Happy Anniversary to my boobs – Part 2

I open and close my eyes and everything is foggy and blurred except for the pain. It feels like someone is sitting on my chest. There is so much pain that I can hardly breathe and my throat is dry and a little sore. I don’t want to wake up and face the pain, but Miss Daisy is forcing me to come to. Gosh, I wish she wasn’t a senior citizen. I really hate her right now.

She leaves to go get me some pain medication. Good, I want her to leave me alone and pain medication is well needed.

She comes back and I take the pill and she gets me into a wheel chair. Its time for us to get dressed. Yes, little Miss Daisy is about to help me get dressed and she is the one pushing me in the wheel chair.

We enter a large sterile bathroom and she tells me she wants me to try to go to the bathroom. She seriously needs me to pee? My whole upper body is on fire and I haven’t eaten or drank anything since midnight of last night!

I really hate her, but I do as I’m told and sit on the potty thankful to be sitting. I don’t have to go, but nausea is coming on and fast.

“I’m going to throw up.” I tell her. My body starts to hunch over and I would cry at this point, but I was still too groggy and in a lot of pain.

Miss Daisy acts fast grabbing a small alcohol packet from somewhere, rips it open, and shoves it under my nose.

Ack! I grimace and try to swat it away. You gave me pain meds on an empty stomach Miss Daisy!

“Okay, if you don’t have to go lets go ahead and get you dressed.” she says. I believe she may be getting annoyed with my behavior.

The nausea subsides for now and she helps me into my clothes the best she can and back into the wheelchair. All I want to do is sleep until this whole thing all goes away. Childbirth was less pain than this.

The wheelchair after a breast augment might as well be a torture device: every bump Miss Daisy hits sends a shock and burn through my torso. She could barely push me into the elevator. Why don’t they have someone else do this for me other than this ancient woman?

We are downstairs and she then remembers, “Oh no. I forgot your glasses.”

I would definitely roll my eyes if they weren’t already rolling around in my head. I’m aggravated that I have to depend on Miss Daisy. And we head back into the elevator. Ugh, why does this shit always happen to me!

We get off the elevator and head down the hall. She whips me around to back me into the door and I plead with her, “just leave me in hall.” Good grief, I cannot take any more bumps and jolts to my body and she leaves and comes back with my glasses.

I open my eyes when we get outside and my husband is waiting to help load me into the truck. The truck is not a smooth ride. I do the best I can do to sit still enough to avoid pain. Telepathically, I’m tell my husband to hurry and get home.

Happy anniversary to my boobs – Part 1

I know. I know. You’re thinking WTF.

A year ago I got a boob job. There… now you know.

Now your thinking am I going to post a pre and post-op photo? No. These are boobs, not a new pair of earrings. If I bought my boobs for all to see that would make me a stripper. A stripper who doesn’t get paid. For one, I wouldn’t do that. Secondly, if I was a stripper I wouldn’t be a charity stripper. I would want a return on my investment. I wouldn’t just flash them for nothing.

After breast feeding two children, the girls were sad and deflated. I wanted to restore them to their once perky glory. Golf husband was supportive. Imagine that?

My consultation visit I brought along my friend  Farrah. It was a good choice for me, because we both deal with uncomfortable situations with humor. If we were at your funeral, we will be the ones laughing in the back. We mean absolutely no disrespect. It’s just how we cope.

We get escorted back the the exam room and a nice lady rolls in a box of implants. Great, a boob box. She has a stretchy, one-size-fits-all sports bra for me to wear. Farrah and I began squeezing the various sizes of implants like we were at a fruit stand, but I have the pleasure of trying them on with the fashionable bra. Great. Here is our box of boobs and pick out a pair. I feel extremely uncomfortable with the whole deal. Its like I was 12 stuffing my bra with socks.

According to the ladies at the front desk, the lady with the box of boobs has a very good eye for size. She suggests a size for me. I stuff them into my implant bra and good grief. I guess they look alright, but I don’t think I can see my feet. The goal is to inflate what I’ve got, not look like  an adult film star.

I look to my friend for support. Farrah is sitting back with an implant in each hand like she is working two stress balls. She leans back in her chair and accesses the mountains on my chest. She suggests going bigger. Very helpful.

Dr. Ewart comes in and is the complete professional and all business, which of course makes me more uncomfortable. Sarcasm sets me at ease and he is pretty straight laced. We decide on a size and schedule surgery.

The lady who schedules the appointments could sense that I was nervous about size. I told her my husband traced his hand and told me to give that to the doctor. Typical. She suggested I go to http://www.loveyourlook.com. Fortunately, I am an info junky and had already come across that website. It is a good one if you are trying to gage your results. However, I looked at so many boobs I was beginning to feel like a perv.

In the dates leading up to surgery, I was nervous. I’m the type of girl who will give blood, but the chances of me getting cold sweats, passing out, and throwing up are pretty good. So, knowing that they were going to put me under, put a tube down my throat, and cut on me was scary; like run a fever and diarrhea scary. At least I was getting thinner and had a pretty flushed look to my skin, right?

My mother was gracious to come with me the day of surgery. We sat watching tv in the waiting room with another young girl and her mother. At least I was old enough to decide on this in a well thought out process. The girl waiting looked like she had just started her period. My mom was comforting. Occasionally she would stroke my hair or hold my hand. She was with me during an unfortunate necessary surgery pre-op where I lost my marbles several times and knew the drill.

Finally, a lady who could be a ringer for Jessica Tandy calls my name and it was time to go. I may have cried, but I was getting prepped for boobs by Miss Daisy. We get back to a room that was used for tattoos and she takes my temp. It’s 99 degrees. She tells me if it got any higher they would have to reschedule surgery. She then took my wrist to start the IV.

“Don’t let these old hands scare you” she said.

I then looked at her hands. In my opinion, when someone tells you not to worry about something typically it’s because you should be worried. Miss Daisy had very disfigured rheumatoid arthritic hands and was about to stick me with a needle. This needle will stay in my arm for quite a while. Time to change the subject and start praying.

Miss Daisy told me she had worked for the surgery center for years and she just didn’t want to stop working. I can’t say I blame her. I’d want to work there too. It had to be interesting and I bet they gave discounts.

She took me to a gurney holding area in the surgical center. The woman next to me was behind a curtain talking about how whatever she had done was not as bad as the last time. Oh geez. Please God don’t let that be my future. I just wanted my boobs to not look like National Geographic boobs.

Miss Daisy brought me my mom, so I could say goodbye. This was entirely too real now. I was terrified. My mother prayed for me and it was really hard to concentrate being that I was having surgery for boobs. It was open heart surgery or anything. Does God support that? My body is a temple and I was about to undergo some remodeling. Surely, he’d be okay with me feeling good about myself.

The time came for me to go to the surgical table.

“Aren’t you going to give me something for anxiety first?” I asked Miss. Daisy. My legs were probably going to be like jello and I hadn’t eaten since midnight.

She explained that we would have to walk and then the anesthesiologist would give me something. I  would be okay. Miss Daisy had my back. Literally. She held the back of my surgical gown, so I wouldn’t moon the lady recovering next to me and we walked the 15 or so feet the the surgical room. It really wasn’t that far, but I was so nervous I could barely speak.

The surgical table had these separate arm rests that stuck out from the side of the table. It felt like I was walking to my crucifixion. I would have to lay there and get strapped into this table. WTF!

Miss Daisy said she would take my glasses. I have the thin lenses for my glasses, but they are still think. I have horrible eye site.

“You be careful with those glasses, Miss Daisy. Don’t start any fires!”

Then I was out…

Miss Daisy

Market Monday – I love my Kindle

So I have an iPhone, a MacBook, an iPad, and a Kindle Fire. Yes, I can read my Amazon books on my iPad, but I don’t. Okay, I do sometimes.

What seemed to be a poor choice of a Christmas present from my husband, became an awesome present. I fell in love with my Kindle. For those who are timid about switching to digital books, I understand. It is scary. There are no pages to turn or dog ear.

My Kindle has a cute pink cover.

For those who just have to have paper in hand, I was once that person. Fortunately, most e-readers are about the size of a paperback book. You can open and shut the cover if you need to go through that motion to make yourself more comfortable.

You save on gas, because you can upload a new book as soon as your finished reading the old. The store even suggests books for you. How’s that for customer service huh? You upload and get to reading in less than 30 seconds. The books are priced well and there are often free books to download to your collection. Speaking of that book collection, have you ever had to move boxes of books? A small box of books weighs about 1000 pounds. The Kindle is much lighter and most likely you won’t have to dust it very often.

Since my infatuation began, I have found that my little Kindle is so handy. Every night when Olivia is ready to go to bed and her codependency is running full-blast, I can lay in the bed and read without having to turn on a light. She even tells me to read my Kindle. I believe she likes the glow of the screen. A nice ambiance for her room. No light to disturb your child or whomever is in your bed, unless you are reading something incredibly funny and end up shaking trying not to laugh and then your convulsing so hard you end up snorting out loud. In which case, the laugh might have been quieter. By that time, well its game over if you’ve got a light sleeper next to you. I speak from experience.

Getting older – Worry Less – Be Yourself

I recently interviewed for a marketing position. Interviewing randomly is something everyone should do regularly. Not only do you put yourself out there for other people, but it is a great a way to learn about yourself.

Rarely, do I jot down what exactly I have done with my career. For one, I’ve done so many things that I used to feel embarrassed about myself. I have since changed my mind, the jobs that I have had not only makes me a little more ballsy than others, but I realize that I am adaptable too. It doesn’t mean that I have not had success, because I have. I have worked inside sales at the Augusta Chronicle, 9th grade English teacher at an inner city school, the only female sales person at a building supply company, realtor… What kind of career path is that? Um, it’s not one, but I have had some of the best work experience of my life and would not trade it for anything. Besides, I have learned where I excel in a position.

I can honestly say that I feel more open-minded and more confident about taking on challenges at work, because of my career path. I assimilate it to traveling abroad. You are exposed to more things outside your comfort zone. So, I’ve traveled abroad in my “career” and why not turn my experiences into a positive.

That got me to thinking more about how when meeting new people we always ask “what do you do?” The answer always is your profession. Why is that? This got me to think about when I was a little girl and was given advice to “just be myself” when meeting new people. And then this whole stay at home mom thing gets all politically heated when Ann Romney was picked on by some schmuck feminist. And that got me thinking too. Why does our job, be it stay at home mother or otherwise have to be what defines us as a person. That’s absolutely stupid, it should be the other way around.

Since I am currently employed as a stay at home mom, I wrestle with the fact that I’m not working, because I felt a little like part of me was stripped away. Employment shouldn’t make me any more or less of a person: it doesn’t change my personality, values, etc. I’m still me. I just have a different routine. In all honesty, it was easier to work and take care of kids and the house. (Shout out to the SAHMs, your work is hard.)

Interviewing is similar to dating, your trying to figure out if your a good fit with the employer just as much as they are you. They asked what were three words to describe me. Since I’d decided to be me my answers were simple: sarcastic, positive, and tenacious. I believe the sarcasm set the tone for the rest of the interview, because the three people in there relaxed. It’s a marketing position, not an engineering position. We are supposed to have personality, right?

I retold some of my answers to my mother, she thought that maybe I didn’t want the job. This isn’t true, I just want my employer to like me for what I can bring to the table and that includes my stellar personality. After all, sarcasm was inherited from her. Love you, Mom!

I can be all business when need be, but I can also have fun. (photo cred. BetterThanGrits)

SF Mother

I wanna listen to Lady A!

So, golf husband gets to rub elbows with some really fabulous and famous people. This time he just happened to be neighbors and friends of John Kelley, big brother to Charles Kelley of Lady Antebellum. They grew up in the same cul de sac. Pretty cool. Not that my kids care, but Olivia is a pretty big fan.

Thanks for the cd, Charles. The Stock Family are big fans! Whenever you guys come through Evansville, Indiana you will always have a golf date.

Monday Market: Yes to Carrots

So in becoming more diligent with my blog, I’m going to devote Monday’s to products that I love. We find it easy to rant and rave about bad things, but it seems so nice to share loves with the people you love, yes?

A fabulous friend of mine mentioned that she was using Yes to Carrots face cream. It filed into my brain somewhere far back in my brain.

My hippocampus and gave me a shout out when I was browsing the face cleansers, so I picked up a tube of Yes to Blueberries.

This is everything that the front of the tube says it is: smoothing and gentle. The best part is that it does remove dirt and make-up and it doesn’t feel greasy.

Some may argue the best part is the all natural ingredients and yes that makes me feel good too, but I want to look good. Now, you can have both.

2000 miles to Disney

Preparing for a vacation and thinking prior to it that maybe I am crazy, is not the best start. That’s what I in fact asked myself (as well as others) prior to our pilgrimage to Disney World. Driving from Indiana, to Charlotte, to Augusta, to Jacksonville, to Orlando, and back to Indiana by myself with two young children must mean I am a few knives short of a full set. And, after all the family visiting in North Carolina and Georgia we’re going to run around Disney for four days.

Well, I’ve never been known to be completely normal and Gloria Gainer was in my head the whole time.

Was it a challenge? Yes, and I believe any family vacation with small children involved will be challenging. So, my advice is to take an honest look at the situation and prep yourself, because going to Disney World is more about your children than yourself. If it was about me, then I’d be on a plane to a quiet tropical local with fine dining and spa services.

I can tell you that if you spend your time complaining that you won’t get the full effect of the Disney. Here are my observations and suggestions:

1. My son loves roller coasters and threw a fit, because the ride ended and it was someone else’s turn. Before riding any rides, he was certain that he was going to throw up, because his papa did after riding the tea cups 20+ years ago.

2. Disney Princesses give my daughter a princess high that keeps her going until the dark hours of the evening and they leave her absolutely slack jawed. I swear this made the entire trip worth it. I took an entire day to see princesses and fairies… like 2 hours in line to get 3 minutes and a couple photos. Yeah… crazy!

3. People from all over the world are there and their kids want to go back to the hotel to go swimming just like my kids. The foreign parents tell them no because they can go swimming any time, but they can’t be at Disney any time just like I tell my kids. I’m thinking me and the Tiger Mother agree on this one.

4. You cannot do everything, so just think quality over quantity. If there is a parade wave and dance to the characters. If the security guard is getting into the spirit and dancing, then certainly you can too. It also completely embarrasses your kids or they think you really know how to throw down at Disney… when in Rome.

5. Do NOT lose your photo pass. Disney has a recovery system allegedly, but they still haven’t gotten back to me.

6. Kids love the monorail and it is a great way to meet up with foreigners. One little kid even said, “hey, that little girl speaks English.” Even the tiniest Americans are so fascinating.

7. Utilize the fast pass system. This takes a little preplanning, but worth it.

8. Do NOT forget a light weight stroller. You cannot pick one up at the Orlando Target or Walmart or Walgreens or any other place that may at one time carried the cheap umbrella strollers.

9. Some of the best food is at Epcot and you can eat at so many countries… yum. Eat what you want, because you are walking miles and miles and miles and in my case carrying a 35lb two-year-old.

10. Every Disney park sells alcohol with the exception of Magic Kingdom. Um, just in case you need a little drinkypoo to take the edge off. I can speak from experience, Disney Hollywood has a fantastic margarita.

11. If you are needing a little soul straightening, pick up a book on tape for the ride home. I picked up a Joyce Meyer one on forgiveness, which was a great attitude adjustment for me while I was on I75 going 30 miles per hour. I needed to forgive a lot of people by that point.

Would I go back to Disney? Heck yeah! I’m ready to go back right now. I loved the journey. I loved that when a parade is happening that store workers run out in full costume in 90 degree heat fist pumping. It truly is a magical place and worth a huge amount of smiles from my kids.

See for yourself.

Just look at that Disney love!

Holy Poley!

Although I have moved to Cornland, Indiana, one may think gosh you will hideout in your home and figure out the best uses of corn. On the contrary, I have decided to glass half full approach and decided to make the best of my time here in the Midwest.

It was suggested by golf husband to look into personal training. (I don’t think he was indicating that I had gone flabby, but knows it would be a good use of my time. That’s what I tell myself anyway.) We are very fortunate that his employer promotes fitness and provides a membership to a gym. I do enjoy going to the gym and why not learn a few moves that would get me bikini ready?

One day I walked into the gym and the staff has set out a display of workout drink samples. I choose one that I thought would be safe, but it tastes a little like what I imagine is children’s orange flavored cough syrup. There happened to be a lady who was a personal trainer sampling as well. We struck up a conversation and I asked her how the whole training thing worked.

We sat down and she went over the numbers and looked at her schedule. Turns out she would be gone for a few weeks because she was going to the Bahamas and then to Vegas. She said something to the tune of “live like a Kardashian” for the time that she would be away. I immediately knew she and I would get along and this is the person who I want to not only train me, but maybe go on vacation with.

Turns out my trainer is pretty good at what she does and she is no slouch in the area of sarcasm, which endears me to her more than the fact that I’m going to be able to bounce a quarter off my tush by doing all these lunges.

Last week I get a late phone call from a friend who invites me to go see Madonna in concert. YES! I don’t think I even let her ask me. So, I get to mark that off the old bucket list. I just felt like I got asked to the prom, but better. I don’t think I was ever this excited about being asked to the prom as I am about going to see Madonna in concert. We’re getting cone bras and everything!!! (That was a joke… maybe.)

A few days later at my training session, I get asked if I would be interested in going to this pole dancing class on Sunday. WTF! I should go out and by a frickin’ Lotto ticket, because I’m on fire! YES! Not only do I get asked to the Madonna Prom, but now I get to pole dance. Two things off my bucket list (even though Madonna isn’t until November.) This is one of the best weeks of my life!

I texted golf husband to make sure he was okay with me being gone for a few hours on Sunday and him being left alone with the kids. It was approximately 4 seconds before he called back with questions:

  • Is this a joke?
  • Who are you going with?
  • Where is it being held?
  • What do you wear to a thing like that?
  • Can I watch?
  • Why is it on Sunday? Isn’t that wrong or something?
And these were my responses:
  • No.
  • My trainer. We’ve decided it would be part of my “cross-training” program. There will be a big group of girls.
  • Some place called Exotica or Erotica or something like that. (Giggling)
  • Something slutty. I don’t know. Workout clothes. 
  • I don’t think the other women would want you there, so no. I’ll report back what I learn.
  • I’m not sure why it is on Sunday. Maybe the instructor allows time in the morning to go to church first. It’s not like we’re stripping or pole dancing for money. I’m sure God would be okay with it. 
The plan was to meet my trainer at the gym and then we would meet the other girls at Hacienda’s for lunch and margaritas. We needed a little liquid alcohol to loosen our muscles… and our pride. 
We get to the restaurant and the other women are there. I thought I was doing pretty good wearing some biker shorts and my lucky shirt, which is a St. Patrick’s day shirt that is green and has “My Lucky Shirt” written in sparkly white block print. I needed some luck on that pole, right? Then another lady who works at the gym trumps me. She is not only wearing her old roller derby shirt that has “Anita Margarita” written on the back in sequins, but also is sporting these undies over her stretch pants that say TEQUILLA. It was then that I decided if I go on vacation, I’m bringing my trainer and Anita Margarita. Fun would definitely find us.
There was eight in our group and we arrived at Exotica. Turns out Exotica isn’t a gym at all. It is a sex shop that also carries smoking paraphernalia. When we walked in a sales lady complimented my shirt and pointed out they had St. Patrick’s Day shirts, but their’s said, “FUCK ME I’M IRISH.” Classy.
We paid for the class and signed our waivers. Yes, waivers. We won’t sue in case we injure ourselves dancing on a pole. 
We worked our way to the back of the store past the Re-entry Lube, Vibrators, and stripper wear and on into this tiny room that only had two poles. We had 10 girls in there including the instructor and two poles. This means that we would be watching while we waited our turn, in a tiny room, hot as balls, and with thumping booty-shaking music.
The instructor wasn’t so great at instructing. She could do some tricks on the pole, but I’m not sure if she took formal classes if you know what I mean. This had me thinking that with some internet surfing and studying there was a business opportunity here.
We were told at the end of class that we could get 20% any item in the store. So, we browsed around giggling. There were a few shoppers in there that had probably not gone to church that morning. 
My trainer bought a pole-dancing book. Her wheels were definitely turning on the $180 for one hour of teaching pole dancing. We discussed how we could definitely make it work at the gym on the way back to my car.
I learned a few things about myself in this class. The dance training from my youth came in handy for gracefulness. Pole dancing is hard and it hurts. It takes a lot of upper body strength and flinging yourself around a pole. I’m pretty sure the bruising will go away. The final thing that I learned is that I may not have played competitive sports, I did compete in dancing (the innocent kind like tap, ballet, and jazz) and I kind of felt the pressure to really get this stuff down. My goal was to get upside-down and I did. I may have looked like a frog and slid down the pole in slow torturing skin-burning motion, but I did it. AND, Anita Margarita who is a full-figured type of girl did the worm, so I got my twenty-dollars worth of entertainment.
If you can’t laugh at yourself, then who can you really laugh at. Just so you know, I have the upmost respect for someone who can pole dance. Have you seen these world competitors. They are awesome. It’s nothing sexual at all. Here is a little video of Felix Cane who is a world champion pole dancer. 

Hi I’m Rachel and weird shit happens to me

Golf husband requested that I get with the marketing director at the club yesterday to help put together a video presentation. The task was to first take photos of the cottage that was being built on the golf course.
I have talked to Laureen on the phone and we are friends on facebook. The night before she offered to go out for drinks sometime. So I texted her back, so she would have my number and told her I was her Georgia peach and I’m ready for drinks when she was. She texted me back and said that I could drink sweet tea if that would make me feel more at home. Awe, she’s sarcastic and I really think I’m going to like her.
I went to Laureen’s office and we talked about the objective and the fact that the rain and mid-construction were going to cause issues with this event that they were planning. So, we decided to investigate the job site.
We load into my car and she directs me to the cart path. I’ve been on cart paths before so this wasn’t new territory. The path wound and undulated along the golf course. The path then changed in nature there was a gully where the pavement separated and then the path turned into gravel and mush stopping in front of the construction of the two cottages.
We had to pull close to the cottage along side of another pick up, so we wouldn’t block anyone trying to leave the worksite.
I had flutters in my stomach, because new construction is one of my loves in this world. That and now red velvet cake pops.
Us two girls hop along daintily not to get too dirty up amongst the Carhartt sausage party in matching cream color coats. Laureen was even more prepared for mudding in her super cute flowery peep toe shoes. At least I had on boots and jeans, but I’m not working in an office all day either.
After deciding that photos of a messy work site wasn’t a good marketing piece we got back into my car. I begin to back out and crunchUh oh. I ran over these metal posts and I’m pretty sure they caused some damage.
I looked at Laureen who had big eyes and then turned the other way to see a guy waving his arms and running over to direct me safely out of the sight.
DAMN!

“Do you want me to get out and look at it?” Laureen asked.
“No. I don’t want to think about it right now. I’m going to save that for later.” Like when I can freak out without her thinking I was crazy. We’ve only known each other for about 20 minutes and she works with my husband. A bad impression was not a priority, but it looks like it was heading that way unintentionally.
All I wanted to do was hurry back, so I can see the damage. In that hurry, I drove over the gully perhaps a little too hard, because all of a sudden there was this metal on metal grinding fingernails on chalkboard sound. Holy crap! What did I do!?

I put the car in park and run to the back of the car. Wow, for running over something that looked damaging there wasn’t anything wrong with my car. Laureen got out of the car and we both were on our hands in knees in our matching coats trying to figure if the muffler fell off. Nothing appeared to be hanging out of the bottom.
We get back in and head down the cart path and the noise which is the equivalent of fingernails scraping a chalkboard is still VERY prevalent. Up ahead of us there was a guy on a golf cart coming our way. Laureen knew him and asked me to roll down my window.
“Hey, do you hear that? Do you know what that noise could be?” Laureen asked.
Great a man. Men know cars right? So, now there were three of us on our hands and knees looking at my car’s undercarriage.
Just then it was a caravan of golf cars with workers on them (more Carhartts) heading towards us.
Since I was from the South and I thought I can put the whole damsel in distress thing on I said sweetly, “I’ve got six guys here can ya’ll figure out what the heck is going on with my car.” Okay, maybe it came out more redneck than sweet.
How dorky is this? Great, now everyone will know Brian as the guy with the wife who can’t drive. I couldn’t think of anything else to do, so I got out my phone to take a picture. Laureen felt more useful as a photographer than sitting in the car.
Here they are:
They messed around and then we had to let them get back to work. I told them golf husband would repay them with a case of beer or something.
On the way back to drop Laureen off with the grinding still going she says, “Gosh! That sounds terrible! I mean I guess I need to be more positive. Its not that bad. See here is what you do to make it go away.” She then turns up the radio louder.
Gosh, I am really not that upset. This girl is funny.
I grinded up to the front door and Laureen opened the door.
“This was fun.” I said.
“Yeah, I wonder what we’ll screw up the next time we get together.”
“Maybe we can burn something down.” I do like a good fire and it’s cold here.
I drove straight to the auto repair shop and I got a text from Laureen asking me to eat Mexican with her in honor of the nice hispanic man that wedged himself under my car.
Mexican food makes everything better. I really like this girl and not only did we have matching coats and take me to eat Mexican food, but we also had the same nail polish color. She doesn’t know Ken. I asked.
Oh, the guy at the car place said it was no longer making noise and it was probably a rock. WHEW!

First week in the corn

So if you haven’t heard, we moved from Evans, Georgia to EvansVILLE, Indiana. Golf husband took a job with a new company that just bought the 35th best private golf club in the United States… and they decided his skills would be useful here in Indiana.

I know I never followed up on the BHI part 2 post. For the most part the rest of the trip was fine. I got a little tipsy one day, lost my earrings and sunglasses in the ocean while I was flopping around in the waves like a mermaid, then went out to see a live band of 2 people and I got everyone dancing and couldn’t understand why the girlie singer and the guitar playing-dude wouldn’t let me sing back-up. I never had a hangover, but my brother-in-law and golf husband went to play golf (imagine that). They had to stop short because BIL wasn’t feeling well. Turns out he forgot his medication and was severely dehydrated and that was the cause of this violent vomiting episode that freaked us out so badly we had the paramedics come to house. I know what you’re thinking… this is just your normal family beach trip.

Okay, so here are a few photos:

We all got dressed “beachy” and found a random person to take our picture in front of Old Baldy. It was like herding a group of retarded spider monkeys.

This is the house I stalked. I’m obsessed with this house. It honestly makes my hair tingle and my palms clammy. The four chocolate labs that were snoozing on the front porch only made my fantasy that much better. There was beach on the other side of the house too with a gigantic cantilevered covered porch. *sigh*

 This is me whipping up a fury of booty shaking. So, I could only get the little ones to dance.

Okay. So back to Indiana…

We are living in a loaner house that is already furnished. The furnishings are really not my style: Tommy Bahama has a seizure and throws up modern bile. I dunno, but we didn’t have to move our furniture and we have a garage. I was really stoked about parking in a garage only to learn that an entire gym is being stored in there. There are aerobic machines, weights, and all kids of crap. My best guess is the owner who used to own the development moved the gym equipment out of the pool house and put it in the garage. Gym equipment is heavy lifting, for now I’m parking in the driveway… and also nobody knows whereabouts of the garage door openers.

The first week was hard on the account that my children were up my asshole the entire time I was getting things settled. They are now enrolled at a preschool that seems okay. They are happy to get out of my asshole and I get to hear myself breath and do things like laundry, grocery shopping, and getting my nails done.

I had my nails done yesterday at Princess Nail. It was quite the experience. My nail tech was a hoot. He was like a Vietnamese Chang from the Hangover. I asked him his name and he said it was Ken then said something that sounded like Kit without the tee. We had become pretty good friends at that point, so I asked him if he made up that name just now. To which he replied, “No, honey. Most people cannot pronounce my real name, so I just tell them Ken.” I then pronounced his name correctly and his eyes got big. “Oh, well you got it.” (He doesn’t know yet that I can mimic things pretty good and he will be on the list of people that I impersonate.)

We talked about food and how he went to Georgia over Labor Day to a Vietnamese celebration in Atlanta on Jimmy Carter Blvd. I discovered he was married and his wife was driving him crazy. WIFE!? Good Lord, I truly thought this man was gay. Then I chuckled inside thinking about Chang and how the rest of the wolf-pack were shocked to find out he had a wife.

I suppose he felt extremely comfortable with me when it was time to apply the polish, because he said, “don’t you want like a red or pink or something?” I had chosen a taupe color that I thought was pretty nice.

I looked at him and quietly whispered to not offend any other patrons, “You think this is too old lady-ish?”

He grimaced, so I trounced over to the nail polish and choose Lincoln Park at Dark, which is the color of blackened blood. I held it up for him and asked him if that was a better. He agreed it was a better color choice.

Lookie at Chang’s work…

And just because Ken reminds me of him… “Just a little bump.”

I did have a girls night out last evening. Not too bad, huh? One week and invited to the Monday night Bachelor viewing with the other gals from the block. I’m not one for watching a bunch of hoes getting sloppy seconds from the same douche bag, but there was wine, food, and girl time without husbands or kids. It could have been a Natzi Mother’s Meth lab social and I would have gone. Okay, so maybe not really. That would be illegal. It was a good group of girls and I had fun.

I still miss my Georgia peeps though!

p.s. photos for your viewing enjoyment

Boden and Olivia on the carousel at the mall. Yes, we had to look at coats, because someone implied their jackets weren’t sufficient.

 This is a house I pass by a lot that confuses me in so many ways. I think I hear Dueling Banjos. Check out the yellow Trans Am. Hell yeah!

 Lots of rolling pastures and farms.

 Weird not to have pine trees everywhere.

 Here is the garage/workout storage that I mentioned earlier.