I'm going to start this post off by saying I am a bit hormonal right now. Snarky. Snippy. Describe it anyway you want.I decided to take the 2 older kids to the grocery store and I swear that my oldest son, aka "The Grinder", has a future as an interrogator. The government could learn a few things from him. I'm positive he could get anyone to submit to something after relentlessly questioning them. Trust me, once we figure out this learning disability, I fully expect Nancy Grace to invite him on her show to participate in the "unleash the lawyers section." If he wasn't so freaking adorable and sweet, I might put my head in the microwave when he gets this way.
The Grinder: "Mommy, can we get donuts?"
Me: "No."
The Grinder: "Mommy, can we get donuts? Yes or no? You said last Thursday at 7:12 pm I could get a treat next time we go to the grocery store. I like donuts and we haven't gotten them in a long time. Yes or no to the donuts?"(If only they had such crystal clear accuracy with questions revolving around homework, brushing teeth, cleaning up etc)
Me: "No, we aren't getting the donuts. You got yogurt instead."
The Grinder: "If I don't get donuts perhaps I could get cupcakes. The cat's birthday was last month and we didn't have a party. Can we get cupcakes or donuts? Yes or no?
Me:"No cupcakes"
The Grinder: "So we can get donuts. Remember, you said we could get a treat to celebrate the cat's birthday and that was last month and we didn't. Remember? You said we could celebrate this month and the cat will be mad at you if we don't celebrate.Yes or not to the cupcakes? And I want to buy the "caution wet floor" sign. (I've told him at least 10 times they aren't for sale)
Me: "Whatever."
The Grinder:"So we are getting donuts and cupcakes, right? Yes or no?
I was just waiting for him to say "I want the truth" and I was going to have to say "You can't handle the truth." Where is Lt. Caffey when you need him???I knew we were going to run into this as I refused to listen to Kidz Bop 12, 14, 32 and any other version in the car today. They take the bad words out of the songs and I thought we should just live on the edge and listen to the radio.
Prior to this debacle, I almost did something I swore I would never do. The Grinder is the only child I've ever met who eats a sandwich and manages to get mustard in his eyebrows and behind his ears. How is this possible? Is he trying to pick up the sandwich with his eyelashes? Has someone else done this in the Guinness Book of World Records? I took him for yogurt and his entire face was covered in chocolate yogurt. When I said "wipe you mouth," I watched a haphazard attempt where the napkin grazed his nose. I took a napkin and was THIS CLOSE to licking the napkin and wiping his face. The napkin was almost touching my tongue, but I caught myself prior to making this egregious error. No, I was okay with him walking around looking like he had been in a fight with some Hershey's syrup.
And I hate it when people act like complete ass hats. I know that isn't nice, but neither is being an ass hat. I know we all get grumpy but I don't like it when people are rude. I took the foster dog to adoptions today where it was a pleasant 112 degrees. I had been there all of 2 minutes before some lady comes up to me and says, "I see you have a hound dog. You will need to move as she is disturbing the cats." These are the same people who gave me said hound dog. I caught myself before saying to her, "Oh yeah? Well Magnum PI called and wants his mustache back lady." Her butt crack was showing as well but I didn't want to bring that up either. But I didn't because then I would have looked like an absolute jerk. No, I needed to smile and be nice. Meow. Meow. Meow. For the record, I love animals and admire people for always helping out and working with the furry peeps. You can tell a lot about a person by how they treat animals....and the waitstaff!
Saturday, June 23, 2012
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Don't Cry. Now That I've Found You.
Just like my boy, LeBron James, I caught the cramps. Not the NBA megastar or even the Aunt Flo kind. No, I've had writer's cramps (is there a co-pay for those?) so I have these fabulous ideas at 3 am, but I'm not willing to log on. Speaking of LeBron, I'm ready for him to win a title so people will stop bashing him. I love it when Rachel Nichols interviews him. He is over a foot taller than she is so the camera man has to zoom out in a major way to make sure all 3 of them are on screen. You know. LeBron, Rachel, and Rachel's booty. Holla!
Father's Day was this past weekend and I hope all the Dads and father figures had a fabulous weekend. When I was little, I thought my dad was absolutely perfect. It was absolutely devastating when I was around 10 to realize he was human. It sounds silly, but I had a difficult time comprehending he made mistakes. My dad grew up dirt poor. His mom died when he was a toddler and he dropped out of school in the 10th grade to go to work. For some stupid reason, that embarrassed me when I was a kid. He told me last year that he had no idea why he got so excited at Christmas because all he got was a few oranges. However, he thought that was wonderful. It reminded me of how lucky I am. It's always strange to think of you dad as a kid but he was one once too. He is my biggest cheerleader, just wants me to be happy, and thinks I am fabulous. He either ignores or laughs at the crazy things I say. Hey, someone has to think you are almost perfect. I am fortunate to still have him and am proud to say I have actually seen him give someone the shirt off his back. Pretty nice, huh?
Moving on to a more humorous topic....I hate it when I am listening to the radio and they take my planned topic. For example, I was driving home yesterday thinking that it would be interesting to hear what weird things make people cry. Lo and behold, at that moment that was the question on the ride (or crawl) home show. What??? Thievery! I felt just like Tom Cruise in "Eyes Wide Shut" when that fat, bald man with no eyebrows is following him around London but we are supposed to believe it's NYC with that eerie piano playing in the background. Yeah, I felt discombobulated. Perhaps I felt more like the fat dude with no eyebrows. Sometimes after a large meal I do wonder if my waistband is lacerating my liver. Maybe that was not a good comparison. Scratch that.
Have you ever cried at anything unusual? It's okay to tell me-I won't judge. When I was a kid I would absolutely sob uncontrollably while listening to my Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer record. It made me sad that the kids were mean to him. Haters! Didn't they realize a red nose was on trend? My dad used to threaten to take the book/record combo away if I didn't get it together. Imagine as a 6 year old having to put the kibosh on the tears for Rudolph. It's not like it affected Rudolph's career. He went on to mega stardom that transcends time- just like that show "The Golden Girls." And don't get me started on the movie "Born Free." I used to cry before the movie even started. By the time the opening credits rolled out I looked like I had a severe case of hay fever or had been stung by a swarm of bees. But that was a loooooooong time ago, and I don't really cry now (insert Asia). And I'm not sure that's a good thing.
Years ago, before we were married, my husband and I went to see the movie "I Am Sam." About 30 minutes into the movie, I heard someone boohooing LOUDLY. It was insane. The sniffling and sobbing. WTH was wrong with this person? Didn't they realize Jeff Spicoli was trying to win an Oscar? Finally, I looked over and realized it was my husband. He told me some people have feelings.
And on that note, there is yet another trend I have noticed in this household. Tonight, my husband was watching "American History X", a depressing but incredible movie. The sound was so low, I could only hear the dog breathing and not the movie. However, I've noticed we have "Finding Bigfoot" or "Alaska State Troopers" on surround sound.
Father's Day was this past weekend and I hope all the Dads and father figures had a fabulous weekend. When I was little, I thought my dad was absolutely perfect. It was absolutely devastating when I was around 10 to realize he was human. It sounds silly, but I had a difficult time comprehending he made mistakes. My dad grew up dirt poor. His mom died when he was a toddler and he dropped out of school in the 10th grade to go to work. For some stupid reason, that embarrassed me when I was a kid. He told me last year that he had no idea why he got so excited at Christmas because all he got was a few oranges. However, he thought that was wonderful. It reminded me of how lucky I am. It's always strange to think of you dad as a kid but he was one once too. He is my biggest cheerleader, just wants me to be happy, and thinks I am fabulous. He either ignores or laughs at the crazy things I say. Hey, someone has to think you are almost perfect. I am fortunate to still have him and am proud to say I have actually seen him give someone the shirt off his back. Pretty nice, huh?
Moving on to a more humorous topic....I hate it when I am listening to the radio and they take my planned topic. For example, I was driving home yesterday thinking that it would be interesting to hear what weird things make people cry. Lo and behold, at that moment that was the question on the ride (or crawl) home show. What??? Thievery! I felt just like Tom Cruise in "Eyes Wide Shut" when that fat, bald man with no eyebrows is following him around London but we are supposed to believe it's NYC with that eerie piano playing in the background. Yeah, I felt discombobulated. Perhaps I felt more like the fat dude with no eyebrows. Sometimes after a large meal I do wonder if my waistband is lacerating my liver. Maybe that was not a good comparison. Scratch that.
Have you ever cried at anything unusual? It's okay to tell me-I won't judge. When I was a kid I would absolutely sob uncontrollably while listening to my Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer record. It made me sad that the kids were mean to him. Haters! Didn't they realize a red nose was on trend? My dad used to threaten to take the book/record combo away if I didn't get it together. Imagine as a 6 year old having to put the kibosh on the tears for Rudolph. It's not like it affected Rudolph's career. He went on to mega stardom that transcends time- just like that show "The Golden Girls." And don't get me started on the movie "Born Free." I used to cry before the movie even started. By the time the opening credits rolled out I looked like I had a severe case of hay fever or had been stung by a swarm of bees. But that was a loooooooong time ago, and I don't really cry now (insert Asia). And I'm not sure that's a good thing.
Years ago, before we were married, my husband and I went to see the movie "I Am Sam." About 30 minutes into the movie, I heard someone boohooing LOUDLY. It was insane. The sniffling and sobbing. WTH was wrong with this person? Didn't they realize Jeff Spicoli was trying to win an Oscar? Finally, I looked over and realized it was my husband. He told me some people have feelings.
And on that note, there is yet another trend I have noticed in this household. Tonight, my husband was watching "American History X", a depressing but incredible movie. The sound was so low, I could only hear the dog breathing and not the movie. However, I've noticed we have "Finding Bigfoot" or "Alaska State Troopers" on surround sound.
Saturday, June 16, 2012
School's Out for the Summer
Love a title you can sing. Is anyone else happy school is out for the summer? Yes, it's a different kind of crazy but at least I don't have to do homework. Apparently, homework is now supposed to be a family event kind of like portraits at Olan Mills or having a sack race in the backyard a la the Brady Bunch. I don't like this turn of events. I did my own homework. I'm not sure if I wanted anyone's help. I'm sure many people are the parents of Einstein in training, but well, that is not the case in this household. We encourage humor, kindness, and being yourself. That may get me in trouble later. However, one assignment at the end of the year required a parental release that stated I would help with the project, but if it looked like a parent had done too much work, then the child would receive a zero for a grade. That's the way to do it! Threaten to give my child a zero if I get carried away with the glitter stick that I was told to use. Were they going to bring in Judge Judy to determine the offenders? Please.
Just this year I realized that I would be revisiting word problems. Don't get me wrong-I love word problems. I draw a picture to solve even though the educational system has never been a proponent of that method. No, when I read any story that asks, " if Ethan is 3 inches taller than Sarah; Emily is 1 inch taller than Zack; then how tall is Chip if he is playing a giraffe in the community play" I take a completely different perspective of the scenario. No one cares how tall Chip is. Really. All these kids want is an ipad and a cookie. I'm sure Ethan and Em are hoping from some type of individuality as there are probably at least 4 other kids in the class named Ethan and Emily. Unless of course Ethan's last name is Hunt and then he can deem the word problem "Mission Impossible." And poor Sarah will always be clarifying whether there is an "h" or no "h" at the end of her name. Yeah, Zack is probably bitter that Emily is taller but he has other ways of being one of the cool kids. Zack will be able to use his name should he become a black belt or want to create a signature move, "The Zack Attack." And our boy Chip? Well, for Chip's sake, let's hope he isn't chubby. He will be called potato Chip. And he will probably burn up in the giraffe suit which is probably made of some bad polyester. Instead of worrying about how tall Chip is, they need to worry about having EMTs on stand by should he get dehydrated from wearing said ugly, hotter than h-e-double hockey sticks suit. Bring the boy some gatorade because you know this shindig is planned in July in someplace like the Mohave Desert. Trust me. The kids could give a rat's butt figuring out how tall the Chipmeister is. Everyone can stand on stilts and fight it out. But this is a family puzzle I don't miss solving during the summer.
OMG! I took my daughter to Justice again this weekend. The store is filled with sequins, feathers, glitter, and Bieber. I always feel like I need a shot of vodka before I go in there. I fully expect to see a unicorn working the register when we leave. My anxiety starts running high after a few minutes in the store. Each time we go in, we have the same conversation. I tell her they don't carried personalized journals with the initial of her first name. Today I was met with, "well perhaps you should have spelled my name differently." Exactly. I absolutely should have consulted a Justice catalog before naming my child. What was I thinking? As I was sitting on the chair in daze watching her touch every single item in the store, I was thinking how funny it is to watch her. And at that moment she started to breakdance in the store and I knew immediately this is my child. It's cute when you are 7, but don't be surprised if the authorities are called when you are 27 if you try to pull that.
My oldest son asked me if a cruise was like a Chuckee Cheese on water. That's one way of describing it I suppose? Until next time.....
Just this year I realized that I would be revisiting word problems. Don't get me wrong-I love word problems. I draw a picture to solve even though the educational system has never been a proponent of that method. No, when I read any story that asks, " if Ethan is 3 inches taller than Sarah; Emily is 1 inch taller than Zack; then how tall is Chip if he is playing a giraffe in the community play" I take a completely different perspective of the scenario. No one cares how tall Chip is. Really. All these kids want is an ipad and a cookie. I'm sure Ethan and Em are hoping from some type of individuality as there are probably at least 4 other kids in the class named Ethan and Emily. Unless of course Ethan's last name is Hunt and then he can deem the word problem "Mission Impossible." And poor Sarah will always be clarifying whether there is an "h" or no "h" at the end of her name. Yeah, Zack is probably bitter that Emily is taller but he has other ways of being one of the cool kids. Zack will be able to use his name should he become a black belt or want to create a signature move, "The Zack Attack." And our boy Chip? Well, for Chip's sake, let's hope he isn't chubby. He will be called potato Chip. And he will probably burn up in the giraffe suit which is probably made of some bad polyester. Instead of worrying about how tall Chip is, they need to worry about having EMTs on stand by should he get dehydrated from wearing said ugly, hotter than h-e-double hockey sticks suit. Bring the boy some gatorade because you know this shindig is planned in July in someplace like the Mohave Desert. Trust me. The kids could give a rat's butt figuring out how tall the Chipmeister is. Everyone can stand on stilts and fight it out. But this is a family puzzle I don't miss solving during the summer.
OMG! I took my daughter to Justice again this weekend. The store is filled with sequins, feathers, glitter, and Bieber. I always feel like I need a shot of vodka before I go in there. I fully expect to see a unicorn working the register when we leave. My anxiety starts running high after a few minutes in the store. Each time we go in, we have the same conversation. I tell her they don't carried personalized journals with the initial of her first name. Today I was met with, "well perhaps you should have spelled my name differently." Exactly. I absolutely should have consulted a Justice catalog before naming my child. What was I thinking? As I was sitting on the chair in daze watching her touch every single item in the store, I was thinking how funny it is to watch her. And at that moment she started to breakdance in the store and I knew immediately this is my child. It's cute when you are 7, but don't be surprised if the authorities are called when you are 27 if you try to pull that.
My oldest son asked me if a cruise was like a Chuckee Cheese on water. That's one way of describing it I suppose? Until next time.....
Monday, June 4, 2012
Oops Moments and Hoarders...
2 in a row baby! So today I fell in the lobby of the building I work. This is not unusual or atypical for me so I was shocked when the security guard said I needed to complete a statement. What???? I forgot we live in such a litigious society. I wouldn't mind being on Judge Mathis but it looked like the opportunity wasn't going to present itself. However, he was doing something and said he would be up in the office later. He didn't have my name and apparently the description he gave of me presented a challenge for the HR Director. He told her " a young girl with long dirty blonde hair fell in the lobby this am." Quick!!! Get this man to an eye doctor because in no way could I be confused with a young girl-perhaps the mother of a young girl who possesses a teenage boy's potty humor but never a young girl. Never. Ever. Perhaps he was on heavy medication? And I give it to the man, he has some psychic powers because that IS the natural color of my hair, but it's by no means the current color. It's light chocolate or maybe warm pecan. Always request a hair color that is food related. After thoroughly confusing the HR Director with his highly inaccurate description I had to complete the statement. What did I say?
"On the way in the building I wiped out on the floor. Yes, it was a klutzy move I know, but it paled in comparison to the giant wipeout I had back in college on the way to English one sunny afternoon. I fell face first down a flight of stairs in front of hundreds of people and I was positively mortified. (If you went to UGA you know exactly which building housed those detrimental stairs outside. The name of the building escapes me but my knees and chin remember them forever!)Now? Eh, not so much. I'm fine. If only I could remember where I parked my car. Got any ideas? Have a good day!"
I decided not to elaborate about other falls or mishaps because there just wasn't enough paper. And they don't want to hear it and I don't blame them. He didn't offer up a notebook, so I skipped the story of when I walked into a rehearsal dinner and fell over a cord. Somehow I tumbled forward and the long, flowy dress was wrapped around my head when I landed on my back. I guess this is why mothers tell you to wear clean underwear. Or the time I stepped off a hill in college, slid down, and ripped the butt out of my pants. I landed face down on the ground, so in addition to having a draft due to turning my jeans into chaps, I also had gravel stuck to my chin. But I'm so used to embarrassing things that I developed a tolerance from an early age. Like when I went for my driver's test and I couldn't determine if the instructor was male or female. I decided to cover my bases by alternately answering like Peppermint Patty, "Yes sir" and "excuse me ma'am." Hey I had to be right at least 50% of the time. And of course I recently sent a text to someone saying "Love you! XOXO", but it was to person I barely know. I wavered back and forth between sending the wrong recipient another saying, "Sorry-I don't love you" or perhaps an "Oops. Sorry that wasn't for you" was sufficient.
And omg did I get a workout this evening. No, I didn't get back to the Insanity series but rather I vacuumed the couches. What you say? Are the couches the size of Iceland? Nope, just normal couches but it wasn't the size of the couches but rather what I found in the couches that I found rather disturbing. I found 7 socks, 4 crayons, 3 pony tail holders and 2 nail files. I know-I was expecting a partridge in a pear tree but apparently it's not the season.
What is this gene my children have inherited that involves being too slack to throw away an empty cereal box or putting their socks in the laundry basket? This is not from me and must have been passed down via their father because 5 of the socks were his. Is it really that difficult to put your socks in the clothes hamper? After you finish the cereal can't you just take the empty box and put it in the garbage can since you pass right by it? Or is that considered recycling when it's sitting in the pantry waiting for someone else to throw it away? This is exactly how hoarding begins. First, you shove a couple of socks in the couch. Then you buy a few extra bottles of mustard because they are on clearance. You think these will come in handy when you decide to host a hot dog eating contest. The dishes are stacking up but you aren't going to be the one to wash them. Instead of investing in some Cascade, you decide to invest in some fly strips and mouse traps to combat the disgusting rodent magnet you are harboring in the kitchen. Next, you are just too tired to take the garbage out so you starts stacking it in the garage. You decide the house is turning into a dump. Then you have to pee but you decide you might as well go where you are and just pee on the floor instead of making that walk to the bathroom. Oh just stay in the recliner! It's just faster to pee on command regardless of location. The next thing you know the toilet is broken and you are afraid for the plumber to come inside. Before you know it...BAM! People have started pooping in bags and stacking them in the house. Then you are strapping yourself in a chair with one of those panic devices around your neck so you can call for help if you fall into disgusting germ filled crap in your house. Showers consist of standing in a green tub filled with samples the CDC is afraid to touch and finally the city comes in hazmat suits and gas masks to tell you the neighbors are complaining and this shizzle must be rectified...Pronto! No, no, no...Throw the cereal box away
Until next time...xoxo
"On the way in the building I wiped out on the floor. Yes, it was a klutzy move I know, but it paled in comparison to the giant wipeout I had back in college on the way to English one sunny afternoon. I fell face first down a flight of stairs in front of hundreds of people and I was positively mortified. (If you went to UGA you know exactly which building housed those detrimental stairs outside. The name of the building escapes me but my knees and chin remember them forever!)Now? Eh, not so much. I'm fine. If only I could remember where I parked my car. Got any ideas? Have a good day!"
I decided not to elaborate about other falls or mishaps because there just wasn't enough paper. And they don't want to hear it and I don't blame them. He didn't offer up a notebook, so I skipped the story of when I walked into a rehearsal dinner and fell over a cord. Somehow I tumbled forward and the long, flowy dress was wrapped around my head when I landed on my back. I guess this is why mothers tell you to wear clean underwear. Or the time I stepped off a hill in college, slid down, and ripped the butt out of my pants. I landed face down on the ground, so in addition to having a draft due to turning my jeans into chaps, I also had gravel stuck to my chin. But I'm so used to embarrassing things that I developed a tolerance from an early age. Like when I went for my driver's test and I couldn't determine if the instructor was male or female. I decided to cover my bases by alternately answering like Peppermint Patty, "Yes sir" and "excuse me ma'am." Hey I had to be right at least 50% of the time. And of course I recently sent a text to someone saying "Love you! XOXO", but it was to person I barely know. I wavered back and forth between sending the wrong recipient another saying, "Sorry-I don't love you" or perhaps an "Oops. Sorry that wasn't for you" was sufficient.
And omg did I get a workout this evening. No, I didn't get back to the Insanity series but rather I vacuumed the couches. What you say? Are the couches the size of Iceland? Nope, just normal couches but it wasn't the size of the couches but rather what I found in the couches that I found rather disturbing. I found 7 socks, 4 crayons, 3 pony tail holders and 2 nail files. I know-I was expecting a partridge in a pear tree but apparently it's not the season.
What is this gene my children have inherited that involves being too slack to throw away an empty cereal box or putting their socks in the laundry basket? This is not from me and must have been passed down via their father because 5 of the socks were his. Is it really that difficult to put your socks in the clothes hamper? After you finish the cereal can't you just take the empty box and put it in the garbage can since you pass right by it? Or is that considered recycling when it's sitting in the pantry waiting for someone else to throw it away? This is exactly how hoarding begins. First, you shove a couple of socks in the couch. Then you buy a few extra bottles of mustard because they are on clearance. You think these will come in handy when you decide to host a hot dog eating contest. The dishes are stacking up but you aren't going to be the one to wash them. Instead of investing in some Cascade, you decide to invest in some fly strips and mouse traps to combat the disgusting rodent magnet you are harboring in the kitchen. Next, you are just too tired to take the garbage out so you starts stacking it in the garage. You decide the house is turning into a dump. Then you have to pee but you decide you might as well go where you are and just pee on the floor instead of making that walk to the bathroom. Oh just stay in the recliner! It's just faster to pee on command regardless of location. The next thing you know the toilet is broken and you are afraid for the plumber to come inside. Before you know it...BAM! People have started pooping in bags and stacking them in the house. Then you are strapping yourself in a chair with one of those panic devices around your neck so you can call for help if you fall into disgusting germ filled crap in your house. Showers consist of standing in a green tub filled with samples the CDC is afraid to touch and finally the city comes in hazmat suits and gas masks to tell you the neighbors are complaining and this shizzle must be rectified...Pronto! No, no, no...Throw the cereal box away
Until next time...xoxo
Sunday, June 3, 2012
B-15...Bingo!
To quote the depressed posse' known as Staind, "It's Been a While." Ssssssshhhh. Listen. I got a new job and I think ( fingers crossed while crossing my heart and holding a 4 leaf clover) like a good pair of jeans, it's a good fit. Hopefully I won't be singing a different song too soon. I've been on a quest for a loooooooong while so for all of you who have listened to me whine (minus the cheese that comes in a can), pontificate, or drop the occasional expletive, I thank you for listening and offering advice via phone, text, and email. Me loves you. I've been on a quest to (haaaaa!) "find myself." Oh, I'm still short with a big butt and I wasn't lost in an ET phone home kind of way, but it is important to like what you do. So thanks for your support!! Without you, I am still me but neurotic. Trust me. I listen to every word you say, but I just can't remember anyone's name. It's not with ESPN or QVC, but hey, a girl can dream right? Holla!!!!
It was a normal first week of work except that I couldn't remember where I parked a couple of days. Nothing like traipsing along for 45 minutes in the heat, glistening (and not in a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition cover kind of way) while my hair is puffing up like a cotton ball, searching for my car. I even have 2 giant "G" magnets on it to help find said car, but again, I remember EVERYTHING except names and where I park my car. Typically, I use some type of word association like when I used to travel every other week to that mega fun known as Hartsfield. I would choose a parking space and create some type of association with the letter and number. For example, if I parked in E-28 that meant Ed Norton would marry me when I was 28. I didn't say anything was factual- I just said the association helped me remember where I parked. H-42 meant, "Holy caca! Don't wear those new wedge shoes because you will be crawling by F-28 saying "f&%@ new shoes!" and be willing to walk with bare feet on your way to "hails yes I'm finally there" H-42. Bingo baby!!! See. It just got so confusing trying to keep up with the letter/number association. This is also why I never let the 17 year old kid or 79 year old man wheel my groceries out to my car. We will just end up aimlessly wandering around the parking lot, and I don't want them to hate me or quit because I can't find my car. I'm considerate like that. If you ever see me aimlessly walking around and wonder if I am lost, the answer is "yes, I am." But I will get there. Eventually. So I'm trying to decide if I should leave bread crumbs (is that considered littering?), ribbons, or just record my walk via my i-phone to commemorate my parking space? Mmmmmmm. Let me think on that.....
It was time for my trek to the dermatologist last week and that visit riddles me with anxiety. Skin cancer can be extremely serious so I try to be vigilant with sunscreen to maintain my Casper the friendly ghost appearance. I have certain doctors I like and will only see them. I made the mistake once of seeing first available and saw a doctor who I am quite positive has his picture next to the term "mega tool" in Websters. I was also about 4 inches taller than he was so I was tempted to call him Dopey. But I was nice! Anyway, after asking lots of questions to this doctore it was time for the check.
WARNING!!!! This section may contain TMI so if the words "booby", "butt", or you get grossed out thinking of me this way, then move on!
You see, they tell you to keep your bra and panties on during the check. He was scanning my legs with the light and I suggested we take several things off soon. Not clothes. Moles or freckles. He said, "we can do whatever makes you happy." Finally, I said, "Listen, I know you've seen a naked chick before and I don't have anything you haven't seen before." He looked a bit startled and the PA started laughing. Trust me. Read anything and it's important to get a thorough examination whether the freckle is on your boobs or booty. For some reason this whole exchange reminded me of the one time I tried on bras in a store. Gosh darn I was cute way back then at 24 and I wish I realized it at the time! I was trying on bras at a certain establishment with a friend. She perused the Ds and I was wondering where the almost A section was. As I pilfered through the bras with a nice group of 5th graders, I came across nothing but bras that were very unnatural looking. The problem with being "small" is that it is assumed you to be "much much bigger." Not me. Flat is where it's at. Basically, heavily padded bras were the only choice in the store. So I remember trying on something called the "Water Miracle Inflatable Bra" which was essentially like have two 2 liters attached to your boobs. I guess they assumed us A girls want the full experience of having a Pamela Anderson sized chest. I felt ridiculous but wanted a second opinion. I flung open the curtain in the dressing room to show my friend and this lady gasped when I did. She was with her bf or husband and said that she thought it was totally inappropriate that I let her whatever he was see me in a bra. What???? I was shocked and told her perhaps her guy shouldn't be in the women's dressing room of a lingerie store if he doesn't want to see women in bras. Our culture is really uptight about certain things (nudity, nakedness, etc) but some of these same people don't think twice about 14 year sleeping over at their boyfriends house. Really? We are all born naked so everyone get your mind out of the gutter.
Sigh. I'm going to get better about updating this and write more for me. So expect some brutally honest posts soon. I know you just can't wait. Until next time......
XOXO
It was a normal first week of work except that I couldn't remember where I parked a couple of days. Nothing like traipsing along for 45 minutes in the heat, glistening (and not in a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition cover kind of way) while my hair is puffing up like a cotton ball, searching for my car. I even have 2 giant "G" magnets on it to help find said car, but again, I remember EVERYTHING except names and where I park my car. Typically, I use some type of word association like when I used to travel every other week to that mega fun known as Hartsfield. I would choose a parking space and create some type of association with the letter and number. For example, if I parked in E-28 that meant Ed Norton would marry me when I was 28. I didn't say anything was factual- I just said the association helped me remember where I parked. H-42 meant, "Holy caca! Don't wear those new wedge shoes because you will be crawling by F-28 saying "f&%@ new shoes!" and be willing to walk with bare feet on your way to "hails yes I'm finally there" H-42. Bingo baby!!! See. It just got so confusing trying to keep up with the letter/number association. This is also why I never let the 17 year old kid or 79 year old man wheel my groceries out to my car. We will just end up aimlessly wandering around the parking lot, and I don't want them to hate me or quit because I can't find my car. I'm considerate like that. If you ever see me aimlessly walking around and wonder if I am lost, the answer is "yes, I am." But I will get there. Eventually. So I'm trying to decide if I should leave bread crumbs (is that considered littering?), ribbons, or just record my walk via my i-phone to commemorate my parking space? Mmmmmmm. Let me think on that.....
It was time for my trek to the dermatologist last week and that visit riddles me with anxiety. Skin cancer can be extremely serious so I try to be vigilant with sunscreen to maintain my Casper the friendly ghost appearance. I have certain doctors I like and will only see them. I made the mistake once of seeing first available and saw a doctor who I am quite positive has his picture next to the term "mega tool" in Websters. I was also about 4 inches taller than he was so I was tempted to call him Dopey. But I was nice! Anyway, after asking lots of questions to this doctore it was time for the check.
WARNING!!!! This section may contain TMI so if the words "booby", "butt", or you get grossed out thinking of me this way, then move on!
You see, they tell you to keep your bra and panties on during the check. He was scanning my legs with the light and I suggested we take several things off soon. Not clothes. Moles or freckles. He said, "we can do whatever makes you happy." Finally, I said, "Listen, I know you've seen a naked chick before and I don't have anything you haven't seen before." He looked a bit startled and the PA started laughing. Trust me. Read anything and it's important to get a thorough examination whether the freckle is on your boobs or booty. For some reason this whole exchange reminded me of the one time I tried on bras in a store. Gosh darn I was cute way back then at 24 and I wish I realized it at the time! I was trying on bras at a certain establishment with a friend. She perused the Ds and I was wondering where the almost A section was. As I pilfered through the bras with a nice group of 5th graders, I came across nothing but bras that were very unnatural looking. The problem with being "small" is that it is assumed you to be "much much bigger." Not me. Flat is where it's at. Basically, heavily padded bras were the only choice in the store. So I remember trying on something called the "Water Miracle Inflatable Bra" which was essentially like have two 2 liters attached to your boobs. I guess they assumed us A girls want the full experience of having a Pamela Anderson sized chest. I felt ridiculous but wanted a second opinion. I flung open the curtain in the dressing room to show my friend and this lady gasped when I did. She was with her bf or husband and said that she thought it was totally inappropriate that I let her whatever he was see me in a bra. What???? I was shocked and told her perhaps her guy shouldn't be in the women's dressing room of a lingerie store if he doesn't want to see women in bras. Our culture is really uptight about certain things (nudity, nakedness, etc) but some of these same people don't think twice about 14 year sleeping over at their boyfriends house. Really? We are all born naked so everyone get your mind out of the gutter.
Sigh. I'm going to get better about updating this and write more for me. So expect some brutally honest posts soon. I know you just can't wait. Until next time......
XOXO
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