I had to buy some acne cream today, and the guy at the register was eyeballing me to see where the zits were – apparently, he didn’t know that women of a certain age still get acne. Right here on the chin, kid – the Mount St. Helen sized bump… makes me wonder though – where would his eyes have wandered if I’d come up there with a box of Monistat. Eyes up, Junior! Also, if you’re ever in Germany and find yourself in need – their version of Monistat is called Kadefungin. Ask for it by name – or, do like I did – scour your husband’s German dictionary and memorize a short monologue that either explains what you need or outlines the steps needed to brew beer – they’re remarkably similar.
|Bitten Sie um es Namentlich (ask for it by name)
I had yesterday off, thanks to Dr. King, and in true spirit of the day, I went shopping. At one store, I’m browsing the sale rack, and out of nowhere, this kid, who I’m guessing to be 4 or 5, who is running around the store comes flying around the corner and smacks right into my leg. HARD. And he falls flat on his ass. In my surprise, I let out a sharp, “Excuse me!” I look over and the kid is just laying there. Not moving. After a few seconds he gets up and kind of eyeballs me like I should be concerned that I got in his way and made him fall or something. Let me be clear, I didn’t trip the kid – I didn’t even see him coming. He banged into me – I was stationary. And so, I wasn’t going to fawn over him for being an idiot. I never did see his mother, but he kept running around the store. So the next time a kid runs into me at full-force, I’m going to cry out in pain and make a complete jackass of myself. Scream and moan until the mother comes over and makes her precious angel behave. Look, I don’t hate kids. No, really. I swear. I do hate shopping, and I hate being plowed into by people who have spatial awareness issues. I’m sure Dr. King would have been proud of my non-violent reaction.
We went to my dermatologist yesterday – not for my aforementioned uber-pimple, but to check on Matt’s hives. Long story. Anyway, the dermato, Dr. P only met me three times: once to look at the bump on my head, once to remove it, and once to tell me it was cancer – and yet –she totally remembered me. And she and Dr. S want to write a paper about my case. I always knew I’d be famous.
I head to Columbia, SC for a training class tomorrow, so I’m going to weigh in a little early – as in, today. I think it will be good. I’ve been compliant this week, except for an incident involving an Angel Food Cake. Which, if you’re going to deviate, that’s a pretty safe binge.
I had to kind of throw a hissy on a process today at work. Now, I don’t usually get beat up over details, but this one matters to me, and I’m not going to yield on it. I also sent in a summary of some information I received for a focus group and I’m pretty sure that’s going to raise some eyebrows too. I don’t care.
I did two classes at the Y yesterday, also in honor of Dr. King. Because I have a dream… of eventually wearing a size 12. Point being, I am so sore from Dance Blast in the morning and Zumba in the evening. I can move, but it isn’t pretty.
This guy on Jeopardy last night answered a question (incorrectly). Turns out Alex Trebek is a huge perv, because you can hear him chuckle…
A donkey punch is when you’re having sex, and at the moment of climax, you punch the person in the back of the head so s/he clenches and make things tighter, which increases your pleasure. Ah, Trebek, you’re a bad boy!
And, that’s all.