A few days ago MPR News posted this as a status update on Facebook:
They weren't kidding. The next morning I woke up to this...
after our 6 billionth snowstorm of this winter. Actually, I exaggerate. There have not been 6 billion snowstorms because snowstorms can only happen if the weather is above absolute zero, and the weather has not been above absolute zero very much since November, but when it IS above absolute zero, we have a snowstorm.
I wouldn't say that I am a winter person, by any means, but I can usually roll with it. Not this time though. After the latest shitstorm I felt like I was going to have a panic attack and I just had to GET OUT! Mitch and the kids and I went and shoveled. It was really hard, not because the snow is very heavy or anything, but because the banks are so high, it's hard to throw the snow over the top of them. They are over my head.
This is the path going to the driveway. When I am standing on the deck, looking to the left, I can't see the cars in the driveway because the snowbanks are so high. The next picture is the house to driveway view.
The snow is up to the branches on that tree that I have been trying desperately to keep alive for the last several years. I hope this isn't what finally kills it. I love that tree. Can you see the cars? Me neither.
This is the deck outside the sliding glass door. The snow is above the railings, as you can see. The top of those railings are about 5 feet off the ground.
Yesterday Mitch had to go on the roof to shovel the snow off because the chimney was buried and the furnace stopped working because of it. Awesome!!! He said it was hard to do because the snow didn't avalanche off like you'd expect. It was stiff and frozen and every last granule had to be lifted and thrown. Now the chimney is free but the furnace still isn't working.
I feel like Laura Ingalls Wilder, but I don't think she drank quite as much. She should have. The Little House on the Prairie would have been easier to cope with if she had.
Happy Valentine's Day! In honor of this special occasion, I am reposting the story of my worst date ever. And no, it was not with Mitch. Mitch is downright debonair compared to this guy.
One time just after high school a boy I liked asked me out and I said yes. He thought it would be fun to go "bird" hunting. Okay, whatever. I wasn't picky. As long as they bought me food I was game for anything.
I wouldn't exactly call myself an "outdoorsy" person. I like to go outside when it's between 70 and 85 degrees, with little or no wind, and lots of sun. That is, of course, unless I'm sunburned from the last time it was 70 to 85, not windy and sunny. Then I'd rather just sit in the shade and read a book. I knew this was going to be an outdoor date and in my mind I pictured us walking hand in hand lazily along a nice path in a sun-dappled forest. I really really hoped no birds would actually get hunted because I like birds and I hate the smell of gun powder.
There was no sun-dappled forest, and no lazy hand-holding walk. He picked me up in a filthy SUV and he had a gigantic golden retriever with him. I was a little disappointed to also see a gun. I was kind of hoping "bird-hunting" was date-code for "going in the woods and making out," but apparently, he really did want to take me to kill animals. Fun.
I guess I never knew what bird hunting involved. I always thought it was just walking through the woods looking for partridge and then shooting them. I never gave much thought to what happens after that. As far as I knew, they just magically appeared on a platter, cooked to a perfect golden brown, and tasted delicious. Oh, how wrong I was.
First of all, there was no walking in the woods. We drove along a rutted dirt road going about 25 miles an hour, and if I knew I was going to have to withstand so much jostling, I would have worn a sports bra, but my date spent all his time with his head out the window and his eyes peeled for birds, oblivious to any jostling-of-boobs or discomfort for his date. He couldn't hear anything I said with his head out the window either and whenever he saw me talking he would interrupt and say, "Are you looking for birds?!" No, no I wasn't. I was mostly holding my boobs and fighting with his dog who was a little put out that I was sitting in his regular spot. Neither one of us wanted to sit on the garbage on the floor, or on the garbage in the back seat.
Suddenly Mr. Wonderful slammed on the brakes and he and the dog jumped out of the truck and I heard a shot. I got out to see the dog jump into a ditch flooded with pondy, scummy water, swim across and then race into the woods, coming back with a partridge. I was proudly shown the dead bird (ew) and then to my horror, my date bent over, stepped on the little birdy's feet, pulled on his wings, and the feet and guts all came out at once. Oh my god, that was about the most horrifying thing I've ever seen. Five minutes before that little bird was just minding his own business, sitting in a tree, probably thinking about how cool it is to lay eggs, and then boom: he was shot. Then a dog got him. Then his little feet were stepped on and he no longer had guts. I must have looked as horrified as I felt because Mr. W. said, "Are you okay? That's how it's done. I thought everyone knew that." (I did NOT know that...Did you know that?) Then he asked me if I wanted to try to shoot one and handed me the stinky gun. Um... No thanks.
We got back in the truck, and the dog, who was now dripping wet with ditch water sat in my seat before I could get there. The seat was soaked. Mr. W. shooed him out of the seat and offered it to me (ah chivalry), and I sat in it for about five seconds and then my pants were soaked, so I kneeled on the garbage with my arms up on the dash instead. The dog saw that I was not going to be using my seat, so he jumped up from the back seat to reclaim his spot. Like all dogs, he had to turn around a few times before he could sit, and on one of the passes he stopped with his wet ass by my face and let out a total wind fart. It just went "hooooooooooooooooooo" with no resistance at all, right on my cheek. I could actually feel the wind of it. Mr. W. saw this and laughed so hard I thought he would crash the garbage-mobile. I told him I wanted to go home, and to his credit, he turned right around and headed home, still laughing.
But wait, we still haven't come to the worst part of the date yet.
He kept his head out the window on the way back, still hunting for birds. I was watching him and I saw him not-so-secretly pick a huge booger out of his nose and then leave it on his finger in the wind. He happened to glance at me and saw what I'm sure was a look of absolute disgust and said, "What? I'm letting it dry."
I forgot how much I love it. It's so pretty just watching people skate together so well without having to worry about the girl getting thrown thirty feet across the ice and landing on her face. When I was looking for pictures of ice dancing I saw that it sometimes tends to be a little risque. I realized that this may be the only sport that a person could legitimately say that they accidentally had sex with their partner during their routine.
"Oops"
When I downloaded this picture the caption for it was "icedancingfilth.jpg"
"Did you fart?"
This one is just weird. How do you end up in that position from a dance? Or get into a dance from this position. I hope this pair is in the Olympics so I can see it for myself.
This picture is from a new event called "Ice Dancing Gynecological Exams."
It's my dad's birthday today! In honor of Dad's special day I am re-running an old post I wrote about him and his love of clothing with lots of pockets.
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I got an email from my dad this morning. As you know, he likes a shirt with a lot of pockets. I knew that, but I didn't know how much. Here's his email to me...
I just read an ad in my latest Guns and Ammo magazine by Scottevest. They have the "Revolution Jacket" 26 pockets...
O----M----G!!!!
and the Explorer shirt, 19 pockets!!!!!!!!!!!!
Can you imagine how much stuff I could travel with if I wore this jacket and shirt with my new Blackhawk pants (8 pockets)? I could go on a two week vacation and not have to carry any luggage! Could life GET and better?
Wow, my dad really likes pockets. And he's not the only one. I looked at the Scottevest blog and there is a post that asks the readers "What do you carry?" and then people commented with mile long lists of things they like to carry with them. Seriously, to read just one of the lists I had to scroll and scroll and scroll. Not only do they carry a lot around with them every day in their millions of pockets, but they are actually pocket aficionados who seem to be carrying things for the sake of carrying things and sharing it on the internet. This is one guy's list: In Fleece: Shure e2c headset HP hx4700 iPaq Sony Walkman 850i mobile phone 32Gb iPod Touch 6 pack credit card holder SureFire G2 LED flashlight 2 spare lithium batteries for G2 LeatherMan mini toolkit SureFire Sonic Defender ear plugs Pack of 6 cleansing wipes Pack of 2 Self heating hand warmers Pack of 2 travel sickness wrist straps 1 disposable sick bag Pack 6 plasters Nokia 6120 mobile phone Driving Licence Nokia N810 Internet Tablet Serengetti Drivers Glasses Car Keys with £20 and headache tablets on ring Pack 3 tooth picks 6 sticks of instant coffee Laser pointer Whistle £20 in canister headache tablets in canister Gloob-Toob waterproof LED light
In Jacket RoyalTec BlueTooth GPS Receiver Logger Office ID Badge Olympus mju725SW Camera USB Cable Invisio BlueTooth Headset BlackHawk Gloves Sealskin inner gloves WaterProof Notepaper Pad Notepad holder Fisher Q4 Space Pen BlackHawk Fleece Cap Garmin Colorado 300 GPS receiver with topo and street maps 2 AA Lithium batteries Oatmeal bar O'Reilly computer book 40gb usb harddrive
In Cap Oyster Transport Card
In T-Shirt Shure e4c headset
When traveling I also carry an eee PC with power supply That guy is ready for anything. If he went out in the morning and found himself: 1. in pitch darkness (flashlight and extra batteries), 2. underwater and needing to take notes (waterproof notepaper and sealskin gloves AND waterproof LED light), 3. nauseous (travel sickness wrist straps and sick bag for when the wrist straps don't work, which they won't), 4. with a headache (headache pills in TWO different pockets), 5. eating corn on the cob (three toothpicks), 6. needing to point at a person's crotch across a room (laser pointer), 7. in space (space pen), 8. bleeding profusely and/or refreshing a wall (6 pack of plasters), 9. craving a stick of coffee (6 coffee sticks), 10. coaching a sporting event and/or deterring a rapist (whistle), 11. at his own office (office ID badge), 12. taking some selfies (camera), 13. wanting to play Angry Birds while listening to Ballroom Blitz (iPod), 14. driving across the Serengeti (Serengeti driving glasses), 15. needing to repair an O'Reilly computer (O'Reilly computer book), 16. dropping a cell phone in the toilet and needing to call someone to them them he dropped his phone in the toilet (2 cell phones), 17. and transporting oysters (Oyster Transport Card)... he would be READY FOR ALL OF THAT AND MUCH, MUCH MORE. Dad, what do you carry in your outfit with 53 pockets?
Kira turned 14 the other day. It is a tradition to take a nice birthday picture of the kids with their birthday cake. Kira is difficult. And maddening. And hilarious. I could not get a nice picture of Kira on her 14th birthday because she would not allow it.
I told her to stop it and let me get once nice picture. She would agree, but a fraction of a second before the picture snapped, she made a face.
The girl can cross her eyes astonishingly fast.
After a while I gave up on a picture with the cake and just wanted a nice picture of my beautiful girl.
She would not have any part of it.
At this point, Kira said, "Mom, enough. I'm starting to get a headache from crossing my eyes." So we cut the cake and went downstairs to celebrate.
I thought I could pretend that I was reading something on my phone and get a clandestine picture of her eating her cake and looking like her adorable self.
If I had green fur, I would look just like the Grinch. Around the holidays I have the same scowl and roughly the same body shape.
Yesterday I took down all the Christmas shit and loved every single minute of it. Goodbye stupid tree, goodbye happy little decorative snowmen. See you in eleven months. Or maybe even eleven months and two weeks if I can get away with it without the kids complaining. A tree that looks so beautiful on December 10 looks like a cluttery, tacky piece of garbage on December 26. There is something very satisfying about throwing all that crap in a box and vacuuming up all the needles.
Even though I'm a Grinch, I do have a few funny stories from the holidays this year.
- My dad was bringing a cash donation to the Food Shelf one day, and he was wearing his "everyday" jacket and shoes, meaning he was wearing an old ratty jacket that nobody has any business wearing when the temperature is below 40 and it is past 1985, and his shoes had holes in them. When he got in to the Food Shelf, the lady took one look at him and said "I'm sorry sir, but we aren't distributing today." I'm still laughing about that one. I got him overalls for a present, which isn't going to help his case with the Food Shelf lady.
- My brother-in-law Lorin told my dad that the deer my dad shot last month during hunting season was one that Lorin had non-fatally wounded three days prior to my dad killing it. We were all stunned by this revelation. Why wouldn't Lorin tell my dad this anytime in the month before Christmas? How does he know it was the same deer? I'll tell you how he knew it was the same deer: he said that when it was hanging in the garage waiting to be butchered, Lorin had a good look at it and recognized its face. I don't know if Lorin has any business hunting deer if he can recognize their faces. That seems more like murder.
- I was playing Barbies with my niece Millie who is three and I was making my Barbie complain about the ridiculous hooker shoes she was wearing. Here is how our high-voiced, Barbie conversation went:
My Barbie: My feet hurt from these streetwalker shoes, I wish I was wearing slippers.
Millie's Barbie: Yeah, where are my God Damn slippers?
I got the sweetest comment from an anonymous follower the other day:
Awwwww!!! How sweet is that??? Sorry "Followahh," I've really sucked lately at blogging. I am busy, but still, I could take a few minutes here and there to blast out a few lines to keep me"relevant." (Stop laughing!)
So what have I been doing that keeps me so dang busy? Well, it's finals week at my college prep high school. I don't have to take any finals (thank the sweet sweet lord) but I have to do what teachers do to wrap up a semester and get grades ready. That is tedious because I have a few students who want to hand stuff in from September to get their grade up. You know what I say to that? I say, "HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA! You're HILARious!" But I am not a total hardass, and if they bombed a test or an essay, I will let them retake it. It's SCHOOL, they are supposed to be learning and that's part of the process. Next semester I'm going to make a big sign that says, "Dirodio! Every Day!" Dirodio is an acronym for DO IT RIGHT OR DO IT OVER. I'm only going to give A's, B's and Dirodios. It's too discouraging to give F's.
I've been killing it at the gym. If my 40 year old self could look into the future and read that last sentence she would say, "HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!" and then she'd collapse because she'd be out of breath, and then she'd go have a glass of wine and a Ding Dong. But I have been killing it at the gym. I'm stronger, faster, better than I have been EVER. And the better I get, the better I want to get. I have some crazy long-term goals that I am not even going to tell you about just in case this is a phase and it never comes to pass, but I will tell you about my shorter term goals:
1. Lose weight - already lost 20 pounds. Need to lose about 20 more, all the time keeping in mind that the last time I was at my ultimate goal weight, I got knocked up.
2. Run in 5ks this summer. Yeah, that's right, a running race. No, you shut up.
3. Lift more weight than an annoyingly strong lady at the gym. She doesn't know I'm breathing down her neck, but I am.
What have I not been doing?
I have not been reading anything other than ninth grade essays. Book club is still fun though. Until they kick me out for not doing my work.
Oh, and also: cooking, cleaning, parenting, spousing. And blogging.
Kira had a band concert at her school tonight so Mitch and Sam and I went to watch. They were pretty good, but the most memorable part of the entire outing washow weird my husband is. After the performance we were in the lobby talking to some parents and friends. My friend was talking about having to have knee surgery sometime in the future, and another guy that was there was talking about having to have hip surgery. Okay, whatever, people talking about things they have in common, right? Here is how the conversation went:
My friend: I was supposed to have surgery last summer but I just couldn't.
Guy: Yeah, I was supposed to have hip surgery but I don't think I've got the time right now to do it.
My friend: I have been getting these shots that help with the pain a lot.
Guy: Oh yeah? Cortisone?
My friend: No, it's some kind of gel and it really works great. Mitch: Oh yeah, it's a lubricant made from chicken combs.
Me: ..........What???????
Mitch: Yeah, they make a gel from chicken combs. (This said while miming a chicken comb with his hand)
My friend: ....... I don't want to know where it comes from.
Me: I don't even know where he gets this stuff.
Mitch: What? It's true. Look it up.
My friend: Oh yeah? Do you work in the medical field? (she knows full well he does not)
Mitch: No.
My friend: ..............
Guy: ..............
Me: ............ (mouth hanging open)
Later in the car:
Me: Seriously Mitch? WHERE did you come up with that one? Chicken combs? That has to be one of the weirder things you have ever said.
Mitch: Get your phone out and look it up. I'm serious.
Me: No, I'm not falling for it. It's just about the stupidest thing I've ever heard.
Mitch: Everything I said was true. They get it mostly from roosters with big combs. And they have to be tall roosters.
Me: .......????....... what?
Mitch: Look it up.
I have the best husband in the world. Kira is thirteen and is socially retarded. Harsh words? Maybe, but if the shoe fits... In just the past two weeks she has had a long texting conversation with a strange man who accidentally texted the wrong number; AND she sent aerial photos of our house to someone online who said they are moving in next to us. When we FREAKED about that she said that we were overreacting because she knows who it is. We asked who and she told us a screen name. She doesn't know who it is in real life. Yeah, I see you shaking your head. We are still shaking our heads about that one.
So we gave her the expected lecture but Mitch has quietly taken it upon himself to be with her every second she isn't at school which means he comes home from work early to be here with her so he will be able to intercept the internet predators she has cluelessly lured directly to our home. Just imagine a "To Catch A Predator" type scenario, but instead of meeting Chris Hansen and his smug face, and having a humiliating television interview and an arrest; they would instead be met by a raging dad-monster and get disemboweled and die a horrifying death. The nice thing for me is that while he is home waiting to murder internet predators, he fills his time cooking and cleaning which I appreciate almost as much as keeping our offspring safe. The other day Mitch had to run some errands so Kira had to go with him. They were sitting somewhere waiting and he said he had a good look at her and thinks she is turning in to a beautiful young lady. While he was looking at her lovingly, probably with the song "Daddy's Little Girl" running through his head, wondering where the time has gone, she looked at him and said, "Hey Dad,...my mouth tastes weird." We have a couple long years ahead of us.
Update! I got a clean bill of health so I suppose my stupid uterus can stick around for a while longer.
Why is it that we (as a society, not me or you specifically) have been able to perform seemingly miraculous tasks in the field of medicine like organ transplants and mapping the human genome, but women's reproductive health is still a fricking mystery? I mean, the ovaries and uterus lie inches below the surface of the skin in the lower abdomen, yet they might as well be disembodied and off in the universe somewhere based on how much we know about what is going on in our particular ovaries/uteruses (uteri?) at any given moment. That just seems wrong. Is it because women's health is still not a priority? I can hardly believe that because more than half of us are women, and in the past few years almost all of the medical professionals I have dealt with are women. But if that's not the reason, what is? It's something.
The reason I am thinking about this is because YET AGAIN I am having issues with those particular woman parts. This isn't the first time. The first time was when I was in college and had what turned out to be a benign tumor on my cervix. The first doctor that looked at it judgementally diagnosed me with genital warts and applied some kind of acid. What? No! Yes. It was horrifying. So I went to an actual gynecologist who did a test other than a peek and an assumption, and figured out that it was in fact a tumor, not warts, and needed to be cut out and biopsied.
The second time was when I was pregnant and during an exam a doctor discovered pre-cancerous abnormal growths on my cervix. They had to be cut out. While I was pregnant. It was stressful. Not only that, it was painful. And it was ridiculous because the amount of gauze that can be hidden away in a pregnant woman is astonishing. I was like a clown pulling out handkerchiefs at a horrific children's birthday party.
The third time I was diagnosed with "stage 0 cervical carcinoma." Well? Is it cancer or is it stage 0 because stage 0 would seem to indicate there is no cancer, yet the word carcinoma would suggest there is. Again, it had to be cut out. This time I suggested that maybe they just cut out the whole deal because I had already had my babies and I didn't need those parts anymore, and if they were going to just exist to cause me problems, why keep them? I was told no, that was too radical and sent on my way.
This time after experiencing some unpleasant symptoms that I will spare you the details of, I went in to the doctor, was examined, was sent for an ultrasound and was told to wait for the doctor to call. That's what I'm doing right now. Waiting. I want this not to happen again. I want a partial hysterectomy. I have researched it and I know the risks and rewards of it. I get that it's a major medical procedure, but to me it seems like preventative medicine. I don't WANT to get cancer and by all indications, that seems like the path I've been heading down - getting it, catching it early, then cutting out chunks. I would like to avoid the anxiety, stress and worry associated with having symptoms every few years, but in order to really be heard, it seems like I may have to actually become hysterical, hence proving the need for a hysterectomy. I've been practicing and I'm getting pretty good at it.
I'm in a dumb phase lately. I can hardly think a coherent thought. Tonight I sat next to a man I work with every single day and I could not for the life of me remember his name. Then I had to get money from the ATM and I couldn't remember my pin number. Jesus, what is happening to me? And the dumbest thing I've done is totally forgetting to write about my trip to DC with my sisters!!!
We went for a long weekend because Amy was going to run in the Marine Marathon, but she got a deferment for a year because she didn't exactly train in any way whatsoever. Oh well, we decided to go to DC anyway and it was FUN.
The first night we checked into our hotel and got settled, then went for a walk. Our hotel was right downtown, kind of by the white house, so we walked down there to see it. It was lit up pink for breast cancer month.
Then we were walking around and Beth was talking about how she is really into Parkour lately. You know, Parkour? Like this:
Amy and I didn't quite believe her and told her to prove it. She took on the challenge and jumped off a one foot step, and then leap-frogged this barrier-thing which would have been really cool if she didn't stub her crotch and fall down. If the barrier was three inches shorter, it might have been impressive. So then I tried to jump over a fire-hydrant but forgot I was wearing a skort and almost killed myself. We are lucky we came back from Washington with all our teeth. Here's Amy Parkouring her ass all over the place.
The next day Amy and I went for a run. No, you shut up. I can run! We ran for about 23 miles all over the Mall area.
Amy says it absolutelywas not 23 miles but I don't know how she knows it wasn't because we didn't map it out or anything. It was probably pretty close to 23.
We went to the Holocaust Museum. Depressing. They have a gift shop in the lobby so you can shop for key chains and coffee mugs that say "We Shall Never Forget" all over it. There was even a little stuffed bear in a trench coat who was wearing a little tag that said, "I'm a refugee." It was a bit much. Amy thinks that a bar would do better business than a gift shop because after going through and seeing all the horrors that was the Holocaust, a person really needs a good stiff drink.
So then we went to have a good stiff drink, which leads me to the day-drinking portion of our trip. We did a lot of that. That's what vacations are for, right? At one bar we sat next to a guy that told us that Chris Brown of beating-the-shit-out-of-Rhianna fame was arrested at the W Hotel right across the street from us. Turned out to be true. Some guy photo-bombed a picture Brown was in so he ran after the guy and mercilessly beat him. Seems like an appropriate response. We also went to the W Hotel (fancy schmancy) to have a drink in the bar that is on the roof. It was nice but every table had a reserved sign on it and nobody came to sit at them. I got a free beer.
Saturday we went to MOUNT VERNON! We took a boat from DC up the Potomac to the estate.
Amy and Kristen on the boat to Mount Vernon. They can
barely contain their excitement.
Unfortunately we only got four hours to tour the place. I thought it was kind of a rush, but nobody else did. You can see barely anything in four hours. We hit the high points: The house, museum, tomb, wharf-area.
This guy took us through a hay-bale maze. What's the point of a hay-bale maze, you ask? I don't know. You can see right over it and figure out your path. Easy. This guy said to shut our eyes and go through conga style. It was weird.
Then I saw one of my favorite Mount Vernon attractions:
The three-hole outhouse. Amy asked me once if I could meet George Washington and talk to him, but only if we were both using the three-hole outhouse, would I do it? Probably.
The next day was the marathon so we went to watch the runners. It was a beautiful day and it was fun to watch the marathon. The people at the front of the pack run fast the whole time. I mean FAST. It's not a sprint, j'all!
We met some cool people while we were there. We saw Senator Franken at the airport and said hello to him. We met a retired Capitol Police guy at a diner one morning and got him talking about senators who are all bluster in public and who cry in the elevator at the end of the day. And we met Carlos Arredondo, an activist who helped save people after the Boston bombing. I recognized him from a picture and we talked with him for a while. He is a fantastically nice person. I was really happy we got to meet him and I got to take a picture with him and an ice-cream sandwich.
The last day we were there we walked around for miles and miles and miles. We went to the Smithsonian Portrait Gallery too.
Amy took this picture of me nerding it up in front of a statue of George Washington surrendering his commission after the Revolutionary War. He was dreamy.
I also got this really cool photo of the Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial. Nobody was there right then because the marathon was going on and everyone was cheering on the runners.
But before I got that good picture, I got this one:
This lady literally ran into the frame at the last second. I wish I knew who she was so I could send her the picture.
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