5 for Friday! Those Weird, Wacky World-wide Olympic moments!

 

Well friends, the first week of the 2021 (even if they're calling it the 2020 games, I'm sorry, it's 2021, we really don't need to extend last year any longer do we?) Olympic Games is in the books and I'm here to tell you, all the couch time I've clocked and all the sleep I've lost obsessing about sports and athletes I will have no interest in past August 8 have not been in vain. 

I present the five weirdest, funniest, most head scratching moments of the Olympics thus far!

5)  Joey, you're not supposed to eat pizza and dressage at the same time!

The country of Singapore was eliminated from the equestrian dressage qualifiers on Sunday after a judge found Caroline Chew's horse Tribiani was bleeding from the mouth while competing.

If you're watching the extended coverage either in the middle of the night or by using your Roku device (thank you, NBC, for filing all the coverage under event tabs, BTW, I can skip the soccer and basketball and focus on the freaky stuff the US isn't good at. It's been fun!) then you may have seen this fun nugget from the horsing world.  Basically, Dressage is ballet for horses. During the qualifiers, (which is a bit like watching the compulsory events in ice dancing), the horse representing Singapore, hilariously named TRIBIANI, bit either his tongue or the side of his mouth during his routine and since bleeding is a no no in Olympic competition (Do they call that the "Louganis" rule?) both horse and rider were DQ'd.  

4) Sir, please freak out behind the fence.

Australian swim coach, Dean Boxall, is an emotional guy. Never more, however, than when Ariarne Titmus won a gold medal.

Now, emotional celebrations are a big part of the Olympics. But I'd like you to watch as a very dedicated Japanese usher politely does her job. LOL

3)  Not nearly as pretty, but also not as lethal.

Dutch men's mountain biker, Van der Poel, crashes on the course. The next day, for the women's event, someone put up what looks like a ramp made of wood pallets. You know, for safety.

2) This would win the $100K on America's Funniest Home Videos.

I might be the biggest fan of Olympic Skateboarding EVER! 

Wait, what I meant to say is, I really hope Angelo Caro Narvaez isn't seriously hurt.

1)  The winner of the first ever Red Foreman "Dumbass" Medal.

Xiao Ruoteng of China! This genius was LEADING the men's individual all around gymnastics competition until the final event, the horizontal bar.  After his routine, he celebrated on the stage, went down to the team "dugout" area, then CAME BACK UP TO CELEBRATE MORE while another gymnast was readying himself to do his routine on the bar.

The judges had the right to deduct his score 3 tenths of a point. Which they did. 

Mathematically speaking, Xiao would still have lost the gold to Japanese teen sensation Hashimoto, but this gap in manners and common sense was just, as Red Foreman would put it: 

"I feel that I did well today, and I am pretty satisfied with my performance. This medal is really big for me. It's a result of what I have worked for up until now," said Xiao.

Sure.  That's the face of a guy who isn't afraid to go home.

There you have it my friends, the 5 most fun, weirdest, hilarious moments.  

I have to give an honorable mention to France’s Pauline Ferrand-Prévot, female mountain bike race favorite, who fell off her bike and got caught in a guard net, then slide a couple feet down on wet rocks while trying to retrieve her bike that seemed determined to stay away from her.  She was in the lead until that moment.  THAT'S the agony of defeat right there!

5 for Friday! Lessons Sarah has learned.

 

It's been quite the week and I've learned some stuff...so let's just get to it!

5)  Follow the Directions...READ the directions!

In the last several years I haven't felt the need to shave my legs all that much. I mean, first of all, I live in a climate where we wear long pants 9 months out of the year.  Second, my leg hair hasn't grown in as much as it did in my 20's. Finally...I just don't care that much, especially after COVID!

BUT, I'm going out and about this weekend and I want to look less gross. in studying myself critically I noted that while my leg hair wasn't all that thick...it was LONG.  I mean, I had weird long strands hanging off my leg like some kind of balding bear.  

Time to get rid of that!

Now, I could have just shaved my legs and been done. But, that wouldn't be funny, right?  No, instead I cracked into a bottle of Nair I bought...let's just say a while ago.  

For my younger readers, please enjoy this Nair commercial from my teen years:  

For the rest of you, sing it with me: Who wears short shorts?

Okay, that was fun.  Back to my lesson. I haven't used Nair in some time, but hey, I mean, it's Nair. I'm from the Nair generation.  I KNOW HOW TO USE NAIR without reading the directions!

No I don't.

I poured a ton of that cream on my legs and rubbed it in HARD so that I could chemically melt all traces of leg hair. And my skin really sucked the heavy smelling stuff in, like it knew I was also trying to fry the follicles. 

Aaaaaaand then I checked the directions.  DO NOT RUB IN screams the bottle in big block letters. 

I feared some kind of weird skin burns, but no. Instead, fun fact, Nair, if rubbed in, DOES NOT rinse off all that easily. Two showers later, my pores are still oozing a bit of greasy, chemical smelling goo.  Very sexy.   So...yeah.

4) Boy, I really thought I would die. Guess not. 

So Hubby and I started doing Noom back the end of May.  For those of you not in the know, Noom is NOT a diet program.  I had my doubts, I've done a lot of diet programs, but honestly...this one works.  I'm learning far more about food than I thought I would and, since the end of May, I've dropped12 pounds, I'm sleeping better, and I'm walking stronger and further than I used to.

Also, and this is big, I GAVE UP COFFEE CREAMER! 

My coffee used to look like this:    

But when I realized that my quarter cup of creamer took up all my red calories (read here: DELICIOUS calories) I decided to try something else. So I could, you know, eat solid food the rest of the day.

So I stopped putting coffee creamer in my coffee. And I didn't DIE!

Instead. I swapped my heavy, sweat, lovely coffee creamer for something I used to think would literally kill me:  

That's right. I now dress up my coffee with unsweetened, unflavored almond milk  (and a little packet of STEVIA sweetener.)  And guess what?

I haven't died!  I haven't died so much so that I've started putting this magical nut juice (which is a GREEN FOOD on Noom) on my bowl of cereal (Life Multigrain Cinnamon, which is also a green food.)  And I haven't died!

3)  "Blue" is not a drink. But it can be.

It's summer and in the summer I enjoy the adult beverages that only seem to pop up in summer: the blue ones.  Every restaurant seems to have a blue beverage for summer and the recipes vary.  They're usually called something like "Blue Bahama" or "Beach Bum" or something.  I don't know.  I don't care. I know it's blue and I like blue drinks in the summer.  

So after the Farmers Market last week Hubby and I went to Sobelman's, a local eatery here in town known for their insane Bloody Marys. (I don't like Bloody Marys. I like everything that goes into one, but something happens when you mix is all together and I find it gross.) 

Our server asked us for a drink order. Hubby ordered a beer and I said, "I'll have whatever your blue drink is."

Friends, the look on her face was precious! I should have taken a picture.

Apparently, "Blue" is not a drink order.  Well, it should be.  I give her points though, she walked up to the bar tender (we were able to watch because the eatery was pretty much empty, given how late in the day we were having lunch)  and asked about a "blue drink." Where the server was confused and struggling valiantly to help me, the bartender was nonchalant.  A few moments later, out came a wonderful blue drink.  The "Blue RaspBetty White."  Apparently, Sobelman's HAS a drink called the RaspBetty White.  Our resourceful bartender simply added blue curacao.

2) There's a rule about seafood for a reason.

Hubby has kind of a picky stomach. There are certain foods from certain eateries that he simply cannot eat because his body reacts...quickly and with great violence.  I, however, have never had that problem.  (Fun fact, regardless of what certain former employers might think...I don't think I've ever actually had food poisoning! LOL)

Well, I'm not sure if it's age or the fact that I'm eating less greasy/processed foods lately or what, but last night Hubby, Peaches, and I ate at an establishment we've not been to in a VERY VERY VERY long time. I ordered the seared scallops.  (A green food on Noom...but the drawn butter IS NOT.)  I enjoyed the seared scallops.

My internal system, however, did NOT enjoy the scallops.  I'm just glad there was a Kwik Trip  close to the eatery.  Kwik Trip has the only public restrooms I come close to trusting. And I'm sure Peaches, when she reads this, will be very happy I didn't use her restroom instead!  LOL

I haven't fully sworn off scallops. But, I will probably not order them again from a place that specializes in seven forms of steak.  

1) You'd think I knew everything about cat hair.  And yet...

Okay, you'd think I'd know this, but apparently not.  IF you have cats and IF you use those fuzzy hangers that grip your clothes and keep them from falling on the floor because you're a big fluffy girl and clothing designers have decided that since you're a big fluffy girl you must have a massive neck and therefore must wear tops with a neck hole the size of the Grand Canyon...

...wait, where was I?

Right, velvet hangers.

If you have cats and if you use these hangers do not, I repeat, DO NOT lay the hangers on your bed.

I mean, unless you like having cat hair INSIDE your tops. I'm not going to tell you how to live.

5 for Friday: Oh we are NOOMIN' NOW!

 

Hey all!  I'm not even going to apologize for being MIA since April.  I had a big old book project that ate up all my time and pretty much sucked the patience I had for the outside world right away.  However, I am pleased to announce that my 16th book DEAL WITH A DEVIL  is now available in print or digital format on Amazon or if you want an autographed copy, leave a message in the comments and I can hook you up!  

With the publication of #16, I get a bit of my life back which means I'm out and about and watching humans being humans to other humans. Which is fun.  But...not NEARLY as fun as the new thing Hubby and I are now doing to ourselves.  

We are NOOMIN'!

Ah yes, you've seen ads on TV, you've ignored posts on Facebook, but now, here I am, and I'm doing this and I'm going to up on the vegan-crossfit-NPR listener soapbox (If all those folks will just clear out for a moment) to tell all about NOOM!

Well, at least I'm going to tell you five things I've learned in the 3 weeks we've been Nooming.  

Ready?

5)  It's the Noomiest Noom that ever Noomed!

The Noom app involves 9-11 minutes each day of mini educational sessions.  That's fine.  But what they don't tell you in the TV commercials is that the people who write these little sessions are, apparently, the bastard children of Dr. Suess.  Terms like Noomify, Noomnerd, Noom Coach and phrases like "tame your elephant," are quite common and have actually changed how Hubby and I talk to each other.  

"Did you Noom today?"

"No, I haven't. I'll Noom later."

"I'm going to have to Noomify dinner so it'll fit into our calorie budget."

And fun stuff like that.

 

4) I can't feel superior anymore.

I am one of the many, many, many people who watch "My 600 pound life" and cheer and jeer the...what, contestants...the 600 pound people because of all the denial they're in.  

"I only eat two meals a day."

Yes, one that takes all morning, and one that takes all afternoon.

"I only cheated a little."

Cue images of the chunky monkey eating a gallon pail of...chunky monkey.

"I stuck to the diet, I have no idea why I gained weight."

Cue image of the diet-testant eating an extra large thick crust extra cheese extra everything pizza while shot-gunning a 2 liter of grape soda.

"All I ate was a salad."

Topped with a pound of bacon, a pound of cheese, and a whole bottle of full fat dressing.

Well, kids, I'm here to tell you, I can't mock these people anymore. I've always said, I know why I'm fat. Exercise hurts and food is yummy.  Well, the reality is that I am just as much in denial as any of the fine folks weighing in on Dr. Now's scale.  Portion control, number of meals a day, actual caloric content of my diet...it's all very, very, very shocking.

Dr. Now tells those fatties on his show that they've got to be eating 10,000 calories a day.  That's a shocking number. Or it was, until I started writing down every single mouthful of food I inhale.  Then 10,000 doesn't seem so bad.

Yep, Noomin' involves logging all your food. Now, there are a crap ton of foods already in the app, but I like to break things down to their microscopic pieces.  (It helps that I rarely cook anything with more than four ingredients.)  This has become a game for us.  We sit there on the couch, logging our food, and then say, "what did you come up with?"

I'm probably still in denial about portion size.  I mean, a quarter cup, that's what, like the size of a cereal bowl, right?  But I'm learning.  Wait, no I'm NOOMING.

3)  Eat a pound of salad or a pound of cheese. Either way, you're going to want to die.

While I am learning to eat more green food I have a sneaking suspicion that Noom was NOT invented by anyone from Wisconsin. All dairy products seem to be on the RED list (foods to be limited).  

Noom does a lot of comparing foods. Like, let's say a pound of cheese vs. a pound of salad.  It's a pound.  But the cheese is...delicious.

Wait, no, that's not the NOOM BRAIN.  

The cheese is calorie dense, see.  So if you actually ate a whole pound of cheese, you'd shoot your entire caloric budget for several days, plus you'd be, you know, really clogged up.

Now a pound of salad, says Noom, is Noomalicious!  If I'm Noomin' properly, I could eat a pound of salad every single minute of the day because it is not (at least, as long as we don't add bacon, cheese, or dressing) calorie dense.

However, eating a lot of salad, which I have done in the last three weeks, also takes its toll on the human system.  In short, I'm really, really NOT clogged up.

Given my extreme love of public restrooms (hear the sarcasm?) I can only go out for as long as my system tolerates whatever amount of GREEN food I've dumped in there. Without the usual metric ton amount of RED foods to balance it out, well, let's just say I've added NOVELS to the reading material in the bathroom.  

2)  True Noomin' involves what?

When you're Noomin', Noom gives you a calorie budget for each day.  That number, at first, is a little reminiscent of a certain Dr. with long name and a wildly heavy accent...I won't mention any names or numbers...but it's a tiny number...new Noomers feel like they might starve.

But, and here's where Noom is super sneaky...you can EARN more calories per day.

How?

Well, get off your couch and EXERCISE!  

Those of you who know me, know I enjoy talking to people who are on crutches or in slings.  I like finding out how they got hurt. And then I like saying, "Hey, you know who didn't get hurt?  ME! Because you can't get hurt lying on your couch!"

But now, if I want ice cream, I can have it.  But if I want ice cream and want to fit it in my calorie budget for the day, I HAVE TO MOVE my fat butt!

Which means that there's a real mental struggle every night around 9 PM when I'm sitting there, craving some Peanut Butter Chocolate Ice Cream, I know I can have it...if I get up and lift weights or go walking for like half an hour.

So if you drive past my house and it's 100 degrees outside and I'm walking, or it's 10PM and I'm on the treadmill or lifting weights in my basement if means I'm trying to earn more calories so I can eat a red food without the crushing weight of guilt.  (And if you hear a sonic boom late at night, don't worry. That's just my brain exploding, after I spent ten minutes staring at in the fridge trying to do the math to find out if I can eat something that wasn't harvested from a garden.  Because, you know...math.)

So, exercise and math.  Two things that go great together, at least in Noom. Like peanut butter and chocolate.

Now I want Ice Cream.

1)  Wait, this seems familiar!

All this talk of green, red, and yellow foods...it seems familiar. Like I've heard of this concept before.

Wait a minute...

OH. MY. GOODNESS!

Okay, yes, now I remember watching these commercials about planning your meals and moving cards from one part of the Deal a Meal folder to the other side. You had X number of cards in each color and when you were done out of cards you were done with that kind of food for the day.

Sort of like the Red, Green, Yellow in Noom. When you're done with the allotted calories in each category you're done (theoretically) with that food.

But no...it's NOOM, it's NEW!

No it's not. There's nothing new in the weight loss game. Less in. More out.  Duh.

Now, where did I put my "Sweatin' to the Oldies" tape?

How about a little taste of "Deal with a Devil?"

 

Hello all!

If you're following my author page on Facebook or if you've friended me on my personal page, you know I've been working the past year on a NEW novel that is a continuation of my Rock Harbor Chronicles series.  I'm so excited to tell you that "Deal with a Devil" is only a tiny bit behind schedule at this point and WILL be released EARLY Summer 2021! 

Since we're in the throes of final edits (a back cover development, which is the WORST!) I thought I'd share a tiny little snippet of the book.  I'm doing this in part to give my readers something to be excited about, but also to prove to my family that I'm not just ignoring them when I go into my office and put on the headphones!)  So...dear blog readers...you are the FIRST (other than my critique partner and proofer/beta reader) to see this bit of the book. Enjoy!

Leo looked up from heaving a forty-pound bag of ice into the cooler. Jenna and C.C. walk in. He gave them a quick wave, and in doing so, managed to dump several ice cubes on the floor behind the bar.

“Dude, would you stop gawking at that lumberjack chick and pay attention to what you’re doing?” Mack barked. “I don’t feel like falling on my ass just because you have a thing for manly girls.”

Leo flushed, and glanced quickly at Jenna and C.C. He hoped they couldn’t hear Mack’s rant. “Listen, Mack,” he growled in a low voice. “Lay off the rude comments about women, especially that one.”

“Look who’s suddenly sensitive about how we talk about women!” Mack frowned. “Since when are you so in touch with your inner feminist? I’ve heard you say things about women that makes me look like a freakin’ still life of chivalry.”

Leo arched an eyebrow. “What does that even mean? ‘Still life of chivalry,’ that makes no sense.”

“You make no sense.”

“You’re an idiot.” Leo knelt to clean up the ice.

“I’m not the one makin’ eyes at Sasquatch.”

Leo’s hands tightened into fists. “Watch it.”

“Come on man. Open your eyes. She’s got the shoulders of a professional wrestler, but not a hot one, more like Hulk Hogan.”

Leo stood, squared his shoulders and raised his chin looking Mack in the eye. “Close your mouth or lose teeth.”

“Whoa, calm down. I’m kidding.” Mack glanced at Jenna. “I wasn’t trying to turn this into a throwdown. I would like to point out the smoke show that walked in behind the wall that is the woman you love.”

Leo blinked and stepped away from Mack to get a better view of where Jenna and C.C. sat. There, next to Jenna, was a woman he’d didn’t recognize. And that must be the long-awaited Mikayla.

Mack stared at the woman. “Do I have to treat her with respect, too, or can I keep thinking about everything I want to do with her?”

Leo was going to slap Mack down with a sharp retort, but instead he paused and studied Mikayla. She sat at an angle, her mile-long legs crossed and pointed in his direction. Every angle on her was geometric, sharp, and sleek; with not a hint of softness or weakness. With her shoulders squared and her chin up, she looked like she owned the room. This was a woman who owned men more than loved them.

He knew the type too well.

Leo grinned. “Sorry, Mack, I’m calling dibs.” He stretched his arms in front of him, and cracked his knuckles. “Watch and learn.”

“Yeah, I knew that whole nice guy thing was an act.”

“Oh, I’ll be nice, buddy. You can have her when I’m done.” Leo patted Mack’s chest, closed the ice cooler, and walked to the table. “Hello ladies.” He gave Jenna a warm smile and didn’t miss her blush.

“Hi, Leo,” C.C. responded in a more low-key tone than usual.

“Hey kid, you okay?”

 “My dad doesn’t want me. Plus, I have to go to school here and not at home with my real friends.”

Leo didn’t miss the weary expression on Jenna’s face.

“Oh…kay. We can talk about that later. How about if you introduce me to your friend?”

“Oh, right,” Jenna said with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm. “Mikayla, this is Leo. He’s my…he’s working with Shara. Leo, this is my cousin, Mikayla.”

Hm. “He’s my…” That’s a sentence I’d like Jenna to finish.

Leo turned his attention to Mikayla. “Good to meet you.” He put his hand out to shake hers. Mikayla jumped up and kissed both his cheeks and his lips, and laughed as she stepped back. Leo watched as Jenna’s expression sagged. “You’re not from around here, so I gotta tell you something.” He kept his eyes on Jenna. “Probably a good idea not to kiss guys you’ve just met. That’s how nasty rumors get started.”

“Who says I don’t want to start some rumors?” Mikayla’s voice was breathy. “But aren’t you adorable to care? N’est-il pas délicieux?”

Leo shot a quizzical look at C.C., who shrugged.

“I’m so happy to meet you. It’s a cold, cold night, and I’m a lonely girl.” Mikayla bit her lip and batted her eyes.

Her antics were so over the top, Leo wanted to laugh, but he sensed any attempt on his part to make nice with the cousin would further Jenna’s downward spiral. She already looked ready to cry. “I work here, so, I can’t join you,” he said to Mikayla, who rewarded him with a fake pout. Fake. Fake airs, fake face, and the French is a big old layer of fake. “I’m a bar back.”

“Is that an important job?”

Leo wanted to plug his ears. Mikayla’s high-pitched, infantile tone set his teeth on edge. “I lift stuff.” He glanced at C.C. who seemed to be mirroring Jenna’s dour demeanor, but with more conviction. “Hey, kid, why don’t you and I see if the cook is making the burgers right?”

Obediently, but will little joy, C.C. followed him to the kitchen. As they passed Mack, Leo nodded. “All yours, buddy.”

“Too hot for you, huh?” Mack grinned; his perfectly bleached teeth gleamed in the bar’s low light.

They’re perfect for each other.

Once in the kitchen, he hoisted C.C. on a prep table and looked her in the eye. “Okay, what gives?”

“What gives what?”

“Let’s start with your bad attitude. I saw the new room Jenna did for you. It’s cool.”

“Is it?”

“Well, I mean, it’s a little girlie for me, but I think for a young lady like yourself, with an interest in the color of pink, it’s great.”

“Yeah, fine, it’s cool. But it means I live here. And I have to go to school here, which means I won’t ever see Thor and Thorina again.”

“Well, I’m sure…wait, Thor and Thorina?”

“Yeah, only my best friends in the world.”

“Are they twins?”

“No.”

“Weird parents?”

“Uncle Benny can fit four giant cinnamon rolls in his mouth at one time and Aunt Cat dies her hair bright colors depending on what the special coffee flavor of the day is, but I don’t think that’s weird.”

“You’re right. They sound perfectly normal.” Like I would ever know what perfectly normal looks like. “Anyway, I don’t think that means your dad doesn’t want you anymore. Maybe he thinks living with Jenna in a different place would be good for your education, you know? I mean, Rock Harbor is really different from Nashville. Think of the new stuff you might learn about, like farming. Then, when you go back, you’ll be smarter than the rest of your class.”

C.C. cocked her head to one side, reminding Leo a bit too much of a puppy he’d had when he was eight. She blinked and smiled weakly. “You’re trying to make me feel better.”

“Is it working?”

“Maybe. Can you and I still hang out?”

“Only if you answer this: what is the deal with Mikayla?”

C.C.’s eyes lit up. “I know! She’s all ‘blah, blah blah’ with French. Do you know what she’s saying?”

“No idea.”

C.C. giggled. “Oh man! You should have seen Jenna before.”

“Why, what happened?”

“She cursed big time!”

Leo grinned. “Jenna doesn’t swear.”

            C.C. shook her head, her raven dark pony tail swinging. “Today she did!”

            Leo leaned closer and lowered his voice. “Okay, little sister, spill. What made your big sis blow her top?”

            “Frou-Frou. Frou-Frou pooped on the floor in the kitchen. Jenna didn’t see it and when she came out of her room all prettied up for tonight-”

            “Why, what’s tonight?”

            C.C. punched her tiny fist into his shoulder. “She was coming out to see you, goofy. Also, I think she’s trying to be like Mikayla which is…ew.” C.C. shuddered.

            “Yes. Very-ew.” Leo agreed. “Who is Frou-Frou?”

            “Oh, that’s Mikayla’s rat.”

            “She has a rat?”

            C.C. nodded. “I mean, she says it’s a dog, and he definitely poops like a dog, I watched him do it. But he’s too tiny to be a dog.”

            “What does he look like?”

            “He looks like a rat. Like a cute fluffy rat. I like him. But not Jenna. She stepped in that poop and then she used all the words Dad tells the hockey players not to use when I’m at the rink.”

            “So, Mikayla brought a dog.”

            “Leo, it’s not a dog. It’s a tiny toy baby puppy thing that’s too cute-but I’m pretty sure it’s some kind of rat. Jenna wanted to put him outside, but Mikayla said the vultures and the bears would eat him.”

            Leo grinned. “I can’t wait to meet this dog.” He hoisted C.C. off the prep table. “Time for you to go back to your table and for me to go back to work.”

            “Hey, Leo?”

            “Yeah?”

“What’s the deal with the kissing?”

“Kissing?”

“Mikayla kisses everyone on both cheeks. But she kissed you on the mouth.” C.C. paused and frowned. “Was it disgusting?”

“Did it look disgusting?”

C.C. giggled. “It looked dumb. Was it gross?”

Leo smiled. “Well, for a guy like me, kissing is rarely ever gross.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “But it wasn’t great.”

“Not like kissing Jenna would be, I bet.”

Not like kissing Jenna. Leo blinked. “What makes you think-”

“I keep telling you, I’m not some dumb kid. I see how Jenna blushes when you talk to her. I see your dumb smile when she walks in. Why don’t you two date, fall in love, get married, and maybe I can live with you guys in a real family.”

“You’ve got it all planned out, don’t you?”

“Well, I mean, if I have to live here, it would be nice to live with a family. A kid needs structure.”

“Yeah, and a kid needs to go order her dinner. If you don’t hustle out there, I bet Mikayla will try and order you a salad instead of a cheeseburger.”

“No way!”

“Oh, she’s definitely the salad type. Look at her.” Leo and C.C. peeked around the corner at the table. “Yep, she is one hundred percent a salad person. And you just know she’s telling your sister that Brussel sprouts are better for you than French Fries.”

“Dave doesn’t have Brussel sprouts, does he?”

“He got a shipment in yesterday. We’ve got a ton of the leafy, green little balls all set to be boiled and sent to your table!” Leo laughed.

“Gross!” C.C. walked back to the table, but in much higher spirits than she had been.

Jenna looked up from the menu and caught Leo’s eye. She smiled gratefully, which made him feel like he’d done something good. See, I am a nice guy. Leo Morrison is a nice guy.

Then Leo watched Mack check his breath before walking to the table. He felt like he’d also done something terrible, although he couldn’t decide if it was to Mack or Mikayla.

My WHAT is sputtering?

 

Happy Friday all!

Today's blog deals with women's issues, especially menopause, iron and anemia, and doctor's appointments. I write blogs like this to comfort, educate, and amuse my fellow women.  If we talk about this stuff, it won't be as foreign.  If we laugh at it, it won't be as scary.

For those of you who are NOT adult women, be warned:  there is some icky female medical stuff ahead.  I don't want any of you stopping me at church or the library or someplace you might see me and say, "Well now I can't get that image out of my head!

This week has been all about the doctor's office.  Three trips to the same building in three days.  I definitely live a special kind of life.  #donthatemebecauseimawesome.

The first appointment was for my bi-annual "pop your feet in the stirrups and scooch" good time with my GYN.  Now that I'm done having babies and I'm past the half century mark in age, they really do not care about what's going on down there all that much. It's all about the upstairs girls now.  But, every so often they need to take a peak and make sure, especially now that I'm in that super fun perimenopause portion of my life, that nothing weird or alien is happening.  

As it turns out, I was well past the whole "bi-annual" peppy pap schedule.  Sure, they've been mining for all sorts of other nonsense in my womb without a view over the last five years, much of which was because my iron levels are so ridiculously low, they thought I might have a bloodsucking creature of some kind hiding in my baby space.  So my GYN, who is precisely half my age and one third my weight, sat down and, while conversing about other things as if my lady bits weren't hanging right there in front of her face, she poked and scraped and got her testing material. Then she said something that made me laugh too hard for a woman in that delicate position.

She said, "Now, when you see the test results before I do, and you will, if there's anything that seems abnormal, don't freak out."

Don't freak out.  She said that. To me. About medical test results.

Did I mention I'm currently rewatching "House?" 

Not my GYN. MY Gyn is scary by accident.

Well I mentioned it to her.  And she said, "Yeah, they see a lot of zebras on that show, don't they?"

Referring, of course, to the thing my husband says to me all the time, "When you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras."

Except, we live in a very zebra filled world over here at the Bradley place. So...

Anyway apparently some new law has decided that we the people need to see our test results BEFORE the doctors who tested us.  Like seeing our grade on a math quiz before the math teacher gives us the grade. It  makes no sense. Why would anyone want that?  I want a nice, neat letter, like I used to get:  Dear Sarah...everything's normal.  Thanks. See you in two years."

But no, now I sit here and check my online health profile and wait. And wait.  I haven't seen those test results.  And since I now know I'm getting them first, I have to wonder what's going on.  So, guess what?  I'm FREAKING OUT!

The second appointment was no biggie. Labs over at the cancer center. And before my readers freak out, let me explain. My anemia/iron problems are a blood issue. Apparently ALL blood doctors are cancer doctors.  Hence and ergo, when I go get my blood drawn to check my iron, it's all at the cancer center side of the clinic.  (Which, BTW, is WAY better run than the normal people's clinic downstairs in the same building. That's the circus show there all they do all day is decorate for holidays and yell people's private medical info across the room.)  I don't mind going for blood draws at the cancer center. The folks are nice, efficient, I rarely have to wait and the needle stick doesn't hurt at all.

Finally, the third appointment.  Seeing my blood doctor to go over my test results of the blood draw.  

Not my blood doctor, but I wish he could be!

My blood doctor sort of seems like what would happen if Howard from "Big Bang Theory" and Skippy's BFF's brother melded DNA.  He's like this super chirpy nerdy guy with really, really thick hair. I adore him because he takes the time to talk to me like a person. I suppose cancer doctors have to do that.  Sure, his scales weigh me heavier than any other on the planet and his blood pressure machine measures mine roughly ten points higher than any other place, but other than that, I really don't mind going to his office. Dr. "Blood" and I have spent the last two years searching for the source of my low iron/ low energy issues.  Those discussions have led us down some serious rabbit holes, but none so fun as the one yesterday.

I told him I'd been to my GYN and we again discussed my monthly punctuation.  I was actually managing the iron I got from an infusion back in June pretty well, and Dr. Blood was confused because he expected that me being me, my iron levels would be in the basement.  Then we talked about my recent punctuations (and the previous lack thereof). We discussed flow and cramps and frequency and everything and we laughed because we both have a pretty irreverent sense of humor and my guess is he doesn't get a lot of laughs in his line of work.

We talked about my diet and how I'm trying to eat iron rich foods since we already know I don't absorb iron supplements at all.  As it turns out, I don't absorb iron from my food either.  So, hey, why am I even bothering with veggies?

Anyway, so Dr. Blood and I were chatting about my punctuation and then he says this:

"I think you're managing your iron better because your ovaries are sputtering."

Howard just told me my ovaries are sputtering.

 And, after three trips in three days to the same building and having my temperature taken 3 days in a row and being asked if I'd traveled out of the country 3x, this is my takeaway:

1)  Don't read my GYN test results no matter what because clearly they're trying to freak me out.

2) My iron levels aren't normal, but they're not on the floor either, which is remarkable for me.

3) I don't have to eat veggies because there's no point.

4)  I'm old enough to have sputtering ovaries.

So there you have it! Enjoy your weekend and try not to picture sputtering ovaries. Especially don't picture mine!  LOL

Dad's chin and Mom's exhaustion: Sarah's thesis on genetics

 

This post deals with female issues, specifically punctuation of all kinds.  Small children, men, and various woodland creatures may find what follows disturbing, horrifying, or hilarious, but for all the wrong reasons.  (Which is just as bad.)  

So a little background on me, for those of you who don't know: I am the child of one of the original home nutritionists.  Oh, I know.  Look at me. My whole aura just screams, "RAISED BY A HEALTH FOOD ADVOCATE."

Seriously, though. My mom, a 1970's housewife living in a small suburb of Flint, Michigan, with no internet, no cable TV, and no money, was howling about food additives  my entire childhood.  See, my brother was really sick as a baby, so spent a lot of time in doctor's offices. A LOT of TIME.  And, during these many visits, she'd pick up a little magazine called "Prevention." (Heard of it?  Of course you have.  They sell it at the supermarkets now. It's housed right above the racks of candy bars.)  She'd read this article and that and by the time I was in first grade she was an expert on things like BHA, BHT, Sodium Nitrate, Mono sodium glutamine,  Blue Lake 7, Red dye 40. I could go on, but you get my drift. (BTW, no seven year old should know how to pronounce Mono sodium glutamine, much less what it is and where to find it.  Why?  Because that seven year old is going to get brutally teased when she shares this information with her classmates.  Or she might be...you know...maybe. Not that I know from ACTUAL experience.)

All this means that while my classmates were happily eating Oscar Meyer bologna on Wonder Bread, I was eating home made meatloaf on whole wheat bread.  And not the soft, lovely whole wheat they have now, no. This was the crumbly, thick, sawdusty and gravel concoction.  While my friends were trading Ding Dongs for Twinkies, I was eating...well nothing. My mom wasn't what you'd call a baker, and also she hated sugar.  (There was one famous rant one night where she tore open all the cabinets in our house yelling, "THERE'S SUGAR IN EVERYTHING!  EVEN OUR SALT HAS SUGAR IN IT!")

Mom didn't stop with food additives, oh no.  She kept reading.  She got to be an expert on everything from electrical wiring to politics to World War II to female health.  She is one of those people who educates herself about whatever it is she wants to know. She doesn't just answer her question...no no. She all but earns a degree in what she's researching.

Also, my mother is, and has been most of her life, exhausted and a little cranky.

I mean, who wouldn't be?  All that label reading!  All that preaching! All that studying and worrying and working and watching and measuring and GACK!

Now, for those who know me, you know I am so very, very NOT like that.   

I mean, yes, I try to eat healthy, who doesn't, but I've been known to look less at labels and more at taste.  I gave up diet soda, not because I read that artificial sweeteners will give me brain lesions, but  because I had to admit...I don't like the taste. When I want to know something I look it up, get the answer, and move on. Or I watch a documentary about whatever, and absorb what I can before I fall asleep. I rarely read magazines, certainly not health centered ones.  I'm not an expert on anything, except possibly Rick Springfield's musical catalog, the film work of Russell Crowe, and speaking "movie quotes" fluently. Other than that, I don't get too terribly riled up about much.

So Mom and I came into menopause with very different attitudes. She knew exactly what she was and was not going to let her doctor prescribe for her. She had read everything about everything a month before her first hot flash.  She got through it without most of us even realizing it was happening.

I, on the other hand, am winging it.  My GYN doc's nurse called me last month to move my bi-annual "let's pop those feet in the stirrups and see what's going on in there" appointment because the doc had been exposed to COVID and was in quarantine. Fine with me. I'm not worried about it. I'm the one who doesn't sweat stuff like regular appointments.  (Just ask my dentist.  Apparently,  my last cleaning was in 2018.  I tried to plead "COVID" but we've been going to the same dentist for about 15 years now and his receptionist knows me too well.)

Anyway, back to the phone call with the nurse. While she and I were rescheduling the appointment, she asked if I had any questions.  I said, "Yeah. I've had this headache for about a month. Is that part of menopause?"

(BTW, the short answer, minus the laughter, is no.  Also, the nurse told me to go see my doctor.  But, in true Sarah form, I didn't. The headache went away on its own.)

Which is why a couple of the symptoms of menopause have caught me off guard. My mother would absolutely have expected the following:

1) Rage during and after hot flashes.

I expect this from my PMS, which is actually PMDD: premenstrual dysphoric disorder.( After Peaches was born I sailed into a post partum depression that went untreated and morphed into PMDD.)  Prior to getting on the Prozac train, my PMDD would make me cheer for the women on "Snapped" as if murder was a sport and the women were my team.  

Now, my post hot flash rage is Prozac resistant.  Someone probably should write a book warning women about this.  Or maybe you all could just pray for Hubby.

2) "Sporadic punctuation" doesn't always mean fewer punctuations or lighter ones. 

Nope. Sometimes it means three punctuations in a month, all super fun, all with extra exciting cramp action. Found that out ON VACATION, thank you very much.  (Try finding proper female punctuation protection in a resort town that's actually 90% closed because 1) it's still COVIDf and 2) it's the off season.)

3)  I smell like...feet.

Like feet.  Gross, cheesy feet.  All the time, no matter how often I shower or wash my hair or power, spray and perfume myself.  I smell like feet.

Had I bothered to ask her, Mom probably would have explained the symptoms to me, and exactly what I could take to alleviate them.  But that would involve turning off the TV and calling her and then listening to all the aches and pains of all the old people she's looking after (Because that's what she's doing to stay young, she's taking care of elderly ailing relatives.)

It's not that I want to be uninformed.  Of course not.  But I've watched my mother study and worry and stress herself into her 70's.  I just don't have that kind of energy.  I can't even say my mom is a crackpot...anymore.  Turns out, everything she was hollering about in the 70's is real:  high fructose corn syrup is the devil.  Red Dye 40 is going to kill our children.  Every time another food study comes out that proves my mother right, I swear she does a happy little dance.  Which is nice because given how informed she is about literally everything, she's not happy all that often.

So my point is this:  My mom, super driven to study, read, and know.  Me, laid back and not driven to gather information as a general rule.

End result:  We're both exhausted and crabby and stressed out.  

My theory:  Stress and exhaustion is inherited, like brown eyes, or my dad's double chin.  So I got his chin, and my mom's exhaustion.  AND THAT IS WHY I TAKE NAPS IN THE AFTERNOON.

Too Late for Resolutions...time to just give (something) up!

Hello and welcome, belatedly, to 2021.  

I realize I didn't do my annual resolutions blog.  Well, oh well.  I was going to resolve to lose weight, drink more water, exercise more, blog more, be nicer, be more patient, cook better... blah, blah, blah.

I think anyone who's read this blog more than a couple times knows ain't none of that is going to happen this  year.  Old dog, new tricks...not the way 2021 is starting. Nope.

Where I'm very bad at making New Year's Resolutions, I am VERY GOOD at giving stuff up for Lent.  Seriously.  I rock at giving up one thing for the six weeks of Lent.  (I can hear you all saying, "What a weird thing to be good at!")

Full disclosure, I started giving up stuff for Lent years ago, mostly as a challenge. I had a Catholic friend who made a big deal about giving up meat during Lent...until we went out for dinner one Friday night. Then, she said, "If anyone asks, I'm Jewish." (I'm not sure who she thought would ask us that question at the Outback Steakhouse...)

So that's how it started off, I just wanted to try something my friend was doing.  I sort of did it better than she did, which annoyed her. 

Twenty years later, I've lost touch with that friend, (in big part because I annoyed her) but I still see Lent as a time to give up something, both as a reminder of sacrifice and as a challenge to myself.

In the past I've given up chocolate (brutal. I have a great story about not quite making it to Easter and eating some chocolate I'd been using as part of a candle display when I sold Partylite candles. That did not end well. But that's a story for another day.) I've given up chips, dip, candy, bread, and last year I believe I gave up everything (except tomatoes) that ended in TOS or TOES.  (Giving up potatoes was rough.)  So this year, what to do, what to do? 

I'd like to give up something that's a real sacrifice, to get me into the true meaning of Lent (click here if you're unsure what that is).  

Generally I give up a food thing because it's tangible.  I tried giving up intangibles (impatience, procrastination, which, weirdly are both things I can't control in myself) but how do you know if you're really doing the work?  So I'm back to giving up a food thing.  And I have to go back to the thing that really, really, really is my weakness:  breads.  Bread, English muffins, buns, toast, bagels.  I love them all far too much, or maybe I love what I spread on them too much. So it's kind of a two for one: Giving up breads and really cutting down on butter, jams, peanut butter, cream cheese...all that good stuff.

So there we go. Starting Wednesday of this week...no bread.

For the next 48 hours, if you want me, I'll be lying on my couch, working my way through a loaf of sourdough toast caked in butter topped off with a bag of Einstein bagels covered in veggie schmear.