Boot Camp (or Bye Bye Bunion)

Well, this has been quite the weekend, again. Last week, I finished up as much business as I possibly could, tried to tie every loose end, and Friday I went in for my second foot surgery. I think that going in for it this time was worse than the first time because this time I knew what to expect so I've just been dreading it.

Murray and I got to the hospital and we got to the pre-op room pretty much right away. I definitely wanted Murray to be there just in case the nurse came out to tell me that I was pregnant. But he didn't, so I'm not. My nurse was a burly man in his 50s who looked better suited to the back of a Harley than a hospital, but I didn't mind. He had a very gentle touch while trying to do my IV, except that he couldn't get it, so he had to get another nurse to do it. I didn't hold it against him, though.

(They give you shorts now in the hospital to give you extra coverage. These are one size fits all.)

Murray asked me to try to be as aware as possible, without trying to be too aware, as they put me under. Last time, I fell asleep before I got to the operating room and woke up after I was out. So this time, I do remember getting onto the operating table, maybe just a little. I know that Murray and I had discussed cast color previously, and I was stuck on black, but Murray wasn't so sure. So I didn't know what to ask for. I remember the doctor asking me, but then a nurse came in and interrupted and I don't really remember being asked again, but I ended up with a black cast, so I think I may have been asked when I was mostly out of it. I woke up on the operating table as they were bandaging me up, and although I think the cast was the part I was dreading the most, I do remember that when they were putting it on, my thoughts went something like, "Sooooo luxiouriously comfortable!" I also remember fighting the compulsion with every fiber of my being to say, "I have to look professional for my conference." (I'm going to BlogHer in 2 weeks.) But I have a follow-up appointment tomorrow and I wouldn't be even slightly surprised if my doctor asks me about my conference. It may have slipped out at some point.

Since the surgery, I have been recovering at Château In-Laws, which beats Disneyland as the happiest place on earth. I am more than thrilled to have left my home computer at home, and to legitimately tell clients that I will be unavailable to work on their projects until sometime after Wednesday. I feel I gave everyone fair enough warning and now it's time for me to have a break to just focus on getting better.

The funny thing is that I'm not even feeling bad. Not even remotely! My pain level since the surgery has never been higher than 0.5. I'm supposed to be on bed rest, and for the most part I've been honoring that, but I've also gotten on the floor to play with Gulliver. (It seems we should have had this surgery 3 weeks ago since Gulliver is working REALLY HARD right now on crawling and although he hasn't coordinated it all perfectly yet, I think that by the end of these three weeks, he's going to be a little mobile pro!) I've made my very own crock pot orange pork shoulder. I haven't even made my mother-in-law fetch me every single snack. I have been pretty self sufficient, but with a team of helpers nearby to step in at any moment. (Don't ask me if I've bathed yet though---the answer is no.) My father-in-law, bless his heart, even got me a deluxe cupcake because he knows how trendy and delicious they are. Murray has also gotten me special foods, including Fage yogurt (usually too expensive for me to justify) and fresh raspberries.


Yesterday, I watched several hours of TV, including 1.15 Meg Ryan movies. So I am living it up right now. I'm not even going to go home tonight. I'm going to stay here as long as I possibly can!


(THE END)

Happy May Run!

This weekend, back in my homeland of Timmins, this is the May Run weekend. It's not May Run in many other places, really. It's very distinct to Timmins. Most of the rest of Canada celebrates this holiday as Victoria Day weekend. But to Timmins and to me, it will always be May Run.

Or, if you will, it is also sometimes referred to as May Two-Four. What does two-four refer to? Why, that's a 24-case of beer, of course. And what does beer have to do with Victoria Day weekend? If you're in Timmins, the answer is everything.

May Run is the weekend where you go out and camp in the bush (forest) with your friends and get drunk. Teen pregnancy and drunk driving accidents skyrocket during this weekend.

Back when I was in high school, I was chosen along with a classmate to write and present a skit about teen pregnancy and spend a day presenting it from classroom to classroom. It was moving, I'm telling you. I awkwardly sat beside this pimply boy and told him that I was pregnant. When he said, "But I thought you said you were on the pill," I said, "I only told you that because I thought you wouldn't want me otherwise." Then I broke down crying. I'm sure that we convinced pretty much everyone not to have sex that weekend. That's how good we were.

In fact, it was all pretty much like this scene from Freaks and Geeks. Please watch it, and remember: drink responsibly, don't drink and drive, and don't have unprotected sex.

I should know better.

So a word of advice to you all. When your coworker comes into your office and gradually your office is filled with a very strong, distinctive, non-food smell, don't scrunch up your nose and say, "What is that smell?"

To my credit, my brain process went something like this:

Someone just put something in the microwave outside my office.
I smell an odor. It's getting stronger.
It doesn't smell like food.
Is it coming from the microwave?
It doesn't smell like food.
Is someone cooking something that's not food in the microwave?
Does someone's food smell like not-food?
Is it coming from outside??

At that point, I asked, "What is that smell?"

She said, "I think it's meeeee! Does it smell eucalyptus-y?"

Turns out it was a cream that she'd just put on her legs. And luckily enough, we are friends, and so we just ended up laughing and laughing and laughing at my faux-pas.

Also, as an aside, I own the shirt that Pam was wearing in last night's episode of The Office. Of course, she didn't wear it with something underneath, because she wasn't going to a Christmas party in the movie, like I was here. But I'd like to think that she probably would have worn this pictured winning combo, too. (The shirt is from Banana Republic, unlike most of my wardrobe, which is from Target [like the shirt that I'm wearing underneath the pink sweater], which makes me know that she really was wearing the same shirt. Also, I have a shirt from J Crew that Cameron wore in House. So when I spend more money on clothes, you know for sure that I'm buying really cool items. Oh, and I look just like Pam and Cameron when I wear those shirts. Just so you know.)

Oliver Lincoln Noodlemeyer

What are little siblings for if not to torment?

The Boy had the sorry lot of being the last of all us kids. He also ended up with the genes that make him particularly targetable for teasing. It's an unfortunate combination, really, that makes it possible to tease him for the same exact thing for years and years while consistently getting the same insolent reaction.

Take Burger King for example. On a road trip almost ten years ago, we were ready to stop and get some food. Dad didn't want what the rest of us wanted, so without announcing what he was doing, he decided to go through the Burger King drive-thru to get his meal, then drive us to the fast food restaurant that we wanted. As we approached Burger King and it became apparent that that's where we were going, The Boy became suddenly vocal, announcing repeatedly that he couldn't eat at Burger King: "I can't eat at Burger King. Burger King makes me sick." His repetition of this fact became more frequent and more urgent the closer we got to Burger King until Dad finally lost it and explained angrily that only he would be getting Burger King food. The rest of us could get what we wanted.

To this day, any time Burger King is mentioned around The Boy, one of the siblings invariably says, "I can't eat Burger King. Burger King makes me sick." This would irritate The Boy so much, despite the fact that it happened almost a decade ago. But recently The Boy told us that the Burger King teasing doesn't bother him as much anymore. Did he finally get over it? No. Burger King was replaced by Dirt Roadities.

I have already told this story once on my blog. At the time, I didn't realize that it would become such great teasing fodder. Two summers ago, The Boy, Mishkin, and I were trying to get to our sister-in-law's cabin using directions that The Boy had written down. It just happened that where we got lost, the direction that The Boy had written down was "dirt roadities." At the time, I'm sure he thought he was being funny, but as we were lost on "dirt roadities" with no cell reception for about an hour, the funniness of "dirt roadities" soon wore off.

Two years later, it persists as the best way to tease The Boy. All you have to do is say "dirt roadities" and he gets angry and annoyed. (If only he figured out that the key to not getting teased so much is to not get annoyed so easily...)

There are other things we can use to tease, too, though, and today as I was researching sports for work, I came across OLN, which always makes me think of Oliver Lincoln Noodlemeyer.

See, both The Boy and El Senor were living with Captain Fabuloso and Captain Mom for a few months while they were between apartments. The Boy was adjusting to his new job as a Comcast cable guy. He still loves the job and is still full of all sorts of information about cable and networks. One day as El Senor and The Boy were watching OLN (Outdoor Life Network---now known as Versus), The Boy asked, "Do you know who owns OLN?" The answer, of course, was Comcast. But El Senor didn't miss a beat and said, "Oliver Lincoln Noodlemeyer." The Boy, slightly confused, said, "Well, I don't know the specific names of the people involved, but I'm pretty sure that Comcast owns it."

So now, between a little Burger King and a little dirt roadities, we thrown in some Oliver Lincoln Noodlemeyer for good measure.

**I probably got the details slightly wrong on the Oliver Lincoln Noodlemeyer, but if El Senor or The Boy want to correct me, they're welcome to make corrections in the comments.

Suddenly Single

Well, it's official. I've dumped all my TV boyfriends this season. Yes, I'm heartbroken, and yes I'm lonely, but gosh darnit, I have standards, and if I'm going to have to live alone with those standards and a pride of cats for the rest of my life, then so be it.

We'll start with Jack Bauer:

Dear Jack,
Oh, how can I express my disapp0intment? Sure, there was enough material in the four-hour season premiere to seriously test my ability to suspend disbelief, but when hour 5 turned into a soap opera, how could I not laugh out loud? I'm sorry, Jack, but your evil twin brother? (Okay, so he's actually not a twin, but please---can we get any cornier?) And not only that, but you have a "history" with your brother's wife? (And whose son is that, really??) Please. Jack, I'm dumping you because you are a man whore. Every woman loves you and you break every woman's heart because your true love is your country (but possibly you have a little man-crush on ex-terrorist-turned-really-nice-guy, Hassad). By the end of this season, we'll find out that Chloe is actually carrying your baby, and that she got pregnant before you went to China, but that your super-spawn requires an extra-long incubation period. We're through.

Next, we'll go with Danny Taylor:

Dear Danny,
There's just something about you this season that has left me feeling empty and disillusioned. You have continued to dress extremely well, and your hair is still perfectly fuzzy, but there's just something I can't quite put my finger on. You no longer appeal to me. Don't think that I'm leaving you for your coworker whom you call "brother," Martin. Don't think I'm leaving you for your boss who has serious issues, Jack. No, Danny, I'm leaving you because I prefer being alone to being your girlfriend. I know that hurts, but you have to face the facts. And yes, this may have something to do with the fact that you recently hooked up with your Hispanic coworker, Elena. I mean, did the writers of the show really have to do that to you? I don't even like her! And did they write her into the show just so that the two Hispanics could hook up? Oh Danny. How could you forget that I have a Latin name? Wasn't that enough for you? Why, Danny? Why?

And of course House:

Dear Greg,
Sometimes I feel like I'm watching the same. exact. thing. every. week. Get off the freaking pain killers. I'm sure that your writers can still make you interesting without the drug addiction. Or maybe they can't and that's why you're still an addict. I no longer care about you, Greggie. And I'm not leaving you for Wilson, either, because I haven't been impressed at all with his behavior this season.

There's always Gob...

Dear Gob,
I miss you. Please come back to me, Gob. Come back!

Aaaaaand of course Jim...

Dear Jim,
Actually, you were never my boyfriend because I always thought that you and Pam really deserve each other. Best of luck with that---I think you're doing a good job. Yours truly, your BFF, Cicada.

And although none of the men on Lost have ever been my boyfriends, here's a shout-out to them all:

Dear Lost,
We'll be seeing each other again very soon. And you know what? I really couldn't care less. Your show was good first season. It was okay second season. Third season? It's a load of crap. And it's proof that although some American shows really should plan a plot and execute it over a finite and planned number of seasons, no American shows ever actually do that. Your show would have been so much cooler if you had actually planned a beginning and an end, rather than trying to keep this group of people on an island for longer than anyone cares to pay attention. So you came back for a few episodes in the fall and then left off for another four months. Who do you think cares enough to tune back in next month? I'm dumping you.

**Please note that although I have "dumped" all my boyfriends and all my shows, this in no way will affect my watching their shows. I will continue to watch each of these shows (except Arrested Development for obvious reasons) because I still have an emotional attachment to each of my boyfriends that I cannot immediately sever.