Sick and Loving It

I've never been happier to be ill. I'm not sure if I'm really ill at this point, but I was while sitting on that plastic leather couch while trying incredibly hard to focus on the woman presenting her presentation on "snip, snuff, hug." Candles. She was selling candles. And she kept looking at me, speaking right at me as if I was the only person in the room. I must have been her safe place, a pleasant smile poised perfectly on my face; eyebrows raising melodically with her minuscule voice inflections. Eyes, watching hers respectfully; from the outside no one could tell I was mentally on a Safari in Africa. Or something.

But, back at the present which is now the past, I forced myself to focus! while the woman, who has insecurity issues (don't we all?!) talk with a broken canter. Besides thinking about how she needs to work on her presentation, that her hand shake was weak, and that I, as the consumer, really had very little information or urge to purchase her product, I somehow managed to stay awake through it all.

Then out came the sniffing samples. Instead of "Clean Linen," I thought, "Cheap Bathroom Spray." Instead of "Twilight Rose," I thought, "Cheap Woman Prostituting on Rose Street." Instead of "Midnight Escapade," my very keen sniffer signaled to my brain, "Two Beers, Body Odor, and a Touch of Musk."

I'm SO glad I took the kids. I politely thumbed through the catalog, and waited for the appropriate moment to say, "I'd better check on the children." But first, back to the catalog. Can you say, "Ha!" As in "Ha! Even if I had a kazillion dollars, I'd never, not EVER, spend $74.95 of it--plus shipping, handling and tax--on five glass dollar-store looking votive holders! Do people actually buy these things? If so, WHO? They should be shot or genetically altered, or severely fined for wasting time, money, and thought processes!"

(Please be notified that this rant was sponsored by Low Progesterone, and has now subsided. It is now safe to enter or exit the building, but we do advise that you keep your armor on at all times.)

So, back to the children. I, the concerned mother, of course, checked on the children, and quietly said, "Load up, it's time to go!" Being very obedient, they did as they were told while I pulled the hostess aside, thanked her for a wonderful party (I'm sure it was wonderful for someone), told her I was not feeling well (stick me in a room with 10 other women who think paying way too much for way too little is acceptable, and I'll get sick every time), and that I apologize, but I must be going. Oh, and by the way, the Banana Bread smells delicious and the red table cloth really livens up the dining room.

The farther I got from the party, the better I felt. I did have to reward the children for their prompt obedience (and they didn't get any of the snacks at the party--the REAL reason to go to a party), so Sonic's Happy Hour did the trick for half price. (Do you get giddy with the words "Half Price", too?) And here I am, home, tucked away safely in my much too messy bedroom, in my happy little place while three giggly girls laugh on the other side of the door, injecting into their fragile bodies Red Dye #10, high fructose corn syrup, a formaldehyde cherry, and a Made in Mexico full-of-toxic-pesticides lime wedge (which are all floating gaily in a sea of Sprite). (I do have to admit that I love Sonic's ice. Not too big, not too small. Nice texture, too...do other people think about such things?)

I am so not a people person. If you want to drain the very life from me, stick me in a room with people and watch me be the "most outgoing person ever!" Oh, what a high price tag that carries. People tag me as an extrovert, but they obviously have not read my dirty little secrets that permeate my precious little blog: I am an introvert. Me, introvert. Introvert, me. You like people? Please, GO, be merry, be with people. But leave me here with me, myself and I, and let me be what I am: an introvert. Right, Mr. Google? "Introvert: a person who tends to shrink from social contacts and to become preoccupied with their own thought." Doesn't that sound absolutely splendid?! I do say so, Me, Myself, and I. I do say so.

In other news, today was a 13.5 mile run. It was truly blissful. I so enjoyed it. We ran in the snow. We ran on the snow. We ran under the snow. We ran with the snow on us. Snow, snow, snow! Snowflakes fell on my nose and eyelashes, smudging my cheap mascara and occasionally assaulting my contacts. Eager state employees fulfilled their lust for driving large machines and producing clean roads, and all the while we ran; our little group of spandex wearing, red tipped runny nosed runners. I believe I am a runner now. I wasn't quite sure before. But oh, how good it feels to run. Happy endorphins skip through my head, throwing rose petals and speaking of peace and not war; of candle parties where everything is at cost, and of pasta dishes that are calorie free; of honeysuckles on dirt-path lanes, sunsets in the country, and sheets dried by sunshine. I do so adore my friends Endor and Fin. They always come to visit when my running shoes are on...

You know what? I now enjoy showering. I wasn't much for showering before, I was mostly a tub girl, but now, like mold on a shower curtain, it's grown on me. I highly recommend (especially to anyone who has a multitude of children, pets or neighbors) showering in public. Yes, in public. It's so very peaceful. You, the locker room, the black rubber mat on the floor--the shower you don't have to clean. The water you don't have to pay for. Oh! It's practically euphoric! And best of all, there are (at least to this point) no little people that want to jump in the shower with you, no "Hey Mom's" at the bathroom door, no "Woman, where are my long johns?," no pesky cat meowing because she wants to drink the dirty water (what is WRONG with that cat?). It's just you, peacefully showering in a public place.


Though, it is rather odd to think that you're naked, downstairs, while everyone that sees you everyday is fully clothed, upstairs. At least, I hope you're naked when you take a shower, and that the people upstairs are fully clothed when they are not...

Anyway, I do feel slightly apologetic for the poor person that has to clean the shower I was in this morning, stretching my quads and drinking my protein shake while hot water licked at my cold, wet skin. (I can multi-task on a plane. I can multi-task with a crane. I can multi-task on a bus. I can multi-task while you cuss. I am The Queen multi-tasker, yes I am. Move it or lose it, Sam I am.) Deciding that I'd just rinse out my shaker cup while I was in the shower, I twist off the lid, fill it with water I'm gleefully not paying for, and proceed to rinse the cup. It didn't quite go as I expected it to (and yes, I always have some sort of expectation--uh hum), as chunks of clumpy-chocolate-globbed protein shake went all over the shower. I tried to wash them down the drain, but they kinda just stuck to the walls, floor, curtain...possibly the black rubber mat.

So I apologize, oh great and much un-coveted cleaning person, who not only had to dig my hair out the drain, but also had to, no doubt, scrub the Costco chocolate protein powder off all surfaces pertaining to said shower. I'm sorry, you hear? I'm SORRY!!!

Boy does it feel good to get that off my chest!

I'm tired. Didn't sleep well last night. 5 hours max. Awake at 3:30AM again. Not sure why. Too much on the brain. How do I get rid of it? Is there a dumping station somewhere? "Over Stressed Uptight Dumping Station For Neurotic Introverted Size 8 Females - 3 miles." Why can't it just be that easy? I could even run there, and back, which would really help in easing the over stressed, uptight, neurotic, size 8 part.

Speaking of which; size 6. That's my goal. Being the great hunter I am, I have been snatching up size 6's at the thrift stores, storing them away as the focus of my goal. Size 6 by summer. Sounds like a great slogan, doesn't it? But it doesn't look quite right. Size Six by Summer. There, that looks a little better. Hmmmm. Size Six By Summer. Naw, don't know if I like that so much, as the S's don't stand out while being in competition with the upper case "B."

Yes, this is what I do when I have alone time. You?

Form and function. I think that's probably my life's biggest motto. Followed closely by: I mean waht I say and I say what I mean. I love that. It's black and white, so clear cut, right upfront and honest; refreshing, not confusing. Defined, not wishy-washy. It's a yes, it's a no; it's never a maybe. Why, oh why, can't everyone live by my two simple mottos? I just might become an extrovert if everyone else would just convert to the way I'd like them to be. How do you like dem apples, aye?

And yes, I do like apples. When I get my house in the country, I will, I must, have an apple tree. Perhaps two types. Apples, what a perfect snack. Just the right size, biodegradable, pleasing to the eye, and oh so very versatile. You can eat it whole, cut it up, smear some peanut butter on it, dip it in caramel (I've got the best recipe ever!), make apple pie, apple crisp, apple muffins, apple bread, baked apples, mulled apples, cider, wine, dried fruit, applesauce....are you as excited as I am? And the joy of picking them from your very own tree on your very own land; that's the icing on the cake. Apples have form with function. I do so enjoy that.

Well, is that enough gibberish for one day? I do feel oh-so-better, perhaps completely, if not at least partially, recovered from my obligatory party. I'm not always such a prude, I do admit. Or, wait, perhaps I am. I'm kinda leaning towards yes on this one. That's me, I'd rather fantasize about apples in the country than smell someone's rendition of an apple in paraffin.

So tell me, how do ya like dem apples?