Nobody Puts Baby in a Corner

In August, I'm going to a wedding in Rochester, NY. The groom, Jeff, is one of my oldest friends from high school. The groom's twin, Andy, one of my other oldest friends from high school, didn't invite me to his wedding. In the last week, I've been plagued with strange dreams about Jeff and Andy. In high school, this was the group: Jeff, Andy, Brian, Brad, Jason, me. Yes, I was the only girl in the Nerd Herd (my loving name for them). Once they had graduated, I met the rest of the group at parties. The new group was: Jeff, Andy, Brian, Brad, James, Adam, John, me. Still the only girl. Still going strong! We stayed in touch through college, always making sure to get together during the summer, at 21st birthdays, graduations, holidays, etc... However, as some went on to get married, some went to graduate school, and some moved far, far away, we have all lost touch (all besides me and Brad, that is). So that makes these dreams even stranger.

Dream #1
I am at my childhood house in Robertsville with my family. (This is strange because I didn't even know the twins when I lived in this house.) I was bored so I called the twins. We decided that they would come over and go swimming. I went to pick them up, but when I got there their mom wouldn't let them ride with me and said she would bring them over and pick them up. Ok. Then I forgot the way back to my house. When we finally got there, Jeff was totally vain and wouldn't get his hair wet. He was constantly touching his hair and asking how his hair looked. And Andy wasn't Andy anymore, but that totally sexy guy from Y Tu Mama Tambien. Hubba hubba. And that's all I remember.

Dream #2
I was swimming in a lake, which is very not like me because I only enjoy swimming in chlorinated water. Actually, I have my cousin, Bing, with me and am dragging him along with a lifeguard tube. (It's all coming back to me now.) It is night and scary. We are almost to the docks. There are a lot of tall buildings with lights--a whole skyline. Suddenly, there is a huge coned off area in the lake and there are sharp-shooters all around. I try to stop, but I swim into the coned area. When the helicopter lands it barely misses me. I drop Bing when I hold up my hands so as not to be shot. The President gets out of the helicopter. Somehow I escape and I find myself in one of the skyscrapers, running through the halls. I run smack dab into Jeff, who tells me he can't go through with his marriage until he kisses me so he can know if he loves me or not. Yikes! I keep running because I don't want to kiss him (I don't understand this because when I was 14 all I wanted in the world was to kiss Jeff). That's all I remember.

Dream #3
Jeff and Julie's wedding. I show up looking fabulous as one only can in dreams. This is vague, but there is some sort of a showdown between Kamille and me. Kamille is Andy's horrible wife, who wouldn't allow me to be invited to their wedding. (Should someone that insecure be getting married? That's beside the point, though.) I don't remember what horrible things were said, but I remember that I had all the guys behind me and poor Andy was stuck between apologizing for his embarrassment of a wife and hanging out with the old crowd or sitting alone with Kamille while she sulked. I woke up before his decision, but I'm sure he chose Kamille. He always does.

The Goods are on the South Beach Diet. This is very hard for Kevin and I. We want to have them over to dinner, but cannot think of any all-meat meals. I can't make the things I know they like. Cookies, for example, are off limits. As is homemade ice cream. Absolutely nothing delicious shall be ingested while adhering to the South Beach Diet.

Kevin and I are trying to be supportive. After all, we don't know what it's like to diet. Don't hate us, it's just the way we are built! I was born this way! I love to eat, I pig out on yummy sweets and the more carbohydrates I take in, the happier I seem to be. Now I see the "Low Carbies at Arby's" commercial and I want to puke. It is so easy for me to say, "Just watch what you eat and exercise regularly." Talk about hypocritical. I eat what I want and sit on my duff watching TV all night.

Anyway, Bravo, N&S Good! Think of a good meal and we will make it for you, as long as you don't mind my loaded baked potato staring you in the face and mocking you. Don't listen to that potato, it's never had to diet a day in it's spuddy life. It doesn't know the trouble you've seen.

Too Ugly to be Married

The other swim coach has come up with the idea that the swimmer of the week gets to make a workout for the coaches to swim on the Fridays after meets. This was a bad idea. As I am the head coach next year, I have already informed the kids to enjoy our humiliation now, because we aren't doing this again next year. It was terrible! The entire team was gathered around the blocks and on the pool edge to laugh at us and egg us on. And the parents. Don't forget the parents on the bleachers whispering worriedly to each other while keeping a keen eye on the lifeguard: These are the coaches? Them? The 3 adults struggling in the water? It was horrible, but humorous in hindsight.

It didn't take me long to develop favorites among the kids. Along with that are the kids I don't like so much. There isn't much rhyme or reason to it. Some of the complaining trouble makers are my favorites, and some of the hard workers are my least favorites. There are two sisters, both first year swimmers with white trash parents, who I really really REALLY don't like. During our humiliating coach-workout on Friday, we were resting at the blocks chatting with the kids. I was telling one of my favorite girls that I was married. The older of the white-trash sisters said that I was too ugly to be married. The other little girls all got mad at her and told her how mean that was. They didn't, however, tell her that she was wrong.

I was a bit upset by this. Kevin wanted to know if I was worried that an obnoxious nine year old said I was ugly or if I was worried that it bothered me that an obnoxious nine year old said I was ugly. I thought about it and said both.

Yesterday was a little hectic.

5:30: fall out of bed

6:00-8:00: work (type reports, organize cases, look up addresses, makes lists, check work email, etc...)

8:00-10:00: swim practice. very chilly 60 degrees, and yes we made the kids get in the water. Oh, and during this time from 8:30-9:30 I was on a telecon, a terrible mind-numbing, pull your hair out, makes you want to throw the phone in the pool telecon.

10:00-3:30: work (drive all around the Kansas City metro area bothering innocent people and making them answer strange personal questions about their neighbors, coworkers, students, husbands, sons, etc...)

3:30-7:30: swim meet. hilarious disaster. humorous chaos. we lost.

7:30-10:00: lifeguard class. painful. is my shoulder the size of a football because it feels like a football. a giant inflamed burning football fireball. can we please please turn on the heat in here?

10:00-10:30: drive home. feel sorry for myself. oh it hurts. oh poor me. poor sara.

10:30-11:00: shower. goodbye sweat, chlorine, magic marker (thanks to Joe, one of my favorite little swimmers, who had his marker priviledges revoked after dotting me with it every time I was busy with another child). hello shampoo, soap, hot water. hello toothpaste, lotion, jointritis (it burns so good!). hello bed.

11:00-midnight: why can't I sleep? I'm tired so very tired. count sheep, think of nothing but falling asleep, "accidentally" poke Kevin so I'm not the only one awake, DON'T think of tomorrow.

I usually take a book where ever I go, just in case I get a few minutes to read. When I am in a public place, such as an airport, airplane, doctor's office, etc... I refuse to be seen carrying a best seller. This is how much of a book snob I am. I will sit there with my nose stuck in Virginia Woolf, while my eyes glaze over and my headache worsens, not actually reading but daydreaming about the feeling of being lost in a good story. Don't get me wrong, I respect Woolf, but reading her is such a struggle for me that it makes my feel physically ill. Because of this fear of being seen reading a best seller (except Harry Potter, of course), it pains me to admit, but I really must get if off of my chest...I'm listening to a Nora Roberts book on CD and enjoying every naughty minute! Now, there are two kinds of best sellers. The ones that are best sellers because they are wonderful stories told in a clever way and the ones that, well, I really don't know how they become best sellers. In my opinion, Nora Roberts falls into the second category. I'm ashamed, I'm so ashamed!!

Things I did today:
--I made Kevin's lunch.
--I got up early enough to work before swim practice.
--I talked to my Mom on the phone about a whole lot of nothing.
--I handed out ribbons at swim practice, then delighted the kids by playing sharks and minnows with them. They thought it was sooooo funny that I never (not even once, not even when there were 30 little minnows and only one shark) made it across without getting tagged.
--I took an ice-cold shower after practice and managed to come out of there looking pretty good considering the ghastly condition of the girls locker room.
--I was early for an interview so stopped at Old Navy for a few summer essentials: 2 perfect fit tees, one pair of orange kitten heel flip-flops, one knit mini skirt (that Kevin just assured me doesn't make my legs look fat...but on second thought would he tell me if they did?), one white camisole, one Tshirt that says Lucy's Burgers. See, that's funny because our cat's name is Lucy!
--I talked to D on the phone, but not for long enough.
--I've done one load of laundry.
--I've almost gotten Lucy to use the cat door by herself.
--I am almost done with work for the week, but have more to do tomorrow.
--I bought Kevin an expensive art magazine to try to deflect the attention away from my new clothes. It didn't work.
--I got very angry with a very old friend, but he asked me not to blog about it so no details for now.

What I'm going to do this evening:
--Eat dinner with Kevin's parents. They pay, they pick the place. Beggars can't be choosers.
--Try to talk Kevin into going to see Stepford Wives.
--Maybe, just maybe, I'll get a raspberry concrete double the raspberries from Sheridans. Mmmmmm
--I'm going to go to bed with the lovely knowledge that I don't have to wake up to an alarm clock. Mmmmm double Mmmmm Mmmmmm

Finally! Now that my sister has announced to the blogging world that she is having a third child, I can write about how excited I am to be an aunt...again! Jennifer is the only one of my siblings to have children and my husband's siblings do not have children yet. Therefore, we can pour unlimited amounts of Aunt/Uncle attention on Elliott, Annie, and Baby X. I hope it is a boy. The last time Jennifer was pregnant, I had such a vivid dream that she found out it was a boy and chose the name Simon that I went ahead and blabbed it to the whole family! Well, it wasn't a boy. It was never a boy. I'm just a little bit crazy. Grandma was very confused by the whole thing.

I was hoping that if Jennifer and Tom had a third child that I would be planning one at the same time. Alas, we are not destined to have same-age cousins in this family. In fact, a few days before I learned that she was pregnant, I asked Kevin if we could start trying and before I even had the whole question out he said, "NO!!!" I guess he's not ready! I'm not ready until he's ready so...one day my babies will come. Until then, I'll be a contented and doting aunt.

This is how the recycling works in our house. We drink a soda, rinse the can, put it on the counter next to the basement door. We finish the milk, rinse the jug, put it on the counter next to the basement door. We eat all of the cereal, crush the box, put in on the counter next to the basement door. You get the picture. Thus far, I have never witnessed Kevin take any of the recycling down to the basement. Last night he finished a beer (Nat Light--we're having a throw back to college), rinsed the can, put in on the counter next to the basement door. Good Husband. Then he immediately opened the basement door and went downstairs, empty handed. Bad Husband. Being full aware of the PMS rage bubbling inside of me, I thought of the cookies in the oven, put on a smile, and asked him to come to the bottom of the stairs so I could toss the can down to him. Then it came to me...The Idea. I told Kevin to move the recycling bin over just a smidge so that it was under the banister.

--Why?, Kevin asks.

--Me: I have an Idea.

I look at Kevin and place the beer can on the banister. He knows what I'm thinking. We both hold our breath. Will it work? I let go of the can. It slides gracefully down the banister and lands with a soft clink in the recycling bin. We both stare at the bin for a long while.

Kevin looks up at me. Wow, he says in amazement.

Cool, I manage to whisper.

We have been guzzling soda and beer ever since just to play with our new invention. I'm a genius!!

Grrr! PMS is a terrible thing. I'm hot. I'm grouchy. I have cramps. I want chocolate! It's seems as though life saves up all of it's blunders do dump on you when you have PMS, the precise time when you simply cannot handle it. Of course, these aren't really such terrible things, but they seem like the end of the world to those who are premenstrual. So the cat threw up all over the duvet cover that was washed exactly one day ago. So my husband, the dope, locked the door going from the garage to the basement--locked it from the inside-- so that I had to stomp around the house and fumble for my keys when I was in a huge hurry to get in and out of the house to get to swim practice. Speaking of swim practice, so what if the I'm-a-really-short-dude-so-I'm-going-to-be-a-huge-jerk-so-everyone-knows-what-a-big-man-I-am head coach won't tell me what the next set is going to be. Ok, that really does make me mad. Why won't he tell me? Why do I have to sit there like a bafoon when the kids are asking what they are doing next and he's off who-knows-where? Why can't I just know what the entire work-out is going to be in advance? Why? WHY?!! Why won't Top stop licking her feet? That slobbery snorty sound is driving me MAD! Once, during a particularly bad bout of PMS, I threw an air hockey puck at my roommate's head. Todd stalked out, I cried, and he returned with a tub of chocolate icing, got a spoon, and said, "Eat." Mmmm, it did the trick, alright. And that's what I'm going to eat RIGHT NOW!

Reasons We are Truly Uncool: ("We" being the Goods, Kevin, and Me)

1) We've been planning for weeks to go to Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban on opening night, come hell or high water.

2) We make a huge deal about sneaking snacks into the theater, as if we are being oh so naughty!

3) We are giddy and gleeful to be the VERY FIRST PEOPLE in the WHOLE THEATER to see Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.

4) 20 minutes later we are still THE ONLY PEOPLE in the WHOLE THEATER to see Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. (Maybe seeing Harry Potter on opening night isn't the hip thing to do that we thought it was.)

5) We spend that entire 20 minutes excitedly talking about how cool it would be to be the only Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban patrons. (Well, not the entire 20 minutes. A good few minutes were dedicated to giggling accounts of what the wet sticky spot was on the seat next to N.Good...we were in the back row, after all)

6) Come to think of it, is it still cool to yell, "BACK ROW, BACK ROW!!" and sprint clear to the back to claim as much of the back row as possible?

7) When the movie was over we all made comments such as,
--What time is it? We're out late!
--Midnight? It's after MIDNIGHT?!
--Man, we're out SO late!
--Oh, no! I have to get up at 7:00 in the morning!
--I'm not tired, dude.
--But you didn't get up as early as me.
--Ok, but you weren't on your feet all day.
--That was the best movie IN THE WORLD!
--Let's go see Harry Potter again tomorrow.
--Let's go home and re-read Harry Potter, THEN come see it again!
--Yeah! Let's re-read and it see it again!!

Need I say more?

Dammit!! I don't want that picture posted there. It took me all day to get it there, but I really want it to the right in the About Me part. Why can't I do this? Also, I know that my links are missing. Give me some time, people. I need help with this! Anyway, that's me there for the one person reading this (that's you, Craig) who doesn't exactly know me.

 

My driver's license says that I was born in 1980, but I feel so very much older than that. No, I don't feel wise. No, I'm not older than my years. I DO have the body of a decrepit old lady! Really, I have all sorts of old lady problems. For example, I have joint problems and was for a very long time on Vioxx. You've seen the commercials. Some old fart saying, "I don't want compete in the Iron Man, I just want to tie my shoes." I was on that medicine. I have terribly high cholesterol, see previous blog. When I was swimming competitively, my doctor told me that if I kept it up, I'd have the bones of a 90 year old women by the time I hit 21. Luckily, I got hurt and had to stop what I loved. Now I am sitting here with a heating pad on my back because I have some sort of catch or pinch or what have you. Oh, and it hurts. Don't forget the scoliosis, although slight, that gives me aches in my lower back and makes Kevin lovingly call me crooked-back. I'm not complaining, just explaining.

Tomorrow is my first swim practice as an assistant coach. I will be working with the 8 and under kids helping them learn stroke techniques. I'm a little nervous. What if the kids don't like me? What if their parents don't like me? What if the water is cold and I don't want to get in? What if I can't remember all their little names? The last time I found myself in the same lane as 8 and under kids, I yelled at them and made them all cry. What if I yell at the little lads and lasses and make them cry? I feel like I'm Shel Silverstein writing a What-if poem.

In conjunction with training little bodies in the art of the flip turn, I am in serious training with Lucy-cat. She isn't adjusting to life with a cat-door.