hmmm.

it has come to my attention...on more than one occasion, that if i ever dyed my hair back to a darker (read: natural) color, i just might be accepted for membership in Mensa.

maybe.

or not. case in point:

it's a rather quiet night here under the Smogberry trees...the Husband just went to bed and it occurred to me that our neighbor was not, for a change, sitting out on her patio, dropping f-bombs on her phone calls (hourly calls, it would seem) to ex-boyfriends.

dang. it's practically Christmas!

but then, i kept hearing something...like someone had their TV or radio up. loud.

really kids? it's really necessary to have everything up that loud? come on. i mean, what's the point in it? is it so important to have your music on so loud that EVERYONE gets to hear it? what if they don't like country? or Michael Jackson? or even Toni Basil?

wait. Toni Basil?
holy crap. that's my iPod.
in the bottom of my purse.
that sounds like it's playing at a neighbor's.

think i'll slink off to bed now. goodbye forever...the blond one.

i'm really not stupid. continued.

in case you've been living under a rock, it's the holiday season. time to be busy, busy, busy and to shop till you drop.

and to be stupid.

last night, i was sooooo stupid.

i.ran.out.of.gas.

yeah, i said it. ran out of gas.

what a dumba...

from an early age, it has been drummed in my head that to run out of gas was not only foolish, but irresponsible. and while it's right, it only serves to make me feel worse.

i knew i was low. but i was putting off the inevitable. i gambled and lost.

i had pulled out of the grocery store parking lot when it happened. and of course, the car just died...along with the power steering. for one brief stupid moment, i thought hey! i can push the car over to that parking lot!!

hmmmm. wait. maybe i am stupid. i drive a dang Chevy Blazer. it's huge as an ox and just as heavy.

so after i called AAA, i called the Husband so he could laugh. to his credit, he didn't. AAA showed up, gave me a gallon and yes, i hightailed it over to the nearest gas station. and filled it up.

what have we learned here? well, a few things:

• always have AAA. you never know when you'll need 'em.
• do not bet against your gas gauge. you will not win.

and most importantly - always make sure you have a blog - so you can share your "d'oh!" moments with the entire world wide internet.

ooops.

well, if you turn off comments, they will come.

my apologies to you, Gentle Reader, and to Susie and Tug.

i.am.a.dork.

i meant to turn off comments only for the "i hate school" rant/whine.

and forgot to turn 'em on.

wouldn't be the first time i forgot to turn something on. read into that, what you will.

everything's back. and my new latin name is dorkusvalerus.

just call me a dork.

photographic proof.

see that on my chin? that's milk.

that fell out of my mouth. (which i don't understand, it's so dang big how can ANYTHING fall out)

from the jug.

yes, i drank out of the jug. get over it. i'm 45 and if i wanna drink from the jug i will.

actually, what happened, is that there wasn't much left. so i took off the lid, gave it a smell, then went for a taste. when it spilled. all down my chin.

dorkus malorkus. my new latin name.

proof positive i need a hearing aid.

worked late tonight...not by my own choice. so i missed the call from Husband on my cell.

"...it's me....some.....day.......worst.......gas ever."

do i really need this? i know i married for better or worse, sickness and health, blah, blah, blah.
but does it really involve me hearing about his gas pains?

apparently my love should know no bounds.
like his gas.

we played phone tag for a few rounds. i bought cheese at the grocery store.

see? the day wasn't a total loss!

i talked to him finally.

me: so, how're ya doing mr. gassy pants?

him: laughs

me: what did you have for lunch?

him:(questioning tone) Chipoltle (a local burrito place. HUGE burritos)...why?

me: have you had it before?

him: yeeessssss. have you?

me: no. and it looks like i probably won't either.

him: OK...why?

me: well, that's probably what gave you the worst gas ever, right?

he pealed into hysterical laughter. i guess with boys AND men, gas is funny.

him: glasses (gasping for air). i broke my glasses and it was the worst break ever.

that was two hours ago. i think he's still laughing.

because YOU asked for it..

some of you, Gentle Reader, (OK - it was Linda. happy?) asked me about the joke regarding the Husband and his present of a scooter.

enjoy this rerun, won't you? i think it'll make everything clear.

the best laid plans...
oft' go to hell in a handbasket.

I'm home right now. I should be in Mexico, drinking beer & eating lobster tails
But nooooooooooooo.

Saturday night. B & i are up in Hesperia, at our friends for a BBQ. We have eaten steak (yum), seen fireworks & are now gathered in the living room for a yak fest.

And here's where it goes to hell in a handbasket.

Someone comes running in, saying something that sounds like "your husband broke his finger."
Broken finger? Brendan? Nahhh.
He comes in the house, his face the color of concrete. My friend's mom, another Valerie, is behind him. He has a towel over his hand, and i see blood.
Blood. Not good.

So, believe it or not, i MAKE him sit down. He was just standing there, looking all loopy. He sits, and i pulled back the towel on his hand and thought, "hey, this doesn't look too bad."
Then he turned his hand over.

(here comes the gross part)
There's a laceration about 1/2 long, and deep. How deep? Deep enough so i can see his bone.

Sing with me, kids! Hi Ho, Hi Ho, It's Off To The Hospital We Go.

I won't give a blow by blow of all 5 hours there in Emergency. Sufficed it to say he got 5 stitches, and luckily, didn't break it, only dislocated it. One or two good pulls by a cute blonde PA. (and surprisingly, whenever she walked in his treatment room, suddenly his pain level went up 150%), and he was good to go. Literally. A tetanus shot & antibiotics followed.

So needless to say, we decided against Mexico.
But how did this happen, you ask?
My darling, wonderful, usually intelligent husband decided he was going to ride TWO Razor scooters at once.
Hit a rock.
Down you fall.
D'Oh.

If there's a lesson to learn (and there is), it's this: don't think you're Evel Knevel at 45.
It ain't gonna happen. All you'll get is a trip to emergency.

And 5 stitches.

finally - a holiday for ME!

i would've posted today, but i forgot.

then i found it was National I Forgot Day.

wooo-freaking-hoooo!








i was going someplace with this, but i forgot. guess i'm right on line.

motivation vs. drugs

i am in search of motivation.
and some prozac.
got either one that you're willing to share?

here's my story:

Husband & i have SO fallen off the Weight Watchers wagon, it ain't even funny. and i need to be back on.

i'm just lazy. poor excuse, huh?

you'd think after all the mental angst i put myself through over the back surgery that it would be a no brainer.

i'm lazy. L-A-Z-Y.

but...i'm going back today. i need to fix me. and since i am responsible for my own happiness (as well as not having more back surgery), i'm getting off my bum and taking the husband and we're going.

i'd like to think i can be as successful as my Melissa, i want to believe. and so the journey begins.again.

and now, on to the prozac portion of our program today.

yesterday at work, my group had a lunch. originally it started as a group get together, but expanded into a birthday lunch (we have four May birthdays in our group). (oh, and did i also mention that the person who spearheaded this whole lunch thing didn't participate? whatever.)
and did i also mention i was the one who ended up fetching the lunch?

that's very important for later.

the whole lunch yesterday was just odd. well, not the lunch, but the whole prep leading up to it. people kept changing their minds on what they wanted to order. then one of the women in my group wanted to know when i was picking up the order. you see, the last time they had an order from this place, the order was made late, and wasn't ready, blah, blah, blah.

hmmm...am i now responsible for the time restaurants takes to cook? oh well.

i place the order (early, i might add) and take off to fetch it. not everyone had paid me, so when i got there, i decided to just put the whole thing on my check card.

wait...where's my check card?

oh crap.

check the pockets, nope - it's not there. go back to the car and go through my purse. negative.
check the wallet. dang. check the pockets again.

as my stepfather would say, it vanished like a fart in a whirlwind.

i called my boss, and asked him to check my hoodie, at my desk, hoping that i just left it in my pocket, from when i got gas earlier in the morning.

he comes back to the phone. "sorry, i didn't find anything."

let me just give you a minute to digest that. let me also give you a minute to imagine my panic and nausea.

"just kidding. i've got it right here."

let me also give you the opportunity to join me in killing him.

he came out to meet me and bring the card, and also says "i've never heard you panic. ever. you were panicked. it was weird."

well, duh. that card, like most Americans, is my lifeline.

but he's right: panicking is really not something i do.
it was then i realized that i've been married too long.

Husband is a panickier. my mom is one, too.

could it be that as i get older, i will panic all.the.time?
i'm getting fat, lazy and panic at the whim of a breeze.

Mick Jaggar was right: what a drag it is getting old.

how could i pay more attention?

i was busy being in love with David Johnson.

You paid attention during 74% of high school!

68-84% Pretty good, you know that there are libraries and newspapers, and you remember what you've read. You were a child that wasn't left behind!

Do you deserve your high school diploma?
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