Vlog Response to Jenny. I don’t have an accent, y’all.

So.. it is very late at night on a very fun but long day and I got to hang out with Jenny for a good chunk of it.  I figured I would go check out her most recent Vlog because I just can get enough of the funny girl. You totally know what I’m talking about, you feel the same way don’t you?

So here’s the link to Jenny’s Vlog about the whether or not one might have an accent as determined by saying aloud certain words.  Some catchy ones:

Aunt, Route, Wash, Oil, Theater, Iron, Salmon, Caramel, Fire, Water, Sure, Data, Ruin, Crayon, Toilet, New Orleans, Pecan, Both, Again, Probably, Spitting image, Alabama, Lawyer, Coupon, Mayonnaise, Syrup, Pajamas, Caught

And then there’s the list of questions you must answer:

What is it called when you throw toilet paper on a house?
What is the bug that when you touch it, it curls into a ball?
What is the bubbly carbonated drink called?
What do you call gym shoes?
What do you say to address a group of people?
What do you call the kind of spider that has an oval-shaped body and extremely long legs?
What do you call your grandparents?
What do you call the wheeled contraption in which you carry groceries at the supermarket?
What do you call it when rain falls while the sun is shining?
What is the thing you use to change the TV channel?

Now.. remember I said I was tired. And my hair is a bit fuzzed out.  But I’m too tired to give a rip about vanity, so here’s how it went for me:

Again.. was very late and very fuzzy!

Your Mama Wears Phat Pants!

Ok….. if you are new to my site here’s the disclaimer:

I host international students.

For amusement.

And of course there’s the whole enriching our lives thing, and global experience for my kids, and the fact that I just generally love kids and that is why I work at a school. So there.

But they crack me up, as I suppose any teenagers do.

Fred and I are chatting on FB, miss him so much. He’s coming back to live with us another year and we are counting the days until we pick him up at the airport. Back to the chatting…..He’s been searching for Melbourne Shuffle Pants. OMG. All day.

*I flash back to my Hammer Pants days*

Thanks to Simplicity you can make your own Hammer Pants.I know. Those were the days. I totally saw him in concert. Covet my life.

Now Fred….. he is madeofawesome because not only has he learned how to do the Melbourne Shuffle, he opened a club in China in a hotel WHERE THEY TEACH IT! And he’s 17. Opened. A. Club. He is so cool it is a wonder that he is not from my gene pool. But alas, he is Chinese, full on.

So I’m thinking I’m gonna help the boy out and see if we can get these pants stateside right? I do a little research on them and discover that they are also called…..wait for it……

PHAT PANTS.

So I said, in our nice little FB chat….

The chat is still open and he hasn’t responded.

I’m going to go laugh myself to sleep and dream of these Phat Pants with Phlames. *snort*

Dude! Your Phat Pants are on Phire!

The Ha Ha vs. the Hoo-haw

So.. during the Oscars the other night, one of the world’s funniest women did a commercial that made me laugh, and cross my legs.  Whoopi, oh how I love thee!

Shhhhh! Women are not supposed to talk about this!  *tap tap* I am not one of those women.  And I mean, the ones that don’t talk about it. I am definitely the kind of woman that pees her pants and will tell you about it.  Yup.  Not proud, but it is part of my life. Like sneezing is for you, only in a more downward direction, for me.

I blame it on babies.. especially that last one, the BOY.  I swear that doctor was saying “GO” while I was pushing.  Apparently he was saying, “NO!”  But  his accent was so thick that  it wasn’t until he was shielding his eyes and screaming…”¡Ay Caramba!”  that I realized he probably was saying “¡NO!”

And so, it goes.

This is my life.  If I sneezed, I tinkled. If I coughed, I pittled. If I laughed, I leaked. And if I laughed while dancing after drinking………..Niagra friggin falls, my friends!  I used to pack a change of clothes for myself in my kid’s diaper bag.  I cannot make this up.  And I know I am not alone, because according to Whoopi, who would not lie to us, 1 in 3 women suffer from some kind of urinary  incontinence .  True dat.

Now, those who know me, hell, if you’ve even MET me, you’ll know that I live to laugh, love to dance, and both are better with drink in hand.  So I’m not gonna sit around in the Lu while everyone else is out having fun. No way.  I went to my doctor.  We made a plan.

You know, for something we never talk about there sure are a lot of options out there! My doc and I first decided I should exercise my pelvic floor and sent me to a physical therapist.  A woman thankfully, but then, this was the closest thing I’ve had to a lesbian experience and this was not how I imagined it I am straight. And the word sphincter is now on the words that I hate list.

Who are we kidding? I hate to exercise.  Hate. Even my girly parts.  You know, if  you go to the gym some beefcake can tell you if you are doing your curls right.  They have ways of knowing if you are exercising your girly parts correctly.  Two ways. One is called biofeedback.  The other one, YOU DON’T WANT TO KNOW. Let’s just say…. I didn’t know whether to cry or have a cigarette.

So I called a surgeon.  Surgery is for exercise haters, aka, my people.  I went to sleep and woke up with a brand new bionic hoo-haw.  My first “lift” you could say.  Things were great.  I was laughing! Dancing! Drinking!  And flu season? BRING IT ON!

But, alas, that was some 7 years ago and……………gravity. *sigh*

In the epic battle of the Ha Ha vs. the Hoo- Haw, the latter is in the lead.  I think I’ll be calling that surgeon again soon, for a bit more of an overhaul, than a lift. In the mean time, I’ll  go out for a good time, prepared for the inevitable.

My friends have always used my ‘accidents’ as a measure of their funny. “Hey! I made Lisa pee!” and high five each other.  Kind of like making a new born baby smile at you. That kind of success.  Some have even made movies about it, like my beloved Jennyonthespot.

She knows me well and has made me pee many times. But I make her snort.  Snorting is better than laughing with your hoo-haw.  I’d take snorting over peeing any day. She bought a funny card  for me, even though it was not my birthday.  It read:

Happiness is like peeing your pants……everyone can see it, but only you can feel it’s warmth.

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.

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!

pheasant-poo

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.

 

X-Ray Shorts

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:

my back

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?

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.