I hope that satisfies the latest RISTLTMB.
oh my god tell me i’m hot yahoo answers
Oh wait, I’m not yahoo answers.
So you’re not hot? Or will you take a hot vote by proxy?
Seriously… how do these things lead here?
There are many things MrBunny is good at- picking up, finding a place for crap (which is good because I so am not), cleaning out cars, pitching out things that have been sitting around for years (except that copy of Shogun he’s been carting around for god only knows how long when there is no chance in hell he is ever going to read it), stuff like that.
Then there are things he is not good at- folding clothes, putting away dishes back to where they came from, and going to the grocery store.
Oh the grocery store. Unlike the folding of the clothes and the putting the dishes back where they came from, I believe this is one of those “if I do it badly she won’t ask me to do it again” type of things. And I’m perfectly okay with it. Because I love going to the grocery store. Love it. And I absolutely hate it when he goes with me. I like taking my time going up and down each aisle. I enjoy checking out each type of apple available. I hate when he comes walking down the aisle with his arms full of crap that we don’t need. The grocery store is my happy place. (ask my parent’s about the night that we went to a movie and then they took me to see the new Schnucks- I am a sucker for a new pretty grocery store)
Enter my problem.
I can’t drive. I can’t walk. I hate those scooters (I’m a hazard enough on my own two feet, it never ends well if I motorize the process).
MrBunny has to go to the store by himself.
And he has to come back with what I ask for.
I’ve been working on the most detailed grocery list in the history of humankind for seemingly hours now.
Everything is broken down into aisles and whether or not it is store brand or name brand (because I think we all know that there are certain things you just don’t go store brand for… toilet paper).
It really is a sight to behold. I have taken every single neurosis I have and channeled it into this grocery list.
It belongs in a museum.
It belongs in the Smithsonian. It is that epic.
95% of it won’t be read.
At least I’m honest with myself.
Oh well, I suppose two weeks of store brand toilet paper won’t kill me.
I hope.
I don’t know if you’ve heard but I hurt my foot.
hahahahahhaa!
Anyways, I’m sort of proud of my injury. Now being a klutz with spacial issues this is not my first injury by any means. I’ve had the sprained ankles and the broken fingers and twelve stitches in my arm and the hamburger meat for a leg… but this might be the first one I’m proud of.
Why?
Because it’s an “overuse” injury. Meaning I got it because I used it. More than likely pushing myself to far and fast over the hills (however slight they may be) in my neighborhood while running/walking/jogging/trotting.
Guess how you can avoid an “overuse” injury? Sitting on the couch. That’s right bitches, I’m hurt because I got my ass off the couch.
And I’m proud of that.
It still hurts like hell but it is a good hurt. That’s a lie, it’s not a good hurt- more like a satisfying I did the right thing up until I kept going instead of listening to my foot when it first said stop and I said fuck you foot I’m going to keep going and bam that foot sure showed me but it’s all good because at least I was trying I guess kind of hurt.
Well I finally got some answers today.
Still have the tendonitis- not only in the peroneal tendon but the achilles as well. Fabulous.
But it get’s better! Remember the “damage” from the fabulous phone call on Friday?
Well it ended up being a tear in the peroneal tendon. Luckily it isn’ t a “bad” tear and it isn’t a full tear/rupture so all in all it was a pretty good day for me.
Unfortunately I brought MrBunny to the dr. with me (had a pretty strong feeling that I wasn’t going to be driving myself home from this one) and he and the dr. found themselves to be kindred spirits when it came to my situation. They formed a united front and proceeded to read me the riot act. It was absolutely ridiculous. Then I call my mom when I get to the car and she’s on their side! I mean come on. Her actual statement was “Why don’t you try something new- comply.” I’ll say this- if my husband and mother were to join forces more often I’d be frightened. They are very difficult to stare down.
So three months after I first noticed my foot starting to hurt I hobbled out of the dr.’s office today with not only a boot… but crutches as well!
Oh joy!
You better believe I’m rocking the zebra print.
Okay, I’m not.
But if I was so inclined to spend money to pimp out my crutches I’d probably go this route:
So that I’d have a constant reminder (outside of the annoying one known as MrBunny- it’s only been seven hours and already he’s maxed out his mother hen moments for the decade) that if I don’t stay off my foot and I don’t take the time now to get it healed then I will more than likely be shooting myself in the foot (pun totally intended) when it comes to enlisting. Because if I end up needed surgery it is going to be a long road back to 100% and my enlistment hopes will take a huge step back.
And when I think about it that way I’m able to make myself use the crutches. And that is not an easy task!
By the way- if you were so inclined to purchase decorations for the hobbled person in your life you can find them at LemonAid Crutches. Make sure you read the “about us” section, you’ll want to purchase a set whether you need it or not!
Hopefully this will be the beginning of the end of my whining posts about my foot. Probably not.
Here is a brief tutorial on how not to handle an interaction with a patient.
First: when a test is delivered to your office on a Monday afternoon, one would think it is well within reason that you would contact that patient (like you said you would) before Friday afternoon. It is rather unacceptable that the patient had to end up calling you to find out what was going on.
Secondly: When you talk to the patient and know that you do not have an appointment available until the following week at which time the patient will be discussing the test results with the dr. don’t leave the conversation with “your MRI showed tendonitis and damage”… click.
UNACCEPTABLE!
What exactly does “damage” mean? What are the repercussions? How soon can I get a second opinion? Why does my dog keep crawling under the bed?
No really… why does my dog keep crawling under the bed?
I know you’ve all been worried about the squirrel terrorists coming and attacking me in my home- but don’t be.
Because Ginger is on the job.
No joke every time I look outside (which I feel the need to do often given their escaping abilities) she is sitting at the base of some tree looking up just waiting for a squirrel to make it’s move.
Silly squirrels- she will kill you. I’ve seen it. Unfortunately.
RISTLTMB:
Tim Tebow sexy
Dog sex is okay (which is good because no joke I’ve gotten at least 50 hits from that search in the last few days- what the fuck is wrong with people?) and I’ll give a pass to ttc underwear… but Tim Tebow sexy?
Absolutely not.
Do not grace my little part of the internet with your presence again.
Seriously.
Remember back in the day when RISTLTMB first started? About how it was all about dog sex? People worried about being pregnant by their dog? *and all the time I spent trying to bleach that mental image from my brain is now wasted
How every day there was at least two or three random ass searches about dogs and sex and other freakish things?
Well now it is happening with underwear.
Much like the dog sex it’s starting off pretty innocuous. But I fear this will blow up in my face much like the previous experience.
The newest one is:
ttc day underwear
Ummmm.
Is there something I don’t know? Did I skip over an important part in the ttc manual? Sleep through that class in sex ed?
Did I miss the sale on “get pregnant now” undies? I wouldn’t be surprised, but, well, I am.
Seriously people. IT’S UNDERWEAR- NOT MAGIC.
Ugh.
Agghhhh!!!!!!!
I should have known something like this would happen.
I think I might have made it into the hallowed realms of googles “Safe Search Off”.
Today’s RISTLTMB (which is Random Internet Search That Led To My Blog for those new to these parts) is :
wife: without underwear
Not entirely sure why they needed the colon but it amuses me. Makes it look like some PBS documentary or something. A documentary that surely involves the neighbor or pizza boy.
On a completely unrelated note- my mom had no idea who Ron Jeremy was. I can understand not having personally experienced his body of work but to never have heard of him at all? Seemed a little odd. And then it got really awkward when she went to google him- I think everyone else at the table grabbed for her phone before she could. I can’t even imagine how that would have played out.
And a bonus RISTLTMB!
Ginger ttc pregnant
Should I break it to her that it’s a lost cause? Her ute departed years ago.
This is what my mother told me earlier.
Who is this woman?
How on earth did I come from the same gene pool as her?
Just a game?
JUST A GAME?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?
I must respectfully disagree lady.
Just a game, pshaw.
Two hours and counting.
I can barely contain my excitement. We’ve got some guys working at the house today (fix some boards outside and we are having benches put in the breakfast room and built in bookshelves put in the blue room- I’ll be sure to put up some pics when they are done.) and we were talking about the game.
I almost had to ask them to leave when one of the guys said he doesn’t think Alabama has a chance.
Blasphemy!
I will say that if they pull a Sugar Bowl then I (and the rest of the Alabama faithful) will be extremely disappointed. Hopefully Nick Saban has done a good job and not letting the “favored to win” mentality go their head.
Thursday night can not get here soon enough!
Would it kill you to put some clothes on? At least a towel? I know we are all women and have all the same parts but honestly I don’t want a very vivid glimpse into my distant future staring me right in the face.
I speak for all of us who don’t know where to look when we talk to you.
Love,
Amanda
This post contains gratuitous whining- you have been warned.
Remember that three weeks of limited mobility? Well 2.5 into it and nothing has improved. Actually one might say it is worse!
If my foot does not get it’s act together by Wednesday I fear this is in my future:
Here’s the bad thing about this- I drive a stick shift.
Not only do I drive a stick shift, but my husband is getting ready to go out of town for a week. Which means in order to get out of my house I will need to take this puppy off.
And for those who know me- the moment I can take something off, I will. Okay that came out much worse than I intended. What I meant was I’m horrible at leaving things alone. BandAid? Rip it off milliseconds after bleeding has stopped. Brace for a broken finger? It’s a distant memory about the time the swelling goes down and movement returns.
So it would be in my best interest that I not be able to take it off- well not take it off to drive somewhere, because it would just take that one time “oh I’ll just drive over to Blockbuster” which will turn into “oh I’ll just drive up to the library” and “I’ll just quick run to the store” and next thing I know it will be off more often than on. That would be very bad. I really want to be able to do the Disney Princess 5K but if I’m not able to start walking/running again soon then it will go the way of the Turkey Trot. And that would make me sad.
Ugh.
Does anyone have the number of their witch doctor? I could use one.
over on Fit Bride
RoadID is fabulous. No really- it is.
Before my pesky peroneal tendon decided to throw a bitch fit, I enjoyed running outside. And even though I am not a small target, and I had on a reflective vest and a blinking light, I’ve almost been run over twice. TWICE!!!
That coupled with my severe penicillin and sulfa allergies I decided to get the RoadID. I went with the version that has the online profile- mainly because allergic to pcn and sulfa wouldn’t fit on the tag. Now when I get run over (or my heart gives out, or I’m hatchet murdered) the emt or whoever will be able to call the number on my tag and find out where I live, my emergency contacts and my medical history.
I like RoadID so much that I actually gave two of my siblings gift cards for their own this Christmas. My brother has a tendency to run into trees while mountain biking (it’s a family trait) and my baby sister is training for a half marathon.
So if you don’t have one- go check out Fit Bride’s blog (she has three different ways to win I believe) and if you don’t win there go spend the 30 something bucks. It’s a small price to pay for peace of mind.
Well we made it.
Another holiday season is in the books and we came out alive.
I don’t talk about the whole infertility part of my life that often here because well, it sucks and who wants to a.)dwell on the suckage or 2.) read about the suckage. The answer is no one.
But this time of year is one in which you can not escape infertility. It’s there lurking around every corner. No matter how okay you are with your status in life, one Hallmark commercial showing the happy family with their 2.4 children is all it takes to completely unravel your resolve.
Some people are understanding- I have been extremely blessed in the fact that I have two parents that are this infertile woman’s dream come true. They give me my space and only rarely broach the subject. When I told them at Thanksgiving that I wasn’t coming home for Christmas, they were obviously disappointed but in the end I think understood why. It’s all about survival. Self preservation. Some are not- the coworker who, knowing of your situation, stands in front of you every day rubbing her belly or the friend who takes every chance they can to tell you how awesome it is to be a mom and you should totally try harder to get pregnant. They just suck.
But now a new year looms. Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas- all majorly kid centric holidays- have passed. New Year’s Eve really is the holiday for the infertile couple.
1.) We don’t have to start hunting down a babysitter in July. We can make plans as last minute as our heart desires. If we decide at 3:30 on December 31st that we want to go out, we won’t be leaving any children with that creepy guy who collects rabbit’s feet in mason jars on his porch. Granted- this chick and her husband don’t usually do anything but still, if we wanted to, we could.
2.) It’s a new year. There is not a single infertile couple that will deny that even in the most hopeless of situations, when January 1st rolls around they don’t once think, “this will be the year”. Getting pregnant is no longer my main focus but even I am guilty of saying to myself “surely this will be the year.” For all intents and purposes, I’ve got new goals and aspirations. Trying to move on to a new chapter in life- but there is still that little part of me.
So to all my infertile friends- first, congrats! We made it through the darkest days of the year. Now is our chance to celebrate. To that cousin who told you “you should be thankful you aren’t pregnant! I’m miserable!”- go ahead and gloat about the fact you aren’t paying $300 for a babysitter. To the acquittance who felt the need to involve you in every step of her pregnancy/birth- remind often that you will have nothing exacerbating your hangover in the morning.
And to that little voice of hope? Indulge it. Even if for just the one day. Imagine what it would be like- but when you do, take happiness in that image. I’ve had people ask me if I regretted being excited about ttc- planning out a nursery or thinking up names- if I wish I had known then what I know now… and honestly, not in the least bit.
Every one deserves to be excited about having a family. That bit of excitement might be the closest I ever get to the whole package. If that time of looking at strollers and cribs is all I get, then I’m glad I enjoyed it when I did.
So here’s to 2010! May it hold all your hopes and desires.
I am scarred for life.
So we went to Mass tonight and beforehand the choir sang some carols and other pieces.
Everything was going well. The music director started singing a song that was nice. I wasn’t really paying too close attention to the words (I have an almost OCD compulsion that I have to flip through the missalette before mass- without fail) when all over a sudden I heard something.
I leaned over to MrBunny and asked “Did he just say something about Mary’s breasts?”
“Yes he did.”
“Oh”
I started paying better attention and sure enough the words of the song were “Mary’s breasts fed the savior of the world”.
You read that correctly. Trust me. I know because by this point I was completely focused on the dude singing. I kept thinking that surely I had heard him wrong. But I hadn’t.
He was singing a song about Mary breastfeeding- I’m sure there was other points but that’s all I could hear at that point.
Now I have no problem with breastfeeding, and not usually that much of a prude but for some reason the image of Mary and her knockers was making me a little uncomfortable. I started getting a little squirmy. And of course MrBunny is a boy of the 13 year old variety so he just kept giggling.
After mass we went to dinner with our friends (we had gone to a Methodist service with them earlier and then they went to mass with us) I asked them if they had noticed the song about Mary’s boobs.
Of course they had.
And now of course they won’t let me forget it. All night they kept bringing up Mary’s funbags.
It’s sort of amusing because during the homily the priest (who has this Irish lilt that is about the most soothing thing you could ever hear… I need to have him make me a recording or something that I can play when I can’t sleep) was talking about how there are the smallest of memories that can hurtle us back to Christmases of the past.
I fear that this Christmas will now be forever remembered as the year that had “that song about the BVM’s boobies”.
I think I need to enlist the help of a professional.
that it would have been wiser to go the “Silent Monk” route with this piece.
Bird-day, and other little quirks 