Month: July 2019

A few blogues ago you got to share in my plight of rolling around on my wet deck and bouncing my head on the ground. Very fun and cool stuff. Weeks went by and things were generally healing, except for that shiner. It was still holding court. I endured the sideways glances and double takes, feeling like it was a new pet I was stuck with. Now it just looks like I slept with one eye open and am left with a dark bag. Covered in makeup. Nice. But the shoulder was a different story. I do not like doctors. Nothing personal, but maybe personal. When I’m sick, I go. When I’m well, why ruin a good day? So after three weeks I thought an X-ray might be a goodish idea just to reassure myself that nothing is amiss and get some go forward advice. But….the pregame put me over the edge. Ten (really!) forms to fill out on both sides. I felt that the same questions were asked over and over, but with a check the first time, and rate from 1-5 the second time, etc. Then forty-five minutes later the nurse sits down at her computer and starts asking again!?!$! Just X-ray my shoulder dammit! That does not require a life history. Two hours later I walk out with a cortisone shot and a good chunk of my privacy left on a clipboard. You should have at least bought me dinner. Lobster. With Camus. Most of that information was just none of your business. And not the least bit relevant to the joint at hand. I feel like your family doc keeps the keys to the fortress, but after going for a physical I realized that system is flawed, too. She had nothing. All those electronic records were left on the stereo and never quite got back in their jackets. She was referencing tests I had ten years ago and the updates somehow vanished. Rather spooky to know that your medical life is floating around somewhere, or not. I had no confidence in the system to start with, so shouldn’t have been surprised. We all like to think that industry has it together, but I’m not feelin it. Cranky doctor pants. Don’t want to go back. Never ever whaaaa. No wonder there were so many questions about my mental state. Shaky at best.

eat drunk. #tacobell. There. Now that I’ve totally wooed the crowd I bought a little space before the daggers come out. I know I’m probably brewing hate speak but I ain’t shy. The Myth of the Rescue Dog. Much like paper straws, the masses have latched on to this idea without really thinking it through properly. So while you’re enjoying a cold beverage and wiping the soppy goo from your mouth, hear me out. There is a reason that dog is a rescue. And generally (see I said Generally), it’s not a good one. Those are Bad Dogs. You might hear the owner had to move to a place that wouldn’t allow dogs. Maybe, maybe not. Most dog lovers would search until they found a place that Did allow dogs. Generally. (Relax). My child is allergic. Of course he is teehee. I walk my wellish-behaved breedish dog in the park and I can pick a ‘rescue’ out of the crowd. The owner is feeling self-satisfied and smug until she encounters another person and/or dog. Then she is hanging onto the leash as if her life depended on it, and it just might. The dog is lunging and growling and is in attack mode. The dogs Generally look the same. Pit bull mix. Terrior mix. Steven King mix. They are NOT good pets. They were dumped by someone who understood they were NOT good pets. And could make your life more trying than it needs to be. I know I know there are a lot of wonderful rescues. But my brilliant theory (fact) is if you have a great dog that you love you will find a way to make it work. People don’t get rid of family members. Generally. So before you run to the pound convinced I’m just a heartless Boomlennial, at least do some research. Take a walk in the park and observe the people enjoying their walk and the ones running off the path so that their dog doesn’t come near you. If you’re ok with that, have at it. Those dogs need homes. Or head to an Amish puppy mill. At least they know how to work the system. Maybe I am heartless. (I’m not). Or maybe at some point I just want my life to be easier. Not politically correct, not looking out for the world, just making my speck in it nice. A nice speck. I like how that sounds.

Something about that July 4th holiday makes me think summer is over and time to harvest the nuts. And no there’s not a joke there but I did spend some time trying to come up with one classy lady that I am. Being that one of my dearests has a birthday on the 4th it has always been a Big Day. Peeps always knew where the party was book it. Some of those early picnics were the best because that extra layer of celebration made me bring it. Rather a shame that wee wee wee dearest has no inkling of what when on and maybe that’s for the best. But I still make that day/week special. Why not? Now the group has dwindled so we usually take a week up at an island in Lake Erie over run with rattlesnakes. Yes it is very scary. Boots and jeans at all times. Don’t come. The weather is usually hot and sunny, or a brief storm to remind you that you’re still in OH and there’s always room for more humidity. But…..then something happens. My mind does a flip flop and I’m immediately ready for fall. Which is odd because I love summer and heat and bug bites and bad hair and sweat and hmmmm. Might need to rethink this. The summer sale catalogs are stacking up but I’m pretty much done with those skorts. And not many Boomlennials really want to show their upper arms. Or legs. Or fill in the blanks. Give me that big ole sweater! Not really. But really. Fall clothes are way better looking, at least on those models from the ‘Preview’ catalogs. Speaking of models, I’m going to pick my words carefully. I hope. While on vacay I was looking at the SI swimsuit edition. I always enjoy seeing beautiful women in beautiful bathing suits on beautiful beaches. A treat for the eyes. Well, somehow that magazine got ‘diverse’ and I don’t like it. I love it at work. I love it at play. Just not in my fantasy island edition!?%#!! If I want to see chubby women in bikinis I can look in the mirror. If I want to see a woman with a horrible skin condition I head back to the dermatologist office. Don’t know where I might go to see a woman in a burkini but I really don’t need to. Not the time. Not the place. One of my dearests thought I was way out of line for thinking this way, but having ‘diverse’ views should be ok. If we all thought the same who is left to fight with? Ok, maybe I shouldn’t have had those beers before writing this. Back to the end of summer. I know it’s the middle. But, I can’t stop thinking about football #heartbakermayfield. And sports this time of year blows so that could be a part of it. Sadly, I’m a pretty shallow person and the beach reads aren’t doing it anymore. My tan is amazing so I don’t really need more sun. Even though it is thoroughly good for you. (Check my archives for all the facts(ish) to support that). All my plants have died without being watered for a week. We’ve had so much rain I never even gave that a thought, even though it is certainly a July 4th tradition. I’ve eaten in parking lots at all the outdoor restaurants, and enjoyed the fumes. I guess I have a short attention span, and ready for something new. #heartbakermayfield got married last week. Better be able to knock it out. Need ya man.

Now that I have that song thumping through your head I will proceed with more serious matters. So serious. I finally did The Deed, capital T. All winter I was paranoid about falling. So many of my peeps were wiping out on the ice, of which there was a lot of for some reason. I was always hoping for a blizzard so I could at least get some traction. (Cold weather makes my brain freeze.) I never even opened a door without grabbing my phone so sure that I was going to tumble right out into a massive glacier. People were breaking things in eighty different places, and that was just on a wrist. I walked like a penguin and didn’t mind the odd stares. Much. Front foot in front of the other, waddle waddle waddle, balancing your weight. You don’t see those geniuses bumping down the street on crutches, right? But, alas, by June I thought I could let my guard down. Idiot. The other evening I was out on my sandstone deck after a huge rainstorm. Not thinking. Not on high alert. Whoa is me. (Trying to drag out the drama. Or create some). There are certain areas on the deck that are quite shaded so have a fine moss that normally goes unnoticed. Except when wet. Danger! Danger! Walk like an Egyptian! Why Do they walk that way hmmm? Google break. They don’t. In their hieroglyphs, they were very cognizant to show all their body parts, sure that some voodoo-like spell would take them away. They also liked to be barrel chested so others would think them strong. I personally think they were very poor artists, but great Pictionary players! Don’t believe everything you read on the Internet. Back to me, ugh. My unwebbed foot took a big slide on the wet moss and I went down. Hard. Nothing got broken except my spirit. The good(?) thing is I fell on my side and absorbed a lot of it with my thigh and shoulder. And head. Who knew that thing can actually bounce? Now into day three and I’m feeling pretty chipper, but that black eye has to go. Scared myself when I looked in the mirror the following morning, but fortunately it was so swollen I couldn’t see very well. Lucky, lucky me. My ex-Manfriend said it would probably look better if I didn’t put so much purple eyeshadow on. Give me strength. So now I can’t go outside except for one brief week in November. Out of strategy. I am glad it’s sunglass season and I am a movie star. #hideyourweeones#aclockworkorange#angrypanda