My ankle is exceedingly better and SO THERE to all the finger waggers who said I woulda/shoulda/coulda high-tailed it to the doctor last weekend. I took a Motrin late this afternoon because the ankle had been sore all day and I could not for the life of me find a comfortable prop for my foot. I had been using a trash can but the charm was off today.
I realize as soon as I click the Publish button over there on the right that I’ll probably fall down the stairs.
I was “volunteered” at work a few weeks ago to sit on the committee in charge of our summer celebration. No big deal because I’ve gotten to know some people I’ve never talked to before and it’s not a huge commitment. Attend a few meetings, do some extra stuff and then show up for the celebration. Yay, easy.
What annoys me though is that I have been doing all my assignments and making sure my team knows what’s going on AND stepping outside of what I really needed to do because my boss asked me to do it in front of ALL of my colleagues. One colleague acts like she hasn’t heard all of my updates or read any of my freakin’ emails or heard what the boss explicitly asked me to do. She just does whatever the hell she wants. That’s pretty annoying, but the TOP-IT-ALL-OFF annoying part about it is that I have been warned about this colleague and I have purposefully tried to give her a fair shake. Yeah, she’s a loser who could give two shits about how the process is supposed to work.
Yesterday I was weed eating and stepped in a hole in the backyard. I had to drop the weed eater and myself to the ground. I’ve never heard one of my body parts make such a loud popping noise. I laid on my back for a little while and then gingerly moved my ankle. No piercing pains of bone clawing its way out of my skin. First sigh of relief. I laid on my back for a little while longer. Then I stood up. Second sigh of relief.
As an intelligent person, I went on and did all the other chores I felt like doing and then came in the house and took off my shoe. You should see the bruise on my ankle. You should see how fat the ankle is. Has a doctor seen it? No. I Google doctored myself and am now rocking a very sexy look:
It’s hard to tell how freaking huge my ankle is while I have on the compression bandage, but believe me it is quite a look otherwise. At least I can walk a bit better now. I think the rest of the afternoon calls for me to be on the couch reading and changing out the cold packs.
Our house is now on the market and we currently have not one but two signs that say “I’m gorgeous inside”. Whatever you thought that meant when you saw real estate signs is probably pretty accurate. It has zero meaning. We have a nice house, no lie. But, gorgeous? Hardly.
Today, I was standing in the parking deck catching some fresh air and a breeze when a big white hearse pulled out of the medical examiner’s lair across the street. I emailed the better-half that it was gruesome inside. Then I told him that I will make bad jokes about being gorgeous inside until we sell the house. Be prepared.
We went to Wolf Trap last night with a friend to see the NSO perform Pictures at an Exhibition and Carmina Burana. The draw for us was Carmina Burana. You know this piece if you’ve ever seen The Exorcist.
We sat down on the lawn and hoped for the best with the weather and ended up quite lucky. Like everywhere in Virginia the freaking rain will not stop. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD MOTHER NATURE KNOCK IT OFF.
As we were putting our spread together,
a couple set up shop in front of us. Eventually seven people gathered in that picnic spot. Check out their over-the-top table with fresh cut flowers and candles:
Cheers to the over-achievers:
We have finally made good on endless conversations we’ve had over the past several months. We contacted a realtor and the house goes on the market by next weekend. We’ve had a hard time with living so far out in the sticks for more than a little bit of time. When I went back to school, we spent time in the college town and loved being five minutes from everything. When the job search didn’t pan out with a required move, we started talking about what we wanted since we’re staying in the Richmond area.
Living where we do is no longer working for us. It is quiet and we love seeing fox, racoon, deer and other various four-legged creatures, but it’s time to go.
We have a short list of things the realtor gave us as homework. One of those things was to pull up the garden fence. That nearly did us in because it has finally decided to be summer and 90+ days with 90% humidity is cuckoo for cocoa puffs for pulling up fence posts. Another thing was to paint the master bath. I had a minor breakdown on Friday night when I realized that ugly, ugly room is going to need three coats of paint. WTF?!
This coming week we’re having a landscaper spruce up the front flower beds. My sister has been the lucky recipient of some very mature hostas that had to come out in order to make the front of the house more tailored. I’m going to miss those hostas but I’m sure I can have visiting rights (hint, hint).
This afternoon, I’ve been depersonalizing the house and removing clutter. We are really not clutter people, but talk to a realtor and everyone is apparently one step away from appearing on a hoarder show.
Ah, memories:
I got this in the mail today. You know how sometimes you are struck by music you’ve known for years and then you realize you don’t have a copy of any of her work?
That situation has been rectified.
Lucy’s path of destruction today while we were at work in one picture.
Exhibit A:
Look at the upper shelf with the canning jars. Notice there’s a little towel pulled half off the shelf? Yes, that would have been a disaster.
Look at the down blanket pulled out (actual target of mischief).
Look at that blob on the floor…that is a punch bowl with cups. One cup is out by itself on the floor and all others are still neatly packed in the punch bowl. How that got off the shelf and landed perfectly is a mystery.
The better-half’s birthday was yesterday. When I asked him what he wanted to do for the big day, he said steak at Morton’s. So a few weeks ago I used Open Table to reserve a table. I had seen on the internet that Morton’s will do something nice for celebrations so while I made the reservation, I let them know it would be his birthday that night.
When we arrived, we were seated in a booth by the sommelier. He wished the better-half happy birthday and then we noticed the table was tastefully and subtly decorated. And we had pared down versions of the menu to take home:
They also threw in a dessert because it was his birthday. How much better is this than having to endure singing and clapping while the rest of the restaurant stares?
A day or so ago I was attacked by the snots. It usually happens in late April, but since nothing has been normal this year weather-wise, I guess it makes sense that it is mid-June and here I am full o’phlegm. Delightful. Anyway, whenever this happens it goes straight to my chest and I sound like I have kennel cough if I were a large dog, maybe a Saint Bernard.
Today at work I apologized for the noise and then tried my best to keep it to a dull roar. At some point, I had just finished barking and I heard someone snipping their nails. Friends. I can’t stand the idea of someone clipping their nails at work. It has been a peeve of mine since the head of HR for a company I worked for ages ago clipped his nails while I gave him a report on something or other. I don’t remember why I was on the executive floor giving a report to the head of my division, but there I was and he clipped his GD nails while I talked to him. Asshole.
So, I’m sure there’s someone within earshot of my barking who thinks “will she just shut up”, but at least I’m not clipping my nails.
