Here's a letter for you, Emi!

Dear Emi,

I have discovered many wonderful things at letters from the end consumer. The most recent is a 1970's vintage bathrobe/sweater item that is sitting in my Etsy shopping bag just waiting for me to make up my mind!

Not the least of which is Lorraine. We sort of started glancing at each other in your aisles. Eventually graduated to a friendly wave at the checkout lane. And now? In a couple of hours I will be on my way to the airport to get on a plane and meet her!

Thank you. I always enjoy browsing around your charming establishment.

Sincerely,

one very satisfied end consumer!

If you have not already done so, go over to my Blog List and click on Emi's letters from the end consumer. It is an entertaining way to spend some time. She might even mention boobies more than I do! Enjoy!

Wise Words

Who knew J. D. Salinger had opinions about Mommy-bloggers?

“Among other things, you'll find that you're not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behaviour. You're by no means alone on that score, you'll be excited and stimulated to know. Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. Happily, some of them kept records of their troubles. You'll learn from them—if you want to. Just as some day, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you. It's a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn't education. It's history. It's poetry.

Oh, and there is this little bit too:

“Mothers are all slightly insane.”

Let Me Frame This For You

Please note that Big C, my middle child, just turned 10 a week ago. When he was much younger, 5 maybe, he decided he wanted to be a scientist that studies winter weather so he could play for for the Red Sox in the summer. He is a planner, that one. This past summer he changed his mind. Now he thinks he will be Miss M's weekend Lab Assistant when no one else is at the Lab. What about the weekdays? I'm glad you asked. He thinks that mailmen have got it pretty good. He would like to drive the mail truck. He really likes the idea of spending all day alone in a box sorting things. Then at night he wants to write. (Perhaps the passing of JD Salinger is what prompted me to post this story!) Keeping his Introverted Nature in mind please continue...

Two loud and angry young boys come racing down the stairs. They are looking for their parents to help settle a dispute. The elder is clearly in tattle-mode. The younger, damage control.

Big C: Mom!! Little C is ignoring me! I am trying to tell him something and he is not even listening at all!

Little C: But...I was just reading! He is interrupting me!

Big C: Yah, but...

Mama: (calmly) Hold on. Little C, please tell your brother you are not reading now and are willing to listen. Big C, kindly tell your brother what you need him to know so badly.

Little C: (sigh, downcast eyes) I am sorry I ignored you, (voice raises) BUT YOU were...

Mama: Beep! Wrong answer. New parameter, you can only talk about yourself and your actions, not your brother's. Please try again.

Little C: (grumble, sigh, looks his brother in the eye) I am sorry I ignored you. I am listening now.

Big C: Thank you. (sigh, puts a gentle hand on his brother's shoulder) Little C, I was trying to tell you that I wanted to be alone for a little bit, ok?

Yes, indeed folks. The argument being made by Big C was that his brother was ignoring him when he was trying to tell him he wanted to be left alone!! There is some Circular Reasoning for you!

5 reasons I need to go to the Galapagos Islands

1. It all started with Rex Harrison. I have a thing for Dr. Dolittle..."If we could walk with the animals, talk with the animals, grunt and squeak and squawk with the animals, and they could squeak and squawk and speak and talk to us!" And the Galapagos might just be the last place on Earth to do this. See #2.

2. The animals there have been managed with respect and have not learned to fear humans yet. The thought of this makes me shiver.

3. To land where the HMS Beagle landed.

4. To stand where Darwin standed. (Cut me some slack on that one.)

5. 3 kinds of Boobies!! (Birds, of course.)

Fairy Tale Effect

In the car with Miss M yesterday, discussing lunch options...when this happens.

Miss M: Mom? Can we get pumpernickle? I love grilled cheese on pumpernickle.

Mama: That sounds kind of tasty!

Miss M: Know what I used to think?

Mama: What?

Miss M: That pumpernickle was made out of people.

Mama: Ew! Like from Jack and The Beanstalk when the giant says, "I'll grind his bones to bake my bread."

Miss M: Oh! I bet that's where it's from! I thought it was toasted skin in pumpernickle, though.

Mama: That's kind of gross, Miss M.

Miss M: And...I thought it tasted great.

That sound? That was me trying not to throw up a little bit while also laughing. My kid is a little sick, but funny!

FIVE MONTHS of contractions with this kid...for this!

Small Boy: (rather angry) Mom!!!! (sob, sniffle) Why are you even here?

Mama: Considering the life-giving and -sustaining properties of this relationship, would you care to rescind that question?

Small Boy: (foot literally stomps) Aaaahhh! (he retreats to his lair to plot a more subtle form of protest)

I Have Fissues

I grew up not eating fish. Oh, my mom or dad would make it. I just wouldn't eat it. Not frozen, not breaded, not freshly caught and pan seared. Not in fingers, fillets, or fast food sandwiches. Not even the canned stuff camouflaged beneath a thick blanket of mayo. None of it. I hated the smell, the texture and the taste. And so did my gag reflex.

The Paella Incident did not win the fish mongers any of my business either. Picture this: fancy dinner party, many friends, hosted by a couple that were sort of new to us. The table was set beautifully. I brought them a CD of Spanish guitar music as a hostess gift (clever, right?) which was playing softly. The mingling and drinking was going very well. And then we all adjourned to the dining room for the paella. My plan was to eat the rice and sausage and have Moose covertly eat the aquatic bits. Except that about six bites into it my tongue got itchy. And then I had to keep clearing my throat. And then I started to slap Moose under the table and tried to tell him we needed to go home. Immediately. I was breathing fine but my tongue was thick and my ears were ringing. So he faked a text message from the babysitter ("There seems to be an issue at home that we need to get back for. The Babysitter is ill. Thank you for the nice evening and we will...." I am not sure how the rest of the conversation went because I was sprinting to the car with my high heels in my hand. Since we only lived a mile away getting home and getting some Benadryl seemed like a priority, we drove there instead of the hospital. But when we got home, there was no adult Benadryl to be found. So I ripped open the baby Benadryl and drank the whole bottle before Moose could find a dosing chart online and do the math to figure out how much I should take. Turns out, for my age and weight, the dose is one bottle.

A few years later I met Sushi. And suddenly, I am no longer a fish-hater. I am just a cooked-fish hater. And also anything with an exoskeleton, a bivalve, moves by jet propulsion, or requires deveining. Because that is NOT A VEIN!!! It crossed my mind that maybe I have outgrown the tendency to retch when fish enters my mouth. So I have recently decided to learn to like fish.

Step 1: Smoked Wild Sockeye Salmon (I started here for two reasons. First, it is acceptable to pair it with gobs of cream cheese. Secondly, it is like the bacon of seafood and how can that be bad?)

Result: If I did not chew it everything was fine, though swallowing the Bagel Chips was rather difficult. I gave it a pass and moved on to the next phase.

Step 2: Broiled Sea Bass with ginger and lime

Result: Itchy, burning eyes. To be fair, those are not to be blamed on the consumption of the fish but the smoke in my house after starting and then putting out a broiler fire. The Sea Bass? I only gagged once eating it and I learned I can eat anything with enough ginger paste on it. It also passes, but just barely.

Step 3: This is where you come in! Any suggestions for the next thing to try? (Post your contributions in the comment section, please and thank you!) In addition to the shellfish allergy there a few things to keep in mind: no smelly fish, no chewy fish, and no fish that looks like a fish. Skin, bones, or eyes are a deal breaker.

We are leaving Bigots on the list!

Dear Crotchety Man,

Can I call you Crotch? I was kind of shocked by the back end of your car today. The impact left me more than a bit shaken. All those bumper stickers...I couldn't even count them all, though I tried. (Of course I tried!)

I might have convulsed at the disarray and general lack of symmetry, but the words on your vehicle made me clench a bit. What a load of hatred! Psychology 101: you treat people the way you feel about yourself. Interesting concept. Kind of makes me wonder about your childhood.

I am not sorry that we took Women, Minorities, and Other Religions off of your "Acceptable to Hate Aloud in Public" list. Yes, hating people because of their Religious Ideology is off the list. You should have gotten that note. Please update the back end of your Bigot-mobile as soon as possible. We are working on getting Homosexuals removed as quickly as we can. The Poor and Impoverished are well underway too.

What will you do then, Crotch? Will you remove those vinyl strips promoting acts of violence against the Poor? Will you buy a new car rather than try to deal with the paint damage and crusty adhesive under all of those blurbs about Gay Marriage? You can leave the ones with Bible verses on them, I guess. Maybe they will help you reflect on your Christ. About what he valued in others. About what he asked of his followers. And since you seem to have your head up your tail pipe, you should be able to read them just fine.

Marketing 101

Any of you marketing people out there work on prescription drug campaigns? Any of you work on a drug called...

AcipHex?

It is an acid reflux medication. It might work well. It might not. I will never know...because there is just no way I can go into my doctor's office and say, "Do you think that AcipHex might just be the thing for me? I need some AcipHex!"

(Did I mention that it is pronounced ass-i-fex, with a short i sound and emphasis on the ass?)

Marketeers, when your client gives you crap to work with you have to downplay the stink. Saying AcipHex over and over and over is just...tsk, tsk...asinine. Emphasis on the ass.

...where the buffalo roam...

This morning I went upstairs to get the boys out of bed. At some point during the night Little C left his room, and the roomy comfort of his queen-sized bed, and climbed into the top bunk with Big C. This was their first exchange this morning:

Big C: Ugh! Get out of my face. Dude, you smell like Bison balls!!!

To be fair, he did smell like Bison balls. I made meatballs with dinner last night and I used ground Bison. They were yummy, though pungent.

Another Opportunity to Learn From My Mistakes!

I have run into a small social situation. See, many of my friends on facebook tend to post to the sarcastic and funny end of the spectrum. Here is a great example:

Please put this on your status if you know someone (or are related to someone) who is an idiot. Idiots affect the lives of many. There is still no known cure for stupidity, but we can raise awareness. 93% won't copy and paste this, many because they're too stupid to know how to copy and paste. Will YOU make this your status for at least one hour?

Let me be the bad example again...please use caution when laughing (hahaha, lmfao, rotflmao, whatever your flavor) at things publicly. Just because something makes you roll on the floor in mirth, does not mean that is the correct response. And then some people use their Wall as a way to convey information. To confuse the two makes one look like an idiot. Let me illustrate.

The lovely mother of a couple of ex-boyfriends is on my friends list. Yes, I dated brothers. Neither concurrently nor consecutively. Does that help a little? Anyway...she wrote the following:

Uhhhhh, I fell and broke my tail bone last night!!!

To which I replied:

Hahahahaha!

Now, before you decide I am a complete bitch, let me add to the story. She also subscribes to a semi-regular message from God. (Did you all know he tweets?) And just below her news of fractured vestigial organs, was the following:

God wants you to know.... that every little part of you is magical. Yes, even the parts that hurt, even the ones that are feeling disease right now. It's alright to love what is in pain. More than alright, that's exactly where your love is needed the most. So why not touch that part that hurts and smile at it, at yourself through it, and whisper: ''I love you.''

Only...no one else lol'd. The rest of the comments were all of a more concerned nature. So I tried to fix my faux pas. I tried this:

But the question remains: did you smile at your tail bone, touch it and whisper, "I love you" ?

It does not seem to have helped at all. More concern and offers for help keep rolling in. And there my comments sit. Strikingly crass and insensitive.

Dear Parents or Guardians,

Hello! I was technically the adult assigned to your child on the field trip today. I hope your son is feeling better this evening. We were all relieved it was just a baby tooth! For the record, the other two children in my care all day managed to avoid injuries.

I will have you know that it was not like I left them alone in the middle of the museum while I sauntered off. I am a veteran chaperone, specializing in museums and zoos. Keeping track of your darter was tricky, but I appreciate your dressing him in red today. It did make it easier to spot him as he constantly took off running in any direction but the one we were going. At the time of the incident your son was at the lunch table with 90 other kids and 27 adults. But chaperones need to pee too! Maybe, just maybe, your child should know better than to jump around ON the lunch table. And just maybe some of that responsibility is his. Because 7 is old enough to know that such behavior has a high likelihood of injury. If he didn't know that before the trip...he knows it now.

"Weird but cool." "A very excitable person." "You'll always be my best friend!" "See ya around."

I was sorting through some old pictures and found this whole pile of 1-4 sentence sentiments that all end with "luv ya" or "call me." And I am completely in love with those notes on the back of the school photos! I love the suggestiveness of some and the inside jokes on others. I even love the generic "What the hell am I going to write to this girl? I know, 'Stay Sweet! Glad I got to know ya!'"

Looking at them as a whole is like a Focus Group Study of 6 years of my life. The words on the back of the pictures are as accurate a snapshot as the photos on the front. There are even a few people in the pile that present a sort of timeline if you look at the pictures and read them in order. Here are a few of my favorites!

Colleen, Freshman Year

I'm really glad I met you! I hope we can be good friends this year! Good luck in soccer! Smile! (smiley face) Love, Colleen

Colleen, Senior Year

Good thing Truffles isn't wearing diapers, huh? I have had so much fun with you and Susan at Brady and I sure hope you go to St. Ben's next year--it will be great!! Luv, Colleen

All three of us ended up at St. Ben's for college. And it was really great. Colleen has the most amazing tales to tell of her travels and work since college. I had the pleasure of an hour long Skype Call with her just before Christmas. She was in Hawaii for 5 months for work. See what I mean! She is an artist and a poet and an environmental crusader. And I want to be her when I grow up.

Paul, Senior Year

I'd like to start off by thanking you for being so kind to me and giving me rides. You've become a very excitable person who's fun to be with. I wish you the best of luck after school and in your life. Have a great year. Paul.

P.S. I hope this nice message makes you feel bad for calling me a slut.

And now I do. I even feel badly for not remembering that I called him a slut 20 years ago! But you would not have remembered either because Paul is one of the kindest, gentlest souls I have ever known. He has one of those senses of humor that starts out clever and gets funnier the more you think about it. He is also off-the-scale brilliant. And I have had the extreme pleasure of getting to know him again through facebook recently.

Katie, Sophomore Year

You're a real honey. I'm glad you go to Brady and I'm glad we're friends. Don't forget I like your sweater but it would look better on me, HA! HA! Love, Katie

This one is extra amusing to me. We happened to have matching sweaters. Everyone did...we were in uniform! I ran into Katie a couple of months ago. She is one of those women who just gets more and more beautiful. I do not think it very fair that we are having our 20th reunion this summer and she looks like she graduated last week.

Amanda, Eighth Grade (written in a spiral)

You're a super cool chick! And I'm glad to know you. I'm not gonna say a whole bunch of goo on how great you are because you already know that you're a great friend. Please don't go to Brady. Remember to write and you'll always be my best friend. We (heart) Chad!

First of all, we did heart Chad. Both of us. Just not at the same time. Amanda was one of the funniest people I have ever known. My lack of understanding of the intricacies of Grammar can be attributed to sitting by her in class. And most of the writing I did that year was in the form of tiny notes passed to Amanda!

Don, Seventh Grade

Chad is a lucky guy! Hope I get as lucky. See ya around. Don.

I have not talked to Don since Junior High. In my mind, I have trouble projecting an image of him as an adult. But I hope his life still involves pocket knives and saxophones. And that he did get as lucky!

Chad, Seventh Grade

Hope we are together forever. Love Always, Chad.

Yes! It is THAT CHAD. And, you may have guessed, we did not stay together forever. We stayed together for only a few months. But they were months full of awkward handholding and stealing a few kisses at the Church Lock-In. And the memories are perfectly sweet. Forever.

Linnette, Seventh Grade

Hi! You're a way cool chick! Weird but cool. Stay that way! Love, Linnette.

Hey! I am still weird but cool! She was always insightful and clever.

Susan, Eighth Grade

I'm really glad I met you. You're so sweet and I'm so happy you are going to Brady. Love, Susan

Susan, Freshman Year

I'm so glad we're friends! You're so sweet! Love, Susan

P.S. I hope everything works out between you + you know who.

Susan, Junior Year

Here you go. I still think you and Krista were pretty tricky. ("Let's have a gum party.") You guys crack me up! Thanks for everything!! I love ya! Love Always, Susan

Susan, Senior Year

Here you go. Like I said, I won't miss you! Because we will still be together. I'm glad. I don't know what I'd do w/out you! Susan

Where to start with this one! I love this woman! We met in Junior High, transferred to the same High School, and lived together for four years in college. The first few weeks at college, our RA came to our dorm room and knocked. She wanted to make sure we knew that everyone else on the floor had agreed to leave their doors open to facilitate making new friendships. We thanked her kindly, told her we recognized that closing our door all the time was closing the door on possible new friends, and then closed the door behind her as she left! We were still close for several years after college. But the business of life tends to put space in places you don't want it if you are not vigilant. Spending time with her family (they had 5 girls!) gave me a really beautiful picture of what sibling relationships could be. And, to this day, they serve as a model of what I hope for my own children.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I need to make a phone call. I am feeling a need to open the door for an old friendship.

Journalistic Integrity

I have had this copy of a fancy yet healthy cooking magazine for about a month. For some reason, I get stuck 1/10 of the way into it. I have not read further. The quality of the writing is fine. The photos are beautiful. None of the recipes described are beyond my capabilities. I am perfectly willing to go to the natural foods store to find the ingredients. It is none of that.

And yet here I am, staring at the spread on pages 12 and 13 still. But this morning I solved my dilemma! I know why I won't read the rest of it. There is a serious disconnect between the "gourmet food and high quality tools" mantra that this periodical prides itself on and the photo on page 12.

The food looks fresh. The garlic even have their stems and roots on them still. The EVOO is beautifully pored in the well-seasoned cast iron pan to look quite yin and yang. The knife is a stunning stainless steel Sabatier paring knife with a blond wood handle. And the cutting board is a glittery, pure white granite oval. Very slight concavity. Oh. My. The knife is arranged in such a way as to clearly demonstrate it is chopping garlic.

And that is IT!
1. You would never cut on something that is not flat unless your blade was also not flat.
2. You would never use a paring knife to chop that amount of garlic.
3. You would NEVER EVER EVER use a Sabatier blade on granite!!!!!!

I mean, if I had that little granite number, I would want to show it off too. And maybe that is what it was for the photographer and the food stylist. Pretty, pretty things. The prettiest piece being too small in scale so the proper knife for the job would have dwarfed it making it look less impressive. SO to compensate for their sense of inadequate size issue they just used tiny things around it....to make it appear more grand. In a Big Fish Little Pond kind of way.

OK. Now that I know the source of my cognitive dissonance I can work with that. And I read on. Until page 58. Good golly. What are they trying to pull off now? There is a short article on whole grains with a photo. Here we have a white ground with a white square plate. On that square plate is a small, round white plate to the right holding a mound of hemp seed. Upper left, tiny glass bowl full of chia. Bottom center an itty bowl full of flax seed. Across the lower left corner is another paring knife. This one with a white handle.

If you turn the page 90 degrees clockwise, it sort of looks like someone has stabbed Mickey Mouse in the head. And what the heck am I supposed to use the knife for on that plate? I don't care how sharp the blade is. No one is chopping chia seeds with a paring knife. The only thing I can come up with is counting the seeds like a pharmacist. Because (I know I am terribly naive on this subject) I do not think that is how one "cuts hemp." (Does one even cut hemp?)

And now I find myself questioning the motives of this publication. Could it be that they are...gasp!...just trying to make money? Is it possible that accurate, clear, authentic, premier information is second through fifth on their list of priorities?

In 20 days!!!!!

I have found myself having to explain this blog a couple of times lately.  One person (though you know I adore you, right?) said I have "The Narcissism of Hitler combined with the Heart of Ghandi."  What does one do with that?  Feel free to post any snappy come-backs in your reply....because I was at a loss for words.

I was also called a nut.   But that time I was ready and I wrote back "I'll take nut.  But I am a nut like marzipan and not like a goober pea."  And to be completely fair, that one wasn't directly related to the blog...though it contributed.

I am always open to some spirited discourse.  Well, ok, I am USUALLY open to some...Wait.  Deep breath.  I am, on occasion, generally willing to listen to some critique.  Neither of the above comments really bothered me.  Must be the Narcissist in me that lets that all roll off my back.  But there is one topic of questioning that will ruffle the Mama Bear in me.  One area where I will not tolerate any criticism.

Lorraine.

See, I consider her one of my best friends.  She is humble and witty and clever and sensitive and by some freak of nature she is my long lost twin born a couple of years and a whole country away from me.  And we have never even met.  I have witnessed a year in her life.  I have heard her laughter as her goofy hound dog slid across the hardwood floors.  I have seen the love in her eyes when she looks at her son.  And I have felt her heart listening when I needed her.  And while I don't know everything about her, I know enough.


And guess what?  I get to MEET HER IN PERSON IN 20 DAYS!!!!

And, yes, Christmas Eve Party Guests, I did meet her online.  And no, I am not one bit worried about meeting her.  And, Dear Liz, there is not a chance in hell I won't like her in person.

And, Laur, I am going to let Dar Williams help me with this part:

Through the peaks and twisty canyons
I made many great companions
Best of all is the one who loves me like you do


20 DAYS!!!! 

flashback

When Little C was more of a lower case c, he ended up getting dragged along to MANY coffee dates.  He was a good sport as long as there was pastry involved.  He even nicknamed my friend Brilliant Julie, "The Cuppa Cuppy Mama."  (The Cup of Coffee Mama.)  And since he had been such a good sport for so many dates, the ladies and I took him to one of his favorite places for a change: The Conservatory.  Favorite Mary held his hand and examined the flowers with him.  Kind Margie gave him a penny and took him to the fountain.  He knew what to do and tossed the coin in.  Then Kind Margie asked him what he wished for.  The reply?

"A penny."

It's a Classic!

The Cygnets were doing homework for Music Appreciation, 80's Style when I overheard the following during a review of Billy Idol's "Rebel Yell":

Miss M: What is she screaming for more of at the hour of midnight?

Big C: She's probably screaming for more sleep.

Little C: She should try not screaming.

Hey, Soul Sister!

I do not know when I lost my love of Pop music. I suspect it started somewhere around when Country made that aggressive cross-over move. I didn't stop loving music, or start ignoring new releases. I just avoided Shania and Garth and Billy Ray with my fingers in my ears and some la-la-la-I-can't-hear-you's. My dislike was passionate.

When my parents moved out of my childhood home...I peeled back the carpet in my room and wrote a declaration of sorts on the subfloor. I left my autograph behind...for when I was famous. But among the things I promised was to never let my taste in music go stale. I was melodramatic at 15. Big surprise, right?

But Once Upon a Time, my swinging arms and kicking feet would have given Molly Ringwald a run for her money. There was not a song on the Pop radio station that I didn't know the lyrics to. And then...I let it all go. I went Alternative. (I still love me some Trash Can Sinatras.)

But there is a new song, out there. Rather Poppy. And the first few lines are: "Hey, hey, hey. Your lipstick stains...on the front lobe of my left-side brains." How can you not LOVE that! And it is not the only song on the album that I have found myself humming for about a week. The album itself is like the love child of my former Pop and Indy flames. But mostly, "Hey, Soul Sister" has me wanting to just play the second track from Train's Save Me, San Francisco on a continuous loop all day.

It feels a little like when I was 16 and I finally figured out what innuendo was and I recorded AC/DC's "You Shook Me All Night Long" 14.5 times in a row on a cassette to sing LOUDLY in the car on my way to and from Chapel Mass at Catholic School. Good times!

Miss M reaches another milestone!*

It is not a developmental thing. It is not a boy thing. It is not even a school thing. We had a conversation in the minivan this afternoon and she ended it with the following:

"And do NOT put this on your blog!"

*This message approved by Miss M.

Pardon me, but your chakra is showing!

Is it just me....

...or does my bright idea look more like a mushroom cloud?

Bedside Manner

A woman sits in the exam room, surrounded by plastic models of various joints. She has been waiting a very long time. So long, in fact, that she finishes her book and sets it aside. She thinks about casting it aside or maybe rending it asunder. But she is waiting alone and what's the point of protesting to no one? Damaging the book does not concern her because it was not a good book anyway. Cheaply bound. Cheaply written. It read like a synopsis of an ill-conceived screen play.

Looking around at the medical models she contemplates rearranging all of the pink ligaments. Or maybe disassembling the whole lot and chucking the pieces down the long hallway, one at a time, until someone remembers they stuck her back in this corner.

Wasn't there a light board just outside of her room for x-rays? She could flick in on and off, signaling her distress in a series of dots and dashes.

But she does none of this. Not because the door opened just then. But because that is what she does. The right thing. The patient thing. Plotting little rebellions that will never materialize. So she settles in to wait and that is when the door opens.

The tall Orthopedic Surgeon steps in. Why yes, he is charming and tall. Thanks for asking. He reaches for her hand and apologizes for the wait.

"Oh, that's ok," she says, "I had a book." She points at the small paperback on the chair next to her. The odd thing is she kind of means it. Her mild frustration already forgotten.

"You would not have believed the break I had to put back together this morning. Drunk driver. So, how's your ass?" he says casually.

"It is fantastic. Really," she replies.

"Hop up here and let's check it out," he offers while patting the exam table.

SCREEEEEECHING HALT!

I am going to skip to the end of the story here. Because the point is that the cortisone injections have really helped my pain. More than I would have thought possible in just a week. And also, I am not exactly comfortable with the fact that the beginning of my appointment today reads like the part of a porn flick that gets fast-forwarded. To maintain both of our reputations in your eyes, I really was there about my ass. You can call it by the list of muscles it contains. Or you can call it SI Dysfunction. But it all comes down to my ass in the end. (Ba Dum Ching!)

Hygienic Haiku

white field dotted with

debris. I truly love you

Biore pore strips

I am Not An Affiliate

Every year when January rolls around, I start to look at the TV hoping for the Super Bowl. Not because I care about the game. I rarely know who is playing until half-time. Then I forget it again 1.7 days later. I look forward to the end of football season with the same hopefulness Cubs fans look forward to the beginning of the next baseball season. "Next year," I think to myself. "Next year might be the year where I will not have to be reminded that the NFL exists." Realistically, this will never happen as long as Moose is alive. So I take the bad with the good.

The part that I find most fascinating, confusing, and most worthy of further Psychological study is the Fan Behavior. Did you know that many of these people feel they can influence a game? And I don't mean the ones that are at the game wearing jerseys and balancing strange craft-projects on their heads. On that one I can at least appreciate the theory of the collective cheering fueling the energy of the players on the field that can actually hear the roar. No, I mean the ones that change their facebook profile pictures each week to bring "luck" to "their" team. Or wear a team jersey out for chicken wings at the sports bar to watch the game.

It just completely escapes me. That affiliative illusion. Mostly, what is it in people that drives them to seek out a large group of people to agree with? To be part of? Because I don't have that.