another one bites the dust...

loyal readers,

unfortunately your favorite funny blogger will be on a hiatus.

i was in another bike accident on thursday. (i think this has sealed the coffin on me and cycling) ... i broke 2 bones in my wrist and separated my shoulder, and did something to my hamstring. on friday the ortho rebroke bones to reset them (ouch!!!); if bones hold the set at my next appt in 5 days, no surgery, and just cast for 6 wks. if they dont hold set, surgery friday. fun!!! :)

i am trying to maintain some sense of humor... the last time i broke bones in a crash (2007) i broke my back and BOTH wrists! this time its only one so it is MUCH easier! i can wipe this time. :)

at the moment i am in a ton of pain :( ..... i wonder if its extra sore from the additional break and reset ??? ... not that the first crunch wouldnt be enough. who knows.
i'm popping percocet like they're candy and wondering if this might be the opportunity to take my first hit of "medical marijuana"?? it is boulder, after all..???

my fingers are fat sausages!!!!! :)

1 finger typing takes forever, by the way.

the pic below of me leaving emerg room... everyone thought it was funny that i was leaving in the gown. why not? :)

thanks for the good wishes. i'll get through this.

birthday musings......

In a matter of days, it will be here.

A milestone, but just a number.

And yet, not where I imagined I would be

at this age, this time.

It was always the holdout.

I will have this, be this, know this by then -- surely.

And somehow, it is still all a mystery.

Was it the naive ponderings of youth?

Or were they reasonable assumptions?

Have I failed?

Succeeded?

Am I right where I am supposed to be?

If not -- what then?

This day will be just a number.

But numbers are the sum of things.

Addition and subtraction.

The number of mistakes; the amount of accomplishments.

The number of tears; the moments of laughter.
The absence of a family; the strength in standing on my own.

The people I loved; the loves I lost.

The dreams dashed; the ones that came true.

The wait will be over soon.

Meeting this number, adding, subtracting ...

hoping it somehow equals something meaningful.

It isn’t that easy.

I never could have known.
In many ways I am glad I didn't.

Will I look back someday,

even farther down the line,
and know I did the best I could,

searched for my path,
tried hard?
Or will it be too painful to even look?

Will I regret too much?
Will I be proud of myself?

I can’t answer those questions.
I can’t be sure.

The only thing I am sure of…
there is a new holdout number.

It is far, far down the line.

And I will do my best
to add more than I subtract,
to hope more than I worry,
to keep dreaming big...
And to continue to pray for a miracle.

I will make sure
I remember
There is still time left
to do all of the things... well, some of the things ...
I thought I would have done by now
and try to savor every moment in a new way.

Instead of an ending,
this milestone, this day - fast approaching -
will be another starting line.

Ready,
Set,

Live.

Women of the world: UNITE

Ok Ladies. This will probably make you simultaneously laugh but also wince.... many of you have felt my pain - literally.

Men, once again - be glad you're MEN. I'm not suggesting you have no hardships, but let's call a spade a spade. As a general rule, it's the women who take the brunt of living.

Let me play out a recent morning's event for you.

9am. Bikini wax.

I am horizontal, naked from waist down, on table. No sheet to cover me, just sort of hanging out, no pun intended.
Aesthetician (aka - "the waxer") walks in, pushing cart with all kinds of wands and scrapers and tissues and cotton and a huge steaming bowl - which I can only assume is the hot lava about to boil my skin.

I don't have naked issues (swimmers usually don't) but I am not some exhibitionist either. I am marginally uncomfortable just sort of being exposed in a non-medicinal environment with a stranger, so I start to jabber and make conversation to alleviate my discomfort. She basically ignores me. Like a militant Russian, she grabs one of my knees and with force pulls it toward her so my legs are spread. (At least kiss me first?)

Without a word, Waxer rubs my crotch firmly with an anti-bacterial cloth. I try to get in the mood but somehow this isn't the fantasy I dream of.

Waxer: "This will burn".

No build up, no preparation, no hellos or smiles, just getting right down to business. I felt like a cheap prostitute in a foreign country. No foreplay, no talking, just immediate pounding.

Carole: "Ummm. Ok".

She clumps a heaping spoonful of boiling hot wax on my inner thighs as I hear my skin sear and crinkle.

Carole: "OUUUUUU"!!!

Waxer: "You will feel rip".

Indeed.
She pats a long white cloth strip onto the wax and with a swift tug, yanks that sucker off with no mercy.

Carole: "YEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWW"!!!!!!!!!!

I notice some fur, clumps of skin and blood on the white cloth. I should have had a shot of whiskey before this torture.
Then she repeats procedure for other side.

Waxer: "All done" ... And she wisks out the door, never once even looking me in the eye.

Carole: "Thank you"... (I echo as the door closes behind her. If nothing else, I am always still polite) ....

I pull some soft pajama shorts up, commando style... no way I am wearing underwear right now ... and try to ignore the ripped skin and blood oozing from the sides of my legs... and I slowly walk out of there, hunched over, with a gait that makes me look like I'd been gang raped by a troop of baboons.

"A man will go to war, fight and die for his country. But he won't get a bikini wax."
- Rita Rudner -

And how was your morning????

More advice.......

Here's another question that came my way from a friend. Again, all submitted publicly for your viewing enjoyment...

Question:

How drunk can a guy be before I find him utterly ridiculous and sloppy? (He's hot, by the way. Not sure that should matter. Does it?)

My Response:

There is a point at which alcohol can kill you. It is called an overdose, and it is marginally unattractive.

But that’s not the question you asked. You asked at what point a woman (you?) might find a guy ridiculous and sloppy. Let’s first strip these words of their negative connotation and replace them with positive ones. Ridiculous, for example, implies escape; a departure from norms. Originality, even. Like that scene in Pretty Woman where Richard Gere is climbing the fire escape to bring Julia Roberts flowers. That is ridiculous! Why not use the stairs? Ridiculous!

Likewise, sloppy is just another word for disorganized. “Unanal retentive,” if that were a word, would be a good word for it. You know who was sloppy? Jackson Pollack. Couldn’t even keep the paint on the canvas. So let me ask you: if I met a "hot" guy who was ridiculous like Richard Gere and sloppy like Jackson Pollack, would I still go home with him? Damn right I would. And I would take a bubble bath and go on a shopping spree, although I wouldn’t let him drive me home from the bar, that’s for sure.

And does it matter if he's hot? Let me keep this simple for you. Yes.

(I'm kidding, people... I'd never go home with some random drunk dude ....but if he was hot I'll admit I'd probably consider it - at least for a few seconds... before shoving his drunk butt in a cab and sending him on his way...)

Advice...

I've been getting asked some crazy stuff lately. I appreciate there are people who seem to value my opinion, but there are some queries coming my way that are ... well, I'm not sure if the questions themselves are weird (though some are!) or it's just weird that people think I've got the answers. (Or maybe they just want to know someone will make them laugh - if so, indeed, I've got that covered.)

There are a few points of advice I've recently given - and without attaching names - I've decided to include the occasional problem with my given advice as a random blog post ... this is all for your reading pleasure (what isn't?) and for you to toss out some additional wisdom if I didn't think of it. (But who could know more than me?)

But you've gotta' insert your sense of humor or don't even post a comment. :)

The Question:
Here's our issue: Our next door neighbors, who we know just a little (basically their names, what they do for a living, and that their barky assed dogs are called Tiffany and Abby) have been asking us for a weird favor and we don't know what to do about it. They have a preteen son who is occasionally left home alone when school is canceled. Our neighbors are super paranoid about anyone being in their house. The kid is not allowed to have anyone in the house EVER. So every time he's left home alone, they call us and ask that we keep an "eye" on things, and to call them immediately if there's any suspicious behavior. So of course the kid had the house to himself last week and the Dad calls to make his request. Turns out that the kid had at least five car loads of people over. I kind of minimized it when his Dad called for his report and said something like "there were a couple of strange cars in front of your house (really in the driveway) but I didn't see anyone go inside" (really I saw them coming out the door).

Question: Should I tell the Dad that I don't want to be his rat anymore? I don't want bad blood between us, but I'm not comfortable either. I'm also afraid the kid is going to find out that it's me and my tires are going to get slashed or something. Or should I keep covering for the kid? Any other ideas?

Thanks Carole!

My response:
I don’t have any proof, but I suspect that my parents did the same thing when I was growing up. Parents can be tricky. One time they left for a New Years Eve party and just as I was invading their liquor cabinet they came back because they “forgot their tickets.” WHO NEEDS TICKETS FOR A PARTY? Sneaky adults . . .

Anyway, my gut tells me that you shouldn’t be “working” for this kid’s parents. First of all, work should include pay. And gratitude is not pay. Second, though it may take a village to raise a child, who cares if it’s not your child? If I were home on a Saturday night with my boyfriend watching The Notebook and I had to get up every time I heard a car door slam to see if it was someone going into my neighbor’s house . . . well I just wouldn’t. I don’t even get up to get myself more beer, I'd just wait for my boyfriend to use the bathroom and then as he’s walking back to the couch I'd say, “Hey honey, can you please grab me a beer while you’re up?” ... I think I’m getting off topic.

What you need to do is get yourself out of this situation with the least amount of culpability, i.e. get them to “fire” you – just like if you wanted to quit your job but still wanted to collect unemployment. The best way to do this is to mess up. The next time they go out and a car pulls up to their house, call the cops. Report a burglary. When your neighbors are interrupted during their fancy meal to rush home because their house is being robbed, likely they will say something to you like, “What the hell happened!” to which you should reply, “You told me to watch the house! That car looked suspicious!” Continue this process until they get the hint. This is an alternate form of “killing someone with kindness.”

Or you could actually kill them. ? Just an idea.

One of those days

Ever have those days when you can’t snap yourself out of it? When you can’t seem to process even the simplest of ideas? You know your brain is out there somewhere... looming ... but man you just can’t seem to access it?

Yea, me too. Today was that day. I am just a shade of my former self. I went out of my way to avoid talking to people to the point that one time when I walked into the bathroom in the business center at my condo and saw two ladies I knew in there I immediately walked into a stall and stood there until they left. Why I didn’t use the toilet while I was in the stall I’ll never know. I can only assume that my mind was focused on “hiding” and couldn’t comprehend multitasking.

...but then I ran across this old clip and I felt comforted by the fact that there is someone else out there who knows how I feel.

Seriously, it’s like she’s having an aneurysm the entire time she’s talking...



You gotta love “U.S. Americans”.

But, let's not be too harsh on the hot girl. I mean, C'mon. American teenagers can't find our country on a world map because THEY DON'T HAVE MAPS!

They say that genius often lies in simplicity. And I say that simplicity lies in South Carolina. (Sorry SC fans!)

Which side is happiness?

Ok, I am deviating a slight bit from the "funny" stuff. My blog reflects who I am in uncanny ways: many, many layers, not one-dimensional, sometimes hilarious :), at times thought provoking, sometimes intense, sometimes bizarre, but most times you just can't help but love her. :)
... but always interesting!

So - which side is happiness? I am surprised how thought provoking this was for me. I've been in deep thought for more than 30 minutes comparing the options. I'm fascinated by the ones I have selected...

Feeling vs. Thought
Chaos vs. Stability
Excitement vs. Familiarity
Optimism vs. Realism
Danger vs. Safety
Crowd vs. Individual
Freedom vs. Satisfaction
Love vs. Habit
Creativity vs. Logic
Impulse vs. Calculation
Dream vs. Reality
Transience vs. Endurance
Hope vs. Acceptance
Options vs. Decisions
Music vs. Silence
Absence vs. Compromise

Research

Here is some FUN TRIVIA for you! Since we're all such health conscious folks, I thought I'd look into what might be one of the worst things we could eat.

The fattiest food I could find was a Dairy Queen Caramel CheeseQuake Blizzard which has 39 grams of saturated fat. That’s 200% of your recommended daily allowance.

That’s a coronary in a cup. With a really long spoon.

Happy eating!

Retro laughs

I stumbled upon this great little video sent to me a while back from my good buddy in Atlanta, Tommy Kaye. He and my friend Matt made this video before their race.

I'd forgotten about it; this sucker was good for a few laughs...

Social Class Response

Oh man, you guys really take stuff seriously! You're going to make me work hard here to get you to dig deep for the humor in you, huh? NO problem. I am about to launch this blog into some witty posts for a while to get us all to stop taking ourselves so seriously.

If you're not drawn to deadpan, dry humor .... if you don't giggle at sarcasm ... if you don't appreciate irony and snarky references - this may not be the blog for you. If you find these things funny (as I do) then you are likely to find ME really funny (as I do) .... see with the sarcasm? ... ultimately I aim to make people laugh. As former "class clown" in high school, this is almost inherent in my DNA. If I can make you laugh, well, my work here will be done.

Let's start with my response to my previous post.
The posing question: should you surround yourself with worse off than you, or surround yourself with better? Mmmm. Thought provoking, indeed.

As with most questions in life, there is no real answer here. But let’s bring it back to me since I am my favorite subject:

When I was in college I dated a guy who, my friends later advised me, was quite the megalomaniac player. Looking back, I guess that was the real reason that I felt so confident when I was with him. It lends a nice dynamic to a relationship when you can fall asleep every night knowing you are better than the other person.

On the flip side, I had to get my first STD test because of him. So there are plusses and there are negatives.

Multiply this scenario by 1000 and we have my friend’s current situation. There are literally hundreds of STD tests waiting to happen, right outside your front door. Would it be nice to walk outside the trailer door every morning, stretch, brush the hypodermic needles off the makeshift porch and pick up your newspaper like a king overlooking his land? It sure would. But science proves it’s only a matter of time before you join everyone else for Friday Night Animal Torching. That’s how all great empires fall – when their king is mistaken for a stray dog by a raging methhead.

So my vote here is – people rise to the level of expectation. Surround yourself with better as you’ll eventually assimilate. Always, always go bigger. And that’s a rule I apply to anything.

(Sense of humor, folks! I have never once had an STD! Please. Just being funny here... I am so clean you could boil pasta off me... eugh?...)