Tag: funny

Petite Ears

Published on by cmglife

I am sitting in bed writing at the moment.  I write listening to music with my earphones in.  I’m talking the ear buds, not the $200 customized dj headphones (I wouldn’t be caught dead in them anyway; I never wear ear muffs either).  I must have unusually small ears because ear buds are never comfortable. If I’m wearing the earphones while I’m cleaning which I always do (it keeps my mind off it) they are constantly falling out.   I am forever readjusting, fiddling or putting them back in.

Then there is the fact that they get caught on everything while I’m walking around the house.  The cord gets caught on the dishwasher rack mostly.   Sometimes I don’t realize I’m wearing them and do something stupid like change my shirt.  Let me tell you it’s a drag trying to untangle earphones out of the sleeves of your shirt.

Just the general sudden hand movements that drag the earphones quickly and violently from one’s ear.  That just plain hurts and kind of pisses me off because I am usually concentrating on some important thought and that messes up my flow.

Have you ever been zapped by static while wearing earphones?  Boy, that’s no fun.  I suffer enough brain zapps before my medicine kicks in the morning thank you very much.

Ramblings

Published on by cmglife

I tend to ramble just a bit; I’ve been this way all my life, blurting out anything that is on my mind.  I am actually a lot better at using a filter than I used to be so I don’t have as many of these stories as I used to.  It’s one thing doing it with family, but it is totally embarrassing when you start doing it to other random people in your life.

I am very good friends with two of my office co-workers.  The other day we were walking through the halls on some important mission when out of the blue…

Me:        So, do you think I’m too old for a side ponytail?

They both looked at me as if I’d asked them for a ménage trio.

Them:   Why?

Me:        Well, Allison gave me one last night, I liked it, she wears one and she is eleven.  Plus, I don’t want to be matchy matchy with her.

I still haven’t had the nerve to actually go out in public with one yet.  I did and then changed my mind in the car.  That really hurt. Have you ever tried to drag a side ponytail over to the middle again?  You get all those little hairs caught in the hair tie and there’s nothing to be done except pull them and feel the pain.

Skinny Bitch

Published on by cmglife

My dad told me recently that I am becoming a little cantankerous.  You know, speaking my mind, lashing out.  He thinks it might be because I work in a middle school and have to deal with all kinds of situations and it has caused me to develop an itchy trigger finger.  He may be right about that, but I don’t think so.

I think I’m becoming a skinny bitch.

Skinny bitches are one’s with the attitude because they can fit into a pair of jeans that are at least 20 years younger than they should be wearing.  That may not be the exact definition.

My husband commented that my new jeans are “really low” (low rise).  He can’t get past the fact that I am not wearing 80’s mom jeans.  Though these may be pushing it, I am thrilled I can actually wear them.

I’ve developed a weird body builder quirk.  I’m not by any stretch of the imagination saying that I am a body builder I am just acting like one, I guess.  This is just getting weirder and weirder, maybe it’s the steroids.

If there is someone acting like they are skeptical of my workouts (real or imagined I’m not sure) I’ll ask them to feel my bicep. And then I say, “And I’m not even flexing!”

Oh God, now that I’ve actually written this down I realize how insane I am acting. And yet still surprised!

Epic Spills

Published on by cmglife

During my life I have experienced many detrimental spills.

“Oh my God!” You exclaim,”What a sorry uneventful life you must have endured to remember spills!”

Well, my memories are scattered at best.  I don’t have any idea why I can remember the smell of a certain event and my thought pattern during it, but cannot recall going to a party two weeks ago.  It is very frustrating to say the least.  I feel dumb a lot of the time.

With my co-workers and friends I can usually get away with them believing I do remember the event I was a key player in.  I have to be careful not to say “I don’t remember” too often.  When I do have to say it, I can only allow them to give me a limited number of details. After it looks like I might have a grasp on the forgotten event, I lie and agree that I do indeed remember.  It’s a miracle that I’ve made it so far in life with my mask still in place.

Crazy never stops when you are saddled with a history of Bipolar II.  It feels like my memory capacity has been eaten away by some sort of casuistic chemical caused by this condition.

Hey, wait a minute! How did I get so side tracked from my lifetime of epic spills?

The first one I can remember when I was four in England.  Back then they let small children go down to the shops and buy loaves of bread.  I took a loaf from the shelf, grabbing the wrong end.  All of the bread fell out onto the floor.  The shop people were very nice about it but, that was it for me.  I didn’t shop again until I was six!

On Saturday mornings when I was a little older my sister and I would go to the local department store to hang around and get items for my mom.  Hair color was on the list on this particular Saturday.  In a strange coincidence the bottom of that box also gave out and the dark brown hair dye bottle hit the ground and shattered!  Mortified is the best way to explain my eight year old feelings.

26 years ago Emily spilled red artificial colored juice on the carpet that cost me my deposit on an apartment.

While visiting home one summer my husband fell asleep with a very dark beer on a futon. We had to shamefully explain what happened to my dad.  I don’t remember replacing it.  Did we?  No memory of that…means nothing.

Tristan kicked my glass of red wine on our new $1300 pillow top mattress.  Of course, it was my side.  To this day I still sleep on a brown stained corner.

Last year my phone was plugged into the truck and as I reached to answer it I caught a very full Starbucks with the cord and spilled an entire Grande vanilla late on me, the seat and the floor of John’s new truck. Yes, the same one as in the aforementioned parking garage.

This morning Allison was rolling around on the floor doing something flexible with her legs in the air and my terminator like vision zoomed in on a half-filled glass of wine across the room on a side table.

“Watch that glass!” I yelled and finally avoided another epic spill.

A Little Taste of Crazy

Published on by cmglife

Lately I’ve been feeling a little manic.

I don’t seem to have much of problem at home because everyone there is more used to the “old” me than the recently “normal” and medicated me. In my old manic state I would be solving the world’s problems, finishing the laundry and writing the next great American Novel all in an afternoon.

It’s at work around other people that I notice I’m beginning to interrupt and be the queen of the one-liners (because I am so funny).

The other day, our Campus Monitor, Mark was helping me find my daughter’s phone that had been lost in the grass during lunch.  Did I mention that Allison goes to the same school I work at now?  I know, too bad for my blog, no more charter school escapades.

“Where was the last time you saw it? “I asked.

“I put in in my pocket at lunch.  I think it fell out when I was rolling down the hill.” Eleven year olds…what are you going to do?  One minute they are too cool to be seen with you getting out of your car and the next minute they are rolling down hills at lunch.

Next thing Mark said he found it and held it up.  I was so excited or manic that I sort of walked/skipped over to him and said,” Oh, I could just kiss you!”

As soon as I said it, I regretted it.  What? A kiss?  What the hell?  I mean I’m glad I didn’t do it (I’m not that crazy) but why did I say that in the first place?  Well, because in a manic state, either I can’t help myself or I am just one step ahead of fantasy.  A split second between thinking something in the head (which we all do) and not saying/doing it.  That gap is breached in my manic state quite regularly unless I am really focused.  When something happened like today, I used to promise myself that I would “hold it together” the next day.  That would last about an hour or so until I forgot and got comfortable making a “one- liner” jokes with each person that came by my desk.

At home it’s just a matter of me having a cutting edge opinion on everything from a pair of shoes to the contestants on the Voice.  All of a sudden I become an expert fashion designer and a vocal coach.

The mania is not quite as intense as it used to be and I’m not experiencing the depression. I am enjoying the high that I haven’t had in a few years since the medication.

I’ve mentioned this to my sister and asked her to keep track of this mood and let me know if she notices anything disturbing.  She said, “Great, I can’t wait to go on this roller coaster ride with you.” She says it feels like I’m playing with fire.

I’ll mention it all to my doctor, but I’m not sure if it will make a difference.  I’m still at the wait and see stage. It’s a difficult place to be in.  I want to do the right thing, but on the other hand I have been level for so long that a taste of crazy is hard to resist.  Can I have my cake and eat it too?  Something tells me no.

Romance is Not Dead: It’s Just Hacking up a Lung

Published on by cmglife

The other night John was supposed to be home early(ish) so we could go out for a drink.

He called around 8 to say he wouldn’t be home until 9 and then called at 9 to say he wouldn’t be home until around 10. That was alright, I said I would be here anyway, but it was too late to go out. I put Allison to bed and Tristan went downstairs to watch a movie or something.

John came home shortly after 10 and I was all ready for bed sitting there watching Survivor and drinking a Mike’s Hard Lemonade. I love them, it is more like a dessert than a drink so since I am watching my calories, it is better to drink than to eat. Even though they say you shouldn’t drink your calories, I don’t care, I just love a Mikes’ Hard Lemonade at the end of the day. As you can see why I am still needing to lose that 10 lbs., my body is carrying around 10 lbs. of rationalized fat!

John seemed to be in a better mood than the situation warranted. He came into the room with a grin on his face and a black plastic bag. For some reason I thought it was maybe a stuffed raccoon at first, I don’t know why. Well, yes, I guess I do know why. He’s done this before, but with pheasant tails, an old stole made out of ferrets (and their faces), a long horn’s skull and just a bunch of various pieces of fur. They weren’t for me personally and I wasn’t sure this was either until he said with a grin, “I’ve got something for you”.

He began the story, when a story begins “I was in a bar in Cheyenne” the rest can’t be good. There is always a story, it can’t be “I picked something nice up for you”.

John says, “I was in a bar and these ladies were having a lingerie sale”.

“In the bar?” I say. He is very sensitive so I have to choose my words and tone carefully.

He laughs pulling out a black and purple corset thing with big bows on the hips.

I’m having a really hard time hiding my dismay, because I can smell it from where I am sitting, and, of course, I can see it. It has been in a bar for god knows how many hours and obviously the bar didn’t have a “no smoking ban”!

“I love it!” he says.

“Then why don’t YOU wear it?” I think.

“I’m going to have to wash it before I can wear it you know.”

“No you don’t, I don’t mind”, I think at this point his mind is seriously on that old one way track, and I have to put my foot down.

“No, I really have to wash it”

“How are you going to wash it?,” he asks.

“I suppose on the delicate cycle on cold.”

“No, I mean so the kids won’t see it.”

He thinks that Tristan is more involved in our laundry than he really is and Allison is pretty much oblivious to almost anything that is not hers. Needless to say I will not be setting the alarm for 2 am to do a clandestine delicate laundry run.

Parknaphobia – JUSTIFIED!

Published on by cmglife

I hope you read my blog entry about my parknaphobia a few months back.  I hope when you read it you believed I had some basis for this phobia and it was not just made up or the paranoid delusions of a crazy person.

Well, if you did think I was crazy (wouldn’t blame you a bit) I have been vindicated because once again I have been involved in a parking incident.

I was at friend’s house where there was a party going on next door parking was limited on the street.   As I have said, if I am in a confident mood I can parallel park with ease.  This time I was and parallel parked. I stayed with my friend for awhile and when I got to my car it was completely blocked in by a couple of very large pick up trucks.

I walked up to my car and past a few men crowded around a little hibachi grill fire laughing and speaking in Spanish.   As I got to my car I realized there were a few beer cans on my back bumper.  I smiled and tried to be at ease, you know casual and “fun”.

Still smiling, I motioned to the cans and said, “Can I have one?”

Not speaking English, they stared at me blankly and smiled removing the cans.  So my little attempt to sound cool and non-nonchalant failed miserably, again.

I got in my car and began to back up. One of the men signaled to me with the universal hand waiving that he would help me pull out.  As I went forward, I cranked the wheel and then backward about six inches and he would use the universal downward fist motion for me to stop.  I know this language because my husband uses “Ho!” and his father uses “Whoa” and I use “Stop” (go figure).

I was fully concentrating on the gentleman’s fist.  I went backward, stop and forward stop about six times before something caught my eye; it was a man I could see in my side view mirror that I was getting awfully close to with my back bumper.  While I was noticing this, of course, I was not looking at the fist and backed into the pick up behind me!  God, those damn split seconds!!!

This then roused all the men to yell the universal “Ohhhh!”  That exclamation has no language barriers.

The man waived me off like it was no big deal.  I was tempted to peel out of there without checking for damage, but what kind of person would I be then?  I did get out and look.  My fiberglass bumper was a mere graze to that diesel’s steel winch.

I thanked the man and said goodbye.  Then I peeled off vowing never to park again!!

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Counting Shoes – Follow Up

Published on by cmglife

My sister said I should do a follow up to the post a few weeks ago, “Counting Shoes”. She said my level of gullibility and naivete may have just been more than anyone, especially her, could stomach.

Without going into too much detail of why the rules have recently changed in our house, they have.

“All girlfriends must be gone from the residence by the time parents are in bed. “

After much thought I believe that should do it. So far so good, I have been doing “bed checks” every night, just like the old days. I used to tuck Tristan in and give him a good night kiss. No way will that happen anymore, but hopefully the new rule will keep him just as safe. At home in bed…alone!

Idea of the Week: Sparkling My Wine

Published on by cmglife

My cousin in England served me a sparkling wine last year and after more bottles than I am willing to admit to sampling, I have yet to find something comparable in this country.  That’s when I came up with an idea that I could sparkle my own wine.

I used to drink wine mixed with Sprite because I breastfed my youngest daughter for so long that I had to start drinking!  I figured that diluted wine would be the safest bet.  This is TMI isn’t it?  Still, adding Sprite to wine wasn’t exactly the thing I was looking for.

Last night I was at my sister’s.   I had bought her a Soda Stream last year for Christmas.  My sister carbonized some plain water and added it to my wine…it was delicious.  I heard recently, that if you drink equal amounts of water with your alcohol you won’t get a hangover because you won’t get dehydrated.  Well, I thought maybe if I added “sparkling” water to my alcohol it would kill two birds with one stone (I’m always looking for ways to streamline my drinking). Still, adding sparkling water to my wine wasn’t the thing I was looking for.

I had read an article called “Going Rouge with my Soda Machine”.  It was like it was written for me.  The author had tried sparkling his lemonade and it didn’t work out so well, something about a “mess”.  He said the Soda Machine manual forbids using anything except plain water.

I’m still going to try to Soda Stream the wine straight, warning or not.  Two reasons;  I want to and I’m no longer breast feeding anyone.

10 Reasons to Sleep Alone

Published on by cmglife

I’ve been married now for 20 years.  You don’t have to be married for 20 years or married at all if that is your preference.  Here are my pet peeves when sleeping with someone.  I mean really sleeping, not having sex or anything. 

1.     “Leg zaps” I like to call them.  Restless leg syndrome is what the experts call them.

2.     Sleeping diagonally. 

3.     Being “dead weight” and being too small, weak and tired to move your partner no matter how much lower body strength you can muster with both feet against the back of the person that is intruding on your personal sleep space.

4.     Snoring, enough said.

5.     Leaving the TV on and falling asleep on the remote. 

             Me:     “Give me the remote before you fall asleep.”

             Him:   “Oh, I’ll turn it off before I fall asleep.”

             Me:    “Yeah, and I just crawled out from under a rock.”

6.     Being hit in the face with a partner that is flailing around in a violent dream.  It happened to me one night.  It really was pissed me off!

7.     “Spooning”.

8.     Coming to bed after I’ve already fallen asleep.

9.     Cold feet.  His cold feet always somehow find their way into the arches of one of my feet.  They are like heat seeking missiles.

10.   And the number one pet peeve: Cracking ankles and toes. Oh wait that’s me, never mind.