Candy tagged me. And just in time, I might add. Day 23 of NaBloPoMo and Ack! I’ve written some duds.

(Aside: just heard from downstairs, “Dad, can you come here?” and then a few seconds later after Mr. Hot tears down the steps, “My shirt is soaked.” I’m betting on a rip in a bag of ice. Last night, the cats dragged one out of Shortman’s bedroom and down the stairs. They were playing with a ziploc full of water….geez. Also, we’re 1/2 through our 3rd half-gallon of ice cream in less than 2 1/2 days. )

Anyway, here you go.

(X) Been to Canada - In fact, my brother lives there. In Ottawa. I’ve been to Toronto and Ontario, but I’ve never been to his place. I would love to see British Columbia.

( ) Been to Mexico - Nope. But I’m a big fan of the food. And Tequila. But Tequila doesn’t like me.

(X) Been to Florida - Yes. I actually had an office there for 6 months while we were closing some Audit issues.

(X) Been on a plane - Averaged twice per month for the last 11 years. Sigh.

(X) Been lost - Far too often.

(X) Been on the opposite side of the country - San Fran. Three days. Not long enough by far.

(X) Swam in the ocean - Yes. Virginia, North Carolina and Florida. Oh and The Bahamas.

(X) Cried yourself to sleep - Sigh. Yes.

( ) Played cops and robbers - No, Dad was a cop. Too much like real life.

(X) Played with a Tonka Truck - Oh yes.

(X) Recently colored with crayons - I love crayons. I do Christmas coloring books.

( ) Sang karaoke - No, and you don’t want to hear me sing.

(X) Paid for a meal with only coins - Yes. Taco Bell makes this easy!

(X) Done something you told yourself you wouldn’t? - Yes, and it usually has to do with drinking or eating.

( ) Made prank phone calls - Too scared of getting caught.

(X) Caught a snowflake on your tongue - Native Michiganian. You can’t open your mouth in the winter without doing this.

(X) Danced in the rain - Yep. And run through it. And stood in it. I’m not so sweet that I melt.

(X) Written a letter to Santa Claus - Most recently about 11 years ago though.

(X) Been kissed under the mistletoe - Every year starting with Gramma’s house and continuing through my own.

(X) Watched the sunrise with someone you care about - Although I’m much more likely to be watching sunset than sunrise.

(X) Blown bubbles - Yep. I’m a mom.

( ) Made a bonfire on the beach

( ) Crashed a party

( ) Crashed a wedding

( ) Crashed a funeral
— I’m obviously a horrible bore with no social life. Oh, wait, you guys knew that —

(X) Gone ice-skating - Yes. That Michiganian thing again. Although I hate the cold.

1. Any nicknames? Yes. Ree is my nickname. Bestowed on me by my first nephew when I was 24. Took me awhile, eh?

2. Mother’s name? Barbara - (Not Barbra like Streisand)

3. Favorite drink? Coffee (black) if we’re talking about driving later, vodka/cranberry juice/limeade if we’re not.

4. Any tattoos? No, although I would like one, Mr. Hot is morally opposed to it.

5 Body piercing? Ears only. 1 hole each.

6. How much do you love your job? Up until February of this year? I looked forward to getting there every day and enjoyed every minute of it.

7. Favorite vacation spot? Anyplace with a beach, Mr. Hot, and Shortman. Or my backyard in the early summer.

8. Ever been to Africa? No. Europe and Asia, but not Africa.

9. Ever eaten cookies for dinner? Abso-freakin’-lutely.

10. Ever been on TV? Bozo Show. I was 6.

11. Ever steal any traffic signs? No (that DadCop thing)

12. Ever been in a car accident? Yes, but none that were my fault.

13. Drive a 2-door or 4-door vehicle? 4 Door.

14. Favorite pie? Banana cream, extra cream.

15. Favorite Number? 12. I don’t know why.

16. Favorite movie? Wizard of Oz

17. Favorite holiday? Thanksgiving

18. Favorite dessert? Ice cream - Breyer’s Vanilla

19. Favorite food? Cedar grilled salmon

20. Favorite day of the week? Saturday because I get to sleep in but it’s not Sunday.

21. Favorite brand of body wash? Body Shop’s Satsuma

22. Favorite toothpaste? Crest Lemon Ice

23. Favorite smell? Coffee, right after you open a new can

24. What do you do to relax? Read or crochet (or, ehem, meet Mr. Hot in the bedroom)

25. Do you have a message to your friends reading this? I love you guys for sticking by me through everything.

26. How do you see yourself in 10 years? In a new career (maybe teaching) - just me and Mr. Hot, because Shortman has gotten settled into his career, in someplace warm - maybe in Europe. With time to travel - a lot.

27. Furthest place you will send this message? Alyndabear is in Australia, so I guess that’s about as far as I could possibly send this.

28. Who will respond the fastest? Whoever is most desperate on the 23rd day of NaBloPoMo.

I’m tagging:

Amanda,
Heidi,
witchypoo,
TxPoppet
and
Nancy

and whoever else is doing NaBloPoMo and needs something to write about.

—- Now, I’m off to go find the leftover turkey. —-

I could be really sappy and saccharine sweet here and tell you about how grateful I am for my wonderful family and my friends. How I am so appreciative of the recovery Shortman is making from his surgery yesterday and that there are doctors like his oral surgeon in the world. A doctor who kindly called last night to see how he was doing and laughed with me over my attempts to change his gauze. (I’ve never even met this man.)

I could wax poetic about how blogging has brought me into a warm, comforting (if mostly virtual) community of like-minded, funny individuals like yourselves, people I would not hesitate to invite into my home and ply with wine (or sparkling apple juice for all of you pregnant ones out there).

I could write long paragraphs about how thankful I am to have my beautiful home and my job from hell exciting career and the opportunity to be a woman in today’s modern world who has all of these options rather than being told who I was allowed to marry and what I had to do once I married them.

I could go on and on about all of this and more. But right now? I’m praising my lucky stars that it was Mr. Hot who dropped the $25 bottle of vodka onto the floor of the garage and watched it shatter into a million pieces and not my clumsy ass. Because, y’know, that would have been so damned predictable if it had been me.

—- Seriously’all? Thank you. Thank you for being part of my community. Thank you for your kind and comforting words and thoughts. Thank you for making me laugh, or cry, or simply think on a daily basis. For everyone who stops by my little piece of the blogosphere, thank you. —-

I pass out. (And no, NOT [always] because of the wine or vodka). I’m a pain-pussy. I admit it. Childbirth was, to say the least, a gruesome experience for all involved.

(Especially when, after my epidural wore off, and they tried to put another drip into the tube in my back, and they pulled the tube out, and the drug, rather than numbing me just gave me a wet back because it poured out of the tube, and….oh mah gawd, they wouldn’t believe me when I told them that I wasn’t numb and then they proceeded to stitch me up for the next 3 fuckin’ hours, without an painkiller…and….ah ah ah. deeeeeeeeeeeeeep breath. Yah. A pain pussy.)

Aaaaaaanyway.

In addition to being a wuss about pain, I’m also a wuss about others’ pain. Even if they’re not in pain.

My unconciousness, let me tell you about it.

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The first time I passed out, I was in the pediatrician’s office with my sister, Ski. We were both there with some minor ailment. I was about 10, which would have made her 4. The Doctor had Ski’s shirt pulled up to listen to her heart, and noticed a little skin tag on her chest. He asked Mom if she wanted him to remove it. She told him to go ahead.

So, out comes his little scalpel; he scrapes it up against her little body. The next thing I know, Mom is picking me up off the floor. “We heard a thud, and there you were, out cold on the tile. You slid right out of the chair.”

The next time I remember passing out, I was working as a veterinary assistant. We were spaying a rabbit. (Seriously y’all. I bet during the 10 months I worked there, we spayed 25 rabbits. Before that, I didn’t even know it could be done.) This wasn’t the first rabbit we’d spayed. And I had assisted on many other surgeries, but this time? Kerthunk. Apparently I thought too much about what was going on in front of me. Because, y’know, when you’re holding a rabbit’s freakin’ uterus in your hands, you should think about what you’re doing.

One time, Mr. Hot (who is a vitamin freak and has taken an aspirin every day since, well, for-freakin’-ever because of the sheer volume of heart-attacks in his family), had a little scrape on his face. It was between the bottom of his nose and one side of his mouth. Right……

….where that blue arrow is pointing.

And this scratch started bleeding. Y’all? It.would.not.stop. That man’s blood is so thin, if he was the one that gave birth 16 years ago and got ripped like I did? He’d still be bleeding today.

As he tried, for like, 20 minutes to get this teensy tiny little cut to stop.fuckin’.bleedin’.already, I started feeling sweaty and clammy and like there was a bit of a fog rolling in. Then I got these little pin-pricky things in front of my eyes. And I watched, fascinated, at the buckets of blood pouring from his face and there was no wound. It was like a damn stigmata y’all.

So, the next thing I know, I’m picking my ass up off the deck while he’s staring at me, holding a napkin to his face.

That brings us to today. Shortman’s surgery was over in less than an hour. Mr. Hot called me and told me they were on their way. I fluffed up Shortman’s pillows, got his television remote ready, and straightened his sheets and blankies. I moved the step stool so that Poopy the Puppy could jump up into bed with him.

When they came in, Mr. Hot and I helped the patient up the stairs and adjusted everything. Then Mr. Hot handed me the “Home Care Instructions following Tooth Removal” pamphlet. I read through everything carefully; got to the part where we must “Change gauze every 30-45 minutes up to 4 to 6 hours.”

***Warning - Squeamishness may ensue.***
At the 45 minute mark, I told Shortman we needed to change his gauze (yeah, I delayed it to the very last minute, so what?). He pulled out the bloody pieces. I took them from him and wadded up the clean ones to put in his mouth. He has a horrible gag reflex, and my fingers in his swollen mouth didn’t help matters any.

After 4 attempts at getting the freakin’ gauze pads in the proper places, and having his blood on my hands, I realized that I was going down. And I was going to go down fast.

I looked at him and said, “Shortman, I think I’m going to faint.” I sat on the stool, put my head between my legs, and breathed. Again. and Again. I finally felt like I could stand up.

He was almost grinning (well, as much as someone can grin with swollen cheeks). “Ah oo a-raht? Oo k? Wha me call Dah?” The little shit was laughing at me!

I stood up (shaky, but I did not hit the floor) and told him to open up his mouth. Took a deep breath. And stuck those damn gauze pieces right into the back of his mouth. (And tried not to look while I did it.)

—- He’s eating vanilla milk shakes. The drugs are doing their job (he’s very funny and not at all crabby…..like when he was 8!). Mr. Hot is going to get applesauce so we can at least pretend he’s having something nutritious. I’m adding wine to that grocery list to celebrate my reduced level of wussiness. —-

Last night, Mr. Hot and I stumbled upon “Dr. Danger” - starring Dr. Bob Arnot. Our DVR immediately got programmed to record all new episodes. Have you seen this show? This guy is effen’ nuts.

During last night’s adventures (in Yemen), he was climbing to one of the highest points in the country with his guide. He slipped down the ridge and dislocated his shoulder. You could see where his shoulder ball was 4 inches lower than the socket where it should have been. He had his cameraman film him while he called New York on his Blackberry and had his guide try to shove it back into the socket. (Excuse me while I puke a little in the back of my throat remembering that…..)

But, I have a question here - and it’s one that Mr. Hot and I have discussed many times. Why not the Cameraman? Wouldn’t you expect a Cameraman on an adventure show like this to have some medical training? Oh. Shush. You know you’ve wondered the same thing.

And what about the ones where “There’s never been another human to step into this part of the world. So-and-so will be the only person to ever accomplish this feat!” - okay, so who the fuck is filming them?

Let’s hear it for the intrepid cameramen! Yay!

(Okay, sorry, off the soapbox now.)

Aaaaaaaanyway. Interesting show. Especially if you like to learn about exotic places and don’t pass out easily.

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Then we were watching Keith Olbermann and saw this. I’m sorry, and yes, I think normally that theme diners can be fun, but there is just something wrong going on in Taiwan.

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I managed to open my salad dressing (Dole Taco Toss , yum) today without squirting it all over my keyboard, so the week is looking up. And today’s my last day in the office since I’ll be working from home tomorrow and taking care of Shortman. That’s good too.

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And I managed to get in a good 35-minute weight/aerobics workout yesterday. Today, I’m reloading my mp3 player since Yahoo Music-To-Go is dead. Dead to me. Dead to the world. Mr. Hot and I had a 2-years-for-the-price-of-1 subscription (or so we thought) because he paid for it with our Mastercard. It was a promotional price - if you were a new subscriber and used your Mastercard.

Then, the beginning of October, he got notified that our membership was going to expire November 18th. “Wait a minute, here”, thinks Mr. Hot. “This wasn’t supposed to expire until 2008.” So, he emails Yahoo.

The response he got back? Was certainly from a yahoo. A yahoo with no concept of customer service. “Since you used the 10 day free trial before you signed up for your membership, you weren’t considered a ‘new’ subscriber, and therefore, you don’t get the deal.”

Seriously y’all? WTF? Use the free trial to figure out if you want to be tied to a membership for two years and they use that to disqualify you from the membership special? Dead I tell you. (And actually, they’re not even offering the ‘To Go’ plan that allows you to copy files to your mp3 on Yahoo Music anymore. Coincidence? I think not.)

So, we’ve switched to Napster. I’m loading up the player in order to hit the treadmill tonight. What do they say? Twenty-one days to make a habit? That’s my new winter goal. Get back to doing the kick-my-ass workouts before I scare away those of you I’ve bribed all my readers with my morose-ness. I can still fit in all of my clothing, but the attitude? Bitchy-Blah doesn’t begin to describe me. (Well, of course it does….but I’d prefer it didn’t.)

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So, now, here - watch this excerpt from last night’s episode of Dr. Danger. By the way, Yemeni men? Are like 5 ft. 3. Not. tall. Think about that when you watch them.

—- Please think good thoughts for Shortman tomorrow. I know it’s just teeth, but it’s the first time my baby has ever been knocked-out-cold and cut on. sniff. kathunk. —-

So…depress you much? Yea, that was quite a little pity party going on there yesterday. Sorry about that. I really do think I need to start exercising regularly again. I was so good for two solid years, but then moving to Ann Arbor and this job situation and everything else has zapped all of my motivation and energy. But now that it’s winter (hate. did I mention? hate.) I know that I’ve got to do something to get out of this funk. Besides, if I do get in 60 minutes every day, I can justify an extra glass or two of wine every week! And cheese!

Plus, maybe it’ll help my coordination. So far today, I’ve knocked my oatmeal over onto my desk for breakfast, squirted bacon/ranch salad dressing onto my keyboard (damn plastic packets) for lunch, and, while shaking my cup of soup? forgot to cover the hole in the lid. You can imagine. I have gotten the potato sludge off of my glasses and my phone - but Gawd only knows where else it’s hiding. I’m afraid to walk over to the bathroom because y’know what cup-o-fake-potato-soup looks like? especially if it dries on your pants?

I’m just sayin….maybe thats what happened to that blue dress.