Archive for the ‘You Can’t Make This Stuff Up’ Category
Night view of the Columbia from my be-garlanded porch.
I’ve been very absent around here, because I’ve been so overwhelmed with this virus. I’ve been run down since Halloween and I finally succumbed last week. I’m starting to recover and I promise I’ll be back to blogging very soon.
In the meantime, I thought I’d leave you with am example of what drug-induced dreaming looks like!Â IZ and I both are sick with this virus (I’m not saying how he got it, other than he was a willing participant and knew I was contagious going in!), and being stuffed up means lots of snoring. Lots of snoring means Wende doesn’t sleep and is grumpier than usual. So, to combat the issue and attempt some sleep, I’ve been using those foamy orange earplugs to dampen the sound. Â One night, armed with earplugs and hopped up on cold medication I dreamed I was munching on grapes. Â I woke up with this terrible taste in my mouth, only to discover that in my sleep I’d actually put an ear-plug in my mouth. Â Feel free to laugh. Hard. We did. And then we coughed and blew our noses and laughed some more.
See you tomorrow. Don’t eat your earplugs tonight.
Peppermint Whipping Cream. Yum!
Ok, this is really Â an old picture of me (and someone’s cute bum) drinking a whipping cream-less mocha. Why? I have no idea, the picture is old. But I put it up because I don’t have a real picture of the can of Peppermint Whipping Cream that’s been rocking my world for the past two weeks. I should have a picture, but, um, I used the whole can up without taking one picture. And now it’s in the trash. And, I love you, but I’m not digging in the trash for you. Not even to get a photo of the thing that’s been rocking my world for the past two weeks. You’ll just have to take my word for it: Peppermint Whipping Cream rocks my world. It would have rocked past me’s world too if I’d known about then.
Somebody should be paying me for the advertisement. But, they’re not.
Hi! My name is Wende and sometimes I melt down. Ok, scratch that. I melt down a lot.Â
This week I had several melt downs. And it’s only Wednesday. Â I thought you might like to read a list of my melt downs. You’ll either commiserate, because you too are a melter-downer. OR. You can go around feeling superior because you never melt down. Either way, I get Â bonus points for being helpful.
So, let’s review my melt downs. Shall we? Yes, yes we shall. You’re on my blog you do as I say:
- Wende melted down in Safeway this week because of a pregnancy scare.
Ok, I’m going to let that sink in. And then I’m going to tell you that it wasn’t really a scare as much as a case of bad math. I get stressed out and I forget how to count the days in a week and kinda Â add stuff. When I am stressed there are extra days in the week and that makes me LATE. Â Really, really late.
- Wende melted down this week because she was late and had to meet a new doctor.
I don’t know why I got all worked up about that. But I did. It turned out better than ok and now I feel a little foolish that I let it get to me. Not as foolish as I feel for not being able to count. Â And I was so stressed out about meeting a new doctor Â that I blew through a case of Diet Coke with Lime and convinced IZ that I could use another case. So we went to Safeway which led to my next melt down.
- Wende melted down because she’s kinda over caffeinated. And then thought she was having heart issues until she remembered exactly how many Diet Cokes with Lime she’d had.
And then I felt Â foolish. Not as foolish as I felt for not being able to count or getting worked up about meeting a perfectly nice human being. But pretty darn foolish for googling “heart attack symptoms in women who might be pregnant.”Â
In my defense, I was late Â but not nearly as late at my bad math suggested. And really, the late night runs for pizza and diet Coke should have been a tip off that all was normal.Â
But, you know and I know that cravings are a symptom of pregnancy and vasectomies do fail. Probably not 10 year old vasectomies, but I was delusional because I was late. So I bought Diet Coke with Lime. And I drank too much of it and forgot how to count and suggested too loudly in the dairy aisle of Safeway,
“You don’t think I could be pregnant do you? I mean, your little swimmers didn’t get ambitions and break free or anything?”
And that’s when IZ melted down. In Safeway. Buying me more Diet Coke with Lime. Because even he thought the late night pizza run was suspicious. I don’t even like Pizza.
IZ: “I just misread that (pointing at the Mod Podge on my desk) as Mood Fudge.”
Me: “You Â just wish there was mood fudge!”
This man makes me laugh, daily!Â
After several hours of my perpetual whining. . .Â
Me: “I’m feeling a bit queasy, like I could pass out.”
IZ: “Oh, that’s not good. Well, if you do pass out, let me know so I can take you to the hospital.”
Me: “If I pass out how am I supposed to tell you? I’ll be passed out?”
IZ: “Yeah, good point. Just make a loud thud when you fall, kay?”
Me: “Maybe I’ll just wear a bell around my neck!”
At this point he broke into hysterical laughter.
Laugh all you want Danish Boy, but I pray EVERY night that the good Lord will make you bald.Â
PISCES (Feb. 19-March 20): Some of the best-selling Japanese novels in recent years have been composed by young authors entirely on their cell phones. The small screens encourage narratives that are animated by terse rhythms. Flowery descriptions are rare and character development happens fast. I believe that in the coming weeks you will have a capacity akin to the cell-phone storytellers, Pisces. You’ll be able to compressÂ complex material into simpler forms; you’ll have a knack for being very creative as you cut away frills and strip things down to their basics. — Via Rob Brezsney
See, even the Universe thinks I should be on Twitter.Â
Dear Creator of the Universe,
You know that generally, I’m a huge fan of your work. Who can argue with Clive Owen? I think you really out did yourself there. And anyone who has ever beheld the Grand Canyon or a sunset over the Pacific knows you’re really good at what you do! Millions of women thank you daily for the divine spark of genius that is Manolo Blahnik. Personally, I think your work in the Champagne province of France speaks for itself.
We’ve been companions for a long time so I feel like I can say this and you can hear me. You know I’m yourÂ biggest fan, but serioiusly? What the hell happened with you created the color Pink? We’re you drunk?
Oh, now don’t be that way!Â Come on, you know there is a major design flaw with that color!Â Every shade from plum, lilac, and lavender, to cerise, scarlet, and magenta–all brilliant. Reds to purples, no one does it better than you. But pink? Really? You had to go there? Barbie, Pepto, glam rock latex, bubble gum. The list goes on and on and on and, if anyone understands the concept of infinity it’s you. Admit it, pun intended, there are so many shades of wrong with the color pink.
I understand that like Pandora’s box, there’s no undoing what you create. Not really, not without extreme measures. But that color of yours has robbed me of my Friday, and I’d like that back. I know what hell looks like, Dear God, and let me tell you—it’s upholstered inÂ wall-to-wall Pink. I’m not sure why it became appropriate to adorn little girls in Pink, and I’m certainly not making you responsible for that. Well, not directly, anyhow. But it’s the state of my reality and Friday was spent making a baby blanket. A pink blanket. A very PINK BLANKET FROM HELL. Ahem.
So, what do you say? You think you could grant me a do-over on the day? It would go a long way to restoring my consumer confidence in your product.
And while you are at it, I could use a few more hours in the day.
Much love and admiration, especially for Clive Owen,
PS. I hope we’re still on for Super Bowl Sunday. I know you’re really a Hockey fan, but I think it wouldn’t kill you to make an appearance. Metaphorically speaking.