04.24.09
peer pressure
I slept like a rock last night. It might have had something to do with all of the Advil and Tylenol I took after working in the yard all day yesterday. My body was screaming out in agony telling me that either I am severely out of shape or that I am meant to be a lady of leisure. I’m going with the latter.
So in my drug induced REM state I had a dream that I was waiting for an elevator. I dream about elevators a lot and there is always something wrong with them. Sometimes they stop half way so that I have to jump down into them or crawl up to get inside (I am always afraid of getting cut in half if the thing starts moving unexpectedly) and I’ve even had dreams where they go sideways or up on an angle. I am sure Freud would have a lot to say on the matter, the old perv would probably tell me this means that sexually I am off balance and he might be right. I did check out some websites on dream analysis and apparently if your elevator is going up and down it means your sex life is boring, if it goes down you’re heading for a crash and if it just goes up you’re on the fast track to wealth and success. The Otis in my dreams is always going up (though whether or not my elevator reaches the top floor is debatable) but it’s always awkward to get on it for some reason. While it would be lovely to suddenly be wealthy and successful I’m not sure that it’s accurate especially given our current state of economic despair. Maybe the dreams are trying to tell me that with a little effort I can reach the top or another higher level of consciousness. Or maybe if the elevators symbolize vajayjays it’s a sign I am on the right path career-wise. The hoo-hoo will take me to the top?
It was test week this week and I didn’t have to study for either of them. I am way past due for some new specs so I went to the eye doc to get my peepers checked. It had been four years since my last check-up but only my left eye has changed and very slightly at that. They have this camera thingy that takes a picture of the entire eyeball and then he brings it up on the screen magnifying it to the size of a basketball. I get a little excited about stuff like this, I ask a lot of questions about what things are and what they signify. I am sure I annoy medical professionals with all of my queries. There is a mole on my left eye, how bizarre, I didn’t know such a thing was even possible but it was cool as hell to see it. He said it’s no big deal unless it grows or changes and it’s no different than the ones on my skin… assuming that they are not melanoma. He also put the drops in to test for cataracts but I promised him I don’t have a cataract, I have a Ford. *slaps knee* I left his office with the new script and dilated pupils that had me feeling like a Japanese cartoon character.
I also went for my first mammogram. I was supposed to go for this when I turned 40 (unless there is a history or lumps to worry about they don’t suggest getting the first screening before 40) but I am lackadaisical about booking anything medical (see four years between eye exams) so I kept putting it off. I know now however that as far as procedures go, this one was a walk in the park. We have a mobile breast unit (you’re totally picturing a giant boob on wheels aren’t you?) that comes through here every six months to screen the more rural populace so we don’t have to travel three hours to get squished. They set up the machines in the hospital ER and book appointments via an 800 number. They asked all of the basic questions over the phone so when I arrived all I had to do was fill out a short form and wait for someone to tell me to take my shirt off. It was like high school with more paperwork. The tech called me into the room, confirmed my identity and had me strip… slowly and with purpose. Ha! She adjusted me in the machine and squashed me first down and then across and that was it. My appointment was for 9:50am and I was back in my car by 10:00. It could not have been easier and I highly recommend it. There was some slight discomfort due to the pressure (also like high school) but the worst was that it was cold in the room. I am happy to announce that my girls bounced (hung) back into shape however and that my c-cups did not become c-cubes. I think it’s the first time I ever flashed my tits sober to a woman. Seriously though, if you or a woman you love is over forty please have or get her to have a mammogram and for the record, nobody knows a woman’s breasts like her partner so here is a great opportunity to cop a monthly feel… just make sure you get permission first and don’t offer to perform the exam on strangers. You’ve been warned.
And speaking of puppies…
A client has a papillon who got busy with the neighbor’s pomeranian/mini pinscher. The litter was born a few days ago and she wants to give them away (once they are old enough of course) and she offered me one if I’d like. My dog is nine years old, her hip has been bugging her and we know that this is just the beginning of old age and we have to start preparing ourselves for the inevitable. My husband always said we should have a five year dog plan, if we get a new pup every half decade then it won’t be so hard when one dies, there will always be more so it will be less devastating. I’m not sure if I agree with that part necessarily but in theory he might be right. I can’t really imagine not having a dog but I don’t ever want Mika to think she is being replaced or that we love her any less. This is precisely the reason why our son is an only child. I also have fears that this could be a really ugly mix of breeds… which was slightly less of a concern with us having more kids.
And finally…
Another Trixie moment.
She’s been telling everyone that when she moves out here everything will be better and that it is my responsibility to teach her the way of the boonies and make her life peaceful and enjoyable in the sticks.
I said “So you want me to be your personal Yoda?”
To which she replied “Yeah and I’ll even rub your belly for luck.”
I was pissing my pants as I said “That’s Buddha!”
She gave me a confused look and said “So what do you rub on Yoda?”
04.16.09
life in the slow lane
It has come to my attention that as a blogger I have become more of a slacker than I am in my offline life. That’s really frickin’ impressive considering I’m pretty efficient at getting out of doing shit. Just ask my husband… who incidentally is back doing housework again. Yay! Soon he will be going back to work and then with my luck I’ll probably miss the yappy, needy bugger. Actually the last couple of weeks have been pretty good. He is feeling much better, he’s quite a decent housewife and sometimes I actually find myself enjoying having him home so much. I might actually love him… or it might be Stockholm Syndrome.
I’ve started a few posts over the past month and nothing is coming out right or somehow I don’t finish a post and then it feels too late to go back to it later. I am wondering if I should just give up the blog all together. The whole process just isn’t the same anymore and I guess it hasn’t in a while. I want to write, I miss writing but I think my muse is all hopped up some downer shit and his elevator isn’t going to the top floor… hell I am not sure it’s even getting out of the basement. My muse needs an intervention. I don’t know what would rekindle blogging for me, or if anything could at this point. The good (or bad) news is that I am not alone. As I travel through the blogs of my friends it seems that most of them (you) have lost the mojo too. Maybe we’ve just ridden this old nag into the dust. Maybe it’s all been said. I just don’t know. If I had any kind of motivation I’d be fleshing out some of the story ideas that keep knocking around in my melon and trying to get seriously creative but my inner slug can always find easier things to do.
Speaking of production avoidances and melons, it’s gardening time! Boy oh boy this post is getting more exciting with every paragraph. I am a total garden geek. Trixie was watching me transplant my tomatoes into larger pots and said “You are a regular Lorne Greene.” I told her if she hung out with me enough I’d turn her into a regular Nancy Green. We are so lame.
I am totally the geek girl of gardening. I don’t surf porn (often) I surf for gardening ideas. I look up companion planting (which surprisingly is not about burying your spouse), raised bed ideas, zonal planting suggestions and tips on how to be more Mary Mary quite contrary. I get totally dorky about it too. I cut and paste the bits of articles that I want to remember and I save them all. If I knew how to make charts and diagrams I’d probably do that too, instead I sketch out plans and planting maps. Maybe I should just do a gardening blog, then when people can’t sleep they can come here and my posts will be like tranquilizers. Gardening is relaxing.
I am even more intoxicated by the scent of fresh dirt this year since it’s been such a long-ass winter. The snow is almost gone now, there are just a few piles left around the yard where apparently the sun does not shine. Yes, apparently I do live in the asshole of the world. We haven’t had any particularly balmy days yet but we have had some vitamin D and I have been getting out and soaking it up as much as possible. I have cleaned up most of my flower beds, I planted a few things outside (garlic, marigolds and sunflowers, peas etc.) and I started the stuff that needs a longer growing season (tomatoes, peppers, melons, snapdragons etc.) in mini greenhouses in my living room. OK, I’m putting myself to sleep now.
Moving on.
Our mayor died. He was only 39 years old, a father of two young children and a man who had great hopes and plans for our town. He was in India visiting his family when he had a massive heart attack. I’ve known him since elementary school, he was a good man. Very sad.
If I wrote obituaries they’d be really short.
Trix and the family came home from their vacation in California. I am over my bitterness, there is no point in the petty jealousy especially since it only hurts me and doesn’t punish them at all. The kids were happy to see us and Harry bought himself and my husband matching t-shirts that say “Drinks well with others.” I think the shirts should say “Drinks well with each other.” Though neither of them is opposed to drinking alone either.
Trix and Harry have their house up for sale, they’ve decided they want to buy an acre and move out to the boonies next to us which means we will no longer have a place to work. Maybe we’ll retire. Ha, not fucking likely. We’ve talked about our options but we’re not going to get too worried about it until their house sells. I just know I don’t want to move into a salon, there is too much bullshit and office politics that we currently don’t have or want. We like working in our little bubble.
We went to the Nickelback/ Seether concert last week. Seether was awesome, Shaun Morgan is amazing. His voice just does it for me. At one point he took the stage with Nickelback where he sang a Trent Reznor song that gave me goosebumps on my goosebumps. I would see them again in a heartbeat. I have however lost some love for Nickelback recently when it was pointed out to me that Chad (the lead singer) is a bit of a douche. I don’t know why so many of the affluent and prominent have to be such assholes. When did wealth give one a license to park one’s head up one’s rectum?!. I wish it didn’t make me feel differently about their music but it does. Now just for the record I don’t ever want anyone to tell me that Johnny Rzeznik is a dick. If he is I am happy living in denial because i don’t want to know anything that will ruin him for me. Goo Goo Dolls have a new disc coming out in June so I have already notified my comrades that they are the next concert I will be seeing… alone if necessary. Wow, I think I had an HFO just thinking about it.
What else is new?
Last weekend we went to my cousin Jess’s for poker night. We aren’t usually extended an invite but apparently his friends weren’t available that weekend. The buy-in was only ten dollars which makes for a pretty cheap night of entertainment. If you lost all your chips before ten PM you could buy back in and five of us took advantage of that opportunity which put 120$ in the pot. My husband (who plays super slowly like he’s been huffing paint) was ahead most of the night and I really thought he was going to walk away with it but then he had a couple of bad hands (or good hands that didn’t go his way) and his ‘fortune’ was suddenly smaller than mine. The last three in the game were me, Heiny and ALF (not his real name but he is definitely not from this planet). ALF took my husband out (and not for dinner and a movie) and then there were two. I’m still a rookie at this game compared to these people so not only was I surprised that I made it to the end, I was flabbergasted when I won. ALF as second place got his buy-in back so I still walked away with a hundred bucks which actually made it a lucrative night out. The only drawback to the evening was that I get such nervous anxiety playing the game that I drank a bottle and a half of wine which left my tongue feeling like it was growing cacti the next morning. If I was that bad with people I know, I’d be in real trouble in Vegas.
Wow, I said a lot considering I had nothing to say.
A giggle for the road?
Trixie’s son John got a guitar for Christmas and her husband Harry just bought himself one as well. I told them when they move out here my husband can get a drum kit and we can jam. Trix tapped her hand against her hip and said “Ben can sing and I’ll play the jamboree!”
