Monthly Archive for July, 2007

Issues

I got ‘em.

Like having… One. Big. Eye. Reminiscent of Mike Wazowski - exacerbated by The Tumor Removal of ‘05. I sometimes forget about it… until I see a picture or somethin’… like my new driver’s license picture. Hair: good. Expression: acceptable. Lip gloss: glossy. Eye #A: eye-like. Eye #B: E(ye)normous

Like… laughing after during chiropractic adjustments. I dunno. Maybe it’s just my “thing”. I really tried to conceal the laughter rising from within at my appointment today, to no avail. At least Dr. Chiro gets a good laugh in too. It’s good to bring laughter to others, right? Right?

Like… blogging now when a billion other things are mutating multiplying on my “to-do” list.

Like… unavoidable clumsiness. Times like the following events make me think I should go back to my ranch-camp nickname - “Crash”. I earned that name by falling off the arena fence - backwards, and then face planting in the same horse arena while playing soccer only an hour later… I digress.

    • I spilled many beautiful blueberries on the produce floor at the local market today. I know - it’s shameful. Shameful. THEN I nearly spilled my golden goblet gloriously filled with an iced latte’.
    • On Monday I scraped the skin off 2 knuckles carrying a basket of laundry through a doorway. I was too optimistic in my spatial reasoning as I negotiated the turn.
    • On Monday I also slid down a slick grass hill with Lucy on my hip. I hucked my free arm out like a kick-stand… hoping to keep my butt dry and the kid safe. For a minute I was certain I broke my shoulder. I didn’t. I think that arm and one of Lucy’s legs broke my fall. We’re both OK.
    • I hit my garbage can with my car 3 times as I was leaving my driveway this week - Three. Times. In. A. Row. Seriously. Jen? Do I hear you laughing?

I know there are more, but I have another issue. Hmmm… What was it… Oh yeah… memory. I can’t even go into that one. Mostly because I can’t recall.

Call Me “Hacker”

I rock. Not that I’m arrogant… just a bit prideful.
I just hacked the code in my own blog. I did a little bit o’ copying this a bit of pasting that - tossed in a bit html - ‘cuz I know some html…

I was able to add an image from Zazzle in my sidebar (of a new shirt I “designed”) By. My. Self! And it’s not just the image I was able to add - the image is linked! I am stoked - like a newly built campfire ready for roasting marshmallows. Stoked.

This post is actually more suited for my sorely neglected Techie Schmechie, but I am so excited I just gotta shout it from each of my blog-spaces!

Now, to create the post about why I have just created a shirt that says, “Jenny needs a road bike.”

Caution: Flaming Marshmallows

If you’re my sister-in-law… roasting a marshmallow… and it catches on fire… and somehow…. while trying to blow out the small fire on the end of the stick… the flaming ball leaves the roasting device… launches into the air… and you catch part of it with your hair… but mostly it is rescued by your upper lip…. and it won’t come off… probably because it is searing itself onto your skin…

Meanwhile… here’s me: “Ah-hahahahahahahahahahahahaha! Ahhhhh-hahahahahahahahahahahahaha! Oh, are you OK??? Ah-hahahahahahahahahahahahaha!”

*Jen… I know you’re thinking of our bike-ride…*

My SIL is OK, and so is the blister on her upper lip. I just wish I had a picture… gigglegigglegiggle…

I’m not mean. Twisted, but not mean. Lacking in adequate compassion towards my fellow man woman - yes… but only when it’s funny. Kerry and I have an understanding - it is hers and my greatest joy when we get to experience one another’s most embarrassing/painful/awkward moments. I mean, it was she who said, “I hate that I didn’t get to see that!”… when I told her I tripped on absolutely nothing and fell face first in a parking lot - a busy parking lot. Might I mention she was bent over in rib-crushing laughter as I blew on my burning skinned palms… Heck, I would have loved to see it myself.

Could it be LAUGHING gas???

So, I’ve been seeing a chiropractor over the last week. He has faithfully been popping key areas of tension. He said that the popping I hear is actually gas pockets being let loose.

Ew. Really? I must be pretty gassy. I digress…

I have experienced the strangest reaction to all this popping - laughter. Dr. Chiropractor works from the lower back on up… so the neck is the last area of popperdom. Today’s visit was the second time in a row I cracked up after the final poppage of my neck. Silly, ridiculous, unsuppressible laughter… But props to Dr. Chiropractor… he is a good sport about it.

I cannot help it. I want to not laugh. But I simply can’t not laugh. Can’t. Not. If I am unable to manage this reaction at further appointments, I could be easily persuaded that the gasses that build up between my bones and joints is actually laughing gas.

If it say’s Orca

I’m not wearing it. Period.

It’s called the Orca Pro Killa Tri Suit. Orca is the brand, and I think that is a terrible brand name for women’s swimwear/triwear… Though “Killa” is also in the name… and I dig hood-speak, I cannnot put my body in clothing that sprays the word “ORCA” up the outer thigh.

That’s just mean. Plus, it’s wicked expensive. I am looking for a trisuit though - the Danskin is in 6.5 weeks and since this will be my 5th sprint distance triathlon, I think I may spring for something a bit more tri-ish. I do know this, whatever I choose, the branding/words on whatever I wear will not link me with a whale…. maybe I can find something that reads “Wicked Fast” or “Razor” or “Super, Super Fast Girl” or “Dellusional Girl”…

Writer’s Block and the Chiropractor

So, when I go through a period of “blockage”, I realize I haven’t been looking at life from the right angle. I’m not talking about peering life from the edge of a 90-degree angle… I am discovering I need to look at life - it’s events, my family, my friends, and my community through the eyes of my inner-comedienne.

OK, so I’ll probably never get to join Amy Poehler on SNL as her co-anchor on Weekend Update or play a burnt-out soccer mom next to Maya Rudolph in Bronx Beat. That will just have to remain a dream… but Amy or Maya, if you’re reading… there’s a SAHM with a bachelor’s degree and a teaching credential in social studies who’s waiting for her big break in comedy… See how funny I am! Additionally, some swear that (OK, I may be embellishing the comparison) I may be a long-lost comedic twin of Cheri Oteri… Regardless, I am ready to resurrect the SNL cheerleaders… Go Spartans!

I digress.

Life is funny. There is so much to write about every day - if I view it from the right angle.

Let’s take my first chiropractic visit as an example. My story could simply relay the facts: I got my first adjustment. My back and neck were pop, pop, popped. Additionally, the ribs that were displaced due to a recent volleyball injury were moved closer to the location God intended when he created me.

That story isn’t interesting! And let’s face it, if a story doesn’t make you laugh or cry, or move you in an emotional direction… it just may not be a good story.

Here’s my try at telling a better story…

Ignorance is bliss… until ignorance gives way to revelation, which gives way to humiliation. I didn’t realize receiving a chiropractic adjustment was so physical. Pure ignorance. Had I known… I would not have worn a tank top that was cut a little lower than I typically wear (the sun was out and I was hoping to avoid the “farmer tan”). I went from lying on my front to back to front to back to stretching my arms above my head while lying on my back… all the while I tried to discreetly re-adjust my chosen attire… With. Both. Arms. Above. My. Head… Yeah. No. Even though it’s supposed to be in the upper 70’s tomorrow - I am planning on wearing a turtleneck to that appointment. Maybe two. Maybe a wetsuit.

Why the visit? Sports injury. Yeah, I know. I’m hardcore. Our friends created a rockin’ sand volleyball pit and I couldn’t resist to call of my long lost love. In high school I was called “Wild Woman”… I loved a good dig… no threat to my knees was big enough to keep me from an incredible save. But THIS was a net injury… I jumped up for the kill, while a man-sized teen went for the block. His body kept going through the net… his unrestrained momentum was fully absorbed by the right side of my trunk. He fell to ground. I stood stunned, but shook it off - for I was the old lady and needed to look tough in front of the youngies.

Back to the chiropractor (no pun intended)… my ribs were killing me! Apparently the altercation in the sand displaced a few ribs a bit. So, with each flip I moved as gracefully as a steam roller on a rock obstacle course… groaning and ouching each time I needed my right arm to help negotiate the flips from front to back. Thus, therefore and furthermore… this injury impeded my ability to maintain a personal comfort level of modesty in my very cute, but far-too-low-cut-tank.

The highlight of my visit was when the doctor revealed the results of my x-rays… he said my lower back was *ahem* “INCREDIBLE”.

I know.

Hey, a girl’s gotta angle a compliment from any angle she can… well, angle. I said, “Thank you. My lower back feels incredible.” No. I didn’t say that, but it would have been funny awkward if I did.

The end.

Soooooo, suddenly a regular (and humiliating) trip to the Dr. comes across as it played out in life… funny, embarrassing, entertaining, real. I know. It’s subjective, but I was entertained. Now, if you’ll excuse me… I need to go dig out my winter clothes and find a couple of turtlenecks.

Eavesdropping and joining in…

I listened/intruded in on a conversation between 2 girls today. We were waiting for the parade to start - happy 4th by the way! It was Olivia’s second parade as a baton twirling diva. Dang, she’s cute…

Fifth-grader-to-be to fourthgrade-to-be friend: I have to work at the farmer’s market today until 3.

Me to myself: Her parents must be slave drivers! After twirling in a parade! At least he fourth-grader-to-be buddy gets to go to urgent care for her pink eye! She shouldn’t even be her, but props fpr her dedication! I think I should step back a few feet…
Me to fifth-grader-to-be: Why?

Fifth-grader-to-be: I have to sell jewelry.

Me to fifth-grader-to-be: That YOU made?

Fifth-grader-to-be: Yeah, and it’s priced at a reasonable price.

Me to myself: Is that so?

Fourth-grader-to-be: Oh really? I love reasonable prices. I’m saving for a bike….

I didn’t hear the rest - I was laughing too hard and wishing I had a pen and paper so I wouldn’t forget the exchange. Fourth-grade-to-be-baton-twirling-glitter-in-her-hair-wearing-bargain-hunters are way too cute.

So I sez to Joel today…

because I pulled some strings and arranged for a friend to come over… and I rock.

Me: Say it… you gotta say it: Mizzzutha - you rock the hizzzooooooouuuuuuse!

Joel: Um. Mom. I don’t speak funk.

Well, la dee da. Don’t forget who starches the collar on your pink Izod polo, young man!

Um, Miss July, where did you go?

July - helloooo? Hello? Present-month there? I know this is only your first day, but did ya hav’ta take off so fast? You just put your hot little lead foot on the gas and launched right on into August didn’t cha?

Um, I still need to squeeze in Joel’s birthday sleepover, and you’re kinda makin’ it like squeezing a 4th comforter into a small-sized Space Bag. ‘Lil help? Ya know… since his birthday was - Last. Month.

*cough, wheeze… as I crawl helplessly toward my calendar… white knuckled, grasping an eraser… inching my way toward an calender filled in with Sharpie… feeling like I’ve brought silly string to a fireworks show*