Unlike Bruce, I Was Not Born To Run

Unlike Bruce, I Was Not Born To Run

I have a sneaking suspicion that The Universe does not approve of my running. She didn't seem to have a beef with my walking, bike riding, my wii fitting or my step aerobics, but The Big U definitely has a problem with the running. As most of you are aware, I have never been a runner. In the past, I have chosen to do whatever it takes to avoid it, except possibly in the early 80's when there was a neighborhood game of Kiss Tag going on, and my cute neighbor was playing. For some reason, on those particular nights when I was "It", I could run like Prefontaine. Except, of course, when He was "It". Then I somehow always managed to either trip over a stick or get a massive leg cramp.

So I am fairly certain that The Big U is trying to send me a message, and the first way she chose to send me that message was by way of my knees. Basically, my knees are completely rebelling against the entire idea of running. They've gone from just an annoying pain, to just deciding to fold up on me when I'm simply walking across my living room. I went to see my Doctor this week, and he has referred me to an Orthopedist and told me in the meantime, no running on cement and to try running on my treadmill. I explained to him that I had recently tried just that, and it failed to turn out well. As a matter of fact, if someone had been videotaping it I am sure it would now be one of the most watched You Tube videos of all time, since it involved not only a flying telephone, water bottle and remote control, but also an elaborate fall and subsequent filing cabinet slam by some idiot who forgot to attach the safety clip to her pants.

Anyway, he gave me this "advice" on Tuesday, and on Wednesday I met my running group for a run on the cement, because I am a rebel and that's how I roll. (And I may indeed be rolling once I completely eff myself up and get my very own tricked out mobility scooter. Bad news with that scenario is that I will have severe butt growth due to not being able to exercise. Good news is that nobody will be able to see it since I will be sitting on it while I roll around all day.) Since I chose to ignore my doctor and go running anyway, The Universe got pissy and decided to make me run right through a dog turd that must have come from some freakishly giant Marmaduke/Horse crossbreed. In my opinion, if The Universe wanted me to run, she would have had me step into a pile of something more pleasant than poo. Perhaps money, wine, or Paul Rudd would have done the trick. THAT would have been positive reinforcement. Unbelievably huge pile of poo? Not so much.

Since today was a non-running group day, I agreed to do something completely unlike me. Yes, even more surprising than running. I decided to go to a Jazzercise class. I will now pause for a moment so you can all laugh at me......................................................................Okay. Are you done? I know, I know, it is a funny image. I GET IT! When one of my readers (the lovely Melissa Bland) invited me to join her, I laughed as well. I had an image in my mind of those old ladies on TV doing Sit And Be Fit, and since I didn't own a pastel leotard, leg warmers or white tights, I almost said "no", but in an uncharacteristic moment of agreeability, I decided to give it a try. While it was actually a really fun workout, I am certain that a video of me in the act of Jazzercising would surpass even my top-ranking treadmill fall on You Tube.

Suffice it to say that today I discovered what I have always suspected to be true: I have no rhythm. Sure, I had my first clue back in '87 when Dirty Dancing came out and I painstakingly tried (and failed?) to recreate some of Baby's moves, but until today, I always held onto the dream that I was an awesome dancer. Well, unfortunately I realized that I am a mess, and that I am not so good at the whole "Do what I do" premise of an exercise class. I quickly understood that I am not a good mimic, and at some points, when I just couldn't seem to even slightly recreate what our instructor was doing, I would just go into a more sedate version of the "Elaine Dance" and do my own thing.

When I talked to the instructor after class and told her this, she said that my crazy dance was fine, as long as I kept moving. Say what? Have I actually found a place where my inability to follow directions will be accepted (as long as I stay in the back so as not to distract the other participants)? A place where, if I'm just not feeling the side-step lunges, I can instead break into Baby Houseman's merengue? Indeed, I think I have. At least until I get too carried away and try the big "I've had The Time Of My Life" finale, and try to jump into the instructor's arms. At that point, I think I may be asked to leave.

Goodbye Funky Town, Hello Good Vibrations

Goodbye Funky Town, Hello Good Vibrations

Previously, on Insane In The Mom-Brain: After enduring many trials and tribulations such as ugly hair, lack of wine, unexpected and unwelcome rain, a whiny child, and a menstrually challenged lunch date, our heroine was stuck in a funk. (Yes, I am choosing to call myself "heroine" because that makes me feel better, so whether or not it is true doesn't matter. I do not mind living in a fantasy world one bit.)

As I was saying....our grumpy HEROINE was stranded in funky town due to no fault of her own, because she is awesome. Things didn't improve much Thursday, when she found out she would need to get braces this year. Metal, wiry, braces....in this, the year of her 20th Class Reunion. Nor did things perk up much Friday morning, when she had to go to her running group. Nothing "bad" happened at running group, but running does not equal happiness. The mere act of making oneself run from absolutely nothing, is in and of itself, an act of complete and utter stupidity. Yet inexplicably, she runs.

Although things stayed pretty blah throughout much of Friday, They actually got better Friday evening, thanks to the occurrence of a much-needed girls night out. Your awesomely cool, amazingly smart, and very sore runner's kneed Heroine Patti went out with her friend Jennifer for dinner, drinks, and a late-night trip to the home of her crazy (in a good way) friend, Maureen. I won't bog you down with details, but they ate too much, were almost set on fire, nearly chipped a tooth, had something slipped into their beer, were mad that they were leered at by old dudes and sad that they weren't leered at by young ones, re-enacted scenes from the amazing cinematic masterpiece "Nell", staring Jodi Foster as "Nell" ( a role that, in a perfect world, would have, SHOULD have, gone to Patti), and narrowly avoided being ninja attacked by wild, elementary school-aged deer. These sorts of happenings can definitely bring one out of funky town, and into just plain being Marky Mark and The Funky Bunch kind've funky (which, in case you didn't know, is a cool kind've funky).

So, to all of you who were worried about her stint in the town of funk, let it be known that she appreciates your concern (but would have appreciated it much more if it had been given in the form of baked goods and/or wine), and she is feeling better this week. Even after enduring yet another bad hair day today, as well as being forced to run much farther then she ever has before, she continues to feel funky-cool instead of funky-grumpy, and she will try to get her act together and write another blog soon. Fresh-baked cookies may speed up the healing process....I'm just saying.(Photo Courtesy of my.spill.com)

Won't You Take Me The Heck Out Of Funky Town

Won't You Take Me The Heck Out Of Funky Town

I am in the midst of a blah week. I am stuck in a funk, and I don't mean the American musical style that originated in the mid to late 1960's when African American musicians blended soul music, soul jazz and R&B .... I'm just kind've in a bitchy mood today, and it's not even PMS. When I got up today I knew it was a running group day, which made me bitchy because that meant I could only have one cup of coffee, because if I have any more than that my old lady bladder will hurt the whole run, and damn, I really needed those extra 2 cups of coffee today.

When I got home from running, I rushed around to clean for the cleaning lady, take a shower and get ready to meet my friend for lunch. THEN she called and said she couldn't make it due to the fact that her Aunt Flo is visiting and not only won't leave, but is wreaking havoc around "the house", if you know what I mean. So then I was bummed because I haven't seen her since pre-Christmas and there is alot of crap to discuss, such as how much I hate running and how adorable Adam Lambert was on Oprah. So I was depressed and low-blood-sugared and I abandoned my usual lunch of raw veggies and hummus, and scarfed down an organic veggie burrito topped off with a pack of non-organic hostess cupcakes. Feeling bad about myself, yet energized in the way only refined sugar and carbs can accomplish, I left some money on the island for the cleaning lady, and headed out to run errands.

Now, it is a fact that I straighten my hair, and it is also a fact that a few months ago I ended up with bangs during some kind of freak hair-cutting accident, and I am trying to grow them out. It is yet another fact that Houston is especially humid, and today was one of the worst humidity days I've seen, which means that my hair looked like crap the minute I walked out the door, which made me even more moody, because what woman can really stay happy when faced with bangs that make her look like a child of the 30's whose mommy pin curled her hair? Not this woman.

Even though I looked like I had a stupid Shirley Temple wig on my head, I went to Lowes because I needed some hardware stuff. I chose Lowes because I have a Lowes boyfriend. Well, he doesn't know about our relationship, but I do and that's all that matters. Anyway, even though I was looking like crap today, I knew he could help me find what I needed, and possibly cheer me up in the process. Well, not only was he off today, but the guy who was working was an idiot who knew nothing about hollow wall anchors, and had no British accent to boot. Stupid Lowes. So then I went to Wal-Mart, which rarely happens because, well, go to people of wal-mart dot com and you'll see why. Anyway, I got what I needed there and even though my one coffee bladder was now ready to burst, I refused to use a restroom at Wal-Mart, as I have repeatedly refused since witnessing, a few years ago, "the incident in stall #3". So I thought dry thoughts (sand, flour, the skin on my legs, etc...) and kept on truckin'.

Next I headed to World Market to get a particular wine, which they were out of. Nothing makes me angrier than being denied my favorite wine. Deeper and deeper I went into the funk. When I came out of World Market it was raining, which I didn't even know was in the forecast, so I got rained on. Then I went to Academy to get more of the underwear that I like to run in (underneath pants, of course. I don't run in only underwear), which made me get mad all over again at what Steve said last night. Get this: I told him I was going to get more of the aforementioned underwear and that I needed to go today because last time they only had a few smalls left. Then, my husband said "Don't take this the wrong way, but, um, you wear a small?" The flashback of this made me leave Academy even more angry than when I went in, and of course I got rained on again. Then I went to Target, where I perked up a little because I got a cute cardigan for $4.00 and anyone who know me knows I love 5 things: Cardigans, Hoodies, A Bargain, Wine, and Paul Rudd. So I left Target with a little spring in my step, until I realized some douchebag's cart was rammed into my car. Back to the funk.

Although I had more errands to run, I decided it was time to go home to my freshly cleaned house and have a little down time before Ethan got home from school. In the car, I put on some Arctic Monkey's, which always cheers me up, then added in Regina Spektor's "Folding Chair" for good measure, because nobody can hear that song and be grumpy. Then as I came down Sienna Parkway I checked to see, as I always do, if the miniature horse was out in the field, which he was. That combined with my good music helped me climb back out of the funk. Then when I got home, I expected to smell "clean house smell" since it was housekeeper day, but surprise! She was a no-show. So I was mad again, until she called to tell me she'd been in a fender bender, but was okay and would be here tomorrow. I was glad to hear that she was okay PLUS would be able to come tomorrow, and that news along with half a bag of Sour Skittles, and a bunch of new Facebook/Blog friends, got me back out of the funk. So I sat down to write this blog, toes tapping, singing out loud, happy even though my hair looks like Orphan Annie's. Then Ethan comes home, whining and complaining before his backpack even hits the floor. And as I send him to his room amidst ear-piercing screams and hear the door slam, I realize I'm right back where I started.

Rub Me Long Time

Rub Me Long Time

I love massages. Getting them, definitely not giving them. Giving them sucks. As a matter of fact, I have no understanding as to why massage therapists will rub all over someone's naked body for eighty bucks. You could offer me eight-thousand bucks and I would still have to do some very heavy thinking before I said "yes." Before my decision, I would also require the submission of nude photos of the client, including close-ups of the back (to check for hair), the feet (to check for dryness, scary toenails, bunions, etc...), and a smell sample to make sure that they weren't inflicted with B.O. or halitosis. Add to all this the fact that my hands get tired after approximately 18 seconds of light shoulder massage, and I think you can understand why I never became a massage therapist.

Honestly, it boggles my mind as to how massage therapists can rub the flesh of anyone with access to a credit card. Remember: most of the "People of Wal-Mart" have credit cards, and they get just as tense as anyone else. When I got The Best Massage of My Life on Sunday, the questionnaire said, "Please remember to shower the day of your massage. If you did not, we have a shower you may use." I asked my masseuse if this happens alot, and she said that it does. I also asked her if she has ever had to rub someone that grossed her out. Again she said "yes". Do not worry, people. I will ask these hard-hitting questions that we all have. I have no boundaries, as evidenced by the fact that I once asked my Gynecologist if he has ever had to do a Pap under terrifyingly disgusting conditions. The answer to that, was also "yes." I shudder.

Anyway, I LOVE massage, although we got off to a shakey start back in the 70's when my dad's friend used to offer me 50 cents to give him a back rub. This could have definitely ruined my love for massage before it even began, not to mention caused me years of therapy. But, as I mentioned before, money is not a big incentive for me when other peoples bodies are involved. So although I could have scored two games of Q-Bert per massage, I always turned this lucrative offer down. As a matter of fact, I never really became interested in massage until college, when during a stressful finals week, my friend gave me a shoulder rub. It was awesome, and it totally opened my eyes and kind've turned me into a massage whore. I admittedly took advantage of my friend, who would never say "no", and when it seemed as if she was finally getting tired of me, I became friends with a guy in my Math class named "Chip"who was an actual licensed masseuse. I thought I'd found the Holy Grail of friendship, so I decided to let slide the fact that he shared his name with a salty, crispy, potato snack and a cartoon chipmunk. We hit it off right away by making each other laugh during class, in lieu of actually listening to the professor. He was cool, funny, AND A MASSEUSE, so I befriended him with dreams of free massages, relaxed muscles, and the smell of eucalyptus body oil. Unfortunately, a few weeks later I found out that he didn't just give it away. He had learned to save his gifts of massage for use as a weapon of seduction, and since I had a boyfriend, that was never gonna happen. So, I gave him to a friend of mine who thought he was cute, and instead of getting my free dream massages, I listened to her tell me about hers. Torture.

Although I am a massage junkie, they're not all great. I have definitely had some bad experiences over the years. I've had the guy who nearly caused internal organ damage, even though I repeatedly told him that he was applying enough pressure to shatter bones. I've also had the girl that wouldn't shut up. She talked in her annoying cartoon-character voice for one hour straight about her boring-ass life. I've had the girl who had some major sinus issues going on and sniffled/snorted the entire time, not allowing me any relaxation whatsoever due to the fact that every time she squirted on more oil, I would convince myself it was her dripping nasal secretions. Lastly, I had the large German woman who spanked me. Everything was going fine, the massage was good, then she just began to spank me. On my naked butt. Now, I am usually very outspoken, but since she was over 6-feet tall, had a scary accent AND WAS SPANKING ME, I kept quiet and just waited for it to end. Eventually it did. And while I had a suspicious feeling that she had just made me her legal "partner" in some weird German spanking ritual, we never saw each other again, and I went home to Steve, feeling ashamed and violated.

And yet I still love massage.

Resolution Smesolution

Resolution Smesolution

Every year I make a New years Resolution to not be one of those people who makes a New Years Resolution, because we all know that nobody ever keeps them anyway. They tell every Tom, Dick and Harry that they are going to lose weight, stop smoking, quit biting their toenails etc..., and Tom, Dick and Harry are like "Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Never gonna happen." And 9 times out of 10 the boys are right. But this year I thought that maybe it would be a good thing if I made some resolutions on this blog, that way you can all keep an eye on me and make sure that I am following them. I am not completely sure that this will work, because I really have no shame and could care less if I fail in front of people, but hey, it's worth a try!

I would like to lose 10 pounds, even though I swear to Pete that as I type this I have chocolate icing on my fingers from the Hostess Cupcake I just crammed down my throat. Does it help that it is a Hostess 100 Calorie Pack?

I would also like to tone up my flabby bod. Since Ethan is almost 9, I can no longer use the "I had a baby" excuse, although technically it is true since I did indeed have a baby (in 2001). Those little whine bags ruin your body. That's a fact. They never apologize for it either. In a related story: A few years ago Steve and I went away for a spa weekend. I had a full 8 hour day of treatments, for which I requested all females. So anyway, I had all women until the final treatment of the day, which was a 90 minute body scrub. Not only did I have a dude for this, but it was a college boy who was cute. For those of you who have never had a body scrub, let me tell you about it: You are nude, in a well-lit room, on a table. When you are on your back, there is a tiny washcloth on your girls, and one on your cha-cha. When you are on your stomach, there is a washcloth on your crack. That is all the coverage you get. Then, for 90 minutes the cute boy scrubs every inch of your body with scrubbing salts, lotions, rinses, repeats. Some of these salts go into your "areas" and he has to hose them out with a special attachment. As you can imagine, this entire process was less than relaxing due to the fact that I held my muscles as tightly as I could to make myself look more firm. When he asked about my life, I told him I had 5 kids, including a newborn, because although my body may be pretty sad for a mother of one, it rocks for a mother of five.

I want to become a runner. Nothing fancy. No marathons or anything, just a very short distance runner for exercise purposes. When I saw those Biggest Loser people run a full marathon it made me feel like a lazy piece of crap, so I have joined a beginners running group. Although we are told we will be able to run 3 straight miles in 2 months, I just don't see it happening. I was the girl in Junior High who dove into the woods at the beginning of our gym class run, and jumped back out to blend in at the end. I know that some of my long-time readers are in shock at the news of my running. If you are not, you can go to my archives and read "The One About Running" from September of 2009, where I made the following statement: "I don’t believe in running. In fact, I am fundamentally opposed to it. It is against my religion. I am pretty sure it causes cataracts or diarrhea. The only time I condone running, is if something really badass is chasing you. Even then, I prefer the strategy of 'playing dead' instead of running. If it works against big scary bears, I am sure it will work against a mugger." Yep...I said that. And I am still fairly certain that I would run much better if instead of running alongside us and cheering us on, our instructor would run after us with a big knife, screaming psychotic phrases like "Ima cut you, bitches!"

I am going to try to stop thinking about Paul Rudd so much. It can't be healthy, and I think that my husband may be getting just a tad sick of it. It will definitely be hard. Just look at him:

I would like to start remembering to take my grocery lists with me when I go to the grocery store, as I am positive that it would not only save me from going back to the store 5 times per week, but would also save me money. On this same topic, I would like to start making it home with everything that I purchase, since I usually come home missing at least 1-3 items that I paid for, and often the answer to Steve's question "What's for dinner?" is "Well, it was gonna be Thai Chicken night, but somehow I lost the chicken."

I would like to move up to "Hard" on Rock Band. I know, I know, it's a big dream. I'm probably more likely to lose the 10 pounds, or stop thinking about Paul Rudd.

I would like to fix the part of my brain that makes me start talking about inappropriate things when there is a lull in the conversation. I have shared lots of things with lots of people that were maybe not such a good idea. Does my cable guy need to know about my irregular menstrual cycle? Probably not.

I would also like to fix the part of my brain that tells me to beat the crap out of Steve when he wakes me up with his snoring at night. No matter how good it would feel to teach that snorer a lesson, truth be told, a gentle tap will suffice.

I would like to stop singing the Miley Cyrus song "Party in the USA." I really, really want to stop, but I just keep noddin' my head like "yeah" and movin' my hips like "yeah."

To Barth Or Not To Barth

To Barth Or Not To Barth

I am sick. Again. I was sick from day 3 of my Christmas break until the last day, and I am still congested. Then, Wednesday evening I started to feel terrible after eating a frozen organic enchilada. At least that's what I'm tracing it to. When I took it out of the box the plastic wrap was open so I almost didn't eat it. I had a definite moment of "This doesn't look right. It could be contaminated or have a dead mouse in it." But I was hungry so I ate it anyway. And it was good. About 3 hours later I started to feel like crap and I have decided it is the curse of the organic enchilada. My tummy hurt all night and was just generally pissed off at me. I laid on the couch until midnight doing that breathing/swallowing technique one does when one does not want to barth, as Ethan calls it. Today I feel like I have a hangover...headache and slight tummy ache, although not as bad as last night. Looking back, I really think I should have just let it fly with the barth instead of holding it back. I may have felt better today and I surely would have lost a few pounds. What was I thinking.

So anyway, today was a blog day but my brain still isn't working and I've had to abandon my planned topic and instead resort to asking for sympathy from my readers because I have a boo boo in my tum tum. I was supposed to do day 3 of my running group today, but had to call in sick (Yes, I am running. More on that later.) I was also going to have lunch with a bunch of ladies who call themselves the T.R.A.M.P.S., and we were going to eat Mexican food. So today kinda blows since my running partners think I am a wuss and I stood up a bunch of T.R.A.M.P.S. and I look look like a greasy old hag to top it off.

At least I made it to the computer to write this note. That is progress since I pretty much stayed in bed all day watching "Brideshead Revisited", texting, and napping. A short note on the subject of texting: The iPhone does a thing called "Predictive Text" in which it finishes a word for you that it thinks you are trying to type, when 99% of the time, the word it chooses isn't even close to the word you are trying to type. It does this in such a way that most of the time you don't even notice it has changed anything. This has caused me many problems. Last month I was trying to tell someone that I was having an orange, and it told them "I am having an orgie." Today I told someone I was home feeling sick and it went out "I am home feeling dick." Now everyone thinks I am a housewife hooker. Plus, I have no idea why it keeps changing things to sex-related words. When I am feeling better, my first order of business will be to write you all a halfway decent blog entry, and the second will be to figure out how to turn off that damn predictive text before neighborhood men start showing up at my door with wads of cash.

My 13 Days of Christmas

My 13 Days of Christmas

Forgive me, people. I haven't written anything in 2 weeks, and I am so congested that all of my neurons are not firing, so my first blog entry of the new year may be lacking a bit of zing. Anyway, I have chronicled my 13 days of Christmas vacation, so when you see me don't ask me how it was, because this, my friends, is how it was:

Day 1-After Ethan's class Holiday Party, we drove to a hotel just North of Dallas. On the way we passed a restaurant called "Twin Peaks". I decided to google this, as I have never heard of it before. As I suspected, it is a big-boobied waitress establishment whose website claims "Eats, Drinks, and Scenic Views, as well as Twice The Fun of Other Restaurants!" And I thought Hooters was tacky.

Day 2-We drive another 6 hours. I realize that the drive through Oklahoma is mind-numbingly boring, and I am amazed to discover that we could get absolutely no radio stations. You'd think we'd at least get some bad country station, but you'd be wrong. To pass the time I decided to use a point system to judge the various fields of cattle. Size, color, shininess of their coats, how many were laying vs. how many were standing...these were all things I took into consideration before handing out any final numbers. Riveting stuff. Anyway, we got to my mom's house in Springfield and had a big old pot of ham and beans (yum), and made the discovery that one of my sister's was sick. (This will come into play later)

Day 3-Family Christmas at my Uncle Larry's house, where I had the most delicious mulligatawny. It was during this family function that my Aunt Billie asked me if I watched Chelsea Lately (hells yeah), and asked what one of the regular panelists names was, to which I replied "Oh, you mean that ugly one with the brown hair", to which Billie replied, "Well, I was gonna say she reminds me of you", to which I replied "What a nice person would have done in this situation, when the person said the girl in question was ugly, is to make a quick change of plans and decide to keep your mouth shut and not tell the person that they remind you of that girl, but instead keep that information to yourself to spare the feelings of that person." But I did also tell her that this outspoken and honest quality is what I love most about her. She did try to salvage the situation by saying that it is the ugly girl's mannerisms that remind her of me, and not her face. Too late. Damage done.

Also at this Family Christmas was my Aunt Bengie, who happened to be infested with sick germs. (This will also come into play later)

Day 4- Went to lunch at my favorite Mexican place and had a puffy taco. I can't even describe in words, the sheer pleasure of eating a Maria's puffy taco. Went to see a lame movie, but it had Hugh Grant, so it was watchable. Went to my best friend Kim's house for dinner. Kim informed me that the local sex toy shop has been advertising a "Cash For Clunkers" vibrator sale. True story. We found this hysterical, yet disturbing.

Day 5-Last day in Springfield. Had pizza at my favorite pizza place with my mom, who had to leave early because one of my sister's had to go the ER after a fall at work. I guess I am a bad sister because I finished my pizza, then left town to go to Kansas City. Everything was fine...1 stitch in the lip, so although I may be a bad sister, I don't think I am terrible. Anyway, I had my turn behind the wheel for the 3 1/2 hour trip. I am a major singer/dancer when I am doing the driving, as this keeps me perky and attentive. But, for some reason my husband decided to turn off the music and force me to endure what could possibly be the most horrifyingly boring, brain-melting experience of my entire life, including all those childhood Sunday's sitting in church: Steve made me listen to some terrible history podcast that he found to be "very interesting" but nearly made me kill us all by driving off a cliff. In case you didn't know, my husband is a nerd.

Day 6-I felt like crap. Trace the cause back to sick sister and sick aunt. Bitches.

Day 7-(Christmas Eve) Since I still felt like crap, Steve took me to Urgent Care where it was discovered that I had Strep Throat, which is a disease that only myself and Elementary School children seem to get. I got loaded up on antibiotics, lozenges and Nyquil. It also snowed and iced all day and night until we had at least 8 inches. It was also insanely windy and about 15 degrees, but I was high as a kite on cold meds, so none of this mattered to me.

Day 8-(Christmas Day) Still felt like crap, but got presents.

Day 9-Still felt like crap. Still blizzard conditions, but put our lives in the hands of Steve's dad to get us to Des Moines for yet another Family Christmas. I was in such a medicated fog that I doubt I would have felt any injuries incurred were we to have a weather-related automobile accident anyway. Things I learned on this trip: Nobody has a bladder as small as mine, Ethan talks even more than I do, and Steve's dad owns a Garmin, yet does not trust the Garmin, choosing instead to believe that the Garmin is nothing more than a tool to lead us into the wrong neighborhood so that we can be robbed and our car stripped of its tires...at least that's my best guess.

Things that happen at this Family Christmas: I spend most of the evening talking with Steve's 20-year-old cousin Jacob, because I am honestly so immature that he is the one I connect with the most. Ethan gets an ear infection (Big shout out to Dr. Cousin Eric for helping us with that one. See Eric...your dream was to make it into my blog and here you are. FYI: The more drugs you supply me with, the more I will include you in my blog in the future). I also learn that Steve's Uncle Doug has said that he likes my blog and my "acerbic wit." Steve's mom says that she doesn't think this is positive, and since I am too dumb to define the word acerbic, I looked it up and found out that it is defined as "harsh or severe, as of temper or expression." So Doug, I don't take that as a compliment and you have also made it into my blog, but not for good reasons like your son, Dr. Cousin Eric.

Day 10- Feel like medium crap. Last day in Iowa. I take the elevator down to the hotel breakfast room thinking about how last year there was a whole slew of people in there in their pajamas, and how I didn't think it was appropriate to go into hotel common areas in your pajamas, and how I might mention that in my blog, and then when I get to the breakfast room I see that Steve's sister is there in her pajamas and so I briefly re-think my idea to write about this in my blog, then obviously, I change my mind.

That night, during a game of Charades, my niece, Jillian does Aunt Pat Pat (me) and this is what we get:

**MISSING PLUG IN** 

What does this say about me??

Day 11-Back in Missouri. Still feel like medium crap. Drug myself up on sinus meds. Celebrate Steve's 40th birthday by going bowling. Steve rents me size 16 shoes to try and be all cute and funny about how big my feet are (size 10). Ha ha. If I wasn't so weak and spacey from the cold meds I would definitely take that size 16 shoe and smack Steve over the head with it, but because I am such a good sport even when I feel like dying, I pose in the giant shoes for the following photo, and am slightly disappointed to see that they really don't look that out of proportion with my giant body.



Day 12-Do my first "Sinus Rinse", which is a misleadingly gentle name to put on the box for something that, in all actuality, shoots salt water into your brain at approximately 500 mph. I find it slightly painful and panic-inducing, but feel a bit better. Steve and I go see Avatar and I discover 2 things: #1) That Sam Worthington is one hot piece of man-meat, and #2) I found myself wishing that I had a body like one of those 10-foot-tall blue Na'vi women, even though they have tails. A tail is a small price to pay for that tiny waist and those long legs. Plus, Sam Worthington is hot for blue chicks with tails.

Day 13-Day 1 of the drive back to Houston. This time we drive through Kansas and Oklahoma. I have trouble deciding which state is more boring to drive through, and I get angry that neither one has any decent radio stations. We stop at a gas station somewhere in Oklahoma and although the bathroom was clean, I am 99% sure there is now video of my going peeps somewhere on the internet. I just got that vibe.

Day 14-(New Years Eve) Day 2 of drive back to Houston. The drive from Dallas to Houston seems about 10 times longer than it actually is. At least we have radio stations. We hear that ELO song "Don't Bring Me Down", and Steve and I wonder why some guy named Bruce is bringing them down. Who is this Bruce and why don't they just kick his ass? We also hear Elton John's "Hold Me Closer Tony Danza" and we wonder when that affair took place and how we managed to miss out on the information that Tony was gay. It does make his house-keeping "Who's The Boss" character much more believable when you have all the facts.

We arrive home. I am still congested and tired, yet so happy to be able to spend a cozy night in my own bed. We go to bed around 10:30, but unfortunately some douchebags behind us are setting off fireworks, which seemed cool earlier in the evening, but are now completely annoying. Since it's New Years Eve, I try to deal with it. By midnight I am sure I hear the finale and will now be able to get some sleep. Unfortunately, they still had a buttload of fireworks left. By 1:30 am I was on the computer posting a funny yet slightly psychotic rant on our neighborhood women's group. I believe I mentioned manslaughter with a roman candle and I may have said I was going to make a voodoo doll of the perps, but I was high on Tylenol pm and it was late and I can't be held responsible for what I may or may not have written. By 2 am I was finally asleep, but was awakened many times during the night by Steve's newly adopted snoring habit, until finally he went to the couch around 6 am, I assume because he was tired of getting gently "tapped" by me. I slept until about 10:3o am due to the fact that I didn't take the Tylenol PM until 1 am. I awakened assuming that Steve and Ethan were scared that I had slipped into some sort of Strep Throat-induced coma, but they were doing their own things, oblivious to the fact that I had yet to get out of bed. Boy, I feel loved.

So there you have it. My exciting Christmas vacation. Don't be jealous. Not everyone can have my life.