A true daily double

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.