Tis’ the Season to Eat Sh*t on the Stairs

December 21, 2016 / Wanda / Leave a comment

What is it about the holidays that seems to accentuate the possibility for bodily injury and harm? Are we more merry, and therefore less inclined to be wary of potential hazards? Is it the alcohol? The parties? Are we overly distracted by all that needs to be accomplished? Or is it simply more notable because when you become injured over the holidays it affects the entire season with regard to how you enjoy it?

Two weeks ago I was attending a holiday party at a friend’s house and as I was walking through a gated entryway into a courtyard the entire world tipped itself over and I found myself crashing down onto both of my knees and then face down on the sidewalk. What the hell just happened? I sat up, but couldn’t get up. The pain in my knees and shins was instantaneous, yet after a few moments I knew nothing was broken. After a quick assessment of how and why I fell, Dan hoisted me up and I hobbled to the front door. It turns out there was a very tiny step, about three inches deep right where you entered the courtyard from the gate. Apparently I missed that step. My cousin visiting from Michigan was with us and at one point she said, “I’m not gonna lie to you, that wasn’t even a little bit graceful.”

After walking into the party and greeting the hosts, I asked if they had a security camera on their front walkway. They said they didn’t, but they were curious as to why I would ask. So I said, “Well, I just ate shit on your front step and I wanted to be sure no one was going to watch that on instant replay or put it on You-tube.”

About thirty minutes later I could feel my heartbeat in my knees. They were throbbing terribly and stinging like crazy. I excused myself to the restroom and discovered that I had skinned both knees pretty badly. I was bleeding under my pants and the skin was already swelling and turning purple and blue with bruises. I had to mostly sit during the gathering because standing was so painful, and I wasn’t about to draw more attention to myself by asking my hosts for a bag of frozen peas to help with the swelling. Good times.

After we got home, I grabbed four Advil and two large therapy ice packs from my freezer and got comfortable on the couch. Dan and my cousin weren’t done having fun yet, so they walked to a local bar to have a few more drinks. About an hour later I got a text from Dan saying, “I ate shit on a curb in solidarity. I’m ok.” It turns out he missed the curb when he was walking home and did a full body yard-sale into the street. His knees were also skinned and bruised. We make quite the pair, don’t we?

It’s been two weeks since I fell and the bruising is almost gone. The skin has healed, mostly, but I still have tenderness in my knees. The other day I forgot about the injury and tried to kneel down on the wood floor to light the fireplace. That was a mistake. I ended up flopping over like I was having a seizure to take the pressure off the injury. It scared the hell out of my son.

And yesterday, my neighbor texted me that she was at urgent care. While walking down her stairs she missed a step and took a tumble. Thankfully, her ankle wasn’t broken but they sent her home in an air cast. My mother-in-law also recently fell and she did break her knee cap. Just cracked her patella right in two. She now has metal screws holding her knee cap together.

So seriously, I think I’m going to start a club. I need help thinking of a name though, and more members. A club has to have more than four members. So if you’ve ever eaten shit on the stairs, we want to hear your story!

Happy Holidays! 🙂

Smoke Detectors Save Lives, Until You Beat Them Off the Wall with a Broom Handle

November 3, 2016 / Wanda / 2 Comments

I had a moment today where I was dangerously close to completely losing my shit. No, that’s not true because I actually lost my shit for a tad bit at one point.

Around 12:30pm today my smoke detectors started going off all over the house. There was no fire, but they wouldn’t shut off. For an hour they were screeching their life saving song without cease. For an hour my dogs barked, cried and shook involuntarily from the horrible noise that was hurting their ears and scarring the hell out of them. At one point, my little Mavis just let loose and started pooping everywhere. The noise literally scared the shit out of her.

It’s amazing what that kind of noise can do to you in an hour. My heart was racing, my blood pressure was up, and I had this weird anxiety that I couldn’t calm even though I knew my house wasn’t on fire. The noise was deafening, and grating, and it felt like it scrapped every fucking nerve in my body to the point of absolute insanity. For an hour.

I googled what to do when your smoke alarms malfunction like that. The internet said the most likely cause was dust in and around the censors. Most of the detectors in my house are about 18 feet up the wall because we have vaulted ceilings in the upstairs bedrooms. The only ladder we have is a ginormous beast of a thing that is difficult for me to carry and maneuver. I couldn’t get up there to take the detectors down, so I drug a step-ladder and my vacuum cleaner all over the house trying to suck the dust out of the detectors with the attachment wand. It didn’t work. I tried to call the non-emergency line for the fire department hoping they could send a guy out with a ladder to take them down for me. All I got was voicemail. Can you believe that? The fire department sends you to flippin’ voice mail if you don’t need to call 911! When the fire department failed me, I actually resorted to trying to beat the damn things off the wall with a broom handle. I had reached the breaking point and would have risked putting multiple holes in the walls to make that god-forsaken hell noise stop.

I finally texted my next door neighbor and begged for help. Thank God he was home. He was my knight in shining armor, and instead of a horse, he rode in with his bright and shining ladder. He took all the detectors down for me and we both enjoyed a moment of blissful quiet. When he left I was so happy I almost cried from the relief of it. It actually took a few hours before I started to feel the effects of the physical and mental stress dissipating.

So I want to send a world-wide thank you to my neighbor, Mike! Thanks for being home, thanks for having a ladder, thanks for saving my sanity, and thanks for being such a great neighbor! 🙂

That Time I Lost My Sh*t On the Dance Floor

October 3, 2016 / Wanda / 12 Comments

It’s Saturday at midnight in the bar and I’m out with the girls enjoying a 90’s cover band and some ice-cold beer. The 90’s is my favorite decade, and every song brings back memories of high school and college, in such a good way. I felt nineteen again, and although I wasn’t drunk on alcohol, I was definitely drunk on memories and music.

You know that feeling, when all your favorite tunes are being played and your body has an almost involuntary reaction. It becomes this sort of instinct and rhythm combined. My nineteen year-old self was really into rock music. Imagine some air guitar, arms in the air, hair being thrown in every direction, and a complete and total disregard for the other bar patrons around me, other than my friends. It was just me, the band, my girls and the music.

Image result for dance like nobody's watching meme

I don’t do Zumba, but you get my point.

Now picture a middle-aged woman, married with two kids, who drives the weekly car pool and volunteers in the PTA, throwing her long hair and rocking out to Alice In Chains, Metallica and Nirvana. The dance floor wasn’t overly full, so I stood out. I think at one point I might have screamed, “I’m with the band!” Except, I’m not with the band.

Good times.

It was so fun, and in the moment I had no regrets. It was a great night. I mean seriously, when anyone plays Enter Sandman by Metallica, you throw your hair to that shit. It’s just how it’s done. I think the point where I really peaked and just let my shit go all over the dance floor was when the band played Man in the Box, by Alice In Chains. One of my favorite songs, and when I became aware of my environment toward the end of the song, there were a few dudes thrashing next to me, so I guess it was good.

Except, in the light of day, when I woke up with a very stiff neck and a screaming headache, I had a moment of thought that said, you-are-too-fucking-old-to-act-like-you-belong-in-a- White-Snake-video-and-oh-my-God-you-are-such-an-asshole! I woke up embarrassed. I know we all like to pretend that we don’t care what other people think, but the truth for most of us is that to a small degree, we do.

I’m a person who typically embraces the immediacy of a good time and enjoys being in the moment with my friends. We’ve been at weddings where Dan and I are the only ones on the dance floor, while the other couples are engaged in far more dignified conversation and interactions. Not shaking their asses to Baby Got Back. I always look back later and self-consciously think, damn, did we take that one too far? Shouldn’t we be past this sort of behavior yet? So Sunday morning, as I reviewed the events of the previous night, I thought to my self, are you honestly going to be the crazy lady that loses her shit every time someone plays some AC/DC?

Fast forward a few hours, and Dan and I are in attendance at a lovely baby shower/brunch for our dear friends who will soon welcome twin boys into the world. After a brief cocktail hour, where a few mimosa’s were going a long way to soothe my misplaced embarrassment, the father-to-be takes up the microphone and begins to welcome his family and friends to this celebration of babies, and also discuss some important events of the past nine months. He said shortly after they discovered they were pregnant, he received a call from his doctor and learned he had Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.

He said he spoke with one doctor who gave him “good odds” with a 60% chance of survivability. He decided that wasn’t good enough, so he fired that doctor and got another one who told him with 100% certainty that he would live through this cancer. That he could beat it. And he did. Over the past nine months, he fought his cancer while his beautiful wife managed a complicated pregnancy with unbelievable grace and strength. They kept the cancer diagnosis to themselves, for the most part, telling only a few people. Dan and I found out about a week ago, after he finished his last chemo and was able to share the good news with everyone that he was cancer free. We were all so grateful for his outcome, and we celebrated his health as much as we celebrated the babies!

A short while later there was a moment during the party and the DJ was playing some great dance music. There wasn’t a dance floor, just good music playing to keep the party lively. Dan and I were sitting by the bar and the father-to-be, along with another friend began an impromptu dance-off in the space next to us. Then the grand-father joined in, and these three grown men began taking it to town in front of everyone. It was crazy and awesome and hilarious and I started to cry a little. I was actually laughing first, and then found the emotion behind the laughter.

Here he is, grateful to be alive, lucky to have two beautiful babies on the way, and he wasn’t embarrassed by his super sweet dance moves. He wasn’t concerned about what anyone thought of him, or whether or not he looked silly. All three men were simply enjoying the moment, making the most of the mood and the occasion and the love. It was quite simply the most amazing celebration of life I’ve seen in a long time.

I found my perspective and some unnecessary but welcome validation in that moment. The truth is that I AM the mom and friend who will dance in the bar, or in my living room with my kids. I AM the person who sings at the top of my lungs when the song is good and the company is better. I AM the person who isn’t afraid to live in the moment and doesn’t care what strangers think because my life is not about them or what they may or may not think of my Saturday night amateur rock show performance. I’m done feeling insecure about this, and as we all know, insecurity is an asshole, and we do not choose to be friends with assholes!

So when I ask myself if I’m really going to be that middle-aged mom who loses my shit every time my jam comes on?

Well, this isn’t me, but you get the idea!

Girls Trip 2016

March 17, 2016 / Wanda / 14 Comments

Hello, world!

It’s been awhile. I’ve been absent from my blog for almost two months now, in part because life is so busy and requires my complete and total attention, and also because for a while there I just didn’t have anything interesting to share with you.

However, I’ve recently returned from my annual high school girls trip and that is definitely worth sharing! Every year in the spring I go on a girls only trip with three of my great friends from high school. Last year we went to Charleston, SC. This year, my girls came here to Los Angeles.

LA is a big city, and for most of the vacay we wanted the feel of paradise. Originally, we had planned to go to Catalina Island, but El Nino is an asshole and we couldn’t predict whether or not the weather would hold up for us. So we opted to stay at a resort in Palos Verdes called Terranea. It’s one of the most beautiful properties I’ve ever seen, and spending four days there was absolute heaven. We hiked the trails around the cliffs of the resort, took a whale watching tour out on the ocean, laid by the pool and drank fun cocktails in the sun overlooking the Pacific. We laughed, cackled at each other, talked and caught up on everything that’s happened over the past year. Yeah, we know how to girls trip!

The view from our room!

From the pool, looking out over the Pacific ocean.

A Sea Cave!

Hiking trails

Whale watching!

Sea Lions!

There were, shall we say, moments that weren’t so perfect. But my annual girls trip wouldn’t be what it is without some mayhem and madness along the way. As usual, each of my friends has elected to use the name of their alter ego to protect their privacy and what’s left of their reputations. We come from a small town, so….you know.

The first night at the resort was the most intense. And by intense I mean absolutely, fucking, bat-shit crazy. Belinda lives a very responsible life of dedication to her family and her community. So during girls trip she likes to let go. With us, it’s a safe zone. Jasmine is slightly more tame than Belinda, but only just. Piper is far more restrained and likes to relax and rest during girls trip. I’m somewhere in the middle. I enjoy going out and having fun but I don’t want to feel like death for three days, so I try to balance my alcohol intake and late nights in a way that allows me to enjoy the entire weekend.

After an afternoon of drinking by the pool, and then drinking at dinner, Piper went to bed to read her book while Belinda, Jasmine and I went down to the lobby bar for some live music and more drinks. I was tired, so I knew I wouldn’t stay out long but wanted to experience the hotel and I love live music. After one drink in the lobby I went back up to the room, leaving Jasmine and Belinda behind to no doubt wreak havoc on the other guests and each other. (I later heard some stories about a male, Armenian ballet dancer???)

An hour and a half later, the girls staggered into the room. I have no idea what Jasmine promised Belinda to get her to go upstairs, but I have no doubt bribery was involved. When intoxicated, it takes an act of God to get Belinda to leave a party. Regardless, they had the brilliant idea to turn our spa-style bathtub into a “hot tub.” Piper was sound asleep. I wasn’t. I laid there listening to them filling the tub with scalding hot water, sloshing water all over our luxury hotel bathroom. The conversation was as you’d expect. Drunk, nonsensical hilarity. They didn’t have a candle for the ambience so they put Vick’s Vapor Rub in the “hot tub” water to make it smell like a spa. And do you know what happens when you’re drunk and you get into really hot water, which then thins your blood even more? That’s right, it heightens the sensation of being drunk, makes you dizzy and disoriented. And do you know what happens when you’re drunk and become disoriented?

I heard Belinda say, “I’m not feeling so well.” Annnnnd, here it comes. I was actually glad she got sick. That way she could expel all the alcohol from her stomach and she could just pass out and sleep it off. A little while later she stumbled to the bed and fell asleep next to me. I got up to use the restroom and spent the next twenty minutes cleaning up the bathroom. Water and vomit. Good times.

I tried to go to sleep. It wasn’t happening. I was so tired and I had Puky-McPukerson on one side of me and Snory-McSnorerson on the other side of the room. Jasmine was sick with a chest cold, wasted and passed out, snoring like a damn freight train. Somehow Piper slept through the cluster-fuck. I laid there, forever, pissed off and contemplating the purpose of this nightmare. Why was I awake and unable to fall asleep while everyone else caused havoc and then slept peacefully, unaware of how much I was hating the whole world in that moment?

Then it happened.

I heard Belinda making a weird noise next to me and realized she had begun to get sick in her sleep. I jumped up, rolled her over and ran to the bathroom to get a towel. At one point Piper woke up, saw me standing there with a towel in one hand and a pillow covered in puke in the other. Our eyes met and she registered what was happening. She smiled a smile that said, “better you than me,” and she rolled over and went back to sleep. Bitches.

I cleaned her up, made sure she was turned on her side, and tried to go to sleep. I’d like to think I was awake all night because I was meant to save Belinda from an ugly, Jimi Hendrix style death. But there was nothing I could do to stop Jasmine from snoring all night. So I laid there in my expensive, fancy hotel room. Hating the world.

I think I finally fell asleep sometime after 4am. The last time I looked at the clock it was 3:45am. Then at 6am, Jasmine gets out of bed and starts moving around the room. She slams the bathroom door, twice. She opens the heavy draped curtains and let’s a flood of light into the dark room that blinds me, even with my eyes closed. She staggers to the phone next to me and starts randomly punching numbers in the dark, trying to call for room service. Then she stage whispers as loud as she can, “I’m so sorry. Did I wake you up? I’m still drunk and I feel like shit.” Then she says to the person on the phone, “I need a spoon! Can you bring me a spoon? I need a spoon for my yogurt. Does this room have coffee in it?”

Are you kidding me?! Awake….at 6am….for a spoon.

Much later in the day I was able to laugh about it. After I had taken an afternoon nap and stopped hating everyone. Belinda felt really bad. She thanked me for taking care of her. That’s what friends are for. You should never worry about drowning in sick while in the company of life long friends. And I know that if I was at my worst they would take care of me. Probably. If they weren’t all passed out drunk. Except they wouldn’t write about it and tell my sad tale for the whole world to read, which actually makes them better friends than me.