Filed under: Misc. Humor, Sports | Tags: ambulance, cars, crime, friendship, fun, horseback riding, Horses, humor
(Names have been changed to protect…well, you be the judge.)
Recently my friend Amy’s daughter Grace was taken to the hospital after a fall from her horse during a horse show. Don’t worry – she’s fine. But what happened on the way to the hospital just shows that there’s humor even in frantic and scary situations.
As the EMTs were loading Grace into the ambulance, Amy called out to Grace’s boyfriend to take her car and follow the ambulance. Eager to help, Dominic raced across the showgrounds, found the car and was soon trailing the ambulance on the highway.
Meanwhile, in the ambulance, a clearly concussed Grace keeps squinting out the back window. Noticing her daughter starting to strain to see through the rear window she asked, “What, honey?”
“I – I think that’s Dominic behind us,” Grace mumbled.
Amy looked out the back window and, sure enough, it was Dominic following them – but in the wrong car.
Amy tried in vain to get Dominic’s attention by waving her arms, making a “cut/stop” motion with her hand across her throat and mouthing that’s not my car! Dominic had no idea what she was doing – he was busy changing the preset radio stations from gospel to country and rock.
When they got to the hospital, Dominic rushed to Grace’s side.
“You ok, babe?” he asked.
Grace chuckled softly. “Uh-huh. But You’re a criminal.”
“What?” Dominic asked.
“You’re a criminal – that’s not my mom’s car.”
Amy added, “You have to go back to the show and get my car – it has my purse and ID in it!”
Because he’s a good boy, Dominic promptly freaked out. He jumped into the borrowed car, drove back to the showgrounds and did what any red-blooded American would do – parked the car in the same spot and used his t-shirt to wipe the steering wheel, radio buttons and door handle for fingerprints. As far as we know, no one was the wiser for his mistake.
All this is funny by itself, and typical of my friends. But here’s what I still makes me laugh:
- I still wonder what the owners of the “stolen” car thought when they got back in at the end of the day – the radio stations were different and the car seat was in a different position.
- What did the other drivers behind the ambulance think when they saw Amy waving and mouthing words from the back window of the ambulance? That she was a psych patient that needed more meds? That the ambulance was secretly a rape van and she was being kidnapped? Or that she was celebrating because England beat Sweden in the World Cup?
- Grace and my daughter (D2) look out for each other at these events. One time, Grace and Dominic raced to our house to get D2’s rescue inhaler while she sucked on oxygen at the end gate. D2 has accompanied Grace to the hospital a couple of times now, and each time she takes a selfie. It’s what friends are for…keepin’ it real…
Filed under: Middle Age, Misc. Humor, shopping | Tags: born again, christianity, church, humor, Middle-Age, relationships, religion, shopping, walmart
I don’t know how or why the Jesus Freaks find me, but they do – and it’s usually at Walmart. Now, before you get all upset, know that I do believe, but I believe in the privacy of my head and heart.
I’ve had two people tell me in the check-out line that it’s their second birthday, as in, they’re Born Again. (Personally, I don’t think it’s the best metaphor – why would anyone want to leave their warm, dark cocoon where they have been fed and grown with no effort for the cold, bright world where every day can be a struggle? How about something like “Refried” instead?)
Ummmm…so you’re Born Again. First, you look tall for a two-year-old. Second, I’ve had 47 birthdays, and I never once told anyone in a check-out line when they happened. Third, why do you think I need to know you and Jesus are besties when I’m standing here trying to figure out who wore the superman glasses better – George Clooney or Denzel Washington?
But the best encounter happened yesterday. I was standing in the freezer aisle at Walmart trying not to buy yet another bag of tater tots, when two teenage girls approached me.
“Excuse me, M’am?” they asked.
“Huh?”
“Hi. Um, would you like us to pray for you?”
“What, here?” I asked.
“Yes. Or is there someone you would like us to pray for?”
Oh my God, this is a blog happening right now.
“My family – they’ve got issues.”
“Okay. Would you mind if we lay hands on you, or is that too weird?”
“That is definitely too weird.”
Then they said a very nice prayer in the middle of the freezer aisle.
So why me? I recently asked my gym trainer if I have a serious RBF (Resting Bitch Face), because whenever I go to other gyms, the trainers never talk to me, while they talk to everyone else who is new. And it’s not because I’m doing things correctly, either. She said no (probably for self-protection), that mine wasn’t bad. I just always look like I’m concentrating (#thestruggleisreal).
Why do people feel the need to approach me and tell me all about their relationship with God/Jesus? Do I have a RSMF (Resting Save Me Face)? You can’t tell me my RSMF is worse than the woman smacking her kid in the child-abuse aisle, or the addict who’s hanging around in the parking lot asking for cash, or the people who live in their camper in the back of the parking lot. I’m pretty sure they might need help from Above a little more than I do.
So please, let me keep my headphones on while I play my soothing spa music and shop. And while I don’t want it to happen again, it just proves that you really can get everything at Walmart.
Filed under: Exercise, Misc. Humor, Sports | Tags: clothing, Exercise, fashion, fear, health, smell, sports, underwear, working out
Warning – this one is completely tasteless….read at your own risk…
I recently had a lengthy debate with some girlfriends over whether women should “vent the furnace” or wear underwear at night.
For those who said yes, that sleeping without underwear was their preference, the most common reason was because a long time ago, their mothers had said it was healthier. My mom never said that, so I’m perfectly happy to be wrapped up like a Puritan every night. Maybe the fact that I’m not going “nonederwear” explains why I have so many hot flashes at night – all that heat must have to go somewhere.
But apparently the idea that it is healthier to go without underwear is the same for whether or not people wear underwear with their exercise shorts that have the lining in them. It seems that I am the only person in the universe that doesn’t go spongebob nudiepants at the gym. But I have reasons:
- I’ve seen the sweat puddles in the exercise machine seats, and I don’t care how many wipes you use, once you see it you can’t get it out of your mind. I don’t want my stuff lathered up in someone else’s body butter.
- Men should double bag because no one wants to see the mouse get out of the house when it’s time to stretch. Women should do the same thing, because, let’s face it, sometimes a little landscaping might be amiss, and nobody wants that distraction either.
- And finally, I have a (completely unfounded) fear of Cooter Stank. I’m not the only one – have you seen the multitudes of products out there to prevent it? And, weirdly, I’m not worried about it the rest of the time – I only freak out about it at the gym. Even that doesn’t make sense because, let’s face it, morning workouts in the gym can be overwhelming to the olfactory senses. Every day in the gym, no matter which gym you go to, it seems like there’s Man Who Ate Garlic Last Night, The Coffee Breather, and Please Use Deodorant As A Courtesy To The Rest Of Us Guy.
So, here’s an actual conversation in our house about wearing underwear under your shorts at the gym:
D1: “Mom, you wear underwear to the gym?”
Me: “Yep.”
D1: “Why?”
Me: “I’m afraid it will smell.”
D1: “What will?”
Me: “The Cooter.”
D1: “Wait…what? Who calls it that?”
Me: “Me.”
D1: “I know somebody who has an ‘I Love Cooter’ magnet on their fridge.”
Me: “You know that’s a political magnet, right?”
D1: (Eye Roll) “Yes, I know, Mom. I get the joke. But seriously, you know everybody in the gym smells bad, right?”
Me: “I know, I just can’t help it.”
D1: “You’re weird.”
Me: (In my head – “You’re half me…” – secret smile)
Filed under: Middle Age, Misc. Humor, Posts, Travel | Tags: dermatologist, health, silence of the lambs, skin, sunburn
Today I went to the dermatologist for my annual visit, which always makes me temporarily look like I fell headfirst into a vat of liquid herpes virus. Blisters are on my forehead, nose and cheeks from where she froze a bunch of questionable freckles and moles. I also requested to have a skin tag removed so I don’t have a weird, skinny pinky growing out of my neck – but when she froze it off, it blistered, and now it looks like a I have an abnormally small third nipple growing there instead.
One of the things that is supposed to separate us from the animals is our ability to postpone gratification. We can wait to eat that chocolate bar in the bin at the grocery store checkout when we know there’s a huge anniversary steak waiting for us at Ruth’s Chris. The flip side of that is our ability to understand that not all consequences are immediate. The fact that you hung your little brother in the closet all afternoon by the back of his shirt may not have incurred parental wrath until Dad got home. Then the beatings would begin.
Sun damage is the same. When I forgot to flip over as I basted my teenage self, there wasn’t any immediate regret, just the tingle of a mild sunburn or the occasional blister. Aaaah, but the punishment has begun. These days, I can see lines that are soon going to make me look like a dried-up prune, or one of those muppets in the movie Labyrinth.
The movie Something About Mary also comes to mind – and not the Cameron Diaz character. 
I’m pretty sure that Botox won’t help either – making my face immobile might take away the lines, but it will also make it impossible for anyone to know if I’m being sarcastic or just super bitchy.
My skin may look 20 years older than I am, but there’s always a silver lining: I don’t have to worry about Hannibal Lecter or Buffalo Bill anymore (Silence of the Lambs). I think my skin has finally started turning into leather while I’m still wearing it. It’s not quite saddle or boot material, and no amount of lotion is going to make it into a good skin suit (don’t ever Google that – trust me).
So that’s my Public Service Announcement – wear your sunblock and your 100 SPF t-shirts, and please, please, please go see your dermatologist regularly. Not being afraid of Hannibal Lecter and Buffalo Bill is a silver lining, but don’t put yourself in a position where you have to look for one.
Filed under: Exercise, Posts | Tags: 10k, Exercise, fun, marathon, monument, race, Running, sports, sportsbackers
- In all of your race pics (at a purchase price of a mere $18 each), there’s no thrill of victory or agony of defeat – you just look irritated, like your headband is too tight.
- You get super-annoyed and embarrassed when the guy running in the inflatable T-Rex outfit passes you – and yet you just can’t muster up the energy to try and catch him. Grandmas doing that weird run/walk thing also pass you…you know the ones – their upper bodies look like they are running, but their legs are just walking.
- You pour water on your face so you look sweaty just before you run past your gym’s sponsor tent, then walk the rest of the way.
- Every hill feels like Mount Everest, and nothing like level 10 on the tread mill.
- You consider stopping to see if the nice first aid people need any help in their pretty red tents; then you find the port-o-john with the longest line and stand in it.
- You don’t care at all what your race time is – you’re just happy you finished without needing a trip to the orthopedist and a bottle of Aleve.
- You own the cool Bluetooth headset but still carry your phone in its ridiculous mom-phone case.
- You seriously consider taking one of the beers those college kids in the togas are handing out, but you know it will end in guilt, a handful of Tums and maybe vomiting stealthily on T-Rex guy’s shoes from behind.
- Your special running socks don’t do shit – your hips, legs, and even your size-A boobs hurt after mile one. People who actually achieve nipple chafing seem like they’re another species.
- …and yet you sign up repeatedly for “races” with misplaced optimism:
- “I know I can do more than one mile this year…”
- “This year the weather will be warmer/cooler/sunnier/cloudier so I’ll do better…”
- “Wait…you put me in which flight?”
- “I’ll just start running with you guys and walk when I need to…”
- “Next year I’m going to start training earlier…and dress up as a Velociraptor.”
Subourbon Mom 