Cold Feet.

When I last discussed some of my oddness with you all, there was something that everyone could relate to. I’m searching for someone that has the following problem. I said to Jenn last night I cannot be the only person with this problem.

When we got married I did not have cold feet. I did hyperventilate while walking down the stairs to the ceremony, but that was because I didn’t want it to end. I had spent months planning this wedding and I had no idea what to do with all that extra time when it was over. I definitely suffered from PWD (post-wedding depression).

But…that is the only time I didn’t want cold feet. I HATE having my feet warm. I hate it.

I hate wearing socks and it takes extremely cold temperatures before I wear them around the house.

I can’t sleep with socks on my feet.

Jenn always says she can tell when I am really sick because I’m in bed with my socks on.

I wear Crocs. They come with handy air-holes to keep the breeze alive and well between my toes.

I would like someone to invent the opposite of the Snuggie. A blanket with feet holes cut out.

Or even better…the opposite of a heating pad for me to put at the bottom of the bed where my feet are.

Yesterday I had several problems that highlighted my no warm feet problems.

We went to Costco and Jenn needed new socks. While browsing through the sock choices I saw these super thick woolen monstrosities that would have required a shoe three sizes bigger than your normal size and my feet had a panic attack. They couldn’t breathe. They felt suffocated. The idea of someone forcing them upon my tootsies was just….I can’t think of a word bad enough. It was bad enough that I removed my Crocs for a moment and put my feet on the cool concrete (ick) just to be able to survive the crisis.

Last night I threw a minor conniption fit because there were no cold feet spots. It was all warm. All warm and touching my feet. It was icky. Part of the problem was that we had house guests and I turned the heat on, because well, it isn’t polite to make your guests freeze their buns off just because you don’t like the heat. We did open both bedroom windows all the way, but our heater is powerful and that did not solve my hot feet problem.

The lack of cold feet spots sent my legs into a frenzy where they kick and flap around until the covers have been removed from my feet. This is not something that Jenn can sleep through.

I can’t begin to think of having the sheets tucked into the bottom of the bed. *Shudder* I’m going to have nightmares tonight even thinking of that.

Oh, and don’t get me started on crooked socks. If the toe seam isn’t lined up, the whole world hears about it.

Mingo Monday

I’m going to stray a bit. Today’s flamingo isn’t actually a part of my collection.

Last week I was talking to Brandi and we were talking about school. Brandi is taking Algebra. Brandi and I hate Algebra. Algebra is icky. All math in my book is icky. I can use a calculator to add 2 + 2 and get five. It’s true, ask Jenn.

Jenn on the other hand is a math freak. You say algebra, she rattles off the quadratic equation. Freak. She has often pulled out her old textbooks and done math problems FOR FUN!!! She is so weird. People think I am weird, but really, doing math for fun?? Something is seriously wrong with her.

After I left work that day Jenn and I headed over to Ye Ole Local Community College’s bookstore to get our books for the new semester. I saw a book that would almost make Algebra worth it (almost):

But, I don’t think flamingos can do math.

OXYPHENBUTAZONE or, how I became a boring old fart

Oxyphenbutazone – an anti-inflammatory drug (trade name Tandearil) used to treat arthritis and bursitis.

In the middle of December I was sitting at work being bored to tears when Chris messaged me on Facebook. “Do you want to play Scrabble with me?” That sounds so simple and innocent doesn’t it? Oh if only I knew what kind of monster that simple, innocent phrase would create.

Chris beat me twice that day. A week later he tells me that we can continue playing even if we both aren’t online together. Then he invited Jenn to play a game with him. One of the nice things about Jenn not working is that she is available for anything at any time of day.

Jenn’s current job is to stay up all hours of the night and play Scrabble against people. When Chris is working the night shift, a text will come through on her phone right around 12:30am…”Scrabble?” She also plays my lil brother through all hours of the night. Wednesday night I thought the world may have imploded when our internet was down and Jenn was unable to play.

Now as big of a Scrabble monster as Jenn may be, Chris is worse. If he catches you online and it is your turn he will hound you. Yesterday, as I am slowly coming out of my “ate too much breakfast at our favorite buffet place” coma, I hear Jenn on the phone saying “Are you serious?” I hear her phone close and she says…we are going over to their house to play Scrabble.

So, fun for us is now playing Scrabble. What does Oxyphenbutazone have to do with it? Why that would be the highest scoring word you can play in Scrabble…and it has now become my goal in life to play it. For now, my highest scoring word is quince for 51 points…Oxyphenbutazone can get you 1,780 points.

And, in case you needed to know…Chris won, Lyz second, Jenn third and me fourth. I always get the crappy letters, QYZXVMC is not fair.

(wanna be my friend on Facebook and play Scrabble??? Use my email addy over there on the right to search for me, and let me know you are a blog reader!! Or, if you prefer to play at 2am, you can be Jenn’s friend jennmilley at gmail dot com)

The Purpose Driven Anything

One of my favorite bloggers Mrs. Spit (who I found has a Facebook page, so I am starting to believe she actually exists.) posted a very interesting blog this morning. Please go read it before you continue on with reading my blog today.

I wrote a really long comment for her blog, and blogger went and ate it. Mean blogger. But I guess in a way it is good because it gave me something to contemplate and blog about myself.

Purpose Driven. I can’t say that I am a very purpose driven kinda gal. I’m going to be literal here and talk about driving. I hate driving. I hate being behind the wheel. But being in the passenger seat thrills me. I love a good road trip. Yes, there is an ultimate destination in mind, so you are driving with a purpose, but the drive doesn’t always have to be purposeful.

Lyz and I have often talked about the rules we won’t enforce upon our children. Her big one is that she will allow her children to blow bubbles with their straw in their milk. She wasn’t allowed to as a kid. Me, I will let my kids dictate our road trips. We used to vacation in northern Michigan and along the drive you would see these billboards. Mystery Spot 120 miles. Mystery Spot 90 miles…etc. I wanted to stop. We never did. If my children see their own version of the Mystery Spot, we will stop for them.

When we drive to Florida every year it is in the dark. We typically leave around 5pm and arrive at our destination around 7am. Jenn is glad we do this in the dark because it means there is less traffic and she can drive a little faster. I am glad we do it in the dark because it means that I can’t be tempted by all the billboards.

Oh the billboards. One year I was sick so we ended up making the drive during daylight. The billboards were everywhere. Every five miles there was one for South of the Border. There was one every two miles for a strip club. Neither place was a real draw for me, but the billboards tempted me off my path. While I really wanted to get to Florida in a hurry, the billboards called to me “We won’t take long if you stop…you’ll be back on the road soon.” Yet, we never stopped. What would I really want to see at a seedy strip club? Um, ewww. Even from the highway you could see it wasn’t a place I would want to go. Dirty…um ew. And South of the Border, I’ve been there once, it wasn’t for me either. Very cute and kitchy, but dirty and that isn’t for me.

But all of this not driving purposely sent my head off on a tangent. The only thing I have been purposely driving for over the last five years is a baby. Yes, there have been detours that have veered me off my path. I’m on one of those distractions now. But I won’t be stopped.

We will reach this destination. Right now there is no insurance coverage, and Jenn doesn’t have a job, so we’ve stopped at a rest stop. As with my drives to Florida, I will still reach this destination. I will arrive at “You Are Here”. There may be more bridges closed, or tempting billboards along the way, but we will overcome them. We will hold our child someday. Maybe the road will change and we will hold a child that we have adopted rather than created. Maybe the road will change and we will have better insurance to move forward with IVF. I don’t know. I can’t see that far ahead.

All I do know is that for one thing and one thing alone I am purpose driven. And no road block will stop me.

Mingo Monday

Once upon a time, I don’t remember the year, Lyz, Chris, Jenn and I went to Massachusetts for Jenn’s little sister’s field hockey tournament. On the way home we decided to tour around a little bit. We went to Plymouth and saw the rock which is really more of a pebble in case you want to know. We toured the Mayflower replica and went to the cranberry museum.

Then Chris and Jenn had this brilliant plan to drive to the end of Mass to see the ocean. You know that little tail on Mass? It will be a quick drive they said. Fine. Lyz and I took a nap. A very long nap. And when we woke up, we still weren’t there yet. Forever we drove. It was raining. When we finally made it to the end we hopped out of the car, took a picture and hopped back in.

We were hungry so we decided to stop in this cute little town for lunch. We found a cute little pub and went inside. While we were sitting there looking over the menu Chris said “How did we manage to find the one gay bar in this town?”

After eating a yummy lunch we decided to walk around. It was again Chris who noticed. Every building had a P-flag. Every window had a rainbow or some other type of equality sticker in it. We hadn’t just found the one gay bar in town, we had found a whole gay town! We had lots of fun walking through the streets looking in all the little shops. Holding hands without feeling guilty.

Anywho, at one of the cute little shops that sells stuff to tourists I came upon a mingo. A very prideful mingo.


And that is the story of the bad lesbians who didn’t know P-Town existed.

There aren’t plenty more fish in the sea.

Growing up I think we always had a fish tank. I have many memories of that fish tank including one of the fish trying to kill itself by swimming into the glass, cracking the glass and having all of the water pour onto the living room floor. Another memory is of the coolie-loaches (no idea if I spelled that right). The were worm looking fish and I thought they were just too cool. Then they disappeared. No idea where they went. Years, and I am not exaggerating, later we found them. 10 feet away dried up little sardines behind the piano. Interesting.

Jenn and I have a fish tank. I just spent the last half hour going through our flickr account trying to find a good picture of it. I’m at work or I would have simply taken one. But since I can’t find one you are just going to have to picture it in your head.

We got these fishes forever ago. Cute little bright fish. It is a small tank, five gallons I think? Or maybe even just two gallons, I don’t remember. Anywho. It started with two frogs, a lazy sucker fish (seriously, I’ve never seen him out of his cave) and 6 fish who we named Bob, Robert, Bobbie, Roberto, Roberta, and Robbie. (Jenn likes the name Bob).

A few months after we got them one passed away. Jenn called me at work all upset because she had to flush it.

Six months after that another was found floating on the surface, I flushed it before Jenn could see it.

Then a good year of happy healthy fishies.

Until one night a few months ago when I was just watching them swim around I was counting them. Two pink….one orange…one yellow. Hmmm, missing and orange, try again. Two pink…one orange…one yellow. Jenn, how many orange fish do you see. Jenn got nose to glass with the tank. ONE!!! Where is the other one?

We checked the filter, the cave, the plants. No missing orange fish. I told Jenn the story of the coolie-loaches and we had a little giggle and moved on.

A couple of weeks later I was watching the fish swim. One orange…one yellow…one pink. Um…Jenn. How many pink fish do you see?

A phone call was placed to Lyz about our strange disappearing fish. Now yes, we are aware that the frogs are known to be aggressive and eat fishies. But these frogs are half the size of the fish. I would expect some guts to be somewhere. We also can’t blame our cat who seems to not even realize that the fish exist. Even when placed nose to glass she acts like they are below her and why should she care that they are there?

Three weeks ago Jenn caught me staring at the fish tank. What are you doing???, she asked. Counting our two fish. NO!!!!!!!!!!!!! Sure enough, we are missing another fish.

Three nights ago…I was again staring at the fish tank. Jenn caught my stare and said “They are both there, I just checked an hour ago.” No. There is only one orange fish swimming all alone in the tank.

So…I looked at the frogs. They are no bigger than before. Their bellies would be all huge if they ate a whole fish. We would notice.

Do you want to know where we think the fish are? Are you ready for this? I mean, we have told you that we are odd before…so you are not allowed to laugh if you read this theory.

Carlos’s cat ate them.

Who is Carlos? Why he is our ghost of course. He likes to play tricks on us. Nice ones. And he would really like it if we could paint our bedroom a lovely sage green. Please. He also has a pet cat, she likes to sleep in bed with us. It must be her that is eating our fish.

Stop looking at me!!

***Warning…too much information is about to be shared, as well as two quite disgusting pictures of my eyeball. Don’t say I didn’t warn you***

So…I was sick last week. Wicked head cold. Much coughing and sneezing and sniffling was done. Not much nose blowing, as you know I hate blowing my nose. And do you remember what I hate all most as much as nose blowing?

Puking.

So imagine me in bed on Tuesday evening watching American Idol snorting at the silliness and playing on the internet. I sat up and whined. What? Jenn asked. I have that feeling…the one where your mouth fills up with saliva…that one. You want me to get you a trash can. NO!!! I’m going to fight it.

The fight lasted 30 seconds, and I lost, terribly. I spent the next 6 hours racing to and from the bathroom. At 2:30am Jenn came into the bathroom to tell me that she had called in a replacement for work the next day and then screamed.

“What the hell is wrong with your eye?”

I don’t know, what? She told me it was all red. Okay, I’ve been puking for the last forever, of course my eyes are bloodshot. She shook her head and walked away. I stood up from the toilet, took one look in the mirror and tossed my cookies again.

Wanna see?

This morning finds my eye no better, in fact, I believe it to be a little worse.

I got to work this morning and my boss kicked me out of his office. He couldn’t look at me. Jenn won’t really look me in the eye either. So, the title of this post is a total lie. It should be start looking at me. I’m starting to feel like a bit of a leper.

Someday, I would like to feel better. Between the head cold and the vomiting, I’m getting really tired of being sick.