Tag Archives: Health

Public Service Announcement

15 Feb
"Coughs and Sneezes Spread Diseases - As ...

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Hi there.

This is going to be short and sweet. You might consider printing it out and sharing it with your disgusting co-workers or fellow airline passengers.

Under no circumstances is it appropriate to snort your snot LOUDLY and REPEATEDLY in a public place. You are startling people! If people clutch their chests in shock and cringe as they look over at you, yet you keep at it, expect fewer social invitations.

In addition, it is not acceptable to hack and cough in a manner that suggests you’re dying – I’m talking about the scary, loud, dramatic “look-at-me” cough that goes on for ten minutes – unless you are certain you are dying. Even then, it’s iffy.

At the very least, please escort yourself and your repulsive display of illness elsewhere.



You’re Fat

13 Jan

I am thankful to have been asked to be a guest-blogger on The Real Housewives of Oklahoma. My post is just fabulous. Just. Fabulous. Really.

Kiddin’. But it does cement your insecurities as to the media’s perception of your fat arse. And mine.


Return It To The Freezer. Now.

Who Has A Mullet Now, Beotch?

28 Dec

It was 6:00a.m. and I pretended to be asleep when I heard my 4-year-old sprinting toward my room. “Oopsy daisy!” said L at the top of her lungs in order to wake me up. “Oopsy daisy” is so far off from what she should have been exclaiming… it’s weak and poorly planned, not to mention misleading. The implication is that she dropped a toy or a piece of cheese, not that she has made a serious and lasting decision about her appearance – and all without consulting me, her stylist and closest confidante.

Regardless, there she was with a big smile on her face and a fistful of hair in her hand. I was convinced it was from her creepy human head hair styling toy, which is what I asked her: “Is that from your doll? The head?  You cut her hair?”

I wish I could do her expression justice by explaining it here, but it’s impossible. A rough interpretation would be that she smiled giddily at me in that guilty, holy-crap-I-can’t-believe-I-did-this way that only a 4 and 1/2 year-old can pull off, while simultaneously shaking her head. Nope. Guess again, mom.

“Shut the EFF up!!” I didn’t yell. Instead I did my dramatic gasp and began sobbing, “Are you shitting me? A friggin’ mullet? This is about me, isn’t it? I haven’t been paying enough attention to you? Or is it my cooking? Is it the hair-washing technique I’ve used at bath time? I’ve tried so hard to keep the soap out of your eyes! I have,” (here my sobbing turns in to crazed anger), “What the crap is going on around here? Doesn’t anyone care about how hard I try to make this family appear normal? Why, just yesterday you flushed your sister’s toothbrush, your own underwear, and some game pieces down the toilet. I turn my back for 3 seconds and now I have 3 feet of water in my house and an extremely unfortunate hairstyle on my child’s head.”

Nah. Actually, all of that is true except for my part of the dialogue. I just said, “What? Why? Where did you find scissors? Why do you want shorter hair? Why are you up in the middle of the night? It’s pitch black outside. Give me a minute to wake up…Jesus…”

And then I laughed (not in front of her) – because it’s FUNNY, I mean, so what? She was not trying to be naughty. She wanted shorter hair. She had some scissors. Now she has shorter hair. She is four.

On the other hand, if she does one more thing to test my patience – such as waking my ass up at 5:59a.m. for the 100th time in 100 days – I will sell her on Craigslist, unless I think I can get more money for her on e-bay.

“Feisty four-year-old female (human) – make offer.”



21 Dec

Smug? Smug.

It turns out that my physical therapist is particularly kind and unassuming resulting in a slight adjustment in my plans to get him to loosen up, but don’t fret. He has made eye contact with me numerous times and today he laughed a couple of times – he is completely shocked into laughter when I say the simplest things. He did seem kind of defensive today, though, now that I think about it.

He told me about a Christmas gift (clothing) he bought for his “beautiful and sweet” wife who “looks great in anything”. Why the “beautiful”? I mean it’s very endearing if you’re his wife, but to everyone else it comes across as if he’s trying to convince us. Who, in passing, says “My gorgeous husband who makes me laugh everyday – EVERYDAY – is perfect. We are always just so happy. And I love him. I really do. And what was I going to tell you? Oh yeah… I’m buying him some new pants for Christmas.”

Bless his sweet heart. I think. But guess what else… I taught him a new word today.

I mentioned my opinion about a woman who is smug. He said “Ma’am?” (he really did… he always does). I said:


“What does that word mean?”

“Smug? Oh. It means… ummm… that someone is self-satisfied,” which was not enough information for him and he really wanted more. Several other people were watching us and listening, in what I assume to be shock that he didn’t just pretend he knew what it meant. Some bad acting on my part followed (it’s hard to explain smug without making that face… you know, with lips half pursed/half smiling, arms crossed).

“Oh. Like ‘It’s what I say and that’s it?'”


“I have never heard that word used before.”



It makes me tired just thinking of it… yes, I could have gone on to explain it better, but to what end? His basic grasp will be just enough for him to label people. Like me, it appears from this post.

All for now… Adios.

Broken Bones

6 Dec

So Kelly Ripa apparently showed up on the Regis and Kelly show today with crutches. She explained she had a femoral neck stress fracture and would have to hold off on exercising for 3 to 6 weeks. She also said her situation “looks much worse than it is” (read more here). This pissed me off.

I am just now in week 2 of physical therapy after experiencing the same injury, which I acquired as a result of running. I was out of the game for 4 months. FOUR MONTHS. I am now able to ride a stationary bike for 15 minutes and other random crap, like leg lifts. My orthopedic doctor told me I should be back to running by April 2011.

I wasn’t on crutches the entire 4 months – more like 8 weeks – I used to think people on crutches with no obvious injury were attention-seeking and pathetic. What a bitch I was (fine, I still am – just not about the crutches thing anymore). But that’s not the point.

The point is that a femoral neck stress fracture is much worse than it looks. It doesn’t look like anything to the casual observer… in fact there’s no cast, no boot, no nothin’. Just a breaking bone that takes a very long time to heal, due in part to the limited blood flow in that part of the body. This is the same bone that, if the stress fracture completes, people are referring to when they say “broken hip” or “that old lady broke her hip, you know what that means”. Yes. She’s circling the drain.

Actually, I didn’t really make a point, did I? Whatever. I just needed to let all 14 people who read my blog know that I’m no wimp and little miss 3-weeks-until-I-can-pound-the-pavement-again must be on crack.

Have a nice day.

Was That A Date?

3 Dec

I think I was just on a date. A second date, as a matter of fact.

I injured my leg running in August and am just now able to begin to exercise again, albeit with the help of a physical therapist.

The first appointment was kind of awkward. S., my PT, immediately skipped the b.s. and tried to get to “know me better” by asking me to let him see me walk. Yes, that’s right. “Let me see you walk,” said S.

Guess what I did? I stood right up and sashayed my ass around so he could see my gait – like a show pony… or a hooker.

“Hmmm. Yes. You have a bit of a limp” he said, and then had the nerve to write something down in a notebook – right in front of me!

“Now, come over here and lie down on this table (which is in a big open room with all the other PTs and patients  – he didn’t even have the decency to take me to a private room).” “Does it hurt when I push here?” he asked as he pushed on my hip flexor.

“No, but you best be careful. This is a bit much for a first appointment. I didn’t even know you five minutes ago.”

He talked non-stop, eventually telling me to move to the stationary bike where he stayed, leaning against the bike next to me with his arms crossed in that testosterone cool guy way. And talked. And talked. I learned about his athletic prowess, his travels to England, his upcoming trip to the moon. He never even asked me about my interests, which is how I knew it would never work between us. I need to be the center of attention at all times – just ask my husband.

My second appointment was almost worse. I mean, yes, we did have that getting to know you part out of the way, but now he really went for it. He asked me to lie down on my back on another table and he slid a band around my feet, over the knees, all the way to mid-thigh. THEN he told me to push my knees apart and push my butt off the table (a bridge).

And I totally did it, people. It was more than awkward.

He told me to hold it for 10 seconds and repeat while he stood there and tried to make small talk. Trust me, there is no way to make small talk when you’re in that position. Then he had the nerve to have me get off the table, stand on my bad leg, and catch a medicine ball he threw at my face to “work on balance”.

I meet with a different physical therapist next week who works specifically on returning to running programs – my current PT told me he had already let the guy know all about me… What does that mean? What does that mean??

I know what it means. It means:

“She’s eager to be able to run again so she’s completely gullible – or maybe she’s just stupid… wait til you see what you can get her to do.”

In that case, I’m changing it up for the next one. I’ll be ready for him. He will be the one who walks for me AND catches the medicine ball I repeatedly throw at his head.

So there.

Stay tuned.