Dense

I don't know why it took me so long to piece it all together. I was going to get on here and compose a blog of such truth and beauty it would have made philosophers weep, but it was not to be. I'm sitting here, drinking my coffee, thinking about how bad my head hurt, and fighting the urge to throw up, and I never throw up. Then it hit me: I have a migraine coming to visit. As my migraines usually last about 3 days, I will be back when this little bitch leaves town again. Until then, don't you stop being adorable (I know I have used that line before, but it is just so appropriate).

Love,
BB

Peppermint, Pests, And Procrastination

Peppermint

Last night Sugarbowl and I were sitting on the porch listening to the kids fighting in the house, hence why we were outside. We heard Jabber doing the laugh that usually precedes him crying, ie the laugh that he does when he has Princess in a lather and imminent doom is upon him. Sure enough about 2 milliseconds later there was a loud thud and he started crying. He comes boiling out of the house and starts telling the neighborhood, in the loudest possible voice his lungs could support, that his sister's pits smell like peppermint. She takes after him and he yells, "Don't you like peppermint?" Sugarbowl and I agreed that if someone announced that our pits smelled like peppermint, in the dead of summer, after sweating all day, and having your pit juice run out on you early, we would not be too sad about it. We would be flattered and would not seek revenge. For some inexplicable reason, Princess was not flattered. Maybe because she uses some of that teen pit juice that is in "Pop Star" scent and would rather he announce that her pits smell like a pop star. The last time she went out of town she took my pit juice by mistake and I had to use her's, and I can honestly say I would rather have peppermint pits than pop star.

Pests

Last night, while lying in bed reading and idly petting the little dog -- the ever-alert defender of my chastity, he won't let anything get in bed with me -- I found a tick on him. I was on the verge of sleep until my fingers happened upon that abomination. We are currently fighting off a flea epidemic, so I was none too happy to learn that ticks had joined the fight too. I burnt the tick and it exploded inches from my face like a nasty kernel of popcorn and I KNOW that it sprayed tick powder all over my face. I spent the next 20 minutes scrubbing the skin off my face and hands before returning to bed where I woke up throughout the night to scratch my head and check for ticks. Ewww! Even talking/writing about it is making me itch and I foresee more skin scrubbing in my near future.

Procrastination

I am banning myself from any more blogging until I catch up on your blogs. I have been procrastinating too long due to raspberries, my love affair with the riding lawn mower, and that damn game, Bubble Town, that has taken over all my short attention span. Now I must go boil myself and get ready for my exercise class. As Tigger would say, "TTFN."

Who Knew?

Who knew that the reason I trip and fall over everything may be due to foot drop instead of my terminal clumsiness? Yesterday I was talking to a lady in my exercise group who has foot drop and her problems mirrored mine exactly: catching a toe on nothing and falling; being unable to lift my foot enough to avoid that speck of dust, etc etc. I don't know why I never added all those things up and thought that maybe I too have foot drop instead of being a clumsy ass. Yesterday, after my exercise class, I grabbed some groceries and bringing in the milk I stubbed my big toe on my right foot and fell up the porch steps. This is the second time I fell while carrying the milk and I am now boycotting me bringing in the milk. The good news is that both times the milk was unscathed, but I was not. I bruised several spots on my right side, my ankle, knee, fat hip and arm just above the elbow. Later I tripped over the hose and fell again, but this time it was on the grass and I only sustained grass stains on my clothes. I am not willing to wear a foot brace so I will have to start paying more attention. Too bad I have no short term memory, so I foresee many more falls in my future. I know, I'm like, psychic or something.

Who knew that fly bites are a major emergency? Jabber was out in the raspberry bushes with me the other day, "helping" me pick raspberries but in reality enjoying a captive audience to talk to death. A fly bit him and he smacked a hand on his leg, looked at me with eyes the size of dinner plates, said, "A fly just bit me!" and ran to the house with one hand over the spot where he was bit and hopping on the other leg. I tried to hold in my laughter until he was in the house, but started choking on my guffaws and had to let loose before he got inside. His response to the bite was like he had just been bit by a rattlesnake and I should drop everything and race him to the ER. We have been teasing him about it because it is too easy. He fails to see any humor at all in the whole situation and still acts like it was a major thing and he is lucky to still have that leg. He can't understand why nobody else sees it the same way.

Who knew that I would enjoy my exercise class so much? I certainly did not see this one coming. I even -- gulp -- decided that when this study is over I am going to get a membership and continue my classes. The shame! It burns!

Who knew that I was so hip and happening, and so... popular? I don't get it. Not one bit. The people in my exercise class flock to me, and make me feel like I am this young, hip, cool thing when I am most certainly not any of those things. They love my socks, the t shirts I wear (I have a whole collection of stupid shirts that I enjoy), they laugh at my jokes, and even those who are too shy to jump in the crowd smile at me every time they meet my eye. I need to be careful or I will get conceited from all this positive attention. When I was telling Sugarbowl about it, she said that people have always flocked to me. I have never thought that or noticed it, but I was flattered by her comment. I'm glad they like me so much, but I think I am starting to get a big head about it. I noticed that I am not as worried about the way I walk and feel more confident about myself in public now. Who'da thunk it?

Goals

Most of us have some goals in life. Even me, with my not-so-great attitude, has goals. Maybe I should say "goal" because my only current one is to perfect belch talk. My ex is so good at it, he can say anything in a belch, and I deeply covet that talent. I have been working on it for a little while now and my family is enjoying listening to me practice. My mom is horrified that I go at it with such gusto and with total disregard of who is around or where I am. (I draw the line at doing it in public; I do have some standards.) She thinks I need to have loftier goals than that, to which I belch, "No thanks."

My mom also has this long cherished goal of me making an MSing friend. She was so thrilled when I signed on to do this balance study and got a membership to the local MS gym, thinking that her goal for me was coming to fruition. I tried to resist their friendly ways, all to naught. I am enjoying my fellow MSing peeps more than I thought I would. There are several there that I even considered getting their phone numbers so we could stay up late swapping deep dark secrets and titter on the phone together all night. One lady in particular has really got the better of me. She is so genuinely kind and humble and... WONDERFUL! It is rare to meet some one so truly kind like that. She doesn't have much to say about herself, but in a not-shy way. We yak and yuk it up but she never brags about herself or tries to make herself look good. My older sister, Mellow, works for La Rue coffee and gets it at a great discount, so I brought in several different flavors of coffee for all to enjoy. I have a bunch of different flavors myself and was telling them about them, which everyone oohh'ed and ahhh'ed over. I am going to bring in a couple of bags of coffee for some of them and was trying to get the afore mentioned lady to tell me what her favorite flavor was, but she wouldn't open her mouth to say anything when I mentioned all the different flavors. So I told her I am just going to bring her the most popular flavor. I know she is going to resist taking it, but I am prepared to stuff it down her shirt to make her take it.

My older sister took it upon herself to push me to get in touch with some old friends, especially one. Her goal is to get me out of my shell and back into life. Yesterday I met up with that old friend and it was GREAT! Mellow told me that older sisters do know what is best sometimes and I had to grudgingly agree. I am glad she pushed me because seeing her (old friend, even though she is not old) was so great I can't put it into the right words. Now I am plotting more ways for my friend and I to get together, how we can work that out and how we can sit and properly catch up. I am very glad my older sister had that goal for me, even though I wasn't at first. But I have forgiven her.

Sore

I don't think there is a place left on my body that is not sore. If there is, I have no doubt it will soon get hurt and join it's brethren to make me even more miserable.

My right foot is sore because Sugarbowl and I were shopping the other day and she dropped this big hard purse thing on it. Of course it fell pointy side down and bruised my foot. I was holding a wallet and whacked her with it when it happened. She had the audacity to ask me why I hit her. Maybe because I was limping even more through the store than usual and wanted her to feel my pain. Misery does love company.

My arms and guts are sore from that damn exercise program. I have to do it all over again today and am hoping we are not doing any more arm and gut exercises today because I will be even more of a wimp than I already am and I do not want to let on that I am that big of a wimp when everyone else acts like it is the easiest thing they have done all week.

My head is still sore from when I nearly decapitated myself on a low branch while mowing. I have a nice big crusty lump from it that I have to check every few minutes to see if it still hurts. It does.

My heart is sore because I am reading Remembering Slavery right now. It is a selection of readings from the Slave Narratives that I like to read about once a year. It really puts life into perspective for me and if you haven't read it yet, I highly recommend you do so ASAP. It makes me feel like all the crap I am going through is small potatoes compared to what those people went through, and they have a much better attitude about it than I do.

My ears are sore because Jabber sat next to me yesterday and barked orders into my ear about what I needed to be doing in my game, even though he has never played it, he still knows more than me about it.

My eyeballs are sore from playing that damn game so much. I finally got past level 7 but can't get past 8 now. I have been going at it like it is my full time job, hoarding the computer and bitching and moaning about how ridiculously hard level 8 is.

My hands are sore from all the splinters I keep getting from the raspberry bushes. I can get most of them out but some are so stubborn and I keep forgetting about them until something touches the place they are permanently lodged and I curse those delicious fruit bearing brambles that I must rape and plunder.

My butt cheeks are sore from Sugarbowl punching me in the arse whenever I say something rude. I told her she had a fat zitty ass the other day and she got mad and punched me in the butt. She can really nail the muscle there and has great upper body strength. She said she was going to take a nap the next day and I thought she was really going to take a nap. I wanted to tell her something so I go to her door to open it and it is locked. Being the slow thing that I am, I didn't register the fact that she had a buzz saw going in her room while having a locked door. I asked what she was doing and she yelled out, very cranky-like, "I'm BUSY!" The pieces of the puzzle fell into place and I was scandalized that she was doing that while I sat out here just steps away. She was mad that I interrupted her. I told her that if she wasn't so busy pawing at her crotch all the time, we wouldn't have this problem. She punched me in the butt cheek exactly where she had punched me the day before. I am not one to let sleeping dogs lie and like to make references to her always pawing at her crotch, which she always rewards with a solid punch to the ass. My butt is so sore it hurts to sit. You would think I would learn, but it is too much fun to get her all worked up.

Ramblin's

I feel like it has been forever since I've been on here. I have to ramble for a while to catch myself up, so buckle up for the wild ride.

*Sugarbowl, Princess and Jabber went up to my mom's for the 4th and for a court date Sugarbowl has with an ex for child support for Princess. The man is a unrepentant alcoholic and is trying to say it is a disability -- he will probably get disability before me too -- and therefore should have to pay next to nothing in child support regardless of the fact that he gets over $1200 a month for being a veteran. I cleaned the house and have been reveling in cleanliness and quiet, caught up on my reading and have a passel of books I've requested from the library and am waiting with bated breath to get that phone call that says they are in.

*While fighting with the raspberries on the 4th, I was subjected to an experience that I hope does not repeat itself again anytime soon. The neighbors were trying to recreate a Hallmark moments style holiday, which I can forgive ("Awww, you are so wonderful!" "No, you are!" "Let's all group hug!") but they were blasting Country music while doing it, which I cannot forgive. I can handle some Country, but only a little. It is so maudlin and depressing it makes me feel like I should be moping, crying, and pining for an ex when I do not want to do any of that for any of those cornholes.

*Speaking of choices in music, I was again fighting with the raspberries when I found out that we live near a hot spot for teens embarking on a weekend of wackiness. I noticed that a gaggle of girls would go by blasting things like Alanis Morisette's song about how she couldn't help falling in love with some guy and it was all his fault. The boys would be blaring some rap or hard rock. I pondered how if they would both change their expectations a bit -- the girls give up the pipe dream of some boy sweeping them off their feet, and the boys relinquish the hope of just getting laid -- they could all be happy. But what do I know? We used to listen to Motley Crue while trying to net some boys and I'm not sure what that says about our expectations.

*My farmer's tan is coming along nicely. I have a lovely brown spreading over my arms and legs while my torso is still an albino white. How sexy is that? I'll answer for you: very!

*While mowing the lawn, I nearly had my head ripped off by a low branch. It grabbed my head and right shoulder and jerked me back, nearly taking me off the mower -- I think I got whiplash from it. Before I checked my wounds, I had to look around and make sure no one saw that. Priorities, people, priorities. It's all fine and dandy to make an ass out of yourself but just as long as no one sees you doing it. I didn't want anyone to see me getting my scalp and shoulder ripped open when a blind man could have seen that branch.

*Speaking of mowing, I ran over a garter snake and nearly vomited when the chunks flew everywhere and the dogs acted like it was a smorgasbord. And why do dogs feel the need to lay a fresh stinky in the path of where you are going to mow next? I get so tired of running over that and having it stick to the wheels to perfume the hot air around me for the duration of my mowing.

*Speaking of dogs, mine rolled in something dead and rotten and I didn't see them do it. Well, I saw them rolling in the grass but thought they were just enjoying the mowed lawn after the rain forest we had going. When we all piled back into the house I smelled this horrible smell and thought that some animal died in the heating and cooling ducts and the odor was circulating through the house. It took me longer than I care to admit to figure out it was the dogs. We all got washed with the hose and fresh air was restored to the house.

*I need to catch up on all your blogs. I have been so busy vacationing that I haven't got on here like I want to. I have found the time to play Bubble Town but can't get past the 7th level, and it's not from lack of trying. Darn you, sleeping bubble heads! Why can't you wake up and help a girl out?

*Speaking of Bubble Town, I need to go play it and see if I can't get past the 7th level. Tootles.

Fresh Fish And Violations

If you hadn't noticed, I'm enjoying putting several different subjects in the title of my posts. It keeps me on the path of what I intend to write about so I don't go off into no-man's-land -- even though that is a great vacation spot, so much better than hell.

I went to that damn exercise thing yesterday and I lived. I didn't expect to survive it, so it was an unexpected surprise that I wasn't carried out in a coffin. They pounced on me like I was a fresh fish entering a prison that was dying for someone new to violate. They circled their wagons (or assistive devices) around me and pelted me with questions in auctioneer style rapidity:

Them: What's your name?
Blindbeard: Blindbeard.
T: Are you married?
BB: Going through a divorce.
T: How long were you married?
BB: 8 years.
T: Would you ever get married again?
BB: No.
T: Do you have any kids?
BB: No.
T: Do you want kids?
BB: No, I couldn't anyway, I had a total hysterectomy almost 8 years ago.
T: Are you upset about not being able to have kids?
BB: (Feeling like nothing is sacred.) No. I never wanted my own kids.
T: How long have you had MS?
BB: Almost 4 and a half years.
T: What medicine are you on?
BB: Tysabri.
T: Do you like it?
BB: Yes. Love it.
T: Are you from here?
BB: Yes. I grew up here.
T: Where did you graduate from?
BB: I graduated from _______.
T: Who's your doctor?
BB: ______.
T: Do you like her?
BB: Yes, it took awhile but we are starting to understand each other.

And so on. I wish I was making some of those up, but I'm not. I felt like my brain was thoroughly picked and was mentally fatigued before we even started the exercises. I'm glad that they embraced me and were glad to have a fresh fish amongst their midst, but, DAMN! They seemed to be satisfied with my answers and decided that I was okay because they asked me to enjoy a cup of coffee with them after the torture was through. I threw the coffee down my throat, burning my tonsils, and left before the Spanish Inquisition could start again. I was afraid things would get even more personal and I didn't really want to get into how often I shave my legs, if my bowel movements are regular, what is my favorite position during sex, etc etc. A woman must have some mystery about her.


The vanilla-as-an-insect-repellent is working great for me. But those mosquitoes are sneaky little boogers and get into my clothes and bite me in places they should be washing their mouths out with soap for having gone there, or at least bought me dinner first. I had to get some of that After Bite for all my pre-vanilla bites and those that are in places it is illegal to scratch in public. I now douse myself much more thoroughly and as close to my unmentionables as I can. Now if I could find something to stop all the splinters I get from the brambles, life would be great.