priest was forced to take anger management classes. So, naturally, it wasn't all my fault.) However, I am probably one of the few people willing to take on a Priest in full on bout of mud-slinging. (And I'm not afraid to take on football coaches either, but I'll explain that in another post.)
My husband felt it best to accompany me today. All four of us entered the rectory and announced that we were here for our First Communion interviews. Sister Whitehair kindly looked at her schedule and then quickly looked right up at me and said "Oh, you are the so-and-so family. Yes, we have been expecting you." So, um, clearly she was aware of my last, um, meeting.
I promised my husband I would be on my best behavior. I dressed nicely, had the boys looking their best, and I even took a Xanax so I would lose my stabby rage that sometimes gets the best of me.
What I didn't expect was that my supercute front-closing bra would unhook itself the minute we stepped inside his office. Yes folks, only I could have my Girls Go Wild while I am trying to be on my best behavior for our PRIEST. And since my girls are such a prominent feature, the fact that they were on the loose is not something I could easily hide. While we were sitting, I was able to do the arm cross maneuver. But, when we had to get up to leave and shake hands, well, it wasn't pretty.
I tried to keep one arm across my chest while shaking hands with the other arm. However, this maneuver actually made me push my girlies right up into my neck. It was like they were caged animals trying to escape. Not the impression I was trying to make.
We shook hands, and I sighed in relief, thinking I was now in the clear. And that is when I noticed my crutches leaning by the door. Yes, braless Jen had to CRUTCH her way out of the Priest's office with her loosey goosies blowing in the wind. (The term "Shake-elies" as my son refers to them was extremely appropriate here.)
I will leave the rest to your imagination. The good news? The boys were both accepted as candidates for their First Communion. The bad news? I will now resort to duct tape for any future church meetings.
Dream Analysis
I haven't had much sleep lately. But, what little I manage to get is interrupted by some VERY STRANGE dreams. I don't know quite what to make of them. So, I will share a few of them with you and ask for your intelligent insight. Clearly, I am sleep deprived.
In my first dream, I am shopping at Wegmans. Wegmans is very dimly lit, and I am having a hard time seeing. I am in a major hurry, and I am having a hard time shopping because they have moved everything around. My cart is heaping with all the stuff that I normally never buy (too expensive). Loaves of fresh bread, baked goods, fresh prepared meals, and gourmet goodies are literally heaped into the cart.
As I park the cart and start making salads from the dark salad bar, somebody from Wegmans takes my cart and restocks EVERYTHING. So, I'm in a hurry and now I have nothing.
I try to complain and they send me to a stinky wooden room all the way in the back of the store with a teenage girl with 200 facial piercings. She basically tells me that it's too bad and there is nothing they can do. I am SCREAMING. I am so mad.
I leave the store vowing never to shop there again and it's pouring outside.
Thoughts??? Anyone????
In my second dream I am living in a castle. I am a princess. (Go figure, right?) The castle is a big square, and I spend most of the day just running around the corridors. However, I have lots of secret hiding places.
I have a secret crush on a prince who also lives in the castle. (No, we are not related.) The prince is 18, and he has the lead in the castle play.
I am madly in love with this prince, and I am certain that we will be married someday.
As I am hiding in one of my secret hiding spots one day, I overhear that another Jennifer has gotten the lead femail role in the the castle play. A role that I really wanted. (Because they kiss at the end. Naturally.) I am devasted, and I go see my father the King. He kindly tells me that I am only 16, and you have to be 17 to be in the play. He rubs my head, gives me a kiss, and sends me on my way.
I decide to runaway. I use one of my secret passage ways to try to escape out of the castle. As I am running through the hidden passage, I run right into my secret crush, the prince. He wonders what I am doing in there. I try to pretend that I am just running around. He is really flirting with me, and I can tell that he really likes me. We hear footsteps so we quickly leave the passageway and go our seperate ways.
My father has put me in charge of helping with the play, and I am in the dressing room helping the other Jennifer get ready. She is pudgy, with red hair, and she is really mean to me. She knows that I like the prince, so she is really gloating. She tells me that they are promised to be married to each other.
Naturally I am crushed.
Sadly, I was awaken by a 4 year old that told me he needed to sleep in my bed because he had a bad dream and he needed to make my bed warm and snuggly. So, I have no idea where this dream was going.
Dream number 3 (my personal fave)
I am at my mom's house and I am hanging out with Tom Hanks. We are having a wonderful conversation.
I have to go to the bathroom and so Tom comes in with me so we can keep talking.
He sits on the crapper and proceeds to drop a twosie.
I really have to pee so I pull out a drawer on the vanity and pee in the drawer. I proceed to pee on all my mom's make-up, while still talking to Tom Hanks who is pooping on her toilet. Mind you, the bathroom is small and we are so close our knees are touching.
Analyze that.
In my first dream, I am shopping at Wegmans. Wegmans is very dimly lit, and I am having a hard time seeing. I am in a major hurry, and I am having a hard time shopping because they have moved everything around. My cart is heaping with all the stuff that I normally never buy (too expensive). Loaves of fresh bread, baked goods, fresh prepared meals, and gourmet goodies are literally heaped into the cart.
As I park the cart and start making salads from the dark salad bar, somebody from Wegmans takes my cart and restocks EVERYTHING. So, I'm in a hurry and now I have nothing.
I try to complain and they send me to a stinky wooden room all the way in the back of the store with a teenage girl with 200 facial piercings. She basically tells me that it's too bad and there is nothing they can do. I am SCREAMING. I am so mad.
I leave the store vowing never to shop there again and it's pouring outside.
Thoughts??? Anyone????
In my second dream I am living in a castle. I am a princess. (Go figure, right?) The castle is a big square, and I spend most of the day just running around the corridors. However, I have lots of secret hiding places.
I have a secret crush on a prince who also lives in the castle. (No, we are not related.) The prince is 18, and he has the lead in the castle play.
I am madly in love with this prince, and I am certain that we will be married someday.
As I am hiding in one of my secret hiding spots one day, I overhear that another Jennifer has gotten the lead femail role in the the castle play. A role that I really wanted. (Because they kiss at the end. Naturally.) I am devasted, and I go see my father the King. He kindly tells me that I am only 16, and you have to be 17 to be in the play. He rubs my head, gives me a kiss, and sends me on my way.
I decide to runaway. I use one of my secret passage ways to try to escape out of the castle. As I am running through the hidden passage, I run right into my secret crush, the prince. He wonders what I am doing in there. I try to pretend that I am just running around. He is really flirting with me, and I can tell that he really likes me. We hear footsteps so we quickly leave the passageway and go our seperate ways.
My father has put me in charge of helping with the play, and I am in the dressing room helping the other Jennifer get ready. She is pudgy, with red hair, and she is really mean to me. She knows that I like the prince, so she is really gloating. She tells me that they are promised to be married to each other.
Naturally I am crushed.
Sadly, I was awaken by a 4 year old that told me he needed to sleep in my bed because he had a bad dream and he needed to make my bed warm and snuggly. So, I have no idea where this dream was going.
Dream number 3 (my personal fave)
I am at my mom's house and I am hanging out with Tom Hanks. We are having a wonderful conversation.
I have to go to the bathroom and so Tom comes in with me so we can keep talking.
He sits on the crapper and proceeds to drop a twosie.
I really have to pee so I pull out a drawer on the vanity and pee in the drawer. I proceed to pee on all my mom's make-up, while still talking to Tom Hanks who is pooping on her toilet. Mind you, the bathroom is small and we are so close our knees are touching.
Analyze that.
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