Americanuck

I was working this morning trying to simultaneously eat my breakfast (of champions) Golden Grahams and milk. Tom is sitting beside me on his laptop reading email and whatever before he gets ready to go, deeply absorbed in whatever he was doing.

I am reading an email when I accidentally dribbled a whole bunch of milk down my umm cleave..damn it was COLD. So of course I made this weird warbley yelp and clutched at my chest.

Tom immediately is jarred alert and looks at me with all kinds of concern in his face asking me what’s wrong?!?!?!?!?

“Damn I just spilled milk down my boob crack!”

He leans back in relief and says something like “Geez I thought you were having a heart attack or something! You scared the crap outta me! That cry you made was the weirdest sound whahhahhwheahh”

Then of course, I get the case of the giggles BAD. He’s laughing by then too and says, ok here something else for the blog.

And he was right

Note to self… next time when you’re trying to make space in the freezer for your new groceries and you remove a box with one purple popsicle left in it, don’t leave it on top of the refrigerator for several hours and then pick up the box..

Purple shit everywhere.

You hear all those warnings about crazy drivers out there but who figured they were also referring to those wielding shopping carts?

Like the good daughter I am, I went and picked up my Mother’s weekly groceries at the local grocery store. If I do it, it is generally during the evening when other people fresh off work are more efficiently making their way around the store eager like me to just get it the hell over with. When Tom (the good Son-in-law) does it, he’s more likely to do it during the day when he says the crowds are less. Today was a day where I was able to go during the day and experience that for myself.

What I found were a lot of people, mostly women who were dawdling their way around the store, parking their carts any old which way they want to as I mean seriously who’s in a hurry right?

When I reached the end of the store I realized that I had forgotten to pick up that gross jellied cranberry stuff my Mom likes with her Turkey and because I wanted to have everything I need for the Christmas dinner in the pantry and ready to go on Monday I went back for it. I was about to turn left into the canned food aisle when this very harsh faced and flaming red haired lady came roaring around from the right hand side, crashes her cart into mine at a pretty fast clip and driving me into a handing display rack near the end of the aisle. This ended up forcing the handle of my cart into my stomach and up into my ribs.

For a second I stood there, or rather hunched there with my eyes watering while I heard her make an impatient noise and hardly glancing in my direction just kept going with her head held high. A very nice older gentleman came over to see if I was alright as I had to his words “been made to hit that rack pretty hard”. I smiled at his concern through my watering eyes and told him that I was “indeed OK thanks for asking”. He made a disparaging remark about Ms. Redhead and patted my shoulder and wandered back to his cart.

After the initial pain there has now come that lovely residual ache of being punched in the stomach. I really felt it when I had to heft my Mom’s groceries up to her place from the car. Thankfully it’s more a dull ache accompanied by the occasional twinge on my right side now.

Tonight, I’ve got to face the local mall to take Sean to his rescheduled dental checkup (His office is in the mall). I had to cancel the last one due to a dinner with a business partner and this was the only appointment available with our regular dentist until waaaaay into the New Year. What was I thinking?!?!?! A mall a few days before Christmas? Hopefully I won’t be circling for hours trying to find a damn parking spot.

So wish me luck.

This probably falls considerably far into the TMI category (hey maybe I should MAKE a TMI category on here, oh wait. I did already!) but in the middle of the night, if I have to pee, I pee in the dark. I figure, once your ass is down on the seat you’re good to go. Right?

I’ve memorized the route to/from bed and bathroom and everything within the bathroom that needs to be used (including the location of the soap dispenser) within a reasonable margin of error. So much so in fact, that I could do it with my eyes closed. Literally. Well okay… once I used the hand-cream side of the dispenser intead of the soap side by accident but I’ve come up with a work around for that as well. Always thinking I am.

There IS method to my madness. I know this isn’t the first time I’ve said this but I’m an insomniac and one that suffers far greater under times of stress. So if my eyes are closed and I’m half asleep? The insistent post-forty bladder is not going to pull me out of that quasi-slumber k?

So anyway, like I said I usually have the whole route and bathroom functions down to a science. Well as long as I don’t throw myself any curve balls or Tom doesn’t leave the seat up (ok that was only once but the blood-curdling yelp of my ass connecting with cold porcelain was enough for Tom to double check.)

So last night, I’m laying there trying to talk myself out of the need to pee. I mean I’m all comfy in my bed and my dozy self is saying “Psst come on, you can get through these lousy three hours of sleep without needing to get up to pee!” and my sensible self is saying “Now Belinda (yes my sensible self calls me by my given name) if you get up now you will guarantee yourself an uninterrupted 3 hours…” Dozy self reluctantly gave into sensible self  and I trekked to the en-suite. Here’s when it all went wrong.

I dunno what I was doing but somehow I got a bit turned around and flailed out my hand to find the counter and get my bearings and my hand connected with my make-up bag that I had left on the counter that morning. I heard a few sickening crashes and, I’m sorry to say, a few “splashes”. I squealed and Tom called out to ask if I was ok. Ummm yeah but some of my make-up is, So. Not. Ok.

So, yeah, the light got turned on and with half squinched eyes I peered into the toilet to see what make-up had gone for the unexpected swim. In moments like these you almost want to just flush and leave it your own dirty little secret but, well hell, the noise already busted me and I’m sure the next big “dump” would have caused a log jam so the plumber would have narc’d me out anyway..

So with a weary sigh I went fishing and pulled out my face powder, a couple of brushes and a few other bits and bobs from the bowl. Annnnnnd then I proceeded to wash my hands for ten like minutes. Ew.

Needless to say those items that fell into the toilet were sacrificed and were provided a land-fill burial as opposed to the one at sea.

Happily, after work and my quality time dinner with Sean (we were alone tonight) we hit the drugstore and I bought replacements for the stuff I really needed. Of course being make-up is my “crack” I also bought stuff I didn’t need.

I am a cosmetic marketers wet dream. But seriously, how could you NOT buy a mascara called “Get Bent”?

The sun is almost shining, I just got out of bed and I’m mere seconds away from a half pot of Tim Horton’s coffee as I hear the pot a’gurglin as we speak. Can we say bliss? I’m officially at the halfway point of my vacation time, but still far enough away from work to still feel somewhat Zen-like. Ahhhhh..

A few minutes later………………

So, I go to get my coffee and decided to use that new ‘raise money for breast cancer’ cute pink enamel travel mug, forgetting that the lid on it is dodgy at best with just water inside of it. I go to take a sip and…

Freaking hell!!! Hot hot hot!!

Cursing I go back into the kitchen looking for my stainless travel mug. RIGHT! It’s in the dishwasher. I open it, reach in to grab the mug and recall that the lid is in the cutlery trap to keep it from bouncing around inside the dishwasher.

I pull up the trap door a few inches to grab the lid and failed to notice the small serrated knife sitting along side it..

P.S. yeah I know, my cuticles are dry and there is no manicure in sight. Deal with it. I’m not girlie in THAT way. I’ve never given two shits about my nails and I’ve been surrounded all my life by friends that get regular manicures, go figure. I’ve dealt with the nail shame. Move on.

That slice is small but it HURT!

So much for Zen.