Answer: A River Runs Through It

Q. What is Natural’s urinary tract system? Surprisingly that has never been an actual question on Jeopardy.  I guess even Jeopardy has criteria.

Anywho, if you are a regular reader of my craziness blog, then you know that forever for the past several weeks months I’ve sporadically written about trying to lose weight. Just a few pounds, 20 to be exact.

Before I continue, I’m not obsessive about my appearance, “I’m [just] trying to keep the drywall intact and the rooms neat and tidy.”   Side story: A coworker noticed¹ that I was wearing my pedometers² and she said, “What is that?”

I told her.

She said, “Don’t you think you’re getting a little too carried away with this sh*t.  Everything is about how you look.” Now this is coming from a woman who won’t take out the trash unless she is wearing make-up, but I’m vain because there’s a tire growing out of my waist that I need to deflate. I said, “That’s not true, I don’t wear make-up.”  She concurred when I put it that way.

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From Blog Photos

I’m not on a diet, but I do exercise 5-7 times a week, I made a few minor food changes and I’m drinking more water.  Herein lies the problem.  My stomach is comparable to a cow’s stomach, it has four compartments that need filling.  So what are we told to do?  Drink. More. Water.

Well that’s the least I could do.  Easy enough. Heck, if I go to work everyday, the water is free.  I think I can handle 8 to 10 cups of free water.

I really don’t care about the health benefits of drinking water either, I’m trying to drown food and stave off cravings!  Come what may.

So I thought.

One day last week, after cup number 5, my bladder turned on me. In a 15 minute time frame I went to the ladies room three times; water was passing through my urinary tract system like a defective and hollow Baby Alive.

From Blog Photos

The urge to go was ever persistent and I had to share the going ons with someone.  Every time I walked past my co-worker’s office, I would shout my number of trips to the bathroom. Four! Five! Sometimes I just held up a number using my fingers.

For some reason my body suddenly increased production in the Water Department, informed my kidneys to “speed it up,”³ pissed off my bladder and caused a tsunami!

Some time that afternoon, production finally came to a halt, the Union was called in and everybody calmed down.  On one of my trips to the bathroom, I seriously thought it would be easier to just pour 8 cups of water into the toilet, bypass the middle man and call it a truce.  I can’t go through this again.  I haven’t had 8 cups of water since, but I have come pretty darn close, fortunately, without repercussion.

*******
This post is true, but only meant to be funny.  I have since stopped using the bathroom like a Betsy Wetsy doll, honestly. Please don’t tell me I’m dying.  I’d like to believe that I will live to the ripe old age of 204 and a half and if that dubious hallucination is all in my mind, then let’s leave it there.

Jeopardy Logo by Someone on Flickr TBA
Cow picture by Clover
Angry Watermelon by  Sebastian Niedlich

1. okay I showed it to her [↩]
2. one on each hip [↩]
3. watch the video [↩]

Finger Clicking Good’gaud That Hurts!

A little over a week ago I started feeling a nagging pain in my right index finger, especially around the joint area.  The pain went away and then a few days later it returned.  I thought it was kind of weird for only one of my fingers to be hurting, but okay.

Then I thought, maybe the pain had something to do with the graph below.  I’m not an EntreCard drop master, yet, but do you think the repetitive clicking and scrolling has anything to do with it? ¹

Of course, I can’t tell anyone why my finger really hurts.  The real reason would seem so silly or too embarrassing that it’s just not worthy of the truth.  Surely, I can come up with something a lot more colorful that will leave a crowd of listeners on the edge of their seats.

Here’s my “that’s my story and I’m sticking to it” reason for the soreness: I hit my finger on a tree branch while parachuting out of a plane. Much better.  I’m a brave daredevil not a repetitive mouse clicker.  A sore finger from dropping?  I don’t think so.

Meanwhile, my finger continues to receive lots of TLC, massages and stretching. If that doesn’t work then I still have one more digit that is capable of clicking until I have to use my left hand.

What’s your most unbelievable injury story?  I know it’s funny, so spill it. Did you fess up or did you paint a colorful picture?

1. Can you say class action? [↩]

breaking up is hard to do

…especially when you find a hair stylist who understands that “cut” does not mean “butcher”.

anywho, i’m happy with my current hair stylist, but since we both moved, it’s no longer convenient¹ for me to travel to her shop. i’ve been doing it myself² because having someone else do my hair feels too much like cheating.  call me crazy, no call me loyal. as if she would know.

however, one friday, the urge hit and i had to have my hair done now.  i ran out of the house like i was late for an appointment, only i didn’t go to my regular salon, i went to where my SIL gets her hair done. maybe it was my job location but i’ve always gone to a dominican hair salon and this place was a dominican hair salon. great.

i walked in and asked for a perm, cut³ trim and a color rinse.  i was told to have a seat and someone would be right with me. uh huh. right.

now in some dominican hair salons, your name is gender based.  if you’re a female, your name is mommy, if you’re a male your name is poppy.  after years of answering to Bah la rie, calling me mommy now is like taking two giant steps backwards in a game of mother may i.

while i wait on the next available stylist i pretend to read and then I hear it, “mommy come”. i know someone is talking to me because i’m the only one who doesn’t have a towel on their head.  i’m so anxious to get started that i want to run and strap myself to the chair and say, “put it in” ⁴, but instead i do the “you talkin’ to me i’m so surprised hand on my chest gesture”.

i calmly walk over to my assigned station and about 25 minutes later i’m moved from the operating chair to the recovery area. the perm was a success, it just needs to be washed out.  the shampoo girl preps me by stuffing towels around my collar and then she drapes a cape around me from the back, only the velcro doesn’t hold.  so she tells me to do the job the velcro won’t and hold the two openings tightly around my neck.

like an obedient fool, i’m holding on to those two ends for dear life and a dry shirt, but i’m slightly gasping for air so i release my death grip and take a few breaths (when she wasn’t looking of course…i’m sure i said something about me being too old to be sneaking oxygen).

so as she’s washing my hair, i’m leaning back in the most uncomfortable position and i realize i’m doing all the work.  she’s not even supporting my head and it’s heavy.  (support the head, support the head). um, my neck gets enough exercise, but after wash no. 4 my head becomes a burden to my neck and i’m ready to drop it.

you want to know how difficult this is?  david blaine won’t even attempt it.  he might be able to hang upside down for 60 hours, but he cannot lean back in a salon chair and hold his head over a sink for 9 straight washes. endurance artist my foot!

9 washes? was my hair really that dirty? with each wash my message was the same: support the head, support the head.  of course, she doesn’t understand english too well so i could have said night of the living dead and it wouldn’t have made a difference.

while she was scrubbing my scalp she was kind enough to say in english, “okay“? from my past experience this means: am i hurting you or am i scrubbing too hard. i’m like no, in fact, if you don’t scrub harder i might hurt you.  of course i don’t say that, but next time, i’ll have to bring my piece of paper that says “please scrub harder” written in spanish with me.

next i was told to go and she pointed in the direction of the operation station.  i’m thinking what happened to my color rinse?  i look into the mirror and there’s more gray hair coming out of my scalp than my black permanent sharpie marker can handle. i don’t mind gray hair, but this time i wanted it colored.

“what happened to my color rinse”?

“let me see your receipt”.

“see, it says right here: you are obligated to wash that gray right outta my hair“.

“come”.

i get up and we go back to the baptismal pool area.  i have to wait on a translator, but i decide to go with my natural hair color, a medium brown rinse, just to fill in the gray.  after she’s done applying the color to my hair, she slaps a plastic bag on my head, nearly covering my eyelids and has me sit under the dryer for about a half-hour.

after my half hour is up, i have to get my hair washed yet again! support the head, support the head. oh forget it!  i slide down in the already too less of a chair to get my neck to rest on that groove in the sink and I use all my quivering neck muscles to hold my head over the sink like a champ.  3 more washes and i come out of the pool looking for my gold medal.  with my glasses off, that outstretched hand could have been anything, instead it was my signal to go.

after the foregoing process, the rest was easy. my hair was trimmed, rolled and dried. 3 hours and 45 minutes later i had cooperative, bouncy hair and i was happy for a first time visit.

do i have a point? oh yeah, my hairdresser.  we have to break up.  i like her because she’s familiar and i like the way she cuts/styles my hair.  i’m just no good at long distant relationships, especially when i found someone who, with training, has real potential in becoming my new hair stylist.  she’s much closer to my home and my job, is less expensive, there’s parking and they are open 7 days a week. that’s a lot to be ignored.

so how do you feel about people who serve you on a regular basis.  your stylist?  your barber?  do you feel a sense of loyalty toward them or are you okay with trying out new people?

Photo of Neon sign by By Shira Golding
Photo of salon chair by VeecoManufacturing.com
Photo of hair dye DrugStore.com

1. i would drive, hop a subway and then walk [↩]
2. and going bald in the process [↩]
3. wait, i don’t know her [↩]
4. the perm! [↩]

Down In the Dumps: Write this Way

It’s been a few days and I’m still moping around like somebody drained my retirement account and sucked the life out of me right along with it.  I think the term used to describe my demeanor was “out of character“.  It’s true. First of all, I have nothing to say, no punch lines, no jokes, no nothing. That’s not me.

I haven’t felt like doing much of anything either, I’ve been on strike.¹  Every living thing for itself.

Sleep seems to be the only thing on my mind these days.  I hate to admit this, but earlier this week someone became ill at work and I was told that they were resting in the other room on the couch. After they finished giving me additional instructions, all I could think was: “There’s a couch in that room?”

I’ve been so pathetic that I even went on the internet and typed in a search for ways to get out of a bad mood.  How lame.  I should do what?

Listen to music and dance, I’m not a cast member of Fame.  Breaking out in a song or dance in the middle of an attitude does not happen in real life.  Although doing The Carlton Dance always makes me feel better.

Take a bubble bath.  Ahhh, yes, that sounds nice.  Get a massage?  Pamper myself?  Tell me more.

Get a make over?  Do I really look that bad?  I know it’s been days since I combed my hair and yes my appearance is connected to my mood.

Okay, fine.  I’ll do it, but before I go for my extreme makeover, to all those who have been putting up with my attitude, I just want to say one thing: You should be used to me by now I’m sorry and thanks for not bailing. Send cookies.

Writing, laughing, etc. is therapeutic and it’s free.  What gets you out of a funk?  Thanks to [http://slam101.blogspot.com/] who gave me the idea to use meez.com in this blog post.

1. actual picture of my kitchen [↩]

If My Life Were A Movie

From Blog Photos

If your life were a movie right now, what celebrity would get the lead role and what type of movie would it be? A drama? Documentary? Comedy? Science Fiction? Action? Thriller?

If my life, right now, were a movie it would be a tragedy¹ and based on personality and comedic likeness, Ellen Degeneres would play me.  I know, I know, she’s not as tall as I am, but there’s make-up for that, otherwise, perfect match.  It would go something like this:

Synopsis: For the past 17 years of doing the 9 to 5 grind at less than fulfilling jobs, the frustrated and wanna-be writer, Valerie (played by Ellen Degeneres) decides to take the advice of friends and submit her work to several literary agents.  After many attempts, rejects, no response and one false hope, self-publishing seems like her only option, that is, before she is introduced to the world of blogging.

Soon Valerie finds herself swept up into Blogosphere with not just one, but five blogs.  Testing the waters at what comes naturally to her, she decides to write incognito as a wisecracking blogger and quickly gains the following of a small group of loyal readers who demand more.

Meanwhile, her real world is in jeopardy when D (played by Will Smith)² stumbles upon a blog that seems to be an open book of his life and demands to know the person behind the name.  Watch Valerie in this hysterical comedy go to any lengths as she tries to keep her two worlds from colliding and destroying the house that Jack built.

Now, it’s your turn, maybe you don’t have a synopsis right now, consider this a meme,³ but if your life were a movie, what celebrity would get the lead role? According to this site, Ellen isn’t even an option for me based on looks, click here to see my celebrity look-alikes.

I really have to upload some new pictures of myself.

Photo of movie reel by sillyjokes.co.uk

1. turned comedy [↩]
2. sorry Portia [↩]
3. or is it one already? [↩]