Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Friday, October 26, 2012
DO NOT try to eat or drink while reading the following
Just read this on FaceBook...keep food and liquid out of your mouth while reading.
Like everything in life, farts have a time and place. However, I never realized that in the wrong time and place, flatulence had enough power to alter my course in history.
Well, it can if it's the third date with the man of your dreams. And, if it makes his eyes burn. If God destined us to be together, I was one SBD away from foiling His plans (that's "Silent But Deadly" for you prudes).
It was about five years ago. I was trying to lose a few pounds so I was staying away from carbs. That's when I met my husband, Rob. On our first date, he booked the next two. He liked me. I liked him. Things were looking real good.
He picked me up in a Cobra, Mustang and his pathetic attempt to win me over with a car totally worked. I'm not shallow, but since I spent most of my twenties picking men up because I didn't want my hair to frizz in their non-air conditioned jalopies on 3 wheels and a 15 year old spare, I welcomed his fancy sports car with open arms.
We arrived at the restaurant and Rob was ordering food I hadn't allowed myself to eat in years. I didn't want to be "that girl" so I ate, drank, and oh, was I merry. Later we shopped a bit. Rob surprised me by buying an expensive pair of shoes that he caught me eyeing. Was this love?
That's when it happened. Gas strikes in two different ways - uncontrollable toots or sharp, shooting pains that feel a lot like dying. I thought I was dying. Not to make a scene, I told Rob I suddenly wasn't feeling well and probably needed to head home.
On the way home in his Cobra, he tried to hold my hand and ask me lots of questions, but I wasn't having any of it. The pain was so bad it felt like I was being stabbed with a bunch of tiny forks. Then I realized. My God, help me. I have a horrendous fart on deck. I'm in trouble. Big trouble.
The more I held it in, the more pain would shoot through my stomach and down my legs. I was even having to raise myself off the seat, gripping on to my door and the dashboard.
"Seriously, you need to hurry - I'm in a lot of pain." I managed to say through gritted teeth.
"Wow, it's that bad? What's wrong? Do I need to take you to a hospital?"
How do you tell a man you just started dating that the reason you're writhing in pain is because you have to fart?
Well, you can either tell him, or like me, let the fart speak for itself.
People, hear me. There was nothing I could do. As impressive as I am with sphincter control, this was out of my hands. Slowly, it eked out. The more I tried to stop it, the more it forced its way through the door.
However, to my pleasant surprise, there was no sound. I sat silently; sweat accumulating above my upper lip. Ok, maybe I got away with it. Maybe I'm home free. Then it hit me. Not an idea, a cloud. A horrific, fart cloud. Not in a, "am I smelling something?" sort of way. More like a "is someone dead and rotting in your trunk and am I in hell?" sort of way.
Suddenly, I panicked. "Roll down the windows!" I screamed (yes, I literally screamed it like I was in a horror movie).
"What? Why?" Rob asked, starting to freak out because I was freaking out.
"I can't roll down the windows, unlock it! UNLOCK IT!"
"What's going on?" Rob yells back to me, "Why are you ...." then it hit him. I could see it in his eyes. Was it surprise? Horror? Water started to accumulate at the base of his eyelids, "Oh my God, I CAN TASTE IT!" he screamed.
"Roll down the windows!" As I screamed, the toots started to flood out uncontrollably. I scratched and clawed at the window like I was being kidnapped. Rob, unable to see either by fart cloud or panic, kept turning on the windshield wipers instead of unlocking the window.
It was chaos. We were acting like we were under siege by gun fire. We were under siege alright, just not by gun fire.
Finally he was able to hit the right control and he rolled down our windows. We both gulped in fresh air. I was horrified, yet happy to be alive, then remembered I just farted on the man of dreams, then sorta wished I was dead.
We sat silently for the rest of the way home. Although the shooting pains had subsided, I now desperately needed to use the bathroom, in an urgent, explosive kind of way.
He pulled up to my apartment and before he could come to a stop I had already jumped out, "Ok, thanks for dinner, sorry about the fart, love the shoes!" and ran in to my apartment like I was running from the cops.
I burst through my door and ran straight for the bathroom, where I was finally able to unleash and make noises that no one should ever, EVER, hear coming from another person.
Then I heard it. Rob's voice. Right. Outside. My. Bathroom. Door.
"Anna? You left your shoes in my car and your front door was open. Where do you want me to put them?"
"Get away from the door!" I scream like Reagan from The Exorcist.
"Ok, I'm sorry. Are you okay?"
*toot* *toot* *splatter* *ungodly noise* "I'm fine, Rob - just leave the shoes there. I'll call you later okay?"
"Okay, are you sure you're ...."
"I'm fine! Get away from the door!"
This man! I mean, I love him, but take a freakin' hint!
Finally, I heard the front door shut, and the Cobra engine zoom away. I thought that was the last I'd hear from him. I didn't think it was possible to ever see a man again after he screams he can taste your fart after only knowing you for 48 hours.
But, to my surprise, I did. A couple days later, actually. Now we're married and he's lying on the couch while I type this. "It was your rack that saved you," he just lovingly reminded me.
Well, thank you boobs. You saved us. You saved our destiny.
Like everything in life, farts have a time and place. However, I never realized that in the wrong time and place, flatulence had enough power to alter my course in history.
Well, it can if it's the third date with the man of your dreams. And, if it makes his eyes burn. If God destined us to be together, I was one SBD away from foiling His plans (that's "Silent But Deadly" for you prudes).
It was about five years ago. I was trying to lose a few pounds so I was staying away from carbs. That's when I met my husband, Rob. On our first date, he booked the next two. He liked me. I liked him. Things were looking real good.
He picked me up in a Cobra, Mustang and his pathetic attempt to win me over with a car totally worked. I'm not shallow, but since I spent most of my twenties picking men up because I didn't want my hair to frizz in their non-air conditioned jalopies on 3 wheels and a 15 year old spare, I welcomed his fancy sports car with open arms.
We arrived at the restaurant and Rob was ordering food I hadn't allowed myself to eat in years. I didn't want to be "that girl" so I ate, drank, and oh, was I merry. Later we shopped a bit. Rob surprised me by buying an expensive pair of shoes that he caught me eyeing. Was this love?
That's when it happened. Gas strikes in two different ways - uncontrollable toots or sharp, shooting pains that feel a lot like dying. I thought I was dying. Not to make a scene, I told Rob I suddenly wasn't feeling well and probably needed to head home.
On the way home in his Cobra, he tried to hold my hand and ask me lots of questions, but I wasn't having any of it. The pain was so bad it felt like I was being stabbed with a bunch of tiny forks. Then I realized. My God, help me. I have a horrendous fart on deck. I'm in trouble. Big trouble.
The more I held it in, the more pain would shoot through my stomach and down my legs. I was even having to raise myself off the seat, gripping on to my door and the dashboard.
"Seriously, you need to hurry - I'm in a lot of pain." I managed to say through gritted teeth.
"Wow, it's that bad? What's wrong? Do I need to take you to a hospital?"
How do you tell a man you just started dating that the reason you're writhing in pain is because you have to fart?
Well, you can either tell him, or like me, let the fart speak for itself.
People, hear me. There was nothing I could do. As impressive as I am with sphincter control, this was out of my hands. Slowly, it eked out. The more I tried to stop it, the more it forced its way through the door.
However, to my pleasant surprise, there was no sound. I sat silently; sweat accumulating above my upper lip. Ok, maybe I got away with it. Maybe I'm home free. Then it hit me. Not an idea, a cloud. A horrific, fart cloud. Not in a, "am I smelling something?" sort of way. More like a "is someone dead and rotting in your trunk and am I in hell?" sort of way.
Suddenly, I panicked. "Roll down the windows!" I screamed (yes, I literally screamed it like I was in a horror movie).
"What? Why?" Rob asked, starting to freak out because I was freaking out.
"I can't roll down the windows, unlock it! UNLOCK IT!"
"What's going on?" Rob yells back to me, "Why are you ...." then it hit him. I could see it in his eyes. Was it surprise? Horror? Water started to accumulate at the base of his eyelids, "Oh my God, I CAN TASTE IT!" he screamed.
"Roll down the windows!" As I screamed, the toots started to flood out uncontrollably. I scratched and clawed at the window like I was being kidnapped. Rob, unable to see either by fart cloud or panic, kept turning on the windshield wipers instead of unlocking the window.
It was chaos. We were acting like we were under siege by gun fire. We were under siege alright, just not by gun fire.
Finally he was able to hit the right control and he rolled down our windows. We both gulped in fresh air. I was horrified, yet happy to be alive, then remembered I just farted on the man of dreams, then sorta wished I was dead.
We sat silently for the rest of the way home. Although the shooting pains had subsided, I now desperately needed to use the bathroom, in an urgent, explosive kind of way.
He pulled up to my apartment and before he could come to a stop I had already jumped out, "Ok, thanks for dinner, sorry about the fart, love the shoes!" and ran in to my apartment like I was running from the cops.
I burst through my door and ran straight for the bathroom, where I was finally able to unleash and make noises that no one should ever, EVER, hear coming from another person.
Then I heard it. Rob's voice. Right. Outside. My. Bathroom. Door.
"Anna? You left your shoes in my car and your front door was open. Where do you want me to put them?"
"Get away from the door!" I scream like Reagan from The Exorcist.
"Ok, I'm sorry. Are you okay?"
*toot* *toot* *splatter* *ungodly noise* "I'm fine, Rob - just leave the shoes there. I'll call you later okay?"
"Okay, are you sure you're ...."
"I'm fine! Get away from the door!"
This man! I mean, I love him, but take a freakin' hint!
Finally, I heard the front door shut, and the Cobra engine zoom away. I thought that was the last I'd hear from him. I didn't think it was possible to ever see a man again after he screams he can taste your fart after only knowing you for 48 hours.
But, to my surprise, I did. A couple days later, actually. Now we're married and he's lying on the couch while I type this. "It was your rack that saved you," he just lovingly reminded me.
Well, thank you boobs. You saved us. You saved our destiny.
Thursday, October 25, 2012
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Sand Sharks by Margaret MaronMy rating: 5 of 5 stars
This was my introduction to Margaret Maron's writing and Deborah Knott Mysteries. What great fun! Deborah is a judge attending a summer conference of district court judges. Things start right off quickly when one of the judges gets murdered. Of course Deborah is in the middle of trying to sort out 'who done it'!
Besides a good mystery, Margaret Maron show me a bit of North Carolina that my 4 nieces probably know more about that I as they were born and raised in North Carolina. I will have to share this with my sister as well as she spent time in that area as well.
Final thought: i you've ever wanted to know what a summer in North Carolina could be like. If you like a really good mystery. If you want to learn more about what things judges might think about...you might enjoy this book as much as I. In fact, I have become of fan of Ms Maron's writing, I will probably been indulging in more of her Deborah Knott Mysteries! I want to not only indulge in some good mysteries but learn more about North Carolina...even more about what the judge will get into next!
Like many of my favorite mystery writers, this book can be read as a stand allow...but DO NOT use it as a 'patient book'...it will make you crazy waiting for another doctor's appointment or voting line, etc to find out what will happen next! Says the voice of experience!
How can such a short day seem so long?
it started with a trip across dallas county to see the wound care specialist.
o, what's that about?
sorry, i guess i better update you. about a month ago, a pin prick of a hole appeared on my tummy...then a second one. they joined hands and made a larger wee hole. i was sent off to said wound care specialist and we (doc and dh and i) have been working on getting it to heal from the inside out. ...what an icky mess!
what caused it?
damned if i know! the challenge body just wanted to make sure i wasn't getting bored is my best guess.
now, can we go back to my day?
we got to the appointment with 8 minutes to spare. noted because we got to the hospital early so i could grab for something to eat before the appointment. (two chicken tacos were wonderful!) from experience i always have a 'patient' book. (patient book = a book you carry in your purse for times when you have to wait...a doctor appointment, while sitting in the car while some one runs into the store ... you know, 'i'll only be a minute'...those kinds of things.) good think i did too! i got an entire hour to read! finally we are in a room. my lovely doctor enters and does her poking and prodding and we all talk about about the state of the wound and how it is progressing. she leaves to be replaced by the nurse who dressing the wound...no skirt and blouse...just some packing strips...no, not bubble wrap...just some strips to try and keep the wound dry, topped with some seaweed product that much resembles the angle hair stuff used to make spider webs for halloween or used to decorate christmas trees. she's through and we are off!
next stop, egg roll express...wonderful chinese food take away for dinner! yummmmmm!
when asked where to next by him, i respond with 'i want to go vote'. and we are off!
we arrive at 4 something. i go in to vote while dh and oscar stay in the van....with the chinese food. (oscar can't vote...he's a dog! dh can't vote, he's not a citizen.) dh has decided to eat his dinner while he waits for me...'probably will be 3 hours'. he was wrong! it only took 2!
most of the time we were waiting for the line to move. people chatted...no about politics but other stuff; kids, coppell, etc. one of the poll workers came by with an empty water bottle and gave it to the last person in line...that person was to tell anyone who came in after who wanted to vote, that the polls were closed and the hours for tomorrow. after about an hour, i went back to my patient book...finished that and didn't have another so just people watched and ease dropped. another poll worker came up to tell everyone not to worry about the pa announcement of the library's closing, they would be there until the lady with the bottle had voted. she also wanted to make sure one had either a driver's license or a voter's registration...and if the latter, that it was signed.
i gotta tell you, all the poll workers were bright and cheerful. they thanked people for not only coming out to vote but for their patience with the long line....this at the end of what had to be a very long day for them!
and the people in the line, every one was patient. i did not see one person leave to come back another day. people thanked the poll workers for being there to help all of us!
maybe it's a southern or texas thing, all these people being so nice to one another. i hope it's not. i hope everyone, no matter what day they vote has an equally nice experience!
my wheelchair came in handy, not only as a foot reliever, but also when it was my turn to vote as it rose (me) to the occasion so i could get up high enough to use the voting machine...meaning they didn't have to spend time setting me up.
as i, and others, left, we thanked the poll workers for their voluntarism as they thanked us for voting.
they thanked us for voting. think about it. i did. they were thanking me for 'exercising my civic duty'. i was thanking them for helping me exercising 'right to vote'. my privilege to vote! me, a mutt american, a woman, a disabled person, a retired baby boomer person. i look back at all those who made it possible for me to vote and know what a privilege it truly is, my vote, and i rejoice!
I ALMOST FORGOT! look at the marvelous sky that greeted me after i finished voting!
I ALMOST FORGOT! look at the marvelous sky that greeted me after i finished voting!
Sunday, October 21, 2012
Saturday, October 20, 2012
It's this lovely?
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| St. Giles - His Bells (Spirits are painted in the night sky around St. Giles Cathedral in Edinburgh) Charles Altamont Doyle (1832-1893) |
Friday, October 19, 2012
Thursday, October 18, 2012
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
CHESTY
more chesty, the chewbaca. ok, i'm just a little obsessed! even a dog needs a neck pillow sometimes!
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Chesty, my little Chewbaka!
My friend Sheila and her daughter found a wee dog by the side of the road with no collar or chip. She asked me to take care of him until she found his owner.
I got him a bath and doctor check out, shots and heart worm meds...got him neutered...and lots of love!!! In return, he has given me lots of laughs and a wee puppy kiss or two.
When he came to visit (looks like staying to me), he was all black except for a white patch on his chest. Now he is getting a white goatee and bits of white all over. With his very short little legs, he often bounces about, rather than running.
We have figured out that he is half poodle and half shawcher.
Ok, now for the baby pictures (even though vet says he is about 2):
I got him a bath and doctor check out, shots and heart worm meds...got him neutered...and lots of love!!! In return, he has given me lots of laughs and a wee puppy kiss or two.
When he came to visit (looks like staying to me), he was all black except for a white patch on his chest. Now he is getting a white goatee and bits of white all over. With his very short little legs, he often bounces about, rather than running.
We have figured out that he is half poodle and half shawcher.
Ok, now for the baby pictures (even though vet says he is about 2):
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| ok, i'm sitting but i'm ready to pounce over there! |
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| do you think i'm cute when i try to snarl? |
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| watching you type is so boring!!! |
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| what? what? can't you see i was napping? |
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| chewbaca? you want to change my name again??? |
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| you are just silly! i'm going to go back to napping! |
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| see how smart i am? i've already learned how to do 'paws up'! |
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| she's not playing fair...that lid is to the cookie can! I WANT A COOKIE!! |
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