Five for Friday (On Saturday) Things I did this week only I would do.

Good morning!

Sorry for the lateness of my Five for Friday.  I was going to write it yesterday...after I managed to accomplish #4 and #5 before heading off to work.  But I left work early yesterday to attend a musical recital by an artist named Mr. Richard Springfield.  Yes, I rocked out at the Rick Springfield concert last night, in someone limited manner since I can't turn my head to the right or left, so head banging was out.  Still, a physically restricted night at a Rick Springfield concert is better than pretty much...well, anything.

Anyway, yesterday morning I realized I accomplished five ridiculous things that only I could manage to do.  And now I'm sharing them with you.

Enjoy!

5)  Cut my knee fat while shaving.

I've been shaving my leg for more than three decades now, and I've had fat, lumpy knees for nearly as long.  You'd think I'd be able to remove some unwanted hair without opening a vein.  However, one problem I've always

Who is that in Row Z with the chubby, yet
super smooth legs?

had is that most of the time I shave my legs for a reason, and therefore shave early in the morning...before my brain has connected to the rest of my body.  Case in point, yesterday morning, before dawn I was up and trying to make my legs smooth and sexy...for the Rick Springfield concert...because he's going to notice my legs when I'm sitting in the middle of ROW Z.

4)  Wore long pants to the concert anyway.

I'm not saying the wound I gave myself was severe or anything...but I was bleeding hard enough that wearing tan Capri's to work was out...the one hem would have been bloodied by the time I got to work.  So I slapped on long pants.  As it turns out, we here in Wisconsin enjoyed a rare cool day weather wise and I kept the long pants on all day and to the concert.  I could have saved myself a pint of blood if I'd just checked the weather report.

3)  Celebrated Pandora's departure...before realizing what that really means for me.

Yep, after only seven weeks, Pandora is leaving us to move to New Orleans with her boyfriend.  At first I was sort of celebrating this.  Not that she's not a lovely girl, but I'd really like to work with someone who didn't use the word "like" as a break between all of her other words. That and the fact that she simply does not have a thought process, so instead of using logic to solve answer a question on her own, she asks me fifty questions a day.  It's not that tough of a job.  You dial the phone, you leave a message, you hang up the phone.  If you don't want to call someone for the thirtieth time, you don't have to.

 So I sort of did a happy dance at my desk...a happy dance that lasted all of four minutes when I realized that this is our mega busy season...and since Pandora won't be there to enter all the new leads from shows and fairs...and follow up with them, and schedule them...then there's only one person in the office who is going to have to do that.  And I already have a full time job.  (But, since no one else is capable of entering leads into the system or pick up the phone to schedule an appointment...)

2)  Had too much fun at a job interview and was a little too honest.

It's no secret I've been job hunting for several months now, mostly because I want something closer to home.  Dumping the first dollar of every hour I work into my gas tank is not fun.  So this week I had a job interview, one a long time friend got for me at her husband's company.  The interview lasted for more than an hour, mostly because the guy I was interviewing with was hilarious and we had a lot of fun chatting about this and that.  And the job he had to fill sounded really great.  Except for one thing:  It dealt with packing and handling frozen food.  (If you recall, one of the big reasons I had to leave my job at Kwik Trip. Thanks arthritis!)  Anyway, in the midst of the interview he asked me if I had any physical limitations.  Now, savvy job interviewers will tell you the answer to this question is NO.  But, hey, we were having a great time, we were laughing.  I sometimes find perverse humor in the fact that I 'm in my mid forties and I have the hands of a ninety year old.  So I said something stupid like, "well I have issues lifting things. Not that I can't, I'm strong enough, but I have crippled hands, it's so hilarious, let me tell you the saga of my arthritis."

My friend told me this morning I would have gotten the job if I hadn't said that.  Granted, I would still have had the problem with my hands, but by then I would be working there...and they'd have to deal with it...right?

1)  Got a little too enthusiastic greeting a cousin at a family reunion.

Last weekend Hubby and I attended a family gathering that involved two branches of unrelated families.  Several of my favorite cousins were going to be there and I was pretty excited about seeing relatives I haven't seen in a while.  We got here just in time for the massive family photo op, and as we were waiting to be placed in the picture, I found myself standing behind one of those favorite cousins-in-law.  I tapped her on the shoulder and said, "HI!  HOW ARE YOU?"  She turned to look at me, and I thought, "Wow, she's really changed since I saw her last.  When did she completely stop wearing makeup and what happened to her teeth?  And when did her eyes turn brown?"

She looked at me for a moment and said, "I'm fiiiiiiine," in that tone of voice that's a cross between, "Who the heck are you?"  and "Are you one of those stalkers I hear about?  Because if you are, I'm going to start screaming now."

I was undeterred.  "I'm great, it's so good to see you!"

She was ready to call the cops.  "Yeah, great."

I was about to think evil thoughts about how my cousin-in-law had gotten all snooty, when I looked just past this woman's shoulder...and saw the woman I THOUGHT I was talking to standing about fifteen feet away.

Realizing my mistake, I said, "Okay, well, have a good time!"  And, in a failed attempt to be cool, I walked away, leaving this poor woman wondering what just happened.

So there you go.  A week in a life that could only be mine.  Have a great weekend all!

I'll fix them. I'll wear my Sunglasses at night...and every other minute of the day!

Good afternoon all!

There probably should be a warning with this post, but since I know my friend Tag is hanging in Vegas with my friend Lovie I don't have to worry about him reading the post and commenting about female grossness.  Then again...Lovie reads the blog, too.

Anyway, most of my life I've worn glasses.  Since I was thirteen, when my parents were convinced the reason I was failing algebra was because I couldn't see the blackboard, I've worn glasses.  (For the record...the reason I was failing algebra is because I'm mentally deficient when it comes to math more advanced than fourth grade...oh, and I'd just fallen in love for the first time and so who cares about solving for X when all you want to do is XOXOXOXOX?)

Oddly enough, as restrictive as my parents were about pretty much every single aspect of my life, I had almost complete freedom when it came to my glass frames.  There was always a price restriction, of course, but as long as the frames were on the bargain rack, I could get whatever I wanted.

Over the years I developed a very definite style.  Round.  Wire.  Granted, in 1989 my glasses were roughly the size of saucers...and I'm talking about the ones you use to sled down icy hills.  But since then, round, wire frames have been my go to style and yes, they've gotten smaller over the years.  So much so that my most recent pair, purchased three years ago, were too small.  My field of vision was impaired.  (okay, I had to look WAY down to see my hymnal in church, making my extra couple chins more pronounced.)



No, not that kind of Progressive.

So recently Hubby announced it was TIME FOR AN EYE CHECK UP.  He and Peaches went, then it was my turn.  (Skippy lucked out of this because, well, he seems to be blessed with either perfect vision or complete denial.)  Hubby came home with something called...PROGRESSIVE LENS. 

He did not like them.  So he went back to get BI-FOCALS.  And when he went back, he took me along for an eye check.

I don't hate the eye doctor.  I'm just really, really sick of going to medical professionals who do little more than charge me a ton of money and leave me in worse shape than I was before I walked in.  But hey, I was squinting at things a lot more than normal, and it had been three years.

So I went to the eye doctor.  And she told me that I needed PROGRESSIVE LENS.  I said, "No, I do not want them.  My husband could not stand them.  They made him sick and he could not see properly.  I will take the bifocals."

The eye doctor said, "One person in thousands does not like PROGRESSIVE LENS.  Clearly your husband is that one person.  You will like them.  Wait and see."


I suddenly felt like I was in a Dr. Seuss book.

I said, fine I would try the PROGRESSIVE LENS.  And thusly, while my eyes were dilating, we went out to pick out frames.  It was a slow day I guess because both of the glass ladies, the eye doctor, and my husband decided to take a hand in picking out my glass frames.  I held up several that I liked.  Wire frames, round. 

They all shook their heads.

I really wanted to change, though.  Since I've gotten a bit more fluffy, my head is too big for most wire frames and so when I sweat, which is pretty often, I get those weird green marks on my head.  So I was looking for maybe something in a plastic frame.  And I found some glasses I really, really liked. 

"No,"  said one of the ladies.  "We will not sell you those glasses."

I picked out about seven pairs of frames, a couple of which I actually liked.  The one thing I did say was that I didn't care for dark frames and I really didn't like the kind of glasses that didn't have a frame all the way around the lens.  And I wanted a bigger lens than what I had because I wanted a broader field of vision. At some point, while my eyes were dilated and I couldn't see clearly, one of the four pulled a pair of frames off the rack and put them on my face.  Everyone cheered.  THESE ARE THE FRAMES!

They picked out dark frames, with a smaller lens, square, and oh yeah, the frames don't go all the way around the lens.

Now you might think I'm pathetic for letting them pick out my glasses for me, especially since I'm not wild about them. But see, there's always a funny part to every story, and this pathetic tale of a fat blind woman going to the eye doctor and being nudged into dark hipster Progressive lens glasses does have a funny part.

I picked them up today.  Anyone out there have Progressive Lens?  Let me tell you something about these lens.  You have to sort of shake your head to find the right spot to actually see whatever it is you're looking at.  Oh, and with Progressive Lens, you have a more skewed vision side to side so if you want to see something next to you, you have to turn your head to see it clearly.

Show of hands...who remembers what injury Sarah got in the car accident...and what part of her body has been getting treated for said injury for nearly a year?

Yes...SARAH CAN'T MOVE HER HEAD BACK AND FORTH WITHOUT GREAT PAIN.

Oh, but this gets funnier, trust me.

So I pick up the glasses and decide I'm going to wear them around the store. I have to pick up a couple things.  Now, wearing new glasses tends to disorient you a little bit.  Things are brighter, your eyes are focused weirdly.  And now, picture having TWO prescriptions in one lens and having to bounce your head and look back and forth to actually see something.

And now, put a fat, sweaty girl in this sense of disorientation into the PUNCTUATION PROTECTION AISLE.

So there I was bouncing my head up and down and moving side to side because I can't turn my head very well. All I wanted to do was pick up some female punctuation protection and scuttle to the ice cream aisle where I would drown my sorrows in a box of frozen something.  But no, this monthly trip down the aisle always takes me a while...and that's without having to "Adjust my set" as it were.

So after a very fun, headache and neck ache inducing ten minutes in the punctuation aisle, I staggered to the frozen foods section and picked up...I have no idea what.  At that point I just grabbed a couple boxes and made for the door.

At least, and here's the silver lining, the Fab Four let me pick out my own sunglasses.  I got the most fantastic Molly Ringwald gigantic round frames in a beautiful iced teal.  I look like Malibu Barbie...if Malibu Barbie ever
got fat and middle aged and drove an Imapala.  But those glasses, those are my happy glasses and I might just wear my sunglasses at night...and during the day...and in the office...and reading...and at church because my field of vision is HUGE and they aren't Progressive Lens and I LOVE THEM!


Yep, it's just gonna be me, singing Corey Hart songs, and wearing my pretty sunglasses.  And I won't have to turn to see anything because those lenses are so huge...I can almost see behind myself!



Ok Fluffy Folks, time to get out of the pool!

Most of you who have been following this blog for some time know that I'm a devoted listener of the Bob and Brian Show here in Milwaukee.  I'm especially a fan of their sports segment with Steve Czaben.  I may not always agree with Steve when it comes to American Football...or the NHL...or the true importance of professional golf  (There is none)  but I do agree with one thing he says over and over:  "It's time to leave the party when the football team arrives."

While Steve uses it as a caution to college coeds...I'd like to amend his statement a little.

When the Speedo shows up, it's time to get out of the pool.

Recently...yesterday...I started going back to Golds.  I decided, after nearly a year of doctors, lawyers, specialists, appointments, and pills that I needed to do something for me.  So yesterday I started going back to Golds gym.

As a side note, I was going to blog this week on how Tim McGraw and Lumbergh both made darn sure I didn't get to see Rick Springfield at Summerfest last week...but a trip to Golds made most of my rage over that incident melt away.  How?  Well, when I walked in to the gym, a place I hadn't been since November of last year, the first person I saw was KRAM, my some times personal trainer.

Kram saw me come and said, "Sarah Bradley!"  You're back!  You look great!"

I said, "No I don't.  But thanks.  I'm going to start looking great from now on."

And today, Kram again greeted me at the door and said, "Hey, two for two!"

I know, I'm shocked, too.

Anyway, so today I decided to hit the pool.  Last year I got a new swim suit, a really cool one with shorts and a zipper and a snap at the waist that doesn't stay closed no matter what.  I haven't worn it in a year.

I checked the pool for an available lane, and there was one...right on the end next to the fluffy couple who shared a lane and the very nice lady swimmer who was swimming laps quietly and minding her own business.

I got in the pool and started sort of walking/swimming.  I was having a lovely time.  The fluffy couple was having a lovely time.  The very nice lady swimmer was having a lovely time.

Then I emerged from floating underwater and came eye to eye with it.

The SPEEDO. 

At this point I have to apologize.  Normally I have a ton of pictures but I seem to be having technical difficulties and cannot load pictures to the blog.  Sorry, you're going to just have to imagine this blonde, twenty something, tan god in a teeny tiny red speedo.

And there I was, eye level with it.

I tried to ignore him.  We all did.  The fluffy couple kept paddling in their lane, the swimmer lady kept swimming laps, and I kept doing whatever weird mix of swimming and not swimming I was doing.

But, much like Glenn Close in "Fatal Attraction"  this dude was NOT GOING TO BE IGNORED!

He set all of his gear at the end of the pool.  He had a kick board  (he brought one from home...couldn't use the millions they have a the pool)  some weird flotation thingy for his feet, two towels, a stopwatch, and a water bottle.

A water bottle.

He set all that down.  Then he started walking up and down the length of the pool on the deck.  Again, we were all minding our own business.  So Speedo started doing something I swear I've never seen before:  He started walking while slapping his feet against the deck.

It's very noisy.  Everyone HAD to look at him.  I mean, what kind of flipper feet do you have to have to be able to make that kind of slapping sound? 

The swimmer lady cracked first.  She got out of the pool.

He kept pacing, slapping his feet on the deck.  Then he added some airplane moves with his arms.  I've seen Olympic swimmers do this.  It's looks just as goofy in real life, especially when you're slapping your feet on the deck.

I got out of the pool.  Hey, I'm an observer.  I had to watch this guy and I couldn't get a very good view without my glasses.

The fluffy couple held on and I give them credit. Speedo then went back to the end of the pool and began what can only be described as HE-MAN STRETCHING!

He pushed, stretched, bent, squatted, and we all held our breath.  That Speedo was being moved in a lot of directions..,and there wasn't much to it.

At some point during the HE-MAN STRETCHES, fluffy couple got out of the pool and joined me at the hot tub.  I thought about asking if we should get popcorn.

As Speedo was about to get into the water...a darling, tiny, older woman tottered herself into the pool and began to swim laps.

This broke Speedo's prep. He started the slap walking all over again.  Little old lady kept swimming.  He did his HE-MAN STRETCHES again.  She kept swimming.  In a sort of petty display, he kicked his pile of gear over in front of a different lane.

Little old lady kept swimming.

Finally, after some twenty minutes of parading and preening like some sort of plucked peacock, Speedo had to get into the water.  And he dove in with a great splash, clearly ignoring all the DO NOT DIVE signs around the pool.  And, just as quickly as he dove in, he leaped up, breaking the surface of the water and arching much like a really graceful dolphin or whale or something and he splashed back into the water all noisy and messy.

And Little old lady kept swimming.

So friends, I'm back at Golds, which means there will be fun blogging.  And I now have two rules to live by:  It's time to leave the party when the football team arrives and it's time for Fluffy Folk to leave the pool when the Speedo arrives.

Shirts and Skins Tennis

Good evening!

Our forefathers died so we could
eat hot dogs on red, white, and
blue everything.

First of all, to all my American friends and readers, Happy 4th of July!  Let's celebrate by grilling dead animal flesh on a pile of charcoal, drinking adult beverages, and blowing things up.  It's what the founding fathers had in mind, I'm sure, when they spilled their blood on the battle fields against the British...who are now one of the U.S.'s best friends.  Fun how things work out.  Given the mess the U.S. Government has made of the place I'm starting to wonder how things would have looked had we just stayed under
the rule of good old crazy King George.

I digress.

Yes, this is why the Revolutionaries
fought the war.  Right here.  This is
Exactly what the framers of the
Declaration of Independence wanted
to protect.

Anyway, today being the country's birthday and all, most people are off work...unless you work at a grocery store, a retail store, a furniture store, a place that sells gas, any emergency medical facility, a car dealership, a fast food place, Denny's, any bar, any bowling facility...you get my drift, a lot of people still have to work. But not me, and not hubby.

So we slept all the way in to 7:30 this morning, got up, had some coffee and pancakes  (I love it when hubby cooks for me.)  We got Skippy off to work at his job  (he's working his sixth consecutive 4th of July at Culvers.  This year he works open to close.) We kissed Peaches, who went to the late viewing of "Despicable Me" last night and was therefore tired, and we went to tennis.

Hubby found this nice, secret, out of the way tennis court.  The fenced area is way wider and the fences are taller, so I'm really happy to announce I did not hit anything over the fence this time!  I have also figured out how to hit a back hand shot without sending it behind me...I use both hands on the racket and fire it like I'm hitting left handed in a baseball game.  Hubby is impressed 1) that I actually hit some back hand shots in the right direction and 2) that I don't grunt when I do it.

We were having a lovely time and then THEY showed up.  You know that couple that wrecks normal people's fun just because they show up.  They're young, they're fit, they ride their bikes everywhere so they've already got a nice shine to their skin whenever they show up.  They drink water from glass bottles with foreign names instead of those super thin plastic bottles that flatten when you drink from them.  (Seriously, we're about one step away from juice bags with these water bottles.  I'm all for using less plastic and whatnot, but the other day I folded my empty water bottle and put it in my pocket.)

These are the kind of people who are so gloriously in shape they truly make the rest of us feel like hiding in a hole because we are too ugly to be in the same world. They looked like this: 

 

I'm not exaggerating.  Okay, maybe a little.  But they pulled up on the bikes and he was talking all rude about her bike.  And she looked like she hated riding her bike.  She parked it behind the dumpster near the tennis courts. He said something smug about the dumpster guys picking up and then he would buy her a new bike. You known that tone some guys take when they think they know everything about this machine or that and whatever machine you have doesn't measure up?  Yeah, he was that guy. 

 

I lost all interest in tennis.  I wanted to hide.  There she was in her sports bra, and not under a big giant T-shirt like I wear it, no just a sports bra...a WHITE sports bra.  And those little shorts that super fit women wear, the kind that hug your thighs...unlike my shorts which hug my thighs because the material is stretched to the max and the shorts have no other choice. She and I might both be female, but we are NOT of the same species.

 

He was wearing a muscle shirt.  I hate muscle shirts.  Muscle shirts are always worn by guys whose big move to impress a woman is to remove the muscle shirt.

 

I was not disappointed...it was only 70 degrees  (Fahrenheit) and there was a cool breeze, but that muscle shirt was OFF about nine seconds after they hit the court. So they were going for a shirts and skins, or maybe a skins and skins match.  Fortunately for me, they opted to play on the courts in the OTHER fenced area as opposed to playing on the court next to ours.  This gave Hubby and me a chance to tennis without apologizing to our neighbors when I whacked a ball into their court...and it gave me the chance to really focus on what they were saying and doing without looking more creepy to them than I already did.

 

Turns out...she was as bad at tennising as I am.  She just looked way better at being bad at it.  My guess is she's a gym rat who got those abs like my friend Dee did at Golds, through hours and hours of classes and weight lifting.  That would explain why, after dismounting her real world bike, she walked like I do when I get off a bike:  Like her whole body hurt and she wanted to lie down and let her female parts stop throbbing...in that bad way they do when you spend time on a bicycle.

 

He, meanwhile, was clearly that guy that rides his bike to work and work is in another county.  He strutted around like he wasn't just watching the Tour de France for the fun of it, but that those were his peeps. 

 

He was definitely the guy trying to teach his girl how to tennis correctly.  And he didn't care who knew it.

 

See, Hubby might give me a few pointers, but mostly he just chases after my balls when I'm blessed enough to actually hit them over the net.  Sometimes we talk about stuff in our day.  Mostly though, we just hit the ball back and forth and laugh when something really funny happens.

 

This guy...well he was trying to coach her.  Loudly.

 

At one point we collected our balls and met at the net and Hubby kissed me and said, "There's no way you're going to be as mad at me as she will be at him when this day is over."

 

Truer words were never spoken.  See, after we finished tennis, Hubby took me to get an iced coffee.  We drove, in a vehicle.  And then I read a little and took a nap.  Sports Bra and Muscle Shirt had to get on their bikes and ride off to the next thing he was going to force her to learn.

 

I like my 4th of July much better.

 

So happy 4th to all you who celebrate.  Let's appreciate and be thankful for the freedoms we have.  Let's show love to those in uniform who have continued to protect those freedoms. 

God bless America!  Land that I love.