Gravity wins again!

So… as usual…at my desk, minding my bidness (daydreaming and whatnot) when our handsome landscaper man walks up and says:

“Here Lisa, I brought these flowers for you…they smell as sweet as you look!”

Well, actually, that is not how it all played out, but remember.. I was mid-daydream when he walked up to my desk and said:

“I was just pruning some of the bushes and trees outside and brought up these cuttings in case anyone would like to take some home. They smell kinda nice.”

Me:  ”ME! ME! ME!”

Him:  ”You can share them, you know.”

Me: “Can, but not going to.” *so smug*

I loves me mah flowers.  Right?  I got this large scent organ in my nose and all….

So, not too much later at the end of the day, I walk around to be sure our buildings are locked up. Handsome landscaper man was out on the riding lawn mower with his straw hat on…mowing a particular area in a LOOP PATTERN.  This is important information for you.

As I am walking.. in my cute little blue dress and strappy wedge heels.. I see him and offer up a casual wave, he waves from the mower.  I check the door. Locked.  I turn to strut my stuff back to the office just as handsome landscaper man is facing me on “the loop.”  We exchange smiles (no need to over do the whole waving bit) and he makes his turn.  All the while, I’m still pretending he actually GAVE me flowers and ‘aren’t I just the cutest thing in the dress and sandals.’

Then it happens. My left heel slips off the wedge, and I see concrete coming at me FAST!  Hit my right knee and right wrist.  Then I just laid there for a sec to be sure I didn’t break something this time.   No bodily injuries but my ego is surely bruised.  And suddenly I am back to reality:  I could hear the mower and realized he would be turning the loop and facing my direction any moment!  I scrambled up.. and glanced his way to see…..yes… his back was still to me.  Whew! I walk away giggling and rubbing my ouchy wrist.  That was almost humiliating.

In my defense, my left leg and foot can not be relied upon for stability right now.  I had an MRI last week.. still suffering with the sciatica and my leg and foot are, well, numb.  So.. I know.. why in all my brilliance do I slip my compromised foot into 2 inch heels?  

Because they are cute.  With my dress.  That’s why.

Making the Grade in Bra-Land

So the other day I had some free time without the fam to do a little shopping.  I needed ………………..UNDERGARMENTS  in the worst way.  My bras have lost their elasticity and my undies……..well.  I’m at that place in my life where getting bras and underwear at Costco will suffice.  I don’t want to be in “that place.”  I want to be in the place where I shop at Victoria Secret.  But my finances compromised and sent me to Macy’s for a fitting.. and then shopping at Target for the over-the-shoulder-boulder-holders.  

I’ve never had a “bra fitting.”  I’m 38.  I’ve never figured that my girls needed that kind of …I don’t know…consideration.  I head into the fitting room with a nice woman carrying measuring tape.  After a few embarassed giggles by me, she tells me the news.  A “D.”

REALLY? No.. really?  I’m the girl who at 22 got shooed out of a Fredricks of Hollywood because they don’t have bras for girls with mosquitos bites on their chests.  Granted.. motherhood changed that.

I’m so excited that as soon as she leaves I text my husband.

“Dude!  I’m a D cup!  Just got measured! Who knew?!?!”

“Nice. Who measured them?”

“A young woman, silly!”

“Did she like them? Can you pick up some photo paper?”

I call him to tell him I’m not at Costco anymore.  ”You’re not?” he says.  

*blinking*

“SINCE WHEN DO THEY DO BRA FITTINGS AT COSTCO?!?! YOU CAN’T EVEN TRY ON PANTS THERE FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!”

“Wuuuullllll, I don’t know…..”

Ugh.. so I got a couple of bras there and then went to Target to get some more affordable ones, in my new size… a D!  The only size I don’t object going up in. But it turns out that a D means….too big for the cutie bras.  And I am not buying those torpedo tit ones.  Sorry, but no.  So.. plain ole bras.  Hmmpf.

Onto the undies.  You know you need to try on jeans right? So you know what fits your ass?  But all these undies are in these little sealed packages, so it is such a gamble to try to get the kind that fit perfectly.  And I have a challenging ass.  I need an “ass fitting.” Bought 3 different kinds that all failed horribly at home. GRRRR!  

Here is one of my favorite blog posts EVER, by Preteens, Toddlers, and New Borns, Oh My! about her experience bra shopping.  You will die laughing!  Really.

Bathroom Etiquette

I have some serious pet peeves when it comes to the bathroom.  SERIOUS!  The first thing that annoys me, and I must fix it immediately, is improperly installed toilet paper.  

So… which of the following is the correct way to install your TP?

a.  With paper roll dispensing sheets from the top

b.  With paper roll dispensing sheets from underneath

c.  It doesn’t matter, both ways are fine.

Answers:

a. CORRECT!  YOU WIN!  YOUR MOM IS PROUD!

b. WRONG.  JUST WRONG.

C. WRONG AND LAZY!  It’s a wonder you don’t use the sink for your business!  

Here’s an instructional video to help  you get this simple task right:

The second item is the much debated, seat up vs. seat down.  Three times today I found the seat UP in our faculty bathroom.  Once.. there was unflushed pee! 

I was PISSED (giggling)!  So I typed up this note and taped it at eye level for those who stand to pee:

Now.. I caught a lot of flack from some men friends about this.  Why should the women get special treatment.. and blah blah blah whatever….(grrrrr!)

To validate the rule LAW that the seat should always be put down, I searched to vault of all truths.. the internets.  Here’s what I found at The International Center for Bathroom Etiquette:

We get asked this question all of the time:

Should I leave the seat up, or put the seat down?

Sometimes it’s at work, sometimes it’s at home, but our answer (with a few small exceptions) is always the same…

Leave the seat down!

Listen, this isn’t about logic, or statistics, or minimizing global effort or anything other than etiquette and doing what’s right. It’s right to leave the seat down, because women prefer it that way. It’s right to leave the seat down because it’s simply the nice thing to do. Oh, and you know how you say it’s so easy for women to put the seat down before they go? While it’s just as easy for men to put the seat down after they go. You get to pee while standing up. Women don’t, so grant them this one small courtesy!

But what about those exceptions I was talking about? While there’s really only one. If you live alone, and never entertain female company, go ahead and leave the seat up. Otherwise, be a real man and leave it down.

Okay, I lied – maybe there are two exceptions. Rick brings up the case where a toilet is going to be used exclusively by men, even if only temporarily. Say your buddy is having a fantasy football draft, there’s 15 guys in the house, no women, and a ton of beer. There’s going to be a lot of peeing, and a lot of bathroom usage, and not a lot of reason to keep putting the seat down only to have the next guy lift it back up, or even worse, pee all over it.

Finally, Andrew reminds me of the following very important consideration:

I notice that your site has a page about seat position, but fails to take hygiene into account; any bathroom with a toothbrush less than 6 feet (approximately 2 meters) away from the toilet seat should not only have the seat down, but the cover as well. Admittedly, this method isn’t convenient for anybody, as whoever uses it will have to lift something, but otherwise, think about the germs that are mixed into the air and spread to your toothbrush the moment you flush.

This is good advice for anybody flushing a toilet in their home!

In MY house…. MY house.. we keep the lid down.  We don’t even keep our toothbrushes out, but the lid is always down.  I NEVER have to put the seat down at home.  My boys are well trained.  Now if I can only get my co-manworkers to get it right.  

Thanks ICBE!  Check out their other great bathroom etiquette tips.  Are you doing #1 and #2 in a mannerly fashion?  Are you?

The Nose Knows III

The Nose Knows.. has now become a trilogy.  It’s a powerful nose, smells both the good and the bad.   Here’s what my nostrils happened upon TODAY:

Sitting at my desk, minding my bidness  (daydreaming and whatnot), I actually see it before I smell it, a rarity in itself.  Greenish streaky smear on the floor behind my desk.  Here’s my approach:

Step 1:  Blame someone else for stepping in some kind of crap and bringin’ it to my personal space.  Then.. reluctantly.. get paper towels and wipe up whilst dry heaving. Stinky shit. Seriously. Done.

*Still smells poo*

Step 2:  Discovers that the poo is in fact on my OWN shoe, and after an embarrassed hop/walk to the ‘Lu’ I clean and sanitize my shoe and self, whilst dry heaving. Done.

*Still smells poo*

Step 3:  Irritated, I see that I have missed a terd on my OTHER shoe. Get myself back to the ‘Lu’ and remedy my situation.  Return to my desk with a can of Febreeze from the ‘Lu’ and spray the …well.. the whole floor, and the lobby for good measure.  Cause co-worker to struggle with breathing, however temporary.  Done.

*Still smells poo*

Step 4:  After mouthing a furious W-T-F!?!? I look for the still remaining stink. Oh, Mother of Pearl, it is ON. MY. CHAIR!!!  I roll my chair back and realize that each time I sat back down and put my feet on the legs/casters of my chair.. I was smearing the shit EVERYWHERE!  It was even, you know, (dry heaving now) up thar…in the wheel mechanism.  I can’t get to that with a paper towel and disinfectant! So pissed beyond measure, I wheel my shit seat outside and spray it full force  with our garden hose.  My laughing co-workers look on.. from inside the lobby.  I dry of my seat.. disinfect again, the chair and myself, and resume my serious work.

*no more smells*

I hardly EVER get a chance to go outside!  I went out, like, once.. to give a message to a kid.. and blammo!  I step in poo!  And what un-Godly creature made this poo?  It was like goose poo, but we don’t have geese, so I am thinking it was the Ring Necked Pheasant that’s been hanging around campus.  I’m going to be watching my step very carefully from now on!

Fun Times in Radiology….

Oh my people, where do I begin?  My back.   MY BACK!  Grrrr!

When I was oh, I don’t know, about 13 or something, it was discovered during one of those routine checks in PE that my back was growing all wonky.  I had a experimental treatment for the time, where they put electric pads on my back to shock my muscles into contracting while I slept.  Just short of “One Flew Over the Cukoos Nest,” I know.  And I did this for 3 years.  But it was cool.. my Orthopedic Dr. is like, famous now and the tech that helped looked like Sting and smelled like heaven.. you all know about my nose and men’s cologne.

So.. over time…. much much time… my body has compensated for it’s wonkiness in special ways.  Like…I have a weak back, but a strong stomach, and my ass.. well let me tell you… THEY are mighty strong too.  Still, every now and NOW I get flair ups.  Turn just wrong, lift something I shouldn’t.. and it seizes up.  So even though I feel like I’ve been to every specialist under the sun for this, I went to another today.  The day played out in a most interesting and hilarious way:

Rush out of the house so as not to be late for an appointment I have the wrong time for and show up an HOUR early.  Fail.  So.. I think.. hey, “fast food breakfast and a coffee!”  I pull into Wendy’s, alone to see a sign, “Now open at 9:00 am.”  It’s 8:00 am.  I shake my fists and curse at Wendy, and realize I’m not alone. Dude opening the jiffy lube caught the whole thing.  I give him a stink eye wave off and speed out of the parking lot.  I got a coffee at Starbucks and a breakfast sandwich that is totally overpriced because it has the word “Artisian” in its description.  Whatever.  Back to the doctors office.

I get called back and they are going to want X-rays.  Obviously.  They give me not a robe but these shorts to wear.  SERIOUSLY.  THESE SHORTS ARE MADE OUT OF THICK PAPER! I brought them home for Mark to wear.

 

The assistant jokes that they are made my Calvin Klein.  I had a cute out fit on too.. tank.. little sweater, polka dot skirt, and wedge sandals.  I exchanged the skirt for the damn shorts and strutted my self down the hall to the x-Ray room (in my wedge heels), losing hawtness in every step.  

Now for the awkward part, yep.. cuz the shorts are not awkward enough.  The X-Ray dudes, one senior, one student instruct me to lie on the big hard table for my pictures. One flat on my back, the next in the fetal position on my left side.  Do you know what happened to those big ass shorts?  My fetal position took the worthless waistband half way down my butt.  I reach my hand back there (the techs are both standing behind me) and say, “Look at your worthless X-ray shorts!  You can totally see my underwear!”  ”We see a lot of  underwear in our line of work.”  And people, I must have grabbed the gnarliest pair of panties I had in my drawer.. those poor techs.  Next, I have to arch my back while still on my left side.  Old tech says.. “Wow.. you are really limber.”  Heh.. heh…( my laughing, not his, cuz he is SOOO professional). I manage to tweak  my back trying to get off the damn X-ray table.

Perfect.

Back to the doctor, and he says.. after looking at my pictures.. that he wants one more.  Full back so as to capture all of my scoliosisness.  Off to radiology, in my unsexy shorts, no longer strutting, cuz y’all saw my granny panties.  I walk in and face both techs.  ”You’ll need to take off your bra for this X-ray, so no metal shows up,”  says the older one. Right before their eyes, I take off my little sweater, and in seconds un-fasten my strapless bra and toss it to the X-ray table.  I wasn’t trying to be a porn star, sometimes it just happens. Older tech says, ” I don’t know how women can do that so fast.”   I have to stand for this X-ray and the techs are poking my hips this way and adjusting my shoulder this way.. all the while “the girls” are at full attention, in a tank top.  The techs stopped talking to me, except for the old guy apologizing for having to poke at me so much.  So.. I took my left index finger and gave him a nice jab in the shoulder.. just being fair and all.  Picture done, I strut back to the room in the shorts, heels and a tank with no bra.   I am so bad you don’t even know.  Here’s the picture:

The end result is that the Doctor said I have to exercise my core Every. Day. 

Meh.

To prevent further injury.  Ok.. I guess I will.  Right after I finish these 3 oreos, mkay?

A Superstitious Drinking Problem….

OK.. I love a good time, a little boogie, a little drink and what have you. But a lesson I have failed to learn in my almost 20 years of drinking alcohol, is to stay AWAAAAY from hard alcohol. Never. Learn.

This last weekend I went to fabulous dress up funk party. Great music. Coolest people. Sweet funkadelic outfits. Yes, Jennyonthespot was there.  What would a party be without her, right?   I had a couple glasses of wine over a 2+ hour period of party prepping. Once at the Funk Fest.. I had 1 & 1/2 wicked ass strong mojitos over the next couple of hours. Wine works nice and slow like in my blood. Beer too. But liquor.. he’s a different beast. Its like Chuck Norris in my veins. One moment I’m standing there.. the next an un-called for round house kick to the skull knocks me out.

No…”oh I feel a buzz.. tee hee.. I better slow down!” Nope. It’s now you see me, now I see the floor. The worst part of it all, and I still can not get over this, is that just as the shit hit, I hear… oh….. is that…”Superstition?” By Stevie Wonder of all Wonders? I. Have. To. Dance! My body was MADE for that song?!?! I listen to it every stinkin’ day. This was my moment. Because, you know…….

Apparently not. I tried. I failed. The moment was stolen from me by a mean mojito. As everyone else is feeling ‘very superstitious’ my hubs escorts me out, puts me in a van for a trip home (6 blocks) that has to stop at block 2 so I can hurl. I totally got sick at home too. I tried to crawl in bed.. you know where my husband found me? Face down on the floor, at the foot of my bed. Gosh, I was almost there……
I haven’t had a messed up night like this since, much younger days. I will try… really, really, try to not make this mistake again.  I could not bear to have my ‘Superstition’ stolen again.  

So, for all of you Stevie Wonder fans out there… here is THE MAN performing this awesome song on Sesame Street back in’73.  Yeah.. I was 2 years old, but as soon as I could walk I was dancing. Nuff said:

 

Double Heart Hurt

Today was one of those hum drum days for me. I never seemed to get motivated at work.. all distracty and such. The end of my day arrives.. kids are all leaving school, chaos, phone ringing…Lisa we need this, we need that and I just needed to leave to pick up my own kids from school.

My cell rings, its a long time dear friend. I answer quickly.. and say, “Hey can I call you right back?” She says a quick “Yes” followed by my “Ok!” and I manage to get out the door, into my car, buckled and before I even have the car in drive, I call her back.

She is sobbing.

I feel like an ass. She totally needed to talk to me, and I asked if I could call her right back. I should have known better. Dammit. But I was on the phone now and bracing for bad news.

She has to put her dog down..tonight. A tumor, causing her dog to be sick and uncomfortable. I am now sobbing because I love my girl so much.. and I love her dog. She’s been through this before, I was there and remember how painful it was for her. She loves very deeply, you know? You know people like this. I tell her I am on my way home (we are also neighbors) and Mark and I will help in any way we can, whether it is to take the kids for a while, or just be there with them. She says….she’ll call me in a bit when they decide what how to handle it.

I collect my emotions as best I can and pick up my kids from school. As we are about to turn from the school onto the main road home, my friend’s husband drives by on his way home from the vet. He sees me and gives a quick wave, and then I see her…..that sweet dog I’ve known for years, sticking her head out the passenger window enjoying the speed and the wind the way dogs were meant to. I turn and follow in the direction of our homes and just lose it, watching her joyful last ride, ears flapping in the wind.

That was a double heart hurt.

I had this whole in my chest, thinking about my friend and how she must be feeling. And then just when I’ve got my self in control, I see her dear dog in all her dog joy glory. It hurt so bad, but had a sweet silver lining too.

I don’t know what else to say, just am so sad. I love very deeply too, and my dog is going to be 13 this year. I posted all about my love for her last summer, check it out if you want.

Anyway.. that’s all.

Can’t Help With That!

You know how your kids expect you to be able to solve their unsolvable problems? Like….when their foot falls asleep? I mean really, what am I supposed to do with that?

We are in the van, Mark’s driving, I’m at the dance club in my brain getting down, breaking out AMAZING moves to the Bee Gees when I hear my son:
Mom! Mom! My foot is asleep!

The colorful lights of my in-brain disco fade to the dreary gray rainy day outside my passenger window. I pause the iPod. I turn around to see him rapidly bouncing his little legs in agony. I can’t help with this! But for his sake, I will try.

Wiping the ‘interupted my dance fantasy’ cranky look from my face, I smile at him and say, “Baby, which one hurts?” He points to the still bouncing left foot. I tell him, “Ok, raise that foot into the air, that’s it, just like that, ok?” Then, look at him, then his foot, and with tone and volume to wake a corpse I yell:

“WAKE UP!!!!!

Really, what else could I do?

Mark and Ruby errupt into laughter, and then I do, because the desperate action required of this situation was quite funny.

But my boy is crying and does not think it funny that his mother tried to wake his sleeping foot by yelling at it.

Darn it! I guess that didn’t work so well.

Mittelschmerz and what not.

Today I am just bleh.  Something’s happening with my body.  I’m pretty sensitive to my innerds.  And what with a biology background.. I can kind of nerd out with body functions sometimes.

If you are one of those, “Ewww.. too much information” folks, read no further.

If you are a man.. yeah, pretty much this will not interest you either, go back to your man bidness.

Those women that are not squeamish, shall we carry on?  Wait a minute….there is still one man reading.  You.. yes, you.  Stop.  This is not for you.  Buh bye.  Thanks.

Mittelschmerz

This word cracks me up.  It’s like something Dr.Horrible would make up.  Or.. it is some kind of Jewish social offense that causes Jewish folks to wave their hands at you and say, “Meh!” It is actually a German word, made up prolly by some insensitive German gynecologist back the in the 1700’s.  Mittelschmerz translated means “middle pain.”  It is the term for pain and cramps in between periods.  Ovulation.  See what I mean by insensitive? Like he thought that was a clever thing to call it?

Circa 1735….. and scene!

Gertrude walks into Dr.Volksenburgs office, she is doubled over in pain.

She explains to the doctor that she has lower abdominal pain, with some bleeding, and would believe she was having a miscarriage, but that is not possible as she has not had sexual relations since her last menstrual cycle.  Is she dying?  Is there a tumor?  Fibroids? Doctor!  What could be wrong?!

He feels her forehead and asks if she has a headache.

Gertrude:  No.

He examines her feet and asks if there is any pain there.

Gertrude, perturbed:  No.

Dr:  Aha!  You have Mittelschmerz!

Gertrude:  Mittelschmerz!  Is it serious?  What is it?

Dr:  Mittelschmerz!  Your middle hurts woman!

Gerturde:  Thank you doctor, you are a brilliant asshole, you need to go see your proctologist because your head is stuck somewhere!

Girls.. I think I am laying a freakin’ goose egg today!  My right ovary is all jacked up.  Has this ever happened to you?  You would think, with dropping an egg and all, that I would be feeling… differently… like procreating and such.  NO.  I feel like someone kicked me in the stomach.  If ‘he’ even approaches the idea.. ‘he’ is going to get kicked in the stomach.

I guess it comes with aging. *Sigh*  First time it happened to me I was all freaked out thinking I was dying or something, my doctor says.. “So.. you are what, about 35?”  Me:  “Just turned 35, yes.”  Ahh… you have Mittelschmerz.

Good times ladies, good times….

Bliss Fail

It’s after 9:00 pm.  Kids are in bed.  I have just crawled into a piping hot bathtub with bubbles a foot and a half high.  Twilight book number 2, New Moon, is within reach to the right, and to my left, a bottle of talking rain, yes, even with a straw. Bliss, no?

No.

Nature calls child #1 to take a #2 in the one bathroom in our house.  She is so apologetic as she turns on the fan.  I scowl, and sink below the bubble line. She’s sweet and while she is doing her business, she draws Mommy in the tub:

Its cute huh?  Except for my HUGE knees, and cankles.  Yikes.  Look at all the bubbles in my hair!  She loves to draw, little sweetie.  And she was in there a long time.  Of course with it being a small house, when Nature calls, other folks are usually with in ear shot, so after she finished, child #2 came in to do, yes, #2.

Can you BELIEVE it?!  My gosh!  He was in there a while too.  He read the paper.  Just kidding.  I love my children, truly do.  But no luck on  catching a moment of bubbly bliss tonight. *Sigh*

My protective shield of bubbles......