It's Such an Embarassment

Welcome to this episode of My Most Embarrassing Moments!

Before I started my job, I invested in some "really good" shoes. They were supposed to absorb some of the pressure from knees and ankles, and they were supposed to keep me from pronating (rolling to the side of your foot). For a while, they were great. Lately, not so much. In fact, when I do pronate, I'm pretty much guaranteed to fall becuase the shoes have some height to them.

Today I was at the front counter helping a customer. I took a step backwards to get something, and I turned my ankle (aka pronated). Down I went! I tried to catch myself on this paper table, but unfortunately, it's on wheels. The table moved back, and I landed on my butt. Did I mention that this table sort of a wire rack with a table top? It made a lot of noise when I fell against it. Everyone in the shop came running. E-VER-Y-ONE. As if that's not embarrasing enough, I was checking myself for injuries, and I found this:



That's right. Big ol' hole in the back of my pants. See the two fingers through it? It gave a nice view of my turquoise underpants. I had to go home to change.

Just be glad I can't take a picture of my own butt, because the bruise there is not pretty.

On the up side, in the time it took me to drive home and back to work, the gas station on the corner dropped 7 cents! I couldn't take a picture, because my phone doesn't have a camera (I know, I know, I might as well be using cassette tapes for all my technological advancement), but it looked a little like this:



Can I get a hallelujah! Well, can I? Seriously, I can't hear you. I'm so excited about falling gas prices! I honestly never thought gas was going to be below $2.00 ever again. I was composing the stories to tell my kids about how "When I was young, gas was only $1.25 a gallon." And I was coming up with smart-ass responses to "Really? So what was the world like in black and white?" But here we are at $1.89! If I weren't so excited about how much money I'm going to save, I'd be annoyed at all that wasted creativity.

Finally, for your viewing enjoyment:



I call it Sadie and Ball. It's a pretty common sight around here.

Not again!

Remember this post where I freaked out because I found a gray hair (and I'm too bloody young for that)?

Today I pulled out three.

THREE.

And that wasn't even the most traumatic event of my day. Close, though.

Venting Fruststration So I Can Get Back in the Christmas Spirit

My dog just attacked another dog. Not just any other dog, either, but her best doggy-friend, my boss's dog. How does one respond to a situation like that? Especially a one like me, who is rather prone to freakoutage.

Here's what happened. I'm sitting at work, trying to make another 2400 labels because the last 2400 got all messed up, and all of a sudden I hear doggy yelping and screeching. So I look out the window, and they're in their usual wrestling position, only it's clear something has gone very wrong. I can't tell which is yelping, so I yell and them both, which usually gets them apart, but not this time. So then I think maybe their collars got stuck together somehow, so I run downstairs and get outside just in time to see my boss (who is my dad's partner, which is how he's my boss even though I work for my dad) walking out of the pen with his dog and a stick. "What the heck is going on?" I ask
"These dogs can't be together anymore!" he yells. "Your dog had mine by the throat and damn near killed him!" So he's yelling at me, which I understand, because it's an upsetting situation, but I don't respond to yelling well at all. And my dog is just sitting there inside the fence, just like nothing happened.

I go into the pen with her and check her out to see if maybe she's hurt or something, thinking that maybe he hurt her and she was defending herself, but no, she's fine. I start lecturing her, she she's just looking at me like, "What the heck are you talking about?" Then Lee (the boss-guy) comes out carrying Buddy (the dog victim) and Sadie (my dog) freaks and starts barking and growling!

So now my dog is an outlaw. Well, not really I suppose, but that's how I feel. I have to leave her at home now - not mandated by anyone, but it's the obvious appropriate reaction - and it's going to be as hard for me as it will be for her. It frustrates me that everyone seems to think she's a bad dog, when she's acutally very sweet. And I know you're thinking, "But she attacked another dog!" but this is VERY out of character for her. She's generally very submissive, and she and Buddy have been playing everyday for six months without a single incident.

Really, this is about me. Frankly, I haven't had the best couple of years, and I've been so lonely. Getting Sadie was the best thing I've done for myself, and I'm really attached to her. She pretty much goes everywhere with me. I'm having issues with my current situation, and I know this is going to end up being a big issue, and I'm going to end up crying. The most frustrating thing? If I talk to anyone about it, they'll tell me that I'm overreacting, and I'm taking things too personally, and I'm being irrational, all of which I already know. It just doesn't change how I feel. So I'm sending it out into the void in hopes that it will cure me of the need to vent and the anxiety, and I'll be able to go spend the evening with my family without freaking out. See? I'm already freaking out. I will not cry. Will. Not. Cry.

Does she look vicious to you?

Cleaning, Exercise and Letting Sleeping Dogs Lie

I cleaned my bedroom, bathroom and car on Saturday. It was pretty gross. Actually, the bedroom wasn't so bad at all, once I put away the clean clothes and washed the rest. I also had to wrap presents because they were starting to pile up. The car wasn't so bad either - Windex wipes are my best friends. It was the bathroom that got me. It was dirty. Like, really dirty.

I won't go into too much detail because, well, I'm embarrased, and I don't want to send Jessie into cardiac arrest (she's kind of a clean freak). The first problem is that the counter in the bathroom is this really pretty grayish marble. It always looks clean. On one hand, that's great, but when you're cleaning it, it's just gross. The second problem is that my bathtub is made of this weird plasticky material, rather than porcelin. Stuff sticks to it easier, and it's a lot harder to get off. I really won't go into detail about that. Suffice it to say that there was enough gunk to look like a tiny male cheerleader. Tough little guy, too - it took some serious scrubbing to get it off. Actually, I ended up on my hands and knees in the bathtub.

Things I learned from my cleaning experience:

• I'm more devoted to cleaning every week, because it was just plain yucky.


• Vaccuming up dog hair sounds easy, but it's not.


• Laurel was right - the best time to clean a shower is when you're in it. I'll get the cleaning supplies with my clothes on, though, if it's all the same.

On to topic #2. I started an exercise routine today. Can you call it a "rountine" on the first day? I probably can't. Okay, then, I exercised today with the intention of making it a routine. I'm going to let you in on a secret: I hate the gym. Hate it. I loathe it. I waited until 2:00 to take my lunch because when I bought my pass, the lady said that was the slowest time of day. There were other people there though, so it was still too busy for my taste. It's not that I dislike exercise (okay, so I don't love it), it's that I hate doing it with other people around.

Exercise is supposed to make you feel better, right? Endorphins and all that? Well, I didn't feel better. I felt hot and sweaty and embarrased. My face looked like a rudabega, my head is still throbbing and everything looked a little blurry around the edges for a while. I'm hoping for improvement with consistancy.

Exercise. Blech. I'll do it, but you can't make me like it.

Finally, on to topic #3: letting sleeping dogs lie. In this case, it's literal.

My sleeping dog:

Notice how her nose is snuggled up to her back feet. That's my baby. She's a freak, just like her mama.

This is what she looks like awake, except without the glowing demon eyes. She acutally has very pretty brown eyes. One is blue around the pupil.

Gaaack!

Words just can't express my horror. I wouldn't say it was a crisis, that's a little too dramatic, but it's definitely more than an occurrence. Traumatic. Yeah, that pretty much covers it.

It was a traumatic morning. I woke up and was getting ready to go to work. I was brushing my hair, trying to get my bangs to lay right, and I saw a little glint of something in the mirror. I took a closer look, and mild swearing ensued. I isolated the anomaly, took a closer look, and more mild swearing followed.

Yes, that's right. This morning, I found a gray hair. GRAY!! In my head!! GRAY, people! And not from my birth mark gray patch, either. An actual gray hair. The worst part is that it's not the first. A couple years ago, I found another little short one. I never say another one, though, so I could attribute it to some kind of fluke, like stress around finals time. Not this one. First of all, it was in a different place, and second, it was still sort of brown at the end, but gray at the root. Definitely a gray hair.

I showed Mom and Dad. Dad laughed at me, several times. Mom said, "Oh, don't worry about it. Talk to your sisters, they know what color to use." And then she laughed at me.

THIS IS NO LAUGHING MATTER! I'm 23, and I found a gray hair! I went to a baptism on Saturday, and the other Primary counselor told me that she found her first gray hair the other day. She's 28! I'm 23!

So give me the dirt. How old were you all when you found your first gray? Am I doomed to a life of premature aging and dying my hair, futilely trying to copy my natural color, which is FABULOUS, but who's days are obviously numbered?

And don't laugh at me. It's not funny.