stop.

27 02 2009

Thought:
We are NOT friends.
I do not like you.
Quit sending me “fw:fw:fw:fw:fw:You HAVE to see this!!!”. They’re never funny.
I do not want to discuss unfunny-e-mail.
I do not care what you had for lunch.

Go.
Away.





Total Recall: Favorite Toy

27 02 2009

The lovely and charming Daffy favored me with a survey this morning.
One of the questions was “What was your favorite toy?”

my thing-a-ding-a-ling-thing

my thing-a-ding-a-ling-thing

I LOVED L-O-V-E-D my Thing-a-Ding-Ding.
It was like a Mr. Potato Head jacked up with gears. Once again, clearly showing that someone in the house wanted a boy.  I digress.
The orange thing had holes in it, of which you’d jam any number of accessories (and a handle, ‘natch) and when the handle was rotated, the accessories would do whatever it was that they did.
In fact, I can still kind of recall the smell and the feel of the Thing-a-Ding-Ding. I would not be surprised if it was a second-hand purchase… I say this because I remember having the propeller, elephant nose, crank and a hand; certainly not all 21 pieces.
On our way home from some place in the northtowns (I almost want to say it was Chuck E. Cheese) I had a mylar balloon tied to the propeller.
It was summer, the windows of the car were open and we were cruising down the 290 (that’s one of the interstates).
A gust came through the car.
It grabbed the balloon.
My Thing-a-Ding-Ding was sucked out of my hands and out of the window.
Mom pulled over to try and find it, but at that time, the area was undeveloped and overgrown with grass/weeds/stingrays and the search proved to be futile.
We were never able to find another one.  Unlike gerbils and goldfish, I totally would have accepted a replacement.
*sniffle*

Reader(s), tell me about what your favorite childhood toy was.
It doesn’t have to end tragically, but it sure would make me feel better.  just saying.





Fishing

25 02 2009

damn kids. get off my lawn.





good!

24 02 2009

Well, what The Lump is is kind of gross (just kind of, but still gross enough that I don’t feel the need to broadcast), but as long as I can stop picking at it, it’s not harmful.

So, once again, I freak-out and cry and worry myself into a pound of melted butter (yum!) for not.

Now, if someone could help me keep my hands out of my hair, that’d be cool.





Plan B: Carnie

23 02 2009

First, let me say that I really dislike NBC’s hockey coverage.
I’m a multi-tasking kinda girl, I like to organize my coupons and listen to hockey.
BUT I CAN’T.
Because NBC doesn’t even talk about the hockey game.
Second, Sidney Crosby is not the second coming.  IS NOT.
Hey, NBC, did you know that there are ELEVEN OTHER HOCKEY PLAYERS on the ice?  Talk about them.  Or better yet, TELL ME WHAT THEY’RE DOING.

Ahem.

Right, so Steve’s watching the game (Washington vs. Pittsburgh) and doing homework when Sergi Fedorov (I think that was him) scored.
him: Wow,  didn’t even realize he was still playing!
“I guess he is.”
“Wow!”
*snicker*
“What?!”
“Clearly, he’s still playing.  They just showed the shot like, 4 times and said his name as many times.”
“Pffftt. He started the same year as  [some other hockey player whose name is escaping me]. I have his 1990 rookie card.”
“Ah.”
Him, snotty-like, “Okay then, what year was [mystery player] born?”
“Well, let’s see, if you had his rookie card in 1990, that means he may have been like, 18, which means he would have been born in 1972, but assuming he didn’t get in right away, I’m going to go with 1969.”
He clicks the interwbs. “Holy shit.  You’re right.”
*smirk*
“You could totally work at a carnival as one of those age guessers!”
“Right, so when we’re unempl0yed, I can be an age guessing carnie. For two bits I’ll guess your birth year based on trivia.”
“Awesome.”





Grrr./Cookie Therapy

23 02 2009

Well, after another odd night (socks, no socks, socks, BaileySocks)- which I will chalk up to nervousness about The Lump- I’m back to anticipation phase.
The Doc can’t get me in until tomorrow at noon.
So now I need to decide how to plan my morning tomorrow… see about working at home in the am; come into work, leave, come back; come into work in the morning and just go home afterwards?
Meh.

Knowing that cooking/baking makes me feel distracted, I opted to pick up items for
oatmeal scotchies.

3/4 butter
1 cup packed brown sugar
1/2 cup white sugar
1/4 tsp baking powder
1 tsp baking soda
1 tsp vanilla
1 3/4 cups flour (I used whole wheat)
2 cups oats
1 bag of Butterscotch chips (or less, to taste)

1. Beat softened butter for 30 seconds on medium/high.
2. Add in sugars.
3. Add in soda, powder, vanilla.
4. Gradually add flour.
5. Mix in oats.  It’s advisable to do this on a very low setting.
6. Stir in chips.
7. Bake for 8-11 minutes at 375.
8. Let stand on sheet for a minute then transfer to rack/waxed paper.

“Hey, so, what are we doing for dinner?”, Steve asks at 730 last night.
“Dunno.” I say, realizing that my nose is sore from Another Incident I Don’t Want to Talk About, thus making me cranky.
“Cookies?”
“Sure, we’re adults. Not like anyone’s going to yell at us.”
And that’s when my parents called.

FYI: I had 5 cookies for breakfast.  because they’re tasty and make me forget things.





Big Hair 101

22 02 2009
like, OMG!

like, OMG!

gee, thanks facebook.
Oh, that’s right, I’m sporting a hypercolor.  It’s the one with the guy who wears business when it’s cool and board shorts when  it’s heated up.
DO YOU SEE HOW AWESOME I WAS?!?!?

More to come.





Could Socks be the Answer?

21 02 2009

For two nights now, I’ve worn socks to bed and for the last two nights, I’ve slept like I should.
Prior, I’ve never worn socks to bed (I have sweaty footitis) and have  not awoken to damp socks.
Odd, isn’t it?

In other news, Not-a-Doctor-Steve thinks I should go to the real doctor… so, maybe Monday I’ll have more info.





change of heart

20 02 2009

The 3.5 of you who read my rambling (I’m counting CWG as 1.5 due to two comments) last night, may have noticed that said ramble is gone.
It done rambled on.

So, the cliff notes version/twist (lemon, please)…
after weeks of sleepless nights, I call my doc and explain the ‘sitch only to be told that they’ve “never heard” of that side effect before.
If there is a .0001% chance of a side effect, I will get it.
My doc calls back, they’ll switch my med when I run out, but they want to switch to to the medication that GAVE ME MIGRAINES. I say no and decide to go on webmd and see if anyone else had dreams about flunking out of photography class.
Nope.
But a lot of people were having mood swings and moodiness and spousal-spine-removal.
Now, I think we all know I’m not a doctor.  Now, knowing what I don’t know, if I was a doctor and I had a patient who, say, had a bit of The Crazy, I would probably NOT prescribe a medication where one of the main side effects was more of The Crazy.  Just saying.
So anyway, I’m looking at people saying they’re basketcases and I’m thinking, “How lucky that I haven’t had anything like that!!!”
Meanwhile, I’ve been itching the back of my head (perhaps remains of that silly tick-infestation-dream) and Steve says, in an off-handed way “Maybe it’s a mole.”*
Finagling the mirrors (Steve was bowling) I see a dark spot.
Cue hyperventalating.  Cue tearful phone call to Mom (who is still like 2,000 miles away). Cue general calamity.

However, I took two night-time pain relievers before I called Mom and perhaps I just needed a good cry to get to a good sleep.

In short, I’ll have Also-Not-A-Doctor-But-He-Thinks-He-Is Steve take a peek.

* In reference to The Great Mole Freak-Out of 2004.  Thought I had an ingrown scalp hair, so I went to the doc, where they ran away, screaming at the sight thereof and a month later I’m at a cancer-specific-dermatologist having a serrated tube dug into my scalp.  BTW, the near-passing-out-cookies were Chips Ahoy!





Milestone

19 02 2009

I can’t believe I forgot to tell you!
Guess who ran at the gym yesterday?!
No.
No.
Try again.
No.
There you go! That’s right! I RAN YESTERDAY.

Now, I am not claiming that I ran for twenty minutes. Nor did I run for ten minutes. I may have ran for five minutes, it was probably more like three, BUT I ran!
Ah, for the interval, you make me feel like less of a loaf.

Note: due to my 14-year-old ankle injury, scoliosis as a kid, lack of coordination and localized clumsiness, I feel like I can’t run without looking like I’m having a seizure.