Fuck Normal

So I just got back from my yearly physical.  I love my doctor but it wasn't a very satisfying visit.  It started with a new financial policy form.  Two of the questions were: date of birth and age.  Unfortunately the line was to short to write "really? do the math".

In the exam room, I made a startling discovery and had to ask myself a rather jarring question, "Why are you hiding your underwear when you're about to give this woman a face full of hoo-hah?" When did this start and why have I not noticed it until today?  I did the same thing when I got a mammogram two weeks ago.  Neatly tucked my bra under my shirt, then flashed my tits to the whole room.  Is this some form of dementia?  But I felt fine when I woke up.

After this the doctor entered the room and the real fun began.  I should start by saying, the last time I saw her was for a pre-op visit before my cataract surgery (that's another story). So the first thing she asked was how it went.
Me, "amazing! It's unbelievable! I need reading glasses but I probably needed those before"
Doctor, "yeah, reading glasses are pretty normal.

Doctor, "Any thing else going on?"
Me, "well, I pee all the time."
Doc, "I can give you something.  I have patients who take it for long car rides or to get through a play."
Me, "If I could just get through the night without waking up, it would be awesome."
Doc, "How often are you waking up?"
Me, "once."
Doc, "Well, once is normal."

Me, "I think I started menopause.  I get these hot flashes."
Doc, "Oh, that's kinda....normal too"
At this point I could see her begin searching her mental thesaurus for synonyms for 'normal'.

Me, "Okay, I've got  5 pounds that I can't lose to save my life.  I've even cut down on the wine and I love the wine. What if I start smoking?"
Doc, chuckling, "Well, I wouldn't do that. At this point, weight gain is normal."

Me, "Okay, fuck normal.  What can you give me to hit abnormal?"

Go To Your Room!

I don't tweeter or tweet or whatever it's called but if I did this would be my first one.

Sure fire way to lose your YouTube privileges, ask your mother what 'teabagging' is.

It's Alive! IT'S ALIVE!

So I'm into yeast breads.  Making them, not eating them.  Well, eating them too but anyway... I bought this awesome bread cookbook and I found a recipe for sourdough bread that I was really excited about.  (I just reread that and it sounds a little odd. I think I'm entering a manic phase. Not that I'm bi-polar.  I think I could be, if I tried.  I'm just too lazy.  I'm too lazy to be bi-polar; does that have a car ribbon?)

But I digress...So I was really excited until I saw how long it took to make the starter.  7 days.  Seven.  Days.  I couldn't tell you the last time I did anything for seven consecutive days but I'm pretty sure it didn't involve yeast.  And you have to feed it twice a day, like a pet.  Until it tastes and smells sour, so a pet you're trying to kill.  And as you feed it, it grows.  Now I know yeast is "alive" and all, but "alive" in a small packet in my cupboard is quite different from "alive" and growing in a mason jar on my kitchen counter.  Growing and fermenting and becoming self-aware, or whatever the hell it does.

Is it going to push open the bedroom door one night and roll all bubbly and gray into the bedroom like something out of "The Blob"?  (The good one with James Dean, not the bad one with Kevin Dillon.)  And the first thing it's going to find is poor little Abbey, sleeping in her kennel and snoring.  Then we'll have a slightly larger, bubbly, gray and furry blob heading for the master bed.  Will the boys escape?  Who'll raise them? Will they have to move to Washington? Will they get the counseling they need?  Is a fresh loaf of sourdough worth all this grief?  I need to lie down.

Telemarketers from Hell

Yesterday I got three phone calls from the same telemarketer.  Two were within 5 minutes of each other, prompting me to wonder if they knew I was home and just not answering the phone.  "so what?",  you ask.  Yeah, but the calls were from Pentagram Financial.  (Actually it was from Pentagroup Financial, but my reading glasses won't be ready for two more weeks).  After the third call, I assuming from the strange blue car parked across the street) I texted my husband.

"Did you mortgage our house to Satan?"

His reply,

"Myahhhh hahhhh hahhhh"

Great, I'm being stalked by Satan.

We got another call this morning at 8:30, Saturday morning.  Waking us up, naturally.  When I checked the call log, it was again from Pentagram Financial.  Crap.  "They called again.  At 8:30 on Saturday morning so they knew we were home!"  John, "Why don't you just answer the phone?"  "WHAT?!?  You don't answer the phone when Satan calls.  Jesus Christ, where are you from?"

(And on another note, as I was typing this, my husband pulled a shirt out of the closet and asked if it had been washed.  Me, still typing and answering in a very snarky voice "If it's hanging in the closet, it's bee..." At this point I looked up and realized it hadn't been washed.  With my tail between my legs, "uh, no that hasn't been washed."  In my defense, it was brand new. Who washes brand new clothes?)

I'm a B+ Mom

A solid B+.  I have moments of brilliance; A+ moments.  Like when one of the boys dropped the ipad and shattered the screen.  5 days after we got it.  And I didn't yell at him.  That alone should get me into heaven.  And I have moments of failure; F moments.  Like...well, there a lot to choose from.  But all in all, a solid B+. 

Like the last holiday luncheon at school.  The boys were supposed to bring in a traditional holiday dish to share with the class and I sent in Christmas M&M's.  I could have sent in beef wellington since we did have that for the last two years.  An A+ move but also an asshole move.  No one likes those moms.  I could have sent in nothing but that would have been a F move.  No one likes those moms either.  I sent in M&M's because they are the only thing we consistently have every year.  That's a B. And the boys got a lesson in honesty; bonus points! B+!

But I think my grades may start slipping because the boys have just turned 11.  And 11 year olds are tricky.




Conversation in the car yesterday:



Sam: Can we listen to "American Idiot"?


Me: No, they swear in it. How about "Boom Boom Pow"

Sam:  They swear in "Boom Boom Pow"

Me:  Yeah, but I don't say those words.


Sam:  You say 'shit' all the time.


Me:  Not 'shit', those other f words in 'Americ......hey, don't say 'shit'!  


<shit, he got me>