I haven't blogged in a long time. Mostly the reason for this is because I am a grown up with lots of grown up things to do. I Work. I Wife. I have two kids that I Mom. I have two dogs that I Dog Mom. I Embroider (more on that later--like, another blog later). I Cook important things out of important recipe books like ones written by Chrissy Teigen. I try to Grow Orchids and I Read Lots of Books. I Go To The Gym a lot. Those things feel like they deserve more time and energy than blogging, although blogging still makes me laugh and is a bit of a catharsis.
Also, at this second, blogging is physical therapy because I had bilateral carpal tunnel release on Friday and my wonderful surgeon who did a fucking fantastic job (all hail Dr. Rectenwald!) told me that the more I use my hands the less likely I am to need real physical therapy. I took this to heart, and when I got home from surgery at 11:30am I ate a banana (I was starving-- that whole "no food before surgery" rule), then I worked out. In the 48 hours since the surgery was performed, I have cleaned, embroidered, worked out three times, taken multiple showers (this doesn't sound like an accomplishment, but if you have ever tried to wash your hair and shave your legs after your hands have both been slit open and stitched up, you will understand that it truly is), typed up all my notes for the semester, ironed all of B's work shirts, and texted my Mom who is currently in Australia (I think). I did take one pain pill of the 25 I was given, but I really only took it to see what would happen (I felt really warm and sleepy, and my hands felt much better) but I doubt I will take any more because I DO NOT LIKE TO BE SLEEPY and it kinda knocked me out. I've taken Advil twice.
So, to the blogging.
Looking back and seeing that I haven't blogged since November is a little alarming just because weird things happen to me every day and I used to write about all of those but now there is a stockpile and I don't know what to write about. I locked myself outside, naked, back in the Fall. I almost got run over one day when a Chevy Traverse that I crawled under to retrieve a bottle of water decided to back out of a parking spot. I got in an actual fight with a Frenchman who had a Ph.D. in Computer Science. Sutt got sick and I had to take him to class with me and my gangsta college students decided to "give him pimp lessons." I accidentally clocked my son in the face during a self defense class two days after he had gotten braces and busted his mouth open and it was all documented on the Self-Defense School's website. I got drunk at a Tiki Bar in Alphabet City when B and I were in NYC while supporting a "Mid Life Crisis Death Metal Band" (the band's description, not mine) and ended up crying on a doorstep in the rain across from the apartment where Heath Ledger died while B photographed me and told me to pull my shit together.
The world is weird y'all. At least for me. You need to hear the stories. Let's start with the naked story, because it's the oldest one that I really remember.
So.
I had just showered and knew I needed to change out the canula and tubing for my insulin pump. I was home alone and knew it would be easier to do all of this without clothes in the way, so I headed downstairs without a stitch to put the new tubes into my abdomen before I got dressed and out of the door. Now, let's establish a few things first:
1. I am an avid watcher of all murder shows, horror movies, crime documentaries, and all things having to do with cold cases or unsolved alien abductions that may or may not involve a yeti and a poltergeist. Therefore, I keep the doors locked at all times. It's a running joke in the family that if the kids or B go outside to water the plants or check the mail, they better damn sure have their house key with them because in the 4.7 seconds they are outside, my Spidey senses will kick in and I will come behind them and lock the door. Not locking them out on purpose, just keeping out the serial killers. IT ONLY MAKES SENSE, YOU GUYS.
2. I do not like the neighbors to see me naked. This really requires no explanation.
3. Karma is a bitch (see #1)
Anyway, I went down and put in my new tubes and fresh insulin and got everything diabetes-wise rolling along. Then I thought, "You know what would be nice right now, while I put on my makeup and blow dry my hair? La Croix." The La Croix (coconut or grapefruit, please) was in the garage, so I slipped into the garage to grab one before I headed upstairs. Only, I didn't realize until I tried to come back into the kitchen that I had locked the door into the garage on my way out, thus locking myself in the garage. Naked. In the dark.
Well, shit.
The time was about 8:30am. I didn't have my phone with me, but I had just looked at the clock. I realized my options were the following (still love me a list):
1. See if my car is unlocked. If so, use the garage door opener to open the door to the front-facing driveway. Walk out the front (naked), around the side (still naked), into the back yard (yep), and onto the porch, find the key that Sutt had put somewhere on the rock fireplace, and let myself into the kitchen.
2. Sit naked in the garage until Bell got home. At 3:20pm. Still in the dark because I don't know where the garage light switch in the garage is (I only know where the corresponding switch is in the kitchen).
Those were not good choices.
(Also, I didn't even remember that there is a button in the garage that opens the door that I could have pushed if my car was locked. Yay, me.)
After a few moments of thought, I tried my car door and hit the garage door button. The big door opened. Light! I looked around-- maybe there was a tarp or something that I could toga myself up in before I took off out the door. Sadly, there wasn't (well, there was, I just didn't know where to look). But there was some clothes of Belly's that were out waiting to be taken to Goodwill. She had outgrown them when she was ten. DO YOU KNOW WHAT TEN-YEAR-OLD CLOTHES LOOK LIKE ON A 40-YEAR OLD WOMAN?
It wasn't good, you guys.
After I shimmied my way into pink leggings and a striped sweater that were all a child's size 8, I took off across the lawn. I made it through the gate and onto the porch, then contemplated the likelihood of getting stuck in the doggie door if I tried to go that route. (Very likely, as we have 10 lb dogs.) I searched and searched for the key, and after fifteen minutes or so, I found it. After much wrangling, I got inside (we desperately needed to lube the lock with some WD-40). By then I was sweating, swearing, and losing blood flow due to the very small, very snug clothes with unicorns on them.
Bottom line is, I got inside. And I got dressed. And I would apologize to any of my neighbors who possibly had to witness any of that, but honestly, it was probably a good enough laugh that it was worth it.
So, you're welcome.
Have a lovely Sunday, y'all.
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