New Year, New . . . . . . Me????

Well, another year has come and gone.  Did you meet that goal you set January 1, 2012?  Do you even remember what it was?  I can honestly say that I have no clue what I resolved to do/accomplish/be at the beginning of the year.  All I know is that I survived it and somehow still have the respect of more than half of my friends and family.  Yes, I will consider that a succss!

So, instead of making a single major resolution for this coming year, I’m going to blog a list (oh how I do love my lists) of things I hope to achieve in 2013.  Here they are in no particular order:

1.  Run my first marathon (planned for 1/20/2013) and cross the finish line without poop in my pants.  Don’t laugh – I am dead serious!  Oh, and also that I’ll be able to walk normally by the third day following the race.

2.  Have my new wrinkle cream make me look more youthful before my 34th birthday – which is in 23 days people so go buy me some chocolate!

3.  Update my blog more often.  (You’re snickering aren’t you?  That’s not nice – I’m a busy woman!)

4.  Complete at least 5 pinterest projects that I’ve decided will make my life more fulfilled and Stepford-ish.

5.  Overcome my Coca-Cola addiction.  Although, it’s more likely that I will just replace it with a coffee addiction since I got a fancy shmancy Keurig for Christmas – shout out to the hubs who is the best gift giver EVER!!!!

6.  Become less of a Label Ho.  My hopes aren’t very high on this one – I love my Coach, Michael Kors, M-A-C, Brooks, Under Armour, Victoria’s Secret, Tory Burch, Apple . . . I could go on and on.  I probably should just remove this one all together but I’ve already typed it and it makes my list look longer.  (Just in case I didn’t make it any clearer – I in no way intend to actually stop being a Label Ho – I just feel more wholesome pretending that it’s a real resolution)

7.  Run at least one race every month of this year.  I ran 6 this past year, and placed in the top 3 of my age group in 3 of them.  Yes.  That was a brag.  I acknowledge that were I one age bracket younger I would have had my rump kicked – I don’t care.  Eat my medals you twenty-somethings!

8.  Oh, and this isn’t really a resolution, but I realized that I forgot to note that I ran a half marathon last month.  My finish time was 2 hours and 6 minutes.  (I walked with a limp for a solid week – thus resolution #1)  Whoop Whoop!

But I digress . . .

9.  Be a better housewife.  And by “be better” I mean things like:  Only leave laundry folded on the sofa 1 day before putting it away; Cook a hot meal at least 3 times a week; Clean toilets more often than just before company comes over; and regularly check the pantry/fridge for expired items to be thrown away.  That last one may seem like a no-brainer, but you would be surprised at how long mustard looks and smells good when it’s actually been expired for over a year.  True story.

10.  For every 3 chick lit books that I read, I will read 1 book of mentally stimulating substance.  First on the list is “Fit or Fat”, and that’s because I’ve been curious about it since watching the movie Clueless in 1996.  If Cher Horowitz read it, then I think it’s worth checking out!

11.  Wear my hair in a pony tail no more than twice a week.  I’m talking about the lazy kind that makes me look like a biker, not the cute bouffant type – those are adorable and classy.

12.  Wait a minimum of 3-5 seconds before speaking a thought that pops into my head.  My hope is that a lot less “foot in mouth” moments will happen in the coming year!

I think a dozen is a nice, healthy dose of resolving for 2013.  I don’t want to set the standards too high, know what I mean?  To finish this post, I’ll give a 2012 re-cap in pictures!  Happy New Year to all of you, and thank you SO MUCH for reading my blog this year.  As I said above, I will honestly try not to leave you hanging this year.  If I fail at this, you have my permission to withhold the chocolate.  Who am I kidding – you mess with my chocolate and someone is gonna die.  So pass that chocolate please – Laissez les bons temps rouler in 2013!  (For some strange reason, the pictures uploaded in reverse date order, so it’s kinda like going back in time.  A little.  Okay, maybe not but just go with it because I’m not starting over!)
















































































And I’ll leave you with this last picture of me in my pajamas at 10pm on New Year’s Eve typing a blog post instead of partying like a rock star.  And rest assured I will be fast asleep well before the ball drops!  I believe the last New Year’s Eve midnight I saw was Y2K – had to make sure the world didn’t stop turning.  Good night blog world!


Oh wait, one last thing – I added another resolution:

13.  I will get the hubby to take more pictures with me!  Okay so maybe I should have him make that one of his resolutions???  Hmmm . . . I’ll get on that.  Thankfully, I’m vain enough to have enough pictures of myself to make my “year in review” slideshow obnoxiously long!  Cheers!


Published in: on January 1, 2013 at 12:43 am  Comments (1)  

Momma Said There’ll Be Days Like This!

*Disclaimer:  This post begins with a trip to the doctor’s office – but, I promise it is not about a medical condition so bear with me. 

 I do not even know where to begin with this post.  The past 24 hours have pretty much been a train wreck.  In slow motion.  On repeat.  I like don’t even have any sarcastic words to describe it – shocker, I know!!  I guess I should start at the beginning. 

Yesterday morning, I woke up with an earache.  No big deal – this happens periodically, so I just make myself a doctor’s appointment for before I go into work and all is good.  Mr. Doctor says, “Oh, you have a double ear infection that looks like it’s been going on for a couple of weeks.  And it looks like you have something going on in your throat so I want to check you for strep too.”  Yep, sure enough, I have strep as well.  Faaaaaantastic!  Still not a big deal though – two shots in the keester later, I’m on my way to work still optimistic about my day.  All is well for the rest of the work day, and I’m feeling pretty positive as I leave the building that afternoon.  Oh wait, what’s that?  A crack in the concrete?  No biggy that I don’t see it and trip.  And fall.  On my knee.  And palm.  And who cares that my iPhone goes flying through the air landing screen down on the pavement, shattering it into oblivion.  Eh, who needs to see their screen anyway, right?!?!  So, Mr. AT&T customer service man, I have insurance on my iPhone and I need to replace it, how do I do that?  Oh, Ms. You Suck At Life Today, it’s sooooo easy.  Just call this number and give them the information and $199 and you they will send you a new phone next day!  Ooooohhhhh is that all???  Maybe I should get two then?  Er um how about you go ahead and cancel that rip off you call “insurance” and pleasure yourself while you’re at it.  (That was the nicest mean thing I could think of in my head – and maybe I toned it down for the sake of this blog post)  Anyhoo, begin google search for iPhone screen repair creeper in my area – check!

Moving on . . . as I am pulling in to my driveway at home, I notice some ominous black clouds in the near distance and think that if I hurry, I can get the grass cut before it rains.  Picture mad woman high on rage and endorphins push mowing at record speed, and that would be me.  As I am weed-eating the last bit of the yard alongside our driveway, I manage to overlook the ginormous hole that the builders left on the lot next to our driveway and step right into it.  Mud halfway up my shin, leg knee-deep in hole, no problem!  Oh, and did I mention that it had already started to rain?  So, here I am whacking blades of grass with my weapon machinery, in the rain, mud up my leg, and covered in sweat, waving to my friendly neighbors as they pass by on their way home from work.  And I must admit, despite the events of the day, I was still feeling pretty good about myself for getting the yard done in record time.  Success!!!!  Lawn looks great, leave muddy shoe by the door, go into the bathroom to wash off the mud and grass, look in mirror . . . yeah, the WHITE shirt and sports bra that I was wearing are completely see-through thanks to the down pour.  Which means I’ve been in my front yard for 30 minutes basically wearing wet gauze.  Stay classy Lakeside Estates.  And to the neighbors that I waved to as they passed – either you’re welcome or I’m sorry.  You can decide for yourself which applies.

Thank heavens that the rest of the night is without episode!  I crawl into my bed thankful that this day is over and tomorrow will start anew.  Yeah, not so much . . .

I wake this morning fully refreshed, but 10 minutes after I am supposed to BE at work.  Ensue frantic flat ironing and wardrobe selection!  Oh great, there’s traffic on I-12 – I am completely and utterly shocked!  (If you live in my area, you fully understand that this statement is completely facetious!)  Oh well, at least I have time to put on my make-up while I’m sitting.  Wait, what’s that?  Green eye shadow on one eye and purple on the other.  Oh yeah, that’s EXACTLY how I intended to put on my face today.  Remove left eye make-up, reapply.  Check!  With plenty of traffic time to spare, I finish applying my war paint and zip up the make-up bag sitting in my lap.  Wow, that’s amazing – in this natural light, my black pants look a lot like my navy blue pin-striped pants.  Hmmmm, boy would that be tragic to wear navy blue pants with the rest of my black color-schemed ensemble.  Uh yeah, that just happened. 

So here I sit.  Double ear infection, strep throat, sore butt cheeks, bruised knee, cracked iPhone, no dignity, jacked-up make-up, and navy blue pants.  You are so jealous right now aren’t you?  Well please compose yourself and pass the $*&@!%ing chocolate!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Published in: on May 24, 2012 at 9:11 am  Comments (2)  

Hhhhhello????  Hello?  Anybody still there?  Even if it’s just to throw tomatoes at the girl who completely desserted her blog for over 6 months, yet expects people to still care about reading when she finally shows up to make a feeble apology and attempt a new post?  Well if you’re still here, I am, in fact, very very sorry for abandoning our blogship (kind of like a friendship, only cooler because you get to know all of my weaknesses and loser-isms without having to share your own) and I hope that you accept my apology and stick around to read the new post.  I think you’ll like it!  Or at least you will if you have ever been an 11 year old girl, have raised an 11 year old girl, married someone who once was an 11 year old girl, or just like to read and find my grammatical/spelling errors.

Some of you may know this already, but I have a daughter who is (you guessed it) 11 years old, and tonight I sat down and taught her two of my most favorite 11 year old girl games: M-A-S-H, and the cool little game made out of a folded piece of paper with numbers and colors on it that reveals who you’re going to marry when you grow up.  I mean, what is more exciting than finding out who you’re going to marry?  Who will be your maid of honor?  What kind of car you’ll drive?  How many kids you’re going to have?  And where you will live????  Exactly – nothing!!!!!!  It’s no great mystery that girls think of these things about a million times a day, and as much as I want to bury my head in the sand, or a bucket of margarita, I need to come to grips with the fact that my baby girl is going to go completely, insanely boy crazy any day now.  She may already be there and I’m just in denial – I’m not sure!  I keep thinking back to my elementary school days, and trying to remember all of the things I had to learn the hard way that could have gone so much smoother had someone told me what to do!  Or not to do!  I mean, this is the girl that walked around the playground with her friends at recess singing, “Oh, me so horny” not knowing that it had a meaning other than having horns on your body like a dinosaur until my classmates shushed me and looked around nervously to see if the teacher had overheard.  Sheesh!  All I knew was that you were “cool” if you knew that song.  Of course since I was several years shy of actually knowing about the birds and the bees, you can imagine my shock and horror when I realized what I had been seranading the elementary school with back in 5th grade.  So the whole point to that little story is to say that I want to do my best to equip my child with the information she will need to survive elementary, junior high, and high school without being given some horrible nickname or being known as the girl who once ate a cockroach or something.  No, I have never eaten a cockroach.  Nor has she.  It was just an example – if you have ever gone to school, you know how these things get started, and don’t go away.  EVER!  At your 25 year class reunion, you will still be the kid that ate the cockroach.

Now, before you run away with your imagination and think that I’m planning on having “the talk” with my 11 year old, let me stop you.  I’m not ready to live out the most awkward 20 minutes of my life yet, so I will save that conversation for another year.  No, what I’m talking about is the social suicide stuff: don’t cry in front of the mean girls; always check for stray toilet paper when leaving the restroom; don’t let your mom give you an Ogilvie home perm the week before you start junior high; if a boy pulls your hair that means he likes you but you should kick him in the knee anyway so he doesn’t think you like him back; if a boy breaks your heart, don’t tell your daddy because he will hate him even when you make up and get back together; if you mouth off to the school bully, stay home sick the next day so you don’t walk around fearing getting beat up . . . you know, the important things!  The problem I’m running into is how to relay this advice for situations she hasn’t experienced yet?  I’m pretty sure if I were to tell her these things now, the group text to her BFFs afterward would read something like, “omg my mom just totally wigged out on me i think she was a nerd in school”.  Sigh . . . there has to be a manual/survival guide out there for raising a pre-teen girl.  One that isn’t sugar coated with all of the “don’t worry about them fitting in, just let them express themselves” crap.  Don’t get me wrong – I LOOOOVE who my daughter is.  She is the most beautiful, creative, sassy, crazy, fun, good-hearted person I know!  I in no way attempt to squelch those amazing qualities that make her who she is.  But I mean, who wants their kid to be the awkward one who gets teased?  It’s easy enough for kids at this age to find some physical attribute that our children have no control over to make fun of, so I feel it is my responsibility to make sure my baby girl isn’t ridiculed for the things that I can help eliminate.

My plan seems absolutely perfect.  Except for one little problem – I have no idea how to implement it!  So far all I have come up with are scenese from the movie Mean Girls.  But somehow I don’t think telling my daughter not to kiss her cousins (even if they’re first cousins) and not to join the mathletes is going to help her.  I’ve done my best to make sure she knows that I am open and available for all of her questions – and have been completely honest with my responses thus far.  I’m hoping that since this system has worked well, she will continue to come to me with all of her pre-teen drama woes.  Although the time a couple of weeks ago when she stuck her head out the bathroom door all pale-faced and said in her most serious, panicked voice,”Mom, I need you to come see” I lost all feeling in my feet and thought I was going to pee my pants and throw up at the same time.  It turned out to only be a mosquito bite that she was worried about eating all the through to her bones (have I mentioned that she can be a tad dramatic? I have no idea where she gets that from.) but I was definitely certain that it was something entirely different – like the return of PMS to our household!  So maybe I’m not entirely eager to re-live my adolescence through my child, but I don’t think I have a choice at this point.  I should probably change the name of this blog to “Pass the Vodka Now”.

Oh, and how appropriate – she just walked through the living room sighing loudy, and I asked her what was wrong (I usually regret asking, but since I was writing about her thought it might be good for content).  Her reponse was more sighing and a complaint in a valley girl voice that she’s recently been using (A LOT!!!) about a neighborhood girl that wanted to come to our house and play with her.  So her complaint?  “I told her I was, like, reading, and she was, like, ‘oh, I see how that goes’, and I was like well okay then, and she just went inside so I mean really?”  You see what I mean?  What do you do with that?  Maybe I will keep the chocolate after all.  And put it in the vodka.  Pass the chocolate martini please!

Published in: on April 4, 2012 at 4:46 pm  Comments (2)  

Ben, Jerry and lemons, oh my!!!

My fantasy football loss crisis may have been averted last week by ending in a tie, but my luck ran out BIG TIME this week!!!  Not only did I *swallows hard* lose, but I lost by 40 points . . . yes 40 . . . and not an innocent little 40 like 40 seconds or 40 millilitres, but a giant 40 like 40 extra pounds on your hips or 40 pimples on your face!  It was ugly.  But since most of you may not be able to relate to fantasy football, I feel the quite opposite is probably true of what I’m fixing to tell you about – stress eating.  (Please refer back to my “40 extra pounds” comment)  Here is a compiled list, in no certain order, of everything I consumed in the past 24 hours . . .

Spicy boiled peanuts, cracklings, a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream, more spicy boiled peanuts, 3 Reese’s cups, a Mexican cheeseburger (this is two patties with cheese, jalapenos, and onions between them) dressed with all of the fixings, 32 oz. fountain coke, an iced caramel mocha from McDonald’s, 3 canned cokes, and a devil creme snack cake (which was my breakfast this morning) 

My body hates me right now.  I hate me right now.  But the sad thing is that it’s not because of all of the food I shoveled in – it’s because I LOOOOOOOST!!!!!!!!!!!!  Waaaaaah!!!!!!  I know you’re totally over hearing me cry about it, but you just don’t understand how bad it eats at me – I mean it was on my list twice in the last post people! 

But I digress . . .

The funniest part of this post actually has nothing to do with losing, or chocolate.  It has to do with lemons!  (Memory refresher – I’m repulsed by pulp.  Just typing the word made me gag a little)  On Saturday, I went to a Mexican restaurant for lunch, and my mother-in-law was met me there.  I arrived before she did and got us a table.  The waiter asks what I want to drink, and I give my standard reply, “Water, but no lemon on my glass please.  Or in my glass please.  Thank you.”  And I make sure to make stern eye contact when I say this so that he knows I mean business.  Waiter returns a minute later with a glass of water.  Lemon wedge on the rim.  Sigh . . . I’m sure you would agree that this would have been grounds for a huge scene in the middle of the restaurant, but I was a very good girl (had this been on loser Sunday, it probably wouldn’t have gone so smoothly) and just politely asked that he bring me another water without the lemon.  He was (luckily for him) very apologetic and concerned looking, and returned with a fresh glass sans lemon.  As he places my new drink, he looks at me with pity and says, “You’re allergic to lemon?”  Now, I know that I have thought many times to claim this ailment to save my family embarrassment, but I have never been able to pull the trigger.  You know the whole “claim to have an illness you don’t, and you’ll get plagued with something worse” karma.  But, I mean, he asked!  I simply replied, “something like that.”  He seemed totally satisfied with that response, but I was still worried that when I ordered my food, he would give me some crap like, “oh I think they use lemon pepper in that.”  Anyhoo, the whole exchange thus far was incredibly humorous in itself, but the hilarious part came after my mother-in-law met me.  When the nice little waiter took her drink order, she ordered an iced tea without lemon.  He returned – you guessed it- with a lemon on her glass.  When he realized his mistake (before he left the drink this time), he said, “Oh, you didn’t want lemon either, did you?  Are you allergic too?”  Very confused mother-in-law . . . blank stare . . . response, “No, I just don’t like them.”  I kept my eyes down the entire time and just let her be confused.  As I’m sure our waiter was.  I actually kept expecting him to come back during the meal and ask me if I really had a lemon allergy.  I’ve been feeling so guilty ever since that I’ve considered going back and making my confession to him.  But my self-assured conscience keeps telling me that I technically didn’t tell him I was allergic to lemons . . . guilt remains . . . sigh . . . I guess there are worse things . . . . like consuming a pint of ice cream in the same sitting as a mexican cheeseburger . . . double sigh . . .

Alas, it is a new week.  New healthier diet (minus the little debbie cake for breakfast), new fantasy football match-up, and a new positive outlook.  Okay, so maybe I don’t have the new outlook yet because I’m still miffed about losing, but it’s coming.  I can feel it.  Okay, so my new healthier diet has been postponed until tomorrow – pass the chocolate please!

Published in: on October 17, 2011 at 10:23 am  Leave a Comment  

The Art of Losing

There are few things in life that I dislike more than losing.  In fact, confrontation and dead-beat dads are the only things I can think of that can turn my world upside down faster.  When my lovely family of neighbors brought up the idea of a fantasy football league, I thought it sounded like a glorious idea.  (glorious is my favorite word right now – I’ve used it at least 20 time this weekend)  A healthy rivalry each week, Sundays surrounded by cool friends and great food, a little good-natured trash talk . . . I never EVER factored losing (and the inner-turmoil it would bring) into the equation.  And I must throw in a little horn-blowing here to say that I managed to survive the first four weeks without having to deal with it!  But here we are . . . week five . . . my first loss . . .  sigh . . . Until now, I actually believed that I hid my uber-competitiveness quite well.  At least that was until everyone at the Sunday football gathering kept asking me what was wrong and why I was so quiet and forlorn.  Yep.  My secret was out.  Friendly, out-going, bubbly Mel is a sore loser.  That’s not even a strong enough word for it.  I am a SOUR, BITTER, PRIDEFUL, IMPLACABLE LOSER!!!!!!  As a matter of fact, I haven’t even officially lost my match-up yet.  It’s Sunday night as I’m typing this and I still have players in a game. Yet here I am, writing my thoughts here because I feel like I will explode if I don’t tell someone all about it!  At least now we all know what it takes to pull me out of my writer’s block slump!  In light of how amused everyone has been by the revelation of my kryptonite, I thought it would be fitting to point out some other things that might surprise you about me.  Until now, you probably thought I was perfect and all roses.  I know I did.  Don’t act surprised by my ego – I write a blog.  All of the posts are about me. You have to have a pretty high opinion of yourself to be able to write 2,000+ words about your life. (I prefer to think of it as a healthy self-esteem, but I’m sure there are others that would view it differently)  In an effort to thwart the legacy of awesomeness that I leave behind with each post (I mean, come on, you know that’s why you’re still reading), I’ve been thinking of all of my little quirks that most people don’t know about. I’ve chosen to compile a list to bring to light the “real me” so that you all might not be shocked when glimpses of my true self shine through.

*Disclaimer: I like lists. Lists like me. I have a list for everything. My obsession with lists is on this list.

1.  I hate to lose.  At anything!

2.  I am incapable of mixing my large and small paper clips together.  Someone once linked all of my paper clips together alternating large and small.  I almost had to take the rest of the day off of work.  She’s probably reading this.  She knows who she is.  I hope she’s scared now that she’s realized I haven’t forgotten what she did.

3.  I throw away broken rows of staples.  Whole rows allowed only.  I know that this is wasteful.  I don’t care.

4.  When I watch TV or hold a conversation, I type the words being spoken in my head.  If you’ve ever talked to me, I typed what we were saying.  Kinda creepy isn’t it?  I used to move my fingers as I did it.  I’ve come a long way.

5.  I hate when people wear an outfit that purposely shows their bra straps.  It’s one thing for it to show unknowingly and accidentally – displaying it intentionally is something entirely different.  If you’ve done this and I’ve seen you whilst wearing such garb, I’ve talked about you.  I make no apologies – this is my list.

6.  I make a lot of lists.  If I searched my purse right now, I’d likely find more than ten on-hand.  There are at least fifteen more in my dayplanner.

7.  I always think I’m right.  Even after being proven wrong, I rarely can bring myself to admit it.  This is usually followed by a great deal of sulking.

8.  I’m pulp-a-phobic.  The thought alone of pulp coming into contact with my tongue makes me gag violently.  I always order water at a restaurant with an emphatic “no lemon on my glass”.  I have been known to send such a fruit-adorned beverage container back with the waiter.  It embarrasses my family.  I’ve decided to start telling people that I’m allergic just so it seems like a justified act.

9.  I don’t take criticism well.  Not even the kind constructive in nature.  I always think I do everything perfectly.

10.  I still give a crap about my biological father.  This infuriates me – he doesn’t deserve to be thought about by someone as awesome as myself.

11.  If I awake during the night for any reason, I can’t fall back to sleep until I check to see that my husband and both children are still breathing.  Yes, I am well aware that the threat of SIDS ends around age 1, and that if carbon monoxide was present, I wouldn’t be breathing either.  These factors don’t console me – I must check.

12.  I hate to lose.  At anything!  (It’s worth mentioning twice)

I must add that I am currently tied in my week 5 fantasy football match-up.  It is actually plausible that I will win.  I felt it necessary to post this rant anyway.  You should all know who you’re dealing with.  I hope you’re happy to know how incredibly human I am – if you should allow me to remain on the pedestal that I’m sure I have been placed, I would be most grateful.  I didn’t get this way on my own.  It’s taken many years of being told how great I am to get me here.  Yes ma’am, lots of praise and chocolate.  Speaking of chocolate, you needn’t pass any today – I’ve consumed enough during my “loss potential stress eating” to last me a while.  Who am I kidding?  Pass it anyway people!

*Update 10/10/11 4:19p.m. – My week 5 match-up ended in a tie.  I have spent all day trying to figure out if this makes me happier than losing?  I’m still pretty unsure about it.  I guess that if the end I can stay ranked as #1 for another week, I will be okay with it.  If not, then I guess you will be hearing from me again tomorrow!

Published in: on October 9, 2011 at 10:32 pm  Comments (2)  

Have you lost my mind?!?!

(According to Writer’s Block:  a psychological inhibition preventing a writer from proceeding with a piece of writing. 

(According to Writer’s Block:  is a condition, primarily associated with writing as a profession, in which an author loses the ability to produce new work.

(According to Melonie Ellzey) Writer’s Block:  A Jedi mind trick in which every sentence that you type and re-read causes you to hold down the Backspace button (with excessive force) until the screen is blank again other than that stupid blinking curser reminding you that you are incapable of intelligently expressing your thoughts, and even if you did manage to make a few words come together, it would still be garbage and no one would read it.

But I digress . . .

I’ve lost track of how many attempts I have made at writing a new post.  With the passing of each failed effort comes a great dread of what I know is inevitably upon us . . . another story about a medical issue and how I had to go to the doctor.  Sigh . . . I would normally write something here about how I swear I don’t live at the doctor, and how I promise I am not a hypochondriac, but I’m no longer convinced that those things aren’t true.  I really don’t know how it all came to this?  I never used to go to the doctor more than once a year!?!?  Maybe blogging is bad for your health?  I seriously don’t remember having this many ailments before I started trying to entertain people through this page . . . I’m actually not feeling so bad about writing another medical post now that I’ve realized it’s all your fault.  Oh yeah, I feel MUCH better now!  And I hope you’re happy!  And I also think you should all send me chocolate!

Well, now that we’ve cleared up that rather important detail, let’s move on shall we?  You see, back in April I got a phone call from the hubby that sounded something like this:  (Disclaimer:  Some adlibbing and dramatization ahead)  “Good morning most beautiful, talented, and amazing wife ever!  I just had the greatest idea!  We should order this workout program that I’ve been hearing about called ‘Insanity’.  It looks really painful, hard, and life-threatening, but I really think we should do it!  The benefits will definitely outweigh the vomiting, inability to walk for a week, and loss of the use of our arms.”  I’m pretty sure that’s how his end of the conversation went!  Fortunately, he called on a good day when I must have already had a full two servings of chocolate because I agreed that we should definitely pay $300 to torture ourselves.  10 days later, said torture begins.  The next 60 days are a blur of perfectly fit beach body wizards on the TV telling us to “keep going”, “don’t quit”, “you can do it”,  and”almost there” . . . But what I heard in my head was more like, “don’t throw up”, “I can’t feel my legs”, “why are we doing this?”, “don’t throw up”, “Shaun T is the devil”, “I’m pretty sure this is illegal”, “don’t throw up” . . . it was the most awful yet wonderful thing I’ve ever done!  At the end of the program, I felt better than I think I ever have.  Completing something so challenging and unlike I’d ever subjected myself to before was a great feeling!  I knew that I never wanted to lose it or go back to the lazy slacker I was before, so I decided that I would become a runner.  And it really was just like that – in my head I said “I’m a runner now” and it was so.  I started out that first day and was able to run 2 miles without feeling like I was going to die and knew that I had found my new passion.  Every evening for four weeks the Nikes and I hit the pavement until one day about a mile and a half into my run, I started getting a pain in my left shin with every step.  My “I think I’m younger than I really am” brain tells me to just run it out.  I mean that’s totally logical right?  To just assume that you can run the pain out?!?!  (I’m just trying to convince myself here – I know that this mentality is incredibly stupid)  So that’s what I did.  I finished the last mile and a half and only after nearly face-planting in my driveway did the thought cross my mind to take a break from running for a couple of days – three of them actually.  And I should be commended for waiting that long because I’m usually way more strong willed (some would say hard-headed) than that!  So I wait my three days, and on the fourth, I pat myself on the back for being such a good girl and leave the house for what I am convinced will be a pain free and glorious run around the subdivision. . . . not so much.  But at this point, I am so over the fact that my body is trying to stop me from doing something that I want to do that I don’t stop.  I ran my 3 miles dangit!  Who does this leg think it is anyway?  Does it not know that when I make a plan, no one ever has the nerve to try and mess with it?  It obviously did not read my post about the beach pictures, because it would have known that someone almost had to die that day!!!  Sigh . . . after about the fourth day of running on this appendage destined to ruin my life, I finally had to break down and call a doctor.  It had gotten to a point that normal, ever day walking hurt.  Now the leg was just mocking me.  I’m pretty sure I heard it laugh out loud a couple of times.  So I go to the doctor with this pre-conceived notion that he is going to tell me it’s some stupid little muscle or tendon issue and that it will only get better if I don’t run.  Ever.  And I’ve already decided in my mind that if that’s the case I’m just going to run anyway.  I mean what could the doctor possibly know about that sort of thing anyway?  He only had 4 years of extensive medical training – I’ve had 32 years with this body.  I surely know what it needs better than an orthopedic doctor does!  Yet there I was.  Sitting in another physician’s office waiting to divulge my complete medical history (which is now more complicated thanks to you faithful blog readers) and wait for him to tell me that I can never do anything fun and enjoyable ever again.  (People, my mind really does work like this.  I hope you’ve come to terms with it by now.  If not, I’m sure there is a support group out there somewhere for learning to deal with overly-dramatic people like me)  So after we’ve gone over the checklist of “have you ever had” and “has a relative ever had”, we get to the part where I have to tell him about the when and why of the leg pain.  While I talk, he writes notes in my chart.  I can’t see what he’s writing, but I’m imagining it’s something along the lines of “stubborn woman . . . thinks she knows it all . . . . deserves it . . . . her poor husband . . . .”  Like I said, I couldn’t see exactly what it was, but I like to think that I’m being mocked – it gives me much better material for the glamorous diva victim life I live in my head.  At the end of my spiel where I’m trying to convince the doctor that whatever is wrong with my leg can in no way be my fault, he tells me that he thinks I have a stress fracture.  Now, I’m not sure about you, but I’m more of a show me the proof kind of girl.  So, instead of letting him go ahead and treat me for a stress fracture (and put my leg/foot in a walking boot that day) I get him to agree to doing an MRI to be sure that a stress fracture is definitely what we’re dealing with.  I was partly concerned with treating one thing when we should have been treating another, but MOSTLY concerned with the fact that I was going to New Orleans in two days for a Britney Spears concert and didn’t want to traipse all over town in an ugly walking boot!!!!  And it definitely would not have gone with my outfit!  Let’s not get our priorities twisted here!  So the next day I go in for an MRI – oh I must interject here with my OCD moment for that day!  While sitting in the waiting room for the scan, I send my husband this picture accompanied with the following text message:

Notice his one word response.  I don’t think I’m capable of surprising him with any of my OCDisms anymore.  Sigh . . . Anyhoo, back to where I was heading with my story.  I had my MRI done, and was able to enjoy my “pre-diagnosis” weekend with some of my bestest girl friends at a rockin’ concert!  Wow, I just thought about how much material for a blog that one night alone provides!   I may work on that next . . . Geeze get a grip Melonie!  Back on track . . . sigh . . . so I go to the doctor on Monday afternoon fully expecting his original hypothesis to be wrong, because somehow I had convinced myself that my leg felt better that day, but he was totally 100% right.  Actually 200% because there were two stress fractures!  He must have read the “I think I’m going to hurt somebody” expression on my face, because he apologized at least 5 times while I was in his office.  As if it was at all his fault – I wish I had known then that it was actually yours, though, because I sure could have used someone to blame on that day!  I left there with my brand new hideous walking boot.  A constant eye sore reminder that all the wonderful uber fit things I had done to my body were going to unravel over the following 8 weeks.  My outlook that day was bleak at best!  My wardrobe since then has consisted of anything that can be worn with the only two pair of shoes I have that somewhat match the awkward height at which the boot rises to.  I did wear a glorious pair of 4 inch heels to work one day because I had a meeting.  I decided then that I should patent an orthopedic walking boot with a heel.

And the striped knee sock just sets it off so nicely, doesn’t it?  Over the past three and a half weeks, I’ve come to grips with the fact that “the boot” is my new bff.  I’m still tempted to throw it into the lake on some days, but for the most part I have been a perfect little patient.  It helps that my husband and children have waited on me and babied me the whole time.  I guess they know all too well that “if momma ain’t happy, nobody’s happy!”  Oh, and in case you didn’t notice in the picture, my bestie ,Hanna (shout out), made my boot a running shoe.  Our first choice was to bedazzle it, but in the end I’m glad a Nike swoosh is what we ended up with.  Some first ideas aren’t always best as it turns out.

I realize that this latest medical saga didn’t provide much comic relief.  But, it was really the best I could do considering that my best blogs have come after my creative outlet – running.  Which, if I haven’t implied it enough, I CAN’T DO right now!!!!!!  Sigh . . . I really think I’m going to make it.  Really.  It’s all going to be okay.  3 1/2 weeks down, 4 1/2 to go . . . .

Oh, and my blog title isn’t a word mix-up.  I know the original saying is “Have you lost your mind?”, but I like the way my sweet little 4 year old nephew, Easton, puts it much better – “HAVE YOU LOST MY MIND?!?!?!”  Thanks for hanging on through the end of this pity party.  If I can’t run, I might as well eat – so please pass the chocolate!  It IS an emergency!

Published in: on August 10, 2011 at 2:02 pm  Comments (2)  

Momma’s Meltdown!

It’s not something I’m proud of.  And it’s certainly not something that I ever thought I would want the world to know about me.  Yet here I am, typing it all out for you guys.  Hello, I’m Melonie, and I am a bossy, control-freak with more than (as I’m sure my family would say) a touch of OCD.  There.  That’s it.  The how and why of my meltdown on the beach over a week ago.  It wasn’t over sand in inopportune places, or a bathing suit malfunction, or even a scary moment in the water with the kids . . . nope, it was over family pictures.  Sigh . . . there I’m 1/3 of the way to feeling better.  The first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem, right?  Well, mine is apparently bigger than I realized!!!

From the moment that vacation plans came together for my husband’s entire family to be at the same beach at the same time, my ideas for the perfect family portrait started unfolding.  A mom, a dad, 2 sons, 2 daughters-in-law, a daughter, a son-in-law, and 4 beautiful grandchildren.  All dressed in color-coordinated outfits, every hair in place, make-up to perfection and everyone so happy to be there posing in the heat – a better moment just could not exist, right?  As a photographer, I have expectations this high for every shoot I go on, but I must admit that I was more than overly confident in my family pulling off every ounce of it and more!  And they did!  Everyone was ready on time, the clothes went together beautifully, the kids were happy and smiling, and we were on the beach at the perfect time to capture this long-awaited moment!  So, what you ask, could have caused a meltdown if everything was going so great?  Well, it was kinda-sorta maybe me . . . yeah, I said it, I caused my own meltdown.  But you can’t expect me to confess my offense and not offer up my own defense right????  I mean, we’re on the beach, the tripod is in place, the family is in position for me to set the self-timer and take my place, and I look through the lens to bring everything in focus, and . . . and . . . haze . . . . lots and lots of haze . . . Bringing the camera from the air-conditioned vehicle out onto the humid beachfront fogged up every last piece of mirror and glass on the inside and out of my camera.  Easy fix, right?  Just give it time to adjust.  Take my handy-dandy little lens cloth and wipe a little, wait a little, wipe a little, wait a little . . . Remove lens, wipe the inner glass . . . Re-attach lens, all’s a go . . . nope . . . still a big pile of white and khaki blur . . . Another 2 minutes pass . . . My hair is matted to my head in a pile of sweat that no one else seems to be being plagued with, my heart is beating so fast that I’m sure it’s going to burst right through my perfectly pressed khaki shirt bought just for this occasion, tears are in my eyes and now I can’t tell if everything is blurry from the lens or just from me . . . and then come these words out of my mouth to the rest of the family . . . “It’s done.”  Yep, that was the only thing I could muster up.  The meltdown was in full-swing.  I was ready to throw everything in the ocean because my perfect plan was ruined.  (I’m hoping that by now, you are coming to understand that I tend to be slightly over-dramatic, and you are taking that into account when I tell you it was ruined!)  But there on the beach, in the middle of me trying to keep from hyper-ventilating, the man that knows me better than anyone on this earth – the good, the bad, the ugly – stands in front of me, touches my arm, looks in my face, and says, “Can we try wiping it one more time?”  Somehow his touch, the softness in his voice, the look in his eyes that says, “I know you’re about to lose it and throw all of your camera equipment in the ocean, and possibly a relative or two, but please, before it comes to that can we try one more time?” is all it took.  My heart beat steadied, the fog in my head cleared and I remembered suddenly that I had another camera lens in my bag.  I race to the bag, remove the lens, replace the devil blurry one on my camera with it and there we have it!  A crystal clear view of the family that has been standing by waiting to see if my head was going to spin around on my shoulders and if any casualties would be taken along with it.  Everyone quickly gets back into place and we are back in business!  The group photos are put together fast and furious with the daylight disappearing more and more with each snap.  FINALLY!!!!  They are done!  Every last shot that I wanted – done!  I felt the way that I’m sure Mary Shelly did when she brought Frankenstein to life on the pages of her novel!  I don’t even know if everyone else was burnt out with the whole photo session routine, and I selfishly admit that I didn’t care!  The smile on my face couldn’t have been replaced for anything!  This OCD paparazzi mama had gotten exactly what she wanted – which is EXACTLY how I like things!  (Hey, I already admitted that I have a problem – don’t judge me!)  And as I walk back up the beach and relish in my success despite the adversity, I see this beautiful sight in front of me – the man that pulled me back from the edge, the person that for some unkown reason loves every bossy, OCD ounce of me, the calm in my storm, and on this beautiful day – the carrier of my tripod.  I will never forget the way I felt on that walk from the beach – like the luckiest girl in the world! 

And since you are amazingly still here reading this rant on how I nearly lost my mind, I reward you with a preview of the moments we captured that day on the beach.  When I was young, and told my mom that I would never forgive her for making me an only child (sorry Mom – in case you had any doubt, you have been forgiven), I never dreamed that God had so many amazing moms, dads, brothers, sisters, and nephews for me (and very soon a beautiful niece).  These picture don’t even come close to capturing the beauty in all of them, or the love that we all have for each other.  I’m not saying that we’re all roses all the time and that we haven’t been referred to as dysfunctional a time or two, but when it comes down to it, I would lay my life down for every single one of them, and I know without a doubt that they’d do the same.  The sisters I never had, but always wanted.  The brothers that pick on me and call me names just liked I’d always wanted one to do.  A second set of parents that love me as one of their own.  Nephews that think going to my house is cool.  Kids that get smarter and more beautiful every day.  And most of all a husband that I was able to grow up with and grow more in love with every day.  Are you crying yet?  Because I’m a blubbering idiot on this end of the screen.  So before I completely lose it, here they are.  The pictures that were worth the meltdown!

And my absolute favorite shot of the day . . . .

And then here we are . . . Married so young, thought we had it all figured out, and 13 years, 2 kids, and many hard lessons later we’re still holding on.  I don’t take it for-granted that I was able to marry my best friend – I count that blessing twice every time!

Oh, but I must end this post on a lighter note!  A sweet co-worker friend read my blog posts for the first time yesterday, and showed me just how much she enjoyed them by leaving this little beauty on my desk that afternoon:

So if you’re ever unfortunate enough to be in the path of one of Momma’s Meltdowns, your only hope is to find some chocolate and pass it my way.  Quickly now.  Before someone gets hurt.

Published in: on June 30, 2011 at 6:52 pm  Comments (14)  

Parenting – I’ve got this!

Rewind to the year 2000:  “Married life is so easy and grand.  We’ve been married 2 years so we have it all figured out now – let’s start a family.  I know people says it’s hard, but it won’t be for me.  I’m sure that my 21 years of life have taught me eeeeeverything I need to know to keep it together and raise wealthy, successful children.  These complaining parents with their money woes and teenage drama – what do they know?  They OBVIOUSLY just don’t know how to do this right!  I’ll show them all!!!!!”

 2001:  “Need sleep . . . can’t function . . . am I wearing clean underwear . . . how did I get to work today . . . did someone say chocolate . . . “

 2002:  “Oh my God I’m gonna have ANOTHER one!!!  I haven’t even figured out how to get the first one to fall asleep at night – what am I going to do with two of them???  What if I lose one because I can’t keep up with two?  What if someone sees the amount of crumbs on my floor and dirty laundry that I don’t have time to wash and decides to have the new baby taken from me at the hospital?  Oh gosh, I wonder if I can ask them to do that?  Okay, no, that’s a bad thought – scratch that!  Deep breath . . . . this is still easy – I’ll just potty train Brooke at 18 months so I can avoid having two kids in diapers.  I mean how hard can it be?  Brooke, meet the potty.  Potty, meet Brooke.  Done.  This will be a breeze – people who complain of potty training problems just don’t know what they’re doing!  And I’m sure that baby #2 will sleep through the night at two weeks and will be an absolute dream.  I’ll get a solid 8 hours of sleep every night and wake each day refreshed and renewed and still manage to have it all together.  Wait, I don’t have it all together now – how in the world could I even think of having it all together in 9 months!  Resume panic!!!!”

Back to reality:  Nine years ago, I thought the world wouldn’t ever be the same – and I was right!  Those years have brought tears, laughter, joy, pain, growth, mistakes, reward, heartache, and most of all the best years of my life!  I’ve learned to love my husband for reasons I didn’t know existed, learned that life is hard because the rewards are worth it, and that I wasn’t supposed to know everything that I needed back then – I had to figure it out as I went along.  I’ve actually had people tell me that they think I’m a great wife and mother (people other than those who are supposed to tell me those kinds of things!).  As much as I treasure the compliment, it humbles me because I know how far I really fall from living up to it!  Sure, from the outside looking in, I can seem at times to have it all together – but we can all do that!  It’s the things that happen daily inside my home that tell the real story.  The times when the day has been too long and the kids talk non-stop on the way home and I know that supper and laundry need to be done when I get there but all I want to do is go to bed . . . Times when one of the kids are telling me something really important about their day, but I don’t hear it because I’m selfishly tuning them out. . . Other times when I know that there are a million things to be done around the house, but I sit on my butt in the recliner typing a blog post . . . LOL!!!  Just to name a few!  So, to help gauge how I’m really doing in the parenting department, I created a little interview for my kids about their views on life in the present and future.  It’s really short – 11 or 12 questions each – and they were interviewed individually and instructed to be totally honest and really think about their answers.  (I also told them that they would not be punished if the answer hurt my feelings – just to be honest.  LOL!!!)  The results aren’t as funny as I expected them to be, but overall I think they are on the right track.  Oh, and I snapped the pics outside real quick while they were playing – sweat, muddy knees and all.  Enjoy . . .


Me:  “Why do you think your parents try and make sure that you do well and make good grades in school?”

Brooke:  “Because they want me to go to have a good college plan.”

Me:  “Do you think that school and education are the most important things in your life?”

Brooke:  “Yeah, kind of”

Me:  “Why?”

Brooke:  “Because if I didn’t have an education, I wouldn’t be as smart as I am now.”

Me:  “What in your life right now do you think is unfair?”

Brooke:  “That’s a hard one.  Does it have to be about me?”

Me:  “Well, it has to be about your life.”

Brooke:  “Oh, I get it.  When Bo hits me and I can’t hit him back.”

Me:  “Why can’t you hit him back?”

Brooke:  “Because you tell me not to, and to just come talk to you.”

Me:  “Do you think that going to college is important and why?”

Brooke:  “Yes, because you can get a better job.”

Me:  “What is it that you hope to learn about in college and what job do you want to have after college?”

Brooke:  “A fashion designer.”

Me:  “What kind of car do you want to drive when you’re older?”

Brooke:  “A silver car like Nanny’s blue car.”  (An Acura TSX)

Me:  “When and where do you think that you will meet the person that you’re going to marry?”

Brooke:  “At college.”

Me:  “How old do you think a person should be before they get married?”

Brooke:  “21”

Me:  “Is there anything about mine and dad’s relationship that you hope to have when you get married?”

Brooke:  “Going on vacations every year.”

Me:  “If you could change one thing about your life, what would it be?”

Brooke:  “My room being upstairs.”

Me:  “What do you think is the biggest problem in the world today?”

Brooke:  “Animal abuse.  I don’t like it.”



Me:  “Do you think it’s important to make good grades in school?  Why or why not?”

Bo:  “Yeah, because if you get too many bad grades, you get held back.”

Me:  “Do you think that being in gifted is cool?”

Bo:  “Yes, because you get to build a 3D house out of popsicle sticks and do fun things.”

Me:  “What is your absolute favorite thing to do?”

Bo:  “Play video games.”

Me:  “Do you want to go to college after you graduate high school?”

Bo:  “Yes.”

Me:  “What do you want to learn to be in college?”

Bo:  “A mechanic.”

Me:  “When you become a grown-up and don’t have to do what your parents tell you to do, what is the first thing you want to do?”

Bo:  “Go shopping.”

Me:  “To buy what?”

Bo:  “Probably basketballs, footballs, baseballs, and stuff like that.”

Me:  “What thing or things about your dad do you hope to be like when you grow up?”

Bo:  “Strong, tall, and fast.”

Me:  “How old do you think a person should be before they get married?”

Bo:  “20”

Me:  “If you could change one thing about your life, what would it be?”

Bo:  “I wish I was stronger.”

Me:  “What do you think is the biggest problem in the world today?”

Bo:  “People are cutting down trees by Ms. Meghan’s.”

 Long story short – Brooke wishes she could hit her brother back, wants her bedroom to be upstairs, and dislikes animal cruelty.  And Bo (I swear he really is in gifted) wants to go to college to be a mechanic and be able to buy sporting equipment.  So people please stop cutting down the trees by Ms. Meghan’s house, and while you’re at it pass the chocolate!!!!!

Published in: on June 14, 2011 at 6:30 pm  Comments (2)  

Sweet Relief

What a week it has been!  I found a lump (technically, I’m told, it’s a mass not lump), went to the doctor so she could tell me it was nothing (only she didn’t), was instead sent for a mammogram (the thought of which was terrifying) that turned into 3 mammograms, which then led to an ultrasound because the 3 squeeze sessions weren’t sufficient, and from there went to see a “breast specialist” (who was absolutely wonderful) to be told that everything on the images looked fine and a biopsy was not needed at this point, and she would re-check everything in 3 months – WOOHOOO!!!!!!!  Okay, so that’s like the LONGEST sentence in history!  Well, that may be an exaggeration (totally unlike me, right?) but it’s probably the longest in MY history!  Anyhoo, the emotional roller coaster of the past week has left me exhausted and more than a tad bit emotional.  Maybe  it’s because I’m so overcome with relief?  Or maybe because my nonchalant approach to the whole thing tells me that I’m more than a little bit detached from reality?  I mean, the entire experience felt like a dream.  One that came and went, and it felt like it could have been real, but I know that it wasn’t.  Geez, I sound a little flaky don’t I?  Hmmm . . . oh well.  I would imagine that you’re thinking “this woman sure does see a lot of doctors” since I’m 2 for 2 on medical office blog stories, but I promise I don’t spend hours and hours at the doctor!  Really!  Scout’s honor!  I’m not a scout, so maybe photographer’s honor!?!?  And actually, there is a bit of humor in all of this lump scare madness!  Naturally, it involves the other people in the Woman’s Hospital Breast Center.  In the waiting room for the mammogram and ultrasound, I was one of 5 women smocked from the waist up awaiting the inevitable clamping machine, and amazingly, I was the only one of the 5 who never uttered a word!  (That’s totally true – no way I could make up something so unbelievable) I think it’s the first time in my life that I’ve been scared wordless!  I wouldn’t have even felt like I was there except for remembering that I rolled my eyes behind my magazine as two of the ladies divulged their entire life histories to the rest of the room!  Even to the point of discovering that their initial exam had taken place on the same day at the same testing center!  I almost laughed out loud when they theorized that the machine must have malfunctioned since they both had been called into the hospital for re-testing because something had shown up on the original scans.  Surely, that wasn’t all coincidence!  (Please read in your best shocking conspiracy theory voice)  Yeah, and oddly enough, the two ladies (who carried on like they had known each other for years) had never met before this day.  As a matter of fact, when the first of the two was called to the back, she turned around before leaving and introduced herself to the other – it was quite comical.  I glanced at the other faces in the room and could tell I wasn’t the only one amused.  The hilarity of it all may be lost in my re-telling, but seriously these women talked like they were in side-by-side chairs at the beauty salon rather than in the breast center because something suspicious was found on their previous mammogram!  OMG people wake up!!!!!!  Sigh . . . deep breath . . . Oh, did I forget to mention that there was a 16 year old boy in the waiting room?  Yes, isn’t that interesting!  Even more so considering that Chatty and Cathy talked incessantly about breasts and lumps and gynecologists and “other” exams pertaining to similar things.  The poor kid kept giving his mother a look that screamed “I swear I’ll never desire to see a naked woman for the rest of my life if you’ll just get me out of here!!!!!” But she was apparently oblivious to how uncomfortable it was for him because she only encouraged the hens by throwing in her own stories and encounters of her womanhood – much to the delight of her son I’m sure!  (And just for those of you as curious as I usually am, the boy was there for an ultrasound to check for appendicitis)  Poor guy – he’ll probably never mention a symptom again in fear of having to return to “that place”.  Wow, when I go back and read what I’ve written, the post isn’t nearly as entertaining as I remember it happening . . . I must apologize for the lame-o story – I promise more interesting material for the next one!  Pinky promise!!!!  Oooooh, but I will leave you with this little jewel – today, after returning to my office from the booby doctor (and after crying in my truck for about 20 minutes before going into the building – I told you I’m emotional people!!!!), I was dying for something chocolate!  Dying may seem a little harsh, but for anyone craving chocolate after a cry-fest, I’m sure you understand.  It seemed like an easy problem to remedy, except that I was out of change for the vending machine.  Saddest story ever, right?  After I combined my 1 nickel with two quarters from Mindy, a quarter from Neal, and a dime from Christy (gotta love sweet co-workers who pool their resources for ya!) I was off to the break room for my “therapy”.  I put the money into the machine, pressed the numbers that would deliver the drool-worthy Reese’s cups, and . . . . yep you guessed it – it got stuck . . .   A nice gentlemen passing by tried rocking the machine (if you are the vending machine police, then I retract the previous statement about the rocking) to knock my treasure free but it didn’t budge.  This was the way my day was supposed to end . . . puffy eyes, runny nose, sore ta-tas and no chocolate . . . . Sigh . . . . (that wasn’t enough) . . . Double Sigh . . . . . If you happen to free a Reese’s cup stuck helplessly in a vending machine, pass it please . . . . pretty please . . . . this chocolate junkie would love to have it!

Published in: on June 2, 2011 at 9:17 pm  Comments (2)  

Great Expectations

I walk into the office of the plastic surgeon that my ENT has set me up with – an appointment that I have been looking forward to for WEEKS!  I’ve thought over and over about how great it would be.  The doctor would confirm my ENT’s assessment that I can’t have the needed sinus surgery without first correcting my deviated (97% deviated!!!) septum, and he would also enlighten me as to how easy it would be to get the rhinoplasty (aka nose job) that I have always wanted while they were in there.  Yep, it was going to be great!!!  Seems pretty cut and dry right?  At least I thought so!  Well, as with most of my great ideas, there were a few things that I hadn’t thought about.  One of those things was the simple act of walking into the waiting room.  As I scanned the figures waiting in the chairs . . . okay so side story – the chairs were all different – no two matching – some of them being way too firm, and others being waaaaaaay too plush sending me plummeting to the ground!  Or so it felt. – I’m not sure if the randomness of seating bothered anyone else that came in there, but it just about gave me hives!!!  Anyhoo, as I was saying, As I scanned the figures waiting in the chairs I immediately began sizing them up.  Hmmm . . . that lady there is probably here for her nose too . . . that big burly guy over there in the steel-toed boots must be here for his eye lids . . . and surely that tanned girl in the back is here post-op judging by the looks of her figure from the “waist up” . . . and that . . . OMG!!!!!  Are these people trying to figure out what I’M here for?!?!?!  I’m pretty sure I just caught that zsa zsa gabor looking lady staring at my chest!  And the botox junkie in the corner scratches her nose every time she looks at me.  What’s that big dude looking at – how dare HE size anybody up????  It was so incredibly overwhelming that I made a quick assessment of the nearest exits from any point in the room.  I’ve never had a panic attack before (except for that one time during an i.v insertion, but that’s an entirely different story . . . ) but I’m pretty sure the on-set of one was in full swing!  I took the clipboard of paperwork from the receptionist and found a seat (the seat that was way too soft and made me flail my arms like a newborn at the feeling of falling to the floor).  Name (um, I wrote Brooke Ellzey instead of Melonie and had to scratch through – I HATE scratch-throughs!!!!) Date of birth (I wrote Brandon’s – scratch-through #2), Address – I got that one right, Phone Number (I put my cell# down only to realize that there was a second phone number line that specifically indicated that it was for your cell phone # – does writing the same phone number in both blanks bother anyone other than me?  No?  Anyhoo . . .), Marital Status – Married (got another one right, my breathing has slowed to a more normal pace, feeling of panic starting to fade . . . ), by the time I finish filling out the 4 pages of my life history, the waiting room is entirely empty except for me.  Phew!  What a relief!!!!!  So what if they stared while I wrote and thought of the dozens of possible reasons why I was there – they were gone now!  Just me, my iphone, the sucky chairs, and the receptionist behind the counter.  5 minutes pass . . . 10 minutes . . . 15 . . . breathing speeds up . . . panic is back . . . This brings me to the other thing that I hadn’t really though about – the doctor was going to want to talk about my nose.  I fully understand that this was exactly what I was there for, but I mean, did we really need to talk about it?  The kids in 4th grade talked about it.  It was mentioned occasionally in junior high.  It was used as an insult lots of times in high school . . . so did we really have to verbalize exactly what was wrong with it now?  I’m totally cool with sitting in the silence, the doctor writing ferociously on his notepad, deciding for himself what would make my nose fit my face . . . “Melonie Ellzey”.  Oh crap, that’s me.  I put away my phone and follow the nurse (who was also the receptionist, but now has a chart and laptop in her hand indicating that she would now be putting on her “assist the doctor” hat.)  She informed me (much to my delight as you can imagine) to the doctor’s office to first “talk” about why I was there.  Great.  Fabulous.  I take a seat on the small sofa (his office furniture all matched – thank God because I was close to the edge) and looked my facially proportionate plastic surgeon in the face.  The conversation went just as I had expected – “Why do you want this procedure?”, “What do you not like about your nose?”, “What is the end result that you are hoping for?” . . . The torture lasted every bit of 30 minutes.  I knew all of the answers to those questions, and I think I did a fairly decent job of putting them into words that dr. perfect could make sense of, but I really don’t think I could have taken another second of discussing the 10 different things that would be done to make my nose “more feminine” as is apparently the end result that I described.  Sigh . . . please pass the chocolate . . . As if the half hour “your nose sucks” convo wasn’t enough, it was followed by a photo session that will be used as my before pictures.  As anyone with a large nose can attest to, a profile picture is nightmare material!  And I had to take about 50 side profile pictures – from every unflattering angel humanly possible.  Oh, but it’s okay because dr. never been teased in his life showed them to me afterward so I could get a better picture of what all he would have to do in this 4 hour surgery.  I mean, who wouldn’t want to see it spelled out so clearly, right?  The modeling shoot was followed by an actual exam of the shnoz during which dr nose job (I’m all out of crafty names for him at this point) had to dictate to his medical assistant (aka receptionist) again every part of the procedure.  Most of the conversation sounded like Charlie Brown’s teacher at this point, but I heard the phrases “wow, that is a bad deviation”, “how do you breathe?”, and “quality of life” mentioned.  By the time I was able to flee from the office, my pre-conceived notions about how “exciting” and “perfect” this was going to go had long since gone out the window.  Don’t mistake me, there’s no doubt in my mind that this is still what I want!  I just never in my wildest dreams imagined that actually putting it into words and seeing it in black-and-white would make me feel this way.  Sigh . . . wow that feels so much better.  Maybe blogging will be as therapeutic as they say . . . but if not, there’s always chocolate . . . pass it please . . .

Published in: on May 13, 2011 at 2:09 pm  Comments (4)