Wanna know why my shirt is off -- and why I'm so damn excited about it?
Don't worry. I won't leave you hangin' too long.
Before you worry that we were rubbing a big lead in their faces, they were the ones winning. (Doesn't it look opposite?)
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Man, I love kickball
These pictures perfectly capture the mood of the game for both our team and theirs (Note: Our team is in the grayish jerseys [both girls here]; their team is in white [both guys here]).
Wanna know why my shirt is off -- and why I'm so damn excited about it?
Don't worry. I won't leave you hangin' too long.
Before you worry that we were rubbing a big lead in their faces, they were the ones winning. (Doesn't it look opposite?)
Wanna know why my shirt is off -- and why I'm so damn excited about it?
Don't worry. I won't leave you hangin' too long.
Before you worry that we were rubbing a big lead in their faces, they were the ones winning. (Doesn't it look opposite?)
Tuesday, June 08, 2010
Why, yes, I am a badass
I finally had that MRI follow-up appointment yesterday. I am now the owner of TWO hardcore knee braces. They fitted me for one for my right knee too!
The doctor started the appointment by telling me that I have a minor tear in my menial meniscus on my right knee (that means it's on the outside of my knee). Evidently that's pretty uncommon -- most people who tear their meniscus tear it on the inside of their knees. When I asked what could've caused the unusual tear I have, the doctor told me I must have twisted my knee. (I've definitely done that well a couple times.) He said this damage was done some time ago.
Then, he moved the discussion to my left knee. "Have you had a serious injury on your left knee?"
"Yeah, lots of 'em." I gave him a brief rundown of my knee problem history:
I left out the hiking-boots-on-carpet and the knee-in-brace-during-math-homework details when I talked to the doctor, but his face showed more and more disbelief as I explained my colorful knee history.
And then he told me that at some point years ago, I had fractured my left kneecap. I was shocked. I have no idea when that happened.
I instantly felt like a badass.
Luckily, it's managed to heal itself. The doc threw around the a-word ("arthritic") a couple times, but I honestly don't remember which knee he was talking about. (Heck, maybe it was both!)
K had come to the appointment with me, since after my last one, I had trouble remembering what info related to what and what terms the doctor had thrown at me. (Plus, since K was pre-med in college, he's a bit more familiar with the terms, and it's always good to have another person to ask questions and help remember everything the doctor says.) We laughed when we realized that between my bad knees and K's Army-imposed torture, we're both going to be reliant on our future children to push us around in wheelchairs!
The doctor said I'm still cleared to run, though. I just have to be sure to keep my weight down and to train properly. Not a problem (I hope). Everything's fine as is, unless I start having problems with my knees locking or buckling. That happens very rarely, so I'll just make note if and when it does (hopefully doesn't). Until then, my knees will swell from time to time, which isn't anything different, except that now I know specifically why.
The best news: I asked if I have to wear my braces on shorter runs, like 2- and 3-milers. The doctor said no! That shaves a good couple minutes off my pre-run prep time. Plus, those things get hot and uncomfortable to mess with for such a short run. (Not to mention how tough it is to get them off afterwards, since they're designed to stick to your skin to stay in place AND they get sweaty. K has to help me pull them off!) Of course, I'll wear them for longer runs, but for the short distances, it'll be so freeing to not have those on!
Avoiding the knee braces for short runs should definitely help my feelings about running. And the knowledge that I've got at least a few years before I run myself into a wheelchair is pretty comforting too.
The doctor started the appointment by telling me that I have a minor tear in my menial meniscus on my right knee (that means it's on the outside of my knee). Evidently that's pretty uncommon -- most people who tear their meniscus tear it on the inside of their knees. When I asked what could've caused the unusual tear I have, the doctor told me I must have twisted my knee. (I've definitely done that well a couple times.) He said this damage was done some time ago.
Then, he moved the discussion to my left knee. "Have you had a serious injury on your left knee?"
"Yeah, lots of 'em." I gave him a brief rundown of my knee problem history:
In the 6th grade, I injured my right knee. I was wearing hiking boots on carpet (thank you, Jurassic Park!), went to turn, and my knee popped very loudly and gave out. The doctor couldn't figure out what happened, but they found something in my X-ray that made them think I had cancer. My parents forgot to tell me about that part until a good 5 or 6 years later.
When I was in the 9th grade, I fully dislocated my right knee. When that happened, a piece of bone chipped off and lodged in my joint. I had arthroscopic surgery to remove the bone and to repair the cartilage that was damaged. After that, I bounced back and forth on partial knee dislocations. Between the two, I've dislocated my knees a good 6 or 8 times. At least. I kind of lost count. Especially since they managed to happen in such unexciting ways, like while I was wearing my knee brace, sitting on my bed doing math homework (I KNEW math was bad for me!).
I left out the hiking-boots-on-carpet and the knee-in-brace-during-math-homework details when I talked to the doctor, but his face showed more and more disbelief as I explained my colorful knee history.
And then he told me that at some point years ago, I had fractured my left kneecap. I was shocked. I have no idea when that happened.
I instantly felt like a badass.
Luckily, it's managed to heal itself. The doc threw around the a-word ("arthritic") a couple times, but I honestly don't remember which knee he was talking about. (Heck, maybe it was both!)
K had come to the appointment with me, since after my last one, I had trouble remembering what info related to what and what terms the doctor had thrown at me. (Plus, since K was pre-med in college, he's a bit more familiar with the terms, and it's always good to have another person to ask questions and help remember everything the doctor says.) We laughed when we realized that between my bad knees and K's Army-imposed torture, we're both going to be reliant on our future children to push us around in wheelchairs!
The doctor said I'm still cleared to run, though. I just have to be sure to keep my weight down and to train properly. Not a problem (I hope). Everything's fine as is, unless I start having problems with my knees locking or buckling. That happens very rarely, so I'll just make note if and when it does (hopefully doesn't). Until then, my knees will swell from time to time, which isn't anything different, except that now I know specifically why.
The best news: I asked if I have to wear my braces on shorter runs, like 2- and 3-milers. The doctor said no! That shaves a good couple minutes off my pre-run prep time. Plus, those things get hot and uncomfortable to mess with for such a short run. (Not to mention how tough it is to get them off afterwards, since they're designed to stick to your skin to stay in place AND they get sweaty. K has to help me pull them off!) Of course, I'll wear them for longer runs, but for the short distances, it'll be so freeing to not have those on!
Avoiding the knee braces for short runs should definitely help my feelings about running. And the knowledge that I've got at least a few years before I run myself into a wheelchair is pretty comforting too.
Monday, June 07, 2010
Ugh ... men
K was in upstate New York last weekend for a bachelor party. Between having friends visiting, getting the house in order post-visit, and our own traveling, it feels like it's been a good, long while since K and I have had a nice, chill weekend to ourselves. And (in true K & MLIB style) we'll have to wait at least a couple weeks more before that happens.
There was a lot I wanted to do around the house, so I made myself my big to-do list. I did a ton of laundry, and I folded all of it. I washed our guest bedroom duvet cover. I vacuumed almost every inch of floor in the house. I cleaned out the refrigerator (there's ROOM in there now!). I cleaned all the toilets and sinks (I hate cleaning the showers, and since I just did it last week, I decided it could wait a few more days). I washed and ironed our dining room table runner. I even washed my reusable shopping bags!
I felt like such a good wife -- not that scrubbing the house is my job as a wife, but because since I think it's absolutely wonderful to come home to a spotless house, K would surely feel the same.
I had just finished my very last chore and was about to collapse on the couch and relax when K got to the front door. I waited for him to say something about the house.
Nothing.
He had just arrived, though, so I waited patiently. We watched TV for a bit. By then, he had been to the kitchen and all around downstairs, but he had still said nothing.
"Why don't you take your stuff upstairs?" I asked him. That way, he'd have to walk up the freshly vacuumed stairs, down the freshly vacuumed hallway, and into the freshly vacuumed bedroom. He'd notice the bed was made and the sheets were cleaned (they're a different color than when he left), and he'd see the stacks of his laundry that I'd folded.
I went upstairs a few minutes after he did. I started a conversation. He still said nothing about the house. I couldn't wait any longer. "Will you just tell me the house looks awesome?" I threw my hands in the air.
He looked at me like I was crazy. "I cleaned the entire thing this weekend. Can you just acknowledge that it looks good?" (K would want me to tell you that there was an F-word or two dropped in these lines somewhere, but I don't remember where, so I didn't add them here.)
As you can imagine, none of this went over well with K. Instead of telling me it looked great and leaving it at that, he said something along the lines of, "Fine, it looks great. What do you expect from me? I'm tired!" (For the record, there were some F-bombs dropped in those lines, too.) He continued griping about how tired he was, and he finally told me that he didn't even care that the house was clean. That it didn't look any different from how he remembered it looking when he left (he was way off).
"No," I said. "When you left, it was tidy. Now, it's SPOTLESS!"
"Those are YOUR DEFINITIONS!"
He went on and on, and I finally just started laughing at him. I could tell he was tired and cranky. All I had wanted was acknowledgment of my hard work.
I told him I was going to wear the hottest pajamas ever to bed, and he wasn't going to get anything out of it.
"Hot pajamas? Is that even possible?" (I told you he was cranky!)
I rolled my eyes, laughed and left him to finish unpacking. When he was done, he started getting ready for bed. I picked out a soft, sexy nightgown, and I made sure to start getting ready for bed while he was still in the bathroom. He was in bed and asleep before I was done. The guy was too tired to even be tortured. Damn.
Yet again, a reunion that went nothing at all like I had thought it would.
I'll just have to remember from now on that we suck at first nights back. The traveler is always tired and cranky; the non-traveler is always too excited about whatever got done around the house in that time (no matter how big or ... not).
But at least my house is freakin' spotless.
Even if I am the only one who's excited about it!
There was a lot I wanted to do around the house, so I made myself my big to-do list. I did a ton of laundry, and I folded all of it. I washed our guest bedroom duvet cover. I vacuumed almost every inch of floor in the house. I cleaned out the refrigerator (there's ROOM in there now!). I cleaned all the toilets and sinks (I hate cleaning the showers, and since I just did it last week, I decided it could wait a few more days). I washed and ironed our dining room table runner. I even washed my reusable shopping bags!
I felt like such a good wife -- not that scrubbing the house is my job as a wife, but because since I think it's absolutely wonderful to come home to a spotless house, K would surely feel the same.
I had just finished my very last chore and was about to collapse on the couch and relax when K got to the front door. I waited for him to say something about the house.
Nothing.
He had just arrived, though, so I waited patiently. We watched TV for a bit. By then, he had been to the kitchen and all around downstairs, but he had still said nothing.
"Why don't you take your stuff upstairs?" I asked him. That way, he'd have to walk up the freshly vacuumed stairs, down the freshly vacuumed hallway, and into the freshly vacuumed bedroom. He'd notice the bed was made and the sheets were cleaned (they're a different color than when he left), and he'd see the stacks of his laundry that I'd folded.
I went upstairs a few minutes after he did. I started a conversation. He still said nothing about the house. I couldn't wait any longer. "Will you just tell me the house looks awesome?" I threw my hands in the air.
He looked at me like I was crazy. "I cleaned the entire thing this weekend. Can you just acknowledge that it looks good?" (K would want me to tell you that there was an F-word or two dropped in these lines somewhere, but I don't remember where, so I didn't add them here.)
As you can imagine, none of this went over well with K. Instead of telling me it looked great and leaving it at that, he said something along the lines of, "Fine, it looks great. What do you expect from me? I'm tired!" (For the record, there were some F-bombs dropped in those lines, too.) He continued griping about how tired he was, and he finally told me that he didn't even care that the house was clean. That it didn't look any different from how he remembered it looking when he left (he was way off).
"No," I said. "When you left, it was tidy. Now, it's SPOTLESS!"
"Those are YOUR DEFINITIONS!"
He went on and on, and I finally just started laughing at him. I could tell he was tired and cranky. All I had wanted was acknowledgment of my hard work.
I told him I was going to wear the hottest pajamas ever to bed, and he wasn't going to get anything out of it.
"Hot pajamas? Is that even possible?" (I told you he was cranky!)
I rolled my eyes, laughed and left him to finish unpacking. When he was done, he started getting ready for bed. I picked out a soft, sexy nightgown, and I made sure to start getting ready for bed while he was still in the bathroom. He was in bed and asleep before I was done. The guy was too tired to even be tortured. Damn.
Yet again, a reunion that went nothing at all like I had thought it would.
I'll just have to remember from now on that we suck at first nights back. The traveler is always tired and cranky; the non-traveler is always too excited about whatever got done around the house in that time (no matter how big or ... not).
But at least my house is freakin' spotless.
Even if I am the only one who's excited about it!
Friday, June 04, 2010
Help me decorate my living room!
I've been wanting to update the pillows on our couch to mix in some patterns and add some color. I ventured onto Etsy this week, and I found some I really like. In fact, there's one set in particular that I so want to work, but the colors in it don't match the rug ... I like the set so much that I'm worried it's clouding my opinion of whether or not it's an acceptable fit.
All three pillow sets below are approved by K. There's one set I LOVE, one I'm not crazy about, and one that I'd probably like more if I wasn't so in love with the other set.
So I'm asking you guys! What do you think?
This was taken a while ago, but it's pretty much what our living room looks like.
Option 1
Option 2
Option 3
Blurbs. Because I haven't forgotten this thing exists ...
... And because I'm sure you're tired of my random posts complaining about my job.In case you haven't figured it out, I probably won't quit because I like having a paycheck and because I think I have to prove something by toughing it out. And yes, I know that's stupid.
Carrying on now:
I got stung by a bee yesterday on the fleshy part of my big toe. It stung. Whoever came up with that term to describe it chose wisely.
This job is still annoying the holy hell out of me. We had a longtime employee just quit -- effective immediately -- on Monday. She beat me to it. She started in this department two weeks before me (she worked in another area here for like 20 years before that).
K and I planted lilies in our back yard last year. They started blooming a couple weeks ago, and they were beautiful. I'd love to be able to show you a picture of them, but stupid rabbits have eaten all of them.
In other news, the rabbits that run all over our neighborhood are no longer cute to me.
I freaking. love. my kettlebell class. If it weren't for that, I'd probably be in a pretty pissy mood today. This job tends to do that to me.
My kickball team is undefeated. We've tied twice, but we've never lost.
Remember that game when I was named co-MVP? That's the last time I had a good game. I'm buying a kickball to work on my catching and kicking skills. I'm going to beat this thing.
I'm not OK with sucking at things. I think that's part of the reason I don't like this job. Do I beat the sucking, or do I ditch because it makes me cranky for pretty much 50 hours a week? (Note: We only work 37.5.)
K is out of town this weekend. I've made a huge to-do list for myself. It includes an ab class tomorrow morning, going for a run (I haven't run by myself in FOREVER!), getting a manicure, and watching at least one girlie movie. There are some chores on the list too, but I'm more excited about these parts for obvious reasons.
I'm also excited about the rabbit repellent I'll be buying and immediately spraying on my lilies.
Man I love Fridays.
Carrying on now:
I got stung by a bee yesterday on the fleshy part of my big toe. It stung. Whoever came up with that term to describe it chose wisely.
This job is still annoying the holy hell out of me. We had a longtime employee just quit -- effective immediately -- on Monday. She beat me to it. She started in this department two weeks before me (she worked in another area here for like 20 years before that).
K and I planted lilies in our back yard last year. They started blooming a couple weeks ago, and they were beautiful. I'd love to be able to show you a picture of them, but stupid rabbits have eaten all of them.
In other news, the rabbits that run all over our neighborhood are no longer cute to me.
I freaking. love. my kettlebell class. If it weren't for that, I'd probably be in a pretty pissy mood today. This job tends to do that to me.
My kickball team is undefeated. We've tied twice, but we've never lost.
Remember that game when I was named co-MVP? That's the last time I had a good game. I'm buying a kickball to work on my catching and kicking skills. I'm going to beat this thing.
I'm not OK with sucking at things. I think that's part of the reason I don't like this job. Do I beat the sucking, or do I ditch because it makes me cranky for pretty much 50 hours a week? (Note: We only work 37.5.)
K is out of town this weekend. I've made a huge to-do list for myself. It includes an ab class tomorrow morning, going for a run (I haven't run by myself in FOREVER!), getting a manicure, and watching at least one girlie movie. There are some chores on the list too, but I'm more excited about these parts for obvious reasons.
I'm also excited about the rabbit repellent I'll be buying and immediately spraying on my lilies.
Man I love Fridays.
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