This site is called iamwhaleshark thanks to my dear mother and her semi blind state and dry sense of humor.
When I was going through a very rough time in my life, I decided to get a ‘breathe’ tattoo on my wrist. I was hoping that I would see it in times of strife and it would help me remember to breathe. But when two child stars - that had just begun to implode - got ‘breathe’ tattooed on their bodies I came to the conclusion that 'breathe' wasn't helping them any and went with ‘inhalexhale’ instead. A logical person would have skipped the tattoo and gone for yoga or actual deep breathing but I am not logical. Proudly, and somewhat defiantly, I showed my fresh tattoo to Mom who promptly asked me, “Why did you get Whale Shark tattooed on your wrist?" “What?" I responded, totally shrilly. "Why in the hell would I get WHALE SHARK tattooed on my wrist???” To which she calmly replied. “Well, it would be rather silly.” To this day, Husband, Mom, random friends and family will tell me to "whaleshark" when I'm freaking out. While it may not calm me down, it is sure to make me laugh. And that's way better than yoga! Hug yourself a Whale Shark today!
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It’s time for Husband’s Annual Violation as he calls it. The time of year when the man I’m married to - who subsists mainly on pizza and hamburgers and eggs goes the doctor and comes back with cholesterol numbers that are so low he can rub them in my face - has to drop his y-fronts and get "Violated by a woman!" And what does that Annual Violation mean for me? Well, I get to hear about the drama and trauma of the whole experience for days and days and days. And then, to add insult to his injury, his father comes into town tonight so we’re in for a lovely couple of weeks of Husband and his emotional roller coaster. Yay me! Sigh. But it’s not all bad because I’m driving again! Of course, I’m driving like an eighty year old man in a large boat car with bad reflexes and a grudge drives but I’m driving. Sadly driving means I have to put on Stupid Boot, clomp down to the car, take off Stupid Boot and put on the one very old big shoe that fits on Broken Ankle Foot, drive to wherever, take off very old big shoe and put Stupid Boot back on and repeat for every single errand. It’s exhausting! BUT, I’m driving. And just when I’m free to wander the world outside of my window, suddenly things get exciting in the backyard at home. First Woodchuck moved in and we’ve spent the last week watching him dart around the yard and back into his hole at the bottom of our patio wall. Then yesterday, while I was sitting on the couch and Husband was looking out the window he spotted a Bobcat sitting right outside Mr. Woodchuck’s new home waiting for him to pop his head out and become dinner. A BOBCAT!!! Because bobcats eat small animals occasionally - though not the damn chipmunk that is currently sitting right where Bobcat was yesterday - I sent the pic to the local news station that has its studio in our neighborhood and we made the news. This is us above a dead body found. I’m so proud. Who knew fame would come in the form of a furry beast?
Maybe this will take distract Husband from the trauma of his Annual Violation. Who am I kidding? I can hear him whingeing already… Because of Broken Ankle, the dogs getting let out the front door more often than the back door, an unusual amount of rain this summer, the usual amount of humidity, the lack of lawn care due to lawn guy getting fired for running over the light and generally making a mess of the yard, and my inability to do anything yard related, this guy has moved in to the patio wall. Though we delight in yelling “Beaver” every time we see him, this is not a Beaver. This is a Woodchuck or Groundhog. (For size reference, that's Pepper the Wannabe Cat's chewed up frisbee bottom left.)
Right now Mr. Woodchuck is cute and shy and runs every time he sees our shadows watching him from the den window but one day soon, the dogs will find him and the digging will begin. And when the digging begins, the yelling starts and when the yelling starts the neighbors will hate us. Not to mention our wallets can't handle any encounter our dumbass dogs are likely to have with Mr. Woodchuck. Especially since we know dogs will not win. So, as entertaining as we find our shouts of “Beaver!” Mr. Woodchuck’s eviction notice will have to be served. Since I am still incapacitated, I nominate Husband to do the evicting. He did such a nice job with the 5ft Rat Snake last summer. I’ll stand by with one hand on the video record button and the other on 911. Either way it goes, it’s sure to be a story worth telling – especially if any or all of us end up in the ER again. Until that day, we will continue to entertain ourselves by yelling; “BEAVER!” at the top of our lungs and then watching the dogs go mental and Mr. Woodchuck scurry away. We’re really just children in overgrown bodies… So, it counts as walking but it sure ain't pretty. The very attractive lurching is partly because it hurts to step - not every time but enough for me to anticipate it will not be enjoyable - and partly because Boot is taller than my shoe but not tall enough for heels. I know, small world problems. But my world has been pretty dang small for the last two months! Also note my focus on the ground is something akin to a toddler trying to get a piece of fluff off the floor and into its mouth - INTENSE! That's because any variation in the level of the ground I'm walking on will tip me up or back or sideways. The evil squirrels have peppered the driveway with tiny oak bombs guaranteed to do just that. I’m sure they’ve got money on whose nut brings me down. Then, after taking off Boot, Broken Ankle looks like it's gone a few rounds with Mike Tyson in the ring. Or my mom's face after the "chunk" of wood hit her eye. I have purple tree sized cankles with some serious edema. Things Husband finds icky: Feet. Wounds. Scars. Swelling. Wife asking him to touch all three is a sure way to get him to leave the room. I've stopped many a fight this way.
I'm using my powers for good. Brother likes to say I go crazy in August. He says that I tend to call him with random stories that don’t show me in the sanest light. I say he’s an ass. But he’s not wrong. August is when I found out about ex-boyfriend’s extra curricular activities with people who were not me. It was also when I found out that karma was not going to get evil boss in time for me to keep my womb from imploding from the stress induced fibroids. Bad emotional stuff has happened a lot in August. Which is why, last night when I was telling Brother about how Baby Owl keeps trying to eat Pepper and he told me that would be a good thing, I understood. Not because we want Pepper eaten. That would be totally traumatic. But because, “My sister called me and told me that Baby Owl ate her dog” would make an awesome story. Especially since every story this year has been about what the dogs have done and how it’s affected my/our life, i.e. Broken Ankle and everything that's come with it. And every picture is an “Ick, I can’t look.” shot of the nastiness that is Broken Ankle or some variation of THIS: Family. They know you and your sick mind best.
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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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