Viva Las Vegas

So far, this injury has made me miss a beach party, a cross-country drive, a Coldplay concert and the X-games. Because really, I can't hobble on my crutches at the beach, or sit in a car for DAYS on end, or stand on one leg in the pit for several hours, and I can't hobble around trying to catch best trick and moto X.


And because I had been feeling slightly sorry for myself (and I got lost in the world of blogs), I hadn't checked my concert e-mails in quite some time. More fool me. I clean out my box -sounds dirty, doesn't it? - and find a pre-sale e-mail for none other than

(I puffy heart and rainbows Dave Grohl...Really, I do)

The end of September, at the Hard Rock in Las Vegas. Guess who hasn't been in Vegas in almost 2 years AND should be out of her lime green prison AND has a birthday coming up?!

Viva Las Vegas, baby! Meet me at the bar!

It's new...

Try to ignore the pink toes, they matched the LAST cast. LOL. I did however, go into the Doc's office in a green shirt, fully aware I was going to request a new color and I wanted to match when I left. And yes, I'll be getting 1/2 a pedicure soon. Yep, I'm a weirdo...but at least I don't bite (often).

************************************************************************

Shake, Rattle and Roll...I live in Southern California, and although I've lived other places, there is NO PLACE LIKE HOME. I mean Hawaii comes close, but umm...I lived through 1 tsunami and that was plenty. I've also experienced blizzards on the east coast and flash floods in the west.

What I usually say about the many places that I've lived temporarily is "They are nice places to visit, but I wouldn't want to LIVE there". I'm sure many people say that about California, but that's okay.

Yesterday, while I was having lunch with friends (but BEFORE they used a SAW to cut me out of my cast), there was an earthquake. Not a bad one, but again, I've lived mostly in Cali all of my life, and so I can be pretty cavalier about such things. I was just being seated, so for a second, I thought "Wow, my big ass really needs to diet if I can feel the floor shaking like this"...But then I took a look around. I looked up and saw the light fixtures swaying all crazy and a waiter looking like maybe he shit his pants (I think maybe he was one of those kids who moved from the midwest, waiting tables while waiting to be discovered... I was having lunch in Beverly Hills and this particular restaurant has a lot of would-be actor types).

Then I thought, oh...it's an earthquake.So then, I had to check in. My sister, everything okay where you are? You talk to our Mom? My friends I went to lunch with borrowed my phone to make sure their homes were still standing. And you have to call the people you know have lived in California all of their lives, but are still unnaturally afraid of earthquakes to make sure they didn't drop dead of heart attacks. Then, naturally, the network jams from all the phone calls being made.

Even The Man calls me, he's not home yet, still driving but heard there was an earthquake on the news. I'm alive, in fact, I'm at lunch having a pina colada. Even got a few e-mails, thanks Laural over at Mamasphere for checking in, glad to know people in the blog world care too.That's my day in the life. And here I was thinking that my life with the cast was going to be boring...

Proof!

The Boy, my oldest, looks nothing like me. He is an exact replica of The Man. So much so, that I have put baby pictures of The Man and the boy side by side and my own mother couldn't tell them apart.

But he does act like me. He's quirky and weird and says completely inappropriate things:

We were in the Base Exchange (PX):

The Boy: Hey Mom, our bagger is left handed like me.

Me(grabbing our bags and heading to the door): How could you possibly know that?

The Boy: Because she's missing her right hand.

At which point, I look back, and sure enough... She's only got one arm. And then I sit on the bench outside and start laughing uncontrollably. Because I find the most inappropriate shit freakin' hilarious. I mean, laughing so hard that I'm crying. The Man walks away from both of us, because I'm sure he is disgusted that his wife & child would laugh at something so ridiculous.

So there you have it. He may not look like me at all, but he IS like me. See? We've got the same completely atrocious sense of humor.

Acts of Random Kindness

I am a random movie watcher. Especially these days...you know, these days where all I do is sit around with my leg up. Because my days are so boring, I sleep alot. And because I sleep alot during the day, I DON'T sleep a lot at night. So I watch stuff like "How to Marry a Millionaire", and "Ocean's Thirteen", and "Evan Almighty". Yeah, I said it. Evan Almighty. Quick synopsis: Evan, former anchorman, becomes a senator or something on the platform of Being the Change. He says a prayer of thanks for his new lot in life and prays for his family to become closer. God comes to him and says you want change? Start by building an ark. Hilarity ensues. Moral of the story: Change comes from Acts of Random Kindness (get it? A.R.K. yeah well, they were reaching, but I still find this movie ridiculously funny)

Anyways that's the subject of today's blog, boys and girls...umm...boy and girl? Okay, YOU.
RANDOM KINDNESS.

I just flew back from the Dirty South (and boy, are my arms tired..LOL. Ok. Sorry. I couldn't resist), and I was completely taken aback by the KINDNESS of the people that I met at the airport. This trip was especially trying for me because I was flying back for a funeral and so prone to being emotional, I was in a cast and so had to rely on perfect strangers to get me where I was going AND I was also in pain because the longer my leg was down, the more swollen it would become.

Don't get me wrong, the airport staff were surprisingly helpful. Should they be ashamed that I was surprised at their helpfulness? Or should I be shamed because I'm so used to maltreatment at LAX? Hmm.. They carted me around in my wheelchair and kept up friendly chatter. They didn't make me feel like it was a hassle to drag some lady in a pink cast around. Which I appreciate; I'm young enough to not like having to be carted around, and old enough to realize that they were doing it because it was their job, but it was the ATTITUDE that made the difference.

I'm talking about the people. The people who where on their way to Houston, or Florida or Tennessee. Stopping to help me pick up junk I've dropped trying to walk with crutches AND carry a purse. People who pulled my crutches from the overhead instead of making me wait on the flight attendant. The extremely nice man who had never been to the big city (when he found out I hailed from Los Angeles), who walked behind me when I got on the crop duster to my final destination...just in case I fall backwards (because walking on crutches up a ramp for the first time is much more difficult that you'd think) will be there to catch me.

People I'd only just met, and I'm sure will never see again. Kinder than kind. Helping me when I'm wobbling on my crutches, 'cause it's late, I'm tired and I've been on the freaking plane for 5 hours already and my leg is killing me and I STILL have to change planes ONE.MORE.TIME.

Maybe to them, picking up my crap wasn't a big deal. Or maybe the chick got my crutches down because they were in her way. Mayybe. Or maybe they just did it because I looked tired, or I was in a cast and looked like I could use some help. Either way, it made my trip easier to get through.

And it made me realize that these itty bitty acts of kindness, DO actually make a difference. After all, if the nice person hadn't picked up my crap when I dropped it walking over to the check-in terminal, I wouldn't have had my ID. Without my ID, I couldn't not have gotten on that plane. Then I would have been turning the place out, having a meltdown about how I JUST HAD MY ID and what kind of shithole airport is this where they rob women on crutches and THEN they would have called Airport Police where I would have gotten arrested, and The Man was already 1/2way to where he was going and would have said "Keep her trouble-making ass in lock up until I return." Then I would have to kill him, and then I'd be in jail for attempted murder and I can assure you, I don' t have enough bail money for that kind of drama.

Maybe I can't save the world. But maybe I can prevent somebody from going postal by just one teeny tiny Act of Random Kindness. Sometimes that's all it takes to make a difference.

Random and Ridiculousness....

Anybody think this will clash with a somewhat somber black dress? Too festive?

...

Why Target is the Devil

So I'm leaving town tomorrow. Gotta fly down south to attend a funeral. And with all the new fangled RULES about what I can fly with, I figure I will just go get some travel sized crap to shove in my bag.





I have a unreasonable, deep & unabated hate for WalMart, so that leaves me with Target. And while the Target by my house is ghetto fabulous, it's STILL better than the WalMart of Death (because the WALMART by my house is both ghetto AND dangerous). Anyways, I head in with my list

1. soap
2. lotion
3. toothpaste
4. sunblock
5. mouthwash
6. floss

Bonus! I get to ride in one of those driveable carts because I'm crippled and can't be hobbling all over the Target on crutches. Good Times y'all. I only once knocked over a whole row of purses because I was trying to get the hang of steering.

But I digress. I went in for a few .99 cent items because I didn't want TSA throwing away my fancy soap/lotion. And I DID get that stuff. But while I was there, I thought I would look at flip flops, and then saw THE UNTOUCHABLES on sale for $7.00, so in the cart it goes. Oh, and they DO have flip flops: in blue and green. I'll take those, I've been looking for green shoes. As we are making our way back to the register...Ohhhh...look at THAT dress, it's white and it's got POCKETS! And that cute shirt, in green? Good, then it will match my flip flops. My "driver" several thousand paperback books, a dress and a cute purse. None of which she had PLANNED to purchase, she was just taking me since I don't drive.

Got that? SO. I went in for all that stuff I told you about earlier AND: travel size shaving gel, q-tips, eye liner, white dress with pockets, cute greet shirt, flip flops (2), The Untouchables, and tic tacs (because they are so very yummy). Cost of my supposedly quick trip? $80.00

Damn you Target, you did it again. You with your sneaky low prices that add up, and cute clothes and make up. You know I can't live without eyeliner. And if I'm going to go see The Man's country cousins, I have to be up on my game presentable. But damn you for making it too easy to buy pretty dresses I don't need because I was already mostly packed AND had remembered NOT to pack my "Tu eres un pendejo" Tshirt because it was inappropriate, even though I'm pretty sure none of them speak any spanish. And I hate you because of all your cute shoes I didn't buy because I have a hot pink cast on my foot, so patent leather anykindofshoe would be just plain crazy. Oh wait, no...THANK YOU, because that would have added another $50 to the cost of this trip.

2001 Things to Do before I die

I bought this book at The Crackhouse (aka Barnes & Noble) on the sale table. I love books. My last purchase included: The Goose Girl (for the brat), Eclipse (for ME and the brat), Shots - A recipe book for different liquor shots, thoughtfully separated by your poison of choice...it even has one of my PERSONAL favorites: Chocolate cake* (recipe at the bottom) and that book.

I consider myself to be fairly adventurous. I actually bought this book for My Party Poopin' friend because she is also scared to try new things. It's got stuff like:

• Make angels in the snow
• See a Rodeo
• Hula Hoop

Me: check, check and check. In fact, I HAVE a blue hula hoop in my room. Right now. And before I tried to crack my ankle in half, I played with my hula hoop every morning after I came from the gym. It's good exercise, and it's fun.

And then I read it, because I didn't expect to see my friend for a few days, and I told her I'd give it to her when she came for a visit. And I saw stuff like:

• Be and extra in a movie (which I'm DYING to do)
• Write out a wish list
• Make a gingerbread house from scratch (yummy)

So I went back and got one for myself. And I went through it and checked off stuff that I've done already. Have phone sex (hey, I'm married to a military man, what do you want from me?), check. Buy someone a present for no reason at all, check. Read to children, check..check... and CHECK. Hell, I can even write it things I've done.

I thought it would be way cool to have a list of all the things that I did, "back in the day" as well as things I want/am going to do. And when the brat gets older, and I'm not longer cool (will that day ever come..? psht..nahhh), she can say her Mom was a tattoo getting, prize fight going, love note leaving, singing in the shower, back stage sneaking, broad. And she enjoyed every minute of it.

And maybe it will teach the brat not to be afraid of life, or of trying something new. And the POSSIBILITIES. For all I know, she may WANT to be the Grand Marshall at a St. Patrick's Day Parade, or have a signature color, or have multiple orgasms (it's in the book, I'm not tellin' if it's checked...LOL)


*As promised:

Chocolate cake shot:
1/2 oz Frangelico Liqeur
1/2 oz Vodka (plain or vanilla...NO generic ladies, stoli/skyy/belvedere/greygoose)

take a lemon wedge, dip in sugar
squeeze lemon wedge with sugar into your mouth and hold
take the shot
swallow lemon sugar with shot and you got.... chocolate cake!

Delicious as the real thing, not as many calories and the added bonus of a nice buzz. Enjoy!

Groundhog Day

And here I was thinking it was in February.

But it's not. Today, I am the official owner of a hot pink cast, and damn is it cute. I am also the owner of one MONTH off of work. Let Groundhog's Day begin! Or, as one of my favorite bands sings "everyday is EXACTLY the same". (Can anybody name that Band?)

Maybe not EXACTLY the same. I can move from my bed to sitting on my couch. Or even go sit outside in my hammock. I jest. Mostly. I've actually got plans to go the bowling alley on Friday. For reals (one of my favorite things to say, even though I know it sounds ghetto. It's up there with "right now, right now" and "huh?" -that one drives The Man bonkers). Anyhow, I was invited, so I'm going. I may not bowl, but the bowling alley has a fantastic bar. So I can sit there, with a drink in my hand.

Then I guess since I am NOT working these days, I am going to catch up on some movies. On my list of things to see: Wanted, Get Smart, Wall-E, Hancock, The Mummy III, The Dark Knight, annnnd Mamma Mia! (I LOVE Musicals!). So I can sit in the movie theatre, with some popping corn.

And tomorrow, I've got a hair appointment and I'm going for a pedicure (can I get 1/2 off?). So I guess I'll be sitting there too.

I'll be sitting here and there
I guess I can sit most anywhere
I'll sit close and I'll sit far
As long as somebody else drives the car

I'll sit at nail shops and when I'm done
I'll sit and get my hairdo done
I'll sit in clubs and then I'll flirt
The only place I won't sit is at work...

Okay, maybe everyday won't be EXACTLY the same. But they will have one thing in common: Me. Sitting on my ass. Wherever I end up. I'll be like The Bathtub Gangsta
except I will sitting around with my foot up in all my pictures.

Maybe when I go to the Salon, I'll throw in the bikini wax. I may as well put these prescription drugs to good use. My foot will still be up in the air, but at least I'll be in a different position.

***FLASHBACK***

In honor of having to give up my tickets for Coldplay because you can't SIT on the FLOOR, only stand, I bring to you ::ahem:: using my Radio Announcer voice with the echo

A BLAST FROM THE PAST -- Six Months Ago, This Day

(Actually six months and ONE day ago...but you get the picture)

I am a ridiculously active concert goer. You may say you like the occasional concert, or even say that you are a DIE HARD fan. I think that I PROBABLY (not a guarantee, but most likely) can top it. In fact, I'm going to go out on a limb and say that I've risked my job trying to get tickets to something that I wanted to attend.

But I digress. Six months (and one day) ago, on a Monday morning, I did the unthinkable. I went to a concert. And when I say I went in the morning. I mean: Me & a friend stood in a line at a quarter to 5:00 AM, waiting for entrance to a club to see a band. It was more a "mini-concert" really...but you get the point. It was from 6AM to 12NOON. Originally, I thought that I would go on to work after that, since 1. It was so early and 2. it was literally, blocks from my place of employment. That all changed when I found out there was going to be an open bar.

Really? An open bar at 6AM? YES. My poison? Long Island Ice Tea.

So I'm one of the first 15 people in the club. Our post: Stage right in front. So close, that I put my drink down behind the speaker. SO CLOSE that I could have touched the drummer (which I did...boy, is The Man lucky I love him so). The club is tiny, there can't be more than 100 people in this place. It's so small that I can actually go get our drinks, and then come back to where I was standing. So small, that I walked in on the violinist throwing up in the bathroom. Hung over from the night before partying with the boys, she says. Well. Okay then.

The band rocked my face off. I had never been THAT close. EVER. And when it comes to THIS band, I am somewhat of a groupie. I can't even lie. I drank and sang and danced around...and drank. And by noon, I was drunk off my ass. I called my job and told them, sorry, no way am I coming in to work, see y'all tomorrow. When it ended, they took pictures, signed autographs and hugged fans. Damn my friend for being scared to bring her camera! But thank God for camera phones! The one picture that I DID get:

The Setlist.

I got the band to sign my tee, got a hug, and free tickets to see them again in a few months. I went home and passed out until the next day. Then back to work like regular folks.

Thank you Little Miss Obvious

4 year old niece: What happened to your foot auntie?

Me: I twisted it when I stepped in a hole.

4 year old: Did it hurt?

Me: yes, a LOT.

4 year old GENIUS: You shouldn't have stepped in the hole, auntie.

Me: Well, honey if I had SEEN the hole I probably wouldn't have hurt my foot.

4 year old SMARTY PANTS: Next time, just jump over the hole like this (hops on one foot). That's what I do when I see a hole. That way you won't hurt your foot.

Me: Thank you. I will remember that the next time I don't see a hole.

4 year old: (nods head, because I'm guessing to her that response made perfect sense) Okay. Can I touch your leg?

So does this mean I can't wear heels?

So I was wrong. I didn't SPRAIN my ankle. I TORE a tendon. Yeah, sprain/tore. Don't even sound alike to they? Not so surprisingly, they don't FEEL the same either. Turns out, I'll be off a few more days than I thought, and...I'll be having surgery. Dang.

The Doctor practically ran me through the hospital. I was seen, surgerized and sent home in the space of 3 days. Now I'm sitting here on my laptop, with my foot up, high on physician prescribed drugs (oooh..the good stuff). I'm still learning to hop around on my crutches, which is harder once the drugs kick in. It's like being stumbling drunk, except on ONE foot...or maybe on stilts? Either way, not easy.

Then my sis & her BFF come by to visit (read: view the wreckage). And here come the questions:
1. Does it hurt? Does a bear shit in the woods?
2. When are you going back to work? When they make me, or my sick time runs out.....
3. Do I need a bed pan? (Her funny BFF, RN asks...) Nope, I hobble to the potty frequently
4. Need someone to give me a bed bath...'cause I know she'll wash my dirty self if I NEED her to? (She got jokes) I love you enough to not request it. It's the bad times the MAN signed up for when he married me...LOL
5. Do I have shoes I can wear....?
......Do I have shoes? SHOES? I have purple shoes, white shoes, patent leather shoes, RED shoes with a pretty silver buckle...Oh, you mean shoes that AREN'T heels? I guess I can't really wear high heels, or rather...One.High.Heel.

Or maybe I could. Picture it:

Me, one cast - hot pink ('cause I can pick the color), and one hot pink high heel. I'm hobbling along in my one high heel, looking cute and then....i get stuck in one of those cracks and twist my OTHER ankle and then my Doctor in a fit of disgust does NOT fix my ankle because he says only an idiot would try to wear heels on crutches anyways, and so I am doomed to try to balance on crutches because I don't have the use of my feet. Eventually though, he takes pity and puts a cast on my OTHER ankle -also hot pink ( 'cause I want to match)-so it's like I'm wearing hot pink boots. But now I can't walk, because you can't really walk on those casts, can you?


One last question:
6. WHO is going to do your pedicure because HONEY, your feet look like hell.