Tag Archives: pain

Adventures In Exercise


spin classSpin class, anyone? I have discovered your dirty little secret you Spin Class Divas. I fully understand how you suck people into your little cult. I went in to the room a virgin, in more than one way, and came out not needing another cervical exam for at least the next 4 years. I am talking about the seats. The teeny tiny bike seats. How do men take Spin Class???

When I was a little kid, and had to sit on my cousin’s lap in the car because it was the 70’s and it was just what happened in the 70’s, she would always, ALWAYS whine that my boney butt was digging into her thighs. It’s true. I have a boney ass. When I sit on the floor, I can roll on my butt bones, it’s like my only party trick. So, setting my boney ass on a small, hard bike seat was a rude awakening. Andddd…off we go!

First of all, I had no idea that there was a lever that I could adjust to change the speed. I started on 12 and was totally dying 5 minutes in. After about 15 minutes on 12, my daughter showed me the lever that would change the speed. Brilliant!! But trying to get my boney ass comfortable was the real issue.

I could go really fast but my butt!! I could stand up but the seat was angled so that I am pretty sure I won’t need a colorectal screening this year. And then there is the whole foot jail. Your feet go into these foot muzzles and that is a blessing and a curse. Like, if you forget your feet are being held captive and try to step down to rest, you will wind up falling sideways into the wall, which draws the exact amount of attention that no one wants. Especially from the super hot eunuch 3 bikes over…considering the pain I am in, there is no way he can be anatomically correct.

The lights are off, the music is loud, my thighs are on fire, I have NO idea what the numbers on the screen mean and the instructor keeps saying we should shift or stand or sit or that the mountain climb is coming up…I don’t know what all that means so I just keep pedaling thinking that the class is only 45 minutes. By minute 44, I am riding side saddle, dripping sweat into my eyes which makes it look like I am crying and trying so hard to balance in my foot prisons so I can take a sip of water.

I was consoling myself with the fact there would only be 1 more minute of this hell and then I can ask the instructor to get a shoe horn to help me get this bike seat out of my ass. Wrong. We blow by the 45 minute mark and she is saying something about “sprints”. I was so confused I started pedaling backwards…

Overall, it was fun…I rode a whole 15 miles in an hour. I used to ride 30 miles in like 15 minutes when I was a kid. The motivation was different but ya know… I used to ride my bike every single day. And if I had an uncomfortable seat, my Gramp would change it for me…I have a feeling I will be doing a walk of shame everywhere I go tomorrow and I know I am engaged to my bike. Haven’t felt this close to an inanimate object since that massage chair at the mani/pedi place in the mall.

Spin Class = Work Out or Make Out?

Dear Diary, It’s A Vlog!


It’s pretty self explanatory. I love crafting, Martha Stewart and all things sparkly. I am just really, really bad at it. I grew up in the 80’s which was the crafting decade. We latch hooked and cross stitched and barrette braided and friendship pinned and shrinky dinked our childhoods away. Some of us were better at it than others. I am one of the others but I have never accepted defeat. In the land before Joann Fabrics and Michaels and A.C.Moore, crafting was a real treat. Now it has become a way to make a living for many…or in my case, a way to keep myself entertained. Enjoy my incompetence!!!!


Dear Diary, My Friends Are Jealous


No, seriously, they are. Which I think is stupid but hey…I guess since they know all of the intimate details of my life they must feel like they are lacking or something. Anyway, let me tell you about my week…so I can make the rest of you feel jealous…Started out with my desk top dying. I know I know, first world probs…whatev. Put it in context. The context is I LIVE IN A FIRST WORLD COUNTRY. Believe me, if I was in West Africa this whole blog would be about Ebola, if I was in the Middle East it would be all about war and if I was in Scotland, it would be about how stupid my countrymen are. But I live here so…

Follow up the desk top dying with the bathroom sink deciding that it wanted new pipes. It didn’t consult with me before it made this decision, just went ahead and started leaking. So, the plumber came and cut away part of my kitchen ceiling, told me there was some sort of nest near the pipes and he would be back next week. Let’s keep track…that’s a dead computer, a leaking bathroom sink necessitating removal of the kitchen ceiling and discovery of a nest that has now been disturbed and is directly above the hole. So far so good. Jealous yet? Oh, did I mention that my debit card number was stolen and my checking account cleaned out? Yes well, what can I say? I’m just luckier than you..

I had a few days respite. Mainly because I had no money. I just sat in my kitchen, below the hole, with a shotgun awaitin fer that dern animal to show it’s furry little face. Ok, I’m exaggerating. I didn’t have a shot gun. I had a tennis racket. And iffen that animal pokes it’s head outta that there hole I’ma whoop it square inatween it’s eyes and cook it fer dinner. That part I am serious about. We’re hungry.

Next up, I decided to make dinner. I decided on potatoes. I took out my mandolin and played the theme from Deliverance. Just kidding. A mandolin is a kitchen aid that slices stuff with a wicked sharp blade. It is tilted at an angle and you slide whatever it is you need sliced back and forth and it makes uniform slices. It comes with this handy little tool that stabs the vegetable so that your hands stay safe and far away from the very sharp blade. But I rarely use the handy little tool. Because, duh. So, I was sliding the potato and it was slicing nicely and then….the potato slipped.

And I sliced off a chunk of my middle finger. Now, I have done things like this before so I walked over to the sink to run my finger under water and I saw bone. Yup. You’re turning green with jealousy now aren’t you? So, I scream for my kid who takes her time because she think I am yelling for her because the dog pooped or something and she is going to have to clean it up. Now there I stand with a good chunk of my finger missing, blood everywhere and the kid just meandering down the stairs la tee da….I scream ” GET THE DOG WE HAVE TO GO TO THE EMERGENCY ROOM NOW!” I swear I have never seen a teenager move so fast. She chased the dog into his crate and came running back. I was already in the car. As she came out the door it occurred to me that I might need the missing chunk which was laying somewhere in the pile of potato slices.

I yelled for my kid to find the chunk of finger in case it needed to be reattached and grab a Coke out of the fridge as I hadn’t eaten all day and I was feeling a little woosey and the ER is about 25 minutes away. She didn’t even question it. Just turned around, found my finger chunk, grabbed a Coke and ran to the car. What followed was 25 minutes of me driving, singing, swearing and laughing at the absurdity of it all. My kid sat in the passenger seat, supporting my arm so my finger stayed above my head and watching me for any signs that I might be passing out from loss of blood.

We got to the ER and waited. It wasn’t crowded. Just 2 people ahead of me. The triage nurse asked me all of the usual questions and then didn’t believe me when I said I have never had a surgery. No idea why she didn’t believe me but she sat there stunned and then said “Are you sure?” Um…yeah…pretty sure I would remember having a surgery or at least someone would have told me or I would have had a scar or…wait….maybe I HAVE had a surgery…maybe this nurse who I have never met before in my life is right…I mean, she IS a nurse and I am just some lady with a chopped off finger chunk, a dead computer, a leaking bathroom and some sort of critter living in my ceiling hole. What do I know? Maybe she was just jealous.They finally took me back to the exam room and the nurse said something no one wants to hear when going into an ER ” It’s a little messy in here”. The Doctor came in. He was very funny. He looked at the finger chunk my kid had so thoughtfully brought along and held the whole time because it grossed me out to even think about it. He said we could make a necklace out of it if we wanted but it wasn’t going back where it came from. He ripped off the paper towel and made my kid look at my wound as he said ” YOU should have been slicing the potatoes!” Then he bandaged me up while I sat there making ugly faces and singing “This is the grossest thing that has ever happened to me and I am so grossed out cause this is gross gross me out the door grossey gross gross…” It was a pretty good song.

The Doctor asked me all the usual questions : chest pain? no. throat pain? no. diabetus? no. allergies? no. surgery? no. And he paused…surgery? no. None? no. Ever? no…What the heck? Maybe I need surgery for something? I mean, now that you mention it, my gallbladder has been feeling sort of off now and then…will that make my finger stop hurting? Medical professionals are weird.

He left. We sat there waiting for the nurse to come back to see if I had changed my mind about having had surgery in the past. I stuck by my original answer of no, no surgeries and they let me go. I left my finger chunk on the tray in case they needed it for someone else. I’m generous like that.

So, my darling friends, if you weren’t jealous of my fabulous life before I know you are now. Also, I typed this whole post with just my left hand. It took HOURS. All so you can envy me. You want to be me. And here are some pictures for you to drool over…

In the waiting room...holding the finger chunk in what shall hence forth be referred to as my Good Hand

In the waiting room…holding the finger chunk in what shall hence forth be referred to as my Good Hand

The Finger Chunk

The Finger Chunk

Lookit ma finger!!!!

Lookit ma finger!!!!

No for real, this face makes my finger feel better

No for real, this face makes my finger feel better

This is my

This is my “does this bandage make my finger look fat” face…

Ask me if I have had surgery in the past again...go ahead...ASK ME.

Ask me if I have had surgery in the past again…go ahead…ASK ME.

Dear Diary, So, This Is What A Concussion Feels Like


Yesterday I decided that I could no longer live with the bathroom looking like something that was inside a crackhouse. I had been planning for months, ok, years, to fix it up. It needed a through cleaning, paint, and a good talking to. My head is really starting to hurt so I am going to summarize.

Painted all day yesterday. The walls and the floor. Since I am not a painter by trade, it went like this : Paint the walls, get some on the floor, paint the floor, get some on the wall, paint the wall,  get some on the floor, paint the floor, gets some on the wall….you get the idea. I made the kids use the neighbor’s toilet because I was pretty sure they would somehow track paint onto the carpeting in the hallway…oh, no, that would be MY job…

Today, I finished up the painting. I painted a small chest of drawers that we use as a medicine cabinet. That of course involved repainting the floor, then the wall, then the floor, then the wall, then the floor, then stepped in the wet paint on the floor, laughed at myself and fell forward, grabbed the freshly painted wall to steady myself, repainted the floor, repainted the wall, repainted the floor…

Sat down for a bit to regroup. Decided to shower. Got out of the shower and instead of flipping my hair toward the door (which is now freshly painted) I decided to flip it towards the tub, so the water would fling off of my hair and into the tub thereby not getting water spots on any of the newly painted surfaces. I toss my head back, arch my shoulders (you see where this is headed don’t you?) and with a sudden burst of energy that I didn’t realize I still had in me, I flipped my entire upper body forward as hard as I could and smashed my head right on the edge of the tub. Hard. Real hard.

My first thought was “Oh dear Lord please don’t let me pass out naked” my second thought was “Oh My God I wish I could have watched me do that” and I yelled “HOLY CRAP THAT HURT!” and then I laughed like a lunatic because it was so funny! Then , I stopped and tried to remember what I was thinking when I decided to smash my head as hard as I could on the edge of the tub…was I thinking bad thoughts of someone? Was I thinking bad thoughts of myself? Growing up when I would bite my tongue or stub my toe my great grandma would say “Well, that’s what you get!” I would say “For WHAT? I wasn’t DOING anything wrong!” And she would say ” You might not have been doing anything wrong right this minute but I am sure you have done something wrong and so….THAT’S what you get!” That logic has stayed with me…

I wrap up in a towel, stumble out of the bathroom and ask my youngest to go get me an ice pack out of the freezer. She comes back with a hard frozen brick one that goes in the cooler. I said “How about a soft one?” She goes back down and comes up with a soft ice pack that isn’t cold… I say “Ok, how about ice cubes in a plastic bag?” She comes back with 3 ice cubes, because that is how many were in the ice tray, because no one ever fills up the ice trays, wrapped in some saran wrap because we are out of plastic bags. I say thank you and here I sit, in my towel with three ice cubes melting on my head and dripping down my forehead.  Cause That’s what I get.



Dear Diary, It’s A Three Shower Kind Of Day

See that steaming hot pot of water? Dump that on my foot. Good thinkin! But first, lemme go step on a rusty nail...I'm a fun gal.

See that steaming hot pot of water? Dump that on my foot. Good thinkin! But first, lemme go step on a rusty nail…I’m a fun gal.

Today on the continuing saga that is my life, I decided I would step on a rusty nail. Just because I have never done that before! A few weeks ago TWO black cats ran across the street in front of my car. And at the time I chose to believe that it was a sign of good luck. Because the Chinese believe black cats are good luck. I’m not Chinese. Just to be safe, I counted bouncing two checks and forgetting about the kid’s dentist appointment as my “black cat bad luck” . I was wrong. As I usually am. Ask my mother, she’ll tell you. Anyway, I wasn’t going to sit around waiting for the other shoe to drop. Although, in retrospect, I should have waited because then I would have had better shoes on when I decided to step on a rusty nail. C’est La Vie.

Here’s how today unfolded…I woke up, usual stuff, took the dog to the dog park. Watched him sniff butts and pee on stuff until it started to rain. Drove the 40 minutes home with a wet dog in the back seat. Put him in his crate and went to Hobby Lobby. I know, I know, we are not supposed to shop at Hobby Lobby. It is a bad place because they want to keep their female employees barefoot and pregnant. BUT they have such FUN STUFF!!!! I mean, honest to Jesus, their isle  of old fashion tin signs has GOT to be modeled after Heaven. So, I am a trader to my sex, my beliefs, my political party and the entire Woman’s Movement from 1912 till today. But God is probably cool with me and I am going to vote for Hillary regardless. Then, to compound my political incorrectness, I went to Walmart. Confessing this probably just got me kicked out of the club. But Walmart has cheap play sand (most likely it is ground up bones of the old people who died from lack of health care while working as greeters).

Came home with my cool ass vintage looking sign and 4 bags of ground up old people bones and got busy! I gingerly tip toed, in my flip flops, to the junky side of the old garage to fix the window that was crooked. I was armed with my hammer and two nails I found on the gardening bench in the shed. Because the good nails are in the basement and that would mean walking literally 1/2 of an acre and then I would be in the house so I would have no excuse to not change into my sneakers.You see my logic right? I fixed the window and literally said out loud “I hope I don’t step on a rusty nail!”, turned around, took one step, right onto a rusty nail. Nailed my foot to a board that had a rusty nail sticking straight up. And that is what I get for shopping at Hobby Lobby. I’m sure there is some Jesus/nail/ foot connection but in that moment, there was just pain. And shock. So, I used my other foot to hold the wood down while I lifted up the nailed in foot.

I hobbled out saying out loud ” I can’t believe that just happened” and I called the doctor. Because my mom is mad at me and the doctor isn’t (or at least I don’t think the doctor is? ) The doctor said I needed to come right in for a tetanus shot. She wasn’t just kidding! I swear my jaw started to lock up as I was speaking to her! It’s like lava, tornadoes and lock jaw were the biggest fears of my childhood. I drove straight over and they gave me a shot.

Came home, limped into the house, started dinner using the brand new grill! It has a side burner where I can make the salt potatoes! After dinner, the kids cleaned up and I decided that I could just toss the salt potato water on the lawn. Or…I could dump the still very HOT salt potato water right on my foot with the puncture wound. Option two sounds about right. Scalded my foot. That’s fun. Now I have lock jaw, a puncture wound and a third degree burn all on the same foot. I wonder if I become Chinese my luck would change? This is putting a real dent in my latest pedicure obsession. Life is so difficult sometimes…I blame Obama…and Hobby Lobby and the Chinese.

Look at it. LOOK. AT. IT!!!!!

Look at it. LOOK. AT. IT!!!!!




Dear Diary, It’s A Lovely day In The Neighborhood

This is why I can't pay my bills.

This is why I can’t pay my bills.

Except that it is 11 degrees, the snow has melted to reveal the massive amounts of dog poop on my front walk and I jammed my ring finger toe on the step stool in the bathroom. Let’s begin with the 11 degrees thing…

It’s March. It’s the end of March. This should be sweatshirt weather. Instead, we are still hunting for hats and mittens. One of the perks of living where I live is the changing seasons. So, when winter decides to not leave when it is supposed to we feel jipped. Or maybe righteously pissed off is a better phrase. But it has been sunny! Which has helped all the snow to melt. Which means the dog poop is all exposed.

See, it has been so cold that my kid has been just opening the front door and letting the dog do his thing while she stands inside. So, “his things” are all over my front walk. This was a non issue when we had snow covering it up. I have to wonder about the food I feed this dog. I feed him the higher end stuff that supposedly has no chemicals or fillers… then why the hell doesn’t his poop disintegrate? If the sun is strong enough to melt the snow and ice, I have to conclude that it should be warm enough to melt the poop.

The mail lady left a note in my box that I had to go to the post office to get the mail because the front walk wasn’t shoveled. I think that is just a nice way of telling me she doesn’t want to walk through the mine field of  dog turds. I don’t blame her. I also am not going to the post office to get my mail because, why bother? I’m not going to make an effort to go collect bills and collection agency notices and bounced check alerts. It’s just depressing.

So, let’s look at this in the positive. It’s March and 11 degrees which means I don’t have to look at my fat arms in a tank top for at least another two months and the dog poop has successfully kept all of my bills at bay! Really, what do I have to complain about? Nothing!

Except my toe. How does it happen that you see the step stool, you are walking in what you deem (at 41 years of age, having at least 40 years of walking experience) a reasonable distance from the step stool and yet you pick up your foot, sort of lift it up behind you and then SLAM it into the stool you are looking RIGHT AT. How does that happen? Of course it is the most pain I have ever experience in my life including child birth and the canker sore.

Now I am not one of those high drama people like my bff who sounds like she just discovered a dead body when she stubs her toe. No, I am more of an immediately violent person. I want to smack someone and I spill swear words that even I have never heard before. Then I walk it off, laughing because I don’t want to cry. What the hell is that about? It’s like biting my tongue. I have had the same tongue in the same place for 41 years. How the hell can I accidentally bite it. And bite it so hard it bleeds. Or missing the last step of the staircase in the house where you have lived for 8 years. Same amount of stairs, nothing has moved and at least once a month I just forget that there is that last step and give myself a minor heart attack.

All in all, I suppose it’s not a horrible day. Then again, it’s only mid-afternoon.

Sometimes I get water up my nose in the shower through my eye. That is never as fun as it sounds like it would be.

This is what the first day of spring looked like here. It looks like bullshit to me.

This is what the first day of spring looked like here. It looks like bullshit to me.

Dear Diary, Kiss Today Goodbye

Yeah so I was driving thru Middle Earth yesterday and came across this guy...He actually tried to get in my car. I was all "Dude! This ain't Disney"

Yeah so I was driving thru Middle Earth yesterday and came across this guy…He actually tried to get in my car. I was all “Dude! This ain’t Disney”

I would but I can’t. Because I have the worst canker sore in the history of canker sores. I can’t smile, I can’t really talk and just sitting here, breathing, makes my eyes water. My cheek is swollen…like, you can SEE it. That’s bad don’t you agree? I’d show it to you (because it is my proven theory that by showing as many people as you can your canker sore makes it hurt less) but it hurts so bad I think the flash from the camera might make me cry. It’s shooting pain up my nose and down my throat. I’m probably not going to make it through the night. But I texted my bff my last will and testament so I’m ready to go. Death by canker sore. I never would have guessed.

I don’t know what else I can tell you. Saw a couple of movies before this canker sore incapacitated me…They sucked eggs. I drove over 300 miles yesterday and literally didn’t GO anywhere. We switched from skim milk to whole organic milk. So far, I just feel fatter not healthier. Blah, blah, blah…dog, kids, car, sleep. Just so you know, it was actually High Drama Weekend but we won’t get into that right now…because my canker sore hurts so bad.

Don’t forget, turn the clocks around next weekend and MY CANKER SORE IS OUTRAGEOUS.

I used to not care about our hometown sports teams, but right now, I hate them. But they shouldn’t take it personally and I am sure I will get over it.

I'm at the age where I can wear fan tee shirts without embarrassment...or with less embarrassment...ok, I was only NOT embarrassed until I left the house.

I’m at the age where I can wear fan tee shirts without embarrassment…or with less embarrassment…ok, I was only NOT embarrassed until I left the house.