Let’s Blame the Meds for The Incoherent Nature of This Post, Shall We?

So, yeah,  I’m 32 today and still get carded buying alcohol.  THANK YOU CRAZY-GOOD GENES AND MARY KAY UNDER EYE CREAM!

The Back Situation of 2010 has been interesting for sure.   It isn’t hurting across my entire back now (yay!) but the pain is more concentrated in my right shoulder and arm (boo!).  This isn’t so bad since I’m not right handed.  Oh wait!  I TOTALLY AM! 

Want to be able to tell if your partner is a keeper?  You tell him/her that you have this debilitating injury and he offers liquid Vicodin and serves it up in a cute little glass, measured carefully to ensure no horrifying 911 calls.  YES!  These are some excellent meds and I think I may make them part of my birthday routine every year, regardless of need. 

My plans include more meds, dinner, time with the family, more meds (see: time with the family), and napping because holy hell this stuff makes me sleepy.  I’m just hoping that if this is a serious injury I get a sweet neck/back brace a la Joan Cusack in Sixteen Candles.

In the meantime, I will be singing this to myself all day and will kiss anyone who does this.

File Under: Damn, This Sucks

I have no idea what happened to me, but my neck and upper back are hurting something fierce.  I can’t turn my head, which is something I have taken for granted until a few hours ago.  I know that as a self-proclaimed hypochondriac you have no responsibility to take me seriously, but I can assure you that this is not a false alarm.  I cried while putting on shoes, brushing my teeth was torture and I thought about calling my mom or Ed to come over and help me put on my shirt.  I managed to get it done like a big girl but I may be wearing this outfit for the next few days.

Breathing hurts.  While the other things are uncomfortable and inconvenient, I have to say that the Painful Breathing is the most concerning.  Breathing isn’t supposed to hurt, right?

There’s never a good time, but pretty much everything on my to do list for the next few days requires me to move my arms and be conscious when all I want to do is slip into a Vicodin-induced slumber.  Among them:

  • Go grocery shopping
  • Clean house in preparation for Dad, Judy and Bubba’s arrival*
  • Bake two dozen cupcakes (one for the peeps at my volunteer gig, one for the fam)
  • Go to volunteer gig, which means standing or walking for two hours
  • Take Bubba to Chuck E Cheese
  • Be a fucntioning member of my family and society (ie be awake and alert and able to move without shrieking)

 So, yeah.  Good times over here.  The temptation to self-medicate with pills and/or booze is growing harder to resist.  It’ll be like my very own E! True Hollywood Story over here!  In al seriousness, I cannot for the life of me remember if I’m supposed to apply heat or cold.  Any suggestions?

*As of press time it is unclear if they are actually going to make it up here as my dad has lagged in been unsuccessful in finding suitable lodging, nor has he decided if they are coming up on Friday or Saturday.

EDITED TO ADD: I managed to score a Vicodin off of my mom’s supply, and have called every acupuncturist in town only to discover they are  a.) on vacation, b.) booked solid or c.) will return my call.  Dave may be bringing me some Taco Bell and I can kind of feel myself slipping into a little haze.

Sketchy Dudes

I was on the phone with my dad a few moments ago, chatting on speakerphone.  This is nothing new, as he has some trouble holding the phone these days.  As we were talking he summoned Bubba to come say hello.

Sound of feet running down hardwood hallway.

 Bubba: (yelling, as most of us are wont to do when on speakerphone) “Hi Sissy!  We weren’t doing anything!”

 Me: “What do you mean ‘we weren’t doing anything?’  What did you just do?”

Dad: (in panicked, rushed tone) “NOTHING!  Don’t listen to anything he says!”

For those of you unfamiliar with my dad – and most four year-olds – this can’t be good.

Nancy Travis Featured Heavily in My Weekend. Weird.

This weekend I joined Ed’s family to cheer on one of his nieces in her first gymanstics meet of the year.  She is an incredibly disciplined, talented young woman and I genuinely enjoy time with both nieces, his sister and mom.  Sadly, our little “Nadia” hurt herself during her second event and was out for the rest of the meet.  The fall was ugly and scary and the entire gym went silent as coaches surrounded her to analyze the damage (nothing serious, really, thank goodness) and we all sat there crapping ourselves while the poor kids bled from the face.  It wasn’t awesome, but the snack bar was surprisingly satisfying.  So there’s that.

You know what movie I love a little more each time I watch it?  So I Married an Axe Murderer.  A young, semi-hot Anthony LaPaglia, post-Wayne’s World and pre-Austin Powers Mike Myers, and San Francisco.  This movie has it all.  Plus Amanda Plummer is such a freakshow.  I caught the first half on Saturday morning and found myself loving it – and missing San Francisco – more than I remembered in awhile.

I am not proud to admit this, but I watched the Lifetime Network movie The Pregnancy Pact.  It was worse than it sounds: the stereotypes of the various characters and lack of nuance was astounding.  I spent those two hours of my life pointing out obvious flaws in the logic and insane conclusion.  Total train wreck in that I could not look away.  Also, can we have a movie where abortion is discussed with some depth, and not immediately dismissed as an option for crackwhores?

Appropos of nothing, I have stopped blow-drying my hair every day and lo and behold!  It feels healthier and often looks better.  Perhaps as I approach my 32nd year I will take a turn for the low(er) maintenance?

Odds & Ends, Here & There

It’s Friday!  You get a post cobbled together with bullet points!  Lucky you! 

  • Operation: Purge is ON! No, I am not bulimic; just in need of a good wardrobe purge and organizational upgrade.  I have been feeling overwhelmed every time I open my closet or a dresser drawer, which is generally an indication that it’s time to grab the garbage bags and start filling them up.  Consignment stores, friends and Salvation Army are all going to get a little somethin’ somethin’ from CKD soon.
  • I have eaten soup literally every day this week, for one meal or another.  This isn’t really newsworthy I guess.  But it must be some sort of personal best or something?
  • Have you heard of the site Tipsy Society?  Well, you have now.  My blog-stalking ways led me to this site via Whoorl and I am now addicted.  Fashion!  Organization!  Cocktails!  Yes, please.  The $50 Friday feature may be the love of my life.
  • I have been invited to two baby showers this week and got word of four engagements…so far  I should just have all of my money sent directly to Babies R Us and Crate and Barrel.  I am living life around minute 3:54 of this scene, but the whole thing kinda resonates with me.
  • Yes, I am a horrible person.
  • But you knew that.
  • Oh God, this has just devolved into me typing a new sentence for every bullet.
  • That stops NOW.
  • I spent the morning with a funny, well-intentioned, yet not especially mature 22 year-old woman today and found myself thinking at times, “Good Lord, was I THIS ridiculous at that age?  Eh, probably.  Just be nice.”  I feel like that somehow counteracts my previous lack of enthusiasm over buying receiving blankets and mixing bowls.  Maybe?
  • Said young woman invited me to hear her sing with her band at a dive bar in town.  I might actually go since they are performing from 4pm-8pm and we all know Old Lady DeFazio likes to be in her jammies by 9.
  • Sometimes I wonder if Me of Yesteryear would pity Me of Today.  Probably.

 

Have a lovely weekend, everyone.

Rainy Days and Mondays, Weirdly, Don’t Get Me Down

So, we’re having a bit of weather in California.  Apparently the (much needed) rain and a little wind is a sign of the apocalypse, rather than being winter.  I don’t exactly love rain and cold and freaky driving conditions, but there is something nice about an excuse or reason to stay inside with some tea and a blankie and watch a movie.  And is it just me, or do rainy days=grilled cheese and tomato soup? 

For those of you who have inquired about Bubba’s birthday party, I can happily report that it was a massive success.  For the first time ever my parents opted for a child-centered party for the…child.  In past years the party has been more of an excuse to gather their friends and their kids, many of whom are older and more energetic*.  Now that Sir Bubs can (and often does) exercise his ability to voice his opinion, there was an awesome shift in focus.  A smaller group of age-appropriate friends made for a less-manic gathering with activities for the kids at an earlier hour of the day.  This meant the kids had some structure, no need to kick people out since there was an end time, and I didn’t drink excessively.  I did, however, threaten to tie all of the balloons to the back of my dad’s chair to see if he would float away like the old guy in Up.  I’m kind of a jerk.

As usual, Sissy was a hit with the kids and parents: I helped wee ones into the trampoline and showed them HOW IT’S DONE with some high kicks and air-splits, held babies so parents could eat and drink with free hands, and beat the shit out of the pinata.  Fun times had by all and the rain was kind enough to hold off until after the party so we could make good use of the backyard.  Success!

If you’ll excuse me now I need to go fix myself a rainy day worthy snack and settle in for a day of hibernation.  And hope the cramp from all of the tramploine action goes away soon.  Getting old blows, yo.

*Like my euphemism for behave like feral dogs?

.

Four

Dear Bubba,

One time when I came down for a visit I was holding you in a big hug  – the kind where neither one of us lets go for a minute or so – and noticed that your legs were hanging down to my knees.  “How did you get so big?” I asked you.  You pulled back, looked at me completely seriously and answered, “I was a baby and then I got bigger.  Babies grow and then they are kids.” 

Noted.

I’m not an expert on these things, but I think you are no longer technically a toddler, which is weird.  You went from a baby to a toddler, which was also a weird transition, and now you are this child running around and doing your own thing.  You make up games that usually include drums and being loud and laughing – lots of laughing.  You are so much fun and it surprises me sometimes because who knew little kids could be such good company?

In the past year you flew a plane, learned about death, went to Disneyworld, discovered the magic that is Chuck E. Cheese, got engaged to a girl in your class (although you two have wisely decided on a long engagement – why rush?), wished on stars for a drum set, got a drum set, visited my house in Chico, pumped on the swings all by yourself, and basically rocked the house when it came to preschool.  I don’t know what this year has in store but I’m pretty sure it includes you bringing The Awesome at all times. 

The play structure Daddy set up is pretty sweet, with the exception of that Slide of Death.  What the hell is up with that thing?  It’s the steepest slide ever and probably illegal.  And yet you go down it, catch air, and land on your feet every time.  I sat at the top practically pissing myself because it pretty much screams out “trip to the emergency room” and I am a big baby.  You stood at the bottom and said, “You can do it, Sissy!”  I love your unfailing faith in my ability not to crack my head open, and your honest encouragement.  It’s hard to say no to you, and so I risked a bruised tush over a bruised ego.  It was terrifying but fun.  Kind of like dealing with a preschooler.

For the most part you are sheer joy: funny, articulate, kind, throwing jazz hands and using your imagination.  But sometimes you lose your shit and it’s like, “Where did this demon-child come from?”  I hear that this is all very normal: testing boundaries and all that fun stuff.  Luckily the good days far outweigh the bad, and I haven’t had to morph into Mean Sissy too many times.  Not sure which upsets me more: seeing you so unhappy or hearing my mother’s voice come out of my mouth when I have to be The Adult. 

You told me once, in reference to your new play structure, that “the fun never stops.”  That is exactly how I feel about being your sister and knowing you.  Thank you for being the best baby brother and best friend a girl could wish for.

Love always,

Sissy