Funny or Snot

10 Things I Learned While Sick

1.  The fact that my husband made me sleep on the couch does not mean he doesn't love me, it just means he won't be getting a blow job for Christmas.

2.  I would not trade my life for any of the Beverly Hill's Housewives.  I'm pretty comfortable in my orthopedic flip flops.  But those crazy bitches are sure fun to watch for hours.

3.  Kids have a high tolerance for pain.  Both Hank and Maren had strep throat a month ago and were each down about a day.  This shit has stolen a week of quality December shopping time.

4.  A heating pad is not just for the over 60 set.

5.  Math really is useful.  I totally figured out how much of Hank's Tylenol 3 would be an appropriate dose for me to get a good night's sleep.  On the couch.

6.  I prefer Sha-Quanda as a pet name over Pale Face.

7.  There is a rodent of unusual size living in the wall.  Behind the couch.

8.  Old school Popsicles aren't too bad when you're desperate.  Craig did the shopping and said the real fruit popsicles I buy when he's sick were too expensive.

9.  When you're drinking Nyquil Martini's, it is easy to forget small details like what time your kid gets out of school.  I only forgot Maren once.  She survived.

10.  If you wear the same pajamas for a week, they may stick to your bed sores.  Never mind, I think that was a funky dream I had after procuring Hank's Tylenol.     

 

Photo Credit

How Many Windows Does Hank Have To Lick Before I Get Strep Throat?

I started my weekend with great intentions.  I attended "Girl's Day" at a local Crossfit gym Saturday with a few younger women.  I tried to recruit my mom to go, but I'm really glad she had other plans. Though Crossfit is supposed to be scalable to ability, I'm certain my mother would have dropped dead midway through the workout.

If you're not familiar with Crossfit, it is usually held in a warehouse type facility with very little equipment and focuses on functional fitness.  Read:  A shitload of burpees, squats, and attempted pull-ups.  

I went into the work-out feeling reasonably fit and I left in a modified combat crawl to my car.

I should know by age 38 that I should not try to keep up with the younger set.  I just have a competitive streak.  I should also know at my age, drinking away the aches and pains of delayed onset muscle soreness isn't the smartest move either.

Later that evening, Craig and I went to a holiday party.  Moderation was not the word or workout of the day.  I hurt.  And then I self medicated with prescriptions of gin and tequila.  Not together, but they may as well have been.

The next morning wasn't pretty.  I looked like a woman who abused the hell out of her body.  I was in severe pain from the workout and I had a killer hangover which included nausea and vomiting. 

As I mentioned over at The Flying Chalupa's place earlier this week, I am an expert puker.  Sunday, my score was reduced to a 5.  I just couldn't squat low enough in a timely manner due to my extremely sore quadriceps.  This caused a fair amount of over-spray which brought down my score significantly.

On Sunday, my body reminded me I was too old for Crossfit with a tequila chaser.  I may have thrown up more than once.  Which is why I wasn't surprised when my throat was a little tender by the end of the night.  When it was still on fire 24 hours later, I knew it was more than penance from bad decisions even if Craig didn't believe me.  I did figure it was viral though I had never had sore throat this bad.  Thankfully I talked to Dr. Mom who always has my back and didn't die at Crossfit.  She convinced me to call my physician who ordered a rapid strep test.

I may suck at Crossfit and drinking games, but I passed my strep test with flying colors.

Positive.

If You're Not Sisters, You At Least Know Each Other, Right?

Even though I don't consider myself socially awkward, I'm not used car salesman slick either.  If I get caught looking at someones monster zit I'm going to sheepishly admit it.  If I can't remember someones name, I'll ask them to remind me.  If I mistake a woman in a bar who is sitting with a group of my former classmates for my old locker partner just because she happens to be of asian descent too,  I am going to request mercy for my stupidity.

In my defense, this was a meet up of old high school friends and she was the date of a friend that hasn't actually been seen (at least by me) with a woman in the 20 years since we graduated high school.  Still I was beyond humiliated and spent the remainder of that evening and our subsequent meetings trying to prove that really, "I have lots of asian friends".  Apparently I'm just not observant enough to tell them apart.

Thankfully A-Li (on the left) was a very good sport and is still dating my dear friend Jon.  Jon is also asian, specifically japanese, but you wouldn't be able to tell by his math and science skills.  If I remember correctly he couldn't master melting ice in Chemistry.  Jon has always been gifted musically and when I heard his original song poking fun at his ethnicity I totally loved it.  It is a far cry from the first song he ever dedicated to me in the 8th grade, "Miss Ugly".  Sweet, huh? 

Seriously take the 2 minutes to listen to this song that adresses every single asian stereotype, it is hilarious if you a have a sense of humor.

02 Track 02

Clumsy

My children have a few strikes against them in the coordination department. I am their mother and I’m pretty sure Craig fathered the majority. Admittedly, I am on the clumsy side. I trip over my own feet at least twice a day. I never considered myself particularly athletic and gravitated towards individual sports like tennis and running so I wouldn’t be letting anyone else down with my disability. When I was younger it would embarrass me, but now I can laugh at myself when I do something particularly klutzy. Better yet, I can laugh at my husband and children who are just as clumsy as I am.

Craig demonstrated this trait early on in our relationship when he agreed to try In-Line skating. When he arrived dressed like he was looking for his baseball (Please tell me you remember Warren from Something About Mary), I should have taken that as a clue and suggested an alternate activity, but I just thought he was trying to be funny. The funny was watching a full grown man fly into the bushes and then watching his feet fly out from underneath him as he tried to extricate himself and fall flat on his back with his feet in the air. This was all in an attempt to impress me. It totally worked.

Our daughter, Maren has a little more coordination than the rest of us, but that doesn’t make her graceful. Her formal training in gymnastics consisted of two classes in which she was 1 of 15 kids. She was practicing cartwheels last night. Like little brothers everywhere, Hank had to copy his big sister. Hank put one hand down in an attempt, but couldn’t hold up his massive head weight so he landed with a giant “thunk” right on his face. I laughed so hard I couldn’t even console him.

 Determined, he tried again with the same results and a large knot developed on the side of his head. I was laughing to the point of tears to the disgust of my parents who were witnesses. Mostly I found this funny because he was about to try it a third time. My dad intervened. Fun Sucker. I would have let him try. And if his hair grew a little faster, the contusion on the side of his head would hardly be noticeable.

I don’t just laugh at the pain of others, I can laugh at myself too. Last summer, a friend of mine, tried to teach me a back hand-spring. I’m 37 years old and can barely touch my toes. She is a perky cheer-leading coach from Texas who said she has taught many people and she was sure she could teach me too. I will disclose this idea was hatched after more than one margarita. She said the best place to learn was the water. Perfect, the pool was closed at the resort we were staying at.  Private lessons.

After finishing our margaritas and changing into our swimsuits and breaking into the pool, I was ready for my lesson. My lesson started and ended with the word “ready”. With that word she tossed my ass backward and I hit my head at the bottom of the pool. After I stopped seizing and laughing I asked her what the hell I did wrong.  Apparently, a back hand-spring means you are supposed to put your hands down. 

I admit it was pretty funny that I didn't actually react and put my hands down, but my reflexes may have been a little "off".  I wasn’t expecting a Patrick Swayze/Jennifer Gray water miracle in which I would miraculously be able to perform a back hand-spring after one lesson, but I wasn't expecting a concussion either.

It appears at this point, Hank is taking the brunt of our combined clumsiness, but that doesn't let the girls off completely.  Our co-pays may be high, but we have hours of cheap entertainment at the expense of each other.

 

Dry January

If you have 30 seconds and a mute button, can you watch my video again to support my quest for the Vancouver USA Marathon sponsorship from the fine folks at TRX?  I'll stop bugging you eventually, I'd just really like to get 1000 views.      

I may have promised to raffle a coffee cup featuring my fine ass on Twitter.  I know there might be a fight breaking out over that prize, but watch the video anyway.  I'd do it for you.

 

Dry January 

I’m giving up alcohol.  I thought I would wait two weeks into the new year before making such a bold public declaration.  Nothing like crashing and burning with an audience.

I’m reasonably sure I’m going to make it now because I’m only giving it up for a month.  You know, just to test the “I can quit anytime theory”.  I’d miss blacking out and waking up in dog urine too much to give it up entirely.  Also Rehab around these parts looks nothing like Betty Ford or Promises and I’m not sharing a room with a girl named Bubba.  A few weeks away means no dishes and NO blow jobs.  

Dry January was proposed by Kristin over at Peace, Love, and Muesli.  For as much damage as I have done to my liver over the years, I treat the rest of my body pretty well.  I am interested in fueling my body properly as well as exercise.  I like to learn new things and be in the know about trends in nutrition and Kristin does the legwork for me.  This dry January business was all her idea and at the time I was reading it, I was most likely hungover.  Of course it seemed like an excellent idea.  If I’m not as much fun this month, blame her.

Kidding aside, I don’t drink often.  When I do drink, I *may* drink too much.  After too many holiday parties and calories, I thought it would be an easy way to eliminate extra calories and I love a good challenge.  You did see this picture of my ass, right?

In defense of my ass, it is trapped in a pair of my 12 year old daughter’s pants.  I work out at 05:30 every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday with my neighbor Heather.  On this particular morning I overslept and was rushing to throw clothes on and mistakenly grabbed my daughters XXS pants.  I didn’t notice until I got under the bright lights of my home gym and the unforgiving full length mirrors.  Let’s just say the view from the back was a helluva lot better than the view from the front. 

That camel needed a mani and a pedi.

Wish me luck on my  next two weeks of sobriety, I’m reasonably sure I will make it.  My strategy is going to be to blog about my best hangovers to remind myself of the sheer number of times I have vowed to “never drink again”.  I’m sure I have enough stories to fill the next few weeks.

Stay tuned.  Unless of course Charlie Sheen gives me a call. 

 

The Graces of Social Media

Craig told me yesterday that something I said on his Facebook page was awfully risqué.  Perhaps.  But consider the source.  This is coming from the man who posted these pictures on his own Facebook page:

 

This is what I said:

 

In response to this:

 

He told me he had recently friended some new people who might not appreciate my humor.  I know his parents still don’t have a computer so I know I haven’t offended the sensibilities of the only people that I truly don't want to.  After all, they are MY PRIMARY BABYSITTERS. 

They still think when my oldest very sweetly stated that she “made a fucking mess” when she was all of 2 that she learned that word from their son.  I didn't correct them.  

When I first joined Facebook a couple of years ago I friended anyone and everyone that even looked familiar.  Even some that would be more recognizable by moles and body art than head shots.  The more friends the better, right?  It also made me wish I would have followed in my familial footsteps and smoked pot because there is a whole mid 90’s chapter of promiscuity I would just as soon keep buried in a bag of cool ranch Doritos.  

Once in a while I think about making my circle of Facebook friends a little smaller to people I actually remember or at least recall if they were circumcised, but I decided against it because it really bothers me when it happens to me. 

You know those messages you see every once in a while in someone's status update, "I just did some housecleaning, you made the cut if you can still read this".  So obnoxious. 

Every once in a while I’ll notice that someone defriended me, cut off their BFF bracelet, or no longer wants to go to all night skate with me or whatever the verbiage is for breaking up our FB partnership.  I have to admit it kind of bothers me because I really want to know why.  It’s not like you get a notification with an explanation.  I’m not curious enough to send an awkward (sorry Megan) email to someone I know, but don’t really know……

”Dear John, a few weeks ago you posted a picture of Fabio on my wall that had me rolling with laughter.  Was it my joke about masturbation on your wall that made you no longer want to be my ‘friend’”? “

But still I wonder.

So maybe Craig is right.  It happens occasionally.  Him being right.  I joke about masturbation frequently.  This is the time of year for resolutions.  I’ll try and save the inappropriate for my FunnyorSnot page and keep my personal page clean(er). 

Speaking of my Funnyorsnot page, do you mind hitting the “like” button?  It would make me feel tingly.  I may touch myself, but I won’t post it on my wall.  Or yours. 

Red Lipstick is a Commitment Not to be Taken Lightly

Last Sunday, Craig and I attended the wedding of his second cousin.  I’m not sure how we made the guest list since it was a pretty intimate celebration and I have only met the bride a couple of times. Craig also didn’t know how to spell her name when I was looking up her registry online, but as we’ve established that doesn’t mean he hasn’t slept with her.

The wedding was at 3:00 on a Sunday which was obviously code for eat first and BYOB, but we showed up hungry and sober because we were late.  I take responsibility for being late to the wedding because I never give myself enough buffer time for things like letting my nails dry or dressing my  husband.  Craig may only take 30 seconds to get ready, but if I haven’t picked out and ironed a shirt for him to wear, he will wear his best pocket T.

Somehow I lost track of time and it was 1:45.  We needed to leave our house no later than 2:00.  The kids were still napping, Craig still needed to shower and I had just gotten out.  In Craig's defense, he is always on time and thought the wedding started at 3:30.  I started  panicking and barking orders when I realized we were running so late.

After an expletive laden shower, Craig got dressed and assisted getting the kiddos ready while I threw on my make-up.  In order to save time and avoid getting make-up on my dress, I asked Craig to help me put it on over my head.

This is the part of a horror movie where you scream at the girl that gets axed in the first scene, “you moron” because you can see already that this is going to end badly.

On the first try, he put my head through the side zipper of my dress.  If I weren’t so late, I would have taken pictures because even panicked, it was kind of funny.  

The hard part was getting my head out of the side zipper without further messing up my make-up and getting it on the dress which is why I requested the personal dresser in the first place.

I was starting to get agitated, but trying to remain calm because I needed his help to get out of this mess and I was getting claustrophobic.  He kept claiming innocently “I didn’t know”. 

Seriously, he didn’t know that my head didn’t go through the SIDE OF THE DRESS?  This is a picture of the dress.  I have sex with this man on a semi-regular basis and this hole confusion is a bit disconcerting.

Attempt two was a tag team effort in which I was feeling really rushed because we should have left 5 minutes prior and I had to now fix my make-up.  I grabbed the dress and told him where to hold it and where my head went.  I take no responsibility, but somehow my fat head ended up through the armhole instead of the head hole.  No wonder this voodoo dress was on sale.

At this point I was sweating, beyond late, and ready to go naked.

On the third attempt, I got the dress on.  Miraculously, without a trace of make-up on the dress at least.  My face didn't fare so well.

The red lipstick I was wearing was now streaked across my face from lip to cheekbone like a 2 bit crack whore with really good teeth.  You don’t get a mulligan with red lipstick either.  It’s a one shot deal.  I also had no time.  I assessed the damage in the car and did the best I could and decided that I resembled my 10th grade English teacher who had her lip line a full inch above her actual lip. 

Then I looked over at Craig who didn’t escape unscathed.  He had a wad of toilet paper hanging out of his ear and then I had a flashback to all that swearing I heard coming from the shower.  We’re quite a pair.

  Look, he’s sweaty too.  Dressing me is tough work.

 My expectations for a Sunday afternoon wedding weren’t high, but I was hoping for at least a no-host bar or a swig of cough medicine.  If it were a wedding on my side of the family, things are immediately calming after you get your contact high from giving your requisite hugs hello. 

However the ceremony itself was lovely.  Short and sweet.  Lasting less time than I was stuck in the armpit of my dress. 

 

Pinky Promise

Ahhh, the moment of truth.  I think Bethany’s response from The Organic Enchilada was perhaps the most accurate guess because there is a little truth to all of my responses from my Liar Liar Pants On Fire Post.

3.  I have not in fact eaten at Taco Bell in over 20 years due to a suspicious hair found in my food though the item was not a taco.  Taco, just makes the story funnier, don’t you think?  It was actually found in a 7-layer burrito while trying to remove the not so zesty guacamole that I asked to be omitted from said burrito.  No one says it better than Leo Getz from the Lethal Weapon franchise,

“They fuck you in the drive thru”. 

4.  The evening I exchanged shirts with some random stranger at a bar, I stopped short of trading pants, but probably because they were leather.  Mine, not his.  Why?  I’m not sure.  But at the time, it seemed really funny.

5.  As far as getting out of the blog business, that was partially true too.  I would like to figure out a way to write this blog and be more productive.  It’s not the writing of the blog per se, it’s the reading of all the truly great blogs out there that leaves me not getting much done.  Shut up Craig.  

6.  I like old people.  Better than my kids.   I would have never left my grandma in the car for 2 hours while shopping though I did leave her on a bench with her walker.  I made sure she was properly hydrated and checked on her periodically.  She liked to get out of the house and I had shit to do.  Win-Win  

1.  & 2.  As far as the Nair in the shampoo bottle and the toothbrush in the toilet, one of these is completely true.  No damage was done in either instance as my sister still has a beautiful head of hair and Rat Bastard never got malaria or any other funky toilet water disease.  Since they both read my blog and they both deserved it at the time:

I’M NOT TELLING

 

Now I’m supposed to tag 3 other bloggers in this little game.  Play if you want and if you don’t I’m sure bad things are supposed to happen to you.  I didn’t actually bother to read the rules.

I pick Mommakiss, All Work and No Play Makes Mommy Go Something Something and The Organic Enchilada.

Sexy Pants

The Mad Woman behind The Diary of A Mad Woman is doing a sexy time series on her blog.  I outgrew Cosmo’s sex tips right around the time I GOT MARRIED since blow jobs are the curse of the single girl.  The subject matter yesterday was getting your sexy back.  It was kind of like my monthly ritual of reading Shape magazine while eating a bag of Mint Milanos.  I read it and enjoyed it, but had no plans of actually following through with any of the suggestions because really the concepts don’t apply to me.

The assignment was to think of the article of clothing that made you feel the sexiest.  I immediately thought of my go to sexy pants.  These pants are so hot that they are individually named.  I call the pink pair “I have a headache” and the striped, “Don’t fucking touch me”.

These pants even started out frigid.  I purchased these in 2001 on a romantic trip to Maui that Craig and I took together at an Old Navy Outlet for $10.00 each.  What, visiting Old Navy isn’t on your list of things to do or see in Maui?  Maybe so, but the way our vacation was going it sure as shit beat the long windy road to Hana and subsequent muddy hike to the dried up waterfall all while dodging Dengue Fever carrying mosquitoes. 

Also, Craig didn’t get the memo that Maui is a perfectly appropriate and romantic place to propose marriage and preferable to our living room after chucking a ring box at my head and asking me to continue annoying him for at least 10 more years.   Yes, I was pouting a wee bit in Hawaii and may have been a little unpleasant.  It’s possible I had our birth certificates packed and the elopement package reserved at our resort.  Who says communication is the key to a healthy relationship.

Craig is not fond of my sexy pants, but I will never part with them.  I wear them year round and he should take comfort in the fact that I always bring at least one pair if I go on a girls trip.  They are labeled a small yet they still fit me when I’m 9 months pregnant.  Sure they have nail polish stains and are completely balled up and faded, but they have held up pretty well considering they have been laundered at least 1000 times each.  

My lingerie collection could be described as minimalist.  The black t-shirt bra I recently purchased from Victoria’s Secret effectively doubled my collection.  It’s really not clothing that makes me feel sexy and I’m not quite as easy as Mommakiss who will give it up for a Snickers.  You have to watch those anonymous bloggers, they’ll say anything.

I’m sure at some point the elastic in those pants will give out, but until then I’m not getting rid of them.  Craig doesn’t even bother teasing me about them or even hiding them anymore.  I’m not even sure why he ever complained really.  The sexy pants he’s been sporting since we met are quite a bit older, have been agitated a hell of a lot more, and are not nearly as subtle.   

First Place Female Division

  
in the Salmonfest 2010 Buoy Toss

which is almost as cool as doing well in the Girlfriend and Dude's Triathlon I only kind of sort of trained for.  On Sunday I swam a half mile, I biked 12.5 miles, and I ran 3.1 miles after carbo loading with beer, salmon, and general merriment on Saturday.  

I was a woman with a plan on Saturday.  I was going to get to the party early, limit myself to 3 beers, and leave by 10.  I even brought my very own Salmonfest mug from 2009 that was given out as prize in the Salmonfest games.  I must confess that the only game I won last year was, "steal the Salmonfest mug after the hostess passed out".  Yes, friends it is that kind of party.

Salmonfest is the kind of party that if you pass out or "take a 5 minute power nap" you will probably get something phallic drawn on your face.  It is a throw back to those wild parties of yesteryear in which children are discouraged because the hosts don't want to be responsible for what they will see or hear.  One of my favorite Salmonfest fables is when my good friend retrieved her children from her folks the morning after.  I'm not sure if she was unaware of the penis drawn on her face with sharpie or if she was unable to get it off completely, but her daughter was very upset when she spotted it and yelled, "no fair, they had face painting!" 

Armed with my mug, I was happily nursing my beer and staying far away from the nuclear punch and being sure to keep hydrated with plenty of water.  Craig and I participated in Salmonfest games and we each came in first for the Men and Women's Buoy Toss.  We didn't fare so well when we partnered up for the net pull.  Mainly because I was laughing my ass off while I let him do all the work.  Hmmm, sounds like date night.  I should have started making the grocery list.

 

Everything was going swimmingly until they announced the winners of the games and handed out the prizes.  Don't get me wrong, I was happy to have a Salmonfest mug that was earned and not stolen, but lets compare, shall we?

 

I really couldn't anticipate my drinking mug tripling in size so I adapted and had half glasses, but I lost count and probably filled it 6 times anyway which is where it all starts to get fuzzy.

Craig was having so much fun that I couldn't possibly tear him away early and trust me this is the most action he has had in weeks.  I have no problem with him engaging in this type of behavior.  Less work for me later.

  

We got there early because we intended to leave early, but we were threatened by the host that we would not get an invitation next year if we didn't stay until the big surprise after 11.  We suffered through the awesome feast, great live band, funny as hell awards ceremony, and fireworks display for the grand finale which was well worth losing a little sleep over. 

  
 I'm not sure if I was too tipsy or it was too dark, but I didn't get a decent picture of the fire dancers which is really a shame because they were incredible. 

I don't have an accurate score card, but I would say I probably had 60 ounces of beer over the course of 9 hours and 5 hours of sleep before my race.  It could have been better, but it could have been much worse.

In good news, I didn't drown.  In other news, my triathlon time sucked ass compared to last year.  The triathlon didn't go as well as I had hoped, but really that didn't have much to do with the party the day before.  I just haven't put the hours into training I should.  I was 6 minutes slower this year than last year and most of that was in the run which is what I usually do well in so that is a little disappointing.  The lesson learned here is that I have 362 days to train for next year and redeem myself.

Screw the triathlon.  Not only do I intend to sweep Salmonfest games 2011 and take home the trophy, I am already practicing my free hand penis drawing skills because I'm going to be the last man standing.  Power nappers watch your backs.