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The first 12 of 45
I fell asleep last night wondering if musicians get goosebumps or tear up when they play their best songs live. I thought this after getting goosebumps and tearing up to this.
Comfortably Numb, live.
I drifted off to sleep having been wished ‘Happy Birthday’ from 3 countries in which I was already born – and with David Gilmore and Roger Waters echoing in my head.
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9:30 p.m. I hear my son coughing violently in the kitchen – then:
Nic: “Don’t mind me – just choking”
Me: “Obviously you’re breathing”
Nic: “ha ha. Don’t rush out to check on me or anything”
Me: “K.”
Nic: “That’s my mom!” (as if he’s got a crowd he’s informing of this. “That’s my mom ladies and gentlemen”)
I smile and close my eyes.
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10:30 p.m. Eyes back open. My son is church mousing around in the kitchen, the house shakes. He has inherited my delicate elephant stomp.
12:04 a.m. Awoke from a dream involving two special friends from the past and a mystery man – we’d gone on a crazy roller coaster and then to a Depeche Mode concert. Ended up on stage and of course, I was taking photos.
2:00 a.m. Butters stands beside my bed, breathing on me. I try to ignore her.
2:30 a.m. Butters stands closer – breathing more heavily. I get up, let dog out and leave front door open for the dog and any and all serial killers to have easier access to me while I returned to bed.
4:00 a.m. Seriously??? Dog is nowhere to be seen, so what the hell has roused me this time????
5:00 a.m. Peer at clock with gritty, tired eyes … too tired to roll them in anguish
5:30 a.m. I give up.
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Didn’t have that ‘it’s my birthday’ feeling as I scooted out of bed and wobbled to the bathroom.
I always at least have that ‘it’s my birthday’ feeling first thing in the morning (well, on birthday mornings anyway, not every morning obviously)
I guess 45 is the cut off for that pink frosted feeling.
Son sleeping, dog still outside.
I microwave a cup of yesterdays coffee, because I’m too lazy and uncoordinated to make a new pot.
Shower cap in hand, towel at the ready, I sit and wait for my alarm, because I have no clue how to turn it off prematurely.
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6:00 a.m. Shower. I ponder while I’m in there.
Why do men have the best razors??
Seriously, considering the skin footage we women have to shave compared to men – shouldn’t ours be cutting edge? (No pun intended) and don’t give me that ‘But men have to shave their delicate angled faces’ crap, because you know as well as I do that women shave a hell of a lot more ‘delicate’ places and we have curves and angles too!
I will only buy mens razors.
7:10 a.m Dressed – still sipping my microwaved coffee – my mum calls and sings at me from the dog park.
7:20 a.m. I’m milling about the house now … always ready early – always restless.
I spy a banana in the fruit bowl that looks like a duck. I think perhaps it was bored, in there all alone – and decided to morph in order to have some fun.
I decide I like that banana instantly.
I give Butters two of her biscuits and then proceed to tip two vitamins in my hand and pop them in my mouth – along with dog biscuit crumbs.
Nice one.
*sigh* I’ll count that as breakfast.
7:35 a.m. I decide to plant a kiss on my sleeping sons cheek – he’s shirtless in bed with a sunburn
Me: “Hey naked … I’m outta here”
Him: ….
(I’m sure he’s got ‘Happy Birthday’ planned to exit his mouth later.)
Out the door I go.
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I hope for a really amazing song in the car – no luck. I end up pretending to know the words to a new Shakira song and sing out of key.
7:45 a.m. Arrive at work.
I unlock the door … notice the ‘Happy Birthday’ sign place above my desk has fallen off of the wall. I put it back up after I disable the buildings alarm. Then I wonder if that’s self-appreciating or just helpful. Decide it doesn’t matter, my OCD needs that sign back up where it was.
There is a birthday card on my keyboard.
A little while later, another card heads my way in the hands of my sweet friend Ruth. A tiny ribboned box perches atop it.
The card cracks me up.
This is it:
The little box opens to reveal a teeny tiny necklace. This friend knows me well. I love ‘little’. I love delicate. I love the necklace and she stands behind me and puts it on.
Friend: “Now we’re married.”
I’m thinking I could do a lot worse. She’s amazing. And she knows my humor and taste.
We would be bound to have a long and successful union – except she’s still madly in love with her husband.
The broker comes through the door with the most adorable tulips – and yes, they’re for me.
I’m feeling spoiled – and it’s only 9:15 a.m
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10:48 a.m. Finally got a Happy Birthday from my son.
He has accompanied his girlfriend to the dentist and the following instant messages ensued:
Him: I just saw a turtle wet a fallen flower
Him: *Eat
Me: It would have been funnier if it HAD wetted it
Him: Lol, well the flower just fell from a nude into the water, and the turtle ate it and went underwater, So I guess he did. Lol
Me: Nude??
Him: Bush*
Me: I don’t even want to know why your ipad confuses ‘bush’ with ‘nude’ lmao
Him: lol, oh no.
Him: Happy birthday by the way
Me: Finally
We have the strangest conversations. I hope he doesn’t eat the duck banana before I can point it out to him.
Yeah sure, I could show him a photo – but it’s so much better to meet a duck banana in the flesh … peel?
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My boss takes me to lunch from 11:30 a.m. to 1:00 p.m. We sit outside and chat. The view is gorgeous. I enjoy her company. We shared a room on a business trip to Phoenix a while ago – and over 8 hours in the car together. I like her. That’s the true test you know, a long car ride and sharing a room successfully.
I have the Mahi-Mahi wrap with wasabi and soy – SO good.
First meal of my 45th year, other than that dog biscuit crumb I had for breakfast.
You know, I never thought I’d make it to 30, let alone 40 … and now I’m half way to 90 for crying out loud!
And 90 is doable. Considering my little and delicate nannie just celebrated 91.
If I wore her on a necklace, close to my clavicle, she might see 101.
Home now, my parents have just left – and wouldn’t you know it? A pink frosted thing came with them.
I’m too full and too tired to eat any of it – but after the first 12, I did catch a glimpse of that ‘it’s my birthday’ feeling.
Musings from the Laundromat: There’s something on your leg edition
Innocently driving home yesterday with my son … when something came from behind us, flew in the open window, smacked against the wind shield and landed in parts unknown.
Yes, I said ‘came from behind’ more on that later.
So we both acknowledged the ‘happening’ and exchanged glances. Then I put my eyes back on the road as Nic looked down.
“There’s something on your leg.”
Rule #1: Don’t ever tell someone driving a car that there is anything foreign and quite possibly alive ON them.
Me: What?!?!?! What’s on me????? What is it???
Nic: I don’t know … it’s a spot … on your leg.
By now, I’m imagining this:
I don’t think that’s too far-fetched considering we DO live in the desert and there are any number of hard-shelled creepy crawlies that could show up on a bare leg.
Okay, so 99% of them don’t FLY, but some sadistic bastard could have tossed it from the side of the road? That would explain why it came from behind us while going 35 MPH.
Back in the car, I’m calmly trying to pull over to investigate what part of nature has violated my personal space.
And why is my son so calm?? Why is he not trying to save me???
On the side of the road, I bravely look down.
Nothing.
“That was already there!” The spot turned out to be a scratch from earlier.
“Yeah, but that might be what flew in …”
I followed his eyes down to the floorboard – right next to my foot.
Got out of the car and grabbed a cloth I have handy in case of such emergencies (mostly it’s for when I spill my coffee while driving.)
A bee.
My son announced, “It’s still alive – it’s on it’s back.”
I could see this.
I gently (yes, gently, no sarcasm here) collected it in the cloth and walked to a nearby bush to shake the poor little thing off.
It wasn’t coming off.
Now I’m laughing – on the side of the road, shaking a blue cloth.
Bee hung on tight – until it didn’t.
I’m back in the car and we start off home again.
Nic pondered, “How did it come from BEHIND us?? It had to be going faster than us!”
“That’s not hard to believe …” I pondered back – recalling how many things pass me on the road – sloths, snails, limping pedestrians, … parked cars.
“Maybe it was suicide.” Nic concluded.
I sighed … “Bee suicide … that’s sad.”
The cold and feet post
Well, one toe to be specific.
I am a dork. A klutz.
An awkward bundle of looking like a put together female on the outside and a Star Wars loving, cartoon watching, zombie adoring, comic book and action figure collecting, insecure teenaged boy on the inside.
This week I got my 3rd head cold in 4 months – a record for Miss. I-never-get-sick.
As I said yesterday, awkwardly, on Facebook, if I could itch the back of my eyeball, throat and ear with my tongue, I’d be golden.
Worked Monday and Tuesday with a fever and a leaking face – as did my boss.
I swear, our office should be quarantined at certain times of the year!
One ‘carrier’ comes near the building and the rest of us fall in groups of diseased worker bees – then keep passing it back and forth.
But I’m hearty. My boss and I sneezed and sniffled greetings to one another and carried on.
I’m leading up to something here.
I gave birth ‘au naturale’, I worked the day after I broke my wrist on the busiest day of the month – writing with my left hand like a chicken scratch trooper – I will only stay home if I absolutely can’t make it.
But today, I cried like a toddler after a stupid toe injury.
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I started the day fuzzy – having not slept well – my mouth felt like a nest of scratching, very furry kittens had slept in it.
I took cold meds and remembered it was the day I had to be at the office early.
I skipped a shower, hurriedly dressed, threw kibble in the dogs bowl and headed to the car.
Then I sat there – in the driver’s seat and realized I was ahead of myself by over half an hour.
Got out of car – shuffled back into the house, grabbed another cup of obviously much-needed coffee and sat dazed on the couch.
The clock ticked by and I wished I had taken my shower.
When I did arrive at work, I was in hyper-drive mode. Lots of physical things to take care of. Cleaned, sorted out an office – back and forth, back and forth.
Then nature called.
As I was exiting the bathroom I opened the door only to have it stop half way. It hit a door stop.
Door stop was my toe.
Now, I’m in ‘Oh God this really hurts and I’m afraid to look at what I’ve done’ mode.
Then I realize … door is still stopped half way … on my toe.
And the knowledge that I now have to basically run my toe over AGAIN is dawning on me.
I closed my eyes and WHAM – got the door ‘off’ my toe.
Tears filled my eyes … and since I have a high threshold for pain, I’m scaring myself with my body’s reaction and definitely not wanting to look down.
Seriously, the breath was literally snatched out of me. That ‘whooomf’ of adrenaline and pain rippled through my body.
I must have made a noise, because someone, not sure who at the time, noticed me.
I hobbled to the kitchen, bleeding on my shoe.
My boss went for the first-aid kit and a co-worker came to help.
I felt like an idiot.
Trying not to cry, and not succeeding.
I remember my co-worker (that sounds so formal, she’s my friend too, as is my boss) telling me that it would be okay to swear.
I also remember thinking I REALLY wish I’d showered as they were looking closely at my foot.
And I do remember saying – “I already don’t feel well … and now I’ve hurt my tooooooe”
My boss said I could go home – and since being at my tall desk is the exact opposite of elevating my foot – I took her up on it.
****** *********WARNING! GRAPHIC IMAGE BELOW!*********
It bled for over 3 1/2 hours.
I’m pretty sure I may have fractured it above the toe knuckle. Is that what it’s called?
Because it bends – but when I step flat (which, I won’t be doing again anytime soon) the wind is knocked out of me and a shocking pain goes up my foot.
Of course, I won’t know this for sure as I can’t go to the doctor.
Besides, there’s nothing they can really do.
(Unless this nerd goes to a doctor whose last name is Who)
Musings from the Laundromat: Clocks and Curbs edition
I woke up this morning, turned my sleepy head to the clock and thought ‘Wow! I slept in!’ Clock said it was after eight. I couldn’t see how much after eight it was, my nighttime drink cup was blocking the minutes.
Decided to leap into action. Figured I’d shower after I returned and had cleaned the house – threw a pair of jeans on, ran a brush through my hair and heated a cup of coffee to-go.
That’s when I noticed the clock on the kitchen wall.
For some bizarre reason, my bedroom clock time traveled.
It decided to Spring Forward – not even caring that we in Arizona do not observe the time change and completely ignoring the fact that if we did it was the wrong weekend to do so.
Bottom line, I was now ahead of myself.
I gathered my laundry – hunted the usual spots that my son’s laundry lurks, captured and bagged those items and headed out the door.
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The laundromat opens at 8:00 a.m., but I’ve noticed that the sweet laundry lady usually opens a bit early. I know this as I have arrived at eight on the dot and there have already been early birds sitting with their newspapers while their clothes are enjoying a wash cycle.
Deduction. I am capable of it. Gold star for me.
This morning, the pavement in front of the laundromat was littered with people. People and an assortment of baskets.
It wasn’t quite 8:00, so I wasn’t too concerned.
I carried my items over into the fray and plopped down on the curb to wait and sip my coffee.
One lady in particular kept pushing up against the glass – repeating the same Captain Obvious sentences over and over – and over.
“Something must be wrong!”
“They’re usually open by now!”
No shit.
She probably announced those two things at least a dozen times to anyone who would listen.
I sat. And sipped.
I’m pretty damn patient.
Except when it comes to listening to people who aren’t.
It was 8:10 now – OMG!
“Something must be wrong!!!!”
A new car pulled in – which had everyone who had previously been pressed against the door, turning like curious dogs in a yard.
When newcomer exited their vehicle, ‘something must be wrong’ lady filled them in.
“The lights aren’t even on! The lights at the counter are even off!”
Which she followed up with this gem as another newcomer arrived approximately 3 minutes later:
“The lights are on, but nobody’s home!”
Okay, which is it lady? Lights are either on or off.
‘Something must be wrong’ lady is the sort of person I can’t stand having behind me or in front of me in any line. Whether it’s the grocery store or the pharmacy or the bank.
Impatient – and loud about it. Sighing and clucking and complaining. I’ll use my ‘You know, there are people who would give anything to be standing in this line right now’ from time to time, but mostly I roll my eyes and enter a trance like state to block out the squawking.
The whole time, I’m sitting and sipping and thinking “Probably she slept in.”
I was willing to wait until 8:30, then I would put plan B into action – do laundry after work on Monday.
The panic mongers weren’t willing to wait.
They drove off, one by one. Leaving me – and two others to greet the laundry lady a mere 2 minutes after they gave up.
The door opened and I turned and smiled.
“So sorry” she said, “I didn’t hear my alarm this morning.”
“I’m glad you’re okay.” I replied.
I got up from the curb – went inside and was able to stuff my favorite washing machines and claim my favorite seat.
Patience has such rewards.
Bugs and Monsters
Just ate a bug.
I’m sat outside, with my coffee – reading and reach for my cup and … ate a bug.
Then I looked up (after not so delicately thrusting my finger in my mouth to fish out the foreign coffee additive) and suddenly felt very lonely.
I don’t do ‘lonely’.
I like my own company.
So let me tell you, this feeling was quite a surprise to me!
From spitting out an unidentified flying protein, to contemplating my shelf life.
Just. Like. That.
Ms. Independent will be Ms. Depends.
Tutting at ‘those kids today’ and shuffling around in house slippers.
Probably eating bugs and not even realizing it.
Good news is I’m good at ‘alone’.
Earlier a THUD came from my bedroom. Without even thinking about it, I calmly got up and went to investigate.
It’s seriously ridiculous how unafraid I am of bumps in the night. I’d make for a boring horror movie.
They’d start the ‘increasingly intense’ music, pan to me rolling my eyes and lazily getting up to check out the threat.
“Cut! Can you try to look concerned?”
“Yeah – sure.” *Sigh*
“ANNNND – ACTION!”
Thud. Eyeroll. Feigned mild concern.
“Cut!”
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Maybe it’s because I know monsters don’t live in the dark – and that people who mean you harm don’t wait for you to turn out the lights …
Or maybe, it’s because I’ve vanquished so many monsters that the only things that alarm me are bugs in my coffee – and the prospect of depends.
Debauchery Soup 