Monday, March 31, 2008

Boobs. Some Good, Some Not So Good.

Saturday was a draining day, emotionally and physically. It started off with an early-morning phone call from Hugh, who had taken the kids to a nearby town for the last wrestling tournament of the season. The tournament organizers informed Hugh, and the other parents from our club, that they had not received a roster from us and therefore, the parents would have to pay a $10 surcharge for late registration.

I assured Hugh that, not only had I faxed our roster to the number listed on their contact information, but I had also followed up with a phone call, leaving a message indicating that I had just faxed the information and that, unless I heard from them, I would assume all was well (yes, I know, never assume; to assume makes an ass out of u and me, thank you very much Mrs. Joya, my eleventh grade French teacher). But, in addition to the fax and phone call, I had also spoken to the husband of the woman who was “in charge” of the event and I use that term loosely, to confirm that we were rostered and to add another wrestler to the brackets.

The people at the registration table basically said, nope, didn’t get it, never happened. Folks, they called me a liar. Hugh? Most unhappy. But, to his credit, he handled the situation quite well. He made certain that the brackets were changed and that our kids got to wrestle. He even paid the late charge for each of our wrestlers out of his own pocket. I was proud of him but the entire situation left me in no mood to be bright and freaking’ bubbly at the spring Luncheon, I mean, a redneck called me a liar.

Anyway, I faked bright and bubbly and it was fine.

The dress that I bought for the event was a big hit and, I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this here before (five or ten meelion times) but; I have gained back several of the pounds that I lost a couple of years ago. Now, I don't know about you but, whenever I lose or gain weight, the first place to show it is in my boobs and, since this recent gain, my breasts have been enjoying a most voluptuous come-back which makes me uncomfortable because I have never been a huge fan of The Breasts and don’t generally flaunt them.

Saturday’s dress however, said what the fuck! Let’s take The Girls out! And, it did. The best conversation I had all day went something like this:

Dear Friend of Mine: Your breasts are amazing. If you weren’t so nice I would have to hate you.
Chelle: That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.
Dear Friend of Mine: Really? Well, you are welcome. Let’s drink some wine!

It took the sting out of being called a liar by a redneck in the nearby town, for certain. Also, can you see why this is a very dear friend of mine? Of course you can.

The luncheon was a success, as usual. I’m not going to lie and tell you that I felt guilty for not doing a table this year; in fact, I thoroughly enjoyed being a guest rather than a hostess. Best part? No dirty dishes to haul off after the event. And, there were some absolutely gorgeous tables and clever ideas that made me gasp in awe. And, I'm sure you'll have no trouble understanding that my favorite table featured a mini buffet of sweets; The Breasts do have chocolate to thank for their return, after all.

The outfits I wore for the fashion show were cute and comfortable and my feet weren’t killing me by the end of the day and I cannot even tell you when the last time that happened at the luncheon. Also, I got a certificate for a free manicure because I broke a nail down to the quick right before the show started and one of the other guests at our table owns a salon in town and took pity upon me.

Either that or she, too, was dazzled by the Cleavage. Either way, free manicure!

After the luncheon, I met Hugh and the kids back at home. The Man-Cub was stoked because he had taken first place at the Redneck Wrestling Tournament and, in addition to a gold medal, he won a champion hat. A hat, suh-weet!

He is so darn easy to please, it just kills me.

Hugh was pretty happy with himself as well, because I had innocently remarked that I was pretty certain that our fax machine keeps a log of sent faxes and, since I was right, he was able to pull the report and is all set to call the school that sponsored the Redneck wrestling tournament to have it out with them until he gets his money back for the reimbursement of the late charges. He also wants an apology from the bastids for calling me a liar.

My husband lives for a good fight and I’m proud that he is so damn hot to fight for my honor.

Ha! Cheesy love song!

Wow! This is getting long.

I’ll close by saying that, Saturday night, Hugh and I took the kids to a magic show sponsored by the local Boys & Girls Club of which our kids are members. It was held at a local coffee house and I had what was probably the best latte that I have ever had. The magic show was awesome as well.

Thus the day, which had started out so rotten, ended on a lovely note.

Minus any sign of visible cleavage.

*Very Dear Friend is on the right in the picture above. Don't I look huge in that picture? Like, seriously enormous? Between her and my other good friend (on the left) I look like an amazon. Or, a giant. But that is only because they are pocket people. Seriously , tiny. So, to recap: Scary Cleavage I got; gigantism, not so much.

Friday, March 28, 2008

We Are On a Break

Spring Break, that is. School let out at noon yesterday and the kids could not be more delighted. We have no major plans for the break, simply hanging out around the house and enjoying one another’s company. At least until we start tap-dancing on one another’s nerves and the need to throttle one another becomes impossible to resist, anyway.

I give it two days. Three, tops.

Hugh is enjoying the break, though. He has been attending some big bowling tournament in New Mexico for the past two days. He enjoys the bowling ever so much and, after devoting so much time to the wrestling program, he needed a little break. Now, he will be all rested up and can come home and dive right into coaching the Man-Cub’s baseball team; oh, joy!

Speaking of the baseball team, have I mentioned lately how truly sorry I am that I agreed to sit on the Baseball Association Board of Directors? No? Well, here goes! I’m sorry. So very sorry.

I have just finished my duties with the wrestling program and am now tasked with ordering uniforms for the baseball teams; teams ranging from Tee-Ball, ages 4 and up through the Majors, ages 15-18. Can you possibly imagine how many kids that entails? Approximately One Meelion kids (said in the voice of Dr. Evil, complete with the pinkie held to the corner of the mouth, thankyouverymuch). And, I just found out that I will also be responsible for scheduling volunteers to man the concession stands at each of the approximately One Meeeeelion games this summer, once again; oh, joy!

On the bright side, we did get all the kids that we wanted for our team at the recent draft. This will be the third year that they have played together which makes it easier for Hugh as a coach; he knows their personalities, strengths, weaknesses, etc. and, who am I kidding; it makes it easier for me, too. I already know-and like-the boys' mothers.

Assigning volunteers to turn the hot dogs and to stir the fake cheese for the nachos should be easy. At our games, anyway; the other nine hundred ninety-nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine games could pose a wee bit of a challenge. And, I suppose I should get to it.

Spring Break my ass.

Wednesday, March 26, 2008

Make Mine Blueberry

We have been enjoying some very lovely weather here the past few days. So lovely, in fact, that a change in wardrobe has been necessary. Ordinarily, I love pulling out my Capri’s and light-weight cargo pants at the end of a long winter but, this year, not so much. Let’s just say that I am baking a muffin top and not in a good way.

Thank goodness my heel appears to be responding well to the cortisone shot, daily stretching exercises and new shoes. Once I get my orthopedic inserts, I’ll be all set to get Billy Blanks on my own ass again.

It will not be a minute too soon, I assure you. Get it? Assure.

Ha! I slay me.

But, seriously; the muffin top? Bad.

Blueberry muffin tops with a sprinkling of Sugar in the Raw on top? Good.

Which, come to think of it, is how I got the bad muffin top.

Well, fuck.

**To clarify: The Muffin Top pictured above is not an accurate representation of my muffin top. My muffin top puts that thing to shame. Shame, I say.

Tuesday, March 25, 2008

The Cough That Ate Toledo

I’m not sick so, why am I still having random coughing fits? And, why am I still coughing up sputum? Is sputum even a word? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

Changing the subject; this weekend I get to skip the Man-Cub’s last wrestling tournament so that I may attend my woman’s club’s annual spring luncheon. I am modeling again this year but, in an unprecedented show of backbone, I refused to play the part of the bride. No ginormous wedding dress for this girl! Yay. In fact, I won’t be modeling anything that makes me self-conscious or uncomfortable. Instead, I will be modeling for a store from which I frequently purchase actual clothing. Clothing that I can wear on a daily basis. Clothing that does not require three layers of support undergarments, a fake tan and a pair of hooker heels.

I'm also not hostessing a table this year. The reason for that is simple; the luncheon’s theme is All Around the World, a collection of international tables and I simply had no idea for a table theme much less the dishes, etc. with which to decorate one.

So, instead of busting my ass to come up with a clever idea, I will be dining at one of my friend’s tables and enjoying the international menu. And, since I won’t have to serve, clear, pretend to be a dewy-faced bride, etc.; I bought a cute new dress for the occasion. And, I’ll actually get to drink the wine that some hunky man-who is not my husband-will be serving**.

Not surprisingly, I am quite looking forward to the luncheon this year.

**Ok, my husband is the only hunky man who ever serves wine at this thing. But, after a couple of glasses, will it really matter? I think not.

Monday, March 24, 2008

Eggcellent

Sorry, I couldn’t resist. But, we really did have an excellent weekend.

Saturday we journeyed to a neighboring community for yet another wrestling tournament. The Man-Cub did really well, placing second. The real fun, however didn’t start until we got home that afternoon.

Jana and the kids came over for an evening of egg-dyeing and a flashlight egg hunt. I don’t know who had more fun, the kids who hunted the eggs, or the adults who got to hide them. And, I use the term “adults” loosely considering the fact that it was Hugh and Jana’s husband (who I used to refer to as New Hubby but who, after three years of marriage-this weekend- deserves some sort of a new nickname. Yeah, I’ll get right on that) who exercised their maturity by stashing the eggs in difficult locations such as in the branches of trees.

To the kids’ credit, they found every one of those eggs, tree branches notwithstanding.

Sunday morning, our kids were up at the crack of dawn for a raid on their Easter baskets. The bunny did not disappoint; chocolate bounty galore!

And, since the Easter candy wasn’t quite enough to tip us into the chocolate coma zone; we met Jana, Hubby To Be Nicknamed Later and the kids at the theater for a showing of Horton Hears a Who later that day. and, there we purchased yet more candy for showtime noshing.

Today, I am back on the diet and fitness wagon. My heel feels a world better than it did this time last month and I think it is time to start working out again. Besides, I have to do something to counter-act the effects of all that candy.

Friday, March 21, 2008

Holy Cramping Uterus, Batman!

Dear Ms.Uterus,

Hi! It’s me, your host body! I’m just checking in with you about a few things and, I hope you don’t take this the wrong way but, what the hell is wrong with you? What is up with the constant cramping this month? Can I not have a decent night’s sleep, free from grinding, blinding, tooth-gnashing pain?

What the hell, Uterus? Have I not been good to you? Do I not shine the spotlight on you on an annual basis? And, ok, being swabbed with a giant Q-Tip may not be your idea of heaven, but, honestly, do you really think that I enjoy it? I do NOT! But, I do it! I do it for YOU! To ensure your health and well-being.

What. Is. With. The Hate?

Ok, sure, asking you to stretch to fifty times your regular size while incubating a human was a lot to ask (um…twice), but, honestly, don’t you think that Ms. Vagina had it far worse? And, do you hear her complaining? I didn’t think so. And, look! The Breast Twins didn’t exactly come out of that ordeal unscathed yet, they continue about their daily chores with nary a sigh. And, they are on constant display!

So! Here’s the deal, I am willing to concede to one day of cramping each month. In exchange, I will continue my annual pilgrimage to the lady doctor for your checkup. I am confident that you will see reason and will, therefore, agree to these terms. However, on the odd chance that you disagree; I will have no choice but to serve you with a notice of eviction and, the next time you see the Lady Doctor will be, well, the LAST time you see the Lady Doctor. I don’t want to do it, really, I don’t but, I think you need to seriously assess the motivation behind your campaign of torment against me.

Sincerely,Chelle
aka: Your Host body.

Thursday, March 20, 2008

Grody, Grody, Grody

My sunburn started peeling yesterday. And, by peeling, I mean that actual sheets of dead skin are sloughing off my body in large quantities and in rapid succession.

Sheets.

I look like a lizard. Or, a snake, take your pick.

And, lord have mercy; I itch. I itch so badly that I have forgone any semblance of modesty and I openly-and frantically- scratch my boobs each time a sheet of putrid epidermis falls into my bra which, by the way, happens often, making me the least modest leper in the colony.

In less grody news (grody, ha! I haven’t used that word in ages! Don’t you love it? Grody. Ga-roooowdy. Say it ten times fast and see if you don’t), I finally cleaned my house yesterday. Rowdie is shedding like a sumbitch and I am struggling to keep up with the fur tumbleweeds that have been gathering near the baseboards. I am so tempted to shave that damn dog, it isn’t even funny.

Hmm, pet-hair tumbleweeds are pretty damn grody, too; I guess it wasn’t less grody news. Let’s try again.

Tomorrow is Good Friday which means the end of Lent* and…dum, dum, da….I GET TO EAT A FREAKING CHOCOLATE BAR!!!!

Then, the Easter Bunny will come hop-hop-hoppin' along on Saturday night which means that I will have a plethora of chocolate goodies from which to choose! I even have a plan for distracting the children while I raid their baskets and, this year, it is sure to succeed.

And, that my friends, is not grody at all.

*Actually, Lent officially ends with the Mass of the Lord’s Supper on Holy Thursday. Bet you didn’t know that. Also, my mom is wiping away the tears, she is so proud of me for knowing it. Either that or she didn't know it and is now thumbing through her Catholic Manual wondering if I am correct and, if so, how did that happen?

Wednesday, March 19, 2008

Getting Jiggy With It

Yesterday, in a vain attempt to break out of my usual exercise routine, I popped a new DVD into the player; Carmen Electra’s Aerobic Striptease, to be exact. I have had the DVD for… I don’t even know how long and I thought that it seemed like the perfect day to break the seal and try something new.

The video starts with Carmen and two prostitutes…I mean…dancers…dressed in terry cloth shorts and short-sleeved zippered hoodies circa 1979. If you are picturing Crissy Snow from Three’s Company, there you have it. Anyhoo, Carmen, Crissy and Janet start us off with a nice, albeit smutty, warm-up and we’re off!

The head rolls with accompanying hair toss, I got down pat. Rocking the hips side to side took a bit more practice. Aggressively gyrating the hips while simultaneously thrusting the chest forward and sucking the index finger on the right hand while maintaining an alluring facial expression? I sucked exponentially. In fact, random onlookers would have easily mistaken me for a seizing epileptic rather than for an alluring, sexy, albeit, smutty, stripper.

To sum up: I will never be fit for an occupation that requires stilettos, a pole and pasties complete with tassels and, if you have ever seen me naked, you just breathed a huge sigh of relief.

Also, it’s probably time to renew my gym membership.

In other news, school is almost over and the kids appear to realize this. And, by that I mean; they have the spring fever and are driving me crazy with the countdown.

Plus, the Man-Cub has yet to produce a single shred of homework this week which leads me to wonder if a) he is so phenomenally advanced that he finished every assignment at school or b) he is stashing his homework in his desk and…la,la,la…what homework? A call to his teacher is probably in order.

Speaking of the Man-Cub (oh my, it’s a velvety-smooth segue river today!), I have managed to produce a suitable box lunch for the child for the majority of his lunches this year. Why he so adamantly refuses to eat cafeteria food, I do not know; his sister certainly seems to enjoy it. But, that isn’t the point, the point is; I have managed to crank out a number of original and tasty box lunches. Unfortunately, I have now exhausted my arsenal of box-lunch knowledge. Repeating the menu is leading the child to rebel and, there may be bloodshed.

As an aside, when making the choice between Swiss and cheddar cheeses, is it too much to ask that the child not sob “I can’t decide! I can’t make up my minds!”? Because, seriously, it’s CHEESE. Also, make up your MINDS?

Whatever, Sybil.

He’s just lucky I don’t try my new striptease moves in front of him; that would ruin his appetite forever.

On the other hand, no more racking my brains to come up with clever lunchbox items; maybe I shouldn’t be too hasty about throwing that DVD in the yard-sale pile.

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

Evidentally, Fear Is Not a Factor For Some People

Our whirlwind trip to Orlando was quite productive. We left at 6:00 a.m. on Thursday, arriving in Orlando at 2:00 Florida time. By the time we got to the hotel and got settled in, it was past 3:00 and Emily was at our door, asking us to join her on a walk.

We walked around the convention center area, stopping to enjoy the many bizarre displays at Ripley’s Believe It Or Not before meeting up with Oscar for dinner at Maggiano’s.

Friday morning, we were up early to hit the market. I estimate that we walked at least a hundred miles around the convention center. Ok, maybe not quite a hundred but, it certainly felt like it.

Emily and I managed to get all of our work done in one day because, unlike our husbands, we are efficient (and, you know, we kind of wanted to do some personal shopping on Saturday). By the time Oscar and Hugh were finished, we were all tired so, we hit the hay early.

Saturday morning, Hugh was up and gone before I even cracked open an eyelid. When I did get up, I met Emily for breakfast downstairs and then we headed for a nearby outdoor mall to window-shop. While we were window-shopping, I found a great deal on new yoga pants but, otherwise, I didn’t really spend much money which was a good thing because, on Sunday, Hugh surprised me with a trip to Universal Studios but, more on that later.

After browsing the shops, Emily and I grabbed a frapuccino at Starbucks and headed back to the hotel to lay out by the pool which, considering how loooong the winter has dragged on; felt pretty damn good. So good, in fact, that I completely neglected both the time and the rules of proper sunscreen application. I now have sunburn that is such an angry shade of red, it’s almost purple.


And, it hurts.


Emily didn’t exactly come out unscathed, either and she followed the rules of proper application of sunscreen.

No matter, we took our lobster-red selves to dinner that night with Oscar, Hugh and Hugh’s brother-in-law who was also attending the market as a sales rep for one of the tool companies. We went to a very nice martini bar and, while none of us actually drank a martini, it was nice.

Sunday, as I mentioned, Hugh and I ventured to Universal Studios. In a surprise turn of events, lightning did not strike us for visiting a theme park without our children (I fully expected it to but, nay).

We had not been to Universal since our honeymoon almost fifteen years ago and my, how things have changed. They now have a sister park-Island of Adventure-and the rides in Universal itself have been updated or replaced with new attractions.

One of these new attractions is the Fear Factor Live show which takes place four or five times a day. Hugh wanted to watch the show so, after riding the Mummy, Twister and a few other things, we headed over. It was about 10:30 at that time and the next show didn’t start until noon. They were, however, eliciting victims participants from the park attendees and, thinking it was just a joke, I suggested that Hugh step on up. He told me that he would never let me live it down if I didn’t join him suggested that we do it together and, um, I am an idiot so I agreed.

To make a long story short (yes, I know; too late!), I will give you the Cliff notes:


-Many waivers of liability were signed.


-Spandex outfits were procured (and, no, you will not see a picture of me in the spandex outfit).

-Stunts were explained.

-Cables, harnesses and other rigging were secured on our persons.


-Two-out-of-five people punked out before the first stunt (and I wasn’t one of them).

-The first stunt consisted of standing on a teeny-tiny platform thirty feet in the air and grabbing a bar above your head as the platform dropped from underneath you. Then, there was hanging. And, wind from a large fan. A minute and a half or so later, I fell. The fall was awesome. Standing on the platform, waiting to grab onto the handle while two hundred people stared at me from thirty feet below? Well, let’s just say that it is a good thing the show provides the contestants with disposable underwear to wear beneath their fancy spandex outfits.


-Hugh was the last to fall so, he and one other guy (I was the only woman dumb brave enough to compete, pssss....I'm so hot! Oh wait, that's just the sunburn) moved on to the final round which consisted of climbing a ladder fifty feet off the ground while grabbing flags at different intervals. At the top of the ladder, he had to grab a key from a fireman’s pole, slide down, jump into a car and start the engine. The car was then lifted thirty feet off the ground at which point he had to jump over the windshield, onto the hood and free three more flags before jumping back into the car and firing a bazooka at a target.

-He is a stud, so he won.

-His prize was a Fear Factor Champion tee-shirt, a certificate and four two-park passes that never expire which means we can take the kids back there next year when we go back to Disneyworld. Yay!


-Free tickets and the promise of a return visit take the sting out of explaining to your children that you went to an amusement park without them.

Despite the fact that I am now more terrified of heights than ever before, it was a good time.

The rest of the day in the parks was likewise fun, despite the fact that the Hulk roller-coaster made me hurl and I got drenched on a water ride, like Drenched with a capital D. I can’t wait to do it again. T
The fun we had almost made up for having to get up in the middle of the night to catch our plane home.

Almost.

Wednesday, March 12, 2008

Keep Swimming or Die

Like a shark.


The last few weeks have been busy, busy, busy and I am tired, so very tired.

The Pee Wee wrestling program is kicking my butt; last night I took team and individual pictures of all 69 kids. And, this was after I took delivery of, sorted, and distributed over 150 team tee-shirts and sweatshirts. All in the space of two hours.

Chaos.

My parents arrive today to spend the next several days with my offspring while Hugh and I fly to Orlando for the Spring Market. I haven’t packed yet. My house is a pig-sty of epic proportions bit untidy. I have a million things to do at the store before I can even think of leaving and I need to run into town to purchase new athletic shoes so my poor mutated feet won’t suffer during hours of walking on hard concrete floors at the convention center.

Do you feel sorry for me yet?

When we get back from Orlando, I have volunteered to help organize the Youth Baseball program. The team draft will actually happen while we are away but my dad has been drafted to volunteered to take the Man-Cub for us, so he won’t miss it. Hugh is coaching a team again this year so, it’s pretty certain which kids will be on our team but, we have to go through the motions anyway.

And, my woman’s club’s annual luncheon is just a few weeks away and I am the Publicity Chair which means that I need to get my tail in gear designing and printing the programs, playbill and table cards.

Suddenly, death doesn’t seem like such a bad option; at least I would get some rest.

Monday, March 10, 2008

Anyone Missing a Bone?

Because, I have an extra one in my foot if anyone needs it.

This and other surprise discoveries awaited me this morning when I returned to the podiatrist to be casted for my orthotics. In addition to the extra bone, my x-rays also show that I have a lovely set of heel spurs, one on each foot, as well as a bone spur on top of the big toe on my right foot. Oh, and let us not forget the “funky” thing that the joint between my toes is doing. Yes “funky”; I’m guessing that is a medical term because I still don’t quite understand exactly what it is that the joint is doing also, that is the term the doctor used.

So, yes. I am a freak. How did this happen? Was it a chemical mutation caused by my environment? A practical joke played on me by an angel on Heaven’s assembly line? I do not know but, if I ever decide to have a full-body scan, someone please stop me; the voyage of discovery is a terrifying thing and, frankly, I would rather remain blissfully unaware.

On the bright side, my abnormalities are on the inside and, thus invisible to the naked eye. I will take comfort in that and thank God they don’t include like a third nipple or something.

Just imagine how hard it would be to find a bra that would accommodate that.

Sunday, March 09, 2008

Back On

Friday’s Cortisone Flare magically disappeared yesterday and I am now officially back together with Cortisone; he loved me all along and was just playing hard to get.

My heel felt so good at yesterday’s wrestling tournament that I was able to stay on my feet for the entire day. In fact, I would have declared myself 100% fit were it not for the fact that my throat burned with the fire of a million lava-filled volcanoes and the act of taking a deep breath threw me into coughing spasms. Like, really; I actually coughed hard enough to bring tears to my eyes.

(Also, I am eternally grateful for my devoted attention to Keggle exercises following the births of both my children.)

I have arrived at the conclusion that I will never be completely well again; if not for one thing, it will be another.

Sigh.

In happier news, the Man-Cub took first place at the tournament. Of course, who would have doubted he would? After all; he has the perfect practice dummy on which to perfect his moves.

video

And, lucky for him, she is a damn good sport.

Friday, March 07, 2008

In Lieu of A Real Post....

....I give you this.




You Are Oregano



You have are charming, funny, witty, and smart.

You love to party - and people love to party with you.

You are always friendly and warm. You are able to help people get along.





I'm a lazy poster today because my romance with cortisone was short-lived and my heel hurts worse now than it did before I let the good doctor poke at me repeatedly with a needle which, as it turns out, is a perfectly normal side effect. Lovely, I might have wanted to know about that before I waxed poetic about how well the treatment had gone.

On the other hand, Dr. Google assures me that what I am experiencing is a phenomenon called Cortisone Flare and that it should clear up within the next ten-to-twelve hours, leaving me pain-free.

On can hope, right?

Thursday, March 06, 2008

Help! My Arches Have Fallen and They Can’t Get Up!

My new podiatrist is a very nice man, of course; I would say that about any man who was willing to fondle my feet.

He did cause me the slightest bit of discomfort however when he asked me if my bunions ever bothered me.

I was all wha? My wha?

Because, when I think bunions I think, well, bunions

Yick. Gag. Gross.



My feet are pretty and, frankly, bunion free…..



See? Bunion-free. I’m just sayin’.

On the other hand, the good doctor did give me a most lovely shot of cortisone which immediately eliminated the pain caused by my plantar fasciitis (yes, Dr. Google was correct in his diagnosis) so, I will forgive him for accusing me of having bunions.

Bunions, for the love of God.

So, yeah, plantar fascitis; I return to the good doctor next Monday to have my foot casted for my orthopedic inserts. I elected to have them custom-made as opposed to purchasing the generic model available in the office because I want to do it right. Also, my insurance will totally cover the $395 cost and, contrary to popular opinion, I am not stupid.

So, to recap: Arches have fallen like the London Bridge, cortisone is my new best friend, I have no bunions and I am not stupid.

I've had quite a busy morning.

Wednesday, March 05, 2008

A Non-Politically Correct Post

I bought a new bottle of OPI today, Princesses Rule! which is about as corny a name as you can get but, polishing my toenails with it raised my spirits, nonetheless and the timing was perfect because I see the podiatrist tomorrow and now he will see that I have lovely, lovely princess feet and not the feet of a cave troll.

What? You're a cave troll?

Oh.

Well, I'm sure your feet are lovely.

Tuesday, March 04, 2008

Spring Wish List

-Warmer temperatures, at this point, 60 would be welcome.

-I would like to wash my car and not have it snow immediately thereafter.

-Landscaping; if I have to go one more mud season without grass in the back yard, I cannot be held responsible for my actions.

-More hours in the day to accomplish the things that I need to accomplish.

-A bumper crop of tulips and daffodils; after enduring a ridiculously long and frigid winter, I deserve to have fabulous flowerbeds to show for it.

-I would like to feel better; the pain in my foot being the first thing I would like to say buh-bye to.

-A cute new hairstyle, I am in a rut and in need of something different.

-A play-date with my college roommates.

-A tighter tushie, boobs that defy gravity, a winning lottery ticket, and, of course; world peace.

It is a wish list after all.

Monday, March 03, 2008


If You’re Going to Run With the Big Dogs…

My weekend was exhausting thanks in no small part to the fact that my head still feels like it is stuffed with cotton. We can send a man to the moon, invent technology that allows us to track our children via satellite and eradicate previously deadly diseases and still we can’t cure the common cold.

Mind-boggling.

Also mind-boggling: how anyone in their right mind would subject themselves to the torture that is Cub Scout leadership. Seriously, after experiencing the noise level and general chaos at Friday night’s Pinewood Derby; I am in awe and amazement at the Man-Cub’s Scout leaders. I’m also fairly certain that they are certifiable and, since they would probably agree with my assessment; it isn’t like I’m talkin’ smack.

The derby, while loud, out of control and mentally exhausting, was also a lot of fun. The Cub’s car, while very pretty awesomely manly to look at; was not exactly speedy. It wasn’t slow enough to take home Slowest Car honors, either but the Cub didn’t seem to mind one bit. In fact, once one of the other moms busted out the popcorn balls shaped like Easter eggs; I don’t think there was a Scout in the place who really cared about the race, competition was a distant memory unless you counted the contests to see who could stuff the entire popcorn ball into their mouth the fastest and really, can there be a winner in that contest?

(The correct answer is: yes, the child who manages not to choke on his snack)

Too bad the Scouts hoovered those eggs; we could have used them at the wrestling tournament Saturday and, not on the kids but, on their parents (to cure them of their competitive bullshit, not to choke them. Although….) .

Seriously, people, it’s Pee Wee Wrestling. There are no scouts in the audience just waiting to swoop in and sign your six-year-old. Get a grip!.

Whew! Sorry about that, didn’t mean to rant.

So…the Cub did really well at the tournament. His first competitor was -gasp!-a girl! And, if you don’t think my son thought long and hard about the playground consequences of losing to a girl; you probably don’t have a son.

Hugh and I coached the Cub to approach the match like he would any other, after all, the girl (or, her parents, who knows?) chose to compete in a sport that has traditionally belonged to the male of the species and, while I think girls have every right to challenge boys; they also have to play by the same rules and can’t really expect to be treated any differently than a boy would be treated.

Apparently, the Cub shares that conviction and he attacked that little girl just like he would have any boy. It wasn’t pretty in the end and, yeah….as the rednecks in my hometown would say; if you’re going to run with the big dogs, you can’t pee like a puppy.


(In the interest of full disclosure, I should admit that I actually teared up right along with that little girl because; the Cub like man-handled her. I teared up even worse when, following the match, the Cub went right up to the kid, patted her on the back and said “Hey, it’s ok! You wrestle tough enough to be a boy!” I’m sure that’s exactly what her parents were going for)


In the end, the Cub wrestled his way to a second-place medal which would have been a first-place medal if not for a tiny error on the part of one of the officials. When the error was called to Hugh’s attention by the official after the other kid’s hand had been raised in victory; Hugh and the Cub agreed that it was no big deal. After all, the officials were High School wrestlers who cannot possibly be expected to call everything correctly and, as I said earlier; it’s Pee Wee wrestling.

Too bad one of the parents from a neighboring community didn’t see things the same way; the High School football coach had to physically eject him from the gymnasium for screaming obscenities at his own child as well as at one of the officials.

Obscenities at his own child!

Someone needed a popcorn ball, is what I’m sayin’.