Are You an Idiot? Apparently so!

Ridiculous story #FIVE

I have this thing I call “floppy foot.” Every now and again, my foot just doesn’t pick up. It flops. my hand does it too. That’s why I had to break down and use a purse verses just carrying my wallet or keys ~ I would occasionally launch them across the room, parking lot, airport…you can see how any of those situations would be problematic.

It was a beautiful autumnal day. I was heading to my parents for the day with my dog. I had loaded everything but my doggy up in the car. I was heading back to the house to get said pup. The path to do so, was to cross the city sidewalk, up 1 step to my sidewalk that lead to the front porch, 3 concrete steps.

Floppy foot set in at the intersection of city sidewalk & my sidewalk. My toe on my right foot caught on the one step there and launched me at full speed at the front porch steps.

I landed with my right forearm taking the brunt of the fall. My face landed on the back of the hand that was firmly planted on the back of the top step – you know the part that your toes kick. My arm was essentially at a 90 degree angle. Thankfully, bent in the right place, the wrist, and in the right direction.

But HOLY HELL, the pain. Dog was going NUTS in the house trying to get to me since I was wailing in pain. That should *hehe* have been my 1st sign that something was wrong, the wailing in pain. But, no, I am special & thought little of it.

I called my brother, a doctor, crying. To say he could care less would be wrong, but that’s how I took his “well, go to the ED!” comment. NO! You are a doctor, I don’t care that you are 2 hours away and can’t do anything. I want my big brother to help me.

Clearly, I was logical & right. Right? Right.

I grab my puppy and drive to my parents. One handed. By the time I get there, I have the most Technicolor skin I have ever witnessed. It would have been pretty, if it wasn’t on my arm.

The fact that I couldn’t LIFT my arm on it’s own accord should have been another sign that something was wrong. But I am special. I figured I could move my fingers and wrist, so I was good to go. It must just be bruised, really, REALLY bruised.

I get to work on Monday and I have my arm in a make-shift sling. my boss doesn’t even question it. Luckily, I am a lefty. I moved my mouse over & to the left side and I was good to go.

The week progressed and so did the bruising. Still couldn’t lift the arm without assistance. FINE. Whatever. I’ll go to the ED. But I don’t think it’s broken.

Yeah, I was wrong. The conversation went something like this:

Doctor: So, when did this happen?

Me: 8 AM Saturday

Doctor: And what time is it now?

Me: Uh…6:30 PM Friday. My friends think I am an idiot for not coming in when it happened. So, from the look on your face, I am thinking it’s broken

Doctor: Haven’t you been in pain?!

Me: Eh, it’s hurt, but other than not being able to move it…I just figured it was badly bruised.

Doctor: Well, your friends are right, you are an idiot, but a lucky idiot.

Turns out, it was a clean break, but it had reset itself without shifting, so he didn’t need to re-break it. Although, I think he was a little sad about that. I think he was masochistic and wanted to make me feel pain – if only just to teach me a lesson.

Seems like I have a high threshold for pain. And my boss just looked at me & shook his head when he saw the cast on Monday.

It was a pain in the you know what shoveling snow that winter…

Thanks for the “help”?! Now take me to the ED!

Ridiculous story #FOUR

The possessed house in River Park had old windows. The had the aluminum framed storm windows that were permanently installed, but slid up/down as needed. Sometimes.

It was early May and time to open the storms. I had “a friend-of-a-friend in need” staying with me. One of the windows was jammed and she thought to help. It was a sweet thought and gesture.

As I was adjusting the bottom half of the window, she decided to try & dislodge the upper part. That was great, until she dislodged it and it came sliding down like a guillotine on my fingers.

All 8 of my fingers and one thumb were caught. But since my fingers were curved, the manner in which the storm window came down was along the backs of my fingers. So the window actually slid down the knuckles and landed between the bone and fingernails.

Trip to the ED and a tetanus shot. Amazingly, I didn’t lose any fingernails and there is only one noticeable scar. It looks like a chili pepper. Or South America. I went through a lot of Band-Aids too. When I went to work, my boss didn’t seem surprised.

I can hear, I can hear, I can hear!

Ridiculous story #3.  Like I said, I am FULL of them!

It was the first nice day of spring and I was getting ready to go to Potato Creek with Jorge, a really hot Columbian. Just friends. Damn it.

I was getting ready.  I was in my shorts, shoes and a bra.  I was also cleaning my ears with q-tips – at the same time. 

“What was that? Is someone at the door?” WHAP!

As I turned to move out of sight, I tripped on my dog and fell into the door jam.  The q-tips, well, they went the wrong way.

I pulled the q-tips out and yeah, there was blood.  Not copious amounts, but there was blood.  I immediately started covering one ear and saying “I can hear” then switching to the other and saying the same.

I could hear.

We went to the park and I was fine, just a little tender in the ear canals.  I eventually went to the doctor.  He rocks. He also can tell me things like “Are you stupid?” He’s earned that right…I guess so did I ‘cause that’s what he said to me.

I was lucky.  I did have perforated ear drums (yes, plural), but they were healing.

There are still certain tones and frequencies I have trouble with… 

“Uh…help?”

Ridiculous story #2

I SWEAR the house I rented in River Park was haunted.  It was either that or there was black mold. Whatever it was, weird things happened to me while living there.

The house was a cute little 2 bedroom one bath bungalow.  The bathroom was redone right before I moved in.  They took out a beautiful lion claw cast iron tub for a cheap little fiberglass one. Disappointing.  To add to the disappointment, the landlords anticipated and elderly person would rent the home and they put in a low sided narrow tub.  Further, whoever they had install the thing used KITCHEN plumbing.  There was no opportunity to install a shower.  My Dad, Charlie the Wonder Plumber said it couldn’t be done, not the way they set it up.  Great…

The alternative was for Dad it install a “disposable” shower in the basement.  But, for a while, I had to use the tub. 

Since there was just a faucet and a weird/wrong one at that, I had to lay on my back in the tub to wash my hair.

I laid down to wash my hair and “SMOOK!”  The small of my back suction-cupped to the bathtub!  Since the tub was narrow, and I am no longer narrow, I couldn’t really move.  Nor could I maneuver my arm under me to break the suction.  Uh…what to do!?  I had no phone. No roommate.  No one else had a key.

“Help?” I thought to myself laughing while experiencing my own form of Chinese Water Torture.  1st step: turn off water.  2nd step: figure out how to break the suction.

After doing a little contortion act, I finally got my arm twisted around and “POP!”

I am fr… OUCH! So, the suction was broke, so I slid and hit my head on the faucet.  Not to mention, I had a hickey across the small of my back.

I was a little late to work that day.  My boss & co-workers didn’t seem to be surprised when I relayed the story.  They opted not to check out the lumbar hickey.

Tooshie Ta Tooshie Ta Tooshie Ta Ta

I don’t know if I can call it a habit, but every now and again I run into the same situation: tucking my skirt into my undies.

I figured that since I am now a “blogger,” I can share with the masses the ridiculous things that happen to and around me.  There are a few “famous” (or shall I say infamous) stories out there that I find myself sharing over and over again.  One set of stories is the period of time where my keister was exposed to the masses. 

Awkward (yet funny) Moment #1:

Date: August of 1991

Location: Parking lot of Reeves Funeral Home in Hobart, IN 

Ok, you already know it’s going to be good when it’s taking place in a funeral home parking lot.  My sister and I arrive at our uncle’s wake in my black Chevy Eurosport.  I had been working at The Limited at the time, so I was fancy & stylin’ ~ SO much has changed :)

This was the time period when colored tights were popular, but I went with a solid black tights ~ with a cream pleated skirt and a black sweater with cream diamonds at the bottom.  Again, stylin’. 

Only, my tights had a hole and I needed to change them.  So, I did it in the car.  My sister & I get out of the car and start walking into the funeral home.  We get half way in and she rushes over to me and grabs my bum!

Yeah, well, she was pulling my skirt out of my tights…  We think maybe a cousin or two saw, so no major event ~ just a really funny story to tell about a really solemn occasion. 

Not like this next one…

Date: sometime when Smashing Pumpkins were popular, Billy Ray Cyrus was torturing us with Achy Breaky Heart, and my sister never smiled.  I have pictures to prove that last bit…and she’s wearing a Pumpkins shirt in almost every pic.

Location: The Customs Herding Pen on Grand Bahama Island.

Dad had been drunk most of the trip. Sister had been sulking, as most teens do while on vacation with Mom, Dad & sister. It had been a long trip.  Fun for the most part, but now, we were waiting to get on the boat back to Miami.  It was morning, but Dad decided to have a farewell drink or five.  Thing about Dad is…when he drinks, he gets real friendly with everyone…everyone but us.

He had been flirting with the PYT’s (you know you sang & continue to sing the song now!) behind us.  He was annoying.

I decided I’d head to the loo, for something to do & to get away from Dad.

Coming back, I wound through the crowd in the friendly manner I use to always have.  I get to my family and what?  “Your dress is tucked into your underwear!”

Ooops.

At least I had a nice cute little rump at that time. And yes, I was wearing clean underwear.

By the way, it’s not really a good idea to wear a billowy sundress on a ship…many more people saw my undies that day. 

I hope they took their Dramamine.

Delta Delta Delta, Can I Help Ya, Help Ya, Help Ya?

Apparently not.

Typically, I am all about praising Delta Airlines. And guarantee, part of the problem is that NW Airlines and Delta, while merged as a company, have not reconciled their computer systems, but man did my trip this past week suck the big one.

Weather is not thier fault, I know that; stupidity is. 4 people and each one buggered it up more than the next.

LGA > DTW > SBN

LGA> DTW Cancelled. No real need for the DTW>SBN, right? Yeah, not so obvious to Delta & NW.

The 1st person rescheduled us (my boss was traveling with) from a NW flight to a Delta, this time from LGA > MDW (Chicago). We went to Delta to get the new ticket. Could find boss', but not mine. Once they straightened that out, we were sent to NW counter to get a confirmation number.

NWA could find mine, but not boss'. Mind you, our new flight was leaving in 35 minutes and we needed to take a 15 minute shuttle to a new terminal, check in her bag, and get through security. Not looking good.

4th person in the Marine Terminal kept telling me to use the kiosk to check in.

"It won't work for mine" says I.
"Yes it will," says Maria the Delta lady.
"Nope"
"You have to use the Kiosk"
"Fine," farts around with kiosk. "Yeah, doesn't work. Go figure."
"Give it here," she takes my slip and tries to work it ~ guess what, it didn't.

She proceeded to fart around forever getting nowhere and then walked over to help another agent with a problem she was having.

Lovely.

I asked for my stuff back so I could go have the guy at the next counter help.

"I AM helping you"
"Not really. You are helping her help him." She didn't like that too much.

My boss was confirmed on the LGA > MDW flight. Mine was meant to be as well. After an Abbott and Costello-esque "what's your final destination" routine that almost made my eyes bleed, the interaction ended with Maria throwing my credit card at me.

Fun stuff.

I make it through security with only a minor incident (seriously, I wasn't trying to be difficult!). Then we wait. And wait. We get on our flight, yay! Yeah, no...we had to deplane. Our flight was cancelled.

We eventually made it home with the help of two WONDERFUL Delta employees, Lauraine & Kasim, via Midway & a rental car. That felt like the shortest trip from MDW to SBN ever, simply because we were in motion & in "home" territory.

My bed felt great.

It's worst than the great Meatball Fiasco of June 2009

Oh boy. One of the things I look forward to when I travel for work is getting to go to different restaurants. One of my favorites is Brickhouse Brewery in Patchogue, NY. The ambiance is nice and the food ~ well, I have only eaten one thing there ~ SAUERBRATEN!

So, a few months ago, I wrote about missing the meatballs at IKEA (http://but-i-dont-think-so.blogspot.com/2009/06/i-missed-my-meatballs-by-three-minutes.html). This trumps that but the story isn't as exciting, but I'll try...

I was very excited to bring my friend and manager to one of my favorite places to eat on Long Island. It's nothing fancy, just a brewery with better than average pub food. Nothing greasy, which is interesting for a pub.

I just happened upon the place. I wanted something non-chain. When I looked at their menu online, I saw that they had a German dish. Hmmm...I like Germans, I bet I'd like their food too! Right?

RIGHT!

Yum yum yum. I loves me my sauerbraten! It even has the potato dumpling and the red cabbage that I will eat a few bites of. Good stuff. It made Brickhouse Brewery one of my favorite places on the Island. I told one of my clients in that town and he laughed. Turns out he knows the owner (I am still waiting, hoping, praying for gift certificates!).

Here we are, at the brewery. Menu? I don't need the menu! I already know what I want! We order. Only moments from sauerbraten goodness! Or so I thought. They were out! The bastards! I was distraught. I was in disbelief. I was dissatisfied.

WHAT TO DO?! Give me the menu... nothing measures up...I ended up with a faux-braten. Cesar, our waiter, humored me by letting me have the potato dumplings and red cabbage. They then gave me flank steak or something like. It was marinaded, so they couldn't put the same gravy on it, but it was a good effort.

Just not good enough.

Sure, I'll go back. I am not one to hold a grudge. At least not a big one.

Come Stay Here...We've Got T-Shirts...

I've live a fairly cool life. My parents are loving and open minded. They provided and spoiled me in what I like to think of as in a "healthy" way. By that, I mean I wasn't spoiled by things so much as I was by the love they provided. They showered us in love.

At a very young age (I say that NOW!), I was introduced to foreigners. My aunt married and Argentinian and then, when I entered high school, there were foreigners everywhere! My high school was teeming with them. Seemed our high school had a Foreign Exchange Club and there were about 15 students that were living with American families and attending our school.

I was intrigued.

I became a member of the club and every year, I made friends with the new group of students. My sophomore year, my family acquired one for ourselves. Charlotte (Tina). She was a trip and she became family.

The following year, I lived overseas. There was a song by a rock group that was popular at the time: "The Best Thing." It became my theme. It was the best thing and time of my life. I was blessed with a fabulous family that I still keep in contact with and consider 'mine.' Anyone who knows me, knows the love that I have for my Aussies.

I had such a great experience that I ended up working for the organization that I had my exchange experience through. My family also hosted other students, but none as special to our hearts as Alexander. He & I went through some tough things together, unique and trying. My love for Alexander was almost immediate and hasn't wavered since. Such a great person.

Personally, I have had over 32 countries represented in my house. If we limit to long term, it's only a dozen or so. For this house, we are looking at 4 Germans, a Brazilian, and 'coming soon' a Kuwaiti. I might even end up with an Iraqi too. If we include any Internationals that have stayed here...the German count would go up considerably and a few other countries would be added to the list.

This particular house has been affectionately been named "IHOL" Sounds a little dirty doesn't it? It reminds me of the character in "Johnny Dangerously" that has a thick accent & mispronounces swear words ("you icehole!"). Alas, it stands for nothing dirty, just "International House of Lisa."

"My foreigners" came up with that (OK, I helped a little). The slogan is "Hosting the World, One Person at a Time." So, if you are foreign and you need a place to stay, stop on by IHOL...maybe you'll earn an IHOL t-shirt.

Thank God I am Pretty...

...Cause I ain't too smart...

I need to post something just so when I open my blog, I am not staring at Count von Count!

Hmmm, let's see...how about we post a picture of something that oogs you out and then leave it there so it's the thing I see? I am just so silly.

Also, I am excited that I have had 100+ visits on the blog! It's no 1,000+ like someone else but he's been bloggin' for years!

Ah ah ah...

Shivers!

There are certain things that give us shivers. For some, it's fingernails on a chalkboard or cracking knuckles. For me, one of those things is Count von Count. Yes, a Sesame Street Muppet gives me shivers.

When I was little, we lived in a "starter home" that had a hallway that the 3 bedrooms and the loo that branched off. My brother's room was closest to the living room and my room was at the end of the hall across from Mom & Dad's. At the end of the hall (straight ahead as you walked down the hall), there was a mirror. This mirror scared me.

At night, I would lay in my bed and I swear I would see Count von Count (often referred to simply as "The Count") lurking down the hall. In my 3 year old eyes he was 4 or 5 feet tall and had the same lurky bounce that he has on Sesame Street.

I would pray that The Count wouldn't come to get me or Mom & Dad. I figured that my brother would have either already suffered his fate at the hands of the Count or he was safe, so I didn't need to worry about him.

Every morning, we were all safe. So, where did The Count go?! I mean, he had to go somewhere, right? The mirror. It had to be the mirror! I started to see the castle in the mirror and run by it at night & launch into my bed & under the covers.

We moved from that house and the mirror came with us to our new home. It was moved to the bottom of our stairs where it haunted me for many more years ~ about as much as the Indian Chief that Dad swore haunted our basement.

The Innocences of a Child

My youngest nephew made my heart sing. For seven years, I have been an aunt to three beautiful boys. I wish I could take credit, but it's all my brother & his wife. They are not only beautiful, but they are such sweet little guys too ~ for the most part!

The littlest one won my heart this weekend. I was worried he might not remember me. I hadn't seen him since Christmas and there was a lot going on. Presents, food, presents, Grandma, presents, food, Grandma... I mean, come on, why would the little guy care about an aunt?

Then, I arrived...OH, HER! I remember HER, she's the one that has the DOG! Enthusiastic hugs were given and a few belly tickles. We were off to a great start.

We were also off to a family open house for 2 cousins that graduated from college & seminary school. I have to say, I LOVED the fact that he glommed onto me while we were there. He even appointed me to be the diaper changer. The luck kept coming!!!

I filled him with fruit, starch and sugar, we played on the bridge and the lawn ornaments in our uncle's yard. He played with rocks and pine needles. He fell a lot and requested band aids. Gramma had plenty to accommodate.

As we were leaving, a tuckered out lil guy that was all nestled in and cuddling up to me looks up with these BIG brown eyes and says with the honesty that comes with being a 2 year old "I love you" and then nestles back into me. AN UNSOLICITED "I LOVE YOU" - THE FIRST unsolicited "I love you" from any of my nephews. They have all told me that they have, but it's been more of a response, not a spontaneous one like that. My heart melted.

He asked if I was coming with to the next party with such enthusiasm. He was very happy that I was going with to that party too. I think it has been rare for the little guy to have such undivided attention ~ he was loving it and I was happy to oblige ~ to say the least.

The next party wasn't as exciting for him, but we made due. At some point, most of my nephews and friend's little boys become intrigued by my chest. I tend to have more going on in that department than most, especially their Moms. This incident ended with my nephew flashing my chest to the attendees at the 2nd party. He kept asking "what is in there?" He wasn't satisfied with "it's just me in there" he had to check for himself...always a tough situation...where is the line? They have to learn and you don't want to treat the situation like it's bad/dirty, but at the same time you can't flash them & give them an anatomy lesson either.

After getting felt up, I left to meet up with a friend. I hear that all that all the fruit, starch, and sugar ended up attacking the poor guy's tummy ~ luckily, Grampa & Gramma had to deal with THAT mess :)

The next day, the cutie, after being so loving and sweet the day before, came rushing toward me and pushed me and declared I have a fat belly. He's lucky he won me over the day before, the little stinker. Grandma yelled at him and told him that it wasn't nice. He was worried that I was mad at him. I told him he was right, I do have a fat belly, but it's not nice to say that to people. He hugged me and went to play with the playdough.

Dang that kid wore me out.

No Way…

I was at the pharmacy counter and saw a display that disgusted me. I hoped that I was missing another practical reason for this product, but the pharmacist said “nope, that’s what it’s for!”

The product: milkscreen. It is to test breast milk for alcohol. I guess it’s responsible product, but the fact that the product is needed made me a little sad. I would also like to think that it’s for those “Mommy went to a wedding and wanted to have a glass of champers” occasions. Again, I am trying to focus on the responsible aspect…