Ask someone to say, "Paul Blart: Mall Cop."
Then laugh at him, because it will sound like he said it wrong. So, have him repeat himself. He will say it even more carefully, but still it will sound ridiculous, so laugh some more. Then, he'll ask you to say it, and he'll laugh at you. Let it go back and forth. This is good for about 5 solid minutes.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Obtuse
I have been making an effort to exercise more regularly, but since I am not fitting into my usual gym clothes, and I don't want to buy new ones, I am limiting myself to walking and doing exercise videos in my house. Yes, I pay a gym membership fee, but I won't go until I lose some weight. Yes, that's ridiculous.
So, I've been walking around a park near my house, and here are some random things I've noticed or thought about.
When walking on a track, some people go clockwise, some go counter-clockwise. I never like to go the same way two days in a row. I like to mix it up. I usually make my decision when I get to the park and can survey where the other people are, because the worst is when you catch up to people (or them to you), and then you either have to go slower or break into a trot so you're not walking together. But when you are coming face to face to someone, shouldn't it be policy to move to the right of the track? I would think so. Let's say there are two people coming towards you. I would think that they should single-file it (one person moves ahead on the right) until they pass you. It's ridiculous how often I have to move to the grass. It's even worse when it's a duo (or more), and they are walking a dog. I should not have to maneuver to get around a dog. If you've got the dog, you move out of your way so your dog doesn't touch me. I am not anti-dog, I am merely pro-etiquette. I don't know how people can be so obtuse...
Which sort of segues into this next story. I was substitute teaching in a resource room for math this afternoon, and one of the students has actually been dubbed "Debbie Downer" by her teacher and instructional associate. I wish I had a muted trumpet to play after everything she said, except for one thing that I thought deserved a rim shot. We were discussing angles, and she grabbed her stomach, I mean she was actually able to grab it from both sides and move it up and down, and said, "Now this is obtuse!"
I should have pointed out that, no, it didn't match the definition of obtuse, but I decided to ignore it and keep on to prevent myself from going, "Wah, wah."
I wasn't really done talking about walking on the track, I just wanted to get some mileage out of "obtuse." Anyway, I just want to add that I do not get the act of walking and holding hands. At all. I enjoy holding the husbo's hand when we are on the couch together, or in bed, but I find it downright complicated and irritating to try and walk and hold hands. Can someone explain it to me?
So, I've been walking around a park near my house, and here are some random things I've noticed or thought about.
When walking on a track, some people go clockwise, some go counter-clockwise. I never like to go the same way two days in a row. I like to mix it up. I usually make my decision when I get to the park and can survey where the other people are, because the worst is when you catch up to people (or them to you), and then you either have to go slower or break into a trot so you're not walking together. But when you are coming face to face to someone, shouldn't it be policy to move to the right of the track? I would think so. Let's say there are two people coming towards you. I would think that they should single-file it (one person moves ahead on the right) until they pass you. It's ridiculous how often I have to move to the grass. It's even worse when it's a duo (or more), and they are walking a dog. I should not have to maneuver to get around a dog. If you've got the dog, you move out of your way so your dog doesn't touch me. I am not anti-dog, I am merely pro-etiquette. I don't know how people can be so obtuse...
Which sort of segues into this next story. I was substitute teaching in a resource room for math this afternoon, and one of the students has actually been dubbed "Debbie Downer" by her teacher and instructional associate. I wish I had a muted trumpet to play after everything she said, except for one thing that I thought deserved a rim shot. We were discussing angles, and she grabbed her stomach, I mean she was actually able to grab it from both sides and move it up and down, and said, "Now this is obtuse!"
I should have pointed out that, no, it didn't match the definition of obtuse, but I decided to ignore it and keep on to prevent myself from going, "Wah, wah."
I wasn't really done talking about walking on the track, I just wanted to get some mileage out of "obtuse." Anyway, I just want to add that I do not get the act of walking and holding hands. At all. I enjoy holding the husbo's hand when we are on the couch together, or in bed, but I find it downright complicated and irritating to try and walk and hold hands. Can someone explain it to me?
Saturday, March 21, 2009
If I Ever Have a Reality TV Show About Being on the Insulin Pump...
I have a name for it.
(My name): It's Pumplicated
I made up the word pumplications to refer to all the recent mishaps I've had regarding the pump. The husbo brilliantly linked it to Denise Richards' show. By the way, I love how The Soup's Joel McHale always refers to it as "Denise Richards (Colon) It's Complicated."
Last week, I had to redo a 24-hour urine collection test that I had just completed 3 weeks earlier. Why? Because the lab forgot to test it for the main thing it was being collected for. Anyway, because I usually put my pump in my front pants pocket, it is always challenging to go to the bathroom. The pump is in my pocket, and it is connected by a tube to my stomach, so it's complicated (pumplicated). Add peeing into a cup, and it's downright cumbersome.
I successfully collected my urine and was transporting it to the jug that has to be refridgerated. I was carrying it very carefully, and I didn't realize that my tubing wasn't tucked back into my pocket. On my way out of the bathroom, the tubing got caught on the doorknob, and I ripped my site clear out of my stomach. I had just put it in the day before, and since I only have to change it every 3 days, I was super pissed. It caught me off guard, but thankfully, I did not spill the cup everywhere.
A few nights later, 3 to be exact, I changed my site. Three hours later, I was in bed. The husbo had washed the sheets and made the bed, which was nice, but he makes the bed way too tight with the covers not up far enough. I was squirming and grabbing and pulling the sheets, and I accidentally got my hand caught up in my tubing and, once again, yanked my site out. I had to inject another site in, but it must have hit something wrong, because it hurt like a mofo. I took it out immediately, and blood was gushing out. Gross.
Then last night, I went to bed with a normal blood sugar. At about 7 this morning, I woke up feeling strange. I had to pee really bad, and I felt severely dehyrated and sick. I got up to go to the bathroom and felt like I was going to be sick or pass out. Once in the bathroom, I learned that the pump tubing had disconnected from the site. So, I had not been getting insulin for who knows how many hours. I immediately hooked up and gave myself a random heavy dose. My blood sugar was close to 400. Scary stuff.
But at least I have a new stupid word to overuse with the husbo.
(My name): It's Pumplicated
I made up the word pumplications to refer to all the recent mishaps I've had regarding the pump. The husbo brilliantly linked it to Denise Richards' show. By the way, I love how The Soup's Joel McHale always refers to it as "Denise Richards (Colon) It's Complicated."
Last week, I had to redo a 24-hour urine collection test that I had just completed 3 weeks earlier. Why? Because the lab forgot to test it for the main thing it was being collected for. Anyway, because I usually put my pump in my front pants pocket, it is always challenging to go to the bathroom. The pump is in my pocket, and it is connected by a tube to my stomach, so it's complicated (pumplicated). Add peeing into a cup, and it's downright cumbersome.
I successfully collected my urine and was transporting it to the jug that has to be refridgerated. I was carrying it very carefully, and I didn't realize that my tubing wasn't tucked back into my pocket. On my way out of the bathroom, the tubing got caught on the doorknob, and I ripped my site clear out of my stomach. I had just put it in the day before, and since I only have to change it every 3 days, I was super pissed. It caught me off guard, but thankfully, I did not spill the cup everywhere.
A few nights later, 3 to be exact, I changed my site. Three hours later, I was in bed. The husbo had washed the sheets and made the bed, which was nice, but he makes the bed way too tight with the covers not up far enough. I was squirming and grabbing and pulling the sheets, and I accidentally got my hand caught up in my tubing and, once again, yanked my site out. I had to inject another site in, but it must have hit something wrong, because it hurt like a mofo. I took it out immediately, and blood was gushing out. Gross.
Then last night, I went to bed with a normal blood sugar. At about 7 this morning, I woke up feeling strange. I had to pee really bad, and I felt severely dehyrated and sick. I got up to go to the bathroom and felt like I was going to be sick or pass out. Once in the bathroom, I learned that the pump tubing had disconnected from the site. So, I had not been getting insulin for who knows how many hours. I immediately hooked up and gave myself a random heavy dose. My blood sugar was close to 400. Scary stuff.
But at least I have a new stupid word to overuse with the husbo.
Some Dudes
Paul Rudd. Is he not confoundingly attractive?! I think even heterosexual males must question their sexuality when they see him.
Barack Obama. I didn't see him on Leno, mostly because I think there is nothing funny or entertaining about Leno, so I didn't hear the Special Olympics comment. I really expected him to know better, so I am extremely let down. Yes, George Bush also made stupid comments by the cement-truckful, but he was George Bush. I am glad Obama apologized, but there is something that doesn't sit right with me still. Ugh. I just expected so much better.
The husbo relayed a story to me that I found very interesting. He heard it on NPR, so I won't listen to it, because I find listening to NPR one of the more painful things in life. The information could be good, but the delivery is so annoying. I don't even know how to put it into words. I think I could liken it to a muted trumpet on qualudes. Blahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
Anyway, it was about some dude who found a way to help people with phantom limb pain. After they had lost the limb, nerve endings left behind would send missignals to the brain making them think that their limb was still there. In one case, the person felt that his hand was clenched so tight that his fingernails were digging into his palm. The doctor had him put a mirror down his center, so the arm he still had reflected as though his other arm were present. The doctor had him clench his hand then watch the reflection unclench. The action and accompanying visual tricked the brain and the patient felt some relief. Once the mirror was gone, it would return, so it's like a therapy thing that has to be practiced. Kind of like physical therapy, I guess. Neat.
Barack Obama. I didn't see him on Leno, mostly because I think there is nothing funny or entertaining about Leno, so I didn't hear the Special Olympics comment. I really expected him to know better, so I am extremely let down. Yes, George Bush also made stupid comments by the cement-truckful, but he was George Bush. I am glad Obama apologized, but there is something that doesn't sit right with me still. Ugh. I just expected so much better.
The husbo relayed a story to me that I found very interesting. He heard it on NPR, so I won't listen to it, because I find listening to NPR one of the more painful things in life. The information could be good, but the delivery is so annoying. I don't even know how to put it into words. I think I could liken it to a muted trumpet on qualudes. Blahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
Anyway, it was about some dude who found a way to help people with phantom limb pain. After they had lost the limb, nerve endings left behind would send missignals to the brain making them think that their limb was still there. In one case, the person felt that his hand was clenched so tight that his fingernails were digging into his palm. The doctor had him put a mirror down his center, so the arm he still had reflected as though his other arm were present. The doctor had him clench his hand then watch the reflection unclench. The action and accompanying visual tricked the brain and the patient felt some relief. Once the mirror was gone, it would return, so it's like a therapy thing that has to be practiced. Kind of like physical therapy, I guess. Neat.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Windows and Avocados
It's been a bit warmer out, and when the sun was out, my car felt like summer at the end of the day. Most people were driving with their windows down, but not me, I turned the AC on.
I wish I could drive with the windows down, but I just can't. First off, the thought of a spider making its way into my car drives me batty. Also, I just feel vulnerable. To what, I am not sure. I need a very firm separation between me and the outside world.
That aside, I think that avocados should be called guacamoles. It's more fun, and it's what they are best for.
I wish I could drive with the windows down, but I just can't. First off, the thought of a spider making its way into my car drives me batty. Also, I just feel vulnerable. To what, I am not sure. I need a very firm separation between me and the outside world.
That aside, I think that avocados should be called guacamoles. It's more fun, and it's what they are best for.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
This and That
The high school kids I work with did an amazing job with their show, and I am very pleased. They also gave me a sweet gift, and I inadvertently received a raise since I quit the last high school I worked for and started working with this one.
I am getting sinus surgery again. This time they are going to be more aggressive. They will be drilling small holes above my eyebrows to drain those sinuses and going into passages they haven't before. They assured me they will stop if any dangers pop up, like too much bleeding or leakage of my spinal fluid (they have to get WAY in there). I am also getting my deviated septum repaired, which I hear feels like you've got a broken nose. I scheduled it all for April 1, so I don't have too much time to get anxious about it.
In family news, my uncle has been committed. He lost his job, got in trouble with the law on multiple accounts, and has a restraining order against him. It is a damn shame. It is all very upsetting, but there is one thing that is stranger than the rest. There is a lake at the end of my parents' street. My parents did not want me to go there. It was a mess, broken bottles everywhere. I went once with my library/enrichment program teacher and another boy from my class to study moss. Anyway, apparently, when my uncle got in trouble with the law, he parked on the other side of the lake in a different town, where he damaged his car and ran over someone's mailbox, and then he swam across the shitty lake in winter to walk to his house. People called the cops when they saw a shoeless guy covered in mud walking the streets. His briefcase and car keys are still in the lake. He also stole my Mom-Mom's First Alert system and put it in my other uncle's coy pond. He thought it was tape-recording him. I hope he actually does what he needs to to stay well. We'll see.
My Mom-Mom will most likely have to go in a home. It is very sad, but she really needs someone around the clock to take care of her.
I feel like nothing can surprise me anymore. Bad things happen, good stuff still happens. It's sad.
The husbo thinks it's dangerous to put this all out there, but I don't use names, so I'm hoping there is still some anonymity to all this. I think only 3 people read anyway, and they are all people I'd want to know this stuff.
Despite all the craziness, I feel okay.
I am getting sinus surgery again. This time they are going to be more aggressive. They will be drilling small holes above my eyebrows to drain those sinuses and going into passages they haven't before. They assured me they will stop if any dangers pop up, like too much bleeding or leakage of my spinal fluid (they have to get WAY in there). I am also getting my deviated septum repaired, which I hear feels like you've got a broken nose. I scheduled it all for April 1, so I don't have too much time to get anxious about it.
In family news, my uncle has been committed. He lost his job, got in trouble with the law on multiple accounts, and has a restraining order against him. It is a damn shame. It is all very upsetting, but there is one thing that is stranger than the rest. There is a lake at the end of my parents' street. My parents did not want me to go there. It was a mess, broken bottles everywhere. I went once with my library/enrichment program teacher and another boy from my class to study moss. Anyway, apparently, when my uncle got in trouble with the law, he parked on the other side of the lake in a different town, where he damaged his car and ran over someone's mailbox, and then he swam across the shitty lake in winter to walk to his house. People called the cops when they saw a shoeless guy covered in mud walking the streets. His briefcase and car keys are still in the lake. He also stole my Mom-Mom's First Alert system and put it in my other uncle's coy pond. He thought it was tape-recording him. I hope he actually does what he needs to to stay well. We'll see.
My Mom-Mom will most likely have to go in a home. It is very sad, but she really needs someone around the clock to take care of her.
I feel like nothing can surprise me anymore. Bad things happen, good stuff still happens. It's sad.
The husbo thinks it's dangerous to put this all out there, but I don't use names, so I'm hoping there is still some anonymity to all this. I think only 3 people read anyway, and they are all people I'd want to know this stuff.
Despite all the craziness, I feel okay.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
A Cat Story
I want to preface this story by saying that I loved my family's cat whole-heartedly, and I was completely sincere in telling this story to the husbo. Because his family has never had a single pet ever, he didn't treat this with the sensitivity it deserved. He is not evil, he just doesn't get it.
Last night, after we turned off the TV, we heard a terrible cat sound from outside. We have quite a few strays that hang around our block that we think the neighbors kind of take care of. Anyway, the sound reminded me of something that happened years ago, so I told him the story.
I explained that I hated that sound, because it made me feel extremely guilty. Here is what happened:
We had a wonderful cat named Daphne. She was owned by a bandmate of my brother who had many animals and just had a baby, so they needed to down-size. Why they would ever get rid of Love-puss, which is what they called her, I have no idea. Well, she was kind of a bitch. When she arrived at our house, she freaked out on our dog, Chloe, who was still sad over the loss of our other cat, Bogey. The two of them used to lay in the sunny spot in the family room and nuzzle and lick each other. So, sweet little Chloe was so excited to have a new friend, but Daphne swiped at Chloe's face, hissed, and hid under an end table for the first few days. They were able to co-exist peacefully, but Chloe always had this little hopeful look on her face, like "Let's be friends today?" Let's just say that when Chloe passed away, Daphne immediately took up residency on the mat that Chloe used to always lay on by the front door, and she actually sauntered around the house. Bitchiness aside (she was a cat, afterall), she was very soft and would occasionally let you love her.
One early evening, I was taking a nap in my bedroom at my mom's house and I heard the sound of cats fighting. All of our cats were inside/outside cats, but ours usually wouldn't be let out during the evening, so I just assumed is was the legendary stray we called "Blacky." I put my head back down and went to sleep.
The next day, when I saw Daphne, she had been hurt! No doubt by Blacky, that punk. She was like a different cat for a week. I know this sounds silly, but I think Blacky raped her, and I feel horrible that I didn't get out of bed and investigate. I could have saved her.
For some reason, this made the husbo laugh. So, I understand cat rapes aren't talked about that often, so yes, it's weird. I was sad thinking about it, so I came back at him with, "It's not funny. It was a cat-tastrophe."
Then, because we're both horrible people, we both laughed, which made me feel even more guilty. I'm sorry Daphne, but just remember the one time we laid together on the steps and you let me pet and love you for like 10 solid minutes, and the you tried to eat my face? I thought so.
Last night, after we turned off the TV, we heard a terrible cat sound from outside. We have quite a few strays that hang around our block that we think the neighbors kind of take care of. Anyway, the sound reminded me of something that happened years ago, so I told him the story.
I explained that I hated that sound, because it made me feel extremely guilty. Here is what happened:
We had a wonderful cat named Daphne. She was owned by a bandmate of my brother who had many animals and just had a baby, so they needed to down-size. Why they would ever get rid of Love-puss, which is what they called her, I have no idea. Well, she was kind of a bitch. When she arrived at our house, she freaked out on our dog, Chloe, who was still sad over the loss of our other cat, Bogey. The two of them used to lay in the sunny spot in the family room and nuzzle and lick each other. So, sweet little Chloe was so excited to have a new friend, but Daphne swiped at Chloe's face, hissed, and hid under an end table for the first few days. They were able to co-exist peacefully, but Chloe always had this little hopeful look on her face, like "Let's be friends today?" Let's just say that when Chloe passed away, Daphne immediately took up residency on the mat that Chloe used to always lay on by the front door, and she actually sauntered around the house. Bitchiness aside (she was a cat, afterall), she was very soft and would occasionally let you love her.
One early evening, I was taking a nap in my bedroom at my mom's house and I heard the sound of cats fighting. All of our cats were inside/outside cats, but ours usually wouldn't be let out during the evening, so I just assumed is was the legendary stray we called "Blacky." I put my head back down and went to sleep.
The next day, when I saw Daphne, she had been hurt! No doubt by Blacky, that punk. She was like a different cat for a week. I know this sounds silly, but I think Blacky raped her, and I feel horrible that I didn't get out of bed and investigate. I could have saved her.
For some reason, this made the husbo laugh. So, I understand cat rapes aren't talked about that often, so yes, it's weird. I was sad thinking about it, so I came back at him with, "It's not funny. It was a cat-tastrophe."
Then, because we're both horrible people, we both laughed, which made me feel even more guilty. I'm sorry Daphne, but just remember the one time we laid together on the steps and you let me pet and love you for like 10 solid minutes, and the you tried to eat my face? I thought so.
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