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It’s so hot.  Sooooo hot. It’s the kind of hot where you sweat when you step out of the shower, which makes me believe that showering may be a waste of time.  And, it’s only June.  It’ so hot that I considered joining a pool, something I didn’t think I would need to do until our kids become walking age.  But it’s so damn hot.  So, I searched online. 

I’m not a water person.  I’m not an outdoor person.  Have you seen my picture?  This ginger isn’t so attractive after a day at the pool or at the beach or a few minutes in a Walmart parking lot.  I’m convinced that every Walmart is a gateway to Hell.  I burn faster within a five-mile radius.  Give me ten minutes outside with out sunscreen and prepare to nurse my blisters the rest of the day.  Of course, if I’m going to be out – let’s say at the Farmer’s Market (because that makes me sound trendy when I really should be saying “the line for giant corn dogs at the state fair”) – I will slather on sunscreen.  And I don’t care what people say about the number on the bottle.  If one reads “80” and the other “25”, I’m buying the “80”.  I’ll give it a chance.  I wear hats, sunglasses and make sure to reapply sunscreen if I’m out for the long-haul.  I do this so that I don’t end up in an oatmeal bath or need to wear The Hubbs’ baggy clothes for a week or need to change my personal theme song to “Rock Lobster.” Imagine my glee when I found an indoor public pool. The heavens are listening! I’ll admit that “public” can sometimes mean “Hey, come swim with that homeless guy who hangs out under the 540 bridge while he takes his monthly bath.”  But this place is pretty swanky.  Well, it looks swanky from the pictures online.  I haven’t actually been to the facilities to check them out.  However, from the online info, it seems that I can take water aerobics in the mornings.  Hello!  I can swim with a bunch of grandmas and be the best looking one there.  Take that, golden girls.

Finding a pool meant I had to find a bathing suit.  Can I point out that just because I would rather have a suit with a skirt because of some “issue areas” doesn’t mean that I want to look like a two-year old with a frilly bottom.  And nevermind trying to find a maternity suit (yes, maternity – there’s a baby in there, so they tell me) that provides my lower half with some decent coverage.  Oh, and one that provides ample support up top?  I don’t want to accidentally practice nursing on the guy that isn’t looking where he’s swimming.

I just want to get some exercise.  And get out of this heat.  And do it some what fashionably.  And beat those grandmas at their own game.

How long until fall?

Do not, whatever you do, do NOT NOT NOT piss off the nurse with the giant needle.  Let’s start here: My medical history involves a few fainting spells.  My mother would correct me by saying, “Those weren’t ‘spells’. You dropping to the ground like someone had suddenly ripped out all of your bones and replaced them with packing peanuts, white as a ghost is not a ‘spell’.”  Duly noted, Mother.  It would happen occasionally, mostly spurred on by some sort of pain.  The first time I remember fainting, I was in the line for the water fountain in preschool.  I was probably four years old.  I tripped on a piece of upturned carpet and my chin broke my fall.  After getting up I fell again, this time out cold.  Awesome.  Way to make the cute boy notice you.  Oh, well. He was focusing on some other four year old – a hussy whose mother hadn’t made her wear the hood on her jacket.  There was also a boy Henry who made fun of my hair.  That has nothing to do with my fainting.  Henry, I just want you to know that I still remember.

I fainted in a Wendy’s once, too.  This one…I can’t remember if there was pain.  I think maybe I was just hungry?  Please.  Like the idea of a juicy hamburger and a frosty has never made you a little light-headed.  I’m sure, if this were to occur today, my older brother would this time choose to catch me instead of moving out of the way and letting me fall to the floor.  Sure of it.  And the other times, well, I was very sick with chickenpox, had an ingrown toenail (Hi, my name is Alissa.  Nice to meet you.  I will now tell you personal tidbits that will make you want to vomit that burrito you just ate on your lunch break.  Thanks for stopping by!)and, oh yes, had my blood drawn.

Which brings us to Angry Nurse.  I had a routine appointment the other day.  I knew I was scheduled for blood work, so I made sure to hype myself up.  Guess what?  I’m a grown woman now. I can totally handle this. Needles are fun – in a non-druggy kind of way.  No fainting from this girl!  EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE FINE.  And the truth is it’s not the needle.  It’s the fear of looking like a peanut packed ghost-idiot on the floor of the lab.  I made sure to drink a lot of water before the appointment because I was once told that my veins are limpy (Yeah? Well, you’re a whore, so there you go.) and extra hydration can help plump them up.  I wish this also worked for boobs.  I had a positive attitude and felt pretty plumped up.

ENTER ANGRY NURSE STAGE RIGHT.

ANGRY: You can sit right there.

ME: Oh, great.  Thanks.

ANGRY: Name?

ME: Alissa Miles

ANGRY: Birthdate?

ME: 9-17-82

ANGRY: Which arm?

ME: Oh, uh.  My left, I guess.  I’m a righty…so, my left.

ANGRY: (snarl) Put your hand out.  No, like this.  And squeeze this ball.

ME: Puppies.

ANGRY: ?

Squeeze squeeze slap slap prod prod.

ME: Your scrubs.  They have puppies on them.  Cute.

Squeeze squeeze slap slap prod prod.

ANGRY: Your veins are worthless.

ME: But I drank like a gallon of water.

ANGRY: Really?

ME: Well, not really a gallon.  But a lot.

ANGRY: Doesn’t look like it.

ME: (inner thoughts)What? I’m lying here? I just gave you the clearest pee sample in the history of pee samples and I’m lying? You could drink that, dammit. (To ANGRY) Perhaps you could try my right arm?

ANGRY: grumble grumble

Squeeze squeeze slap slap prod prod. 

ME: Looks like we’ve got a winner.

ANGRY: Yeah. (inner thoughts) And now I will take all of your blood because you seem to be a smart ass and way too happy and because I am ANGRY and stabbing people with needles is the only thing that makes my life worth living and I will never crack a smile or pretend to be happy. I prefer to scowl and share my displeasure with the world.   I wear these puppy scrubs to remind me how much I hate puppies and want to drown them in vats of hot oil.

Several vials of blood later, I made it out of the lab alive and conscious (and possibly a couple of pounds lighter – how much does blood weigh?), which only proves to my mother that I don’t need to lie down every time I pluck my eyebrows.  I CAN handle pain and not faint.

This weekend, if your grandmother tells you she has an egg hunt planned for you and your boyfriend, don’t believe her.  She’s just lost her dentures again and is going to make you find them.   Your little cousin will bite the ears off the chocolate bunnies and then place them back in the centerpieces, one on top of the other so that it appears they’re having bunny sex.  Your Dad will screw up the prayer again and his sister’s eyes will shoot death rays because he forgot to ask God to bless her 17 year old pug named “Lancelot”, who by the way, is having trouble breathing through his bunny costume.  Your mother will bring up homosexuality as she passes the mashed potatoes saying, “Well, if one man wants to make love to another man…well, I just don’t see how that’s any of my business.” To which, your grandfather will choke on the ham and yell, “Jesus Christ!  It’s Easter!  Can’t we talk about something else?” And you will decide that’s the perfect moment to tell your family you’re pregnant.  

If you do end up sitting around a table poking your casserole this weekend wondering how you could be related to these clowns, I suggest you do what I’ve been doing and try to find out.

Here’s what it’s like to research your ancestry:

      1.   You find out you had a great-aunt who married her first cousin and they had a kid who they named “Ralph.”  Then, she divorces her first cousin and marries her neighbor and they have a kid who they name….”Ralph.” 

      2.   Your father’s great-great uncle was a mime.  And now your father thinks he’s got talent.

      3.   You’re 1/16th Cherokee and you have no way of using that to your advantage.

      4.   It’s quite possible that your grandfather was adopted and he doesn’t know.  To tell or not to tell?

      5.   Your grandmother’s sister fell in love with a prison-inmate.  The inmate fell in love with his cell-mate.  She never got over it.

      6.   Your great-great grandmother was a pioneer for women.  She was an explorer in the jungles of South America.  It all sounds great until you find the picture of her holding someone’s severed head.

     7.   Hey!  Your mom’s cousin, the one they all assumed had died after becoming homeless and hooked on meth is actually that guy that invented those super-soak towels that you secretly want to buy.  He’s rich.  You’re not.

     8.   Going way back, you find evidence proving you’re royalty.  Your father’s family has roots in France and Germany.  It appears you are a direct descendant of Charles le Gros!  Dammit.  When translated, that means “Charles The Fat.” 

    9.   Your uncle’s birth certificate lists his name as “Wily” instead of “Willy.”  You start calling him “The Coyote.”

  10.   Your mother takes this as an opportunity to tell you how you were conceived.  You can’t remember the whole story because you started taking shots of tequila every time she said the word “penis.”  There may have been some mention of cheese cloth.  You’re not sure.

Maybe you should skip the family get-together and go see a movie instead.

 

not as bad as it looks.  forgot a pan handle was hot- 450 degree hot – right out of the oven. awesome.  another reason not to talk to me while i’m wielding kitchen utensils or dangerous objects like cucumbers.  i can’t discuss paint colors and remove a pan off a hot burner and remember it just came out of the oven.  gray-blue, not blue-gray! aaaahhhhh – that’s hot!!!! the hubbs made me hold a bag of ice. if burned, do not hold a bag of ice. i should probably call my mother before she sees this post. please excuse the hair. it’s hard to manage at the moment.  i’m thinking some pretty fabulous shadow-puppeteering will ensue shortly.  i have already mastered “the fish.”

Somewhat coherent thoughts on being sick…

I would give up my left big toe to be able to breathe through one nostril.

Trying to breathe through congestion is like trying to suck a sponge through a straw…a straw that is stuck up your nose.  Also, I think I may have actually blown some of my brains out and now I can’t remember how to multiply two digit numbers.

When The Hubbs and I are both sick, sleeping in the same bed becomes impossible.  We tried to stay together, but I woke up with a used tissue on my head.  He is now in the guest room until he’s better.

I still hate chamomile tea with honey.

Laundry really doesn’t do itself.  That’s ok, though, because I think we wore the same clothes for 3 days in a row. 

The poor dog is mixing his own drinks now because mummy can’t get out of bed to do it for him.  Hopefully, he won’t take a vengeful poop in my shoes downstairs while I have my head stuck over the humidifier.

Congestion makes my voice sound funny over the phone.  “Hi, I’d like to order a large pizza with pepperoni and mushrooms, please” becomes “I’m an old ping-pong and your fancy hush-hush flooms are sleazy.” We never did get our pizza.

Daytime television causes uncontrollable eye-twitching.  I think it’s stress.  I don’t care about that “vintage” picture frame that is supposedly easy to sand down and repaint.  No, I do not want to purchase a commemorative coin or a motorized recliner that will take me anywhere.  Yes, you did say her husband was a no-good womanizer and she’s right: You are a hussy!

If you stare at a popcorn ceiling for long enough, it becomes one of those Magic Eye pictures.  Our bedroom ceiling has a mural of a serene landscape with horses running through a field.  I think they’re headed to the Starbucks located above our closet door.

Tissues with aloe are slimy and do nothing to calm the skin on my nose.  In fact, my nose is threatening to pack up and leave and, if it can be arranged, take my right eye along.  Then, I will be nose-less and only have one eye and I will still be sick.  But at least I have a good attitude, right?

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© Alissa C. Miles and "And So They Did...", 2010. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material including pictures from posts and/or other pages without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Alissa C. Miles and "And So They Did..." with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. Basically, don't steal my stuff. Thanks. -A.

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