Tuesday, September 23, 2014

Random Bits of Tid

Since I am the only person in my little corner of the blogging world who is ever going to write a new blog post again ever, I will hold up my end!

Well, for today, anyway.

So, remember my post of resolution and virtue from yesterday? Exercise, good! Lesson, learned!

Then came the morrow, and my alternate title for this post is:

O  U  C  H

Despite rubbing in Arnicare before bedtime, I woke up crippled and sad, and I hobbled to the bathroom crippledly and sadly, where I brushed my teeth and weighed myself, crippled, sad.

But hey, I was down half a pound. And I'm still better off than Husband, I think:

Poor guy. He has added stenosis to his list of Terrible Things That Are Wrong With His Extremities (along with arthritis [two toes], gout, fungus under his right big toenail, chronically dry and cracked skin in the winter, and occasional plantar fasciitis — all of which cuddle happily with his high blood pressure and sketchy cholesterol. But he's strong as an ox! his chiropractor declared, so that is something), and he currently seems to be battling a case of water-on-the-knee, which sounds made up, right? but is totally a thing. Who knew?

(Husband knew. Also our beautiful young Doctor Barbie, who diagnosed him.)

In other news, I called my pally Zanzibar today; we have a habit of leaving long messages on each other's cell phones, because we know we can call early and still not wake each other up, something that is not true of my West Coast bestys. I told her that I was on my way to have a mammogram and a follow-up consult with Dr. Dixie, then I hunted for good news to share:
  • Mimosa — nope
  • Husband — nope
  • Job — nope
  • Weight loss — nope
  • Writing — nope
To find one consistently good goddamn thing in my life at present, I have to turn to L'il Martini.


And when my lippy punky 13 year old is the main source of happy-happy joy-joy in my life — oh, man, I am hosed.

To illustrate, here is a snippet of today's conversation with Mr. Happy-Happy Joy-Joy:

Time: 2:05 p.m.
  • Me: I'm off to pick up Mimosa from therapy. Remember, you need to finish mowing and edging the lawn.
  • Li'l Martini: I KNOW.
  • Me: But you probably shouldn't do it while I'm gone, in case you cut off a toe or something.
  • Li'l Martini: You've told me this a million times. GOD.
Note: It is now 4:35 p.m. The lawn has not been touched since last night, when he (1) blew a fuse, (2) left the basement door open for ten minutes, necessitating a frantic search for our three (housebound) cats, and (3) didn't finish mowing before darkness fell.

Moving on.

I forgot to list one of the books I just read and loved:

I am positive that Alexa Stevenson and I would be total bestys if she lived in Arlington. She writes a blog called "Flotsam," and this post, about a children's book that a bank sent to her mother, had me laughing till I wept.

Finally, I would like to share a sentence with you that appeared in the UU preK curriculum I’m editing:
Give yourself permission to play with the fruit.
And no, it has nothing to do with befriending the gays. It’s literal fruit. The kids are making fruit chalices. Before the session, the leader “contemplates” the fruit.

I could not make this up.

At least I am working.

(Oh, and the non-payment-from-any-of-my-clients thing that I've been complaining about for weeks now? I forgot to submit an invoice for the first part of this job.)


— Lady C, extremely very ready for a new source of happy-happy joy-joy

p.s. 4:50 p.m. Martini is currently edging, but only after I yelled at him. Within five minutes, he'd almost shorted out the lamp next to the front door.

I sigh.


  1. I gave my 21-year-old son until Wednesday to clean his bathroom. Which he did at 11:45 pm Wednesday night, banging around loudly right above my bedroom. Do I laugh or cry? Boys!

  2. Oh, and stop nagging me to blog. GOD.