Year End Leaderboard Results

I did my last walk of the year this morning at 3.2 mph!  You can see by the Leaderboard that despite the fact that I was/am in invalid, I still beat Sara walking 167 miles since my surgery.  I will just say 167 miles this whole year since I probably walked 0 miles before the surgery.  To be completely fair, Sara started keeping track of her miles after me, but let's remember that my first tracking started at with mile intervals at 1 mph or less.  Yea me!  Next year I'm going to try to aim for 500 miles.  Sara and I are going to celebrate our number one and two positions on the Leaderboard tonight with a little something called alcohol.

Frames

When I got home I discovered my nook recategorized by the cleaning ladies.

Year in Review

I feel obligated to put some kind of superlatives on this year.  So- here they are:

Biggest Events:
Max and surgery, both of equal life changing status

Best Books:
Actually, I can't think back of a book where I was like oh my god, that was the best book I've ever read besides The Affair by Lee Child and let's face it, it's not because it was the best book I've ever read, but because there was a lot of brilliant violence.

What's In a Name Challenge 4- Final

I did not finish this challenge, since I didn't read a book with jewelry or a gem.  But I don't feel like any less of a person because of it.

Between January 1 and December 31, 2011, read one book in each of the following categories:

1. A book with a number in the title: One Day, The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet, One Shot
2. A book with jewelry or a gem in the title:
3. A book with a size in the title: The Long Run
4. A book with travel or movement in the title: Angels Flight
5. A book with evil in the title: Mortal Fear
6. A book with a life stage in the title: Die Trying

Top Acts of Mischief 

• the killing of two cats
• the trapping of a cat in the garage
• the escaping and being arrested, but not re-incarcerated

Estimate of Tubs of Sour Cream Eaten off of the Counter:  4

Friends

Monday I went to the O.C. to visit my most bestest friend in all of Strasbourg, France, Jack, and Damien who was visiting in from France.  Damien, Jack and I had many a fun night in Strasbourg, France.  The highlights were an accident involving my glass of gin and then Damien's glass of gin, as if we were two amateurs, learning that Siri, in France, is a man and that Damien is a Jack Reacher aficionado.   We had many beers while Jack's wife Megan, took care of the fort.  Due to the fact that I am old, I had to take a half a pain pill and when we passed the St. Regis, I exclaimed slightly goofy, "Oh my god, I've seen that on the Real Housewives of Orange County.  This is so cool!"  When I become a Real Housewife of _____, I will invite Jack and Megan to dine with me at the St. Regis because that is what Real Housewives do.  I did not go for a walk so Sara is of course the Leaderboard leader.  I'm ok with that because it's not every day that I get to visit my most bestest friend in all of Strasbourg, France and Damien.  As an aside, since Jack and Damien are chemists they spend a large amount of time discussing molecules and nanoparticules and other such things that probably don't actually exist, and I enjoy asking, "What does that mean?" and watching their brains work through, "How can we explain this to a complete idiot?"  (Hint:  most answers begin with "Sigh...")

Today, for vital inexplicable reasons, I had to get a Facebook account.  The Saratoga Animal Shelter is not on Facebook largely because I do not feel capable of dealing with the drama that seems to accompany a Facebook account, so I made the account in Randi's name.  You can't search for her because her privacy settings are set at the highest and she has no friends because I can't deal with it.  I didn't even give her the password because I don't trust her not to log in when I'm not home and post pictures of her spread out on the couch with Earl smoking a bong behind her.  I'm not about to lose my job because Randi can't control herself.  The few minutes I spent changing the settings on Randi's account cemented my resolve to be Facebook free.  Then I wore myself out taking down Christmas decorations and making a dent in the crap that litters my house.  

Jack et Damien à la plage.

La plage

A bird who was eyeing my sandwich.

Celebrations

My new favorite blogs are always showing beautiful pictures of their parties and preparations.  I thought I'd do the same.

First, I dressed Max's friends.

I doctored the store bouquet for a centerpiece.

The pound cake recipe said to leave the sour cream and butter at room temperature for 30 minutes.  Only a fool would leave that on the counter.

The set table.

À table!

Baby at the table!

Christmas morning- before he was overwhelmed by toys.

I made the macaroni ornament when I was two.  It's the most important decoration on the tree.

My mom made this Christmas outfit.

Overall, Christmas Eve and Christmas were a great success.   The raclette was delicious.  Sara is still my friend after spending Christmas Eve with us.  The baby got just about every age appropriate toy made by Fisher-Price.  My dad proved that he is completely useless, again, because I took him to Toys R Us expressly, so that he could tell me if I was going to buy something that they had already bought and only the fact that they were sold out of my first two choices prevented me from purchasing the same toy because my dad didn't know they already had it or that it was already under the Christmas tree.  I managed to get both my parents' new iPhones working without losing my mother's contacts and helping them both enter the modern age.  I didn't get to sync my dad's 50 songs yet; there wasn't enough time.  And I got new knives!

The Truth Is in the Leaderboard

Dopplegangers

What a day.  I spent the morning with Max who enjoys it when I tickle his sides and seems to spend an inordinate amount of time laughing at me (is there something about me that is laughable?  I'm beginning to wonder if I should take offense.)  Then I got my hair done and came home and the substitute cleaning lady was here.  Here is our exact conversation:

Me:  Hi
Her:  Mucho cleaning
Me:  Ok looks good.
Her:  Mucho cleaning bathroom voy a hotel Sweeden.
Me:  Ok??
Her:  Mucho cleaning
Me:  I'm going to lay down.
Her:  ???
Me:  (miming sleeping )
Her:  Todo cleaning es OK?
Me:  (laying on bed)
Her:  Muy sleepy.

Don't get me wrong; I could have conducted all of the conversation in Spanish because I gots me those kind of linguistic skills and by that I mean I had passed the AP Spanish exam in high school and my favorite band of all time is La Ley and also I saw Juanes in concert.  I could have said "Voy a dormir.   Tengo sueño." without even a second thought, but I wasn't feeling it.  My fog filled lethargic brain only wanted to lay down.  And I'd be lying if I didn't say I felt a little bit like a jerk because I didn't make more of a linguistic effort.  Lo siento.

Now, I'm going to need for everyone to put his or her imagination cap on, you know the cap you wear when you are trying to use your imagination.  FYI: It's imaginary.  Go ahead place your cap gingerly on your head and imagine the exact opposite of me and the Saratoga Animal Shelter.  What do you probably see?  My new favorite blog theenchatedhome.blogspot.com.  I can't even say how I came across this the other day, but it is now my favorite and I have spent hours clicking on links.  I am considering it training for when I become I Real Housewife of ____ because I don't want to be the housewife that fucks it all up her first episode in.  While reading this blog and others linked to it, you will notice there is an absence of handymen who come to fix the warped garage door and broken big garage door and who remove a dead mouse from the garage in the process.  There is also an absence of holes in the drywall from wayward animals.  Additionally there are not any ducks, unless they are on a platter.  They also don't find randomly placed hammers in the liquor cabinet.  They have, in essence, the opposite of my life.

One of the links asked the question "What if your blog was a room?"  So I asked myself, "What if Me and My Pack of Dogs was a room?"  And here's what I came up with:  Only half of the shit in the room would work properly and the other half would work intermittently.  There would be a doggie door and a broken wine glass on the floor, having been knocked over by Randi Unadopted in an exuberant entrance to the room.  One or more dogs would be licking his non-existent balls.

Excursions

It's been quite a busy couple of days.  First, Monday, Sara and I left the desert for a trip to Total Wine, Macy's and Trader Joe's for wine, make-up and raclette cheese for my raclette grill I ordered myself.  Merry Christmas self!  I also bought myself a tool box thingy to organize my tools.  In case you're wondering what kind of tools a single girl might have, I have all kinds of tools like a round saw, miter saw, jigsaw, aligator hedge trimmer, various sorts of screwdrivers and wrenches, a cordless drill and a corded drill, a drywall knife and various other assorted outils a person might need.  What I don't have is a mig welder, but that's a whole other story.  I don't like to use any of the tools which is why there are two men on my roof fixing the shingles that came off in the gale force winds a few months ago.  The pounding has caused all three of my dogs into hiding, from which I am not sure they will ever recover.

Back to my adventures.  Tuesday I went with the Big Guy to buy his and my mom's Christmas presents.  I can't say what they are in case my mom decides to pay attention to me and reads this, because it would ruin the surprise.  Then we went to Toys-R-Us.  When we were little my mom worked at Toys-R-Us  and let me tell you, there is no cooler place for a mom to work than Toys-R-Us.  I digress- that place was a freaking zoo.  I was glad my dad was there to protect me because there were wild eyed mothers pushing at my cart trying to get to presents.  We were lucky to make it out alive.  Our last trip was to Costco to purchase the charcuterie for my raclette grill that I purchased myself for Christmas.  I don't have a Costco card and haven't been to Costco in at least year because 1) it was too big to even expect to get through without my leg going numb and deux) a single girl does not need that amount of food.  Before we went in I said to my dad, "I haven't been to Costco in forever.  I'm going to want to look at everything!"  Also, since Christmas presents seem to be based on Max's preferences and enjoyment, I pointed out to my dad what I thought Max would like:  set of wine glasses, roaster and not the book with all the paintings at the Louvre.  (Really?  All?  I call bullshit with two hands and two feet on all the paintings in the Louvre.)  It took us a long time to get through Costco because every two minutes I stopped and exclaimed, "Wow! Dad!  Look at that!....Wow! Dad! Magazines!  Wow! Dad! Serving platters!  Max would love that!"  He eventually told me I needed to get out more.

This morning, I discovered that Mr. Hawk has been hunting in the overgrown bush in the Little Backyard.  I saw something in there moving around and I thought it might be dove or another bird, and then hopped out Mr. Hawk!  Who knows how many birds he poaches from there because that's where the finches fly when I walk out and they scatter from the duck food.  After, the pipe guy came out and fixed my faucets that weren't draining.  There was about ten minutes of work and then an hour of talking à la my mom and causing me to ponder various emergencies I could come up with to get him to leave and since I hadn't spent enough money this week now the handymen are out working on the roof and effectively traumatizing the Pack for life.    I did not go for a walk because my back is quite sore, so without a doubt Sara is winning on the Leader board at dailymile.com which none of you can see because you are not our friends.  I had previously been the leader on the Leader board for three weeks in a row, which forced me to point out to Sara that she was being beat by an invalid.  Tomorrow I'm going to go to dinner at Sara's who is currently cat sitting for Jessica.  I'm going to take my breathing machine so I can make it through a two cat evening.

Early Christmases

The Christmas Breakfast at school is a Pretty Big Deal.   Everyone brings their family.  The weeks leading up to the breakfast are filled with smack talking emails in which "reply all" is standard and it's a wonder no one loses his/her email privileges.  And the only way to be a sure fire hit at the Christmas Breakfast is to have a baby with you, so I had decided this year, I wasn't going to go unless one Maximus A. Jagiello could be my date.  Lucky for me, he rarely has dates and just needed a ride.  Friday morning I drove to my parents and picked up the stinking cutest baby ever.  My mother had dressed him in his Santa outfit and when we walked into the Christmas breakfast (after I had to wrestle him out of the car seat, having been unsuccessful at removing the car seat from the base) there was a collective "Oh, how cute."  Renee said, "Oh Bethany he's precious."  And then she chastised me when I responded, "I know!"  "Bethany," she said, "you're supposed to just say 'thank you'"  I said, "I'm not his momma!  I'll say I know! when people say he's cute because he sure is!"  Peggy took him around and introduced him to everyone as mine and I said, "Great Peggy, people are thinking, well no wonder Bethany got so fat and was out at the beginning of the year."

Then I spent all afternoon at my mom and dad's house.  I babysat while they went and got their tree and  then Max and I watched and laughed, when they, as is classic Mom and Dad, nearly got divorced over whether the tree was straight in the tree stand.

Saturday, Sara and Jessica and I did Christmas.  I had great plans to make snowman cake pops.  Let me tell you, they were going to be the Bomb.  I had pretzel sticks for the arms, mini Reces Pieces for the hat and candy for his eyes and nose.  Only turns out making cake pops requires some skill and I ended up with a big fat mess and was unable to make anything look remotely edible.  Jessica made me and Sara aprons, presumably so that we can be domestic goddesses and have better luck finding men.    They are pretty cool.

Yesterday, we propped this guy up in front of the tree and said, "Be cute!"  I think he did pretty good.

What my cake pops were supposed to look like from bakerella.com:

Daddy, Please!

Last night I used my best, "Daddy, please" voice to get his legal advice.  I thought all hope was lost.  But today the most bestest dad in the whole world called to let me know a whole bunch of things I can't divulge, but which made me squeal with delight when I heard them and made me call and say, "Is this the most best dad in the whole world??"  That guy's the best!  Also, he's going to get my duck food and dog food tomorrow and he's going to bring it to the house and put it in the appropriate containers and pick up the thing I can't speak about which I'm going to leave outside.

In other news, I knew yesterday that today was going to be miserable because I had 4 1/2 hours of Family presentations awaiting me.  That 4 1/2 hours of "Voici mon mère.  Il esssst belle.  Il est 36 ans"  I told Sadonna maybe I was going to need to take some pain medicine to get through the day.  I knew today was going to be a "why do I like French?" day.  I didn't know that I was going to lose my marbles half way through the day, so much so that I had to put myself in a time out in Gretchen's room.  I said, "I"m going to walk into Mrs. Peratt's room and count to ten."  I've only ever been that mad maybe two other times in my career.   Once was in France, when a girl wrote "FUCK" on the chalkboard and when I saw it, I lost all my billes and screamed "QUI... A... ECRIT... ÇA? QUI??!!"  And then I stomped myself as fast as I could to the train station only to find myself pushing the open button the train door frantically while the train started to move away.  I don't remember if that night I met the chemists, but I'm sure there was alcohol when I got back to Strasbourg.  And the other time, I'm sure it's happened, but I can't remember.

To get over losing my marbles, I ate three sugar cookies and one and one half shortbread cookies, chili cheese fries and a bacon avocado cheeseburger.  I feel better.

Thwarted Plans

I was supposed to walk five miles today.  I was supposed to pick Sara up shortly before 10:00, then meet Bill, then walk my five miles, then go to breakfast, then work on a quilt.  Instead I have spent all day in a pain pill stupor due to the fact that there was a fucking cat stuck in the rafters of my garage.

Let me back up and tell the story proper.  After putting in my sheets to be washed because someone who wasn't me, threw up on them, I walked outside about 8:30am to start the car so I could go to the store and buy some gin, apples, blueberries and tea (listed in order of importance.)  However, when I walked out the door I heard a lot of commotion in the garage and so I walked in to discover Randi, up on top of the miter saw jumping at the rafters trying to eat an obviously scared cat.  Earl was also scaling various piles of junk trying to get at the cat.  Screaming ensued.  I tried to reason with Randi and Earl, but since that didn't work I had to drag 150 lbs into the house because the door to the garage is swollen and won't shut and it was the only way to keep the cat safe.  Then I called Sara and I said, "There is a fucking cat trapped in the junk in my rafters!"  Sara offered some advice to try to shoo the cat down.

After which I spent about 30 minutes trying to reason with the cat.  I also called my dad and said, "There's a god damned cat in the rafters, DAD!"  He suggested I open the big garage door and so I pushed the big garage door open, because of course, the garage door opener is broke.  And I took these pictures.

Then, because I could see that this was one fucking big cat, I thought perhaps she was pregnant and had decided to give birth in my garage.  It was also clear that she was quite literally a scarity cat, so I had the bright idea to move some junk around to make a ladder for her to get down.  She wasn't having that; instead, she climbed on top of the open garage door and hunkered down.  I then had the bright idea to try to pull the garage door down, hoping that she would just slide right out of my life, but the garage door is bent and it wasn't cooperating despite using all of my strength.  By that time, Sara was already on her way over to help out with a can of cat food and an immune system that permits touching cats.  She got here and enticed the fat cat with the cat food.  The cat came right to her, then scratched her nose when she pulled her down from the rafters.  After which Sara released her back into the wild and we had to put down the garage door.

Sara with the fucking fat ass cat that tried to get itself eaten at my house earlier today.

So, to review, a list of activities that have landed me back on the couch today:

1. Wrestling Randi and Earl into the house, so that they didn't eat a cat.
2. Opening the garage door.
3. Moving junk around in my garage to try to make a ladder for the cat who was stuck in my rafters.
4. Trying to put the garage door down by myself.
5. Putting the garage door down with Sara's help.

For one, I don't understand why the cats in this neighborhood do not have some kind of neighborhood watch going on and why they continue to come into my yard.  One would imagine that my house would be somewhat of a legend- like kittens would tell each other at sleepovers about the house on the cul-de-sac where cats disappear.  Or maybe they do and only the daredevils show up or only the cats that the other cats don't like.  Second, my dad was pretty vague about it, but he did imply a few weeks ago that there have been other crimes committed here and that he had cleaned up after such crimes.  He gave no details, but it appears the Saratoga Animal Shelter is not only harboring assassins, but training them to be more effective.  Third, I need a god damn man to help me take care of all this shit.

There's just enough room on the chair for Clark and his girlfriend.

Book Reviews

This morning started out with quite the commotion when a black dog was running amok in the access road and all three of my dogs had to chase it.  They are currently now all passed out:  Randi and Clark in here with me and Earl posed at the edge of the doorway because his foray into the room did not end well.  The trash can and bag of batting proved too threatening and he had to make a hasty retreat, knocking Randi over in the process.

I realized that I hadn't posted any book reviews in a loooong time.  I've been reading, I swear!

Books the LA County Library took back before I could finish them:

Echo Burning Lee Child  Some lady picks Jack Reacher up and wants him to kill her husband.  I only got to the part where Jack Reacher was trying to decide if he wanted to be a man whore with her.  Eeh, I was not interested enough to finish it.  (ASIDE:  Lee Child was on Charlie Rose and described Jack Reacher's man whoreness and "romance."  Click here to watch.

Doc Mary Doria Russel  I only read about 30 pages.  Something about Doc Holliday.

Books I finished:

A Is for Alibi Sue Grafton  In the first book of the series,  Kinsey Milhone is trying to solve a murder without a cell phone and without the internet.  And she does a pretty good and interesting job.  I bought this book and B Is for Burglar as well.

The English Assassin  Daniel Silva  Israeli Assassin, Gabriel Allon is framed for a murder and in the process of finding out who actually did it he shoots some people in the head and crisscrosses the European continent.  Fast paced and interesting as always.

State of Wonder  Ann Patchett  My main response to this book was huh, hum.  Dr. Marina Singh travels to the Amazon jungle to find out why her research partner has been killed.  She encounters her med school mentor who is researching a tribe in which the women have children until they die.  This book was interesting.  I read it pretty quickly, but I never really got the whole point.


The Leftovers Tom Perrotta  In a Rapturesque, yet religious-less event, people all over the world have just disappeared.  The Leftovers is the story of the people who are left and how they deal with being left behind.  Creepy cults abound as the characters find their way without their loved ones.  Definitely interesting.


The Tiger's Wife  Téa Obrecht  The synopisis via Goodreads.com :

 In a Balkan country mending from years of conflict, Natalia, a young doctor, arrives on a mission of mercy at an orphanage by the sea. By the time she and her lifelong friend Zóra begin to inoculate the children there, she feels age-old superstitions and secrets gathering everywhere around her. Secrets her outwardly cheerful hosts have chosen not to tell her. Secrets involving the strange family digging for something in the surrounding vineyards. Secrets hidden in the landscape itself.

I'm not sure what to say about this book.  It was ok.  A friend of mine raged and raged, but I just kept getting confused as the author went back and forth between stories.

Food Rules  Michael Pollan  Some rules for eating in case you weren't sure what to do.  Interesting and a very quick read.

The Night Strangers Chris Bohijilian  I love Chris Bohijilian, so I was very excited to read his newest novel.  Chip Lipton is a pilot whose plane crashed and 39 people died and he is racked with guilt and plagued with PTSD.  In an effort to "get away" he moves his family to New Hampshire.  What follows is a ghost story, weaved with the occult.  There's a boarded up door in the basement, a group of herbalist and a gripping story.  I sat in the doctor's waiting room riveted, my hand to my mouth barely breathing for at least twenty pages.  I'm  not sure  I bought the ending the way the author intended, but I was not disappointed.

Santas

Just try and say that this guy isn't the Cutest Baby in the World.

Bonjour Tristesse

True sadness is getting ready to pour yourself the drink, only to realize all of the gin had been partooken of the night before.

Referrals

I had my appointment with the infamous Dr. Earle today.  I have a good 6th period class and left in a wave of warm "Aurevoir!  Aurevoir!"s  I was a freaking rock star walking out to the parking lot.  The whole way to my appointment, I practiced using my big girl words and not my construction worker words.  I wanted to have an app that drowned out all of the annoying people in the waiting room, but there's not one available in iTunes yet (patten pending.)  I also practiced choosing my attitude, so that I didn't go in there giving off waves of pissed the fuck off.  I answered the tech's medical questions, calmly and with only the barest tint of sarcasm.  My conversation with Dr. Earle started with her saying, "You know it wasn't me that said you can't go to the neurosurgeon, it was Choice Medical, they said you had to come see us."  I explained why that was not exactly true and she looked at her notes, where it was indeed written "Advise Bethany she cannot have a referral to the neurosurgeon."  In any case, my attempts to not put out pissed the fuck off vibes and I don't have a gun vibes must not have been successful because Dr. Earle left the room and the next thing I knew the tech was standing in the room taking notes; presumably in case I got crazy and tried to fuck some people up at the speed of a turtle.  She said it didn't make sense why I would want to go to physical therapy six months after my surgery.  I said, yes, but I requested this months ago (and, I didn't add, I've been waiting for you fucking douchebags to get your thumbs out of your asses and approve it.)  After a lot of blah blah blah and me stating my case why I should be granted the privilege to go to physical therapy for two times so they can show me exercises to do and exercises not to do since I have two titanium rods in my back, Dr. Earle acquiesced that that was a reasonable request and she would submit it, but she was doubtful that it would be approved by Choice Medical.

I didn't get to see Max because he was with his parents.  Parents schmarents.  That guy should be available for play whenever I want.

In other earth shattering news, the Big Guy reported that he and my mother spent some quality time rethinking their Christmas Present 2011 Policy, which up until today had been, "If you're name is not Max, no presents for you."  He also reported that they already purchased my present (yes, singular) and he was happy to report that "Max is going to enjoy it very much."  Based on this description, I am fairly certain I'm not getting a set of Wüstof knives.

Comfort

The early morning wrestling match involved some kind of play mishap which resulted in Clark needing some quality time on my lap this morning.

Recent Developments

Due to recent developments, I am going to have to add d) not a member of a cult to my boyfriend pre-qualification checklist.  Therefore, Jason Segel may or may not be still pre-qualified.  I apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused.

Normal

I am happy to report that my fusion is "normal" and healing at an appropriate rate.  Dr. Sanford said that I don't need to go back to him.  (Thank goodness because I can't believe I would have to self-refer for a third time.)  He said I could do whatever I wanted within reason:  yoga, lifting weights, etc.  He made me try to hop on one foot.  I think the psychedelic posters were affecting his reasoning there because I couldn't even hop when I was a kid.  I hop impaired.  I don't know when I'm going to find the time to do yoga when I'm working.  Maybe I can start getting up at 3:00am.

Because I wasn't working, I went for a walk, where I nearly stepped on this little guy.  I barely screamed and I wasn't barely scared at all because he looked like a Red Racer, and because I am a master herpetologist, I know will not eat me alive.

I also put up all of my Christmas decorations, which are not that many, but I wanted to be ready for my Christmas tree that I'm going to pick out this weekend.  I'm super excited because Kristen said her husband would deliver the tree to my house (and presumably bring it in) and he can carry a bigger tree than Sara, so I could conceivably get a 10 foot tree.  I don't anticipate that because it would look mighty Charlie Brown with just a couple of ornaments.

Coup de foudre

I've decided Max watches too much TV and by too much TV I mean, my mom watches The Walton's on the Hallmark channel for way too many hours during the day.  I'm not opposed to a moderate amount of Little House on the Prairie in one's life because everyone could use a little Laura and Pa to balance out the day, but more than one hour of The Walton's is bordering on ridiculous.  Because of this, I've made the decision that unless there is some high quality shows on like Kim and Kourtney Take New York or The Real Housewives of _____, Max and I are going to listen to NPR.

Sunday Max and I were listening to NPR while simultaneously trying not to chew on the mess my dad has on his desk, when I fell in love with Jason Siegel and I decided that he is my new love and should be my boyfriend.  I will present my argument in three parts.

Part I:  Jason Segel is pre-qualified to be my boyfriend in that a) he’s funny b) he has a job and c)  he doesn’t live with his momma (I think.)  He also meets Sara’s qualifications in that he doesn’t have any facial or neck tattoos.

Part II:  Jason Segel has brought back the Muppets, which I was excited about already, but realized today as I was teaching adjectives, is extremely useful.  I contend that the Muppets are the French teacher’s second best tool, after The Simpsons for teaching adjectives.  (The Simpsons have the Muppets beat by a slim margin because you can also use all of the family vocabulary with The Simpsons.  I mean, what are you going to say about the Muppets?  Miss Piggy and Kermit have been dating for decades?  You'd think they’d make that shit legal already.)  Miss Piggy, she’s fantastic for teaching words like fat, because you can’t use kids for that because they tend to get sensitive about being called fat.  This Muppet resurrection, if done properly, could carry me through until the end of my teaching career and that, is exciting news indeed.

Part III:  Jason Segel seems like a guy who wouldn’t be opposed to someone who has a pot smoking dog and a duck for pets.  This doesn’t seem like a big deal, but sometimes I think it’s been a deal breaker.

I do have some concerns.  Like maybe Jason Segel is taken or maybe he lives in a house that isn’t duck or pot smoking dog friendly or maybe he doesn't know who Alfie the Christmas Tree is or, heaven forbid, he spends all day watching The Waltons.

Adventures with Max

Friday Max and I left the world of Grandma and Grandpa for a day-camping excursion!  We had been invited to spend the afternoon with Gretchen out in the desert riding quads and motorcycles.  First, my mom and I found Max a suitable rugged outfit that would express masculinity, outdoorsiness, and ability to drink Coors Light out of coozie all day long.  I think we nailed it.

Rugged Masculinity

 Then we put together two bags:  one with diapers and one with toys, blankets and other baby accoutrements and Max and I set off to Stoddard Wells Road Off Roading Area.  It was the first time I was alone and driving with Max and I thought I might throw up with the responsibility of it all on our way out there.  Once we got there Max was in awe.  The sounds...the sights... He didn't know what was going on and didn't make a peep.  This is a guy who is normally pretty fussy and he didn't make two noises the whole time we were out there.  We watched the kids ride quads until lunch time, but as it turned out he was too busy watching Gretchen do dishes to eat most of his lunch.

Me and Max

Max and his new friends

Mostly Max enjoyed the services of some professional moms.  Stephanie, Gretchen's sister, had his pants off, diaper changed, and pants back on before I would have even gotten them down over his butt.  Max was like, thank god finally someone who knows what they're doing, Amateur Hour over here is such a drag.   I was in awe because those are some skills I don't have.

Gretchen and Max

Max could not have had a better afternoon and he made a fantastic impression on everyone, which as I told him on the way home, is good so we'll be invited back.  Later, in Round III of Me v. Sleeper, the sleeper won.

Yesterday I was back over to take care of Max and I was in charge of breakfast:  rice cereal and a bottle.  Having never mixed up rice cereal and not having any type of ratio to go off of, I measured what I thought was the proper amount of formula to rice ratio and fed Max the first bite.  You can tell by his look that he clearly was not impressed.  I believe if he could talk he would have said, "What the fuck is this shit?  Can't you even make rice cereal?  Jesus, amateur."  I quickly remixed until I found a consistency that was palatable to the rice cereal gourmand.  Later in the day we went for a walk, which included hysterical screaming and crying for at least a half an hour until he fell asleep.

Before I went to my mom's, I went to feed the duck when I noticed that the cleaning ladies had not shut the gate to the little backyard.  I had a moment of panic and visions of me having to scour the neighborhood with pictures of my duck, crying "Duck, PDub, come here!  Duck, come here!"  Lucikly none of that was necessary because as soon as I shut the back door PDub came out of her hiding place underneath the chair and said, "Beep!"  And I replied, "Oh good duck.  You're a good duck.  Good duck."

Christmas!

My fast walk yesterday sort of did me in and I spent most of Thanksgiving in a pain killer light haze in my mom's recliner chair giggling at my dad and the baby.  This morning I woke up with a huge cramp in my right ass, which made me limp around and is still not entirely worked out.  I'm not sure what that's about.

In any case, I'm so glad Thanksgiving is over so I can start to get ready for Christmas!  I have not been excited about Christmas in years.  In fact, I have found Christmas a nuisance for at least the past four years.  But this year...this year...  I've already listened to Johnny Mathis' Merry Christmas! and the Muppets (with John Denver) Christmas Album, which as everyone knows is the official start of the Christmas season.  Yesterday Max and I discussed recipes for Christmas Eve.  (Mostly, he tried to chew on the magazine, but it was interaction.)  I've put away my Thanksgiving decorations and as soon as the cleaning ladies are done cleaning my house I'm going to start decorating for Christmas.  And next weekend I'm going to buy the biggest Christmas tree Sara can carry.

The Chicken Duck

This is the American Coot bird aka the Stupid Chicken Duck because it looks like a chicken.  I hate this duck.  There's tons of them at the college and every time I see them, I scrunch my face up in disgust and have, on occasion, said out loud, "I hate you stupid chicken ducks."  This duck's an insult to the duck world.

Conversations With My Health Care Providers

November 22, 2011

9:15 Conversation #1 with the referral lady in my doctor's office.  She tells me that Dr. Earle's note back to her says "Advise Bethany that she can not have a referral to the neurosurgeon and if she wants to make an appointment to see me we can discuss it at that time."  I do not scream, yell or cry.

9:16 Conversation #2 again, with the referral lady in my doctor's office.  "Bethany," she says, "I made you an appointment with the neurologist, do you want to keep it?"  "NO," I replied, "I don't need to see the neurologist.  I want to see the neurosurgeon.  The guy who operated on my back."

9:17 Conversation #3 to make an appointment with Dr. Earle for December 6 so I can ask her how many discsetemies and fusions she has done in her lifetime.

9:20 Conversation #4 with the neurosurgeon's office to find out if he has my X-Ray and a fact gathering call to find out information to use with Dr. Earle.  This conversation devolves into big tears when she tells me that the neurosurgeon still hasn't even released me back to my regular doctor.  I tell the lady, "I'm sorry, I'm just so frustrated."  

2:00-3:30- Conversation #5 with Blue Shield.  I explain my predicament.  Heather calls Choice Medical who says call the doctor's office, but since they only have one line and it's always busy, Heather has to call me back.  She finds out this information:  my referral was not "denied" it was "cancelled" because I didn't see my doctor.  I explained that I saw the PA and for every other referral the PA was sufficient, including the referral to the neurologist that just got made this week.  Heather seems somewhat puzzled by this as well, but the bottom line is I have to see Dr. Earle if I want to go to physical therapy.  She tells me I can self-refer to the neurosurgeon.  I'm a bit annoyed because last week when I found out my appointment had been cancelled I called Blue Shield to ask if that was a possibility and the lady told me no.  I ask if Dr. Earle can say no to physical therapy because the only time I've ever seen Dr. Earle about my back she  told me that the only way I was going to get rid of the pain in my leg was to take Lyrica, lose weight and that I couldn't go to physical therapy because "physical therapy does nothing."  Heather tells me that if Dr. Earle says no, then I need to switch doctors.  I don't tell Heather that this whole business has made me decide to leave Blue Shield.

3:30  Conversation #6 with the neurosurgeon's office to self-refer myself back to the neurosurgeon.  Self-referral means I have a higher co-pay and if Dr. Sanford wants to order tests it has to go back to my doctor. 

The part of me who wants to go to physical therapy is fighting with the part of me that is pissed the fuck off and wants to be a complete bitch and start the conversation with Dr. Earle by asking all of the questions she will be incapable of answering because she is not a neurosurgeon and then presenting her with an invoice that includes the $10 co-pay for the appointment last week, the $20 difference between my regular co-pay and the self-referral co-pay, gas to get to her Palmdale Road office and the three hours I needed a sub for that bullshit on Thursday.  In any case, Jessica's going to go with me to my appointment with Dr. Earle because I do not trust myself.

Worth a Try

Since Earl had tried to get to the butter earlier, I thought I'd see if it could entice him down the hallway.

Check out Earl hiding behind the couch.

I know what you're thinking, and no, I've not been drinking.

Despite

Why is Eric Church so mad at me?  I was thinking about buying his new album, Chief, but when I saw the cover my dislike of displeasing people kicked in.  I don't know what I did to Eric Church but it wasn't right.  And I'm sorry.

Well, despite my lack of neurosurgeon appointments and physical therapy, the weather forced me into the gym this morning where I walked 3.2 miles in one hour!  Yea me.  I felt a little conspicuous because I know that 3.2 mph is not really all that impressive so if people don't know about my recovery they're most likely just thinking, wow, fat people sure have to walk slow.  I wanted to tell everyone around me, "I know it's slow but I just had surgery and this is actually quite fast for me,"  but unlike my mother, I generally avoid telling random strangers my personal life.  The gym did have it's advantages in that I realized that I have lost quite a bit of aerobic strength because my heart rate got up there walking 3.2mph. Also, I remembered why I hate the gym:  because it is boring as fuck and there is nothing to look out without looking like you're staring.  I held out some hope that I would see someone I knew so they could chat me up and I could say, "I know it's slow but with my surgery this is actually quite fast for me," but no one I knew was at the gym.    After my hypersonic 3.2 miles, I went for a swim.  Let me just say that the clientele in the pool at 9:00 in the morning is quite different than the clientele in the pool any other time of the day.  I actually startled when I walked in.  I was at least 30 years too young to be in the pool or I was missing several tattoos.  I swam 10 laps (or 5 laps if you only count up and back as one lap) because I thought, since I hadn't been to physical therapy and wasn't sure what I should be doing perhaps I shouldn't go balls to the wall on my first swim.  Good thing too because I was straight wore out and decided to get in the spa where I'm hoping I didn't contract some kind of flesh eating disease or a yeast infection.  That felt so fantastic that I entertained the notion of researching a spa for my house until the clientele changed and I got creeped out and left at a the pace that would be the exact opposite of hypersonic.

On my way to my mom's house to not put the pan underneath the turkey because I, of course, did that yesterday like I was supposed to, I felt sufficiently wore out and calm to attempt to call the doctor's office.  After 15 minutes of trying, I finally got the referral lady who told me that the PA I saw on Thursday wrote a note saying that I was doing well, not reporting any new pain, but it might be ok for me to go to the neurologist.  I said, "AHHHHHHHHHH I DON'T WANT TO GO TO THE NEUROLOGIST! I WANT TO GO TO THE NEUROSURGEON- THE ONE WHO DID MY SURGERY."  The lady said, "I don't know why he put that." "I do," I replied, "He kept saying, you want to go to the neurologist?  And I kept saying no, I want to go to the neurosurgeon."  Far be it for me to assume that the PA would understand the difference between the two, but perhaps this is also part of my problem.  She was supposed to write the actual doctor a note.  I said, "Put on there that I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing or anything ahhrrrhh."  She was supposed to call me back, but you'll be surprised to know that she did not.

After that I went to my second job which if I don't have next semester will not make me sad, because I am beyond over that place.

Turkey Trot

This morning Sara and I did the AV Turkey Trot 5k.  In ONE HOUR.  One hour....which for you math geniuses is 3.0mph and the fastest I have walked so far.  When they sounded the starting bell, everyone took off running or walking at a fast past and we were, for a good half a mile, the last people.  I didn't care because I was happy to be outside, and slowly but surely Sara and I started passing people.  We were not the last people in, but I sure was contented with myself to have walked 3.0mph because that is a somewhat respectable pace.

This morning, poor Earl.  He got spooked by something in the hallway and cried for a half an hour before scrambling down to my doorway in a Scooby Doo-esque run, then he was afraid to come in my room and decided to live in the bathroom across the hall, until I went in to comb my hair and knocked the lotion bottle over onto him.  This guy can't win.  Something is out to get him in every room, but the living room.

I'm on vacation all this week.  It's a good thing because I know I'm going to need to spend lots of hours of my life on the phone with my doctor's office, Choice Medical and Blue Shield because despite my optimism that the doctor would say, "What?  You can't go back to the neurosurgeon?  Why that's some baloney, let's see how I can solve this problem for you."  What he said was, "Well, what would the neurosurgeon do exactly?  I'm not sure....well, you're telling me you're feeling better."  To which I said, "I don't know, I'm not the neurosurgeon, but I think he probably knows when he needs to see patients better than you or I." And "Well, in that case, I feel worse."  It was not a very positive reception.  And he said they'd call me by the end of Thursday so I would have an "answer either way."  I have had no such call.  There were tears Thursday morning.  PDub's namesake, Peggy, suggested I borrow their gun and go out to the desert and shoot things to make myself feel better.  She did specify that I should not go shoot the doctor, which I wasn't even considering anyways.

I don't know about the gun, though it might have been handy last week when Sara and I saw a Mojave Green on our walk.  He was not a happy camper.  I suppose if Sara or I had had a gun, we could have shot him.  As it was, we just screamed and got the heck away from him in case he tried to eat us whole in one swallow.

Choice Medical Sucks

Friday after my four mile walk and subsequent lunch with Sara and Bill, I went to go get an x-ray in anticipation of my appointment with the neurosurgeon this Thursday which I no longer have, because per the Choice Medical Director, I have to see my primary care physician to "justify" my follow up appointment with the neurosurgeon who did my surgery and who has to verify that my fusion is healing well.  Also, no physical therapy.  I am beyond mad.  I am beyond pissed off.  Un-fucking believable.  I made this appointment in September and it's been cancelled less than 48 hours before.  I spent the afternoon on the phone with the various doctors' offices trying to get an appointment.  I did manage to get an appointment with someone in my doctor's office, whom I've never seen before, at 8 am on Thursday.  So I'll go to see a doctor, who, let's review, is not a neurosurgeon and whom I've never seen before in my life for him to "justify" me going back to the neurosurgeon who felt it was important that he see me this week to make sure my fusion was healing properly.  And also Doctor X, who is not a neurosurgeon and who has not seen me before in his life will get to "justify" whether I can go to physical therapy after having had major surgery.  I did not call Choice Medical because I just can't imagine that I would actually be able to speak to the asswipe who actually made this decision and said that this has to be justified in order to express to him or her my absolute disbelief in this fucking unbelievable bullshit, nor do I trust myself to have a conversation in which fucking unbelievable god damn fucking bullshit doesn't leave my mouth.

Counting the days until open enrollment.

Do Not Cry

My motto this week has been "Do not cry" because it's been a somewhat crazy week.  Tuesday I made a trip to the St. Mary's ER after a lovely dinner and TV show at Sara's house.  I had changed purses and therefore didn't have my inhaler and also forgot to borrow the baby's when I was at my mom and dad's.  If I know one thing, it's that I will always need to go to the ER if I don't have my inhaler.  After only an hour and half, my lungs had had enough cat and I drove myself to the ER.  Good thing too because I thought I had at least some expired albuterol for my nebulizer here at the house, but turns out I didn't.  I got there in time for the evening freak show.  I filled out my paperwork, minus my phone number because I couldn't think straight enough to remember it and put on my best wheezing routine to get myself seen right away.  (I am an ER breathing treatment pro.)  I amazed the respiratory therapist and the doctor with my quick recovery because if I know a second thing, it's that my lungs react very quickly to a breathing treatment.  I was out an hour later, a $100 lighter and with three prescriptions.

Wednesday I got to work and after reading my email, uttered a string of swear words that vibrated across the campus.  Then I told the principal, "Today's mantra is: do not cry.  There is no crying in French class or After School."  I checked in with him after school and he hadn't cried and neither had I, so it was a good day.  I stood up and walked around all periods, but period 5.  Then, I stood up in my college class and I topped off the day with a trip to Target, which for the people who are not sure why you might care, that was a lot of stinking standing up for me.

Thursday I had a much harder time not crying and ended up having a small breakdown which resulted in the massive need to rearrange my classroom and clean before I could continue to work.  After that I came home to drink massive amounts of alcohol.  I may have been a little drunk.  And in my drunkenness, I decided to call Bill to find out why the fuck he hadn't called me to go walking on my day off.  Because he answered the phone, I proceeded to talk massive amounts of shit; including, but not limited to telling him that Sara's a catch, Jessica is not a skanky whore, insulting his manhood and then he had better walk with me or I was never going to speak to him again.  It was top 5 moment in my shit talking Hall of Fame.

Friday I walked four miles.  Four!! Yep and I felt fan fucking tastic afterwards.  Then I went to not one evening activity, but two.  It was a pretty big day.

Today, well, today, I planned, finished Max's quilt, bought Max some friends, walked 3 miles, babysat Max and went to Target.  And I feel pretty darn good.  I'm hoping that this recent foray into normalcy will be permanent and I am on the road to being back to normal.  I haven't had a string of this much activity in two years!

I have not even had time to do extrême-sofa this week!

Max's new friends.

(They were just visiting at his house, they're going to live here.)

Lost butter

At least Earl didn't break my new butter dish. Mother fucker.

Week in Review

Wednesday:  Max comes to the last ten minutes of 6th period French.  He loves it and it was the best part of the day because I had decided that I hated French and teaching French and pretty much everything that had to do with education.  The duck abandons her month long effort to hatch non-existent eggs in a fabulous and elaborately constructed nest and emerges famished and pissed the fuck off.

Thursday: Rain and double rainbows outside my classroom.

Friday:  After a day of giving tests and mostly sitting at my desk, one of the students in 6th period said, "Ms. Thompson, you look a lot less tired today." to which I replied, "That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me in weeks.  Thank you."  I must look fucking exhausted all the damn time.

Saturday:  Shopping kicks my ass.  Also, I go to a house with a cat.  Party in my alveoli.

This morning:  My refrigerator door will not shut, so I use masking tape to tape it shut.  Sara asks when I will be moving to the trailerhood.

6:32PM

Halloween kicks everyone's ass.

(I'll be joining them shortly.)

Making It Happen

  Because I'm the best aunt in the world.

Also, the doctor says I can start swimming and physical therapy- as soon as my referral is approved.  I'm going to hold my breath that it will be in the year 2011.

Sports Injury

What had happened was, I went to my parents' yesterday after I went to work, sorted laundry and took a mini-nap on the couch so that I could watch Max for a moment while they did some shopping and finished putting stuff away in the motor home.  Since I needed to take a walk me and Max decided we would go for a walk.  Unsure of what the baby might need on a walk, I gave him the two wrist rattles my mom has for him, only I didn't put them on his wrists.  Those of you familiar with the wrist rattles will know that they attach to the wrists via a velco mechanism that turns out is rather sharp along its edges.  Max and I happily set off on our walk, where he spent most of the time blowing bubbles and playing with the non-attached wrist rattles.  About halfway through our walk, I looked down and noticed that the baby now had a scratch on his nose.  I said, "Oh Max, oh Max.  Grandma is never going to let us take a walk alone again!" to which he replied, "(laughs, giggles, smilles)"  When we got back to my parents' I took him in to my dad and whispered, "He suffered an injury!"  Overall, I think Max was more concerned that my mom said she was going to go shopping and not by him anything than his wrist rattle injury.

The Pumpkin Patch

I have been telling Max for months now about how we were going to go to the Pumpkin Patch by my house.  Today was the perfect day because since I had to be at a boring meeting in Riverside at 8:30, I didn't have to get up at 4:45 and slept in until 6:00 and also since I had to be in a boring meeting I wasn't worn out by 11:00am.  So after I got my nails done I went to my parents' to get the little guy.

I was afraid that I was really the one who was going to have all of the fun at the Pumpkin Patch and that pretty much all Max would do would be to scream his head off for as long as we could stand it, but I was determined.  So my dad loaded us up into his truck (because it was quite clear that me going to the Pumpkin Patch alone with Max would be a Disaster, since I am still unable to carry the baby in his car seat.  I even tried to lift him in the car seat and that was a big bust.)  I'm pretty sure that I was infinitely more excited than Max about going to the Pumpkin Patch, but he loved it!  He loved walking up and down the rows of pumpkins.  He loved looking at the kids.  He loved sitting in the dirt (don't tell my mom.)  He didn't love being in the car on the ride home and luckily me and my dad had photographic proof that he was happy at the Pumpkin Patch so my mom didn't think we had tortured him.

As an aside, though we were admitted into the Pumpkin Patch, it appeared that me, my dad and Max were all several tattoos short of the average patron.

Afterwards Max's sleeper and I had a rematch and I kicked its freaking ass.