Run Stinny Run!

Oh...my...god....look at her butt. Okay, I won't go there and I know it's cheesy but that song makes me laugh. Sorry. And it's so appropriate for me now that I'm training for a 5K race on Thanksgiving! After running three miles yesterday, I can definitely tell you that junk in my trunk definitely slows a gal down. Actually, I felt pretty good but I know if I'm going to move up to a 10K, I need to be a little more, ahem, careful with what I consume/shovel into my mouth during the day.

Enough about my ass. For the first time in my life, I...like...running. For those who know me, it's a shocker, I know. I was the goalkeeper for the women's lacrosse team so I wouldn't have to run too much. Pretty pathetic. Every time I would try to pick up running, I would give it up because I was bored, lazy, or something shiny distracted me. Maybe it's my maturity (HA!) or my new found wisdom, but now I really, truly, honestly enjoy running. It's the sense of accomplishment and the zen feeling. Perhaps, it's the endorphins. Whatever it is, I like it.

So Sudden

Life can move too fast and change in a flash. On the way home from doing some work at the university with my husband, a light blue older pick up truck flew past us in the other lane and crashed into the jersey barrier. We could see smoke billowing out and a man having a seizure and then not moving in the passenger seat. Immediately, we stopped. So did others. I pulled my cell out of my purse and shoved it at my husband to call 911. Without thinking, I jumped out of the car and ran over to the unconscious man to see what little help I could provide. So did others. One man was brave enough and turned the car off as the smoke poured out from the engine. Thankfully, the billowing ceased. Another man tried to wake the man with no avail. Three of us jumped over the barrier and ran to the passenger side to try to revive him. Because he smoke had been surrounding him, he appeared to have difficulty breathing. Someone opened the door and another shouted not to move him. Thankfully, he was breathing, but out cold. While someone tried to take his pulse, I searched in the glove compartment with the hope of learning his name. He is Vincent. A man in his late forties to mid-fifties with a beard and glasses who layed in his car but now not alone. We could see him breathing so I took his hand and repeated his name, trying carefully to wake him. We stood there and waited for what seemed like an eternity for an ambulance to arrive. Finally, he awoke suddenly and we could see the fear in his eyes. I thought, in my usual sarcastic and perhaps moderately dark way, great, I am the first person he sees and I scare the crap out of him. I told him he was okay and help was coming. In shock or perhaps in a haze after an apparent seizure, he did not respond. We heard the sirens in the distance and a fire truck quickly arrived. I stepped away and let the firemen help Vincent. After speaking with a woman who had witnessed the entire accident, I left with my husband, safe.

Vincent, I hope you are okay.

Must...Stop...Reading...

I completely and utterly hate it when I cannot finish a book because the story is so dreadful I WOULD RATHER VOMIT IN MY MOUTH!! Usually, I don't have this type of reaction but oh Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, I simply cannot get through Lolly Winston's new book, Happiness Sold Separately. Happiness is certainly not sold with this book. All of the characters make me want to bitch slap them. I enjoyed her first book, Good Grief. It was a fairly light and very quick read on a rainy Saturday afternoon, and certainly nothing mind boggling or philosphical. This book, however, is painful, like dragging nails on a black board or squeaking Styrofoam. For the love of Mr. Stinny, I can't read without having something in the book making my mind wander so far away it needs a passport to return. For example, the word "lawyer" made me think, I need to make sure I say this at the hearing on Monday, and this brain detour went on for a good ten to fifteen minutes. Then the character, Ted, made me ponder, I wonder how my brother is and man, what on earth am I going to get him for Christmas? Ted, if you are out there, give me a hint, m'kay?

I really feel bad when I lose the willpower to finish a book. I love reading and books and libraries and book stores. I am trying so very very hard to continue the book BUT I HAVE 296 PAGES LEFT AND I MIGHT GO STARK RAVING MAAAADDDDDDDDD IF I CONTINUE! The characters are not sympathetic and the story line is entirely too predictable. So on that note, on my way to do errands, Ms. Winston's book shall return to the library. I surrender.

Blasphemous Friends Forever

I love Love LOVE Threadless t-shirts from www.threadless.com. They allow me to move away from my daily "professional" appearance and dress like the smartass I really am. Once I wore this pandemonium shirt to a "young professionals" event and no one introduced themselves to me (or my friend - she was dressed more "professional" than I) except for a cool looking person at the bar unrelated to the event. I think it was the shirt but maybe it was my scowl on my face that was not so warm and inviting (hey, i'm from the northeast, i can't help it - i'm not friendly to strangers).

In the spirit of offending the middle of the road general public, I bought my husband and me the B.F.F. t-shirt. It is AWESOME. I think the husband and I should getting matching sweat suits too and wear the ensemble around town.

Leave Me ALONE

The last few weeks after work, I get home and find a message or two on my answering machine. At first, this was quite exciting because I typically get phone calls on my cell and not my home phone. I think: I wonder who could be calling me at home! A long lost friend who looked me up? Publisher's Clearing House? No such luck. Lately, it's been what sounds like a prerecorded or canned message telling me how important it is to vote on election day to throw the bums out of Washington and to thwart Bush's evil plan to send the country down the shitter. I appreciate their efforts. The problem is I AM SICK OF GETTING THE SAME MESSAGE EVERY DAY TO VOTE FOR BOB CASEY OR ED RENDELL.

So this morning, I had an idea. Yes, a rare ocassion. How about I leave an outgoing message that states:

You have reached Mr. and Mrs. Slave to Mister Stinny. We are unable to answer our phone right now. If you are calling from the Democratic Party, please rest assured that we are voting and we PROMISE to vote for all the democrats about who you are calling. You don't need to call anymore because you are getting my hopes up that it is someone much more interesting and I swear to Mr. Stinny we...will...vote...democrat. If you are calling about a republican candidate, please hang up immediately and put yourself in a corner. There is no way in hell we are voting for a former football player or a right wing nutjob. You should be ashamed of yourself. Have a nice day.

The Anal Retentive Kitty

I now have to accept that if our cats were actually my husband and my offspring, Mr. Stinny would be the EXACT GENETIC OFFSPRING OF MY HUSBAND!!!! When I left Mr. Stinny this morning, he had his black and yellow bee toy (his most favorite very bestest toy!) in our bed with him. When I say in our bed, I mean tucked in, under the covers, with his head on my pillow. If he wasn't blind, he would probably use my sleep mask.

As I said, when I left Mr. Stinny, he was asleep in bed with his toy. After work I went into my room to promptly change out of my work clothes and what did I find? His toys, neatly placed perfectly parallel to each other and perfectly perpendicular to the line around the rug.

My husband is VERY neat. His desk at work is EXTREMELY organized with every thing perfectly organized in their specific place. I just LOVE moving things around in his desk. As a complete slob, it's very very very satisfying. And, as you can see, here is an example of my shoes slightly in disarray. Mr. Stinny is the anal retentive kitty. Like father like son.

Stupid Stupid Flashbacks

I just had a fairly humorous flashback to first year of law school. A group of women, about 5 of us, bid at an auction to have dessert with our torts professor. At the time (after many many many mixed drinks), it sounded like a great idea. So we forked out the cash (way too much) and set a date for Professor to come to one of our apartment's with dessert.

As one could imagine, this was an incredibly awkward and bizarre evening. First, although this woman was gracious enough to host this event and she is a very nice person, this woman had Japanese animation posters throughout her living room. One of my friends could not help laughing and kept calling them Pokeman posters. Hostess was adamant on insisting these were not Pokeman characters but were Japanese anime or whatever. Not nice, I know, but it sets the scene. Second, the dessert was called Better than Sex Chocolate Dessert or some such nonsense made by a male professor much much older than us. Third, five female law students did not have as much to talk about with this senior law professor as we originally thought. After asking questions about the future exam and the course, we ran out of topics of discussion.

So what do I do in a moment of silence: I blurt out: "You know, when email first came out, I didn't think it would catch on."

Way to go, genius, way to go.

I Heart Missionaries

No, I don't mean missionary style.

Yesterday, I think I saw two missionaries with their backpacks, dark jackets, slacks and ties from Sears or JcPenneys and name tags walking down the street. I was on my cell phone and I squealed with delight into my friend's ear. Could I actually miss Utah when for the first year and a half of living there I could not wait another second to leave?

Yes, this the place (literally) where I had a horrendous nervous breakdown and could barely leave the house, let alone get out of bed. However, it is also the same place with the beautiful mountains, amazing national parks, and the incredibly cool and interesting people who I met and continue to miss.

Fumigation?

Not only is my office in the basement (otherwise know as the "lower level"), they are now trying to off me with car exhaust. Great. I take the hint.

Boot Skootin' Boogie

What's funnier than me attempting to line dance with a group of strangers at a country western bar out by I-90? Not much else. Beyond that, I was the only one sans cowboy boots or boots of some form. Apparently, grey and pink Chuck All-Stars don't cut it and make for dangerous conditions on a saw dusted floor.

Can I get a "GIT ER DUN!"?

Boss' Day?

Apparently, today is "boss' day" or "boss' appreciation day". Isn't boss' day pretty much every day? I mean, seriously: don't we have to act like we appreciate our bosses every day and kiss their asses? Now we need to go out and spend our hard earned cash on at Hallmark telling our boss what a rad superior they are? Sure...I'm right on it...

Only My Folks

Only two New Englanders, specifically Vermonters, more specifically my parents, would name the new tree in their front yard "Homer". Of course, my father wakes up early to feed the crows and the grey squirrels and the red squirrels and whatever other wildlife wanders on to the property.

And I wonder why I am the way I am.

Then There Were Three

Here pictures pre- and post-amputation. One picture is of just his front two legs. The other is him now. I think he looks pretty fantastic.

Puddle o' Mud

Yesterday morning, after it rained-make that POURED-the previous day, Finnegan decided it would be an absolutely outstanding idea to lounge in a nice big mud puddle on the morning we were to bring him for his next to last chemotherapy appointment. Although I have spent thousands of dollars on medical care, I feed him, care for him, play with him, etc., I always have this paranoid feeling the people at the veterinary hospital are going to think I neglect him or I'm a horrid dog parent. I envision a confrontation going something like this:

"Oh, Slave to Mr. Stinny, do you leave him outside all the time in the freezing cold and rain in a very confined space so Finnegan's only option is to sleep in a mud puddle?"

"Why yes, I do let him sleep outside in the freezing rain and mud. Even though I have spent thousands of dollars in medical bills, drive 3 hours round trip every three weeks, rehabilitate him, medicate him, bathe him, brush him, play with him, and love him to death, I thought that it would be a totally awesome idea to have him catch pneumonia by leaving him out in the bitter cold in a mud pit."

"That's what we thought. We also think his toe nails are 2 mm too long so we cut them for you. Has anyone ever told you what a dreadful horrible dog parent you are?"

"Ummm no. Anything else?"

"Yes, we have put you on America's Worst Dog Parents list."

"That's what I thought. I'll be back again in three weeks to feel bad about myself."

"Have a fantastic day!"

No, it did not go that way. I washed (in my work clothes no less) and dried him off. They were very nice when I brought him to the clinic. I think my paranoia just gets the best of me. As usual...

Things they are a changin'

If anyone actually does read this blog, one will note that I have not written much of anything in a long time. Partly because the past four months have not gone well. My darling Irish Wolfhound was diagnosed with bone cancer in July and we have been struggling with his amputation, rehabilitation, chemotherapy, and enormous veterinary bills that accompany this treatment. Finnegan is an amazing creature with so much love and courage; it was heartbreaking to watch him struggle to a normal existence. He is now stronger and healthier with the same heart and soul he always had.

Next, I managed to completely wipe out on my bicycle and caused some pretty serious injuries. After Spousal Unit got a flat tire, I volunteered to bike home and get the car. In my rush to get home, I tried to go up on the sidewalk via a driveway, lost control of my bicycle and completely wiped out. I fractured AND dislocated my right wrist (and yes, I am right-handed), scraped a few too many layers off my knee, and scraped up my left arm. Because I was alone, I tried to flag down a car because my wrist was bent in a position not so anatomically correct and blood was gushing from my knee. As I elevated my wrist and sat in the driveway of the school, I attempted to wave someone to stop. Mind you, this was a Sunday around 12:30 in the afternoon, and well over twenty people passed and looked at me without stopping to offer a cell phone. This is at noon. After church. Seriously. No one offered to help? Finally, a nice young woman named, Wendy, stopped her pick up truck, threw my bike in the back and turned around to pick up the Spousal Unit before bringing us home, clear on the other side of town.

Spousal Unit and I went to the emergency room where I was quickly evaluated, x-rayed, and told: "you don't need a medical degree to see this is just wrong". The orthopods arrived and told me they would need to put my wrist back into position. After a very painful numbing injection (hematoma block?) where I believe I screamed "JESUS, MARY, AND JOSEPH!", he tried to manually pop my wrist into the correct position. Because it was so out of wack, he brought in a medieval torture devise to fix the problem. It looked like one of those Chinese finger puzzles. He stuck my fingers in the contraption and then tied my arm to the bed so it could do it's thing. Once that was through, he put the most gigantic splint on my arm and sent me home with some narcotics for the pain. Oddly enough, at the time of the accident, my wrist did not cause me any pain.

I spent a week in gigantor the splint and then saw an orthopedist who scheduled me for surgery three days later. I was given a sheet of paper telling me to go to the outpatient surgery unit at 8:00. On Monday, we were getting ready when I received a call from the surgery unit asking me if I still planned on having surgery and that I was late! Huh? We frantically gathered our stuff and rushed to the surgery center where I checked in and apologized profusely for the confusion. No one really seemed to care and everyone was quite kind. My biggest scare was that they had my go in the back and change yet I had not said "goodbye" or anything to my Spousal Unit. Due to my overactive imagination, my propensity for being a hypochondriac, and my typical elevated anxiety level, I was convinced I would die during surgery and never see Spousal Unit again. I begged them to send him back, which they did, and he stayed until I was wheeled to the surgery unit on a very nice valium induced state. Before leaving, he gave me the biggest kiss making me feel all warm inside.

After surgery, I woke up in a HUGE amount of pain. The recovery nurse said because I kept falling back asleep, she could not give me pain meds until I was completely awake. After one or two injections and a couple of pills, I started feeling much better. Plus, I was given tasty Lorna Doone cookies and grape juice. Spousal Unit was brought back to me and sat with me while the pain subsided a bit more and I ate 5 packages of cookies and 3 bottles of grape juice. Finally, I was brought home and rented two movies to entertain me for the afternoon. The drugs made me forget which movies I watched. Whoops.

I returned to the doctor's office the next day for a post-surgery follow-up. When the nurse took my splint off, it looked like I had the "man hand" from Seinfeld. Seriously. My hand was HUGE. The nurse explained I would have to return to the office the following Tuesday for another x-ray and placement of a cast. That's all fine and good but...I was supposed to be in Vermont for preparation of my parents' 50th wedding anniversary party. The nurse spoke to the doctor who said if I can get the swelling down, it was NO problem. I could get the cast on before I left. Well, let me tell you (whoever you are) that I iced the sh*t out of my wrist and elevated it so I would not have to leave the beginning of my vacation in Lake Placid to return to home for a new cast. In fact, I looked like a barricaded myself behind my desk at work with a big pile of pillows! It worked, thank god and I got the cast on, went on my vacation and had a blast with my family at my parents' party. Now, I have been in a splint, back in bivalve(???) cast, and now in physical therapy. October 24th, I go back to the orthopod for another x-ray.

That's enough for now.