It's Monday.

I have a gentleman that regularly compliments when I'm out in the parking lot after school every day. I'm fine with it. Today was no exception, compliments abound. Little did he know that I spent a good chunk of my afternoon with my sweater on inside out. #winning

Last week, I got bit by a miniature donkey. It hurt about the same as if one were to be bit by a full-sized donkey, at least I'm pretty sure. It was a love bite, and I don't hold a grudge, but my students were fascinated. Today when they walked in, I got asked how my donkey bite was doing. I'm pretty sure that when you've reached that level of conversation, it's family. After three years, we don't really hold back in my room. Sharing is caring. 

I still have at least one moment every day where I want to save a story and tell my dad. I've been writing some of it down, but I feel like this is a good place to share, too. No offense, but this post wasn't for the living. 

If, however, you can recommend a good dehydrator, I will take that into consideration. My dad used to dry fruit and I'm out. Yes, I could buy already dried fruit, but did you know that they add sugar? Bastards. 

It's What I Bring to the Table.

So last night after Jeremiah made me dinner, I told him he was my hero. And I was not kidding. In the past week, this man has taken two days of PTO to stay at home with me while I was not able to work AND left his job (on the other side of Phoenix) to come pick me up from my place of employment because I could not drive. That's pretty freaking awesome.

I proclaimed that he was indeed my hero and asked if he would like to hear a song about heroes. He didn't say no, which I took to mean that I could sing if I wanted to. So I did. I sang "Everybody's Got to Have a Hero", from my elementary music class text book, that was performed by my class in third grade. Sang the whole damn thing. Start to finish. Ended with over the top jazz hands (is that redundant?).

Jeremiah stared at me for a minute and then announced, "That's it. That's the shit that you bring to the table. Who wouldn't want that in their company/business/school?"

Hells yes. Impromptu dancing and singing. "It's the shit I bring to the table." I'm thinking of adding that to my resume.

p.s. I should mention that I NEVER miss work and the fact that I had to miss a few days is killing me. Killing me, Smalls.
p.p.s. Also, I just wanted to say once again how awesome my co-workers are. Seriously, I heart these people. Because not only did Jeremiah have to come get me, but one of my friends came to pick Jeremiah up at the house and drove him back to the school so he could get his car before who knows what happened to it.

Kelly Clarkson!

Yesterday after work I went to one of my specialists. He is the one that diagnosed me with Snuffy's Disease, even though he is not a podiatrist. I am pretty sure I am his dose of entertainment for the day (Unless it is an emergency flare visit, in which case there is endless crying and sweating. That might not be his favorite.).

Anyway, I have been doing okay with my disease. My main focus right now is the Snuffy's Disease and my three week long sinus infection (I went to the doctor on Saturday. It got pretty bad, Friends.). He asked about S.D. and I informed him that I was still having problems. He suggested the injection again, which I was hesitant about because I don't love the idea of masking the pain. He said that it would bring down the inflammation and allow me to use the foot again. It might even give the foot time to heal.

After a lot of nervous wiggling and clapping (Yes, clapping. I think I was trying to encourage myself.) I decided to go for it.

They wheeled the most ginormous machine into the room and at that point I realized that it was probably too late to turn back and that also this might be something that I regret. It was actually just the ultra-sound machine and he even pointed out my tendons and foot parts. So far, so good.

The next step was a quick cleaning because I had been in sandals all day and feet get filthy in Phoenix. I am so serious. First thing I do when I get home? I wash my feet. Anyway, then I made him promise that he would tell me when he was going to shoot me. He promised. It went like this:


E: Promise me?
Dr: I promise. Right now I am going to put some cold stuff on it.
E: Okay. Wow, yeah, that's chill-HOLY CRAP! HOLY CRAP! HOLY CRAP! The bastard shot me. There was a lot of clapping and weird mouth noises and even some swearing until he was done - which was about a minute. A minute of getting a shot in my freaking heel. Normally I would wiggle a lot, but they were holding down BOTH of my feet.
E: You are a sneaky liar!
Dr: What?
E: You PROMISED me!
Dr: Oh. Did I forget to mention that I was going to stick you? I thought I said it. Huh.
E: You are a sneaky, evil man.

I should still be mad at him, but he ever so gently attached a band-aid to my foot and helped me down from the table because walking at that point had become treacherous.

If you do not mind a lot of swearing - and I mean A LOT of swearing - this is what my visit was like. Except I do not need my chest waxed and I am not a man. The general overall flip out? Practically the same. Except some different swears.

Again - not an appropriate video for watching in a public place or around children. Don't pull this out in church, friends.

In fact, I will just provide the link:
I like your sweater. Does that come in a v-neck?

If you are interested, you can revisit another visit to Dr. Lying Sneaky Pants HERE.

p.s. Also I can't really walk today. I seriously need a walker. Or a cane. Because I am really limping. I look like I am trying to be a gangsta.
p.p.s. In school-related news, do you know how many paper towels it takes to clean up an entire carton of milk when it falls into a desk? I do. That was a great start to the morning. 

Wake Up in the Morning Feeling Like P Diddy.

No. No I don't, actually.

I imagine that his mornings are glorious. 

I wake up feeling like crap. I can't figure out if it is allergies, sinusitis, or a sinus infection.

Every single morning I am hoarse and it feels like someone has shellacked my throat in snot. I know it sounds gross, but believe me, living it is even grosser. I am an over-sharer, but I will NOT tell you what happens when I start coughing (I just threw up in my mouth a little while thinking about it.).

Crappy as I feel, there have been some great soundbytes happening this week, and I will be damned if I am going to be negative right now.

So please enjoy these conversations that have happened over the course of the week. Warning - some of them are not appropriate. They are the opposite. They are inappropriate. And childish. If you aren't ready for this jelly, you may want to skip this one.

J: What did you have for dinner?
E: A delicious breast of chicken with a sweet sauce and some grilled pineapple.
J: What did your friend have?
E: Tuna tacos...ohmygosh. Tuna tacos. How hilarious. They did not call them that at the restaurant. They called them Ahi tacos. With a special areola sauce.
J: Excuse me?
E: Aioli sauce. But we had a slip of the tongue and it became areola sauce...or nipple sauce. Tuna tacos and nipple sauce! Hold on I need to text her and let her know that her dinner tonight was hilarious.
J: And you are how old?
E: Looking up while texting - Apparently I am twelve. And a boy.

E: I told Jeremiah that you had tuna tacos with nipple sauce! I almost wet my pants.
Friend: How did we not catch that?
E: I continue to giggle as I think about how your dinner had all different lady bits in it.
F: I am nothing if not comprehensive in my dining.

Coworker: I kind of want to touch you. That shirt is fabulous.
E: You can touch me. I have been touching myself all day.

E: She shows symptoms of being a meth user.
C: I agree. It's like, "Hey, I've seen those teeth before!"

C: Venting to another coworker: Do you know how much time Emily and I spend together? A lot. Ten to twelve hours a day. I see her more than Jeremiah does. We're basically married.
E: It's true. I came home the other day and Jeremiah was like, "You look different..." He sees me so little that he notices all these little changes that he never noticed when he saw me all the time.
C: I think we are the job.
E: Thinking about this. Well, wait a minute. I feel a bit ripped off, though. I did not get a ring or cake or honeymoon out of either of these relationships. And we all know those are the three main reasons to get married...plus presents and a dress.

J: I am afraid I have some bad news...
E: WHAT?
J: Well, I caught Maddie in the act. She killed one of your ornaments.
E: Which ornament?
J: I don't really know. So far I have found a wing, a beak, and some stuffing. So it appears to be from the bird family.
E: Where?
J: It's everywhere. The carnage is everywhere.
E: But you can't tell which bird it is?
J: No. I am sorry. We may have to pull dental records. 

Today's text to Jeremiah:
E: Please don't forget to pick up our prescriptions. (At 12:01)
E: Oh, and a pizza. (12:02)
E: Also a pony. (12:03)

Have a great weekend, Friends! If you have any suggestions that may help minimize my snot, please let me know.

Determined.

Yesterday, mid-way through my morning, I realized that I dreamed that I was having a very determined conversation with Jeremiah. Then I realized (with a certain amount of dread) that it might not have been a dream. You all know how much I like to talk in my sleep and have night terrors.

So I called Jeremiah.

E: By chance was I talking in my sleep last night?
J: Mmmm...Holy crap! Yes!
E: And my topic of conversation was...?
J: I have no clue. I was like, "WTF?!" (Except he actually said it.) You did not make any sense at all. And you would not stop talking.
E: Yeah, I woke up feeling so determined. Like I had tried to accomplish something fantastic in my sleep.
J: Well, you did not. I told you that you were not awake. Over and over again. Eventually you gave up.
E: I'm a quitter. Damn it.


So that made me laugh for awhile. Because my sleep is disrupted by Jeremiah's snoring on a regular basis. I am happy to return the interrupted sleep favor.


Also, you know what? I was getting into my car (I shall not be telling you where I was, but I certainly was not at work. No sir.) and this girl across the street was yelling at her son, who was maybe two. He was toddling his way towards the road and she was yelling, "Get your ass back here!" and when she caught him she asked him "What the hell were you thinking?".

First of all, please know that when I told you all to talk to your children, this is not the type of conversation to which I was referring.

Secondly, honey? Read a parenting book. That kid is not thinking ahead about dangers of the street. Plus, it will tell you not to swear at your toddler. Any parenting book. Give it a try.

Well, I Got Stuck in My Mini-Fridge This Afternoon...

I worked a bit over twelve hours yesterday. I was deaf and speaking quite loudly by the time that I arrived home. Thankfully, they have switched Jeremiah's hours yet again, so I did not have to think about what to make for dinner when I rolled in at 7:45 pm.

That is because he had made dinner for me. Just in case you are having trouble inferring that detail. Jeremiah home early = Emily does not have to make dinner.

Jeremiah asked me how my day was and if anything interesting happened. This is always a good question because with kids, you never freaking know what can happen. And also? With me, you never freaking know what can happen.

So I responded with "Well, I got stuck in my fridge today at work."

And really? What do you say to that?

Jeremiah: How does that even happen?
Emily: Conferences start tomorrow and I was preparing things. During one of my many procrastination breaks, I leaned over in my wheelie chair and it slipped out from under me. Acting the whole thing out for him. My arm was in my fridge (which is on the floor, if you are trying to picture this) at the time reaching for a cookie, I mean, a carrot, and I fell on the front and top of the fridge. I trapped my arm in there. The fridge door closed on me. It was horrible.
Jeremiah: Well, that explains the bruise. He points to my arm, where there is a perfectly straight horizontal green line. I am guessing that is where the door of the fridge closed on your arm?
Emily: Oh...Yeah. Also? I really effed up my neck and shoulder.
Jeremiah: Shakes his head. Dinner is ready.

He did not seem too surprised by the incident.

At one point, I did think, Why me? But then I remembered my dad sailing down the dunes and wiping out and my mom sliding under the Jeep one icy morn and then I was like, Yeah, seems about right.

Jesus. The Dog, Not the Carpenter.

I should preface this by saying that here in Arizona, the name Jesus is quite common (pronounced "Hay/Suess" for those that sat next to me in French class. In Michigan.). Everyone and/or their brother is named Jesus here in Arizona.

One time I went out to eat and we spilled our waters and we could not find our waiter, but Jesus was there with a hand towel to help wipe things up. It's a very Jesus-y thing to do. Help those in need. Of a hand towel.

So imagine my surprise when on the first day of school, one of my students was telling me about her dog, Jesus, and she actually pronounced like a girl from MI would pronounce it - "Gee/Zuss".

"Jesus is so mean. He will bite you. He will bite your fingers like this." Demonstrates. "He will make you think that he is going to be nice but then NO. He is not nice."

And all I could think was, Wow. Totally not the behavior you would expect from the Son of God.

Friday's Highlight - Which I Forgot to Post

School started on Wednesday.

It's been rough.

This might be the year I take up drinking. Just kidding. I am more a Valium kind of girl. Less calories.

Not a lot of highlights right now.

On the way to bus duty, though, I ran into a very young student. Probably kinder or first grade. Didn't know her. That doesn't stop itty-bitties, though. They will talk to just about anyone.

Student: Do you think I am going to miss the bus?
Me: No. I don't think so.
S: Are you sure?
Me: You won't miss the bus. Promise. I have to go to the buses, too. So you will be fine.
S: So this one day, I went to a meadow.
Me: Really? That sounds like fun.
S: Oh, it was. I saw butterflies and beautiful flowers and even some tweety birds.
Me: Wow. Did the tweety birds sing?
S: Yes. It was beautiful.
Me: Do you know what we call birds that sing?
S: Shakes head
Me: Songbirds.
S: Oh, I saw butterflies, beautiful flowers, and the most amazing songbirds.

It made my day. Parents, talk with your children. Introduce them to things. Expand their vocabulary. Offer them experiences. You don't need money to do this. Promise.

Oh, and I was kidding about the Valium. Relax, people.

Who Can It Be Knockin' On My Door?

The police came to our house this morning. While I was still upstairs resting/sleeping. My first thought was, "Damn it. What the hell did Jeremiah do?" Which is redonk, because Jeremiah is like, a boy scout. But we all have our pasts, and you just never know*.

My second thought was, "I need to put on pants." as currently I was donning a t-shirt that I have had since I was 12 (If you were to think that means it has a lot of holes, you would be correct. A large piece of Swiss cheese would have offered more coverage.).

And on an aside, when I was in Vegas last week (Vegas, Baby!), a co-worker said she would be stopping by my room every morning and I was all, "If it takes me awhile to answer, don't be alarmed, I am just putting on pants." Then it occurred to me that this co-worker did not really know me that well, and it was probably more information that she wanted. And also? She might not stop by for fear of catching me without pants. And then I could wipe out on the tile floor in the bathroom and hit my head and DIE and no one would know.

Seriously, I can't be the only person who puts on their pants right before they head out, can I? I get my top half ready (hair, make-up, shirt) and THEN I put on pants. If I had nicer thighs and hips I might just forgo the pants altogether. Such a pain.

Anyway, the police came to the door this morning.

After I got over the fear of not having on pants and wondering what secret life Jeremiah might be leading, I got curious.

Me: Well???
J: They wanted to know about the neighbors.
Me: Smokey Smokersons? Those would be the creepy neighbors with the hound.
J: No, the house across the street. They were wondering about the cars parked and if there was a woman there and blah blah blah blah...So I told them blah blah blah blah...
Me: Silence for a bit. Jeremiah?
J: Yeah?
Me: You realize that you gave them wrong information? The neighbors you just told them about moved out over a year ago. They don't even live there anymore.
J: Shit.  So that's not the same truck?
Me: No.
J:Maybe I should go tell them what you told me.
Me: You think?

He came back in and told me that he told the police "That the one with the memory told me I was wrong, here's what is really happening at that house..." and the police told him that MY version of the neighbors matched another witness's/neighbor's story.

Now I am super curious about what is going on up in this neighborhood. Tell you what. We make every effort to be neighborly to two of the most normal neighbors on the street. Stick together. My new motto.

*At some point, I may share with you the time bounty hunters came to the house in the middle of the night with all sorts of weapons and scaring me almost to death. Having your house closed in on? Not a great feeling. I thought Jeremiah was at fault that time, too. He was not. And he loves the amount of trust I place in him.

Because No One Puts Baby in the Corner

Not to upstage Jeremiah or anything, but late on Friday night I was admitted to the emergency room. As I was not able to drive and Jeremiah is on strict orders not to drive, I am going to say that we flew to the ER. Or rode horseback. Which sounds more realistic?

My joints/muscles were flamed up and I was in excruciating pain. Nothing was helping. Not a bath, not gentle massage, not heat. Nothing. I couldn't lie down, couldn't sit. The only thing I could do was pace. And cry. And there was some screaming mixed with snot-filled sinuses, which I am sure was a treat.

So we went to the ER using our wings/horses. It is really close to our house, and suburbia is quite quiet at one thirty in the morning. So our horses encountered minimal traffic.

I was almost immediately given a bed, even though they were packed. This did not matter because I could not sit down and spent my time standing and pacing the room until they made me lie down to get an IV.

At this point, they told me that I would be getting morphine, something for nausea, and valium. And then I started to cry, because I HATE drugs of any kind and they scare me. Plus, the nurse could not find any veins (typical) and ended up using the inside of my arm, half way up. Very painful, Friends. So I was snot crying about the pain, stress, sleeplessness, and the fear of the morphine.

Then after, I felt a little better. Still in pain, but not crying because my back was touching the bed. Also not pain free enough to be considered okay, so I got my second dose of morphine. At this point, I cared a little less. Also at this point, conversations became a bit more interesting.

Me: Ooh, Roseanne is on! I love this show!
J: Okay...
Me: I love John Goodman.
J: Quizzical look in my direction
Me: He's bringing sexy back, Jeremiah.
J: Really? Should I gain a hundred pounds?
Me: Well, no. But you would look GOOD in that flannel shirt. And with some curly hair. At this point in the conversation, I may have growled a little. This is an argument we have had for years. I think Jeremiah should bring back the cowboy look. I don't know if it's because he grew up on a farm or what, but I think he could rock the boots, hat, and plaid/flannel shirt. I never win this argument. 
Nurse: How are we doing in here?
J: Oh, I think the morphine is kicking in.

And also this, about an hour into the stay:
J: Shit. This chair is really uncomfortable.
Me: Oh, really?
J: Yeah.
Me: Yeah? You let me know when you sleep in one of those chairs for THREE WHOLE DAYS while watching someone you love in the aftermath of a craniotomy, then we will talk.


I am home now and feeling better, but not too psyched about the fact that I have had such a serious episode, because my doctor has helped me manage it so well, it worries me that something like this managed to sneak through the meds.


Diseases suck.

So how was your weekend?

p.s. My nurse looked like Jane Lynch and was almost as funny. That could be the morphine talking, but I really do think she was funny.

p.p.s. I have added a picture of my bruise so you can feel my pain.

This is where they shot the morphine into me. Or, as we now know it, the truth serum. After Roseanne ended, Three's Company came on and I announced to Jeremiah that young John Ritter was hot.

The Cardinal

Every day I have a student whose hair sticks straight out in the back. Like a spoiler on all those ghetto-y road racing cars.

Straight out, like it's pointing at someone. What way to the bathroom? That way! What direction to the buses? That way! Follow his hair!

I think it's adorable, but he gets so upset. Maybe because it's so much hair. It's not some wisps, it's a significant chunk.

Sometimes I try to comb/pat it down for him. I even use water, but it doesn't work.

The other day he comes up to me:

Student: Miss?
Me: Yes?
Student: I tried today to comb it down, but it just didn't work. Pats his head furiously. This is the end of the day, by the way, so it escapes him that his hair has been this way all day. 
Me: Oh, I like it. I think it adds character. It makes you special. We can all recognize you from the back, and that's important.
Student: Do you know what my brother calls me? I should mention that I had his brother several years ago, so I can picture this clearly in my head.
Me: What?
Student: Cardinal.
Me: Snorted. I totally could not even control it. And the smile/smirk wouldn't leave, either. Awe, man. Sometimes big brothers aren't very nice. But you know, cardinals are really cool birds. And you kind of have the signature feather tuft going on back there...
Student: Sighs. Yeah, I know...He walks away absentmindedly, patting his head as he walks. His hair bobbing along behind him.

I am honestly going to miss this group of students. Not all of them, but most of them. The Cardinal yesterday wrote on his "star of the week" paper (that is not for a grade, so he wasn't sucking up) that I was his hero. Most kids pick their parents. A couple of them pick Jesus. I was so flattered to be up there with such good company. I got a bit misty-eyed, but managed to make it through.

Last night however, I had a dramatic episode (that's the nice way of saying that I had a small breakdown) and was wailing so loudly and so high-pitched that the neighbor's hound dog started baying with me. And the the other neighborhood dogs heard him and they joined in, too.

Just me and the dogs, yo.

Orange You Glad You Had One?

No vault. I miss the vault. 

Typically, I barely take a break to breathe at work, but as last night was rough (dog panting, which means his ass is about to explode in a mess of diarrhea; and a rogue smoke detector) and I was up from about one until about two or three.

So when I had a second, I called Jeremiah. His car took a shit and he had to take the day to take it in, as it was undrive-able, which left him with little choice. So he was home. His biggest concern was that he did not have any sweets. His half of everything that my mom and my aunt had sent for Easter was gone. Like, within the first few days.

We had this coversation:
Me: You may have 1/3 cup of my jelly beans. That's it.
J: That's fine, I am so hungry I don't care.
Me: You know, you might consider eating something NUTRITIOUS. We have kiwis. We have cuties.
J: Um, yeah. Have you had one of those cuties lately?
Me: Lying, as the cuties are almost completely brown.* Yeah, I have. Soooo good, right?
J: No. Not "sooooo good." I had one yesterday and I am pretty sure that I was drunk afterward.
Me: What?
J: I'm serious. It was really ripe.
Me: Well, one of us has to eat them, and I am busy with the apples. We can't waste perfectly good fruit.
J: Well, I guess I can try another one. But if you come home and I'm passed out on the floor...
Me: Then it is my fault. Well, mine and the cuties.




* I actually love cuties, but then I started eating apples and strawberries and grapes and I just couldn't stop. I tend to be cyclical with my eating. I eat something until I am sick of it. On the plus side,  I have been quite regular. I am sure that you are relieved for me.

I Freaking Apologized Once - That's a Big Deal for Me. Take What You Can Get, Idiot.

Sunday was the first day of swim season for me. Mostly because it was 103 degrees on Sunday, but also because normally we start swimming the first week of April and I simply could not wait a second longer.

As I was lounging around afterward, with my puppies flying around the yard, I tipped my face up so it could kiss the sun. As my face and the sun were engaged in some serious snogging, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye.

Oh, yeah. It was my neighbor. Peeking over the fence. The new neighbor, that we love so much we can hardly stand it.

I waited until I caught his eye and then gave him my "What the hell do you want and why are you staring into my backyard?" smile. It's quite the smile. The following conversation truly did happen:

Neighbor: M'am?
Me: Holy shit. This idiot did NOT just call me m'am. I don't think m'ams use noodles and floaties in the pool. Yes, SIR?
N: Yer gettin' water in my yard.
Me: Oh, yeah. The filter needs a small replacement part. I'm sorry about that. We shut it off. It should not be leaking anymore.
N: There's water in my yard.
Me: Again, we turned it off. We'll get it fixed before we turn it back on. It was an accident.
N:It's right where my dog stands.
Me: Oh my gosh! I will be right over with paper towels and a blow dryer! We'll fix this mess! Oh, wait. It's THE GROUND. It is also the freaking DESERT. I think it will dry. As will your dog, unless it melted because it is pure barking evil.

Because seriously? At this point, what do I say? I have said everything possible regarding the situation.

I don't get being all butt hurt about this. I truly don't. Every day our neighbor waters their lawn with sprinklers and our fence/surrounding wall/ground gets wet. Not once in all these years did it occur to me to complain. We also had a neighbor with a pool and every time they back-washed the pool our yard flooded a bit. Never thought about complaining.

Maybe he is butt hurt because I left an anonymous note taped to his house about common courtesy regarding barking dogs all night long. I did it under the cover darkness and the cover of some shorts and a t-shirt, but no underwear. Which is weird, running around outside feeling naked but not actually being naked. It's the self-conscious girl's version of streaking.

Or maybe he is grumpy because in addition to my kind note, someone had called animal control and I saw that note taped to the door. So maybe he isn't feeling the love.

So neighbor? This is for you.

Dear Neighbor,
 I wanted to take a moment to have a heart-to-heart with you. To be completely honest, Jeremiah and I had high hopes that you and your wife would be semi-normal people. Sadly, our hopes were dashed with the F*CK SCOTTSDALE t-shirt that you so proudly wore the day you moved in next door. If possible, Jeremiah's hopes were dashed even more upon sight of the cases of Bud Light. While we gave up on friendship, we thought perhaps we could all be decent neighbors. No such luck. Your barking/baying dog all hours of the day and night ruined that pipe dream. And then? Then you get weird and pissy about your "lawn". And it wasn't even concern for us (Once before the previous renter had asked if everything was okay with our pool after we backwashed. She wasn't sure if it was supposed to have water go everywhere.), SIR, it was about your precious beast of a dog. Who happened to be standing on wet ground. Oh, the horrors. In addition, please know that I am keeping tabs on you. I know that there are multiple people coming and going from your house. Sometimes there are kids, sometimes no. I do know that no one ever seems to leave the house to go to a job, which is interesting because you have a newer model vehicle. I have also noted that you keep your trash in the garage, which is fascinating to me. People don't do that here. The garages are way too small. What are you trying to hide?
Sincerely,
Anonymous Neighbor

P.S. I am watching you.
P.P.S. I realize that this may not intimidate you, as you have already been caught peeking over our fence and spying on ME.
P.P.S. When I came inside on Sunday, I cursed you and the day you were born.

Plantar Snuffleupagus

After I got home from the specialist earlier this week:

J: How was the doctor today?
Me: He's fine.
J: Ugh. How was YOUR visit with the doctor today?
Me:Um, well, the reason I went to the doctor, for my debilitating life- shortening disease, was promising, but then he took off my sandals and diagnosed me with plantar something. Plantar Snuffleupagus, that's it.
J:Really.
Me: Yeah.
J: So you have a problem in your left heel that's named after Big Bird's imaginary friend?
Me: Yes, and what do you mean "imaginary"?
J:No one could see Snuffleupagus, you know that, right?
Me: What the hell. I could see Snuffleupagus. He was NOT imaginary.
J: No one besides Big Bird could see him on Sesame Street.
Me: You are full of shit.
J: What's it really called?
Me: I freaking TOLD you. Plantar Snuffleupagus.
J: I'm done.
Me: That's fine. I'm done, too. I don't associate with big old LIARS.


Okay. So I looked it up. I actually have plantar fasciitis. The pain is outrageous. Sometimes I go to stand up and I tip over because I can't step down on the left foot at all. You can laugh at me, it's okay, that's what Jeremiah does. Or you can bark at me, if you'd like. That's what the dogs do when I start to tip over. I always knew that my left side would give out first. Stupid left side.  I was quite proud of myself for living with Snuffy's Disease for so long, considering people get injections to help with the pain. My doctor asked why I hadn't gone to a doctor to fix it and I told him that I simply did not know what doctor I should go to. Plus, I don't like my podiatrist (who refused to do things my way) or my general physician (who does not listen to me when I tell her I am sick). So he said I could come to him as needed. Mostly I think that I make him laugh.

Regarding Snuffy being invisible? I looked it up. And Jeremiah? When I was a kid, he was real. Big Bird outed him from imaginary to real in 1985. When you were a kid, you know, seven years before me, he was imaginary. So there, you old bastard.  I win.

p.s. Sorry for the vaultlessness today. As you have just read, I am currently suffering and in great pain due to my plantar snuffleupagus. Plus, I wanted to gloat a bit about being a winner. Again.

p.p.s. My chiropractor has also helped. I guess helped is the right word. He basically "massaged" the pain yesterday. Massaged is only the right word if it means "incredible pain that feels like a thousand knives stabbing me repeatedly on the bottom of the foot making me scream in public and wiggle so much that a boob nearly falls out of my bra."

p.p.p.s. You should ask how much sympathy I got from Jeremiah when I got home. I know you won't ask, so I will just tell you. As I pathetically heroically moaned from the couch, I got zero sympathy. When he sat down next to me to ask why I was mad at him, I could not even get away from him, which gave him an unfair advantage in the argument. So I covered him with a blanket.

A Cross Between Pinocchio & Dumbo.

The other night while watching tv, I pointed out to Jeremiah that the kid on the tv was odd-looking. And then there was this:

Me: What if we have kids and they are ugly?
J: Is this a serious concern of yours?
Me:Yes, among other things.
J: Do you think that there is a good chance of an ugly baby?
Me: Glance at him for a minute. Well, honestly, I would say odds for an ugly baby are pretty high.
J: No!
Me: Yes. Jeremiah? Are you kidding me? With your nose and my ears (Which are so big that sometimes I accidentally sleep on them folded like fleshy little crepes.) I'd say we are prime candidates for ugly kids.
J: Mulls this over. We'd have an elephant. A baby elephant.
Me: Exactly. I would give birth to a cartoon character.

The conversation continued, with discussion about eyes (not a concern, we're pretty sure our baby would have two of those), hair (odds are good the kid would be bald either for the first few years of life (me) or the adult portion of life (Jeremiah) or both, but the times in between would be golden. Literally. Sort of of reddish brownish blonde.), and skin as soft as angel wings (I do not mean to be braggy, but some people actually PET me at work. Which *might* be sexual harassment, now that I think about it.), or unhealing alligator pelts (Oops. I guess we know who this is now.).

And this is why together we have not brought forth a child to grace this Earth.

So you're telling me there's a chance!

Me: So I read the other day that Uma Thurman is having her THIRD child. She's 41.
Jeremiah: So?
Me: Soooooo I have solid ten years to decide if I want a baby.
Jeremiah: Ten? Really?
Me: Okay. Nine years.
Jeremiah: But 41 seems kind of old to have a baby.
Me: What?
Jeremiah: Yeah, I think it increases the chance of birth defects.
Me: What are you doing?
Jeremiah: What do you mean?
Me: Why are you ruining this for me?
Jeremiah: I am just being honest.
Me: Does honest equal asshole?

P.S.  For those interested, Jeremiah is team baby whenever. Emily is team "baby clothes are cute, but I am too selfish to reproduce at this time plus my ass is big enough already."

That's Gotta Be Worth at Least One Doubloon.

Who doesn't love a Goonies/Friends reference?

A conversation with a relative this weekend really got me thinking. She is replacing a gold crown (for a tooth, not the head. Bummer, I know, because I would LOVE to have a royal blood line coursing through my veins. Sadly? No.) for a tooth colored one. I was all, "You TOTALLY have to keep that gold crown!" The response was that it was only worth about five dollars. And then I explained that after the crown replacement the chauffeur (another relative) could take her to the bakery where she could get some cake.

Everyone knows that cake is good for you after you go to the dentist.

Plus, I explained, there is the added bonus of being able to buy the cake with the GOLD.

I can see it now. The cake lady (here's one of my favorite bakeries) would say "That will be five dollars and fifty-two cents".

Then there will be a pause as the gold crown is pulled out with a "Here's five, now let me find some change..."

OR -

Taking the gold into another store and pointing at the sign that says "Cash, Debit, and Credit accepted here" and asking them if they also accept gold crowns.

Because that would be hilarious and awesome all at once, right?

In my head, I picture these scenes vividly. Maybe not so much for you, Friends. But honestly? I laughed about this until I cried. And then I told Jeremiah, who was like, "You know, my dad switched out his crowns (again, for the teeth, not the head. Bummer.) and he got like fifty dollars." and I was all, "Jeremiah. You can get a shit-ton of cake for fifty dollars!"And then I laughed some more. And then I wanted some cake.

But that's just me.

Holy Crap. Old People Swear.

I promised this, and I hate to break promises. More on our mini-vacation later, as time permits.

If you think that I am wonderful and innocent and perfect, stop reading right here because this will ruin your image of me.

No one? Okay. Let's get on with the story.

Setting: Self-Checkout at Lowe's. There is nothing around the self-checkout. No impulse purchases, nothing. Just four registers, two on each side.
Characters: Myself, Old Creeper, Jeremiah, On-Lookers.

I am checking out at the self-checkout closest to the exit. There is another one directly behind me. Jeremiah is checking out across from me. I am all alone. As I hit the "pay" button, I notice that a very tall and very scruffy old man is standing right there with me. He isn't buying anything. He isn't with the people checking out behind me. He is standing right there with me. To an on-looker, it would look as though we are together.  He was almost touching me. It made me super uncomfortable. Enough that I spoke up. And I NEVER speak up.

Me: Um, Sir? Would you mind backing up while I type in my personal information? I would like to point out that I wasn't rude at all.
Creeper: Loudly GEEZ, LADY! I'M NOT EVEN LOOKING AT YOUR INFORMATION. GOD. I'M JUST STANDING HERE!

I'm pretty sure that he was trying to embarrass me and make me feel even more uncomfortable. People are staring. Jeremiah is paying zero attention to me and/or Creeper, as he is talking with the Lowe's guy. Awesome. So Creeper refuses to leave, and the two men (Jer & Lowe's Guy) that could do anything about it are deep in conversation. I finish checking out and race over to Jeremiah, who is wearing shorts and a tee-shirt, all tattoos exposed except one. Guy walks away when he sees me go to Jeremiah. Just disappears. I think he thought I was alone. As we walk out and are getting into the car, I see the old guy. I roll down the window. 

Me: Sir? Have a nice day!
Creeper: F*CK YOU!
Me: Holy crap, Jeremiah. That old guy just gave me the finger, and I'm pretty sure he just told me -
Jeremiah: Yeah, he just said f*ck you.  
Me: Nice.

I can only say this. I did not swear at him. But I did show my general dislike in some way. Now to the finer/scarier parts of this.
  

• I told a friend about this and she had a creeper, too, a few years ago. Her dad told her this, rather simply. Dad: So he could see you were uncomfortable?  Friend: Yes. Dad: And he continued to stand there? Friend: Yes. Dad: Then SOMETHING was not right about this guy.
• And that is SO true. Who, seeing that they are making someone uncomfortable, would remain there, when they are straight out asked to give a little space? Only someone who was doing it purposefully.
• Also, self-checkout lines start before the little registers. So if he were in line, he should have been standing back behind all four registers. He wasn't. And he wasn't buying anything.
• Next, if someone had asked me to give them space, I would have felt awful and backed up immediately, apologizing.
• If he didn't have bad intentions, why did he leave when he saw me with Jeremiah?

So all I can say is this. In all seriousness. Ladies? Speak up for yourself. I was shocked that my friend had had a similar creepy experience. With a creepy older gentleman. I don't normally think of older people as creepy, but some really horrible people grow old without ending up in jail. I would have been terrified if Jeremiah wasn't right there.  I felt stupid asking him to back up, and he tried to make me feel worse by yelling at me, but if I hadn't said anything, no one else would have noticed that I was uncomfortable. And some on-lookers did. But no one said anything. So you really need to speak up for yourself. Make a scene if you need to. If Jeremiah hadn't been there, I would have gone immediately to the Lowe's guy.

P.S. Old People Really Do Swear Bonus: One time years ago, back in Michigan, a tiny old guy in a fancy car called me a bitch at the gas station. I had been waiting in line for a pump and he swerved in, trying to cut me off and a few others. He didn't dig that I didn't back down. He hobbled over and said, "You, young lady, are a bitch." And I said, "You are a VERY mean old man." Then he walked away.

Stay on your toes, Girls.

It's Here SOMEWHERE!

The other night after watching an episode of How I Met Your Mother in bed on Jeremiah's laptop, I began digging under the covers.

Jeremiah: What are you doing?
Me: I am looking for an adhesive bandage.
J: Why is there a bandage loose in bed?
Me: Well, last night after my bath I was drying off and Mel was walking around the tub and fell in. When she hopped out she was all wet and she skidded around awhile and she accidentally and yet very badly, scratched me on the side of my foot.
J:So a bandage.
Me: Yes. You will know it when you find it because it is huge and it has a cartoon airplane on the side. And also? It is covered with my blood.
J:Great.

I am not going to lie, Friends. For awhile I thought there was a good chance that the band-aid had gone to the dogs (As in, literally. Eaten by the dogs. Probably Spike. Although Atticus does have a love of all things tissue flavored.) but Jeremiah persevered and found my Jay Jay the Jet Plane bandage adhered to the floor the next morning.

P.S. Stay tuned for FtVF. Next Thursday will be a driving lesson. I hope you took last week's lesson to heart, Friends.  Let's quit parking like asshats.

Oh, No. Not a Beer Snob At All.

We've got new neighbors.

Mary-Next-Door moved at the beginning of January and we were relishing the silence and lack of diesel vehicles next door.

Not that Mary was bad, she wasn't, not at all.

She sold me these bowls at her yard sale:

I was in my pajamas, in the dark, at her yard sale. I hadn't brushed my hair. Or my teeth. But I WANTED these bowls. They are much prettier mixing bowls than the set I inherited from a co-worker. Plus, these are easier for me to lift down from their spot. It's love, I tell you.

Anyway, so she moved out. This weekend, the new people moved in. Jeremiah and I were hoping for a couple similar to ourselves - quiet, thoughtful neighbors. Aged appropriately, like us. We were hoping for people down with listening to some music, playing some games, and just hanging out. We were hoping for some nerds like us.


We had our first "Danger, Will Robinson" moment when they rolled up in a cheap sports car tricked out with a spoiler so big it could have acted as the doorway to Narnia.

But we remained hopeful. Right up until they were hanging around with friends after moving everything out of the Uhaul. We were getting ready to head out ourselves, so as Jeremiah was unlocking and opening my door for me I was spying.

Jeremiah: What do you see?
Me: Well, I see an Orange County Choppers shirt. This causes me to shiver just a bit, as I am not a car* person. 
Jeremiah: No big deal. He's not swayed in the least.
Me: I see a guy wearing a shirt that says "F*CK Scottsdale" This gets smirks and snorts from both of us.
Jeremiah: In front of their kids? Not so cool, I guess.
Me: Um, and they are all smoking and...
Jeremiah: And what?
Me: No, I can't. You won't like it.
Jeremiah: Tell me. I can take it. He braces himself.
Me: They are drinking Miller Lite.
Jeremiah: Oh my god.
Me: Out of cans.
Jeremiah: Silence. Forget it. It would never work between us.

And we drive away.

It occurs to me. In all the years that I have known Jeremiah, I have never seen him drink a beer from a can. Not once. And when I call him a beer snob he gets all upset. I am sorry, but you gotta call a spade a spade, you know?

So I don't think our new neighbors will become our besties, but who knows. Never give up.




P.S. Let's re-examine the bowls. Because they are that beautiful. When I use them I will fondly remember the short little woman with teased bottle blonde hair who could have easily been called a cougar, who hit on Jeremiah and wore short shorts. Sigh. Those were the good old days.

* Believe it or not, I actually know that OC Choppers is about bikes. As in, motorcycles. Not because I ever watched the show, but because I did watch Miami Ink religiously while it was on and they did tats for the guys in the shop. So why did I say cars? I think I might have been using cars as an interchangeable word for "thing that moves and goes vroom and gets you from Point A to Point B". That's my only defense.