Mine eyes have seen the glory....

When I was about 10 years old, my 5th grade teacher told my mother I was having problems seeing the blackboard. What??? I had no idea I couldn't see. I was carted off to the optometrist. All I remember about him was that he was really old and so was his entire staff. Of course, I was 10 so anyone over the age of 15 was ancient!!

To my glee, I needed glasses. I was totally thrilled!!! I was also crazy!!! I sat at a little table to pick out my first pair of frames. The old lady working there kept trying to sway me toward these little granny-type glasses but I had already spotted the pair I wanted. They were larger, roundish, and brown. Don't they sound exquisite?? God only know what they looked like on me. I picked them out simply because I liked the way the looked on the display.

It took about 2 weeks for them to come in and I was so anxious to get them. Finally, we got the call to come pick them up. I put them on and was in heaven!!! I loved them...I wanted to wear them all the time...I wanted to sleep in them. They were a thing of beauty-the 8th wonder of the world. My spectacular spectacles...

Shortly after that I realized they weren't really that spectactular; they were a huge pain in the ass. They made it damned near impossible to run around outside like the crazy hillbilly child that I was. I mean this was back when kids played outside...back before computers and video games. Ever tried jumping through bushes, crawling under a 50 year old garage, or jumping your hippity hop through an elaborate obstacle course with a pair of glasses on? Not easy to do!

That was the beginning of my life with corrective lenses. I've now worn glasses or contacts for over 31 years. I've thought about lasik surgery but never really considered it. I don't like the idea of anyone cutting on my eye. I'm a baby...

Then along come these new corrective contracts...Paragon CRT lenses. They're therapeutic lenses that you sleep in, take out in the morning, and you can see. What????? Are you kidding me??? What genius designed these things and can I shake his or her hand??

The way they work is just like lasik surgery...they flatten out your cornea and correct your vision. The difference is the lenses don't provide permanent flattening and you don't have to have your eyeball sliced open. If you have problems with the lenses, you just quit wearing them, and your vision goes back to shit. I knew I had to have them.

I picked mine up yesterday and slept in them for the first time last night. Today I went to the optometrist and my vision was already better. In just a few days my vision will be 20/20 or near it without any correction. I'm already in heaven!!!!

As an added bonus....the optometrist is cute and he got his undergrad at Virginia Tech!! Both are plusses!! That reminds me of a story about my friend Willow and a crush she once had on her optometrist but I'll save that for another day.

I have to go look around and see what all I can see with my new eyeballs!!!!

Chick out...

She's got no fingers!!!

There is a genetic condition known as symbrachydactyly, which is an absence of fingers. That’s not funny…not at all. However, the story I’m about the share with you is funny because it involves a buffoon, a Japanese steakhouse, a person with symbrachydactyly, and a conversation about engagement rings.

Imagine if you will…a buffoon. I’m sure everyone has had the horrors of experiencing one at least one time in their life. It was years before I experienced one but one did pop up. I hope he’s the last one. Unfortunately, he was a manager where I work. He’s no longer here…he left to go to Idaho somewhere. I think maybe a buffoon corral or a buffoon asylum. The important thing is that he’s gone…

Okay now imagine knowing a buffoon, working with that buffoon, and now traveling with that buffoon out of state. Oh yeah…why they ever let this man out of his idiot cage I’ll never know.

Now imagine knowing a buffoon, working with that buffoon, traveling with that buffoon out of state, and throw in the tasty little tidbit that the buffoon’s wife has symbrachydachtyly. That’s right…she was missing a few fingers. Oh yeah…we’re going there….

We were attending meetings on site in Arkansas and one night we all met for a bite of dinner at the Kobe Japanese Steakhouse in Little Rock. The group consisted of me, three other coworkers, and…the buffoon. Unfortunately there were five other innocent, Arkansan bystanders seated at the table with us. Those poor, poor people…

Everything started off well until one of the guys started talking about an ex-girlfriend for whom he had purchased an engagement ring. Unfortunately, they broke up before he gave it to her. Buffoon, who was sitting at the middle of the table hears this and yells out, “I didn’t have to buy my wife an engagement ring because she’s got no fingers!!” While saying this he flung his hands about wildly and had a big goofy grin on his face.

Oh…my….God….we sat there stunned into silence. The strangers seated with us all looked like they’d seen a python swallow a small child. The next couple of minutes were horribly uncomfortable. I pondered the idea of jabbing a chopstick into my eye so I could leave right away!! I guess he didn’t think he was loud enough or was upset that we didn’t all jump up and cheer because he once again flung his hands around wildly and yelled even louder, “SHE’S GOT NO FINGERS!!” Hmmm...maybe I should have just jabbed the chopstick into his eye.

By this point it was just downright ridiculous and I had to fight the giggles. I kept thinking, “Don’t giggle!! Don’t giggle!!” I started thinking of horrible things….car accidents, people drowning, dead babies. Finally, I got myself under control.

We scarfed down the food to get the hell out of there. Thank God he had driven over separately because I think I would have hitchhiked back to the hotel to avoid him. I think we might have actually burned rubber leaving the parking lot to get away from him.

When we were safely closed up in our rental car, one of my co-workers said, “Well I guess since the buffoon’s wife’s got no fingers, a hand job is out of the question at their house?” I looked over at him and replied, “Yep, I guess it’s exclusively self service for him.” We looked at one another and fell out laughing. It was horrible, it was funny, it was horribly funny….it was an evening spent with a buffoon….

Chick out….

Take care of those tatas!!!!

Today is October 1…the start of Breast Cancer Awareness Month. It’s a great time to remind everyone to do their monthly self exams.

http://www.nationalbreastcancer.org/About-Breast-Cancer/Breast-Self-Exam.aspx

A few months ago I went for my annual mammogram and they called me back for a more precise mammogram….a spot compression mammogram. Let’s see…how was it different? The regular mammogram feels like your boob is being squeezed really hard….a spot compression mammogram feels like your boobs is clamped inside a bear trap with a fat man standing on it jumping up and down. The tech told me to hold my breath during the scan but what she didn’t know was that it hurt so bad that I couldn’t breathe!! After she was finished I went to the bathroom to check myself and make sure I didn’t have a hole in my boob!! To my untrained eye it appeared to still be intact.

As soon as the radiologist reviewed the results they took me straight to the ultrasound room. I thought to myself, “Shit…I really need to get back to work!!!”

After the ultrasound, the tech left the room and came back with the radiologist. Crap…I knew what that meant. He showed me the spot and had me feel it. Yep, definitely something there!!! He had found something that appeared to him to be cancer.

A week later I went to the Breast Cancer Center at one of the local hospitals. I saw a breast cancer specialist then I had another mammogram, another ultrasound, and a needle biopsy. After the radiologist finished she put a tiny little metal tag in the area. Now my puggle, Georgia, and I have something in common….we’re both microchipped. Well she’s microchipped…I just have a metal shard in my boob. Hopefully, it’s not large enough to set off the metal detectors at airport security. How would I explain that one?

After they poked a hole in my boob, took out some boob tissue, and inserted a metal boob tag they said they would do another mammogram. What?????? You just cut me and now you’re going to squeeze it???? Oh hell no!! I almost took off running!! She explained that it would not be a tight compression—they only wanted to mark the tag. Okay, I decided I could handle that.

Two days later I got the results. They were 99% sure it was steatonecrosis. What the hell is that, you might ask? It’s dead fat tissue. Apparently, my knockers are so big that they’re dying!!! Nah, I’m just kidding. She said it could be caused by trauma or it is also common in large breasted women.

Steatonecrosis is nothing bad but it’s virtually impossible to differentiate steatonecrosis from breast cancer on either a mammogram or an ultrasound and it can actually mask breast cancer. Now I get to go back in December for another spot compression mammogram. I can hardly wait….this time I’m asking for a slug of whiskey and a leather strap to bite down on….

Kettle-WTF??

You would never know it by looking at me but I do like to exercise. My favorite is studio cycling. I decided that I would try the class at the YMCA since I had a membership and everything. At first I hated it because it felt like I had been embroiled in a wild, sexual escapade with a jack hammer. I thought my pubic bone had been shattered by all of the up and down motion on the bike seat….ass up…ass down…ass up…ass down…..etc., etc., etc….I think you get the picture. As time went by the pain ceased and I really, really enjoyed the class.

Well I finally quit going to YMCA because they pissed me off. What? I have to pay a monthly membership fee and pay for the classes. Well kiss my ass, YMCA. I’ll take that money and buy myself a pilates machine. This is exactly what I did and just a couple months later had my carpal tunnel release surgeries, which means I lost a lot of strength in my hands. For the time being, the pilates machine is quietly awaiting my return.

Ever since surgeries I've been super duper lazy so I decided that I needed to get back into things slowly. A couple weeks ago I decided to order a DVD set call Kettlenetics to try and increase my hand strength and get into some sort of shape. I know my shape will always be round but slogging to the kitchen to get a bag of chips without breathing hard is a real goal of mine.

I received the set last week. The kettle bell weight is sooooo cute. So cute that the thought of carrying it everywhere and showing it off actually crossed my mind. I imagine people asking what it is and me answering, “Oh this? Its just my k-bell. Ain’t it cute??”

I watched the intro video prior to my first workout and thought it looked really cool and here it is the kiss of death…..EASY. I am such a fool. Easy? No!! I had my first work out and about 10 minutes into the 20 minute video I thought, “What have I done??? I hate this k-bell!!!” I was sweating like a fat man…a fat man wearing a wool sweater…a fat man wearing a wool sweater in the middle of summer...a fat man wearing a wool sweater in the middle of summer in North Carolina!!!

Thank God they were smart enough to include extra absorbent sweat bands for your wrists in the kit. Otherwise, that damned k-hell…I mean k-bell…would have went through my TV or my wall or knocked out one of my dogs.

I’m going to stick it out and I know it will get easier…I know it will….I know it will…I know it will….

http://www.getkbells.com/product/slimandtone.do

Chick out….

full slip...half slip...Freudian slip...

Okay we’ve all done it. We’ve all said one thing and meant another, right? Normally it’s not that big of a deal. Maybe a little embarrassing but nothing too crazy. Well I suffered from one hell of a Freudian slip a few years ago. One that shook me to my core. One that could have gotten me into trouble had the subject of my slip not been a blooming idiot.

It happened at work because well most of my waking hours are spent at work. I have very little life. I was trying to get past a manager who was blocking my path in the hallway. Let me add that it was a manager that I didn’t like very well and I would have slit my wrists had he been my manager. And I would have done it the right way….vertically not horizontally…to put myself out of my misery.

Normally I would say “Excuse me” but with him (because he was a big, fat, stupid ass) I went for the more smart-ass version of “Excuse you”. At least that’s what I meant to say.

As soon as it came out of my mouth I froze on the inside. I kept walking along like everything was perfectly normal and like I had actually said “Excuse you”. Only that’s not what I said!!!

As I scooted by him, my subconscious took over and I said, “Screw you”. Oh shit…

Hello Dr. Freud, my name is singlegal…

Chick out…..

No, no no! NO, NO, NO!!!!!

Today when I got home and checked the mail I had a very official-looking letter in my mailbox. As soon as I saw it I said,”No, no no!”. When I read the letter that changed to, “NO, NO, NO…..DAMN IT!!!”

It was a letter from the Circuit Court for Baltimore County….a summons for jury duty. An inconvenience yes but is really worth a DAMN IT?? Yes it is and here’s why. I’m supposed to appear for jury duty on November 12th. That date means nothing unless you’re one of 5 girlfriends going on a surprise destination getaway and you’re leaving on NOVEMBER 12th!!! To make matters even more worthy of the DAMN IT!, just imagine that you’re the girl that’s planned the entire trip and none of the other 4 girls even know were we’re going yet. Yep, that’s my predicament.

Immediately, I started running through numerous lies I could use to get out of it….

I have a very important medical appointment on November 12…too risky—I believe in karma.

My mother has a cataract surgery coming up sometime next year…I could lie and say it’s on November 12th…once again—karma.

Do I have a mental or physical disability that could keep me from serving my duty? What kind of disability can I come up with that’s not clearly obvious?? Voices inside my head? The voices told me they would never buy it.

I notice that you’re exempt if you’re over 70 years of age…I could lie and say I’m older than 70….no, they know my age….my damned birthdate is on the summons. *whimper*

I could call and say I’m the singlegal’s sister and she died last year. They would probably ask, “If she died last year then why did she get two driver’s licenses in 2 weeks time?” (don’t ask)

Then I see it…the light at the end of the tunnel!! I can go online and request a later date. I can only do this once but thank God I can do it. I now have to appear at the Baltimore County Courthouse on December 1st. That’s more preferable than burning down the courthouse, which was my only other option. I really need this getaway!!

Whew that was a close one!!!

Chick out….

Bon Appetit!!!

A couple months ago, while recovering from back to back carpal tunnel release procedures, my mother and I went to see the movie Julia & Julia. I was so enamored with the movie that I decided that I must have Child’s cookbook Mastering the Art of French Cooking. I waited and waited and finally ordered it from Borders. Hey I had a coupon so I couldn’t resist.

It’s the fanciest cookbook I’ve ever had. I didn’t even put it down in the cabinet with my extensive collection of southern, church cookbooks (you know the ones with Bettie Lou Sessor’s roll recipe and Hilda Coulthard’s fried chicken recipe and Tucker Wyatt’s deer barbecue?) because it just seemed to exist on a higher plane. It’s a hardback with a book jacket for God’s sake. It’s not a GBC-bound, typewritten bunch of heavenly, hillbilly recipes from a bunch of little, old, church ladies who keep jars of bacon grease in their kitchen cupboards. This is Julia Child...world famous chef and former spy!!!!!

In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I do live alone. Well not exactly alone. My two dogs do allow me to live in their house. However, I do like to cook and I loooooove to eat so every now and then I like to cook something really good. I’m not big on eating out and I eat so much convenience-type food that it’s sort of sad. So this weekend I decided to break out my new cookbook and pay homage to Julia! I worked my ass off to cook something that only I would eat. No visitors…nobody else…just me.

On Saturday I decided to tackle beouf bourguignon. This is just a fancy beef stew made with a few simple ingredients but it took for-friggin-ever!!! First you have to boil bacon, then fry the bacon, then cut up the beef into cubes, then dry the beef with papertowels, then I thought to myself, “Self, what the hell have you gotten yourself into????”. It went on and on and on….

Then I looked at the recipe and noticed that in order to make this recipe correctly, you had to make 2 additional recipes. Oh no you di-unt!!

One recipe was for pearl onions. Okay I’ve only ever seen pearl onions in martinis. Never knew anyone would ever consider cooking them and adding them to a dish. I looked in 2 different stores and all I could find was cocktail onions. Damn it!!! I just settled for a regular onion cut into chunks. I’m no purist….an onion is an onion and if you disagree…well…you can go to hell. The other recipe was for mushrooms…that one was easy so no bitching about it. I considered that a small victory.

In the end it was really, really good. Was it worth cooking and slaving for probably 3 hours (not including the cook time of 3 hours)? Um…hell no! I was only making it for myself and I’m not difficult to impress. From now on if I’m craving beef stew, Chunky has a very nicely flavored, canned variety that I can open and warm in about 5 minutes.

On Sunday I made Potage Parmentier. Well ain’t that fancy?? Let’s see…it’s potato and leek soup. That’s about as fancy as well…as fancy as potatoes and onions!! I love potato soup so I made it following the recipe very closely. By the time it was finished it looked like well like potatoes and onions. That’s not soup!!! You cook the potatoes and leeks in water than mash it up then add either a little butter or a little cream. Hell, I’m southern. I added a lot of cream and a lot of butter. I then said to hell with Julia and tossed in some rosemary too. Julia’s recipe…bluck…my version…delish and much easier than my normal recipe!!!!

That being said, I made 2 excellent dishes this weekend and tons of leftovers. So why did I bring a frozen, low-cal pizza for lunch today??????

Chick out…..

Willow meets a man at Yankee Candle

Before I start this story I’ll give you a brief intro to my friend Willow.

Willow and I have been friends for 20 years. We were assigned at roommates in college and, to be honest, I was none to happy about it. I had transferred to this particular college after 3 years at a community college (where I was trying to find myself…I’m still looking) and she was a freshman. Do you understand? I was 21 and she was 18. HORRORS!!! What would I have in common with an 18 year old??? I actually told her that if I didn’t like her I would get rid of her. Can you believe that? I didn’t mean I would tie her to a block of cement and sink her in a lake or anything. She often brings the conversation up to me and it teeters on being embarrassing. I was a real bitch!

Anyway I was able to overlook her young, young age and we became fast friends. Unfortunately we now live about 500 miles away from one another but we’re still as close as ever.

A little about Willow: she owns her own home, has a stress-inducing management postion working for a group that literally makes money from assholes, owns a cat who is 9 parts cat and one part devil, is very grounded in her life and her religion, and is very close to her family. She’s one of those people that is truly charitable to her soul. When the lightning strikes I want to make sure I’m standing near Willow because her chances of being striken down are naught. Oh yeah…she's also short and stacked and has the most hilarious and sometimes amazing things happen to her. She doesn’t seek this craziness—it finds her.

Anyhoo on with the story….

Let me start out by saying that every woman I know has an almost crack addict-type addiction to Yankee Candle. We walk through the door and get all jumpy and fidgety like an addict needing her next fix. None of us has had to take to the street corners to be able to afford this addiction yet but only because of sales and coupons.


So Willow went on a little shopping excursion this weekend and ended up at Yankee Candle (I can hear Gomer Pyle saying, “Surprise. Surprise. Surprise.”). As she’s browsing the sweet, aromatic goodness of the store, she is approached by a man. (Men in Yankee Candle are nothing new but they’re typically outnumberd by women at a 10 to 1 ratio.) Apparently, this guy was not only hitting on her but was also somewhat of a paranoid homophobe. He said something like, “I like candles and just because I like candles doesn’t mean I’m that way.”

Okay lets stop here and analyze the pick up line.

He says, “I like candles but just because I like candles doesn’t mean I’m that way.” Okay,…he could have tried something like, “I’m trying to pick out some candles and could use a woman’s opinion. What are your favorites?” or “Can you give me some help picking out some candles? I really don’t know what I want’" But nooooooooo he goes straight for the I-like-candles-and-I’m-not-gay line. That is so hot!

Wait a minute…I need to lay down now and recover from this one for a minute. Why would he think that would attract my friend Willow? Granted she explained to me that she was decked out in the “granny jeans and granny sneakers” , which I’m sure was not a super sexy look, but that still gives him no excuse to try a lame line like that on her.

She pretty much ignored him so he then proceeded to tell her that he has a great idea for a new candle scent….peanut butter. Even though it sounds orgasm-inducing, yummy to me she replied that she didn’t think it was a good idea because if she smelled peanut butter it would just make her want to eat. Then she walked off. If he ever had a chance with her, which I don't think he did, he had completely lost her.

Since he was making absolutely no strides in attracting Willow he turned his amazing charm to the sales girls. To them he repeats his great idea for a new candle scent and then adds, “….and you know what I would do with it? I would put it in a tree to attract deer and when they come around….BAM BAM BAM! I would shoot them.”

Whoa….time for a second analysis….

He’s moved on from saying he’s not gay to alluding ot the fact that he’s a testosterone-filled raging heterosexual who would lure a deer to an area with a candle so he could shoot it. Pardon my language but that is a f**king ridiculous way of touting your manliness. What was he going to suggest next? A candle that smelled like balls?? I’m surprised that he didn’t start to rape and pillage right there in Yankee Candle to prove his manhood.

Needless to say, he got nowhere with any woman in the store. Maybe he moved on to Victoria Secret. Can you imagine him there. I like bras but just because I like bras doesn’t mean I’m like that…..

Thanks for sharing the story, Willow!!!

Chick out….