OK, so every kind word that was in yesterday's post about dear hubby Paco???? Well, fuhgetaboutit. Seriously, wipe it all from your mind. I take it all back.
This man. . . This man who vowed to honor and cherish me almost 13 years ago. . . to protect me . . . This man who should have my best interests at heart . . . this man. . . well . . . he let me go out in public looking like a TOTAL AARRSS!!!!!
Ever since I've gotten my fabulous bangs, I have somehow lost the ability to use a curling iron. It's like the 80's never existed. Every time I try to curl my bangs a bit I end up burning my forehead. It's awful. I think I've have burned it so many times now that I have a permanent scar.
I put a lot of thought into a solution to my problem. I thought perhaps if I got a different curling iron that it might solve the dilemma. However, the new curling iron has a smaller barrel, and it gives me the 80's rolo bangs. Very groovy. Yeah, not so much.
Anyway, after many trials and experiments, I have learned that if I do the 80's jerry-curl rolo bang and gel it lightly and clip it off to the side for about 10 minutes, well, the result is perfect, fabulous bangs.
So, my daily hair ritual involves clipping my bangs off to the side with an industrial size hair clip that hair-dressers use. It is bright silver, and 4" long. About a 1/2" wide. With little circle cut outs. Quite a large, ominous clip. Probably from the 80's. A large, antique clip.
You KNOW where this is going, right????
Oh yes, my dear spouse of almost 13 years, Senor Paco Pants, allowed me, his loving wife who is in excruciating pain, to exit the house wearing the LARGE silver clip in her bangs.
Oh, and it gets soooooo much better. Not only did he let me wear it out of the house. He let me wear it to the Orthopedic Surgeons office, to the drug store, to the grocery store, AND to pick up the kids at school.
Yes folks, I spent an ENTIRE day traipsing around town with a freakin' satellite receiver attached to my forehead!!!!
When I got home and saw my reflection and realized that I had been wearing the clip ALL DAY LONG, well, I was a bit, well . . . how do I sum it up . . . I was in a semi-murderous rage. (eye twitch, eye twitch.)
I used my very best I'm-pretending-to-be-nice-while-not-strangling-you-voice and quietly asked Paco if it perhaps had crossed his mind to tell me that I had a Godzilla sized clip protruding from my head at any point during the day. Or perhaps, was he just proud to be seen hanging out with a woman in a wheelchair who clearly fit the window-licker part.
His response??????
"Oh, I thought it was some new barrette."
AFTER 13 YEAR OF TOGETHERNESS, DO YOU REALLY THINK THAT I WOULD PURPOSELY MAKE MYSELF LOOK LIKE A COMPLETE TARD???? DO YOU REALLY THINK THAT I HAVE ABSOLUTELY NOOOOO STYLE WHATSOVEVER????? (Eye twitch, eye twitch.)
"Um, I dunno. I guess I never really pay attention to that kind of stuff."
At this point my eyes are twitching so much that I'm actually fluttering. I'm about ready to take flight. I don't even know what to say to him. I'm actually speechless. (Yes, I know, a first.)
I know I am a chubby, married woman, but I am always a stylish, chubby married woman. I do try to take my appearance very seriously.
Suddenly all the people running out of my path at the grocery store makes complete sense. A fat woman in a wheelchair pushing a grocery cart with a metal rod sticking from her head is bound to look a bit suspicious. I probably would have ran too. Maybe I even had a booger sticking out of my nose. That would have been perfect.
I am trying to think of proper form of payback. Your suggestions would be greatly appreciated.
In the meantime, I have switched to bobby pins for obvious reasons.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Queen Jenn
I would like to start out my post with a large thank-you to my dear Paco. As much as we drive each other insane sometimes, he has been my knight in shining armor lately. (Does anyone have a spare suit of armor lying around? The visual is a bit of a turn on.) He has gracious wheeled me around, driven the entire way to Myrtle Beach and back by himself while I played with unicorns, carted me to various appointments, done all the laundry (um, he did run my miraclesuit through the washer and dryer, but, miraculously, the suit still lives up to it's name. It just smells like burnt tires now.), he has made dinner, fetched 414 glasses of water, pulled me from the depths of various toilet bowls, and he has lovingly tended to our dear 3 boys. And all this with only minimal amounts of sarcasm and narcissism.
I started off by asking him do things for me by saying something like, "hey babe, can you do me a favor? can you ________?" And he would do it for me without saying a word. After 20 or so rounds of this he may have snapped and said "it's not a favor. It's an order. Just tell me what you want already and stop saying I'm doing you a friggen favor."
Um, Ok, point well taken.
So now I just order him around. I have decided that I now need a tiara to make my transformation complete. How could he deny the orders of a woman wearing a crown, right? I think it's a brilliant idea. And I could call myself the supreme ruler. I am even thinking of bedazzling my crutches with 4 million rhinestones. If I have to use them for the next 5 months, they should be FABULOUS, right? I even talked to a friend yesterday about getting some flames and chrome wheels for the ol' wheelchair. I will only ride in style, you see.
Perhaps even a wand would be helpful. He did threaten to snap of my fingers when I pointed to him the other day and asked him to put "that over there." Gotta give the guy credit though. If the roles had been reversed, we all know that I would have pushed his wheelchair down the stairs by now. (With HIM in it!!) So, I am forever thankful for him. He really is a bit of a saint. Even if he does leave his sneakers lying around and I trip over them on my crutches. It's forgivable.
If you see Paco, give him a pat on the back and tell him he is a great guy, and he is doing a great job looking after his wife. And tell him that jewelry and flowers always make women feel better. Much better.
Now, I'm off to find my tiara . . .
I started off by asking him do things for me by saying something like, "hey babe, can you do me a favor? can you ________?" And he would do it for me without saying a word. After 20 or so rounds of this he may have snapped and said "it's not a favor. It's an order. Just tell me what you want already and stop saying I'm doing you a friggen favor."
Um, Ok, point well taken.
So now I just order him around. I have decided that I now need a tiara to make my transformation complete. How could he deny the orders of a woman wearing a crown, right? I think it's a brilliant idea. And I could call myself the supreme ruler. I am even thinking of bedazzling my crutches with 4 million rhinestones. If I have to use them for the next 5 months, they should be FABULOUS, right? I even talked to a friend yesterday about getting some flames and chrome wheels for the ol' wheelchair. I will only ride in style, you see.
Perhaps even a wand would be helpful. He did threaten to snap of my fingers when I pointed to him the other day and asked him to put "that over there." Gotta give the guy credit though. If the roles had been reversed, we all know that I would have pushed his wheelchair down the stairs by now. (With HIM in it!!) So, I am forever thankful for him. He really is a bit of a saint. Even if he does leave his sneakers lying around and I trip over them on my crutches. It's forgivable.
If you see Paco, give him a pat on the back and tell him he is a great guy, and he is doing a great job looking after his wife. And tell him that jewelry and flowers always make women feel better. Much better.
Now, I'm off to find my tiara . . .
A Cure for the Blues
I'm blue. Sad. Slightly depressed. Completely bummed.
In my one attempt at Olympic Freefalling I managed to completely wipe out any fun plans I may have had for the summer. I have completely torn my ACL, put 2 tears in meniscus, wiped out my ligaments, and cracked my tail bone. I'm a hurtin' pup, to say the least. I'm an Orthopaedic Dream! I did some other stuff too which I don't really quite understand. But the gist of it is that I bruised my bones in such a way that it created a large amount of internal bleeding, some of which has calcified in my knee. So, I'm also seeing a vascular surgeoun. (And apparantly he's HOT. So, that could be fun.)
I have been to see two different Orthopaedic Surgeons and I have been given two different courses of action. But there are two distinct similarities: One - My golf game is over for the year and TWO - my crutches will be my best friend for the rest of the summer. Not what I wanted to hear. (And by the way, do you have to be a Grumpy Old Man to be an Orthopaedic Surgeon? I'm noticing a trend. . .)
Normally I beat the blues with mass quantities of chocolate. However, I have screwed that up too. Since I am limited with my movements, I have to be very careful of what I eat now too. I have been on a quest to lose weight since January, and sadly my ars is bigger than ever. (If you say ars instead of ass it is not swearing. My Dr. told me that.) My mom came and cleaned out my pantry of all that is good and filled it with fiber puffs and bulgar wheat. (She can be a party pooper sometimes. Even though she has my best interests at heart. Does anyone know if they make chocolate dipped fiber puffs????)
Normally in times of depression, I look to two things that never fail me - Jewelry and purses. They ALWAYS fit. No matter how big my ars is. So, I am looking to all you lovely ladies to help cure my Blues. I am hosting a Lia Sophia book show, and I need you all to buy something. Yes, I know, this is major guilt. However, you will all be helping to save a seriously depressed soul in her time of need. Screw the casseroles, hook me up with some bling. (I promised you that as I lie here on my couch typing right now I am wearing a fabulous pair of earrings. I am wishing I had a tiara too. I think Paco would take my orders much more graciously if I was wearing a tiara.) Oh, and the deal is, if you buy 2 items at regular prices, you get 4 items at half price. And you can use the half off deal on the most expensive stuff. Isn't that GREAT?????????
I have already picked out over $1400 worth of jewelry that I want, so I really need to sell, sell, sell. I have this fabulous idea that we should all get the Surge ring and it will be like our secret society decoder ring. We will see each other on the street and we will know that we are Girlfriends. Wouldn't that be fun? Our own private club! We can come up with secret shakes and passwords and everything. Clearly I have lots of time on my hands to think of these things. Oh, but I absolutely must have the Moonlight earrings too. Maybe we could use those instead. Hmmmm. But, I also LA-HOVE the Moon dance bracelet. Oy. Decisions, decisions. Now you see why I need you all to buy something. Please, please, pretty-please with sugar on top!!!!!
The way it works is that you buy yourself some fabulous jewelry at fabulous sale prices, and I get credits, and in the end I will get some free bling. It is win-win! Mother's Day is around the corner, so you can even buy your Mom something fabulous. (I am hoping to get free jewels for my Mom since I am still bitter about the fiber bit.) And remember if you buy two items at full price you get up to four more items at any price for half off. And you can use the half off on the higher priced items. Isn't that great? My LA roomate is a Lia Sophia sales manager and she encouraged me to host a party. Naturally after looking at the catalogue I was immediately hooked.
Go to liasophia.com/coleenmckeown
Click our jewelry. You will have full access to the current catalogue.
After you order your first item, you will have to put in Jennifer Pawlewicz as your hostess name. (so I get the credits. Don't forget that part. I need all the credits I can get.) And you can check out right there. They take visa, mastercard, and discover. They will ship your order right to you.
Sorry to use the guilt thing on you. Well, if it gets me some cool jewelry for free and some more for sale prices, then I'm not that sorry. A girl has to do what a girl has to do. Oh, and don't forget to shop at Habitat of Ithaca while your at it. I am in such pain. Ouch. I can feel my knee aching right now. Help a sister out. (Insert guilt-inducing puppy dog eyes here.) Just remember, I am in a wheelchair for the entire summer. And it is up to you to make sure that I am well accessorized in my new throne.
Orders need to be in by May 10th. I have lots of catalogues if you need one, let me know!
Thanks in advance for any orders. I promise, I will let everyone borrow my baubles.
In my one attempt at Olympic Freefalling I managed to completely wipe out any fun plans I may have had for the summer. I have completely torn my ACL, put 2 tears in meniscus, wiped out my ligaments, and cracked my tail bone. I'm a hurtin' pup, to say the least. I'm an Orthopaedic Dream! I did some other stuff too which I don't really quite understand. But the gist of it is that I bruised my bones in such a way that it created a large amount of internal bleeding, some of which has calcified in my knee. So, I'm also seeing a vascular surgeoun. (And apparantly he's HOT. So, that could be fun.)
I have been to see two different Orthopaedic Surgeons and I have been given two different courses of action. But there are two distinct similarities: One - My golf game is over for the year and TWO - my crutches will be my best friend for the rest of the summer. Not what I wanted to hear. (And by the way, do you have to be a Grumpy Old Man to be an Orthopaedic Surgeon? I'm noticing a trend. . .)
Normally I beat the blues with mass quantities of chocolate. However, I have screwed that up too. Since I am limited with my movements, I have to be very careful of what I eat now too. I have been on a quest to lose weight since January, and sadly my ars is bigger than ever. (If you say ars instead of ass it is not swearing. My Dr. told me that.) My mom came and cleaned out my pantry of all that is good and filled it with fiber puffs and bulgar wheat. (She can be a party pooper sometimes. Even though she has my best interests at heart. Does anyone know if they make chocolate dipped fiber puffs????)
Normally in times of depression, I look to two things that never fail me - Jewelry and purses. They ALWAYS fit. No matter how big my ars is. So, I am looking to all you lovely ladies to help cure my Blues. I am hosting a Lia Sophia book show, and I need you all to buy something. Yes, I know, this is major guilt. However, you will all be helping to save a seriously depressed soul in her time of need. Screw the casseroles, hook me up with some bling. (I promised you that as I lie here on my couch typing right now I am wearing a fabulous pair of earrings. I am wishing I had a tiara too. I think Paco would take my orders much more graciously if I was wearing a tiara.) Oh, and the deal is, if you buy 2 items at regular prices, you get 4 items at half price. And you can use the half off deal on the most expensive stuff. Isn't that GREAT?????????
I have already picked out over $1400 worth of jewelry that I want, so I really need to sell, sell, sell. I have this fabulous idea that we should all get the Surge ring and it will be like our secret society decoder ring. We will see each other on the street and we will know that we are Girlfriends. Wouldn't that be fun? Our own private club! We can come up with secret shakes and passwords and everything. Clearly I have lots of time on my hands to think of these things. Oh, but I absolutely must have the Moonlight earrings too. Maybe we could use those instead. Hmmmm. But, I also LA-HOVE the Moon dance bracelet. Oy. Decisions, decisions. Now you see why I need you all to buy something. Please, please, pretty-please with sugar on top!!!!!
The way it works is that you buy yourself some fabulous jewelry at fabulous sale prices, and I get credits, and in the end I will get some free bling. It is win-win! Mother's Day is around the corner, so you can even buy your Mom something fabulous. (I am hoping to get free jewels for my Mom since I am still bitter about the fiber bit.) And remember if you buy two items at full price you get up to four more items at any price for half off. And you can use the half off on the higher priced items. Isn't that great? My LA roomate is a Lia Sophia sales manager and she encouraged me to host a party. Naturally after looking at the catalogue I was immediately hooked.
Go to liasophia.com/coleenmckeown
Click our jewelry. You will have full access to the current catalogue.
After you order your first item, you will have to put in Jennifer Pawlewicz as your hostess name. (so I get the credits. Don't forget that part. I need all the credits I can get.) And you can check out right there. They take visa, mastercard, and discover. They will ship your order right to you.
Sorry to use the guilt thing on you. Well, if it gets me some cool jewelry for free and some more for sale prices, then I'm not that sorry. A girl has to do what a girl has to do. Oh, and don't forget to shop at Habitat of Ithaca while your at it. I am in such pain. Ouch. I can feel my knee aching right now. Help a sister out. (Insert guilt-inducing puppy dog eyes here.) Just remember, I am in a wheelchair for the entire summer. And it is up to you to make sure that I am well accessorized in my new throne.
Orders need to be in by May 10th. I have lots of catalogues if you need one, let me know!
Thanks in advance for any orders. I promise, I will let everyone borrow my baubles.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
I Like That Boom Boom Pow
Boom Boom Pow is a new song out by the Black Eyed Peas. It is the perfect song to be the soundtrack to my yesterday. (Coincidentally it is also my niece's ring tone on her cell phone. And since she was taking me around yesterday I heard it a LOT.) It's a very catchy song and once you hear it you'll have it stuck in your head all day. I promise. I like that Boom Boom Pow . . .
Yesterday was my big day out. I had all sorts of appointments and errands and my fabulous niece was carting me around. She is so much fun to be with. Unfortunately, her wheelchair driving skills leave much to be desired. So sadly, I spend most of the day going Boom Boom Pow into various walls, doorways, and pieces of furniture.
We started the day with my MRI. She pulled right up in front of the hospital doors to drop me off. She gets the wheelchair, lovingly assists me into my seat, and then Boom Boom Pow, she wheels me right into the sliding door frame and nearly knocks me out of my chair.
We go to the registration desk and are directed to another desk to check-in. My niece is busy checking out the cute guy in the hard hat working behind the counter, and yep, Boom Boom Pow right into the desk. (He was really cute so I can't blame her there.)
I survived the rest of my appointment with just a few Boom Boom Pows. But the bigger digger in the bathroom was all me. I can't understand why the hospital bathroom off the MRI waiting room doesn't fit a wheelchair. WTF??? (Insert my WTF scrunched up face here.)
We then stopped by my store to take care of a few things and to say hello to one of my favorite people. (My store is Habitat of Ithaca, on the Downtown Ithaca Commons. It is a fabulous store filled with wonderful gifts and home furnishings. If you have never been there, you MUST come. It is so much fun. Please stop by ASAP and buy something. Yes, I know I am going a bit over-the-top with the gratuitous sales pitch here, but it has been slow, and we have just gotten in some of the cutest Spring merchandise. Please help me keep the lights on . . .sniff sniff) So, since we were only going to be a few minutes, we parked in the 15 minute loading zone. Again, my sweet niece brings my chariot right to me and gingerly helps me get situated.
Then Boom Boom Pow she rams me into the curb and again almost knocks me out of my chair. Then Boom Boom Pow into an upturned brick. Then Boom Boom Pow into the doorframe. Then Boom Boom Pow into the elevator frame.
We finally made it into the store. I was a tad bruised, but thankfully, no blood. My manager had done quite a bit of rearranging since my last visit and the store looked absolutely stunning. (Insert another gratutious sales plug for Habitat of Ithaca on the Downtown Ithaca Commons here.) We visited for a few minutes, looked at all the pretty new stuff, and headed back out for appointment #2.
My second Dr's Appointment was to have my blood pressure checked. It had been registering extremely high, so it was suggested that I follow up with my Dr. to have it looked at. (Hellooooooo, I'm in PAIN. Of course it's off the charts!)
We get to my Dr's and my lovely niece only Boom Boom Pow's me once getting in. (I think she is finally getting the hang of it.) I have a cute male nurse that is getting all my vitals.
He is clearly flirting, and I can't tell if it is for my benefit, or my nieces, but at any rate, he is laying on the charm. I explain how I am supposed to have my blood pressure checked and I also tell him that my tail bone is killing me, and I think I may have hurt it when I fell. "Do you want us to take some pictures of your butt?" he asks?
"Um, only if you give copies to my hubby. He likes that kind of thing." That shut him up for a minute.
He attempts to take my blood pressure but can't get a reading. He tries the other arm. Still no reading. Back to the first arm. No reading. "Great, now I'm dead too."
Finally the Dr. comes in and we start talking about my blood pressure. It's high, and she's concerned. She asks me if I use a lot of salt. I explain that I do not salt my food, but I use some in cooking. I tell her that I am more of a sweets eater. She doesn't buy it and puts me on some new medicine to lower my blood pressure. The problem here is that I am not supposed to drink while I am taking the medicine. Great. Take away ALL my fun.
Next I go to x-rays. My niece only Boom Boom Pow's me once on doorcase. After a series of x-rays I find out that I have a small fracture on my coccyx bone. She explains that is a bone that serves no purpose and can fracture pretty easily. Oooh, fun. She recommends that I get a Donut to help with the pain. "I wish there was a Krispy Kreme nearby," I say.
"Not THAT kind of donut. A chair donut. It's a pad that will help relieve the pressure on your tail bone. But, I'm beginning to see why you have high blood pressure" she replies.
I finally exit the Dr's with a full cache of happy pills, my new blood pressure meds, and bragging rights that now I have TWO butt cracks.
My niece and I go to Chili's to have one last drink before I start my new pills. I am in quite a bit of discomfort so I decide to take a pain pill with my El Presidente Margarita. It is at that moment that my niece spits out her drink and starts laughing uncontrolably.
I am certain that she is laughing at my choice of chaser for my percocet. However, after serveral minutes she finally blurts out, "I think I may have found the source of your salt problem."
I look up from my Margarita glass and I am suddenly aware of the rock salt mustache decorating my face. Sooooooo good.
We finish our lunch and head out to Wal-mart. This is the last stop on our list. I get the pleasure of tooling around in one of their electric shopping carts. And, I must admit, even though I am an awful driver, it is a LOT of fun.
I tool into the store and the cart is too fast for the electric doors and I ram right into them. The "welcome to Wal-Mart" guy sees this and runs over to help. Not a good call on his part because I manage to run into him as well. Oy.
I make it back to the shoe department. I need some new flip flops, since none of my shoes or sneakers will fit my swollen foot, and naturally all my flip flops are 2" platforms. Not the best with crutches.
I quickly find a pair and we head towards check out. We scoot past a group of college kids that go out of their way to smile and say "hello."
"Who are they?" my niece asks. "I have no idea." I reply. "That is the 'sorry you're a cripple' greeting."
"Oh, I get it now," she deadpans.
We make it home without any further incident. I am so happy to have my niece helping because she kindly carries in all my groceries. I scooched my way up to the top of the stairs. In my futile attempt to stand I managed to Boom Boom Pow myself and lock my knee out of joint. I was literally rolling around in pain on the floor. I couldn't get my knee to pop back in place. It took almost 15 minutes of stretching and twisting to get it back where it belonged.
Now I am sweating, sick to my stomach, and my knee is throbbing. I lay on the couch and promise myself I will never ever leave this spot.
A few minutes later my youngest son Trey enters with a huge bouquet of dandelions for me. "Mommy, I'm sorry you broke your knee. I love you sooo, sooo superdy much." So, I get my happy ending after all.
Yesterday was my big day out. I had all sorts of appointments and errands and my fabulous niece was carting me around. She is so much fun to be with. Unfortunately, her wheelchair driving skills leave much to be desired. So sadly, I spend most of the day going Boom Boom Pow into various walls, doorways, and pieces of furniture.
We started the day with my MRI. She pulled right up in front of the hospital doors to drop me off. She gets the wheelchair, lovingly assists me into my seat, and then Boom Boom Pow, she wheels me right into the sliding door frame and nearly knocks me out of my chair.
We go to the registration desk and are directed to another desk to check-in. My niece is busy checking out the cute guy in the hard hat working behind the counter, and yep, Boom Boom Pow right into the desk. (He was really cute so I can't blame her there.)
I survived the rest of my appointment with just a few Boom Boom Pows. But the bigger digger in the bathroom was all me. I can't understand why the hospital bathroom off the MRI waiting room doesn't fit a wheelchair. WTF??? (Insert my WTF scrunched up face here.)
We then stopped by my store to take care of a few things and to say hello to one of my favorite people. (My store is Habitat of Ithaca, on the Downtown Ithaca Commons. It is a fabulous store filled with wonderful gifts and home furnishings. If you have never been there, you MUST come. It is so much fun. Please stop by ASAP and buy something. Yes, I know I am going a bit over-the-top with the gratuitous sales pitch here, but it has been slow, and we have just gotten in some of the cutest Spring merchandise. Please help me keep the lights on . . .sniff sniff) So, since we were only going to be a few minutes, we parked in the 15 minute loading zone. Again, my sweet niece brings my chariot right to me and gingerly helps me get situated.
Then Boom Boom Pow she rams me into the curb and again almost knocks me out of my chair. Then Boom Boom Pow into an upturned brick. Then Boom Boom Pow into the doorframe. Then Boom Boom Pow into the elevator frame.
We finally made it into the store. I was a tad bruised, but thankfully, no blood. My manager had done quite a bit of rearranging since my last visit and the store looked absolutely stunning. (Insert another gratutious sales plug for Habitat of Ithaca on the Downtown Ithaca Commons here.) We visited for a few minutes, looked at all the pretty new stuff, and headed back out for appointment #2.
My second Dr's Appointment was to have my blood pressure checked. It had been registering extremely high, so it was suggested that I follow up with my Dr. to have it looked at. (Hellooooooo, I'm in PAIN. Of course it's off the charts!)
We get to my Dr's and my lovely niece only Boom Boom Pow's me once getting in. (I think she is finally getting the hang of it.) I have a cute male nurse that is getting all my vitals.
He is clearly flirting, and I can't tell if it is for my benefit, or my nieces, but at any rate, he is laying on the charm. I explain how I am supposed to have my blood pressure checked and I also tell him that my tail bone is killing me, and I think I may have hurt it when I fell. "Do you want us to take some pictures of your butt?" he asks?
"Um, only if you give copies to my hubby. He likes that kind of thing." That shut him up for a minute.
He attempts to take my blood pressure but can't get a reading. He tries the other arm. Still no reading. Back to the first arm. No reading. "Great, now I'm dead too."
Finally the Dr. comes in and we start talking about my blood pressure. It's high, and she's concerned. She asks me if I use a lot of salt. I explain that I do not salt my food, but I use some in cooking. I tell her that I am more of a sweets eater. She doesn't buy it and puts me on some new medicine to lower my blood pressure. The problem here is that I am not supposed to drink while I am taking the medicine. Great. Take away ALL my fun.
Next I go to x-rays. My niece only Boom Boom Pow's me once on doorcase. After a series of x-rays I find out that I have a small fracture on my coccyx bone. She explains that is a bone that serves no purpose and can fracture pretty easily. Oooh, fun. She recommends that I get a Donut to help with the pain. "I wish there was a Krispy Kreme nearby," I say.
"Not THAT kind of donut. A chair donut. It's a pad that will help relieve the pressure on your tail bone. But, I'm beginning to see why you have high blood pressure" she replies.
I finally exit the Dr's with a full cache of happy pills, my new blood pressure meds, and bragging rights that now I have TWO butt cracks.
My niece and I go to Chili's to have one last drink before I start my new pills. I am in quite a bit of discomfort so I decide to take a pain pill with my El Presidente Margarita. It is at that moment that my niece spits out her drink and starts laughing uncontrolably.
I am certain that she is laughing at my choice of chaser for my percocet. However, after serveral minutes she finally blurts out, "I think I may have found the source of your salt problem."
I look up from my Margarita glass and I am suddenly aware of the rock salt mustache decorating my face. Sooooooo good.
We finish our lunch and head out to Wal-mart. This is the last stop on our list. I get the pleasure of tooling around in one of their electric shopping carts. And, I must admit, even though I am an awful driver, it is a LOT of fun.
I tool into the store and the cart is too fast for the electric doors and I ram right into them. The "welcome to Wal-Mart" guy sees this and runs over to help. Not a good call on his part because I manage to run into him as well. Oy.
I make it back to the shoe department. I need some new flip flops, since none of my shoes or sneakers will fit my swollen foot, and naturally all my flip flops are 2" platforms. Not the best with crutches.
I quickly find a pair and we head towards check out. We scoot past a group of college kids that go out of their way to smile and say "hello."
"Who are they?" my niece asks. "I have no idea." I reply. "That is the 'sorry you're a cripple' greeting."
"Oh, I get it now," she deadpans.
We make it home without any further incident. I am so happy to have my niece helping because she kindly carries in all my groceries. I scooched my way up to the top of the stairs. In my futile attempt to stand I managed to Boom Boom Pow myself and lock my knee out of joint. I was literally rolling around in pain on the floor. I couldn't get my knee to pop back in place. It took almost 15 minutes of stretching and twisting to get it back where it belonged.
Now I am sweating, sick to my stomach, and my knee is throbbing. I lay on the couch and promise myself I will never ever leave this spot.
A few minutes later my youngest son Trey enters with a huge bouquet of dandelions for me. "Mommy, I'm sorry you broke your knee. I love you sooo, sooo superdy much." So, I get my happy ending after all.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
No Pain, um, No GAIN????
Slight problem. I went to the Dr's today, and I seem to have, ahem, gained 12 pounds since I left for vacation. I'm certain it is the um, swelling in my knee and foot. Swelling creates lots of fluids and um, fluids weigh like a LOT. Plus I was stuck in a wheelchair so that made me retain even more fluid. So, like according to my calculations, if I urinate every 2 hours for the next 17 days I will be back to um, normal. (I am quite certain that the cadbury mini eggs had nothing to do with this since they are so small and innocent looking. How can such a happy snack be bad for you??)
So, clearly my miraclesuit was working major miracles. It held in an extra 12 pounds of, um, fluid, and still managed to keep me fabulous. (And yes Ardell the suit was fabulous. It was not just the alcohol and happy pills this time. You silly, silly girl...) Unfortunately I did not take off my miraclesuit until the night before we left. Perhaps I might have noticed the swelling and um, fluids a bit sooner.
At least my pits are smooth. . .
So, clearly my miraclesuit was working major miracles. It held in an extra 12 pounds of, um, fluid, and still managed to keep me fabulous. (And yes Ardell the suit was fabulous. It was not just the alcohol and happy pills this time. You silly, silly girl...) Unfortunately I did not take off my miraclesuit until the night before we left. Perhaps I might have noticed the swelling and um, fluids a bit sooner.
At least my pits are smooth. . .
Saturday, April 18, 2009
And so are the days of my life
Yesterday was very interesting. To say the least. It was so eventful, I really don't know where to begin.
I guess I should start with yesterday morning . . .
I'm laying in bed watching the news, and Trey sneaks into bed and snuggles up under my arm. "Mommy, I love you. You're so beautiful." Awwww. What a great way to wake up. "Mommy, you have hair on your armpits. Only fat girls have hair on their armpits, right?"
I hear Paco choke on his coffee and my mother bursts out laughing. Even Deuce was laughing.
At this point I have no energy to engage so I simply say "yes honey, only fat girls have hair on their armpits." (In my defense, it was mere stubble. . .)
Naturally my mother couldn't resist and says "What about Grandma?"
"No Gramma, you don't have hair cause you're skinny."
Insert knife and turn, turn, turn.
We get around early and head out for the beach. It was a big day for me. I was finally going to set foot on the sand. Paco had made arrangements with a lifeguard to use a beach wheelchair for the day. This should be interesting, to say the least.
As we are heading down in the elevator, we stop on another floor and a lovely couple and a group of golfters get in. Trey proudly exclaims to them "my Dad always drinks beer."
Oh dear Lord. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
I make my way down to the clearing and I see Paco standing next to this enormous blue and white contraption. Upon closer inspection I see that it is a beach chair made out of pvc pipe attached to ginormous inflatable tires. He really doesn't expect me to be seen in this thing, does he?
As it so happens, 2 tour bus loads of high school band members happens to be unloading at the exact same time as I make my ever-graceful transition from one wheelchair to another.
After many grunts, groans, and a 64 piece band tribute, I get settled into my fancy new ride and we head to the beach. Naturally everyone on the beach has to turn and look. It looks like I am being wheeled in on some sort of ceremonial throne. Paco naturally is doing donuts and figure eights, having a super time. I am just thankful that my miraclesuit is still holding up after all this time, and I hold on for dear life.
It was very windy at the beach, and after shivering for 2 hours, we head poolside. I get one last ride in my beach chariot. It's actually a nice ride if you don't mind looking like you belong in Smurf-land.
Poolside there is very little breeze, and it gets hot quickly. Very hot. So I get this wonderful idea that I am going to take a dip in the pool. I manage to hop and slink my way into the pool and I enjoy a very relaxing swim.
Getting out of the pool? Well, let's just say it was NOT pretty. I accidentally shifted my weight to my bad leg and I ended up falling down like a house of cards. As I lay there thrashing like a beached whale, a very sincere 90lb-80 year old man came running to offer his assistance.
Um, sir, you are very kind. But, I don't want to take you down with me.
I managed to get myself hoisted up and back into my wheelchair. Paco just happens to wander back at this exact moment. I explain to him how he is 5 minutes too late to see me flopping around like a beached whale.
He proceeds to inform me that beached whales lay motionless. That is why they are beached. They can't move. He gives my the 5 minute Discovery Channel synopsis of the life cycle of whales.
Seriously Paco, did you have to go there? Your sympathy is overwhelming.
Thankfully my mother hands me a coctail, and life seems much better for the time being.
We spend the next 5 hours poolside. After absorbing as much sun as my skin could handle, we move to the indoor pool to let the kids finish the day with a swim.
After my afternoon coctails I am again feeling brave and I decide to enter the hot tub. (Paco promised to help me get out this time.) There are three hot tubs that are connected in a semi circle. They are all empty, so I pick the one the farthest back.
I ease myself in and enjoy the warm water. Within minutes my bliss is interupted when Grizzly Adams decides to join me in the hot tub. (Did he NOT see the two EMPTY tubs????) This man was covered from head to toe in a carpet of black body hair. I'm not convinced that it wasn't a sasquatch. At any rate, all I could think of was being in a hot tub with a black shag carpet and I really needed to get out. Fast.
Paco was heading over thinking I was being attacked by a Grizzly Bear. He helped me hop out of the hot tub and back into my wheelchair.
At this exact moment a young girl with Down's Syndrome walks over to me and tells me she is sorry that I am in a wheelchair. "I bet it is really hard," she says.
I am convinced that God has a wacko sense of humor and He was warning me about my window licker post. I'm feeling very small, needless to say.
We get back into the room and I immediately head to the shower. I have this insane feeling that I am covered in bear hair and I really need to shower.
I decide to remove my miracle suit for the first time all week. It is a sad moment. But, she has earned a rest. As I take it off I notice a blue mark on the side of my left boob.
Naturally I am starting to panic thinking I have some wierd skurvy from the dude in the hot tub. But upon closer inspection I realize it is just a piece of shell from a cadbury mini egg. Wonder how long that's been in there.
I get situated in the shower. My mother has cleverly placed a plastic deck chair in there for me to sit on. However, I can't seem to get the shampoo out of my hair. So, I carefully stand up and try to turn around on my good leg while holding on to the chair.
Naturally I slip a bit on the water and start to fall backwards. My ass lands square on the faucet and gives me um, quite a jolt. Ahem.
Well, the good news is that my little fall seemed to get things moving in the pipe department. I literally ended up scaring the crap out of myself. . .
After my eventful day I am exhausted. I crawl into bed and get settled in. Trey naturally climbs in behind me and nestles up under my arm.
And he doesn't even skip a beat. He immediately notices that I have shaved my armpits.
"Mom, you don't have any hair on your armpits anymore."
"No honey, Mommy shaved." I reply.
"So, you're just a little fat, right?"
Um, right . . .
I guess I should start with yesterday morning . . .
I'm laying in bed watching the news, and Trey sneaks into bed and snuggles up under my arm. "Mommy, I love you. You're so beautiful." Awwww. What a great way to wake up. "Mommy, you have hair on your armpits. Only fat girls have hair on their armpits, right?"
I hear Paco choke on his coffee and my mother bursts out laughing. Even Deuce was laughing.
At this point I have no energy to engage so I simply say "yes honey, only fat girls have hair on their armpits." (In my defense, it was mere stubble. . .)
Naturally my mother couldn't resist and says "What about Grandma?"
"No Gramma, you don't have hair cause you're skinny."
Insert knife and turn, turn, turn.
We get around early and head out for the beach. It was a big day for me. I was finally going to set foot on the sand. Paco had made arrangements with a lifeguard to use a beach wheelchair for the day. This should be interesting, to say the least.
As we are heading down in the elevator, we stop on another floor and a lovely couple and a group of golfters get in. Trey proudly exclaims to them "my Dad always drinks beer."
Oh dear Lord. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
I make my way down to the clearing and I see Paco standing next to this enormous blue and white contraption. Upon closer inspection I see that it is a beach chair made out of pvc pipe attached to ginormous inflatable tires. He really doesn't expect me to be seen in this thing, does he?
As it so happens, 2 tour bus loads of high school band members happens to be unloading at the exact same time as I make my ever-graceful transition from one wheelchair to another.
After many grunts, groans, and a 64 piece band tribute, I get settled into my fancy new ride and we head to the beach. Naturally everyone on the beach has to turn and look. It looks like I am being wheeled in on some sort of ceremonial throne. Paco naturally is doing donuts and figure eights, having a super time. I am just thankful that my miraclesuit is still holding up after all this time, and I hold on for dear life.
It was very windy at the beach, and after shivering for 2 hours, we head poolside. I get one last ride in my beach chariot. It's actually a nice ride if you don't mind looking like you belong in Smurf-land.
Poolside there is very little breeze, and it gets hot quickly. Very hot. So I get this wonderful idea that I am going to take a dip in the pool. I manage to hop and slink my way into the pool and I enjoy a very relaxing swim.
Getting out of the pool? Well, let's just say it was NOT pretty. I accidentally shifted my weight to my bad leg and I ended up falling down like a house of cards. As I lay there thrashing like a beached whale, a very sincere 90lb-80 year old man came running to offer his assistance.
Um, sir, you are very kind. But, I don't want to take you down with me.
I managed to get myself hoisted up and back into my wheelchair. Paco just happens to wander back at this exact moment. I explain to him how he is 5 minutes too late to see me flopping around like a beached whale.
He proceeds to inform me that beached whales lay motionless. That is why they are beached. They can't move. He gives my the 5 minute Discovery Channel synopsis of the life cycle of whales.
Seriously Paco, did you have to go there? Your sympathy is overwhelming.
Thankfully my mother hands me a coctail, and life seems much better for the time being.
We spend the next 5 hours poolside. After absorbing as much sun as my skin could handle, we move to the indoor pool to let the kids finish the day with a swim.
After my afternoon coctails I am again feeling brave and I decide to enter the hot tub. (Paco promised to help me get out this time.) There are three hot tubs that are connected in a semi circle. They are all empty, so I pick the one the farthest back.
I ease myself in and enjoy the warm water. Within minutes my bliss is interupted when Grizzly Adams decides to join me in the hot tub. (Did he NOT see the two EMPTY tubs????) This man was covered from head to toe in a carpet of black body hair. I'm not convinced that it wasn't a sasquatch. At any rate, all I could think of was being in a hot tub with a black shag carpet and I really needed to get out. Fast.
Paco was heading over thinking I was being attacked by a Grizzly Bear. He helped me hop out of the hot tub and back into my wheelchair.
At this exact moment a young girl with Down's Syndrome walks over to me and tells me she is sorry that I am in a wheelchair. "I bet it is really hard," she says.
I am convinced that God has a wacko sense of humor and He was warning me about my window licker post. I'm feeling very small, needless to say.
We get back into the room and I immediately head to the shower. I have this insane feeling that I am covered in bear hair and I really need to shower.
I decide to remove my miracle suit for the first time all week. It is a sad moment. But, she has earned a rest. As I take it off I notice a blue mark on the side of my left boob.
Naturally I am starting to panic thinking I have some wierd skurvy from the dude in the hot tub. But upon closer inspection I realize it is just a piece of shell from a cadbury mini egg. Wonder how long that's been in there.
I get situated in the shower. My mother has cleverly placed a plastic deck chair in there for me to sit on. However, I can't seem to get the shampoo out of my hair. So, I carefully stand up and try to turn around on my good leg while holding on to the chair.
Naturally I slip a bit on the water and start to fall backwards. My ass lands square on the faucet and gives me um, quite a jolt. Ahem.
Well, the good news is that my little fall seemed to get things moving in the pipe department. I literally ended up scaring the crap out of myself. . .
After my eventful day I am exhausted. I crawl into bed and get settled in. Trey naturally climbs in behind me and nestles up under my arm.
And he doesn't even skip a beat. He immediately notices that I have shaved my armpits.
"Mom, you don't have any hair on your armpits anymore."
"No honey, Mommy shaved." I reply.
"So, you're just a little fat, right?"
Um, right . . .
Friday, April 17, 2009
For the love of Percocet
Percocet is my friend. Let's just get it right out in the open. It could quite possibly be one of my new favorite things. I think the man who invented it should be cast in bronze and placed in the Percocet house of worship. I would certainly come and visit.
I have found that every morning I wake up in excruciating pain. I take a Percocet, I pass out for about 45 minutes, and then I wake up in considerably less pain. It's wonderful. I see rainbows and unicorns. I have even come to understand the B-52's song "Shiny Happy People." And 3 1/2 hours later when the pain gets unbearable again, I begin the process all over.
I have noticed that when taken with a Margarita, it is even more powerful and the pain becomes almost non-existent. (Coincidentally drool and slurring are a common side effect.)
There is one downfall to the wonderful world of Percocet. My pipes are a bit clogged. I haven't been able to poo since we left NY. And things are starting to get a bit, well, uncomfortable. My toots have turned toxic, and my bowels are starting to protrude out my back. (I am beginning to think that there might be a significant back-up of cadbury mini eggs that could turn lethal. I guess I really should have listened to my mom.)
I have been popping Dulcolax like tic-tacs. And after spending 2 hours on the throne the most I've been able to produce are a few, sad nuggets. Seriously folks, this brings pain to a whole new level. I started drinking cider vinegar today because my mom read in a magazine that it would help. Oh, and I stopped taking my Percocet. (OK, so officially I ran out, but in my defense, the cute ER Dr. only prescibed me 20 pills because I was supposed to follow up with an Orthopedic Surgeon in a few days. Not 12 days later. oops. My bad.)
So now I am stuck in my wheelchair constipated, in pain, and smelling like salad dressing. But at least my miraclesuit is still looking fabulous.
I have found that every morning I wake up in excruciating pain. I take a Percocet, I pass out for about 45 minutes, and then I wake up in considerably less pain. It's wonderful. I see rainbows and unicorns. I have even come to understand the B-52's song "Shiny Happy People." And 3 1/2 hours later when the pain gets unbearable again, I begin the process all over.
I have noticed that when taken with a Margarita, it is even more powerful and the pain becomes almost non-existent. (Coincidentally drool and slurring are a common side effect.)
There is one downfall to the wonderful world of Percocet. My pipes are a bit clogged. I haven't been able to poo since we left NY. And things are starting to get a bit, well, uncomfortable. My toots have turned toxic, and my bowels are starting to protrude out my back. (I am beginning to think that there might be a significant back-up of cadbury mini eggs that could turn lethal. I guess I really should have listened to my mom.)
I have been popping Dulcolax like tic-tacs. And after spending 2 hours on the throne the most I've been able to produce are a few, sad nuggets. Seriously folks, this brings pain to a whole new level. I started drinking cider vinegar today because my mom read in a magazine that it would help. Oh, and I stopped taking my Percocet. (OK, so officially I ran out, but in my defense, the cute ER Dr. only prescibed me 20 pills because I was supposed to follow up with an Orthopedic Surgeon in a few days. Not 12 days later. oops. My bad.)
So now I am stuck in my wheelchair constipated, in pain, and smelling like salad dressing. But at least my miraclesuit is still looking fabulous.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
The miraculous miraclesuit
OK, let me just start by telling you that my new miracle suit is worth every stinkin penny. Since I nearly killed myself trying to get this thing on (had to take 2 pain pills with a wine chaser) I made the executive decision just to keep the darn thing on for the entire vacation. And, let me tell you that was a brilliant move on my part. I have showered in it, swam in it, gone out to dinner in it, and slept in it. I love this thing so much I think I may wear it forever. It gives a wonderful girdle effect under clothing that makes everything look so much better. When I win the lottery I will buy the company and give you all free miracle suits. They are truly miraculous.
The rest of my vacation has been a tad less miraculous. I am slowly learning the trials and tribulations of getting around in a wheelchair. Everywhere I go I get the "oh, she must be a window-licker" look and the obligatory head nod. I am truly treated like I must be semi-retarded. I've noticed people talking much louder and more slowly. But, because of the fog caused by my fabulous pain pills, this has actually been quite helpful.
Also, I have learned that hotel bathrooms are not wide enough to fit a wheelchair. So, I have to do the wobbly hop into the bathroom every time I need to go. (The floor is tiled so my crutches just slide. I have deemed it much safer without them.)
I have had the pleasure of falling into the toilet not once, but twice, when one of my precious sons left the seat up. Very humbling when you have to scream at 3 am to have your hubby come in and haul you out because you can't do it yourself. (Even more embarrassing was the fact that I had my miraclesuit pulled over to the side and wedged up my butt crack so I wouldn't have to pull it all the way down. Lovely vision, I'm sure.) However, I am quite certain that I have put the fear of God into my children and they will never leave another toilet seat up as long as they live.
I had the pleasure of a surprise visit from a long-time Girlfriend and her family and her mother, who is also a dear Girlfriend. It was nice to visit even if I was stuck in my bed most of the time. But, I did learn that taking a pain pill with a Margarita makes me feel supercalifragilisticketchbealidocious. Thanks for the yummy drinks Chris! (She even brought fabulous Margerita glasses. I am such a spoiled brat.)
I have determined that I am a very bad cripple. I just do not have the patience to be waited on hand and foot. I know that sounds ironic being that my number one wish is for my own personal cabana boy. However, having to rely on someone else for every basic need is rather frustrating. My poor mother has been waiting on me endlessly. And I am truly thankful for that. It just gets old every time I ask for a drink and she reminds me that I just finished one a few minutes ago. Or she says something like "Jenny, you are on your third bag of cadbury mini eggs. Don't you think you should slow it down a bit." "Do you really need another helping of ice-cream? I mean, I know you said it helps cool you off, but, it's only 61 degrees in here right now." "Um, Jenny sweetie, I am quite sure that you are not suppossed to take your pain pill with a bullfrog. Um, by the way, what exactly IS a bullfrog Jenny? And why does it smell like vodka?"
My boys love pushing me around in my wheelchair. They feel like they are being wonderful little helpers. I have been pushed into walls, doors, and parked cars. But, they feel like they are doing a good thing so I just grin and bear it. (And wipe off the blood and dirt when they aren't looking.)
I really have no patience being pushed around in the wheelchair. I have tantrums like a 2 year old. It's quite sad. However, I have learned that my mother and my husband push my wheelchair like it's a grocery cart. They will just stop mid-stride and walk away, leaving me right in the middle of a walkway or in the middle of the parking lot. When they push me into the elevator, they often push me right to the back corner so I get to stare at the wall like I've been naughty. The worst is when I have to use the public bathrooms and my mom insists on coming in with me. I know I should be greatful for the help, but it has to look a bit odd for a 35 year old woman to be taken to the bathroom by her mommy. Thank God she hasn't tried to wipe me . . . yet.
The good news is that the weather has been fabulous. It has been sunny and in the 70's almost every day. Once I get wheeled down to the pool, I flop into a lounge chair and nap all day. It's been great. My purple and yellow leg has been getting lots of odds looks though. I get it all shiny with tanning oil so then it really looks sausagilicious. A big ol' link of pork parts. Yummo.
I have a feeling Myrtle Beach might never be the same . . .
The rest of my vacation has been a tad less miraculous. I am slowly learning the trials and tribulations of getting around in a wheelchair. Everywhere I go I get the "oh, she must be a window-licker" look and the obligatory head nod. I am truly treated like I must be semi-retarded. I've noticed people talking much louder and more slowly. But, because of the fog caused by my fabulous pain pills, this has actually been quite helpful.
Also, I have learned that hotel bathrooms are not wide enough to fit a wheelchair. So, I have to do the wobbly hop into the bathroom every time I need to go. (The floor is tiled so my crutches just slide. I have deemed it much safer without them.)
I have had the pleasure of falling into the toilet not once, but twice, when one of my precious sons left the seat up. Very humbling when you have to scream at 3 am to have your hubby come in and haul you out because you can't do it yourself. (Even more embarrassing was the fact that I had my miraclesuit pulled over to the side and wedged up my butt crack so I wouldn't have to pull it all the way down. Lovely vision, I'm sure.) However, I am quite certain that I have put the fear of God into my children and they will never leave another toilet seat up as long as they live.
I had the pleasure of a surprise visit from a long-time Girlfriend and her family and her mother, who is also a dear Girlfriend. It was nice to visit even if I was stuck in my bed most of the time. But, I did learn that taking a pain pill with a Margarita makes me feel supercalifragilisticketchbealidocious. Thanks for the yummy drinks Chris! (She even brought fabulous Margerita glasses. I am such a spoiled brat.)
I have determined that I am a very bad cripple. I just do not have the patience to be waited on hand and foot. I know that sounds ironic being that my number one wish is for my own personal cabana boy. However, having to rely on someone else for every basic need is rather frustrating. My poor mother has been waiting on me endlessly. And I am truly thankful for that. It just gets old every time I ask for a drink and she reminds me that I just finished one a few minutes ago. Or she says something like "Jenny, you are on your third bag of cadbury mini eggs. Don't you think you should slow it down a bit." "Do you really need another helping of ice-cream? I mean, I know you said it helps cool you off, but, it's only 61 degrees in here right now." "Um, Jenny sweetie, I am quite sure that you are not suppossed to take your pain pill with a bullfrog. Um, by the way, what exactly IS a bullfrog Jenny? And why does it smell like vodka?"
My boys love pushing me around in my wheelchair. They feel like they are being wonderful little helpers. I have been pushed into walls, doors, and parked cars. But, they feel like they are doing a good thing so I just grin and bear it. (And wipe off the blood and dirt when they aren't looking.)
I really have no patience being pushed around in the wheelchair. I have tantrums like a 2 year old. It's quite sad. However, I have learned that my mother and my husband push my wheelchair like it's a grocery cart. They will just stop mid-stride and walk away, leaving me right in the middle of a walkway or in the middle of the parking lot. When they push me into the elevator, they often push me right to the back corner so I get to stare at the wall like I've been naughty. The worst is when I have to use the public bathrooms and my mom insists on coming in with me. I know I should be greatful for the help, but it has to look a bit odd for a 35 year old woman to be taken to the bathroom by her mommy. Thank God she hasn't tried to wipe me . . . yet.
The good news is that the weather has been fabulous. It has been sunny and in the 70's almost every day. Once I get wheeled down to the pool, I flop into a lounge chair and nap all day. It's been great. My purple and yellow leg has been getting lots of odds looks though. I get it all shiny with tanning oil so then it really looks sausagilicious. A big ol' link of pork parts. Yummo.
I have a feeling Myrtle Beach might never be the same . . .
Monday, April 13, 2009
Olympic Freefalling
If there was an Olympic Freefalling event, I am quite sure that I would take home the gold. I have pulled of a perfect-10, awe-inspriring free-fall from a bar stool into a fire-fire truck metal bunk bed and managed to pass by $300 worth of breakable artifacts without so much of a splinter. My body however, well, that is another story altogether. I guess a fat girl trying to teeter on a bar stool to hang a light on the ceiling is not a good idea. Who knew?
Friday afternoon, approximately 4 hours prior to our leaving for vacation, I was at the store doing some last minute things before leaving for the week. One of these last minute things included hanging a light fixture in the corner of what is going to be a spectacular kids room. I couldn't quite reach the ceiling by standing on the bed, so I grabbed a bar stool and used that to hang the light. I am standing on the bar stool with both arms reaching toward the ceiling, when the bar stool tips out from under me. Because my hands were full, I was unable to cushion my fall, and sadly, my knee took the brunt of the force.
As I was writhing around on the floor in excruciating pain, all I could think of was leaving in a few hours for my vacation. HOW COULD I HAVE DONE THIS??????
I get up and attempt to assess the damage. My leg is kind of dangling so I know that it can't be good. I try to put some weight on my leg, I hear a loud pop, and I'm back on the floor. Nothing really holding it together but some fat and skin.
Now I'm a bit nervous and starting to sweat. I call my mom and she comes to take me to the emergency room. (I had to pass by Enrique Los Hotpants in a wheelchair. Oy. That guy really gets to see the best in me.)
By the time we arrive at the ER I am just writhing in pain. Serious pain. And lucky for us, we got right in. My blood pressure is 150 over 110. Um, yeah, it hurts THAT bad.
The cute PA feels sorry for me so I quickly get a large injection of morphine. I am still in tons of pain, but I seriously don't care. A cute college kid gets put in the bed next to mine and before long he is asking for my number. Morphine is my friend.
As it turns out, the PA is leaving for Cancun in 4 hours, so he is just as eager to get out the door. I am quickly sent off for x-rays, and after a few minutes, I am told there is no break, given some crutches and a brace, and told to follow up with an orthopedic when I get back.
Well, as it turns out, even though morphine is my friend, morphine and crutches are mortal enemies. So, I had to finish packing from the perch of my wheelchair. (It only took me 17 minutes to scoot up the stairs.)
Needless to say, I was a bit suprised to find a screwdriver and 3 packets of parmesan cheese in the bottom of my bag.
So, dear Paco finishes up the packing and gets the car all neatly packed. He is totally OCD when it comes to packing so everything is perfectly weighted and balanced.
Our normal ritual is for me to drive the first and last leg, and Paco drives the middle bit. However, since I was seeing rainbows and unicorns, Paco did all 12 hours on his own. He is such a good man. And he never once complained when he had to stop every 2 hours to walk his wife. Good man. Very good man. (I'm still on drugs.)
So, now we are here at the beach. My favorite place in the world. I am still seeing rainbows and talking to unicorns, just in much better surroundings.
I will keep you all posted as to the foils and follies of the next 7 days. Wish me luck . . .
Friday afternoon, approximately 4 hours prior to our leaving for vacation, I was at the store doing some last minute things before leaving for the week. One of these last minute things included hanging a light fixture in the corner of what is going to be a spectacular kids room. I couldn't quite reach the ceiling by standing on the bed, so I grabbed a bar stool and used that to hang the light. I am standing on the bar stool with both arms reaching toward the ceiling, when the bar stool tips out from under me. Because my hands were full, I was unable to cushion my fall, and sadly, my knee took the brunt of the force.
As I was writhing around on the floor in excruciating pain, all I could think of was leaving in a few hours for my vacation. HOW COULD I HAVE DONE THIS??????
I get up and attempt to assess the damage. My leg is kind of dangling so I know that it can't be good. I try to put some weight on my leg, I hear a loud pop, and I'm back on the floor. Nothing really holding it together but some fat and skin.
Now I'm a bit nervous and starting to sweat. I call my mom and she comes to take me to the emergency room. (I had to pass by Enrique Los Hotpants in a wheelchair. Oy. That guy really gets to see the best in me.)
By the time we arrive at the ER I am just writhing in pain. Serious pain. And lucky for us, we got right in. My blood pressure is 150 over 110. Um, yeah, it hurts THAT bad.
The cute PA feels sorry for me so I quickly get a large injection of morphine. I am still in tons of pain, but I seriously don't care. A cute college kid gets put in the bed next to mine and before long he is asking for my number. Morphine is my friend.
As it turns out, the PA is leaving for Cancun in 4 hours, so he is just as eager to get out the door. I am quickly sent off for x-rays, and after a few minutes, I am told there is no break, given some crutches and a brace, and told to follow up with an orthopedic when I get back.
Well, as it turns out, even though morphine is my friend, morphine and crutches are mortal enemies. So, I had to finish packing from the perch of my wheelchair. (It only took me 17 minutes to scoot up the stairs.)
Needless to say, I was a bit suprised to find a screwdriver and 3 packets of parmesan cheese in the bottom of my bag.
So, dear Paco finishes up the packing and gets the car all neatly packed. He is totally OCD when it comes to packing so everything is perfectly weighted and balanced.
Our normal ritual is for me to drive the first and last leg, and Paco drives the middle bit. However, since I was seeing rainbows and unicorns, Paco did all 12 hours on his own. He is such a good man. And he never once complained when he had to stop every 2 hours to walk his wife. Good man. Very good man. (I'm still on drugs.)
So, now we are here at the beach. My favorite place in the world. I am still seeing rainbows and talking to unicorns, just in much better surroundings.
I will keep you all posted as to the foils and follies of the next 7 days. Wish me luck . . .
Saturday, April 11, 2009
It Takes A Village
As I am typing, the sounds of "Vacation" by the Go-Go's are swirling in my head. Since today starts the official beginning of our vacation, I am going to skip my normal ranting, and instead I am going to post something by my extremely hysterical Girlfriend Amy "Boom-Boom" B. (Official names have been changed to protect innocent families and wives from the wrath of deranged husbands.) This is something she emailed me and another Girlfriend the other day when we were all stuck home with sick kids. We are soo gonna write a book together. I totally peed myself whilst reading . . . (I LOVE the word whilst. I didn't make it up either.)
It Takes A Village , by Girlfriend Amy
Ok, so we are all home with sick kids...Miss M. came home with a fever...no other symptoms, and looked awful. Once she had some soup (Oh Lipton Cup O'Noodle, why didn't I buy your stock shares?) she seems to be on the rebound....Girlfriend J.--your comment about Z-man being active despite the fever pretty much sums up our house right now...
Since I'm getting caught up on everything I blew off over the weekend, I guess it's a productive day. Of course, when I have no vacation time left at the end of the year I will be happy that the laundry was caught up once. (eye twitch). And I can't find my mop! I know it's been a while, but how the hell does someone lose a mop? I'd ask the hubby, but I know that he wouldn't even know that we owned a mop, and that will lead into some comment about me wearing a french maid's outfit and he'll allude that I could dust his balls or something....
Overshare much? Between this and my comment about you two prostituting for groceries I imagine that you'll never open a message from me again....
With that, I have been thinking about how how we are each in our own homes, with our designated sick kid, and maybe there is something behind the "it takes a village" theory.....
so, imagine that we are in our village in the rainforest, while our sick kids recover....I think it may go a little something like this:
-There would not be snow predicted for tomorrow's weather forecast. We could complain about how the endless rain makes our hair frizz
-All the kids would be in their hammocks, if one of us was walking by we could give their forehead a quick check, swing the hammock a little bit, and go back to our spot around the fire
-The men would be out hunting a boar or wild pig (or are those the same?) and we would compare recipes about how to best cook it, as well as swap the leftovers--kind of like a Rainforest Buffet
-We could sit around the fire and laugh about how the Village Whore thinks she is so sexy, but really we know that she has stuffs her coconut bra with leaves and she really isn't as endowed as the men think she is
-There would be a steady supply of fermented fruit (I may not know how to build a fire, but I will figure out how to get wine of some sort)
-We could compare how to wrap ourselves in palm leaves that best accentuates our figures
-We could rearrange the hammocks in our huts. Then when the menfolk came home after the hunt, they could complain that their hammock wasn't where is was that morning, and they'll "totally crash into it when going out for a pee in the early morning hours, and why can't we just leave the hut as it was"
-We could gossip about how the couple in the hut next door were arguing because he wants her to dress up in a sarong that is much shorter than she finds acceptable
So, I think that really, there is a good purpose behind the "takes a village" approach....at least we could all chat and have a coffee or something while the kids recover. And I just watched Miss M. "recover" by being angry that there is a tv commercial. Clearly she is regaining her strength....
And I think that there is something questionable going on between Moose A. Moose and Zee on the Noggin channel. Those 2 spend a lot of time together, and I don't think either one wears pants.
Good luck girlfriends, hope the kids feel better soon so they can return for a HALF day tomorrow and NO SCHOOL on Thursday. Not that I'm bitter.....
(and where the hell is my mop??? Now I'm tempted to get once of those steamy ones that they sell on tv...the H2O mop or whatever it's called...I've already been conned by the Sham Wow...that Vince guy deserves getting bit by that hooker).
It Takes A Village , by Girlfriend Amy
Ok, so we are all home with sick kids...Miss M. came home with a fever...no other symptoms, and looked awful. Once she had some soup (Oh Lipton Cup O'Noodle, why didn't I buy your stock shares?) she seems to be on the rebound....Girlfriend J.--your comment about Z-man being active despite the fever pretty much sums up our house right now...
Since I'm getting caught up on everything I blew off over the weekend, I guess it's a productive day. Of course, when I have no vacation time left at the end of the year I will be happy that the laundry was caught up once. (eye twitch). And I can't find my mop! I know it's been a while, but how the hell does someone lose a mop? I'd ask the hubby, but I know that he wouldn't even know that we owned a mop, and that will lead into some comment about me wearing a french maid's outfit and he'll allude that I could dust his balls or something....
Overshare much? Between this and my comment about you two prostituting for groceries I imagine that you'll never open a message from me again....
With that, I have been thinking about how how we are each in our own homes, with our designated sick kid, and maybe there is something behind the "it takes a village" theory.....
so, imagine that we are in our village in the rainforest, while our sick kids recover....I think it may go a little something like this:
-There would not be snow predicted for tomorrow's weather forecast. We could complain about how the endless rain makes our hair frizz
-All the kids would be in their hammocks, if one of us was walking by we could give their forehead a quick check, swing the hammock a little bit, and go back to our spot around the fire
-The men would be out hunting a boar or wild pig (or are those the same?) and we would compare recipes about how to best cook it, as well as swap the leftovers--kind of like a Rainforest Buffet
-We could sit around the fire and laugh about how the Village Whore thinks she is so sexy, but really we know that she has stuffs her coconut bra with leaves and she really isn't as endowed as the men think she is
-There would be a steady supply of fermented fruit (I may not know how to build a fire, but I will figure out how to get wine of some sort)
-We could compare how to wrap ourselves in palm leaves that best accentuates our figures
-We could rearrange the hammocks in our huts. Then when the menfolk came home after the hunt, they could complain that their hammock wasn't where is was that morning, and they'll "totally crash into it when going out for a pee in the early morning hours, and why can't we just leave the hut as it was"
-We could gossip about how the couple in the hut next door were arguing because he wants her to dress up in a sarong that is much shorter than she finds acceptable
So, I think that really, there is a good purpose behind the "takes a village" approach....at least we could all chat and have a coffee or something while the kids recover. And I just watched Miss M. "recover" by being angry that there is a tv commercial. Clearly she is regaining her strength....
And I think that there is something questionable going on between Moose A. Moose and Zee on the Noggin channel. Those 2 spend a lot of time together, and I don't think either one wears pants.
Good luck girlfriends, hope the kids feel better soon so they can return for a HALF day tomorrow and NO SCHOOL on Thursday. Not that I'm bitter.....
(and where the hell is my mop??? Now I'm tempted to get once of those steamy ones that they sell on tv...the H2O mop or whatever it's called...I've already been conned by the Sham Wow...that Vince guy deserves getting bit by that hooker).
Friday, April 10, 2009
No Hatin'
I don't want you all to be hatin' on me, but at this moment, I am finishing packing for our trip to Myrtle Beach. We will be leaving as soon as Paco gets home from school.
For the next seven days I will be holed up at a fabulous Ocean-front resort with 20 pools sipping margartitas and getting sand in my toenails.
But, alas, it is not all good as I am taking Paco and the kids with me. I couldn't talk them out of it.
However, I will keep you all posted with tales from the land of fabulosity and (hopefully) sun and warmth.
Until them, remember, it IS 5:00 somewhere . . .
For the next seven days I will be holed up at a fabulous Ocean-front resort with 20 pools sipping margartitas and getting sand in my toenails.
But, alas, it is not all good as I am taking Paco and the kids with me. I couldn't talk them out of it.
However, I will keep you all posted with tales from the land of fabulosity and (hopefully) sun and warmth.
Until them, remember, it IS 5:00 somewhere . . .
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Glory, Glory, Hallelujah
Rarely do I have the time or energy to do two posts in one day, but I have exciting news and I must shout it from the rooftops! I'm in love, I'm in love, I'm in LOVE!! And I don't care who knows it! (That is my quote from the movie "Elf" because that may be one of the best movies, like, EVER.)
I have found a fabulous swimsuit that actually FITS! (Cue trumpets, sun beams, and parting of the sea.) Dum, dum, da, dum, I SAID that I found a fabulous swimsuit that fits AND looks halfway decent. (Cue loud gasps and applause!)
I was completely freaked out a first, because when I opened the package and pulled out the suit, it looked like it was supposed to fit a 7 year old. I may have had to lube up my thighs with baby oil and jump off the bed to get into the darn thing, but once it was up and on the sun came out from behind the clouds and I could hear the angels in heaven trumpeting the sweet sounds of "Glory, Glory, Hallelujah."
The darn thing cost me more than a week's worth of groceries, but it is a "miraclesuit:, and I must say that it lives up to it's name. I actually have two separate boobs, a distinct right, and a distinct left. And, my girls are even in the proper hemisphere. I don't have that loaf-of-bread bosom that you usually get with swimsuits. It is simply fabulous!
And the truly exciting part is that when you look at me from the front, I have an actual waist. There is this fabulous hourglass thing going on. (Sadly, when you look at me from the side, there too is a not-so-fabulous hourglass thing going on. However, that one is all on me. Oy.)
I don't know what this suit is made out of, perhaps duct-tape fibers and anti-gravity solution, but it is quite possibly the greatest piece of clothing I have ever owned. I am so gonna wear it to my Parent-Teacher conferences today. I will get my money's worth one way or another.
Perhaps I have merely overdosed on happy pills and this suit doesn't look nearly as good as I think it does . . .
Santa! Oh my God! Santa's coming! I KNOW him! I know him!
I have found a fabulous swimsuit that actually FITS! (Cue trumpets, sun beams, and parting of the sea.) Dum, dum, da, dum, I SAID that I found a fabulous swimsuit that fits AND looks halfway decent. (Cue loud gasps and applause!)
I was completely freaked out a first, because when I opened the package and pulled out the suit, it looked like it was supposed to fit a 7 year old. I may have had to lube up my thighs with baby oil and jump off the bed to get into the darn thing, but once it was up and on the sun came out from behind the clouds and I could hear the angels in heaven trumpeting the sweet sounds of "Glory, Glory, Hallelujah."
The darn thing cost me more than a week's worth of groceries, but it is a "miraclesuit:, and I must say that it lives up to it's name. I actually have two separate boobs, a distinct right, and a distinct left. And, my girls are even in the proper hemisphere. I don't have that loaf-of-bread bosom that you usually get with swimsuits. It is simply fabulous!
And the truly exciting part is that when you look at me from the front, I have an actual waist. There is this fabulous hourglass thing going on. (Sadly, when you look at me from the side, there too is a not-so-fabulous hourglass thing going on. However, that one is all on me. Oy.)
I don't know what this suit is made out of, perhaps duct-tape fibers and anti-gravity solution, but it is quite possibly the greatest piece of clothing I have ever owned. I am so gonna wear it to my Parent-Teacher conferences today. I will get my money's worth one way or another.
Perhaps I have merely overdosed on happy pills and this suit doesn't look nearly as good as I think it does . . .
Santa! Oh my God! Santa's coming! I KNOW him! I know him!
Eating me out of House and Home
I have three little boys that are capable of eating mass quantities of food. These boys can easily eat their body weight in food. When I complain to people all I get is a “you’re so lucky that they are such good eaters.” What I am looking for is an “I am so sorry that you have to mortgage the house to buy groceries.”
For some reason breakfast in our house has somehow turned into a bit of a diner experience. They basically “order” what they want. At any given point I try to be well stocked with eggs, sausage, toast, toaster strudel, hot pockets, French toast sticks, Fruity Pebbles, Frosted Mini Wheats, All-Bran with Strawberries (this is a favorite of Deuce, weird, I know), yogurt, fruit, and Fiber One Bars. I know this sounds like a lot of food, but they fly through it all in record time.
If you think I am exaggerating (as I might have a slight tendency to do), I will assure you that I am not. For breakfast this morning we went through 8 eggs, a pound of sausage links, 3 yogurt smoothies, a bowl of fruity pebbles and a half a loaf of bread. And that is just the kids. And the truly sad part is that I got two “I’m hungry”s before we even made it out the door. (I sooooooooooo wanted to cry.)
Yes, I am lucky that my kids are good eaters. They will eat just about anything, and they are always willing to try new things. But for 3 skinny little boogars, they seem to have endless stomachs. I can’t even begin to think of what they will be like as teenagers. Oy.
I posted a note on my Facebook page the other day that I couldn’t believe the mass quantities of food three boys are able to consume, and that I may have to prostitute myself for groceries. Naturally, I thought this was hysterical, and I got many responses that supported that.
However, when I mentioned this to Paco he flipped out. “This is exactly the type of thing that could come back to haunt you some day. What if a potential employer is looking at that?”
Um, well, then, they would think I am hysterical and they would hire me because they know I need the money to feed my kids.
And then Paco says “You know, if I ever do decide to run for President, it is this type of thing that will be my downfall.”
OK, so seriously?? The only thing he has ever talked about “running” for is to lose weight by “running” on the treadmill. But, this is the SECOND time we have had this sort of conversation.
Honestly, I think America would LOVE me as a First Lady. Don’t you? I can’t understand why he would think that a comment about prostituting for groceries would be construed as negative. If anything, it would make me seem more humane. I mean the fact that I am willing to do anything to feed my kids would certainly score some points with conservatives, right?
But I love that we keeping having this conversation. It gives me something to aspire to. However, it will not change the way I think, speak, or act. I am who I am, and as a possible, potential future wife of a political candidate I can only think that it would serve to better our position to have all our skeletons out in the open. Perhaps we can start a new trend in politics. Put it all out there up front and let the voters decide. Now there’s a concept, don’t you think?
In the meantime, I will continue to clip coupons and shop sales for groceries. I don’t have to resort to drastic measures yet . . .
For some reason breakfast in our house has somehow turned into a bit of a diner experience. They basically “order” what they want. At any given point I try to be well stocked with eggs, sausage, toast, toaster strudel, hot pockets, French toast sticks, Fruity Pebbles, Frosted Mini Wheats, All-Bran with Strawberries (this is a favorite of Deuce, weird, I know), yogurt, fruit, and Fiber One Bars. I know this sounds like a lot of food, but they fly through it all in record time.
If you think I am exaggerating (as I might have a slight tendency to do), I will assure you that I am not. For breakfast this morning we went through 8 eggs, a pound of sausage links, 3 yogurt smoothies, a bowl of fruity pebbles and a half a loaf of bread. And that is just the kids. And the truly sad part is that I got two “I’m hungry”s before we even made it out the door. (I sooooooooooo wanted to cry.)
Yes, I am lucky that my kids are good eaters. They will eat just about anything, and they are always willing to try new things. But for 3 skinny little boogars, they seem to have endless stomachs. I can’t even begin to think of what they will be like as teenagers. Oy.
I posted a note on my Facebook page the other day that I couldn’t believe the mass quantities of food three boys are able to consume, and that I may have to prostitute myself for groceries. Naturally, I thought this was hysterical, and I got many responses that supported that.
However, when I mentioned this to Paco he flipped out. “This is exactly the type of thing that could come back to haunt you some day. What if a potential employer is looking at that?”
Um, well, then, they would think I am hysterical and they would hire me because they know I need the money to feed my kids.
And then Paco says “You know, if I ever do decide to run for President, it is this type of thing that will be my downfall.”
OK, so seriously?? The only thing he has ever talked about “running” for is to lose weight by “running” on the treadmill. But, this is the SECOND time we have had this sort of conversation.
Honestly, I think America would LOVE me as a First Lady. Don’t you? I can’t understand why he would think that a comment about prostituting for groceries would be construed as negative. If anything, it would make me seem more humane. I mean the fact that I am willing to do anything to feed my kids would certainly score some points with conservatives, right?
But I love that we keeping having this conversation. It gives me something to aspire to. However, it will not change the way I think, speak, or act. I am who I am, and as a possible, potential future wife of a political candidate I can only think that it would serve to better our position to have all our skeletons out in the open. Perhaps we can start a new trend in politics. Put it all out there up front and let the voters decide. Now there’s a concept, don’t you think?
In the meantime, I will continue to clip coupons and shop sales for groceries. I don’t have to resort to drastic measures yet . . .
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Car and Driver
I don’t speak Car and Driver. So, I find it humorous that Paco always has me take the cars to be serviced and then complains because I never get it right. And it must be that time of year because I have spent 2 days in the last week stuck at various auto dealerships getting the vehicles repaired and serviced.
The other day I took the van to get the brakes looked at and to have some warranty work done to the door and a seat frame. First of all, I was charged a “diagnostic fee” for the dealership to even look at the car. Needless to say, that upset me quite a bit. I bought the dang car there, and they need to charge me money to tell me what’s wrong with it so then they can charge me more money to fix it. After dropping off my van at 8:30 am (I had an appointment) I finally get a call at 3pm that my van needs new rotors, brakes, an air filter, and an oil change. And, they can do this for $587 plus tax. WTF??????
OK, so I don’t speak car and driver, but I’m not a FREAKIN’ MORON either!
I kindly tell the gentleman just to do the warranty work and I will take the van elsewhere to get repaired.
Then he has the nerve to try to talk me into the repairs. “Ma’am, you really shouldn’t be driving your car in this condition. We could make all the necessary repairs and have everything ready for you in 2 hours.”
“OK then, if you can have everything ready in two hours , then why are you charging me 8 hours worth of labor? And why are you charging me $109 for rotors and $72 for brake pads when I can get them at the parts store for $39 and $24? Oh, and also, if you blow out the air filter with an air compressor, they clean up like new.”
Obviously he wasn’t expecting me to have a clue because there was a long silence and then I got a “ok then, all your warranty work has been done and you car can be picked up any time.”
Yeah, thanks.
So today I am getting the Suburban serviced. It needed an oil change. The fancy place that I’m at today even does a free 29 point inspection. And of the 29 things, I think this guy is trying to tell me that 28 things are wrong.
Again, we need brakes and rotors. (just on the rear this time.) And, the transmission fluid is almost black. And we really need an alignment. And wiper blades. And, they can fix it all up for us for the low, low price of $818 plus tax.
OK, do I really have MORON tattooed on my forehead?
I kindly tell the nice 18 year old that is helping me that my husband can replace the brakes and rotors, and that I’ll have him switch out the transmission fluid as well.
“But ma’am, we have a machine that can do all the work for you. Your transmission holds 14 quarts of fluid. It can be very messy.”
Didn’t I just tell you that my husband can do it? My hands won’t get dirty. No worries. And, it will only cost me about $250 for everything. Thanks though. I did cave and tell him to do the alignment because I know Paco can’t do that.
So as I am waiting for my alignment to be completed I pour myself a cup of really bad coffee with some pathetic powdered creamer and start watching the Today show. Did you know that during the last hour of the Today show that Kathie Lee Gifford is a host? I had no idea. So anyway, after watching for 20 minutes I have decided that I CAN NOT STAND KATHIE LEE GIFFORD. I even had the pleasure of seeing her cheating-hubby Frank because he had a cameo. Seriously, someone needs to send her away on a cruise that never comes back. How can someone that spells Kathy with an “ie” on the end NOT be annoying? (um, if any of you spell your name that way it totally doesn’t count.)
But after this last week of dealing with car repairs I have decided that I am going to open a garage. Obviously there is some big money to be made in this business. And since no one is shopping at my store, I am thinking I might have to find another job soon enough anyway.
I will cater my garage to women and the few men on the planet that have no clue about cars. I will serve great coffee with real creamers, have great shows on the TV, have clean and comfy chairs in the waiting area, and women working behind the counter that can explain in human terms what really needs to be done. There will be a huge glass wall so people can see the hot mechanics in muscle shirts working on their cars. (And, seriously, I will ONLY hire hot mechanics in muscle shirts.) And, I will charge less than everyone else. (When they bill you $90 an hour for labor and you KNOW they are only paying the staff minimum wage, you can’t go wrong.) It’s brilliant! I might even offer spa services while you wait. Oh, the possibilities. . .
I feel another career move coming on . . .
The other day I took the van to get the brakes looked at and to have some warranty work done to the door and a seat frame. First of all, I was charged a “diagnostic fee” for the dealership to even look at the car. Needless to say, that upset me quite a bit. I bought the dang car there, and they need to charge me money to tell me what’s wrong with it so then they can charge me more money to fix it. After dropping off my van at 8:30 am (I had an appointment) I finally get a call at 3pm that my van needs new rotors, brakes, an air filter, and an oil change. And, they can do this for $587 plus tax. WTF??????
OK, so I don’t speak car and driver, but I’m not a FREAKIN’ MORON either!
I kindly tell the gentleman just to do the warranty work and I will take the van elsewhere to get repaired.
Then he has the nerve to try to talk me into the repairs. “Ma’am, you really shouldn’t be driving your car in this condition. We could make all the necessary repairs and have everything ready for you in 2 hours.”
“OK then, if you can have everything ready in two hours , then why are you charging me 8 hours worth of labor? And why are you charging me $109 for rotors and $72 for brake pads when I can get them at the parts store for $39 and $24? Oh, and also, if you blow out the air filter with an air compressor, they clean up like new.”
Obviously he wasn’t expecting me to have a clue because there was a long silence and then I got a “ok then, all your warranty work has been done and you car can be picked up any time.”
Yeah, thanks.
So today I am getting the Suburban serviced. It needed an oil change. The fancy place that I’m at today even does a free 29 point inspection. And of the 29 things, I think this guy is trying to tell me that 28 things are wrong.
Again, we need brakes and rotors. (just on the rear this time.) And, the transmission fluid is almost black. And we really need an alignment. And wiper blades. And, they can fix it all up for us for the low, low price of $818 plus tax.
OK, do I really have MORON tattooed on my forehead?
I kindly tell the nice 18 year old that is helping me that my husband can replace the brakes and rotors, and that I’ll have him switch out the transmission fluid as well.
“But ma’am, we have a machine that can do all the work for you. Your transmission holds 14 quarts of fluid. It can be very messy.”
Didn’t I just tell you that my husband can do it? My hands won’t get dirty. No worries. And, it will only cost me about $250 for everything. Thanks though. I did cave and tell him to do the alignment because I know Paco can’t do that.
So as I am waiting for my alignment to be completed I pour myself a cup of really bad coffee with some pathetic powdered creamer and start watching the Today show. Did you know that during the last hour of the Today show that Kathie Lee Gifford is a host? I had no idea. So anyway, after watching for 20 minutes I have decided that I CAN NOT STAND KATHIE LEE GIFFORD. I even had the pleasure of seeing her cheating-hubby Frank because he had a cameo. Seriously, someone needs to send her away on a cruise that never comes back. How can someone that spells Kathy with an “ie” on the end NOT be annoying? (um, if any of you spell your name that way it totally doesn’t count.)
But after this last week of dealing with car repairs I have decided that I am going to open a garage. Obviously there is some big money to be made in this business. And since no one is shopping at my store, I am thinking I might have to find another job soon enough anyway.
I will cater my garage to women and the few men on the planet that have no clue about cars. I will serve great coffee with real creamers, have great shows on the TV, have clean and comfy chairs in the waiting area, and women working behind the counter that can explain in human terms what really needs to be done. There will be a huge glass wall so people can see the hot mechanics in muscle shirts working on their cars. (And, seriously, I will ONLY hire hot mechanics in muscle shirts.) And, I will charge less than everyone else. (When they bill you $90 an hour for labor and you KNOW they are only paying the staff minimum wage, you can’t go wrong.) It’s brilliant! I might even offer spa services while you wait. Oh, the possibilities. . .
I feel another career move coming on . . .
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Learning the lingo
I don’t think it’s a big secret that I am not the most technologically advanced. I am slowly learning the ropes. It may take me a few tries, but eventually I am able to figure things out.
I am very proud to confess that in addition to my presence on FaceBook, I am now tweeting on Twitter. That sounds very kinky, but in actuality it is very innocent. Twitter is a site that basically allows everyone to give a brief sentence to let the world know what they are up to. It’s basically just the status update part of Facebook. But the fun part of Twitter is that you can follow anyone, and you don’t need to get permission. For instance, I am currently following Justin Timberlake, Jimmy Fallon, Tina Fey, and Chewbacca. Chewbacca mainly just says things like “Arggghhhhuuuurrr” and “Rrraaaagggeeuurrr”, but I can totally relate. (Um just so you don’t think that I have all sorts of time on my hands, I actually went to a small business seminar and they recommend that you connect yourself on all these social networking sites so that people can relate to you on a more personal level and they will feel like they know you personally when they shop your store. In theory that is great. But when I tweet about hooker boots and xanax somehow I feel like I might be taking a step in the wrong direction. Ooops.)
The thing I have the most trouble with right now is probably one of the most basic. My cell phone. My cell phone is probably far more advanced than I could ever possibly need. I use the phone for 4 things: making phone calls, taking pictures, an alarm clock (laugh now, but every Monday through Friday I get an obnoxious buzzing sound at 1:30 pm that reminds me I need to go and pick up my kids. Without it I’m sure I would be late 95% of the time) and texting. The fact that my phone has internet, GPS, and music playing capabilities is all beyond my capabilities.
The texting part is a still bit advanced for me. I am one of the few people on the planet that must text with proper spelling, grammar, and punctuation. So I am not very fast to say the least. And I am still learning all the texting lingo. For the longest time I thought LOL meant “Lord oh Lord”. (It’s far more fun than “laugh out loud” don’t you think?)
Well recently I have been turned on to WTF, which in texting lingo means “What the F.?” And I just love it. I have a whole “What the????” face and sound that I make every time I see it or type it. It is so much fun to just sort of wrinkle up your face, squint your eyes, and say “What the . . . .???” You don’t even need the swear word. I find myself thinking it all the time now. And I will often just give people (aka Paco) the “look” now. I don’t even say it. He totally knows my WTF face now. He even has his own version.
But it’s so much fun to throw it into everyday living.
“Honey, I made tacos for dinner.” WTF?? (Insert wrinkled face making the WTF look)
“Babe, the dog just puked up a green army man on the leather couch.” WTF???
“Mom, I’ve got skid marks.” WTF????
It’s my private little joke. And for some reason, I over-use it to such a point that I find it absolutely hysterical. (Yes, I know, I need to up my meds.)
I am slowly starting to learn the proper texting lingo, as I have had to ask my niece just about every time someone texts me something beyond my basic knowledge.
I will share some of the lingo that I have learned recently, and some that I have created because I think it is far more fun.
LMAO- laughing my ass off
ROFL – rolling on the floor laughing
LSHIS – laughing so hard I sharted (a shart is a moist fart that leaves behind
residue Mom. I know you will ask)
PM – peed myself
TNTSTK – trying not to strangle the kids
As I am starting to master the acronyms, I am now moving on to making the smiley faces and winky faces. I am quite proud that I recently learned how to make a heart! (The less than sign with the number 3)
I have even figured out how to twitter my status updates on my cell phone so that they automatically update on my Facebook page. WTF??? Yes, I agree that sounds very technologically advanced, and I am quite proud to say that I actually know what it all means. (Even if I did have to have somebody else show me how to do it.)
So, if you are tweeting, I’m JPwiczer. Follow me, and I’ll follow you. And if you have no idea what I am talking about, well that’s ok too. We all have to start somewhere.
I am very proud to confess that in addition to my presence on FaceBook, I am now tweeting on Twitter. That sounds very kinky, but in actuality it is very innocent. Twitter is a site that basically allows everyone to give a brief sentence to let the world know what they are up to. It’s basically just the status update part of Facebook. But the fun part of Twitter is that you can follow anyone, and you don’t need to get permission. For instance, I am currently following Justin Timberlake, Jimmy Fallon, Tina Fey, and Chewbacca. Chewbacca mainly just says things like “Arggghhhhuuuurrr” and “Rrraaaagggeeuurrr”, but I can totally relate. (Um just so you don’t think that I have all sorts of time on my hands, I actually went to a small business seminar and they recommend that you connect yourself on all these social networking sites so that people can relate to you on a more personal level and they will feel like they know you personally when they shop your store. In theory that is great. But when I tweet about hooker boots and xanax somehow I feel like I might be taking a step in the wrong direction. Ooops.)
The thing I have the most trouble with right now is probably one of the most basic. My cell phone. My cell phone is probably far more advanced than I could ever possibly need. I use the phone for 4 things: making phone calls, taking pictures, an alarm clock (laugh now, but every Monday through Friday I get an obnoxious buzzing sound at 1:30 pm that reminds me I need to go and pick up my kids. Without it I’m sure I would be late 95% of the time) and texting. The fact that my phone has internet, GPS, and music playing capabilities is all beyond my capabilities.
The texting part is a still bit advanced for me. I am one of the few people on the planet that must text with proper spelling, grammar, and punctuation. So I am not very fast to say the least. And I am still learning all the texting lingo. For the longest time I thought LOL meant “Lord oh Lord”. (It’s far more fun than “laugh out loud” don’t you think?)
Well recently I have been turned on to WTF, which in texting lingo means “What the F.?” And I just love it. I have a whole “What the????” face and sound that I make every time I see it or type it. It is so much fun to just sort of wrinkle up your face, squint your eyes, and say “What the . . . .???” You don’t even need the swear word. I find myself thinking it all the time now. And I will often just give people (aka Paco) the “look” now. I don’t even say it. He totally knows my WTF face now. He even has his own version.
But it’s so much fun to throw it into everyday living.
“Honey, I made tacos for dinner.” WTF?? (Insert wrinkled face making the WTF look)
“Babe, the dog just puked up a green army man on the leather couch.” WTF???
“Mom, I’ve got skid marks.” WTF????
It’s my private little joke. And for some reason, I over-use it to such a point that I find it absolutely hysterical. (Yes, I know, I need to up my meds.)
I am slowly starting to learn the proper texting lingo, as I have had to ask my niece just about every time someone texts me something beyond my basic knowledge.
I will share some of the lingo that I have learned recently, and some that I have created because I think it is far more fun.
LMAO- laughing my ass off
ROFL – rolling on the floor laughing
LSHIS – laughing so hard I sharted (a shart is a moist fart that leaves behind
residue Mom. I know you will ask)
PM – peed myself
TNTSTK – trying not to strangle the kids
As I am starting to master the acronyms, I am now moving on to making the smiley faces and winky faces. I am quite proud that I recently learned how to make a heart! (The less than sign with the number 3)
I have even figured out how to twitter my status updates on my cell phone so that they automatically update on my Facebook page. WTF??? Yes, I agree that sounds very technologically advanced, and I am quite proud to say that I actually know what it all means. (Even if I did have to have somebody else show me how to do it.)
So, if you are tweeting, I’m JPwiczer. Follow me, and I’ll follow you. And if you have no idea what I am talking about, well that’s ok too. We all have to start somewhere.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Killing Me Softly With His Songs . . .
My sons are natural entertainers. I think they get that from Paco. They love to sing and dance. We spend lots of nights at home just listening to music and dancing around.
We listen to all sorts of music. So the boys have a great appreciation for everything from Elvis and the Rolling Stones to the Jonas Brothers. I always used to laugh when I saw the infomercials for those Kidz Bop CD's, wondering who would want to hear a bunch of kids singing and be crazy enough to buy them. Sadly, I must admit that we own Kidz Bops 11-15. Oy.
The 2 older boys both asked for Ipods for their birthdays this year. (OK, so they think Ipods are the old-school CD walkmans, but hey, I saved a LOT of money on their presents this year . . .) So, I have the pleasure of listening to them sing along to their various Kidz Bops as I drive them to school every morning.
The only problem with my little rock-n-rollers is that they have a tendancy to get the words wrong. Sometimes, very, very wrong.
I am going to list actual song lyrics as intereperted and sung by my precious children. (If you were not a teenager or a 20 year old in the 90's then you probably won't recognize half these songs. Sorry.)
red neck wine - to the tune of red red wine (UB40)
i gotta go pee pee - O.P.P.
I like big butts and I can not lie, you other brothers can't deny, my brother from another mother (Baby got back)
kokomo - aruba bahama come on baby momma (Beach boys)
chicken shout, chicken shout, - shout at the devil (AC/DC)
Here I am. Rockin' like a Burger King. (Rock you like a Hurricaine)
cheese my cherry pie - (She's My Cherry Pie)
Sadly, I know that there are many, many more that I have simply forgotten. I will try to list them as I remember. But you get the idea. It's always VERY interesting.
We listen to all sorts of music. So the boys have a great appreciation for everything from Elvis and the Rolling Stones to the Jonas Brothers. I always used to laugh when I saw the infomercials for those Kidz Bop CD's, wondering who would want to hear a bunch of kids singing and be crazy enough to buy them. Sadly, I must admit that we own Kidz Bops 11-15. Oy.
The 2 older boys both asked for Ipods for their birthdays this year. (OK, so they think Ipods are the old-school CD walkmans, but hey, I saved a LOT of money on their presents this year . . .) So, I have the pleasure of listening to them sing along to their various Kidz Bops as I drive them to school every morning.
The only problem with my little rock-n-rollers is that they have a tendancy to get the words wrong. Sometimes, very, very wrong.
I am going to list actual song lyrics as intereperted and sung by my precious children. (If you were not a teenager or a 20 year old in the 90's then you probably won't recognize half these songs. Sorry.)
red neck wine - to the tune of red red wine (UB40)
i gotta go pee pee - O.P.P.
I like big butts and I can not lie, you other brothers can't deny, my brother from another mother (Baby got back)
kokomo - aruba bahama come on baby momma (Beach boys)
chicken shout, chicken shout, - shout at the devil (AC/DC)
Here I am. Rockin' like a Burger King. (Rock you like a Hurricaine)
cheese my cherry pie - (She's My Cherry Pie)
Sadly, I know that there are many, many more that I have simply forgotten. I will try to list them as I remember. But you get the idea. It's always VERY interesting.
Friday, April 3, 2009
Do You Want My Autograph?
The weirdest thing happened to me today in Wegmans. First of all, I went into Wegmans to buy some Cilantro and a loaf of Italian Bread and I managed to spend over $200, but that is another story . . .
So I am in front of the Mediteranean Olive Bar when this woman walks up to me and starts talking to me.
"You are so right. The bangs ARE fabulous! They make you look 25! You don't need Botox!" says the lovely lady in her best Cheerleader voice.
"Thanks!" I say. "But, if you ever hear of a sale on Botox, please let me know."
"You are sooo funny!" she says, "You look great! How are the workouts going? How much weight have you lost?"
"Well, I think I gained 4 pounds." I say somberly. "And after I leave this store I'll probably be up another 2 pounds."
"Just don't walk in front of the bakery case," she jokes and heads toward the deli case.
The thing here is, I have never met this woman. I know my memory isn't what it used to be, but I still have some recollection of people I've met. And, I have never met this woman. Honestly, I have never seen her before. I'm panicking trying to remember how I know her? Is it through family? School? Work? A drunken binge that I have completely erased from my mind?
So, it dawned on me that people I have never met are reading my blog. And, I am totally flattered. However, if you see me in public, INTRODUCE YOURSELF! I'm a fun girl. We can be BFF's! At least give me a name or something. Or a favorite color. Something to work with. I can't have it all be one sided. I'm too nosy for that.
I run into this woman again in front of the tomotoes. So, I say, "Hey, I'm sorry if I offend you, but I really can't remember your name. I lost too many brain cells in the 90's"
After chatting for a bit longer, she tells me that we have never met, she loves my blog, everyone at her work reads it, and she said that I am not nearly as big in real life as I make my self sound in my blog. (I LOOOOOOVE you Girlfriend Carol! You are in my will!)
So, I flitted myself all around Wegmans thinking that I was pretty hot stuff. I mean, I was recognized. I may have been wearing my spandex pants that show the cellulite on the back of my thighs and a stained sweatshirt, but, hey, I was trying to go incognito, right? Just when I am thinking how hot to trot I am I managed to ram my cart right into the heel of an 80 year old man looking at tissues. Well, that brought me down to earth in a hurry. Yeah, um, sorry 'bout that. But, I'm kind of a mini-celebrity right now so you should be flattered that I ran into you. Um, NOT! (Another nod to the nineties there in case you missed it.)
I am a crazed wife and mother. I don't think of myself as anything special. I probably shouldn't even have children as I am not what one might consider a role model. I just have the talent to put my crazed thoughts and experiences into words to share with others. And, thankfully, many of you are in the same boat as me so I never have to paddle alone.
The only thing I ask is that you all introduce yourself if you see me. (I mean if I don't already know you.) I love your comments and feedback. It's what keeps me going. And share your stories! That makes it even better. I can't thank you all enough for the love and encouragement. We Girlfriends are all in this TOGETHER!!!
Oh, and if you ever run into my hubby, be sure to call him Paco and make some smart comment about him finally coming out of the closet . . .
So I am in front of the Mediteranean Olive Bar when this woman walks up to me and starts talking to me.
"You are so right. The bangs ARE fabulous! They make you look 25! You don't need Botox!" says the lovely lady in her best Cheerleader voice.
"Thanks!" I say. "But, if you ever hear of a sale on Botox, please let me know."
"You are sooo funny!" she says, "You look great! How are the workouts going? How much weight have you lost?"
"Well, I think I gained 4 pounds." I say somberly. "And after I leave this store I'll probably be up another 2 pounds."
"Just don't walk in front of the bakery case," she jokes and heads toward the deli case.
The thing here is, I have never met this woman. I know my memory isn't what it used to be, but I still have some recollection of people I've met. And, I have never met this woman. Honestly, I have never seen her before. I'm panicking trying to remember how I know her? Is it through family? School? Work? A drunken binge that I have completely erased from my mind?
So, it dawned on me that people I have never met are reading my blog. And, I am totally flattered. However, if you see me in public, INTRODUCE YOURSELF! I'm a fun girl. We can be BFF's! At least give me a name or something. Or a favorite color. Something to work with. I can't have it all be one sided. I'm too nosy for that.
I run into this woman again in front of the tomotoes. So, I say, "Hey, I'm sorry if I offend you, but I really can't remember your name. I lost too many brain cells in the 90's"
After chatting for a bit longer, she tells me that we have never met, she loves my blog, everyone at her work reads it, and she said that I am not nearly as big in real life as I make my self sound in my blog. (I LOOOOOOVE you Girlfriend Carol! You are in my will!)
So, I flitted myself all around Wegmans thinking that I was pretty hot stuff. I mean, I was recognized. I may have been wearing my spandex pants that show the cellulite on the back of my thighs and a stained sweatshirt, but, hey, I was trying to go incognito, right? Just when I am thinking how hot to trot I am I managed to ram my cart right into the heel of an 80 year old man looking at tissues. Well, that brought me down to earth in a hurry. Yeah, um, sorry 'bout that. But, I'm kind of a mini-celebrity right now so you should be flattered that I ran into you. Um, NOT! (Another nod to the nineties there in case you missed it.)
I am a crazed wife and mother. I don't think of myself as anything special. I probably shouldn't even have children as I am not what one might consider a role model. I just have the talent to put my crazed thoughts and experiences into words to share with others. And, thankfully, many of you are in the same boat as me so I never have to paddle alone.
The only thing I ask is that you all introduce yourself if you see me. (I mean if I don't already know you.) I love your comments and feedback. It's what keeps me going. And share your stories! That makes it even better. I can't thank you all enough for the love and encouragement. We Girlfriends are all in this TOGETHER!!!
Oh, and if you ever run into my hubby, be sure to call him Paco and make some smart comment about him finally coming out of the closet . . .
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Pringles are the Anti-Christ
Let me start of by saying that I very rarely eat potato chips. I know that sounds like a lie coming from a fat girl and all. But, I have gall-stones, and potato chips cause me much more pain than they are worth. So, I try to avoid them at all costs.
Today however, I made an exception. I had just loaded up on groceries and was heading to the school to pick up the boys. The boys love pringles, so I thought I would surprise them with a favorite snack.
As I was driving along I realized that I hadn't eaten lunch and I was hungry. So, I decided to open the pringles and have a few. They wouldn't miss a couple. I took out a small stack and started savoring each delicious chip.
I'm driving, listening to music, enjoying the sunshine, and I quickly munch through my small stack of pringles. Oh, since I haven't had lunch, a few more won't hurt.
Doot dee doot de dooo, I'm still driving along bopping to the tunes, and again, I'm quickly out of pringles. Just a few more. . . And a few more . . . and a few more . . .
The next thing you know I am tipping up the empty can to drink the last of the crumbs and frantically hiding the evidence under the car seat as I pull into the school parking lot.
I'm already feeling sick to my stomach and having acid reflux. Not to mention feeling insanely guilty for breaking my diet with one pathetic can of chips.
I get the kids loaded and we head for home. We are close to home and a raft of ducks runs across the road in front of my van and I have to slam on the brakes. (I googled it and a bunch of ducks is called a raft. Weird, eh?) So, anyways, I slam on the brakes and the darn pringles can rolls out from under the seat.
Naturally, my 6 year old spots it immediately. He doesn't miss a beat. "Mom! Did you get us some pringles????"
"Oh honey, that's from a long time ago." I sweetly lie to him.
"Can you buy us some pringles some time? They're my favorite. Do you have a coupon?" he says so innocently.
OK, so now I feel like total crap. I lied to my precious son, I am burping up acidic portions of chewed potato chips, I've consumed over 1000 calories that I didn't even appreciate, and I have a serious case of pringles-breath.
By the time I get home, I'm in so much pain that I have beads of sweat rolling down my face, my stomach is churning, and I have heart burn so bad that actual flames are shooting from my mouth.
So I have decided that pringles are evil. They force me to lie, cheat, and they are contributing to global warming by forcing humans to emit toxic gases. And seriously, each can should just be considered one friggen serving because it's impossible to not eat the entire can. I will try to remember all this the next time I buy some . . .
Today however, I made an exception. I had just loaded up on groceries and was heading to the school to pick up the boys. The boys love pringles, so I thought I would surprise them with a favorite snack.
As I was driving along I realized that I hadn't eaten lunch and I was hungry. So, I decided to open the pringles and have a few. They wouldn't miss a couple. I took out a small stack and started savoring each delicious chip.
I'm driving, listening to music, enjoying the sunshine, and I quickly munch through my small stack of pringles. Oh, since I haven't had lunch, a few more won't hurt.
Doot dee doot de dooo, I'm still driving along bopping to the tunes, and again, I'm quickly out of pringles. Just a few more. . . And a few more . . . and a few more . . .
The next thing you know I am tipping up the empty can to drink the last of the crumbs and frantically hiding the evidence under the car seat as I pull into the school parking lot.
I'm already feeling sick to my stomach and having acid reflux. Not to mention feeling insanely guilty for breaking my diet with one pathetic can of chips.
I get the kids loaded and we head for home. We are close to home and a raft of ducks runs across the road in front of my van and I have to slam on the brakes. (I googled it and a bunch of ducks is called a raft. Weird, eh?) So, anyways, I slam on the brakes and the darn pringles can rolls out from under the seat.
Naturally, my 6 year old spots it immediately. He doesn't miss a beat. "Mom! Did you get us some pringles????"
"Oh honey, that's from a long time ago." I sweetly lie to him.
"Can you buy us some pringles some time? They're my favorite. Do you have a coupon?" he says so innocently.
OK, so now I feel like total crap. I lied to my precious son, I am burping up acidic portions of chewed potato chips, I've consumed over 1000 calories that I didn't even appreciate, and I have a serious case of pringles-breath.
By the time I get home, I'm in so much pain that I have beads of sweat rolling down my face, my stomach is churning, and I have heart burn so bad that actual flames are shooting from my mouth.
So I have decided that pringles are evil. They force me to lie, cheat, and they are contributing to global warming by forcing humans to emit toxic gases. And seriously, each can should just be considered one friggen serving because it's impossible to not eat the entire can. I will try to remember all this the next time I buy some . . .
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
