Call The Cops!

My mother-in-law calls my hubby's work number this morning, something she is only allowed to do "in an emergency" as is understandable. Hubby's phone was through blue-tooth as he (well, the family) was in the car to grab breakfast really quick. Immediately, as her number shows on caller ID, we panic....she has a gagillion health issues (seriously..the doctor told my hubby, with your mom that sick, might as well just end your life while it is good ha ha just joking) and so we think, did she have an asthma attack? Chest pain? Accidentally take her meds twice? Did the pack of scorpions living under her house sting her?

(oh and ignore formatting below....the tuna casserole I had last night must have had msg...a migraine is just around the corner....hurts to really think)

So we cautiously answer and hubby says "you know, you can only call me on this line in an emergency" and she says, "well it kinda is....I was thinking of calling the cops" (and my mind wanders to the headlines in our little nothing-much-happens town, there was a murder and a home invasion/high speed pursuit this week! Did something like that just happen?). We hold our breath and she continues, "my plant. It is gone. I think I need to call the police. It is theft you know. They should know about it, maybe there is a pattern of thefts in the neighborhood."  (You know, with the high speed pursuits, murders, and home invasions, the police are totally concerned, it is number one priority, to solve a rash of plant thefts by the golf course...you know, a lost spider plant here and gasp! A plucked rose over there! Call America's Most Wanted! CSI! FBI!)

Hubby looks at me with the "I'm going to go bat sh!t crazy over this. I want to lock her up in the insane asylum" and I start to smirk. He raises an eyebrow and I inform my mother in law over the phone,

"Yes. It is stolen. Don't call the cops. I had to call PPS, Plant Protective Services, over abuse of Spidey and had to take him home to recuperate." See she had adopted our spider plant, Spidey, that my mom gave me, because we moved temporarily and spider plants don't like snow. So anyways, I had to call PPS. So I continued to tell her, "remember, I told you last night at dinner I was taking him back but you must not have heard."

thanks for saving me and my Spidey babies!!!!

See she abused poor spidey. She didn't even call him by his name (Spidey) or species (Spider plant) just "the plant". She claims to care enough about him to call the cops when he is "stolen" but just calls him "the plant". If she had indeed called the cops, they would have asked for a description and she'd say" well, he is green...a plant..." and that is all. I don't profess to be a plant saver...I do kill many a plant with my black thumb, but I am improving (rosemary, oregano, strawberries, mint, grapes, spider plants, and bamboo love me) but I don't FORGET TO EVER WATER THE PLANTS. Poor spidey was out in the 100 degree heat WITHOUT WATER. EVER. And I know plant species. She, bless her heart, is sooo anti-nature and afraid of anything nature-like, outdoorsy, that she didn't even know it was a spider plant or that you need to, you know, water plants.

So I rescued him. I also saw the aloe-vera looking plant (some sort of succulent, I know that much) that we'd fostered out to her, on his SIDE under a bush and it looked like he'd been there the entire year...

So both plants are home and happy and I got  a pic showing spidey's already green leaves, on the right, and his nearly lifeless babies on the left of the picture, which is what all of him looked like yesterday pre-PPS visit.

I need a hospital "visit ten get one visit free"card

Or maybe I need one of those Senior Discount Day Tuesdays kinda things...why? All I ever do is go to the hospital.

So here's the low-down, and then it gets humorous towards the end.

I went in for a physical. Then blood. Then really should have gone to the ER for anaphylaxis. Then talked to the dr about anaphylaxis. Then about asthma. Then made an appt with a pulmonologist, a radiologist, and attempted at dermatology. Then a follow-up.

So readers of this blog may recall that I had the umm...cancer scare or cyst or whatever...a cyst the ultrasound tech could not find. The radiologist said my ultrasound was negative. Alright! So today, the doctor  felt my boobie again and there is a....something...there, so now a surgeon will call me in a few weeks or less, to set up an appointment for a "probably benign" checkup on a "negative result" , "couldn't feel it but everyone else can" appointment.

Great. You know, the doc says, "hmm probably not cancer. Yep! Be happy! Negative xray!" Followed by "Wait...see a surgeon (ahem...like...next year or century or whatever, knowing this hospital) for a lump I deem a mystery. You don't have breast cancer in your family right?" (btw the mystery lump...moves...if you moosh it, I guess that is good?) So you know, I get towait, not knowing anything for months. Joy!

So then I call dermatology and we play phone tag and they finally answer and say "well we're booked...how about December?" Granted my othe, yes. other, second, mystery lump, which is a "cyst, basel carcinoma cancer or squamous cancer or...?" has been there for a few years. I know I know, a few years? Well I just thought it was a mole or scar or something. But it's like...if it is skin cancer and has been there for years, well sure I'm not dead yet but to wait till December for someone to look at it (and prob. schedule another appt in February to really figure out what it is, then next July to remove it) kinda sucks.

And the.... celiac disease. I get tested for that and gluten intolerance but read up on it and if you are gluten free, your antibodies or anthistimaine or something won't be all reactive and you will look to be a-ok in the gluten world, no prob Bob/ So I'm dosing up on lovely old gluten, I did thoroughly enjoy some pizza, a gyro, and so much fried zucchini I have intense heartburn and am so full I may not eat tomorrow...and I will pay for my yummies by spending many waking hours in the bathroom buuut...once they draw blood from me, I can go gluten free again. So I get to go in for that and a follow-up too.

I feel like I am in my 80s. I should just wear those adjustable waist band slacks, orthopedic shoes (crap!! I'm actually supposed to have orthopedics. True story.) blue highlights and coke-bottle glasses (again, crap! And where are my darned new glasses I ordered btw? It's been two weeks!) and call everyone sonny boy and know all the hospital staff by name. And I better get my hospital discount card, or I'm writing a complaint letter to the newspaper editor and telling my bridge club about it. We vote, dammit!

I'm a 007 spy. Or one nosy girl who needs to mind her own business.

Apparently, according to chat group (whoa there pardner, dating yourself....internet talky chatty thread posty thing?) I am nosey, VERY nosy. Like mind your own business b!tch level nosy.

So that aside,,,beware...I AM COMING TO A STORE NEAR YOU! Or neighborhood, etc.

I am a busy-body nosy jerk  people watcher and observer of life, a person who ruminates and wonders about the mundane. Here's why....

1. I look into people's windows. WAIT NO! NOT LIKE A PEEPING TOM! But if hubby is driving through the neighborhood and someone has their window open, I glance inside. You never know, the hottest trend in home design may be three doors away. Living in a cookie-cutter neighborhood, many have my exact floor plan so it ups the ante of curiosity. I also check out front yard landscaping on my daily (ok, weekly) walks. Don't like it? Close your windows. Cover your lawn in a tarp.
       And being so blind I can't see the eye chart with my glasses off (and can only read most of it, with one eye, with them on) I'm really not going to see anything anyways. I just will think the blurry fuzzy yellow blob where your kitchen should be, which is glowing, looks like it could be a cool hanging light made of blown glass. But maybe your house is on fire. I dunno.

2. I look into your shopping card, egads!!!! Call the police! Apparently, no one else on earth has ever done this and has better things to do in a long arse line than look at other people's purchases. And apparently no one in the entire universe thinks about these purchases, as I do, like "WTF? Why is she buying an ENTIRE CART of q-tips at 2am?" (true story) or "Aunt Flo visiting? Two gallons of ice cream, Steel Magnolias DVD, cookies, and Bartles and James Strawberry Daquiri" (another true story) or "duuuude we are soooo gonna get some, and maybe get arrested with the frat bros, and these three 24 packs of Natty Ice beer and two jugs of 151 at 10pm on a Friday" (again, true story.) See, my accusation of being a solo freak in the cart-spying activity came about in one of those post-modern chat groups where I wondered if anyone actually bought vegetables. On a busy day at work, I had to get something to eat RIGHT THEN (in my defense I was pregnant) and ran to the grocery store and to get my mind away from work, I noticed...EVERY CART contained chips, ice cream, white bread, bologna (or other nasty processed "meat" like product), soda, and cookies/cupcakes/pre-made sweets. Every cart. And so that makes me a freak. Go ahead. Look in my cart too. I welcome you to. OH!! THAT REMINDS ME! I went to Walmart a few weeks ago and needed bleach and some pantyhose. I realized that purchase was just awesome and was quite tempted to buy a crowbar and some beer to complete the awesome, WTF purchase in case anyone was a secret spy like I was, but, while hubby thought it was funny (and the crowbar his idea, less obvious than a shovel)  he persuaded me not to do so...besides, we really didn't need a crowbar and I can't have beer anymore.

3. I listen to conversations. I mean, I won't sneak up on you to get a better listen, but if you are screaming into your phone about your arsehole boyfriend and how he gave you VD, I'm totally going to listen because how can I not? If you are in a restaurant and don't use your inside voice to tell your kindergartner that Obama is a socialist and MLK would have "rid of him" and that "your teacher's religious worship of the Satan I refuse to call president is wrong, please tell her so" then hecks yeah I'm going to listen. How can you NOT?

Let's Craft this B!tch Up!

Hansel And Gretel needed
some fairytale pink
pepto after all that candy, which,
they barfed onto my wall.

My BFF wonce said, "let's craft this b!tch up". So I am stealing that in regards to my MOST AWESOME home remodel which is mural-rific (which should be a word. I once told my English high school students, I have the authority as an English teacher and lover of literature and language to make up words. Shakespeare did. So there. Muralize.)

 So without further ado (bam! Another Shakespeare reference!)... The room was once cat-barf orange which I sadly lack evidence of. Then my mom painted it simple white (again, lacking evidence). Renters decided it needed to be PEPTO BISMOL PINK. It's called fairy tale pink. Apparently fairy tales include imbibing mass quantities of gas-killing, barf-killing pepto.

crappy pic of the blue,
pre-clouds to PROVE I got crafty.

I HAD to rid of that. So I painted it blue. Ok to be fair, the renters painted it blue, and the other room pepto pink but really, this actual room was once that pink then blue, and the blue room then became pink. Don't ask. Seriously, would you tell your girls and boys, hey Mary and Cary, you want the other room that is blue for little Gary and Larry? Sure, mama will paint it for you and then paint your old room for Gary and Laarry". No. I'm a mom. I'd be all, "keep your darn pink room where it is, Mary and Cary, or convince Gary and Larry pink is the new black cause I sure ain't painting it again, or showing my face at Ace hardware to buy that God awful pink again."

the clouds part un

Anyways. The blue room that has been white, cat barf (that way when we bought it), white, pepto pink, and now blue, needed...something. And I was bored and like to do art. So I decided to "CRAFT THIS B!TCH UP". I added clouds.

Then I added some shading and stuff because while in Part Un -->

clouds part deux, 3-d look and less wimpy

they look all 3-d, they were still drying and dried all...2-d and kind of translucent and wimpy looking. But to the untrained eye they look the same because I was too ashamed of my dried translucent wimp clouds.

grass, as I began

And that wasn't enough because the mini pods of 2 oz paint samples were 50% OFF! And I try and avoid being like many in my family and yard-saling, but I got the gene and see sales and get all excited. I totally want a Marquez Family Reunion 2004 shirt from the 99cent store cause it is less than a buck! BUT I ALWAYS RESIST and I could no longer do it....resistance is futile!!!!!! So I bought some green pods of paint. (And THEN found a oops-we-mixed-the-wrong-color of grass green paint, a GALLON for $5 verses my "sale" at $2.50 for 2 oz. Drats!). And I made some grass. It was really zen, making the grass. I even got a few different hues and made it look real, like my clouds.

And guess what? It FRICKIN ROCKS!!!!! Sorry. Those who know me in real life, I really am quite humble but for this I have to be happy. For what....under $15 I totally made a great room (duuuuude, I like cha....painted grass, totally, its tubular...I think the paint fumes made me a valley girl or surfer) and I am happy with it. I want a room like that but sadly, adults get laughed at for that kind of thing.

Coolness

RIP wheat

Sigh. I will miss you, wheat. My health has sucked lately and wheat is but one culprit. I thought oh I can sneak a bit in. Nope. Then I thought,I do not like wheat much...cold cut sandwiches? Bleck....finally, after decades of suffering ,I can avoid them! Pre-made, full of synthetic chemicals cake with makes me barfy no-butter-or-cream buttercream frosting? Yep. I can avoid that, too. Fried chicken? I am quite the oddball but I have never liked it so ha...never again.----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------But then I got sad because gluten free "gluten-like foods either resemble a mix of sand, sawdust, and cardboard, or require a degree in chemistry to concoct. So, I will miss you, gluten foods...---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------.I will miss: craft brewed beers esp Hangar 24 orange wheat and alt bier, Portsmouth Brewery IPA, Sam Adams Seasonals and cherry wheat, Blue Moon. Then comes foods. Grilled paninis. Bagels with lox and cream cheese, or pesto, or avocado. Pizza pizza and did I mention one ofmy favorite foods, pizza? Gyros. Most falafel. Naan and paratha, samosas and gulab jamum. Chow mein. Spaghetti, lasagna, manicotti, most everything Italian. Pierogies. Fried pickles, fried zucchini, mushrooms, clams, fish, milanesa, tempura stuff. Burritos and wraps. Burgers. Most casseroles, some chilis. Biscuits and gravy. Anything fast food (never tasty but so darn convenient). Cookies. French desserts like neopolitan. Pies. Cheesecake. Fruit tarta. Donuts. Gravies.

I totally remember _____ about you

I asked friends to tell me silly things they remember about me. One friend said "college, winky face" and I told him to NOT include college stories of me, imbibing and going through a delayed adolescence of which I am ashamed.

 So then, another friend remembers my blue fuzzy slippers. See, I HATE most shoes (Vans sooo needs to branch out and make dress shoes) and my wedding shoes were these too-loose-on-my-heels, blister-my-toes, high heel deathly torture traps and I had to wear their crappy little traps for the wedding ceremony...but the second it was over, I knew I could OT go barefoot (I am already redneck enough, peoples) so I put on fuzzy blue monster slippers for the reception :)

 Another memory? Tie dye. Yeah. I tie dyed everything, even socks and underwear. I actually do not like tie dye much, but always like the scientific experiment part, what will it turn out like? And ok the fact that I had tie dyed underwear is embarrassing cool because who else on earth had made-it-themselves tie dyed undies? Wait. Add that and my propensity for overalls and no wonder I was 16 and never been kissed.

[ And then, red shoes. My friend and I had these $3 Vans shoes, at a discount store where all the misshapen and butt ugly vans go to die. They were butt ugly awesome-tastic, so awesome that they can no longer be found on google search. They were red, golf or bowling shoe type, with red and white holographic checkers in the middle. That's all folks...waiting for more

unhealthy hippie

I am not a hippie and I do not want to be unhealthy...... what? Lemme explain......................... so I went for a physical and supposedly I had shingles at some point?!?! And lactose and gluten intlerance, asthma, severe allergies (like, I am alergic to more things than not) scoliosis ,previous depression, I am getting a sonogram of my boobie for cysts or worse, I might have skin cancer (or maybe it is a cyst the reg doctor didnt onow), I might have anemia, and I get to have a bronchoscopy where they shove a tube doen your throat into your lungs, and they put you into "medical twilight" aka anasthesia, to which, when I come out of it, I have a history of crazy panic attacks and violence. Joy. I don't feel that unhalthy but with that list I begin to think I am that unhealthy.....................On an unrelated note (but it is on my mind and I dont like doing two posts in one day) I am not a hippie .sure my yearbook has a pic of me as a hippie but my mom was bffs with the yearbook teacher and snuck it in without my permission. It was a Halloween costume peoples. And sure I know how to tie dye. And sure my first concert was Grateful Dead at 12 ( hate their music but my mom wanted to take me). Sure I drive a subaru and recycle and love hiking and cultures and have purchased incense and hand made soaps. But I have never done drugs, hate hippie music, am socially liberal but politicaly and economically conservative...a constitutional libertarian...incense gives me asthma attacks, I bathe ,and I am not a hippie, ok?

where the heck is my turret?

So my family went to Target to walk around because when it is 109 out and smoggy it is a little bit too scorching and asthma-deadly out to go for an evening walk. So we pass by the clothing and I am again apalled by the new fashions which proves I am a way uncool crotchedy old lady in her 30s too fashionable, have too good of taste. It is like the faahionistas took a time travel machine and found the ugliest, frumpiest, wouldn't wear that to a dog fight fashions from teach fashion era, threw in some sequins, threadbaren cloth, and some convalescent home fashions and claimed it to be fashionable. Serioisly, 1980s couch fabric skinny jeans? A light pink polyester windbreaker looking cardigan with sequins?----------------------------------------anyways, I spotted many atrocious styles and stopped to fully observe a faded, been through the wash 1000 times sweater that had rough worn edges and loose threads poking out. I am so not going to pay $30 for something Goodwill would say was too worn. So I said to hubby. ME: seriously? Look at the shoddy wuality! It is like hobo chic except I think hobos wouldsay it is too worn out to wear. Ugh. HUBS: well it is just very Mad Max esque (btw google the movie if you're all, Mad Max, what is that?) ME: Well it sucks. But wait if it is Mad Max, (myvoice getting louder) where the heck are the Mad Max cars? I want a turret on my Subaru. A turret darnit, wouldn't that be awesome? (A stranger glances my way and gives me the you're psycho look) yeah where the heck is my turret? ---------------------and that folks is why I probably should not be allowed in public

is it a gym or a bar?

I am trying to be an adult to interacts with adults and gets a break from her toddler healthy and support hubby as he goes back to the gym. I almost joined a gym chain place and even exercised for a whopping 45 minutes there to try it out. I did not stretch beforehand because a lovely considerate lady was sitting on the stretch mat, like, chatting to like totally like someone cool and like...she was in full workout regalia but just...sitting there hogging the mat. I shot her a look which she was oblivious too. The coolest thing? 45 min later she like finishes like her convo on like her cell, walks into the locker room, walks right out and dramatically wipes her (dry) brow and says phew, totally gonna come back tomorrow. Girl, you fooled no one. Sure you went to the gym but you didn't really go to the gym. Going to the gym implies you not just look totally hot in your lycra matching accessory outfit but that you actually work out. You know, stretch on the stretch mat and stuff.--------------------------------------------So I decide to work on my chest to srengthen my...whatever muscles so my shoulders are more aligned and I am not all slouchy andc asthmatic. But people kept hogging the equipment and the free weights and so a lot of time was iust spent waiting. So I did what Ido best, got all nosey and people watched. I watched the roid raging popular guys with tribal tats (sorry but getting a tat you saw on mtv, at some post tat parlor in the OC is soooo not tribal) grunt and give that how-cute-am-I look the entire time. The girls were in ensembles that somehow looked very Cosmo meets runway model....which made my Target bought yoga pants and Walmart tshirt seem soooo out of place. They had on skin tight super cute sports clothing and had perfect bodies and all. Sure I am "skinny and perfect, why the hell are you in the gym" (not my words btw) but I do no look like I literally steped off the fitness magazine front cover and into this gym. Oh and I do not habe balloons. One girl was probably 100 lbs at 5'5" if she didn't have ten pound balloons. Her surgically-given balloon boobs were so massive I think a slight breeze would tip her over onto her boobs and she would still be 5'5" because those baloon boobs were bigger than she was. --------------------My conclusion here is, the gym is a bar ezcept instead of lifting shot glasses in your hot mini skirt as you giggle at the frat guy chugging a beer, it is you in your hot lycra lifting the tricep bar and giggling hoping OC tribal tat Rod rager is going to totally check you out, you know, as long as he can stop checking himself out. It was like a college bar scene all over again and size 6 me felt all fat and dorky and lame in this bar scen of a gym. I am joining a different chain gym because I went there today and saw some grandparently folks walk out,some yoga pants girls, some beer guy guys sweating it out and thought ,this is my gym. People come here to actually try and be healthy but they are not the kind of people that either model for fitness magazines or work at Hollister because they rate themselves 8 and above on the hot sexy scale No this was a place where SAHMs and grandpas and stuff go to try and improve their health and who arent caught up on what Sport Chalet lycra sports bra is sooo this week, who don't shine up their tats or put on makeup, who dont go to the gym to get some.

toddler triathalon

It feels like a triathalon, keeping up with my toddler. He is currently locked in the bedroom for safety and sanity. Wait let me clarify that I am in the same bedroom, so he is not unsupervised like CPS warns you, crins warn you, etc. They say in huge letters NEVER LEAVE CHILD UNATTENDED but ummmm what if you have to poop? Anyways....we are in a room with just a bed because we are moving to our rental home with the pepto bismol walls whic hI just painted blue...much better.*************************************his car toy became a receptacle for spit out pizza so I had to wash it out and now it honks all sixkly, weooongk weeeongk. And in 24 hours not only did pizza go in the toy truck but he unsnapped his high chair seat and flew onto the floor. He has decided to run into the bathroom as I was about to flush and play. With. My. Pee. Which meant a vigorous cleaning while buck naked (me), pants around my feet with the window wide open for all th neighbors to see. We have also experienced the joy that is the dog bowl, so he has tried to drink out of the dog bowl, put dog food into the water, and eat the mushy mess. He has tried to plug in a power tool. He has tried to play with the electrical junk at the back of the fridge .he has attempted to help me mop, clean the walls, and consume simple green cleaner. He has opened doors (a brand new skill) and closed them. He has run ijto the table and the tile floor. He has tried to vaccuum. He has tried to lick cat5 cable He has tried t ouse the dog as a trampoline.

I hate book-endings. And then some off topic ramblings that seem really important

Brevity sucks, and I tried to make this post brief. Fail. I read that book by Stephen King, 11/16/63 (or some date, I mean it isn't a random date but the date JFK died, and may he RIP but history dates are lame) and Agorafabulous by Sara Benincasa this week. Yep. Two books. One week. Like a thousand pages.


 I realize I HATE book-endings. I get so absorbed in a book (IF it is a good book) that when it ends, I seriously mourn. Not a broke-up-with-my-boyfriend, my-cat-died mourning, but like when you have to go back to work after vacation, or a relative has to fly home, or your favorite completely ratted out skirt must be retired after ten years. That kind of mourning. I finished Agorafabulous and wanted more. I had many questions to ask. I'd engaged in a conversation with the author in my head, as if she were real. I mean, she is, but not when she is just in my head. And now she is gone and didn't answer my questions. Pooh.

Why is it all my new fav' authros have only one book out? I need them to be all Danielle-Steel-style-thousands-of-books authors. And yes, King has that many books but I've only liked two of his books, so there. But with reading Laurie Notaro (read all her books), Jen Lancester (read all her books), Jenny Lawson (1 book dammit) and Sara Benincasa (1 book dammit)...I have new literary bffs in my head and an empty sad nook next to my mourning self.

 And I also have inspiration for more blogging. I want to make it into a book but I also want to become an educational change agent, some famous big whig (in hoity toity Stanford-esque crowds, but hey, I'm not one for fascinating Nascar crowds...that was so...college days) and to make six figures and be a well respected intellectual elitist. Those people, the "man" type people, who run the world, and especially people that teach and supervise children, are supposed to be pious nuns or something. They can't be people that blog about Tiffany Takesalot (of money not...you fowl person), dead rattlesnakes in the freezer, the evils of college, and crazy family. So it....sucks... I need advice. Again, someone running for school board and trying to run a school (you know, if there were jobs) can't talk about Tiffany-rattlesnake-prozac-parties. Nope. But my wacky tiffany-rattlesnake-prozac-party self is, well, me, but so is that academic self that throws out words like "disenfranchised" "technocratic liberal" "social efficiency model of eugenics" (<--which I am against), "psychometrics" "interdisciplinary innovation" and "prescribed automaton" and pushes to revolutionize the system that is education.

 Sigh.

Innuendos and Insanity

Mortimer Moneybags

Hubby and I decided that since we are supposedly evil landlords, we need cool evil landlord names. So my hubby is Mortimer Moneybags and he looks like the guy with the tophat on Monopoly but waaay more evil. My name...I'm working on it because Tiffany Takesalot sounds too...well..it has a dirty innuendo and a future in grown-up movies. That past me... I am reading a book (title and author escape me and it's on my Nook aaaalll the way downstairs) about agoraphobia cause lucky ol' me it runs in the family (but I don't have it, phew). I'm reading it and the author also has panic attacks etc etc. I am laughing along with the book and nodding my head at certain things, you know, in that I totally get you kind of way and I'm frightened. I did the same thing in Jenny Lawson's book. I am wondering, am I crazy? Or is it just that being raised with family chock full of mental illness, did I just kind of pick up some of the idiosyncrasies of crazy people? I'm afraid to ask people for the answer.

A law of the land

#103:  If someone is explaining something new to you, it makes total sense, that is, until later when you think, "whaaaaaa?"

Case in point: I am attempting to run for school board (I guess that makes me important or something) and I have to fill out some financial "statement of economic interests". It comes with a 20 page packet explaining it all, yet it doesn't explain it. When I picked up the packet, it made sense, the lady told me, "if you own rental property, just declare it here and the net worth". Sure. Makes sense. Now that I am home, I'm sooooo lost. The forms asks, "Agency name..." well the packet does not tell me, so I wonder, do they mean the county? Voter's dept? My name? My Mortgage company? Or the board I am running for? What about the question of, "Jurisdiction office?" Well it is in a county, it is not state or city but it is a school board covering a few towns/cities, so is it county, or, other? Then the statement says "statement for __/__/11 to __/__/11" but it is past 2011, and the 20 pages of not-explanation mention filing by April 2011 AND at the same time, that it is not necessary to file until 2013.  Even though I was told I have to file by the end of this week to have my candidacy be legit. (Wait. This sounds eerily like computer math, see http://disorderlywanderlustblog.blogspot.com/2012/07/44-8-except-you-know-when-it-doesnt.html). Then, it asks for my assessor parcel number or address. Well, my luck is they want the parcel and not the address, even though it says either or. And I cannot screw this up because a) it is due in a few days b) will become a fully public document  c)could invalidate my election/candidacy if it is wrong.

So again....yes...if someone explains something new to you, it totally makes sense...until you leave that person's presence and then it suddenly becomes some alien concept and you feel like a complete imbecile.

Exermasize

I am joining the gym. Some might look at me and be all, "you had a baby? You skinny b!tch...." or whatever, but everyone should take care of their body. I want to firm up my little love handles, and stretch my back so that my back issues are resolved or at least better, and so that my asthma is improved. It is kind of a double-edged sword though, cause you can help strengthen muscles to help abate your asthma, or you can cause exercise induced asthma. ***************f you blogger for not making paragraphs***************** The gym people said I should join the sport conditioning class. The kind but super toned, perfectly matched exercise outfit lady said, "You will HURT. You will not be able to MOVE for three days or so, not even vacuum or bend down but it is sooooo good". I don't get it. I'm sorry but I like to be able to move. And having a hyper toddler, I have to be able to move. ****************************************** Ok, so you might think I'm just lazy, no pain no gain baby. But no. Back in the day, probably 5 years ago, I could bench 100 lbs and leg press 200. So I am no wimp, just, 3 days of immobilization sounds a)crappy b)does not fit my lifestyle, because toddlers do not take care of themselves********************************************************* So today is yoga.......********************************************************8

downward dog. Do this for a few minutes and
you WILL feel it.

Pigeon pose. I can't quite do it that well
but doesn't it just say ouch?

So I am back from the gym. I was the schmexy new girl in turquoise monkey pajama pants, knee high socks, and a pill-y ratty blue tshirt. With the screaming baby next door in day care. Gentle new age music wafts through the room, the instructor says breathe, let out your (WAAAAAAAH) stress for the day, relax and (WAAAAAAAH) stretch.
The regular yoga instructor was ill so we got the massage therapist across the street. While he was very knowledgeable of yoga, I still have ot just describe my experience. ********************************** The instructor was some blond surfer looking dude that reminded me of the creepy sexual healer guy in Sedona (I don't know the Sedona dude but he is always on late night tv. Just google Sex healer Sedona and click images) mixed with, and I'm rating myself, the lead singer of the 90s Ausssie band Silverchair. The yoga guy was the buff, long, why cant my hair be that pretty, guy who should say "cha....dude" after everything, voice all deep and scratchy from too much ummm herbal remedies. And yes. He brought incense. Now, I do yoga for the exercise. Some think it is all meditating and relating and going "oooom". Sure that is a part of it, the part I do not like, the part I sit there trying to stifle a giggle, where I try and see if anyone fell asleep, and where I think about laundry and stuff in hopes I don't laugh.  But using your own body for resistance, that part, IS exercise. I dare you to, in an hour, to do two dozen downward dogs, ten minutes each side of the pigeon pose, balance on one leg for two minutes, etc. So I do all that. My body feels much better, relaxed but also all shaky and weak from lactic acid I burnt off. Yes. I feel better than, say, if I did the sports conditioning. Heck I even came home and could vaccuum, But I still feel like I'm old, my butt whooped from an hour of yoga. Yoga. *******************pointless paragraph and end of a thought****************downward dog sounds dirty but isn't. I might try pilates tomorrow. I smell like incense. Whenever any yoga person touches me to put me in the right position, I want to giggle. I also want to giggle when even, say, a doctor touches me or like when I was a kid and my back doctor told me to walk to check my posture and I'd laugh. I'd even laugh at the chiropractor. That makes me weird.  My post here is dying on the vine.....