A Bit of a Mess

I went to a friend's house and she had the audacity not to clean before I came over. I actually saw a dust bunny in a corner. She had shoes on the floor by the door. There were personal items on the counter in her kitchen and a couple of pine needles on the floor mat by the door.

What is happening with this world?

Doesn't she know she was supposed to get up at 7:30 this morning so she could vacuum and dust the entire house before I arrived? Didn't she know I would be offended if I saw anything that was left out on tables and counter tops? Was she aware that items that weren't staged for show should be put away?

The dust bunny totally interrupted our conversation. I couldn't focus on the lunch that she served because a few plants grew too tall outside her back window. I didn't want to walk through her dining room in case a pine needle got stuck to my shoe. I didn't want to sit on her couch in case a cat hair stuck to my old jacket. I was horrified.

How could she? She didn't even apologize!

I once read about a culture who believed that it was okay to have people visit without scouring the house before they arrived. I wish I remembered which one it was. If I ever remember, I might have to move there.

I relaxed in my friend's living room and realized that I'm so tired of having people over to my house because I'm tired of keeping up with the Jones. I realized that this woman can come over to my house any time where I might hedge if it were someone else, someone else who has that perfect house, the one with no dust bunnies, the one that has that unused decorator living room. With my friend, I can focus on how I want my house to feel for my family and not just for guests. I didn't have to worry about where I sat. I might have made a butt print on the fancy couch in the unused living room. I didn't have to take off my shoes at the door. Plus, she wasn't too exhausted to hang out and chat for a while when I got there. I used to have a friend who would begin to clean up something slightly askew in her house while I was there. Twenty minutes later, I was still waiting for her to come chat with me. I don't visit that woman any more. Holy cow - how did we get going down this path that said our houses have to be perfect before anyone can step over the threshold?

Thank you for listening, jules

More Video Games!

The three sleepover boys have been playing video games since three this afternoon, except for eating two large pizzas, except for trying to burn something aerosol while I was gone, except for trying to shoot the rat in the yard with a sling shot and a BB gun, and except for the time they ran downstairs to get their third round of sodas, except for trying to shoot on either side of the sleeping cat with Nerf guns.

Should I stop them? They're actually much easier to control when they're playing video games. Their hands are occupied. They aren't able to pick up junk food while they're playing. The can't maim, kill or otherwise torture small wild and domesticated animals, and they can't burn down my house.

So why do I hate video games so much? What was I thinking? They could be cheaper too. Why shouldn't I let them play all night? If they sleep all day tomorrow, they will save me from spending money on them to race around in go carts. Good plan, mom.

Play More Video Games Guys!

Thank you for listening, jules

I Want To Go!

Now, I want to go.

All last week, I've been telling Mike I'm his backup for his fifty-mile backpacking trip with the Boy Scouts tomorrow. I thought of the idea when Mike told me he wasn't sleeping and that if things went south for him, the whole trip would have to be canceled. He's one of two adult leaders. So, I told him that I would be his second.

I wasn't sure I could manage it. Last Monday, I hiked nine miles. At the end, my left foot was sore, but on Tuesday, I could have hiked again. I was too busy. On Wednesday, I hiked four miles in the time that I had available. I could have gone four more. I think I could have. On Thursday, I jumped on a trampoline at SkyMania for a full hour. I overdid it. Then suddenly, I hoped and prayed I didn't have to go.

Could I sleep six days on the ground? I'd probably have trouble sleeping the first night. After that, I'd likely be so tired I could sleep on a nail bed. I wouldn't like it, but I could do it.

Could I get up and walk another 8.3 miles after walking the two days before? I'm not an idiot. I know that it's the third day that counts. If I could hike the third day, I could continue indefinitely until my food ran out. The glorious thing about the third day is that you can really begin to feel your pack lightening because you've eaten a lot of the food out of it. It's a lovely feeling.

Could I manage my sugar levels? Sure. I've been exercising more and my sugar levels are evening out. Plus, I have a better idea when they go low since I've been paying attention for six or seven years. I'd probably eat just like the rest of them if I went. I'd need the carbohydrates.

Would I get lost? One trail, Mike says. Not a lot of places to go down the wrong trail. I've been noodling around here for years. I've always walked by myself, well, with a dog. I feel at home in the woods. I've gotten lost. Besides, there would be five other people on the trail ahead of me, watching out to see if I eventually come down the trail.

Suddenly, this morning, I remember how beautiful it is in the Olympic mountains. I remember looking out over Lake Quinalt at dawn. I would feel the beauty and the dampness of the temperate rain forest. I would be in Big Foot country if you need that to picture the place, ferns, old growth trees, and dew hanging from branches.

Plus, Mike found powdered peanut butter. Oh man. I want to go. I want to go. I want to go!

Thank you for listening, jb

What Kind of a Dork?

The good news is that I didn't have a heart attack. The bad news is that I thought I might be having one and dragged Nick off to the ER yesterday when my chest and my left arm began to hurt after an hour on a trampoline on Thursday.

Honestly, I stayed on my feet the whole time I was jumping. I didn't do any tricks. I didn't even jump and spin the way I usually do. So, afterward, when my left arm began to hurt, I wondered what the heck I could have done to it. It's not like my legs hurt. They barely even registered the exercise.

So, having pain in my left arm, chest pain, my usual dizzy self, and an occasional sweaty hot flash and I'm off to the ER to make sure I'm not dying.

Well, everybody is dying, but I didn't want to die yesterday. Not today either.

I'm not dying today. The ER doc said I had some abnormalities with my EKG, but that I've probably had them my whole life. He told me that I should get a stress test. He also said that I have some minor nodules in my lungs. I've had nodules in my uterus and my colon too, so nodules in my lungs don't surprise me. I'm old. I'm lumpy. I'm scarred, inside and out. TMI, huh?

When the ER doc got done talking, I told him that I felt like a dork.

He laughed and said if I'd talked to him on the phone about my symptoms that he'd have told me to come in. Better a dork than I dead dork, I told him. He laughed and nodded his head. He was very politely trying not to agree that I was a dork. I'm more in favor of laughter than I am of politeness, but he was a kind doctor. And no matter what he said at that moment, I was going to feel like a dork.

Today, I felt a little better after a long hot shower and my arm and chest felt a lot better after some stretching. I'll tell you the truth - I stole my son's personal trainer this morning. I wouldn't have except that Nick wasn't getting ready in time. He was languishing in the shower, almost as if to prove to me that he could. When it got so late that we would have been embarrassingly late, I left that boy behind. I just got into the car and drove away. I felt like a heel doing it, but I'd had enough of nagging him to get ready. Nick's personal trainer told me it was fine, that he'd work with me today and so that's what we did. He's a nice guy.

I'm telling you that it pays to have someone in the know show you how to stretch properly. When my hour was up, I felt incredible. Thank God for insolent and indolent boys, huh? I took what belonged to Nick. I needed it. I did some work with my lats, with the muscles by my shoulder blades, and I did some squats. Oh, squats do not look good when you watch yourself in the mirror, but I guess I did them pretty well. Oh my son's personal trainer was working to find something to compliment me on. He did. He also told me that the strength of a person's quadriceps was linked to longevity. Imagine that? I tried to tell myself that an old woman has to start somewhere and this is where I started today. Hopefully, it's not the end of it. I'm going to steal my son's nice personal trainer a little more often even if I look like a dork whenever I look in that mirror.

I've been a dork for fifty-four years. I'm always going to be a dork, but maybe I can be a healthy dork with some decent muscles at some point.

Thanks for listening, jules

Accidentally Watching Inappropriate Stuff With My Mother

Bitches Gotta Eat - Oh my God, this is funny!

I don't even need to write anything. I can just sit here and point you in the right direction and enjoy the ride. I wish I could look over your shoulder and laugh at the parts that are making you laugh.

Don't post it to your Facebook friends if you're worried about what people think of you. Don't let your kids see what you're reading.

Don't you just love when your kid is watching cartoons on TV and you're sitting at the computer, laughing about inappropriate stuff? You tell them not to use those words. You change the channel when anything regarding sex or violence comes on the television. Tell me you aren't completely weirded out when you're sitting on the couch as a family and a sex scene comes on the TV. You are. Admit it.

I just remember when I was sixteen and my mother suggested a movie, an R-rated movie. My brother and I went to that movie. It was the last time I went to the movies with my mother. It was a misery. I wish I didn't remember. There was a closeup of her breast in the bra, his hand, her naked chest. Oh crap, stop me now. I didn't dare look at either of them. I stared into my bucket of popcorn and pretended we were at a horror movie.

We were at a horror movie.

And now, I have a thirteen year old boy. He won't even watch the kissing scenes when I am in the same room with him.

What would he think if he knew I was laughing at inappropriate shit on the computer?

He would die a million deaths.

Thank you for listening, jb

My New Duct Tape Toilet Seat

Oh no! I haven't been here in a while. Did you think I'd abandoned you? Were you pissed off, crabby, cantankerous?

Good.

I've been pissed off quite a bit today too. My new wood laminate floors are buckling. It sucks. There's one spot where I can feel about a 3/4 inch drop when I step on it. Another place moves a bench whenever I go by. I wonder how long it will take to break the boards, with them popping up and down like that? I don't imagine it will take long. I called the flooring people to have them come fix it and they said they would with no problems and they'd call me back to schedule the 'repair.' I wanted to tell the guy that it isn't a repair, that they installed it wrong or it wouldn't be buckling after just a month of use, but I kept my mouth shut. I did. I promise. Not even a little bit of sarcasm leaked out of me during that conversation.

They haven't called back.

That pisses me off. Tomorrow, I won't mind if some of my sarcasm leaks out. If they give me any grief, I swear, I'll tell you who they are so you'll know too.

Plus, I got mad in the bathroom today. Two weeks ago, my husband put a new toilet seat onto the toilet. I loved it. It looked nice. In other words, it didn't have any places on it that always looked dirty even after it was just cleaned.

I was just sitting there, minding my own business, when I heard a slight pop.

Really? Really?

My toilet seat just broke. I swear I wasn't doing anything strange to it. It's not like I was standing on it or anything. I hadn't banged it.

Plus, it's not like I'm huge or anything. It's not much, but I'm the smallest person in the house.

That toilet seat should not have broken!

It's made by Bemis. Do you think they decided to stop making toilet seats that lasted a lifetime and start making ones that lasted two weeks and we wouldn't notice? Did they think we'd blithely go to Home Depot every two weeks and buy another one just like it for our toilets?

The worst of it is that it pinched my leg every time I tried to use it. Duct tape helped, but it isn't pretty any more. Not unless you're one of those duct-tape-solves-everything kind of people. No, I'm not going to buy a duct tape wallet or hat. Just no.

And by the way, Sixt still hasn't agreed that $185/day is a ripoff and refunded my money. I asked the customer service woman if she'd pay that much and her answer? "Of course not."

Thank you for listening, jules