People who assume water therapy is calm and serene have never attended one of my sessions. I have an amazing ability to stir things up and create a small amount of havoc.
Naturally, my last session was not without some drama.
Part of my therapy involves holding a small beachball between my knees and pedalling like I am riding a bike. I have to do this for 5 minutes. Naturally, I am completely bored after a minute or two. So, to spice things up a bit, I started doing some fancy Synchronized Swimming arm movements while I biked.
Just as I was starting to think that I was of Olympic caliber, my ball escaped from between my knees and rocketed up and out of the water. And, um, just happened to hit the lady next to me on the side of her head and knock her glasses off. (But seriously, WHO wears glasses in the pool??? Isn't that weird?) So, that quickly ended my water dancing.
However, as I was waving my arms in the air, Jed happened to notice that the underwire popped through the fabric on my Miraclesuit. I kinda freaked and screamed "WHAT THE FFFFFF??" to Jed. "This is the most money I've ever spent on a swimsuit and I've only had it 2 months!!!!"
I could see the look of relief on Jed's face as he realized that I wasn't yelling at him for gawking at my girlies. (My girls look FABULOUS in the pool by the way. They float ever so perfectly and look better than any 20 year-olds. Sadly, the effect is lost the minute I leave the water.)
Naturally, I spent the next 5 minutes trying to fix my suit and get the wire tucked back into the fabric. This process involved me rubbing my hand under my girl to move the wire over, as well as me lifting and tucking my girlie so that I could see what I was doing. (I was completely covered at all times. Promise)
I was so intent on fixing my suit that I failed to notice that Jed, Ed, and Fred were all watching me with great interest. I happened to glance up and Fred was in a near catatonic state, while Ed looked like he just won the Lotto.
Ooops, perhaps I should have waited until I got back to the Locker Room. Then I could've put on my show for Hairy-ette and Muffy.
I had no idea of the er, "effect" that my little girlie show could possibly have until it was time for the class to end, and um, Jed couldn't get out of the water. He needed a "few more minutes to relax in the water."
Sorry 'bout that pal. It's good to know that not every male needs the little blue pills in the golden years.
Naturally I am DEVASTATED at the loss of my beloved Miraclesuit. However, after 14 frantic phone calls to Travelsmith, I will now be the owner of a NEW Miraclesuit.
And I will do my best to avoid anymore Girly shows in the future.
Showing posts with label miraclesuit. Show all posts
Showing posts with label miraclesuit. Show all posts
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Esther Williams
I have started aquatic physical therapy for my knee. And you know what?? It's FABULOUS. Seriously, I LOOOOOOVEEE it. Never in a million years did you expect to hear that, right?
I was very skeptical at first. I am doing my therapy at a new state-of-the-art fitness and medical complex. It is full of happy-little-skinny people. That there is enough to make me run in the other direction. But, the thought of them all enjoying the sight of gimp girl in her miraclesuit was even more daunting.
I am still relying on my crutches, and I am unable to walk up or down steps. So, my therapist Jeff informed me that they have a special chair that can lift me in and out of the pool. Naturally, I named it the Whale Lift and I envisioned the worst. I could see an industrial sized whale net that swung in and out of the water. I could just actually hear the super-sonic loud beeps that I'm sure the lift will make. I could picture the glass walls of the pool area facing out into the fitness area and I could see the entire Fitness Center running to the pool area to watch the whale be released back into the wild.
As I entered my first day, I was able to see that thankfully the pool is seperate from the rest of the fitness center. I am safe from the prying eyes of all the skinny joggers. I also saw that the whale lift was a chair attached to a pole that raised and lowered in and out of the water. Not nearly the contraption I had pictured in my mind. I also had the pleasure of watching the last 10 minutes of the Aquacize class.
This is where it gets interesting. The class had about 40 people in it. And every single one of them had white hair. I think the youngest person was 403. These are folks that grew up with pet dinosaurs. And they were all hopping, bopping, and stretching their little hearts out. And every . . .single . . . one . . . WALKED out of the pool. (with fabulous water shoes to boot!) Not one had to use the whale lift. (And there were a few whale-sized aquasizers in the group.)
So, when it came time to um, go in the water, naturally I decided that come hell or high-water I would not be needing the assistance of the whale lift. 20 minutes later, I finally made it in the pool. (baby steps...baby steps)
Naturally, I wore my miracle suit. And naturally, I was feeling fab-u-lous. That was until I got a wolf-whistle and a "hey hot stuff" from the life guard. I should have been flattered, however the life guard is a guy that had a crush on me in high school, so therefore, I was completely mortified. I have doubled in size since high school. And there aint no suit on this earth miraculous enough to conceal that. We chatted for a bit and I learned that he would be covering all my therapy sessions. Lucky me. I am just praying that I don't drown. We all know how my luck has been lately.
After a few minutes in the water, I was feeling great. I could walk!! And, my boobs looked wonderful!!! How do I know? Because the four geriatric men in my therapy group couldn't stop staring! Even my therapist Jeff had to tell them to stop swarming me. So now I have four new pool boyfriends. I have affectionately named them Fred, Ed, Ted, and Jed. (FYI - Jed is the one with the white Grizzly Adams beard and the carpet of back hair.)
I am the Esther Williams of my pool group. Not only am I the youngest by about about 30 years, I am also the skinniest of all the ladies in my group. It was such a needed ego boost! I kicked, pedaled, circled, and waved in Gold-Medal-Olmpic-Synchronized-Swimming-form. You all would have been proud.
After my hour-long session, I took another 40 minutes to make it up the pool stairs. But, dang it, I did it. (I may have been crying and holding Jeff's hand at the end, but by golly, I did it.)
The trip back to the locker room is where it gets REALLY intersting. There were naked women EVERYWHERE. Hoards of naked women. EV-ER-Y-WHERE. At the sink, in the shower, coming out of the sauna, at the lockers, in the toilets, doing their hair, well, I think you get the picture.
The catch is, they were rather floppy, droopy, and large women. (Um, and a word of advice: if you are going to strut around nude in a semi-public place, please, please, please make sure your muff isn't large enough to conceal a faction of enemy terrorists. razors are only like a dollar now. the fro look went out in the 70's.) I could understand the need to strut around nude if you looked like Gisele Bundchen, however, these women were more along the lines of Mrs. Roper on Three's company. Yeah, you get the picture.
And they are just hanging out chatting and doing their hair. One nudie asked me how I hurt my leg. I'm straight and all but I still couldn't help but stare at her boobies. I was amazed at how long they were for being so small. They were almost tubular. She's all "oh, you poor thing. I hope things get better." And I'm all "hey tubie-boobies, you really should try a bathrobe." Oy.
I even had the pleasure of being mooned by a prominent local real estate agent. I'm sitting on the bench getting my shoes on, and as she bent over to pull up her panties, her rose-tatooed ars was a mere inches from my face. Nice, eh? I will never look at her picture in the wednesday paper the same . . .
Naturally I changed in the bathroom stall. I'm still a bit too modest to share my girly-parts with a quarter of the Ithaca population. (This is the exact reason I chose not to take any pain medication before class.)
Next session, I think I may just skip the locker room altogether . . .
I was very skeptical at first. I am doing my therapy at a new state-of-the-art fitness and medical complex. It is full of happy-little-skinny people. That there is enough to make me run in the other direction. But, the thought of them all enjoying the sight of gimp girl in her miraclesuit was even more daunting.
I am still relying on my crutches, and I am unable to walk up or down steps. So, my therapist Jeff informed me that they have a special chair that can lift me in and out of the pool. Naturally, I named it the Whale Lift and I envisioned the worst. I could see an industrial sized whale net that swung in and out of the water. I could just actually hear the super-sonic loud beeps that I'm sure the lift will make. I could picture the glass walls of the pool area facing out into the fitness area and I could see the entire Fitness Center running to the pool area to watch the whale be released back into the wild.
As I entered my first day, I was able to see that thankfully the pool is seperate from the rest of the fitness center. I am safe from the prying eyes of all the skinny joggers. I also saw that the whale lift was a chair attached to a pole that raised and lowered in and out of the water. Not nearly the contraption I had pictured in my mind. I also had the pleasure of watching the last 10 minutes of the Aquacize class.
This is where it gets interesting. The class had about 40 people in it. And every single one of them had white hair. I think the youngest person was 403. These are folks that grew up with pet dinosaurs. And they were all hopping, bopping, and stretching their little hearts out. And every . . .single . . . one . . . WALKED out of the pool. (with fabulous water shoes to boot!) Not one had to use the whale lift. (And there were a few whale-sized aquasizers in the group.)
So, when it came time to um, go in the water, naturally I decided that come hell or high-water I would not be needing the assistance of the whale lift. 20 minutes later, I finally made it in the pool. (baby steps...baby steps)
Naturally, I wore my miracle suit. And naturally, I was feeling fab-u-lous. That was until I got a wolf-whistle and a "hey hot stuff" from the life guard. I should have been flattered, however the life guard is a guy that had a crush on me in high school, so therefore, I was completely mortified. I have doubled in size since high school. And there aint no suit on this earth miraculous enough to conceal that. We chatted for a bit and I learned that he would be covering all my therapy sessions. Lucky me. I am just praying that I don't drown. We all know how my luck has been lately.
After a few minutes in the water, I was feeling great. I could walk!! And, my boobs looked wonderful!!! How do I know? Because the four geriatric men in my therapy group couldn't stop staring! Even my therapist Jeff had to tell them to stop swarming me. So now I have four new pool boyfriends. I have affectionately named them Fred, Ed, Ted, and Jed. (FYI - Jed is the one with the white Grizzly Adams beard and the carpet of back hair.)
I am the Esther Williams of my pool group. Not only am I the youngest by about about 30 years, I am also the skinniest of all the ladies in my group. It was such a needed ego boost! I kicked, pedaled, circled, and waved in Gold-Medal-Olmpic-Synchronized-Swimming-form. You all would have been proud.
After my hour-long session, I took another 40 minutes to make it up the pool stairs. But, dang it, I did it. (I may have been crying and holding Jeff's hand at the end, but by golly, I did it.)
The trip back to the locker room is where it gets REALLY intersting. There were naked women EVERYWHERE. Hoards of naked women. EV-ER-Y-WHERE. At the sink, in the shower, coming out of the sauna, at the lockers, in the toilets, doing their hair, well, I think you get the picture.
The catch is, they were rather floppy, droopy, and large women. (Um, and a word of advice: if you are going to strut around nude in a semi-public place, please, please, please make sure your muff isn't large enough to conceal a faction of enemy terrorists. razors are only like a dollar now. the fro look went out in the 70's.) I could understand the need to strut around nude if you looked like Gisele Bundchen, however, these women were more along the lines of Mrs. Roper on Three's company. Yeah, you get the picture.
And they are just hanging out chatting and doing their hair. One nudie asked me how I hurt my leg. I'm straight and all but I still couldn't help but stare at her boobies. I was amazed at how long they were for being so small. They were almost tubular. She's all "oh, you poor thing. I hope things get better." And I'm all "hey tubie-boobies, you really should try a bathrobe." Oy.
I even had the pleasure of being mooned by a prominent local real estate agent. I'm sitting on the bench getting my shoes on, and as she bent over to pull up her panties, her rose-tatooed ars was a mere inches from my face. Nice, eh? I will never look at her picture in the wednesday paper the same . . .
Naturally I changed in the bathroom stall. I'm still a bit too modest to share my girly-parts with a quarter of the Ithaca population. (This is the exact reason I chose not to take any pain medication before class.)
Next session, I think I may just skip the locker room altogether . . .
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 . . .
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