The Best Irony

Here is a question that will make many of you laugh out loud if you know me at all...

How in the world does anybody live without a daytimer? 

I think I might be addicted to the organization and the fact it yields me a much more organized life.  It only took 30+ years to come to this conclusion.  I think that there might be hope for me yet.  :) 

(Possibly Embarrassing) Things To Be Thankful For...(Pt.6)

• El Debarge and their infinitely popular repertoire including: "Who's Holdin' Donna Now" and, of course, my favorite, "Who's Johnny".
• That my last name starts with "H" and therefore gives a little breathing room when lined up alphabetically for those that might be a smidge late... or a little more late...or
• That I don't have to pluck my eyebrows too much... anymore. For more details, see this POST. You will NOT be disappointed, I can assure you with total confidence.
• That my most embarrassing moment happened without video cameras present and prior to the launch of ubiquitous camera phones. There was a fairly vocal direct witness but hopefully, he has long forgotten about this moment.... surely...
• I haven't had to call 911 in the last 5 years for a rat in my house. I am the model for the billboard in downtown Nashville off of Demonbreun of when NOT to call 911. Seriously.

What are some things that you are (embarrassingly) thankful for?

Speech Pathology Magic Words

Attention all SLPs:

An actual quote out of my mouth today to a mother as I was conducting a diagnostic assessment on a child with a tongue tie...

"In this particular case,

talking with his tongue tied is about as effective

as tweezing your eyebrows with salad tongs."

Tell me no stories, I tell you no lies.

The Value of Clarity and Definition

I am having trouble reconciling in my mind a few things this evening:

1) That my 83-year-old Mamaw is on Facebook and is hyuckin' it up with people from the opposite side of the family every night. She's on it right now.

2) That she is actively farming on Farmville.

3) That she sent me a jello shot this evening.

To be clear, she doesn't know what it is....

but thought I,

a non-drinker and non-jello-er,

would enjoy it.

She doesn't know exactly what she is sending but she is passing it along to her "friends" and underage grandkids? She doesn't drink! Most of my family doesn't drink as a general rule. Why is the matriarch of this family lining the road of temptation with jello shots? I have no words.

Let me tell you what this is like... (Please bear with me as the situational details may not be exactly accurate due to poor memory, but the punchline definitely happened.)

A few years ago (like 20 -25), my family was preparing to take a family ski trip to Colorado. We would go for Spring Break every year and stay the week. We would stay in a condo and bring grandparents (you know, the one sending jello shots now) and have a grand time. Well, the week before we were to leave, my sister was at school and they were having a share time of discussing Spring break plans and it was her turn to discuss. She begins...

"Well, we are going to Colorado and we get to go skiing and I don't have to go to ski school this time and Mamaw and Papaw are going and the best part is that we get to stay in a condom."

That is not a typo.

This stemmed from the time that she heard the word "condom" and proceeded to ask Dad what it was. At her age, it was probably not the best time to share the exact function of that item. In the days leading up to that question, we had been talking about the trip to Colorado and been discussing the housing situation and inevitably the word "condo" came up and so...

He just went with it.

"Ummmm... that ..... ummmm.... is ahhhh.... that is the thing..... that is the ... PLACE THAT WE STAY IN COLORADO."

I know, you don't even have to say it. He wasn't really going to use that conversation as a teaching lesson but honestly, the bluntness of the question caught him off guard and he just said it.

Unfortunately, he forgot to say "just kidding" and she proceeded to tell her class that we were all going to get to stay in one.

Yeah for us!

The point... BE SURE you know what you are talking about and/or sending out before sharing with your friends or family. Also, be clear as to when you are joking and when you are not.
You never know when it will come back to haunt you...

This includes jello shots, Mamaw.

It's Chilly Here... Better Grab Your (Strait) Jacket

I wish I could state in detail the regularity of ridiculousness of my Tuesday morning appointments. I mean seriously. The fundamental characteristic that must be present in order to get an appt with me is that you must be nuts. I must caveat here.... there are some very good friends who at one time, were perhaps scheduled for an appt with me on a Tuesday morning.



I AM NOT TALKING TO YOU.



I am talking to the people who leave me feeling like I need medication directly following the appt. I do not seek intentional friendship with these people. I try to keep my crazy friends separate from my crazy patients. There is a line and try to walk it carefully. That being said, let's continue on with my crazy life...



Chapter 36 - story #42



Last Tuesday, I was scheduled for an appt with a precious little kiddo. Precious, I say. Well behaved and clean. Cute as a button. I would totally take him to the park. His family... not so much. Characters in this story include precious little **Ethan (**Names have been changed to protect the guilty and myself.), Mama, and Granny Agnes. It is very important to note that Mama and Granny Agnes are related by marriage, there is no blood between them except bad. They are daughter and mother-in-law. Let the fun begin...



Every one transitions nicely to the room. Little Ethan is playing nicely. Granny Agnes needs to lay off the smokes. Mama needs to grow a backbone. This is strictly my initial analysis and they pay me well for it. There is enough going on in this evaluation appt that there is no way to cover the entire cock-a-maminess (I might have just come up with a new word?) so I will hit the high points. These are the TOP TEN actual quotes said...


10. (Christi says "Why are you here today?") "I don't know. Granny Agnes, why don't you tell 'er." - Mama, scared and insecure

9. "He ain't talked right." - loud and proud by Granny Agnes

8. "SHOCKING!!!!" - thought bubble quote by Christi

7. "Well, she don't keep no structure and let's just.... let's just say that.... let's just say that we's different in hows we growed up the kids. I just slap 'em and tell to get their _ _ _ _ together 'cuz I ain't got time for none a that nonsense." - Granny Agnes

6. "Wait, for real? Did you just seriously say that?" - thought bubble quote by Christi



5. "We's just not used to lettin' kids write on the walls with crayons and scribblin on the cabinets with markers. I ain't just not puttin up with that. I finally went out and bought some markers and crayons and colored with 'em on the walls." - crazy ole Granny Agnes

4. "I grew up depressed and a place where we just feel everything and I know I'm sensitive but they're just mean." -venting by Mama and answered by Granny Agnes with this... "Oh, we are not mean. You don't take care of your kid and I don't have the time. Well, YEAH we tell dirty jokes and we cuss at each other and we use some pretty hard language, but _ _ _ _, you've gotta be kiddin me that you're sayin we's mean!?!?"


3. "Well, she let's 'em just sit around and watch TV all day and then she don't get 'em when he plays in the plugs." - Granny Agnes the antagonizer



2. "That ain't true!!!! I grew up in a depressed family and I just don't think there is anything wrong with being nice sometime. And anyway, she takes Ethan's diaper off and tells him to go pi... I mean, pee on grandpa and she thinks its funny!!!" - Mama the indignant


And the number one quote of the appt....

1. "Well, that WAS pretty funny!!!" - Granny Anges, the unpaid comedienne of preschool programs all over the US.

These "ladies" almost came to blows and there were defintely tears present and I'm not talking about the kiddo's tears. I have never seen anything like this at all. Classic and yet so disturbing.

Comprehensive speech language evaluation:

$647

Value of my time wasted on this evaluation

because the child is totally fine:

in the $1000's

Value of honest and stunningly ridiculous material gleaned for my next show:

PRICELESS,

of course!!!

A Walk in the Park

So, let's catch up on sweet little Vivi...

She is so adorable... when she is not urinating on the floor, throwing up in the den, or chewing my favorite socks. Absolutely precious, I say. The puppy is CLEARLY a sanguine puppy, kind of like her Aunt Christi. Playful, fun, short attention span... you get the picture. If not, go back and look at a few posts ago. It's right there.

Let's talk about our little outing today.

Yes. Today, we had a little aunt and puppy time together. We talked, she slept, I drove, we listened to Carrie Underwood. A great time was had by all. My friend, Sharon, and her mongrel, I mean, dog, went with us. I invited them because I LOVE Sharon and her dog needs some social skills in a major way. This dog has no friends and let me tell you, her last days will be lonely. I, in my own way, am trying to help that (rat dog) pet become all that she can be. And she is completely ungrateful and wants to bite me on the backside for even attempting to help her. She did lick me today for the first time. Sharon thinks it was primarily to determine if she needed A-1 or Heinz 57 when she finally took a bite out of crime. I can't say that I disagree with her. (Just for future reference, this lovely dog is named Georgia, but she has several nicknames.)

So, Vivi and I (and our "friends") decided to try out the dog park in East Nashville today. This was not going to be an all day affair, but something that lasted a couple of hours at most. My friend at work was hyping the dog park dynamic so I took the bait. Plus, I don't have to wear those stupid footies there so I said, "Vivi, git in the car - we're goin'!" After driving approximately 90 minutes for a 12-15 mile drive, I knew today was going to ROCK! Growling Gidget was scratching the steel from her cage bars in the back of the car and Vivi was chillin' in my lap. Sharon and I are discussing lots of things from both of us being poor map readers, both of us having a terrible sense of direction, and me having less than 1/16 of a tank of gas left. Fun times. Anyway, Chewbacca finally quit shredding the steel and we arrived at the dog park after becoming friends with 8 cops, 7 random walkers, 6 random passengers in cars, 5 dog walkers, 4 adolescents heading to the community center, 3 marathon finishers, 2 children in strollers and 1 security guard. This dog park was hard to find.

We get there and notice there are caterpillars everywhere. Gross! Not the inchworm-ish critters. These are the plump juicy fuzzy, yellow and black caterpillars that I am positive are poisonous and will NOT turn into butterflies. Everywhere. I get out and haul out Vivi's diaper bag. You think I am kidding. This puppy travels in style, Baby. She has her own travel bag, and in the bag, she has: food, food bowl, treats of many different flavors, regular leash, retractable leash, small towel (for when she sweats), bottled water and water dish, eye cream for when her eyes drain and we don't want them to stain, and "pet wipes" for ... well, the name speaks for themselves. I wish I was kidding about this, but alas, I am not. I will say, I have NEVER EVER used the "pet wipes". This girl has to have her standards and I am not doing that. Sorry. Call me a bad aunt. I am totally OK with that.

Vivi walks me over to the fenced area while I am carrying her bag and my bag (which carries my reading material and bottle of water - THAT IS ALL!). The Queen of Mean is growling the entire way over to the fenced area because she has to walk and wants to be carried exactly 4 ft, 6 inches above the level of other dogs and she ain't makin any bones about it... she's ticked. Vivi looks at her in a very friendly way, she snarls. Georgia's learning curve is a little steeper than other dogs her age in the area of social skills. I don't know what else to say about that.

We go in and meet the first pooch, a cairn terrier, whose owner keeps telling him to "SIC 'er" toward Vivi. Clearly, another dog who needs social skill training... perhaps the owner as well. Who does that? First rattle out of the bag, not even a "Hey, what's up, let me have a sniff." before "SIC' er!" Anyway, luckily there was another dog, Tiger. I liked him (and the single male owner) but alas, there was no love connection for Viv and Tig. Tiger was about 8 times Vivi's size anyway so I don't see that working out. I learned some things about Viv today. She has no fear and she runs really fast. She also shares very well and is very modest....all of which makes me very proud to be her aunt.

Move along to meet the other dogs: Let's see... we had, Tiger, Chester (the hound), Jake (the Weimariner), Stella (the brindle medium dog), and Bartlesby (the dalmatian mix). All very nice dogs, all much bigger than Vivi, all very into Vivi. It was SO MUCH like HIGH SCHOOL!!!! Vivi was clearly the cute cheerleader in high school and Jake was the star QB, Chester was the strong but silent Valedictorian, both fighting for the same girl and Stella was the jealous dance team member. I could not have seen this more clearly. Viv was the popular girl and the other guy dogs danced around her and acted cool but when she was about to leave their vicinity, everyone became very territorial with Vivi ... except for Stella who was whispering malicious lies to Georgia about Vivi for the ride home. Georgia heard every word and was clearly calculating her next move. Classic KHS!

Sharon and I are making friends with the owners and watching the dog soap opera play out when she and I felt something crawling up our legs. OH YEAH! The caterpillars were alive and well and scurrying up our legs and all I can say is that YOU WISH that you had been there to see it! Others present in the park DID see it and came over to make friends with the freaky girls dancing on the bench with poisonous caterpillars crawling up their shorts by now. Thrilling to say the least. After that show of emotion, Georgia was more than miffed that she had been disturbed and actually had to stand on the same ground as the other dogs and basically demanded that Vivi share her best treats with her. So, we got them out and then Georgia totally turned her nose up at them. Snooty Patootie! By this time, the entire population of thepark had migrated over to our little corner. People pulled up benches, the boy dogs were whispering about Viv's silky coat and gams (you know guys are visual), and Stella and Georgia were catty and cracked open a cold one to spike the water buckets. Typical.

But wait... where's Bartlesby? Remember, the good looking Dalmatian mix. Oh, here he is...

PEEING ON MY BAG!!!!!

And just like typical boys, Jake and Chester started laughing (they love bathroom humor). And don't think for a minute that Gnarly and Snarly didn't plan that! Oh, they acted like they were genuinely surprised but you could totally see the evil sneer. And then, they went behind the tree, high fived and drank the rest of the hooch. I have one thought for that: Vivi and I are Christians (she became one three days ago when she quit pottying on the carpet) and we will ignore this incident. They only serve "warm" beer where those kinds of girls will be going and it just won't be as fulfilling in the heat.

We left in a blaze of glory with yet more caterpillars crawling on us and honestly, we just got tired of all the tricks Jake and Chester were doing to get Viv's attention. It got a little embarrassing. Come on, guys! Keep it together! A little give and go - don't drown her in attention. I personally am pulling for Chester but as her aunt, I will support her decision. It's a girl's perrogative - just ask Britney. She knows.

We are certainly going back in the near future. Who knew the dog park could be so much fun?

Beware of Friends Wearing Slingshots

...Ok, so I am eating lunch with my good friend, Leah. Let me branch into how much this girl ROCKS! Love her! She is new to Vandy and such a breath of fresh air up there. We have decided that we need to be going to the main hospital cafeteria for lunch. The Starbucks, the Pesto Minestrone soup, the doctors and the time away from the clinic. What is not to love?! So we took a jaunt down to the courtyard cafe... Herein lies today's funny story...

So, here we are, hair brushed (perhaps stylishly mussed), nails polished, debit card in hand walking at a good little clip to be sure. We have a rule up at Vandy... no open toe shoes.

Yeah. That stinks, especially in the spring and summer with cute sandals. However, this is NOT the worst rule we have.

We MUST wear stockings or socks or the ugly little footies that "try" to hide under the leather of your shoe but let's be real. They are not foolin anybody. You can see those ugly footies eight people away and they are not pretty. IF you cannot tell about my opinion about this rule, let's spell it out...

T-o-t-a-l-l-y stupid rule! (Yeah, I said Stupid ... and I think it IS a stupid rule.)

Anyway, Leah and I are walking around, finding our food, rubbing elbows with lumbering eligible long lab coats and looking for a table. Long story short, Leah found a table as I was paying and I walked over to the table she picked across the way. As I walked over there, my little stupid footie slipped off the bottom of my heel in my shoe for the 847th time that day. SO ANNOYING! I sat down and unloaded my tray. We were chatting and trying to present our best angles in catch the best lighting, you understand. IN a flash of brilliance, I decided I would just casually reach down and fix the little booger in my shoe and try to be as inconspicuous about because really... who honestly wants to see that?

I reached down to pull the footie down over my heel and my shoe slips off...

... AND I SHOT THE UGLY, STUPID, LITTLE STINKY FOOTIE ACROSS THE MAIN HOSPITAL CAFETERIA!!!

OH YES, I DID!!!

It landed in the hot doctor's soup at the table beside us.

NO IT DIDN'T!!!!!

What kind of moron do you think I am? I have other ways of getting physician attention. I am not going to make him puke by shooting my sock in his lunch! Good grief! I have some couth!!

I became aware in this situation just what kind of friend I am. Seriously. This is what I thought...

Thought #1: "GOOD GRAVY TRAIN, I JUST SHOT THAT STUPID FOOTIE ACROSS THE DANG BLASTED CAFETERIA WITH ALL THESE BEAUTIFUL LAB COATS ALL AROUND!"

Thought #2: Fake it. IT DIDN'T HAPPEN! Admit NOTHING! That is somebody else's stupid footie. Quick, find your happy place. HAPPY PLACE. HAPPY PLACE. HAPPY PLACE.

Thought #3: Where in the cocoa puffs did it go? DON'T MAKE A SCENE, CHRISTI! Probably not too far away, I bet I can reach out with my foot (which is bare by the way, now) and pick it up like Jennifer Little used to do back in middle school with those amazing long toes.

Stinky footie spotted... walking distance away. OH yeah.

Here is where I feel ashamed, sorta...

Thought #4: It is kind of by Leah. Closer to Leah than to me. Maybe I could... NO! You can't! OR could you? Maybe I can leave it there and somebody will think it is hers and they won't notice my OTHER ugly stupid little footie hanging out from under my other shoe. Oh yeah. That's my play. (Enter GUILT, GUILT, GUILT...)

Holy Spirit's thought #1: Classy move, Hot stuff. IF you are going to shaft your friend, at least do it when you have used odor eaters. What you are doing is just WRONG! You are a skanky new friend." (I am a little fuzzy on the last phrase the Holy Spirit used. I cannot be sure if He said "skanky" or "stanky" friend. I actually have never heard either phrase used before by the Holy Spirit but let's face it.... that was poor performance in friendship 101.

Thought #5: Well Crap. I am going to have to go pick up that totally useless footie off the floor. So, then what? After it is in my hand, then what? Put it back on so we can have a repeat performance in 12.7 seconds? Dude, if it happens again, I am TOTALLY blaming Leah!!! Just go get the stupid sock.

I slipped on my shoe without the footie and walked over and picked it up off the floor and walked briskly back over to my table where Leah was transfixed on my face which by now had taken on SO many expressions including: annoyance, horror, fear, guilt, conviction, defeat and finally, the inhalation of humble pie. She, oh sweet friend, full of innocence and blissfully unaware...

Here is a question for you: What do you do with the sock now that you have picked it up and brought it back to the table with you? Put it back on the footie-less foot? Put it in your purse? Try again and aim higher so as to show your sense of humor to the only Dr who didn't see it the first time since the rest are snubbing their nose at you? What do you do?

You want to know what I did?

I sat on it.

Right under the left cheek. Just couldn't handle the whole situation so I just sat on it. I don't know what that solved, but it made me feel better and I just wanted it to go away. It became funny shortly after that and I eventually put the stupid footie back on.

It was truly a character building moment. Glad you could enjoy it with me.

Sorry Leah.

The Toll of Beauty - Military Style

So let's talk about eyebrows, shall we?

I wish I could include a picture of today's subject of discussion but unfortunately for each of you, I am not fully "staffed" in the area of computer-graphic-to-blog manipulation. Therefore, you will have to channel me, my facial expressions, my tone of voice and my ridiculous antics to really get the feel of how this all went down. I welcome you to a little piece of my world.

So Saturday, I decide that I need a manicure. I don't need anything fancy. I just need my cuticles to quit overgrowing my fingernails. (Besides that, I read on Yahoo, society's foremost take on all things culturally appropriate and true, that hands are one of the four things that men notice on a woman. Now, I'm not going to say that this is bogus but let's just say that I have NEVER heard this (Hands) are even in the running for the top four things a man notices in a woman. EVER. I'm just sayin... However, let's assume that this is absolutely and completely, 100% true, I'm willing to do my part and help this train down the tracks. You just never know...)
So, I go to my buddy Robby over at the nail place. Maybe it's Bobby. Who can tell? Perhaps Robby to some, Bobby to others. To me, "Hand man" or "Nail guy".


**Side note** No offense intended by this but who here is highly suspicious of men who do nails... for a living? That's exactly what I thought. I just saw all your highly manicured hands go up. And your hands look good... why? Because many of you have had a man do your nails and men surprisingly do a very nice job. Not that I thought they couldn't do a nice job. However, I have tended toward lower expectations for men who paint nails for a living. I guess I'm sexist. I also think women are not as strong as men. So sue me. Back to the story...

Mr Hand man tells me to come over and he will do my nails and then, in this order, he begins to question me...

What's your name again?

"Christi"

What do you do?

"I'm a speech language pathologist. I work with kids at Vanderbilt."

"Do you know your nails look terrible?"

"Ummm... well, that is why I am here."

"You want your eyebrows done, too? Oooooo... have you been messing with your eyebrows?"

"Ummmm... no, I don't think so.

"I don't do much to them except pluck a few here and there as needed."

Have you met your soulmate?

(Yes, it was that abrupt, that personal and that weird! What am I supposed to say?

So, he heard...)

(crickets)

** PAUSE**

"Ummm... well I guess not." (That is also why I am here -Thanks Yahoo!)

"Well, what's wrong with him?"

In that one statement, he sold an eyebrow job, a lip job and a paraffin wax.

No joke.

Kind words will get you everywhere with me.

He finishes my nails and they look good but he doesn't want to touch my eyebrows because he is the "hand man" and not the "brow bro". I'm down with that. I think it is good that everyone realize their strengths and weaknesses. I've got weaknesses. My peeps have got 'em. "Hand man"'s got 'em and his are called eyebrows. However, he knows, and is married to, by the way, the "Brow Guru", the "Arch Angel", the "Great White Hope for Stray Hairs". That's right. In the same salon (And the same household it appears) cosmetic greatness has gathered together for some serious beautification of some women looking for soulmates. What are the chances that I, little ol' Christi, would happen upon such a place? One answer will suffice. God.

"Hand Man" sends me to his "Arch Angel" for her to work magic on my eyebrows which, to some, appear to have been messed with. She is friendly and happy and a busy little bee. Wearing a totally cute sweater - wanted to ask where she got it but after the soulmate question, I felt like we were treading on thin ice with regards to appropriate boundaries between a girl and her hoof and hair people and I for one, did not want to be the one to cross it.

She had me come over and sit down. I immediately said,

"I really don't want them too thin."

"Oh no, I not make them too thin."

"No, really. I really and truly don't want them too thin".

"No, no, no, no, no, I say I not make them too thin."

"Well, it's really important to me that they not be too thin."

"I know, you say not too thin. I not make them too thin."

Well, you know what happened....(Yeah, you THINK you do....)

I lean back and she starts putting wax above my eye brows. Ohhhh, she's one of THOSE Arch Angels. She's a top and bottomer. However, as she begins to slather the wax, she drags her popsicle stick down my hairline almost to my cheekbone. Immediately, I am thinking, I would prefer not to be snatched bald-headed in this eyebrow endeavor.

RRRRRRR..IIIIIIIIII...PPPPPPPPPP

Yeah. It hurts. We all have been there, ladies. AND, we all know it is NO WAY going to hurt as much as the lip rip so I can handle this and so can my hairline.

Left side, (strong side) sequence happens again. Top of the brow, drag to my cheekbone and take the first 1/2 inch of my hairline with it.

Now the fun is wearing off and I know it is going to get worse before it gets better. It just usually does in most cases. No exception here. Bottom of the brows and right side starts. She slathered the wax underneath my eyebrow and as she sticks the strip of paper on the wax, I raise my eyebrow just a hair (literally) and she says...

"NO, NO, NO, NO, NO! DON'T DO DAT!!!

DON'T MOVE YOU FACE WHEN I PUT DIS ON YOU EYE."

Ok, so I should have known better, but honestly, more than perfect eyebrows, I want to you, my little Arch Angel, to quit yelling at me with hot wax hanging over my face on a flimsy popsicle stick. I would prefer a little extension of grace while you are scalding the top layer of skin off my eye, which is known by so many of us to be one of a most sensitive place on your face. But, as we all know, it is not about me and what I want.

So, she moves to the other eyebrow, same scenario without the literally hair raising eyebrow. I'm a quick study. You don't have to tell me more than once (usually). So we are waxed on the top and bottom of the brows and then she says,

"Oh my geesh. You brows need a haircut."

She says this while I have my hands in paraffin wax covered with plastic bags and potholders and I have no way of stopping her as she is leaning over me in a reclining chair with hot wax on a popsicle stick and threatening to cut my brows. What do you do?

So she begins...

She brushes my eyebrow up and takes her scissors and begins to cut.

LADIES, do you remember when you were a little girl and your mom cut your bangs on Saturday night before church on Sunday? She told you to stay still and you believed her because she was cutting so dangerously close to your eyes that you thought she might cut your eye lashes off. And that sound of cutting - dull scissors on dry hair right near your eyes. Man, that must have made a pretty powerful impression because I had a full on hallucination of that time when I was 5 right there in the Arch Angel's chair.

Now, I want to make a distinction. When you go for a trim, the scissors snip your hair. When you go for a donation for locks of love haircut, they chop your hair. When you go in for an eyebrow wax, there should be no chopping. There should be AT MOST, snipping at the most minuscule level. "AA" cut those puppies and I do mean cut.

CUT, CUT, CUT, CUT, CUT, CUT, CUT.

I want you to go back and count the number of cuts she made.

Yeah. SEVEN.

ON ONE EYEBROW!

Friends, look at my picture on the right of this post. Does it truly look like I could afford SEVEN CUTS on ONE EYEBROW? I don't have a unibrow. I don't have eyebrows long enough to style. I now have no eyebrow.

The same thing happened on the left side to which I just began internally rocking back and forth hoping amongst hope that she hopefully has good taste in eyebrow grooming. I look at hers while she has me in a body hold, scissors in hand, wax dripping....

Three words...

NICE EYEBROW PENCIL!!

The event was traumatic and there's more to it but I just can't go further. I looked in the mirror after it was over and the one that I moved the hairs breadth on, was thinner than the other one. I mentioned it and she said, "Oh yeah. Well, that one already messed up."

Oh yes. She said it!

Anyway, I walked around all day and wondered why I was being saluted throughout the day. I got home and realized that I had a military brow cut. They are officially buzzed. Not buzzed off and for that I am grateful, but buzzed nonetheless. I woke up the next day and looked like a 7 year old little boy with a burr haircut who slept on it wrong and needed water to calm the cowlick (sp?) down. I seriously had to spend 6 minutes on my eyebrows yesterday morning to try and gain some semblance of regularity above my eyes.

My only hope is that, for as some of you know, hair growth is not a problem for me. I just have to hang on and soon and very soon we will have full on GIRLY eyebrows.

I just can't wait until they're long enough to braid.

Phil, Farmers and Political Correctness

OK. I think today is the day to finish the story which, by now, is really beyond the funny state and circled back to un-funny. It was slightly humorous at best and, I'm guessing, more funny with my particular animation of the situation. So, unless you live here and were with me when this happened, this will be a let down for you.

Sorry.

However, I do have more stories to share. Some are hysterical though again, probably funnier with my entire re-enactment of it all, which thus far, I have shown to many and all agree, it loses something in translation to the written word. Plus, the choice of words should be tempered or at least filtered through a p.c. (political correctness) filter which, as Cass says, I clearly do not have in my possession. I don't know why she says that I am not politically correct. Truth is truth. As I said to her, just because somebody says the sky is purple, doesn't mean it is. It means that you are color blind or lying or uninformed. Please don't make me go philosophical on you guys and discuss the problems with moral relativism. Some things are just as they are, no matter what you call them. There are no gray areas in certain specific aspects of life just because we want there to be.

Just because someone doesn't want to be called short, doesn't mean that they aren't short. They are not "vertically challenged". It makes it sound like they had a choice and just weren't up for the challenge of growing. That is not what has happened. They are just short. It is not bad to be short. It just "is what it is" to quote a very overused phrase these days.

What about blonds? Are they brunette-challenged? No, they are cognitively-challenged.
NO, I AM JUST KIDDING. JUST SAID THAT TO GET A RISE OUT OF YOU ALL. WORKED, DIDN'T IT?!?!?!?!?!? SORRY! They are just blond. Even if they want to be called brunette and everybody starts to say that she is a brunette, she is still a blond. Unless she dyes her hair which is for another entry.

Likewise, just because someone doesn't want to be called tall, doesn't mean they aren't tall. I guess the P.C. term for this would be vertically SUPERIOR when compared with the converse of vertically challenged? Let's take an example, shall we? What about Yao Ming? You know, 7'6" Houston Rocket originally from China. Do you think, at 7'6" he thinks, "Yes. I truly am vertically superior." No. THIS is what he thinks.

"I am SICK AND TIRED of ducking through every stinkin' doorway that I come to."

"I am IRRITATED BEYOND BELIEF that Hoover doesn't make vacuum cleaners taller because I am getting back spasms by bending over to vacuum the carpet and don't get me started about the baseboards."

"I am RIDICULOUSLY ANNOYED at the fact that I am losing my hair because my head rubs the top of my Hyundai every time I wanna go to the store to get me a cheeseburger."

- and that is a lot of rubbin', my friends. Of course, he thinks all this in Chinese, but I think the translation is approximately the same. He does not think that he is vertically superior. He is JUST as frustrated as the short person and would probably prefer to just be called tall. End of statement. I have not spoken to him directly on this matter but I feel confident that he must feel similarly to this. If he happens to read this blog, please chime in, Yao, and let us know how you feel.

Seriously. I would like to know and put this P.C. stuff to rest. Can we just tell it like it is please? There is no need for unnecessary rudeness, but we should just come out with the truth more often in this country rather than trying to make everyone feel good about themselves and justify every single decision that is ever made as being a good decision. There are some decisions that are bad decisions and we shouldn't make them. Drunk driving - bad. Teaching three year olds how to play with a loaded weapon - bad. Eating rotten fruit - bad. Helping eldery people across the street (when they want to go across the street) - good. Working hard - good. Eating ripe fruit - good. There are some things that are really not up for debate. It seems that we have a society now where we glorify the individual over the good of the entire group by making the majority bend to accommodate one single person and what they want or demand or makes them feel better about themselves and their decisions no matter if it is beneficial to the greater number of people.

Think about in sports. I grew up where every child gets a trophy whether they won or not. We are rewarded for things we do not deserve rewards for simply by breathing in the same air as the winner. I am not saying be cruel and not affirm our children - please do not read that. I am saying that life is not fair and I feel like we are perpetuating a disservice to those by teaching that you will always gets rewarded and life will always hand you a trophy even if you don't win, don't put forth the effort, or don't even show up to practice. We end up with some very spoiled children growing up into adults continuing to make these unwise and morally relative decisions into adulthood and expecting to always get their way. We have football players crying because they cannot go to strip clubs, carry a weapon, be involved with the "wrong crowd" and not make 8 gazillion dollars for playing 13 games which amounts to approximately 36 hours of time. Ladies and gentlemen, this is less than a week's worth. Sometimes, life is just life. Bad things happen. Justice seems ill apparent at times. Families fracture and fall apart. Best friends and good people pass away. Hard-working (and cognitively superior blond) people lose jobs sometimes. It is not the happiest part of life but it is a very real part of life and we should be teaching our own how to deal with it productively and appropriately and not expect that your life will be ideal or that you deserve to expect ideal. We get back up and realize that yeah, you didn't get the trophy this time but next time, you might with some hard work and God's favor.

Just my 2 cents.

Wow. That kind of morphed into a topic bigger than PC, huh? I think maybe I had a chip on my shoulder about something. Huh -- how'd that get there?

Well, I kind of hope there are no professional athletes reading this because they are taking major hits today. Except for Payton. I see him all over TV all the time. He could play baseball with all the pitches he is making. Therefore, I excuse him and could justify him for requesting millions because he clearly works lot of overtime for his money. He makes good decisions and does a lot of good things for the community like a lot of other professional athletes do as well. I can just see the flood of hate mail now. Everyone, easy up. This is not a personal attack on professional athletes. This is just a little venting moment about a bigger issue than you guys. I do love me a little Payton Manning, though... and a little Eli. I so did not blog on the Superbowl and I so should have. Man, was that great or what?

OK, let's get back to the boring story of yestermonth.

Long and short of it... I had a blow out on I-65 on the way home. It was Tuesday and had started snowing that day. It was freezing and I had no coat or gloves. I have no AAA (Triple A) and I have no "male friend" to take care of this for me. (This is where I get lots of women writing saying, I DO have a male friend and I still have to take care of that kind of thing! Thank you so much for trying to make me feel better or at least that I am not hanging out in the boat all alone but I am not going to lie, I was still ticked about the lack of help.) However, I want to take a little time to introduce Phil.

Phil and Donna.

Phil and Donna _ _ _ _ _ (I am protecting the innocent. They might not want to be mentioned on this blog or be associated with the one writing this blog.)

I love these people. Love them. Love them.

She is tall and he is bald.

That's right. I said it.

I call them "Vertically Superior" and "Barely Hairly".

Well, I don't really do that because he is not really bald.

Kind of balding... but HUMANLY SUPERIOR with road side help!!!!

I wish you could hear the tone in my voice when I relay the phone conversation.

Christi: "Phil. Hey, it's Christi. Listen, I am on the side of the road on 65 and I just had a blow out. What should I do?"

Phil: (Calm, cool, and collected but upbeat) "Are you OK? Are you still on the road or were you able to pull off?"

Christi: "I am on the side of the road and am fine. About 3 exits from my house. Should I call someone to help me and who should that be?"

(Ladies, a side note, do your brains go out the window when you're cold? Yeah, me neither but when I am stuck on the side of the road, in the dark, without a coat and gloves, and it is snowing outside, I think it is safe to say, I checked out.)

Phil: (Still calm, cool and collected but upbeat) Do you have triple A? I would call them.

Christi: I don't have Triple A.

Phil: (Calm, cool, collected, but NOT upbeat. Think Eeyore on 'Winnie the Pooh') Where are you? I'll come help you out.

Christi: "Thanks so much, Eeyore." (Inside my brain but NOT verbalized - Why do I need Triple A when I can call Barely Hairly Triple P?)

Just kidding. I really and truly did not think that at all. I did think "what would I have done without him being here?" And, let's be honest. It was after 7 PM. It was dark. It was snowing. Who wants to change a tire? Who knows how to change a tire? Not us. Please, no lectures about me not being a mechanic. I have other skills. Car assembly or disassembly is not one of them.

Anyway, in a few minutes, I got a tap on my passenger window. It was "Vertically Superior". I rolled that window down and this is the conversation that ensues.

VS: "Hi there, Honey! Are you OK? I've got a blan-ket, a pil-low, some bottled wa-ter, and some warm zucchini bread in the car for you. Why don't you come on into my car and we'll let Phil take care of this and we'll get warm in over there!"

Christi: "AMEN, SISTER FRIEND!!!!!"

Who here wants "VS" for their friend? Yeah, that's what I thought.

So, please don't think I or we were that callous to let Phil do all of it. I offered moral eye support as we watched him and figured out that this would take additional help because the jack was inadequate for the job.

Blah, blah, blah...called my insurance company. (Shout out to Farmers.) They sent a pizza man out to change the tire for FREE. (I suppose "free" is a relative term because really, I have paid jacked up auto insurance prices for the last 20 years so that when I was stuck on the side of the road in my 30's I could get a tire change for free.) Anyway, I got home and the Jones's have earned a HUGE star in my book. I will now call them "Astronomically Superior" when referring to them as a couple.

But wait, there's more...

The next day, drove to work and left my car in the shuttle lot during the day. My friend gave me a ride to my car after work in the shuttle lot and...

Kimmie: "Is that the tire that you had changed yesterday?"

Christi: "Yes."

Kimmie: "It's flat."

Yes, friends. Now the spare was flat. And the other tire was blown out in the back of the car.

Just so you know, I did not call "Astronomically Superior" but I totally cashed in on those higher rates again and had them hustle me up a tow truck, which they did for free again.

Bottom line... it's fixed now.

See, not the best story. Had you been there for the entire scenario it would have been funny maybe. I tried to add as much humor as I could since Mandy has been waiting a really long time and posted two comments about how sick she was of waiting to hear it.

I bet she wishes she had saved the comments for a more pressing story coming later after hearing this story?

Mandy, don't go. Come back. There are many more stories coming. They are funnier, I promise.

My Big Fat Greek Work Out

I know, it has been a while. "Busyness" seems like a lame excuse but does "Business" seem a little more excusable? I have been inundated with Busyness or Business, whichever you prefer to forgive me for. I haven't even gotten to blog on my teams. That is slacking is what that is. I am ashamed. Did I mention that I was busy?

I blog today for the point of letting you in on a funny. At my expense. Why I do this I don't know except that I know had I seen this, I would have fallen on the floor laughing myself. Truly. And, had I been friends with myself and known me the way that I know me, it would have been doubly funny! Save this entry until you have a bad day and read it with the intent of laughing at me because, honestly, it is the right thing to do. I have nothing to defend myself with. It is what it is. And so, we move into the story...

As many of you know, I traverse the gym multiple mornings per week. I love the gym not only for the clean white towels and the straight lines of treadmills that will do everything but run for you but for the overall general experience while there. I am a people watcher. I admit, I enjoy stretching and allowing my eyes to linger on those that are seriously working out. They are not there for show in their cute spandex. They are not there to yap it up with their friends. They are hard core. (They are women and men who are seriously inspiring to me to keep going when I want to quit. Not that I need the inspiration because I have enough determination to do that one last push up - not sure where that comes from but I am super competitive with myself when it comes to exercise. I have beat myself many times which I think works well for me because I always win when it is me against me.)

Have I let you in too much?

Anyway, I am choosing to go to the gym at 5:45 these days primarily because I am crazy and secondarily because that is the only time I can go with this job that I am finding is taking approximately 10-12 hours of my day these days. So, let's talk about the people that are at the gym at 5:45. These are the Mr. and Mrs. Olympians of the world. These are the older generations who have been up since 4:oo AM. These are disciples of Tony Little. These people aren't playing. They bring their own sweat towels and have an engraved plaque on their particular treadmill of choice. Don't EVEN think about getting on that treadmill and sweating one ounce on that plaque either. They bring their own quick oats and bananas in a cardboard container that reads "with extra muscle powder" for them to consume at the gym. They have no cellulite and a lot of them have no hair - I guess because that would weigh them down.

Conversely, I have hair. I have some cellulite because why am I at the gym? I eat steel cut regular oats AT HOME and sometimes, when I am daring and not caring about the calories, I put a Splenda in it. My oatmeal does not have extra muscle powder in it. I don't think I need extra anything in whatever choice of food I eat. That's just me. To say that I don't quite fit in the gym landscape at 5:45 AM is probably true. I don't stick out like a sore thumb but perhaps a slightly irritated thumb. One of these days, I will hopefully fit in because there will be no cellulite, but I am NOT shaving my head and I don't like powdery bananas. Love me, love all of me. That's just how I roll.

Can we please get to the story? Yes, quit rushing me.

My trainer, who has the biggest dimples in the world, (which I am sucker for but don't let this fact lead you to believe that there will be a future here because there just won't be) is there this morning waiting on me. For those that know me, I was late this morning BUT THIS WAS THE FIRST TIME FOR ME TO BE LATE TO MY WORK OUT (with this trainer). We are all a work in progress. I go warm up and we get to the work out. First, the bird dog...

Can we please talk about yoga? I don't get this. I am going to need the 411 on this activity because I fail to see how one leg out and an opposite arm out is helping me lose poundage.
Hold it for 20 seconds.
He looks at me like,"Is this OK?" I'm like, "I'll hold this ridiculous dog pose for the next 20 years if you want. What is this doing for me?"
"Switch", he says with as much trainer leadership as he can which means change arms and legs.
Does he know that my other arm and leg is holding me up. For some reason, I get the impression this is supposed to be difficult. I must be in SPECTACULAR shape because I don't feel a thing except that I am channeling an English Springer.

(Side note: I don't want to fuss about my trainer. He is a good guy. He has dimples. He meets me at 5:45. That is well and good but there is something missing there. I don't know. I don't have the connection with him that I would like to have to help motivate me to get it up at 5:15 AM and drive over there. Maybe it is because he is not bringing ice cream for the cool down portion. Whatever it is, there is something lacking - not in his abilities, more in our chemistry.)

The work out continues. We're balancing on a medicine ball. We're rowing for two minutes. We're curling biceps. We're extending triceps. We're pushing up and holding planks. Here is the point of our story. (It took us a while but I knew we'd get here.)

Ladies and gents, work with me on this and try to get a visual of this scenario. You gym rats out there that are familiar with equipment... let's talk about those bands. The ones that are different colors of tubing with handles at each end. They look like rubber jump ropes. Are you with me? OK. Now the yellow colored band is attached to the metal stabilizer near the middle of the gym with all the other bands that are attached as well. It is attached in the middle of the band so that the handles are free. He goes and gets one of those belts with the double buckles that people wear so they don't hurt their backs (ironic!). He puts that belt through both handles of the yellow tube jump rope and then tells me to put it around my waist. Basically, these are the words I heard.

"Giddyup, Trigger!!

Seriously, that set up is not supposed to be for humans. He essentially put reigns on me. I was a horse. The only thing I was missing was a bit in my mouth. In front on Mr. and Mrs Olympias at 6:00 AM and grandmas and grandpas. Now, had I been a casual observer and seen this set up happening, I would have gone over for a "water break" just to see how this was going to go down because who here doesn't see "FUN" written all over this. Yeah.

Trainer instructs: "OK, Christi. I want you to run out to me (approximately 8 feet out from the metal stabilizer) and slap me some skin and run back." (He didn't really say "slap me some skin" but that's what he meant.)

Attention all ladies and those gentlemen that had girlfriends around 2002 when the movie, "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" came out and saw this gem of a flick. Love this movie. Love the "tumor-is-my-twin" scene. Love the "men-are-the-head-but-the-women-are-the-neck-who-turn-the-head" scene. But, my favorite scene is the one when she is in the travel agency and forgets that she has the telephone headset on and walks away and her head jerks back and falls on her rump roast.

Love it!

Today, I lived it.

Yes, friends. You missed it unless you were taking a "water break" at the Y at around 6:10 AM this morning. Trigger ran forward and ran back, clipped her hoof on the rubber floor when the bands jerked her back and fell backward on her own rump roast, legs over head, and slammed into the metal stabilizer, and tangled in the rainbow of tubular jump ropes.

Yeah, it hurt in case you can stop laughing enough to care.

I have to say, the look on my trainer's face was PRICELESS. I bet we have a different kind of chemistry now. We are bonded in a way that not many people are bonded with me. It was a look between, "Holy Cow!" and "Bull honky-donk that she just fell in front of this entire gym" and "Do I have insurance?". And seriously, what do you do when faced with that situation? Seriously. What is he supposed to do there?

HIM??? What am I supposed to do there?? Yoo-hoo! I am the one in the floor. Strapped to a yellow jump rope. Wearing a double-buckled, muscle-man belt. I couldn't get loose of that stupid band if my life was on the line.

Here is what goes through your mind...
Idea #1: I could totally cry here and gain sympathy and nobody would laugh if I was crying. Plus it did hurt but probably not enough to merit crying.
Idea #2: I wonder if I could possibly just pray hard enough to melt into this stupid rubber floor. Whose idea was this to put a rubber floor in this sweaty gym when we're all walking around in tennis shoes? Fire 'em!!!
Idea #3: Maybe nobody saw this and the Lord is showing His bountiful mercy on me and for ten seconds, everyone in the gym went blind. Yeah. One glance around the gym knows THAT didn't happen. God does have a sense of humor, don't think He doesn't, and there were people in that gym that needed encouragement this morning. No one went blind. In fact, exactly the opposite. Everyone was watching me for those ten seconds. God gave the blind momentary sight for this scene. It's a miracle! Praise the Lord!
Idea #4: I should just get up and yell at the trainer.

Guess which one I did?

IDEA NUMBER 4!!!!!!!

Just saying that makes me laugh!! I did NOT yell at the trainer. I DID want to smack him for saddling me up like an equine, but I did NOT yell at him. This is what I said after he helped me up.

"I have one more rep. Go back and let me run and finish the set."
Well within the boundaries of couth given the situation, wouldn't you say?

Yes, friends, Romans and countrymen. I ran another rep and took a chance that Bessie could fall again. I finished my reps and the set.

Then I fell again.

NO! I DIDN'T FALL AGAIN!

WHAT DO YOU THINK I AM? A KLUTZ!

AFTER THAT FALL, I BECAME AN ETERNAL HIGH STEPPER!

I'LL NEVER FALL AGAIN!

In defense of my trainer, I have to give him kudos (not the bars). The guy is a statue because he did not laugh. He didn't even crack a smile. That is some stiff upper lip because I would have had water spray out my nose from my "water break" had I seen it. I can only imagine the conversation between trainers after I left. They are all going to make every one of their clients do it now! And here is the thing. I cannot blame them. I would have fallen over laughing. I imagine it was beyond hysterical.

Glad I can share stories like this one to amuse the supportive readers. It's a shame they all have to be at my expense. However, I am here for you. It is all about you guys! Enjoy the imagined visual and try to encourage someone else today. Spill your coffee. Fall backward out of your chair at a meeting. Challenge yourself. You can do this!

Come on. I did it for you.

The Ear of the Beholder?

OK, so here are the funny things of today...

One is probably more funny to me and I am OK with that. You do not have to laugh. I laughed enough for the both of us reading this. Luckily, I am easily amused. The other one is funny, not so much in a "Ha! Ha!" way, but "How ironic!" funny sort of way. Enough build up... here it is.

Numero uno: At my new job (I have a new job for those of you who have not been taking my phone calls and/or have put the phone in a drawer when I call and are not listening to my blathering), there is a complex computer system in place for all of the patient records that I work in throughout the day. Honestly, do not understand it, but basically fake it everyday and smile pretty. On Friday, I stayed late - like 5:13 PM late. I stayed late because I really wanted to get a progress note completed - am I the model employee or what?!?! (Already this is way too much detail.) Blah, blah, blah, I did it wrong and saved it to the computer system. I am not high enough on the totem pole to fix this mistake myself. (There is a secret CODE!!) At 5:13 PM, everyone is gone for the weekend because they leave at 5:12 PM. As you know, and some of you do, I can be, AT TIMES, a little scatty. There should be no comments from the peanut gallery at this time. So, you do what you have to ... to keep from forgetting to get the note fixed, I called my voice mail at work and left me a message. This morning when I checked my messages, this is what I hear...

"Christi. Hi. This is .... yourself. (snicker, snicker, snicker) Yes, this is yourself and you need to clean up your act, Missy. Call the gatekeeper who is holding the codemaster and get the key to the city of medical records. Oh yeah... and don't forget your yogurt on Monday."

On so many levels, this is wrong. Wrong and ridiculous. However, ask me how many times I listened to my own message today and laughed out loud. Four times. And I have to say, I am laughing even now. Points to those who can name the movie that I channeled in my message and money to those who can determine why my mind functions the way it does.

If that wasn't funny enough for you...I forgot my yogurt.

Numero dos: This is a slightly better story, but I must tiptoe around some details because I must protect the guilty so as to maintain my innocence. Wait, huh?

From time to time, I have been know to struggle with time management. I, at times, am inadvertently tardy a few minutes to an event. It is a genetic problem though I will not "out" the genetic pool of which I received the gene. OK, Dad?! I give this lead in to let you in on the fact that I can appreciate when people are running late. Sometimes, it honestly cannot be helped. Today, I was not late. On time and waiting. I had one appointment today. Uno. Singular. Lone. Only one. The appointment is on the hour. No client. Five minutes after, ten minutes after, fifteen minutes after, twenty minutes after... my pager goes off...the patient is here. Here is the excuse on why they are late... (drum roll please)

"We were here (on the hour). We were waiting for the elevators."

My mind's response...

"For twenty minutes?!?!? Were you waiting for them at your house? This isn't Charlie's Chocolate Factory and the glass elevator is in the shop for repairs. Our elevators go up and down here, not across town."

Why this is funny? I am embarrassed to admit this, but I think there is a good chance that I have used the "elevator" excuse myself before in a moment of crisis. I was THAT desperate...and THAT out of my mind to think that it actually sounded plausible. Whoever I said that to should have so nailed me on that. You know what? They didn't. They extended mercy on poor pitiful me and looked me in the face and said, "OK."

Then they muttered under their breath, "Bless her heart."

Lessons to be learned:
1) Do it right the first time.
2) Remember your food for lunch.
3) Lots of times, things sound so much better in the mind of the speaker than the ear of the beholder.
4) Always extend mercy as you just never know when you will need an extra extension yourself.

"Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy" Matthew 5:7