Warm Blankets

I had surgery on Tuesday. For a deviated septum. Nothing glamorous or life-changing like a tummy tuck. But I guess you have to start somewhere inconspicuous. The recovery has not been all that bad except for the perpetually bloody nose. Every time I lean over, whoops there is goes. The feeling of the splints inside isn't that great either but at least it really doesn’t hurt.
K started off pretty good in the pampering department, but he has a short attention span and is easily sidetracked. After he had three extremely loud phone calls right beside the bed, I was ready to replace him with a quieter nurse. He has lots of work to do, but I think that the world should stop just for me sometimes. K had to get back to the office, so I mostly tended to myself on Wednesday.
While I waited for my turn in the surgery suite, the nurses loaded me up with toasty warm blankets. That is such an awesome feeling. The world would be a better place if everyone got warm blankets to cuddle up in. Laters.

It Takes One To Know One

The church has been doing a series about the Prodigal Son. Except that it is not really about the Prodigal Son, but about his brother, and in particular, exposing what a rat he really was. Since I have never read the story that way, and since I seldom like having my firmly set, preconceived ideas challenged in any way, I have been feeling more and more cranky about the older son bashing. Probably because I am the older son, I am faithful and diligent and always do the right thing and I think that a little righteous anger is A-Ok if someone deserves it. Yes, I do see the irony and the lesson, and all the etceteras. Thanks for asking.
Anyway, K found this poem and it seemed to fit my wicked sense of justice humor. Laters.
The Prodigal Son’s Brother- Steve Kowit
who’d been steadfast as small change all his life
forgave the one who bounced back like a bad check
the moment his father told him he ought to.
After all, that’s what being good means.
In fact, it was he who hosted the party,
bought the crepes & champagne,
uncorked every bottle. With each drink
another toast to his brother: ex-swindler, hit-man
& rapist. By the end of the night
the entire village was blithering drunk
in an orgy of hugs & forgiveness,
while he himself,
whose one wish was to be loved as profusely,
slipped in & out of their houses,
stuffing into a satchel their brooches & rings
& bracelets & candelabra.
Then lit out at dawn with a light heart
for a port city he knew only by reputation:
ladies in lipstick hanging out of each window,
& every third door a saloon.
Steve Kowit

Lunch Break

I had lunch at the yacht club today. You know, like I always do. I held my pinkie up and used my napkin to gently blot my lips and said, “hmm, right, right” when talk was made about mutual funds and stocks and big money. (I am able to offer sound financial advice since my portfolio weathered the recent economic crisis quite well. I went from $27 dollars down to $8 and now my investments have made a healthy jump to $32, so I figure at sixty, I will be living in the nicest slum Juarez has to offer.) I also paid close attention to my forks, using the correct one for each dish so as not to make myself appear an ignoramus.
When dining with the upper-crust, it is nice to be reminded that despite socioeconomic status, people are either kind or they are not. Bigotry and small-mindedness can come in all shapes and forms. Today I had lunch with some very nice ladies; in the truest sense of the word. Laters.

Sew What?

My mom is awesome! Besides the hotness factor that we both share, she knows how to sew and paint stuff. She can also drywall and frame-in doors and install ceiling fans. When she comes to my house, she moves the furniture and pictures all around and says things like “feng shui” and “décor.”
She also asks me things like, “Do you like this here?” or “Where are your paint brushes?” I mostly just read, answer in monosyllables, and move to the other side of the couch when she needs to stand on the side where I am sitting to hang a picture. I also laugh inside because I don’t have a paint brush. Or a craft box, or hot glue sticks, or any of that necessary stuff. She just looks at me like I am crazy because obviously, everyone should have these things.
Even with the hotness factor, sometimes she probably thinks that I am not really her daughter, that her real, sewey, crafty daughter was switched at birth with a neurotic, gnome- like shoe lover who can’t even sew on a button. She loves me anyway, but she does roll her eyes at me. A lot. Laters.

Photo Shop

I downloaded the new photoshop app for my iPhone. It is pretty cool cause I can make myself look substantially better than I really looked when I did the weird backwards snapping thing that is a must for iPhone pics. I can go for the dark, gothic look or the brightness of oversaturation. When all else fails, I just do black and white. It seems impossible to look bad in black and white. See what you think of my handiwork. Laters

Worth My Weight In Words

What is 199? This little number can take many forms such as: my pregnancy weight at 6 months, the price tag on those cute little boots I want, and add a little “.” and it is the price of 2 goodies in your cart at Dollar Tree.
Today, this number means that I have posted to the blog 199 times. Imagine all those nuggets of wisdom falling freely from my brain to yours; my ramblings making the world a better place, one day at a time.
See you tomorrow for the big 200. (Coincidentally my pregnancy weight at 6 months, 1 day.) Laters.

Infomercials

I am the queen of suckers. I need it all, the total gym, the fat smoother bra, the miracle face smoother. I need all these wonderful,amazing products to reshape and resmoothe the rough edges. Does anyone else ever feel this way? Laters.