My new favorite site: The Unintended Penis

It's called The Unintended Penis. I soooooo wish I'd thought of this myself! And now I can't help it. All I can do is look for things that are penile now. I've got to get a life, for fuck's sake.

back to the gym

yesterday I went back to the gym. It wasn't pretty. I thought I'd start small and I was very proud of myself for doing it. So I went and did 30 minutes on the elliptical. The thing that was so pitiful is that at Gold's in the "Ladies Gold's Gym" (barf!) there are all these rather elderly women. Many of them look to be in their 70s+. And they are fucking kicking my ass! One of them was on the freaking treadmill for the entire hour I was there. And another one was pumping iron better than I could. So there went all my good and happy feelings about having gone to the gym. Instead I was left feeling pitiful and inadequate. I'd rather work out in the main gym where all the JAG school guys are. At least I know I'll never be anything like them. I have no interest in seeing old ladies kick my ass any more.

I've been eating a lot of spinach

This year we got a family share with our CSA. It seemed like a good idea. We always ran short last year and bought extras so this year we thought we'd go for the full family share. And that would be great. But the boys are out of town.

What does this mean? you ponder, as I did. It means a hell of a lot of fucking spinach for me to eat.

Last week we got two pounds of spinach. But I was out of town for the weekend. So that means that yesterday after the doctor (which they still don't know what's wrong with me, oh joy!) I came home and cooked 2 pounds of spinach down to 1 pound. Then a dressed it with soy and raw sugar and sesame seeds. And I ate some for lunch. And dinner. And lunch again today. And this was after I ate a salad of watercress (yuck!) last week and a whole lot of asparagus.

So what you wonder? Who cares? Well the thing is that my body is not reacting well to this much roughage. Actually I think even my skin is beginning to be tinged green. Or that could be the illness. Or both. And I just got the email that says, oh joy! more spinach tomorrow. Fuck me running!

The Chocolate Bar

I came to Boston for Mother's Day since the boys are back on Semester at Sea (without me which bites hugely). As we were planning the trip, my mom and I, she suggested we go to a Chocolate Brunch which they have at a very chi-chi hotel here in this lovely city. I thought, sure! I love mole, cocoa dusted scallops, and what a neat way to see how chefs get creative.

Wrong. A Chocolate Brunch is not a brunch at all. It's a dessert bar. With about five thousand different sickeningly sweet options. At first when faced with the Willy Wonka option, one feels dazzled and enthused. There was a crepe bar, make your own chocolate bar, cannolis, tarts, tortes, caramels, and pies. At the center was a fountain of chocolate in which you could dip pretzels, fruit, cake, and of course chocolate. Table after table was laden with sweets. Now to begin with I am not that much a chocolate person. I know so sue me. But since I don't get PMS (it's not that nice an option, ladies, I don't make any natural hormones so enjoy the PMS because it's better than what I've got.)

Diligently, my mom and I got a plate. I got a chocolate coconut torte piece, a salted caramel, a piece of guava paste (the only non chocolate item save the vanilla ice cream), a which chocolate carrot cake cupcake, a white chocolate fruit tart and a mini chocolate pecan tartlet. I then proceeded to have one bite of each. At that point I was overwhelmed with the knowledge that if I had a lot more of this I would have a sugar crash that was akin to the spaceship Discovery. So I went to the crepe bar to get a crepe with some fruit.

But the crepes were all chocolate. With chocolate in them. Or nutella. Which is chocolate. I could already feel the sugar high beginning to make me queasy, but there was pressure to eat because it was $40 a person. So I headed to the ice cream section where I managed to locate vanilla ice cream. Which sucked. I was assured by one geriatric woman the chocolate ice cream was much better. DAMN chocolate!!! Even the freaking cotton candy was chocolate dipped.

I decided to try to go back to the other tables. I'd seen some fruit there. But even these were so sweet they made your teeth hurt. So I ordered a chamomile tea with lime and called it a dessert.

But here's the baffling thing. We were surrounded by people who had brought children. Now call me crazy but bringing small children to candyland is asking for trouble. It's a little like adding jet fuel to a paper airplane. It's going to work great for a short amount of time and then you are bound for explosion and destruction. On our way out, I over hear a woman apologizing to her mother or mother in law that little Reginald (not his real name) was usually such a sweet well behaved child. She just didn't understand what had gotten into him. Maybe it was all the excitement. No you dumb bitch! Maybe it was the toddler PCP equivalent: chocolate.

What to eat...

Ricardo left this morning with an admonishment. He said, "Be sure to eat something other than Special K and popcorn." He wasn't joking either.

You see I am on my own for two glorious days. And during that time I will probably eat only popcorn and Special K. The Kid is in our illustrious capital and will then be making his stately progress to a historically important city in the northeast of our country to spend time with my mother. Ricardo is working. And I am alone.

And I will probably not cook the whole time they are gone. And that even means toasting (but not mixing Lipton's Onion Soup mix dip, or air popping the popcorn).

So my question is, if I put strawberries on the Special K, eat onion soup mix dip, and whoppers, does this mean I have fulfilled my promise?

So much for thinking I'm going to the gym this week. Fuck that shit. I'm going to bed!

Today was the crown jewel in the tiara of shit that was my week.

For reasons I won't get into in this forum, the math teacher on my team has been reassigned to another part of the building. This left Anna and me to hold the fort. Which was fine. Except for the Anna being 39 weeks pregnant part.

Last Sunday morning, I am thrilled to say, she gave birth to a completely adorable son, looked far better than I did that afternoon despite the fact she'd been in labor for 20 hours and hadn't slept yet while I had gotten a solid 10 hours the night before. She and her husband seem deliriously happy and I am so excited for them that I have a hard time not calling every day to hear how the baby is.

But I digress. You see, shortly before this gorgeous baby joined the population of Central Svalbard and Jan Mayen, we were helping the kids get adjusted to our new math teacher who is a lovely gal but who the kids are giving, how shall we say, a massive shit sandwich every day. Things were improving a little when Anna went into labor.

So now it's me and two subs on the third grade team. This is fine because both are nice people and work hard and are very easy to get along with and work with. But here's the super weird part. And I don't know why I find it weird, because I should have expected it. All the kids come to me only.

So here's how this works. I'm at recess and there's a fight. The kids come to me. Someone wants to show me their poem. They come to me. A girl finds there is graffiti in the girls' restroom, she comes to me (even when she's in another class mind you).

Walking into the cafeteria I have a small glimpse of what it is to be Brad Pitt. They flock to me like I am a Jonas Brother. Like they are all premenstrual and I am a fountain of chocolate fondue. Like I am the last keg during March Madness. The last well in the Sahara Desert (We are in fact studying Mali right now).

"Can I go to the bathroom?"
"Can I take her place cleaning the tables?"
"Can I dump my trash?"
"Tyshaun was eating with his mouth open."
"Molly didn't eat her lunch."
"I have to go to the office."
"My tooth is loose. Want to see?" The answer to which is always no because while blood does not bother me, teeth I find preternaturally disgusting.

So then I get them in line and we get back to the rooms. And all is well. But it's not because the ones who are not with me start to get all feisty.

Monday was ok. Rocky and 1,000 questions from the sub, but ok. The one class ate the math teacher with fava beans and a nice Chianti. But we got through it. Lots of time out at recess.

Tuesday it accelerated. Now it was a whole collection of silent lunch sitters. But nothing too too out of control.

Wednesday there were some serious Come to Jesus Talks. This is when I take the child aside and explain how it's going to be and what will happen. There are often tears. Usually appologies. Always hugs and then promises.

Yeah. So much for the promises. Thursday two of my boys got in a fight and got suspended.

Today there was no snow (oh how I longed for a two hour delay!!) so the kids came in pissed and ready to rumble. They amped and amped until there was a problem in one class with an assistant and now I am down to me. And two subs. But mostly me. The pincushion of questions and nagging.

I say this with a certain level of bewilderment. Because in my room, there is calm. There is work, there is laughter. In my room we read together, we talk and we tell gross stories (because they love that stuff). But as soon as we leave the room it's like we've entered the Twilight Zone.

But I realized what was happening. Basically the deal is this. I am a single parent of 51. And then I come home 4 days a week to be a single parent of 1. And this is a little tiring. So I think it is time that I do what most single parents do and drink more heavily. And if that isn't what they do, I don't want to know so don't tell me!!!

What a long strange trip it's been

So I haven't been blogging, clearly. And here's why.

After the delightful pneumonia, the c-diff colitis and then the jammed finger (which, still in physical therapy for, oh and maybe will never be the same again), I just couldn't get any energy for anything. I mean it was like 7 o'clock every night and I could have gone straight to sleep and slept until the morning. And that's WITHOUT the medication I take every night to sleep. I mean I was TIRED.

Come to find out, that my high white blood count (still not normal, but since it's me does anyone expect normalcy and if you do, for shame!) is the result of my body slowly attacking and destroying my thyroid. For a while we had no idea what was going on. Finally I had a bunch of blood tests done to check for leukemia, auto immune disorders and thyroid condition. Well it turns out, the exhaustion, incredibly dry skin and hair, night sweats, loss of track of thought and temperature problems? Not female problems but thyroid problems! (and thankfully not cancer because that would have been a major bummer.)

So now I am on meds (for the rest of my life, lucky me!) and am somewhat back in action.

Inspired by the real, honest to God snow day we have today (actually we have like 7 inches. And it really is, not like a man's 7 which is only 4), I am returning to the screen to share some random things that have been in my mind occasionally when I wasn't sleeping over the last couple months.

Why do people call in sick all the time and claim it's a stomach flu? Just how much stomach flu can one person have. Why do you think it's believable to have stomach flu numerous times in a year. And if you do, then there is something wrong with your pipes. I've had c-diff colitis, cholera and norovirus. You don't get these things over and over all year round. You're a liar and you must think I'm stupid to believe you. Or you're a liar and *you're* stupid. Either way, there is stupidity.

Why is it when you order a winter coat at the end of the season, the season comes back so that you have snow but no winter coat. Is that irony? or is it just Fate fucking with you. Wait. That is irony.

Why do children misspell words and by accident have them full of things that as an adult makes you want to roll over laughing but you can't because who wants to explain that to a 9 year old? For example, we played a review game on Thursday and the kids had to write their answers on white boards and hold them up. I'd never seen so many misspellings including the word "cock." Cucumber was cockumer, cactus, cocktus, bedrock, bedcock. And not just those, a chart question yielded Norfuck instead of Norfolk, Vagina for Virginia. And this is not all! The first graders were collecting Pennies for Peace. And what did one sign say? Penis for Peace. Now everyone knows a penis never brought any peace unless it worked with batteries.

It's come to my attention that my family and I do not speak like normal people

This was brought home to me today when I went to exchange some foundation at Sephora. I asked the girl whose eyes were shockingly green (and I am not talking about the irises, but the eye lids and the surrounding ocular region) to help me find a liquid foundation. "Well," she said," what are you looking for in a foundation?" to which I replied "I am rendered helpless by the dazzling array of options."

Who speaks this way?

Well actually, Ricardo does. He was at Lenscrafters while I was at Sephora. He went to get his sunglasses realigned, there was just the slightest hint of a wobble to them. But he found them comfortable enough to say, "Let's declare victory. They're done." Then he had to buy some lens cleaner. The rednecky woman pointed him to the shelf and asked "What kind?" to which he replied, "Oh, do you have a vast array?"

Which begs the question as to why we speak this way, whether we can stop and if we should.

While waiting at the home medical supply store for some medical supplies, we learned the word sphygmomanometer. Then we spent the next 40 minutes coming up with sentences using sphygmomanometer. For example, "Excuse me nurse, but you will need the sphygomanometer with the greatest capacity if you want an accurate measure of my blood pressure." and "I seem to have misplaced my sphygmomanometer and so I am unable to take your blood pressure manually." as well as "Pardon me, Home Medical Supply Vendor, but do you have a child sized sphygmomanometer in blue?" and topped off by "My home blood pressure monitor obviates the need for a sphygmomanometer".

And it's so bad that our child has begun to speak bizarrely as well. He'll ask what beverage we would like for dinner. He uses the word "delectable" to describe black beans and refers to the plans of villains as diabolical.

Is there something wrong with us? I mean aside from the patently obvious? What are we doing to our child by continuing to speak in this insane manner?

how do right handed people make cakes left handed?

and more importantly, why would they? and why is this all lower case? well let me tell you.

after a solid month of illness, december was not finished with me yet. ricardo had gone to the mla in san francisco and the kid had gone to the north eastern city my mom lives in to spend some time with her. i drove to our nation's capital to retrieve my husband from the airport and spend some time with him child free in the land of free museums.

we had a lovely time. we saw an exhibit on pompeii which got me all excited to teach rome soon. we went to see valkyrie and once again were impressed by what real movie theaters are like. we tried to go to this chocolate themed restaurant called Co Co. it was too hip for us. i feel like these kinds of places thrive on being overwhelming to novices and hence gain the reputation for being chic when in fact it's just a way to justify charging $6 for a hot chocolate and $2.50 for a square of chocolate the size of your thumb nail.

which brings me back to hands.

after we got some b grade tapas, we headed to see some friends for new years. we had dinner with them, were dazzled by their to die for daughter who has the best chubby baby thighs ever, and enjoyed their company. we called it quits on the erly side and ricardo and i headed to our car.

i was wearing danskos. do you know these shoes? they are awesome for museuming because you can stand in them for hours and your feet never hurt and your back feels great. know what they suck for? anything but standing and especially stairs.

as i was heading down the concrete stairs, my ankle turned. i lost my footing and fell down four stairs crushing my pinky and smashing my back. i tested the finger to see if it bent and it did. so i focused on the ankle. foolish me. by the time we got to the hotel the pink was the size of my thumb. still thinking it was no biggie, i iced the ankle and the finger and went to bed. but boy did it ever hurt!!!

and here's why. the next morning it was a lumpy purple sausage of a thing and not only could i not bend it but even air hurt it. i made it to the doctor yesterday. it's badly broken at the knuckle. there is also a gap in the break probably from... you guessed it! the bending! i may need to go to the orthopedist because it may need to be reset.

oh and i was totally sober.

and it continues to feel like someone smashing it with a hammer over and over and over again until the vicadin kicks in and it just feels like stubbing your toe over and over.

and thus finished the heinous 2008. you know the phrase don't let the door hit you on the ass on the way out? yeah, 2008 hit me but good!