Yesterday Husband was sick, like man sick sick. Like so sick he sounds like an elephant when he sneezes. So sick he put himself to bed at 7:30pm sitting upright so he could breathe. So sick, I actually contemplated sleeping on the couch so I didn’t have to hear that wheezing, hacking, snort that’s passing for his breathing. Man flu sick. Because he was so sick, I got to drop his car off at the dealer for a service. In exchange they gave me a MASSIVE Yukon houseboat car thing. I needed a ladder to climb into this car. I'm 5’7”. I shouldn't need a ladder to climb into a car. No one should need a ladder to climb into a car. If you need a ladder, it’s a house. I drive a Smart car. It's tiny. It has two seats and a teeny tiny backend and honk that sounds like a clown car. I can reach across and open the passage window without stretching. When I drive it feels like an extension of my body because it’s so small. It handles curves like a dream and, when it feels like it, it can race a Porsche car and almost win. And I can park my Smart car anywhere. Those compact spots made impossible by land yachts and bad parking are just made for me and Smart. I can squeeze our little self in, park and still be able to open the doors and get out without once wishing I was skinnier. This car they gave me as a loaner was so big I could fit three of my cars inside. Three. Inside the car. If the dealer wanted to make money they should have put a video camera in their parking lot and just filmed me and the massive boat like car trying negotiate around the all fancy Jaguars and Range Rovers and shiny cars that I know are worth more than small houses. I think it took me a sixteen-point turn to get it out of the parking lot. All of the salesman had their faces planted up against the window. They had nothing better to do. No one buys fancy cars at 9am in the morning. So, there they were, witness to my sixteen-point turn as I alternated between reverse and drive while cussing and laughing and crying. I’m pretty sure they were taking pictures and pointing. Okay, they probably weren’t really doing that but I couldn’t see from my perch on the mountain that was the car that I was driving. I took the route home that had the least amount of turns and twists and small children. I think I made it here without crushing anything but I doubt I would have noticed. When I got home, I took a picture of the small building on wheels that was the loaner with my Smart. Proof I wasn’t exaggerating. I wasn’t. See - Husband dragged himself off his sick bed to see the car. He was very snarky about their loaner vehicle choice. It is likely that, because he has a bad case of the man flu, he would have been snarky about anything but he was for sure not very commentary about my house on wheels. I think the nicest thing he said was that the steering wheel was slightly off center. He wouldn’t even let me park in the garage. Not that it was likely to have fit but he was not having that thing inside where it might contaminate his baby.
This small island on wheels is mine for another day because Husband’s car is still not ready. It’s pretty much guaranteed that I’m not going anywhere. I have a murder mystery I haven’t read and it’s too wet to garden. Nothing says ‘silver lining’ like I’m too scared to drive because I might drive over everything so I’ll just stay home and read. Now if only Husband and his man flu wasn’t here making all those dying noises and generally polluting the air with his germs…
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I had a womb-ectomy two and a half years ago that left me with one wonky Lone Ovary that seems to be confused as to what its purpose is in my life. Sometimes, it thinks it should work on a monthly release schedule. Sometimes it decides it’s had enough of being predictable and shoots off eggs at random times. And sometimes, it decides that it doesn’t want to work at all and gives me a taste of what’s to come. During those times, I’ve experienced mini hot flashes that made life miserable. But they weren’t horrible. They were annoying but not life ending. Or so I thought.
A month ago, my body caught fire and I sweat ninety percent of my water weight out over the course of half an hour. The sweat was literally pouring out of me. I have a row of chigger bite scars along the anklebone on my left leg. I have never experienced such an intense itching like that, waves of itch flushing my body filling the tiny spaces in my brain with nothing more than the thought to scratch. I thought that it was the most miserable I could be until I got to experience the wonder of that hot flash. Now I’d read that Belinda Carlisle had been experiencing hot flashes and ending up sewing a magnet into her underwear. When I read that, the information went in to that little part of the brain where I store useless small talk. Bored at a party? I dip into that box of random facts and bring out whatever I find. “Did you hear that Belinda Carlisle had been experiencing hot flashes and ending up sewing a magnet into her underwear?” I might say. Small talk in party situations becomes life saving medical facts when your body had decided that it’s going to do nothing but squirt sweat. Suddenly, in the midst of this agonizing fire that had taken over my body, I was desperate to find a magnet. And while I franticly searched for a magnet, I spent my time sweating and trying to figure out where she put them in her underwear and wonder why they had to be in her underwear and, only slightly less important than magnet placement, what was going to happen to me when I ran out of sweat. In thirty short minutes, I looked like I’d run a marathon in 100degree heat. Not one part of my clothing was dry. My hair, which is normally thick and a frizzy-dry mess, was soaked, as if I’d been in a shower for hours. As if I was standing IN the middle of a lake, only not as cool. I’m pretty sure my shoes were squishing as I walked. People were pointing and commenting. Okay, they weren’t really. I was pointing and commenting at myself. My shopping partner was amused at my dilemma but I noticed she didn’t stand too near me. Why should she have, my deodorant – my trusty men’s Old Spice Wolfthorn – gave up and just pretended it was there for show. It didn’t even bother to deodorize let alone prevent perspiration. Total fail. When I got home, I found the bracelet that was supposed to help with the arthritis I have in my wrist and shoved it in my underwear. It was very uncomfortable. Very! Belinda must have smaller magnets. Or bigger underwear. I pulled the bracelet out of my underwear and shoved it into my bra in the valley of sweat and hoped like heck that was going to cure me. Side story: I heard a women tell a story once about the fact that her roommate actually wondered why there was a pocket in the bottom of her underwear. "What would a person put in that pocket?" she asked. Think about that for a moment and then laugh. Why anyone would consider that tiny bit of overlapping fabric a pocket? And seriously, what would someone put in that pocket? In case you’re wondering, that "pocket" is NOT where you should put a magnet. A month later and I’ve been mostly hot flash free. For now. All of my flashes have been mini and laughable compared to the one that almost killed me. I stopped wearing bracelet in my bra shortly after I noticed I’d developed a matching set of bracelet-sized bruises on my boobs. Those are hard to explain to the doctor, FYI. I’m not sure if Lone Ovary has gone back to work or is gearing up for yet another fire sale on dignity but the next time I’ll be prepared. The magnet bracelet is in my purse along with extra strength period pads. If I get hit by a flash like that again, I plan to apply them all over my body to absorb any and all moisture. I figure if folks are going to be pointing and laughing, I might as well give them something to point and laugh at. A dozen period pads attached to my forehead and under my armpits might actually do that while helping me stay dry. OH! There actually might be a market for stylish period pad headbands for the older and ovary free set. With magnets sewed into them, of course. I'm going to get right on making a prototype. Anyone game to be my test dummy? Anyone? Anyone? One of the exceptions I gave myself to the Internet Fast was allowing myself time to research things for projects. Husband caught me on Craigslist last night and told me that didn’t count as research. In my defense, I was looking up what folks were charging for refrigerators because Mr. OCD had to buy one when we moved here that hadn’t been a house with bugs and mice but then decided that he wanted a new version of our fridge from California so we now have two. One fridge lives in the fridge spot in the kitchen and one fridge lives in the foyer. I hate Foyer Fridge. There is no reason for its location and no purpose in our lives so I was trying, yet again, to sell it. Hence my craigslist research. I learned that apparently no one is selling a new slightly used fridge because no one is crazy like us. While I was on Craigslist, I took a quick look at part-time jobs. I always look through part-time jobs. You never know when you might find the perfect blend of work and fun and slightly crazy so it’s always a good idea to look. Also, you never know when you might find an ad from a guy looking for a masseuse: Soooooo many questions starting with, why mention you’re a Country Music Star? If you really are, just tell us that the job requires discretion. And no massage license needed? Just good with massages and being attractive would be a bonus? Yeah, this is not sounding like a just a massage, Mr. Country Music Star. It's sounding like a happy ending. AND then I found an ad for this video project: I actually have no words for this. Okay, I lied. I have a more than a few words.
First off, that person in the picture looks underage. Totally showing my age here but she looks pre-teen. Secondly, I’m all for women telling it like it is and I totally think that talking about sex should be less taboo but this video project looks like I might only be able to watch it through the fingers of my hands. They start off strong by saying 'that different women like different things.' Thank you! Nicely said but then you follow it up with 'What we really like down there, in detail.' That varies from woman to woman. You just said that. So are you giving folks a menu or telling them what to do? And how are you going to 'demonstrate on camera' without turning this into something else? The United Kingdom has this FANTASTIC series called Embarrassing Bodies that I highly recommend to everyone. Each episode covers a STD, a sexual position and some really weird body issue – like the woman with two vaginas. It was informative and entertaining without dumbing down anything or making me want to watch from behind my splayed fingers. If you have teens, Embarrassing Bodies is a MUST watch. The show started in 2007 and it is way more graphic that what we see on TV here, nipples and the like are not blurred, but not in a raunchy porny way. They have a website with info (website link here) or you can watch episodes online (TV link here) if you have questions or want to have a look at all things embarrassing. The United States as a whole is behind in so many things and how the body is viewed is one of them. It fascinates me what constitutes as R rated on the screen is seen as immoral while gun violence is totally accepted. Heck, you can’t post a picture with a woman breastfeeding. That will shut your page down. But folks shooting up children in schools have not changed gun laws – Sorry, not going there. I suck at being on a soapbox. I don’t really have enough facts and I get too emotional and just start saying “Well, you’re stupid.” over and over. The fact that I'm amused by the Craigslist ad and then saying the USA is too prude, well, that just makes my sucking at soapboxes point. Anyway, folks who are interested in the video project, here's the link. I'm not posting the happy ending link. You want to help Mr. Country Music Star out, you find it yourself. While Husband was interested in the ad oddities, he protested my definition of research and shut me down. Actually what he did is to say, “Go ahead and look!” That no one cared or would know if I was on the Internet. But that’s just because he wants me to fail. At day six, I’m already three days past his no food fast. His accomplishment has already been buried in pizza and burgers. I’m the only winner right now and that is what this is all about, winning the war of willpower over Husband. And mentally healthy brain, of course. But really mostly winning over husband. Our marriage is healthy like that. Friday morning was the start of my Internet Fast. Friday night we went to the county fair and saw a billion random things I wanted to post and comment and look up and generally share with the world but I couldn’t post/share/comment because I was an idiot and put myself on the aforementioned Internet Fast. Therefore, all the wonders of the fair had to be experienced in real time without input from random friends and family and strangers I’ve never met. I actually had to like something and feel something without waiting to know if my liking that thing or having feelings for that other thing were valued by others. Weird. Who lives like that? But I have this blog so here are a few things I found absolutely fascinating and days later, I still find awesome.
I don’t do roller coasters and I for sure don't do fair roller coasters.
I have loads more pictures but this post is going to be long so I'll save them for another day. Besides, without the smell, a picture of chicken or a pig is just another picture of a chicken or a pig. We spent a few moments watching the crazy kids on the roller coasters, tut tutting at their stupidity, and then we headed into the animal barns. Now, in Kenya, we had cows and geese on our “farm.” More specifically, we had a nice cow that had a stupid baby bull that ate my school tights off the laundry line and geese that were mean and chased me all over the yard. Those evil geese are the reason I cannot do a handstand or a cartwheel. I was too afraid I’d be attacked in mid-wheel while there was no doubt that no matter where I put my hand down, it was sure to land in geese poop. We had these animals but we never took them to a fair and showed them off. I never had to lead the cow, Thamu, around in a circle and get her to stand patiently while folks looked her over. In Kenya, the cows were used for milk or for ceremony or dinner or terrifying small children like me but never for show and tell. But at this fair, they have show and tell contests with ribbons and pageantry. It’s totally like the book Charlotte’s Web – my only real county fair experience until now. They even wash the animals down – though I did not see any buttermilk - and get them brushed and shiny before parading them around a ring with folks watching. There was even a mama pig and babies AND a runt like Wilber. I was so excited to see everything, I actually squealed a little. Though I did get a bit too invested in Wilber getting trampled by his brothers and sisters and not getting a teat. I might have cried a little and tried to figure out how to get the poor thing out of the stall and into my purse. Husband might have had to pull me away and shut that dream down. Poor pig. I would have been a fabulous Fern. After a quick wander through the stalls, we headed over to the show ring where children were showing their cows. Cows are big, folks. Really, really big. And some cows take offense to being a show and tell contestant. One cow decided she was having none of the whole cow beauty pageant. First, Cow refused to move in the direction she was supposed to. Then Cow decided to leave the show ring, dragging the poor twelve-year old girl along with her. But not before Cow took offense to the smaller prettier cow behind her and head butted her hard almost knocking the very small, maybe eight year old boy over. The poor twelve-year old girl started to cry and I started to cry with her. So many hopes and dreams of hers were locked up in the damn cow and she could see them butted down the drain. This was better than Lifetime TV, folks. The drama. The intrigue. The trash talk. The smell. Unlike the hot mess I would have been in this situation, when a grown-up gave Cow back to her, the poor twelve-year-old girl actually stayed with Cow holding tight, tears still streaming down her face. She even stayed and tried to hold on as Cow tried leaving the ring a second and third time and forth time. That girl has cojones I do not have. Or should I say cow-jones. We then wandered through the big show room of prizewinning corn and quilts and ham and every tractor a child might want to play with. One kid sat in the cab of a massive digger and made driving noises while trying to work the gears. And yes, that was Husband. Random observation: every other booth at the fair was a chiropractor. Not really exaggerating here – every other booth. Over stimulated and hungry, we went and ate our way through food alley - after disinfecting our hands repeatedly from all the touching of animals and things of course. Apparently, you can deep-fry anything and people will pay to eat it. We tried the deep fried pie. We did not try the deep-fried mushrooms or deep-fried Oreos or deep-fried turkey leg. My heart is probably thankful for that although my mouth is regretting missing out on the Oreos. I am curious to know if they use the same oil for all things deep-fried? I am concerned that they might. I am no longer regretting missing out on the deep-fried Oreos. We finished up the night with some dancing. Well, I danced and my girl friend danced and our partners sat and watched us while wincing and trying to pretend that we weren’t together. That’s the best kind of dancing, by the way, the kind that makes people look away or watch in horror. That’s the only kind I do. It was a fabulous night and a thoroughly entertaining experience. One I’d surely do again. Hopefully next time, I won’t cry at the cow beauty pageant or when Wilber can’t get a teat but odds are good that I will. I’m getting itchy. I keep grabbing my computer and opening up a browser and then remembering that I can’t do that right now. I sit on the couch in front of the TV and feel like I’m wasting time to just be watching the show and not clicking away at the same time. My definition of multitasking has changed. Now it doesn’t mean watching news on TV while reading the news online. I have been more productive overall. I made these cardboard guitars for the kids I babysit for. Technically I made them Thursday night but I was off the Internet already by then. Also, one was too big so I've renamed it an upright bass and "decorated it" accordingly. This is the type of thing I would have posted online to get impress the masses but the warm fuzzies I got from watching the kids playing with them was more gratifying than any possible ‘Like.’ Husband and I spent Friday night with friends at the county fair. A post on all that is wonderful about the county fair is coming soon. Fact: going to the county fair when I wasn’t allowed to post pictures and make comments about the experience while IN the experience meant I actually EXPERIENCED THE EXPERIENCE! Deep. I spent most of Saturday and Sunday outside in the heat and the buggy garden. I finally got the front yard mulched and ready for the lawn section to be put in at some point. Some point when it’s not 90+ degrees and we have a way to water it that doesn’t involve me pulling a hose around from the back yard. I have Googled a few projects and I have looked up vitally important information like who lives in the house near us whose property is so big they have a driveway circle with one-way in and one-way out sign? With a gate preventing us from driving up that one-way driveway to the house we can’t see because it’s so far from the street and surrounded by trees? Who? Well, I still don’t know who actually lives there but who ever they are, they live on 9.7 acres, bought it in 1995 for a million dollars and now the three bedroom, five bathroom house is worth almost two million dollars. Information that really means nothing to me in my every day life but was totally necessary that I know right then and there so it counts as being under my “research” exception. I completed five online puzzles. Yeah, that puzzle addiction still a problem for me. I am not counting that as Internet usage. I’d have a real puzzle going if Husband wasn’t OCD about stuff on tabletops and Tigger the Dog didn’t have a tail that should be classified as a weapon. And I can think while I’m doing them so really, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. And I washed the dog and all her hairy dirty babies and bed sheets. She’s not too pleased with that last one but when she rolls around in her own pee, she loses the right to have an opinion. Husband has enjoyed teasing me with all things Facebook and Internet trash. “There’s a real kerfuffle on Facebook today.” he’ll say. “You’re missing so much.” During one of my searches, the web led me to a Facebook site and I saw that I have notifications and that is more annoying than a fly in your house you can hear but can’t see. I can’t read them. It’s forbidden. But I know that they are there, waiting for me to click on them and see who said what to who posted whatever. The fact that it’s bothering me so much shows me I was right to disengage. And yet, what if something awesome happened and I’ll never know? Or something tragic happened to a friend or a friend’s family or a friend’s family dog and I’ll not get the opportunity to give them a virtual hug? What if, what if, what if? Day four and it’s very clear to me why I’m doing this. Only twenty-seven to go… |
AuthorMy name is ej. I'm a girl. I say that because with the short hair and the short initials, folks aren't always sure. More brilliant insights to who I am in About me Archives
April 2019
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