Category Archives: irony

A Little Mid-Week Trauma

I may have told you on FB or Twitter that I’ve been seeing a chiropractor on a bi-weekly basis.  I’m supposing that this is the result of working too long in one position.  (So much for ergonomics.  Whatever…)

Anyway.  I was making noticeable progress. The day of my initial visit, I had woken up feeling like I could barely move my neck.  I felt like my whole clavicle was out of whack and the pain was making me nauseous.  I called off work that day, called the chiropractor and his lovely receptionist uttered those miraculous words, “How soon can you be here?”  That was roughly 3 weeks ago.

By this past Monday I was feeling quite human once again.  I’ve gotten in the habit of moving gracefully as opposed to using any quick, jerky movements to give my neck a nice rest and to let it enjoy it’s new “home.”  Read: where it’s supposed to be, as in no place like

And then… picture it.  I’m cleaning up my work area in the clean room at work.  I’ve been training another girl to do a job that I used to do.  It’s time for her to put information in the system and I am walking toward her to make sure she’s doing it right.  In the mean time, there is another girl, a big girl (and if I say she weighs in the neighborhood of 300+ pounds, I am not exaggerating) standing off to the side of my path.  Suddenly, the big girl steps backward, directly into me, knocking me off balance.  Before I realize what’s happening, I’m careening toward trainer girl.  Rather than crash down on her, I throw out my left arm to grab the edge of her desk to catch myself.  Hindsight being as they say 20-20, I may have been better off just crashing down on top of trainer girl.

I not only jarred my left wrist but I twisted my neck and spine (at the waist) when I caught myself.  Reading this, it sounds worse than it actually was.  It’s just that after having no less than six or seven adjustments, I now feel like everything the chiropractor has done has been un-done.  Right this minute I have ice on my wrist (new injury) and heat on my shoulders.  I imagine that in a day or two I will feel fine.  I’m due for my next adjustment on Monday evening.

I imagine the whole scene looked rather comical to a bystander.  There is me, a scrawny little 118 pounds bouncing off the back end of the big person.  It all happened so fast, I wasn’t entirely sure what hit me until the big person said, “Are you ok? I didn’t see you there.”  I’m thinking, obviously.

It’s difficult to relate this without sounding a certain way.  But there are physics in play here and it happened.  My own personal thought is that when you have a body, big or small, you tend to have a feel for the space you inhabit.  Apparently that is not always the case and accidents do happen.

On a loosely related note,  the same day I witnessed a woman very nearly get struck by a truck about 50 feet away from me.  Oddly enough, while her heart may have suffered more of a jolt than mine, she’s probly relaxing comfortably right now.

This is where I’m supposed to write the wrap-up with some intelligible thought to tie it all together and make some profound conclusion or something, right?  I don’t know what that would be.  I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time like the lady who stepped in front of the truck, thinking it would stop for her.  She may have simply used poor judgement.  I maybe should have anticipated the possibility that the big girl wasn’t going to stand where she was indefinitely and that she had no idea I was behind her.  It’s not as if I’d assumed she was equipped with a beeping back-up alarm because that would just be ridiculous.  But I will tell you that until this aching reminder wears off, I will be a bit more cautious when anyone approaches MY SPACE.  lol  I totally didn’t see that coming either!  ah ha ha.

The End.

(ps. yes, of course  i know that myspace is totally yesterday’s news)


Robert Francis – Junebug – taratata

Confession:  I have an old-fashioned school girl crush on Robert Francis.  I’ve been listening to this song for ages and never get tired of it.  First I fell in love with the song.  Then when I saw what he looked like, I was all, like, WOW.  Sure, he’s a little wee bit scruffy but I picture him clean-shaven with a haircut wearing boots and a long coat kind of like this.  So maybe you can understand the appeal.  Anyway, I was excited as heck when the official video came out for Junebug.  I had already made up kind of a movie in my head.  Now I found the live version of the song and yeah.  Oh yeah.  It’s official.  Paul Westerberg and PD have nothing to worry about but I REALLY like Robert Francis.  And OMG when he says “Merci beau coup” at the end,  je vais cuckoo. (Il me faut un docteur.)   Il est chaud!

As you may know, I have a birthday coming up this weekend.  I’ve compiled a little of my own birthday trivia for your amusement…

  • I was born on Albert Einstein’s birthday.  And although Robert Francis and Paul Westerberg and Gael Garcia-Bernal and PD all hold places   (varying degrees) of importance in my heart, Albert is my hero.  (As is TC)
  • My birthday is pi. (3.14)  This is kind of a new development, but I now celebrate my birthday along with, or should I say, in conjunction withSteak and BJ day.  I’m quite anxious to hear your humorous, yet tasteful, comments about this…
  • I also share my birthday with Michael Caine and Liza Minelli.  I’m sure there are others but I grew up knowing of these two.
  • I am  Piscean and that means I’m about as cool as you can get, not to mention impractical, intuitive and mysterious.  But you knew that.

Ok, these bullets totally screwed up and I can’t fix them because I’m a Pisces and I don’t give a sh** because I don’t.

PS I got a comment that is, for all intents and purposes, spam. But I left it on my sidebar because it  made me laugh like hell.  It’s Mr. Fordinsnorkel or something to that effect.  Look over there in my side bar, read what he wrote and click on his name and prepare to LOL.

Update: Mr. Spam has decided to vacate the premises. Imagine that. Maybe I dreamed him up…


Every once in a great while… usually when I’m stressed and over-tired… a sort of sickness seeps into my sense of humor.  For this I sincerely apologize.  Please do not interpret this (in any way) as condoning under-age drinking on my part.

I saw the picture.  It was on a site in a set of “random funny pics.” First it made me laugh.   And then it made me think.   About different things… for one, and probly the foremost… about what we teach our kids.  Suddenly this didn’t seem humorous any more.



Before I get on to the funny stuff, I need to tell y’all that on Sunday the neighbor used the word “echo”  in a conversation we were having (which I forget, but I was looking at a pile of river rocks when she said it.  Ok, maybe I wasn’t really paying attention.  My bad.)  And then last night Michael, the son, was sitting here and we were talking about movies and he said “echo.”  Maybe the lapse is over and the echoes have started to reverberate once again.  That was a triple redundant sentence, did you catch it catch it catch it?

So the other night after I went to bed,  there was an awesome Moon.  PD knows how much I love awesome Moons and he took some pictures so that I could see it.  He told me they didn’t come out well.  Just a little while ago I was clearing off some random papers from the dining room table when I came across a photograph depicting four shots of what I thought were pictures of the Moon that PD had taken.


Turned out to be pictures of my kidney stone.  (I made it small because they’re gross.)


[Just to get the technical crap out of the way first, No I have not yet passed my kidney stone and I’m seeing a(n?) urologist tomorrow afternoon.]

You all know how I feel about coincidences and synchronicity.  I go through periods of time when I’m all intune with things and all kinds of cool stuff happens.  Other times, not so much.  But when I am in these states of (let’s call it) heightened awareness, a word or an image or a person will keep popping up and there’s no end to the entertainment for me.

(Juju makes fun of me and my coincidences, but when it happens to her, she’s all like, enthused to share it with me…)

Thinking back, this particular “string” started a couple of weeks ago.  I was out with friends and a guy started up a conversation with me.  We had gone to the same high school but at different times.  Sorta.  Actually, when I was in 7th grade, he was a senior (Captain of the Football team, so I did remember him.)  We talked about so many things but the last thing he said to me was that I needed to find a song and listen to the lyrics.  He said it would make me cry.  He was very sure of this and I’m not sure why he wanted me to cry… but the name of the song was Looking For an Echo.  It was about a group of young singers who were trying to “make it” and would look for places to go and sing.  Anyway, I searched for the song deep in the bowels of the iTunes store and when I found it, I also found another song by Maia Sharp (who I had heard of but wasn’t familiar with any of her music.)  I listened to and liked her song Death By Perfection which is on her cd entitled Echo.  I liked it enough that I put it in my shopping cart in iTunes to purchase later.  That was on a Sunday night.  THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON on my way home from work, there was Maia on my radio station singing Death by Perfection.   I nearly drove off the road when realized it was playing.  So the word ECHO has been infiltrating my consciousness about once a day since.  When I was reading the Wiki article the other day when I wrote the about Razorlight,  I noticed that their 2005 Acoustic cd was recorded on the Echo Label.

Hazel was kind enough to lend me Dooce’s book,  It Sucked and Then I Cried. It’s hilarious and heart-warming.  I finished it last night.  But not before reading 2/3rds of the way down page 248 where it said:  “Alone. (ECHO  ECHO  ECHO)”  Really.  Incidentally, I highly recommend this book to anyone who has ever birthed a child or plans to in the future.  Or anyone who loves Heather B. Armstrong aka. Dooce.

I like to think that maybe someone is trying to tell me something through these experiences.  It’s probly nothing but it amuses me.  I once had the same thing happen with “Las Vegas” almost daily for almost 3 entire years.  It started with Shawn Colvin’s recording of Viva Las Vegas.  I was almost to the point of believing that I needed to go there to figure out why the hell it wouldn’t leave me alone.  And someday I will go there, because I have to know.

Alright, enough of this.  I’m falling asleep.  Tell me your most recent or favorite coincidence.


Update: I originally drafted this post on Saturday, July 4th.  On Sunday night I clicked on a link on Twitter.  There’s a guy I read who writes a kind of FYI column for Twitter.  The first sentence read: “There seems to be a wave of suspensions going around Twitter (Twitter) today, and it’s turning quickly into an echo chamber of confusion and frustration.” I’m not shittin’ you.


Another update and I’m totally not shittin’ you.  I’ve recently fallen head over heels in love with the Hoodoo Gurus and have been buying up all their music that I can get my grubby little hands on.  I got my second cd yesterday (Tuesday July 6th).  Listened to it today.  Guess the name of Track #8… In the Echo Chamber.  F*** in’ hey!!!


The night PD and I went on our first date, I wore a royal blue sweater which I found out later was his favorite color on me.  The sweater is long since gone but I always wear something that shade of blue for our date.  And I did that last night.  Amazingly, due to having left work an hour early (I know!) I was showered and primped and shiny and scented and waiting when PD announced that it was time to go.  The weird part about dating your husband is that you miss all that fun stuff like one-last-look-in-the-mirror-before-answering-the-door and the anticipatory nerves.  You pretty much know what to expect at this point.

What you don’t expect is arriving 5 minutes before your reservation to find a sign on the door of the restaurant reporting that the establishment is closed to to the cleaning of smoke damage by the restoration company whose truck and van were suspiciously the only other vehicles in the parking lot.  This, after a romantic drive,  sharing memories of that first evening spent together and laughing about the first time one of us (guess who) professed our love for the other.  With some of our favorite songs playing in the background.

This news brought about a mix of emotions.  First PD was  po’d that they  had our reservation and should have called and cancelled.  Then I was worried for the new owner’s bad luck.  Then we were both overcome with hunger and realizing that to go back home and start cooking would move dinner to a pretty late time slot.  So we decided to go somewhere else and had some over-priced mediocre crab-stuffed flounder and shared a pecan ball (vanilla ice cream ball covered in pecans drizzled with chocolate syrup and covered in whipped cream.)  We were properly stuffed but not quite satisfied when we left.  The ambience and sentimental quality were definitely lacking.

So we came home and did what we always do after our first date anniversary dinner.   We slow danced to Unchained Melody.  And we laughed through most of it because we couldn’t find a spot in the living room where the floor boards didn’t creak.  A certain poeticism in that, you could say.  If indeed poeticism is a word.


Because I’m pressed for time and I would rather be blogging than doing other crap AND because Jack was nice enough to grant me permission to link to this hilarious post about Anger Management, that’s what I’m putting out there today.  I swear to you, this made me laugh for a good ten minutes.  If you’ve ever had even a tiny issue with a telemarketer, you’ll love this.

(Plz excuse my crappy header.  I’m workin’ on somethin’… For now, this’ll have to do.)


… it started out a pretty day and then a storm blew up and the pretty arbor I’d decorated with silk flowers blew over.  Thanks, Hazel for putting it back up.

…. the upstairs bathroom pipes broke and all the water came through the kitchen ceiling.  Thanks, PD, for fixing that.

… the Justice of the Peace backed out of the driveway and was nearly creamed by an oncoming car.  Thanks, Lord.

… PD and I got married anyway.  🙂

I Love You, Buddy.  Thanks for askin’.  (And thanks for waitin’.)


Funerals are never fun. I was dreading this one more than usual.

Imagine The Nicest Man you ever met in your life. He’s soft spoken and never, ever utters a harsh word to anyone. He preaches at a Baptist Church on Sunday. He reads his Bible before work every morning. He is rumored to have been a great athlete (Olympic material) in his younger days. He’s now got a severe limp and walks with a cane. I don’t know the true story of how that came to be and never quite got around to asking him. It seemed calloused to ask… He’s a ridiculously handsome and well-built man with a shiny bald head and warm brown eyes. He’s an awesome Engineer. He has seven beautiful children, ranging in age from twenty-something down to single digits. He designed and built his own home and it’s quite the showplace. He’s a published author. I met him twelve years ago and shortly after I met him, I heard him sing Somewhere Over the Rainbow and it brought tears to my eyes. Every year on my birthday he limps up to me and wishes me Happy Birthday with a big, warm bear hug. His name is Bob and today, the hug we shared was for an entirely different reason; the worst you can imagine.

Bob’s daughter, Bobbi died. She was shot in the head by a gang-member’s bullet, intended for someone else. She lived in Philadelphia, the mother of two of Bob’s grandchildren and pregnant with a third. She was studying to be a nurse, following in the footsteps of her maternal grandmother, Doris. Doris was the attending nurse when I gave birth to both of my kids, a feisty woman who took not an ounce of crap from a doctor, another nurse or anyone else for that matter. She loved “her babies” like no other nurse I ever came across. Bobbie would have done well to become the nurse that her grandmother was. Bobbie would have turned 27 years old yesterday, the same week that she died.

I will be saying a prayer for that family every day for the rest of my life.


When I first met PD, he was way into martial arts, self-defense and all that.  He always stressed to me how important it is to be aware of your surroundings at all times.  To make mental notes of exit doors, dark areas where bad people could be lurking, alternate “escape” routes, things like that.  He presented me with a pocket-sized cannister of pepper spray which I carried on my key chain at all times.  He also taught (and drilled) me on a custom-made-for-me plan which utilized my strengths, limited as they are, me being a skinny woman and all.  But I learned some nifty moves that could possibly save my life, or at least gain me some valuable time if I were to ever be attacked in a dark parking lot, for instance.  I also surprised him with my skill shooting at (and hitting) targets with a 9mm Taurus. (In a controlled, safe environment, of course.)  But he always stressed to me to be aware of everything going on around me at all times.  With PD, it is more like a sixth sense, ever-present and making him ever-vigilant.

Well, I found out today that I may need a refresher course.  None of this came in handy at all in the video store when I said to PD with all the enthusiasm (and just a little sarcasm) I could muster, “Let’s rent Extreme Uncensored Chickfights?!”

All the training of my past kicked in AFTER I saw the gentleman standing on the other side of PD.

On the way to the check-out, I got the nerve to look over at PD and there he was with that look on his face that I’m oh-so-familiar with.  The one that says “Look at you now!”

I’ll let you know how The Savages is (are?) after I watch it…