Here we are a week before St. Patty’s Day, and it’s Monday. And nothing says Monday and St. Patrick’s Day like creepy, green decorations! Have you ever noticed that?
I kinda think of all the holidays out there, none have weirder, tackier, creepier accessories than St. Patrick’s Day. Yeah, I know you’re thinking, “What about Halloween?” but it’s supposed to be creepy, not so sure Leprechauns set out to be. But if it gives you an ounce of happiness or laughter to break out the green mustache, shock someone, and slip in a flask of green beer – so be it!
May your Monday be mustachtically fabulous!
Being sick sucks! There’s just no other way to say it, and after spending the last week feeling like a pack mule hauling the Kardashian clan uphill in the Grand Canyon with their entire wardrobes, I can assure you I have had my fill of feeling like a belabored, wheezing pile. Have you had it, too? I swear this has been the year for it. Everybody, even the really healthy, annoying people have gone down because of it. lol. But honestly, nobody should have to have it. It’s just awful. And it also occurred to me that when I feel like shitola, I can’t really think of anything else, but it brought me to some brilliant revelations.
*You know you’re sick when…
…You’re sure you could make the sound effects for Ferris coughing up a lung.
…You start hoarding Puffs like your grandmother – in your sleeves, in your bra, under the pillow
on the couch.
…The thought of your toilet being close by gives you more contentment than having
your spouse nearby.
…Your snot cements your nose to the pillow case and you’re too exhausted to change the
pillowcase, figuring there’s more where that came from.
And you know you’re sick when you are drinking 7up…straight up…alone…sans alcohol.
Okay, I could probably go on and on about these horrible truths, but I’ve realized there’s an upside to being sick and should I ever be well again, I’m pretty sure I’ll try to focus on these things (at least for a few days).
Being sick reminds you…
…not to take breathing for granted. It’s amazing to me how I can forget the benefits of
using one’s nose to collect air.
…that you need to be thankful for those super spectacular people around you that take
care of even when you look like death warmed over, haven’t showered in eons,
have the breath of a water treatment plant, and take the risk of being infected by your
…there are people who are fighting far worse than colds/flu. Be sure to send them
love when you are able.
…why you have a medicine chest and a really comfy couch.
And finally, being sick is a good reminder that ice cream eaten in the fit of illness has no calories and should be eaten liberally.
So there you have it. I really hope you don’t get whatever I’ve got or anything else for that matter. Instead, I prefer you learn the lessons upon the page and take my word for it. Then go breathe some fresh air through your nose for me.
Got some others that should be added to my pros and cons list? Tell me. Have a cure-all? I’m listening. Know somebody who will identify with this right about now? Be sure to share it with ‘em.
Usual Ice Cooler Conversation:
Friend: What did ya do last night?
Me (lame, pathetic voice): Made supper, watched TV, in bed by 9. The usual.
Friend (bored): Figured.
This week’s convo:
Friend: What did ya do last night?
Me: Oh, ya know, I had a free psychic reading.
Friend (sarcastically): Sure ya did.
How lucky am I that I got to have some rock-star buttery pretzels, a Chambord and seven, hang out with some of my fave Omaha Bloggers, and get a free psychic reading? You need not answer that, because I know the answer: Damn Lucky! And if you wanna get lucky like me (haha), check out Ladies’ Night at Midtown Crossing for some other fan-tab-u-lous events coming up!
In the meantime, aren’t you the least bit curious what the psychic told me? If I was a total skeptic, I’d say she checked out my blog. If I’m a believer (not a Belieber – ha ha), I’d say Jess must be a pretty kick-ass psychic because she nailed it!
People, she said I was a “jack of all trades.” Do you not know how I describe myself? Yeah, word for word: jack of all trades! Strike me dumbfounded and call me crazy, but I was impressed. Not only did she say I was a jack of all trades, she then told me I was a great multitasker and that because I’m good at so many things, I try to do too many things. Mmm… wouldn’t know anything about that! Then she proceeded to tell me that I needed to focus on one thing. How does one do that????
She told me that blogging was my avenue and that if I stick with it, it will happen. She encouraged me to use my pictures in my blog more and that I need to get out of my comfort zone so I have more to talk about with you guys. I have to think she’s legit because you wouldn’t normally tell a person that goes to a psychic reading that they need to branch out more. Seems ironic (lol), but also very accurate in my case.
My husband says that I’ll believe a psychic off the street before I’ll believe what he’s been telling me for years. And maybe he’s right. Maybe we all have to hear things from the exact right person before we believe them. It’s funny because some of the friends I went with didn’t get as many in-depth insights as I did. They suggested that maybe I was more open to it or that I was more focused on the question at hand. I like to think that I’m a pretty good judge of people and that I didn’t miss the message or the messenger. Or maybe I just needed the most encouragement. Either way, it was a great night out with answers I needed to hear and friends I’d like to keep.
So what would you ask the psychic? Do you believe in it?
And, oh yeah, if I am branching out more, tell me what I need to check out.
You know what makes a Monday better? Looking forward to a Wednesday that involves pubs, drinks, and psychic readings. YES, I did say psychic readings! How fun is that? So come out to Saints Pub, hang out with me and some other fab-u-lous Omaha Bloggers, and meet Jess Coleman for a psychic reading, but you’re gonna be hard-pressed beating me to the line!
Midtown Crossing Ladies Night
Toast to the Future with Psychic Jess Coleman
Wednesday, February 26th
Saints Pub + Patio
Free one-on-one psychic readings (5-10 min each), first come first served!
Great drink specials, including:
$6 specialty cocktails
Three hours free garage parking included!
And if you want other options or are ready to do the crawl, it’s ladies’ night throughout Midtown Crossing, check here for all the details!
Can you imagine wearing one of those speed skater uniforms? You’d have to be an Olympian to even wear the outfits! They’re like one piece footy-pajamas minus the comfort, the flannel, and the leisure area. It’s a one piece aerodynamic singlet with a hood. I mean those babies show every nook, cranny, spaghetti lunch eaten pound, piece of genitalia, and not an ounce of Spanx to save ya. Yikes!
The thing is that it’s not just the speed skaters. Those poor figure skaters have it rough, too. No one wants a bloomer riding up their ass and a sequined one that attracts attention? Hell no. It is baffling to me how we can put a man on the moon and design a cell phone chip to track you, but we can’t keep a leotard from thonging on us. And the poor guys! Why must they have rhinestones and feathers? Even circus clowns have less ruffles. I understand that the sport is predominately effeminate, but still. It takes a gay man or one with lots of kahunas (or maybe really little ones) to wear those costumes.
And what’s with America putting white on our skiers? Not only do they blend in with the snow, but girls, if you want a show, there’s no hiding junk in those tighty whities! Of course, maybe the white is no worse than the poor Canadians who have such tight coverage on their packages that the red is more of a pepto pink. Not that I was looking or anything, it’s just hard not to notice.
At the end of the day, at least I know these people are in shape and it ain’t so bad to look at because you don’t see the curlers swankin’ in in yoga pants. Oh no. They know the score. If only ever teenager in America did. I don’t know if you noticed my “turning 40” post, but #32 was an ode to NOT being a tight yoga pant wearer. Please for the love of God.
That’s my advice on this lovely Feb. day. And as always, there’s more where that came from.
Happy final night of the Olympics!
Have some outfits I missed? Are you an advocate for the tight is right campaign? Are you with me on the yoga pants? Well, let’s hear it.
So I turn 40, and my Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants jeans die. Should I be concerned? Do you think there was any significance to the fact that the ass ripped out of them? Go ahead and laugh. The truth of the matter is that they are ancient. I’ve had them since I first starting teaching and no, we are not talking about how many decades ago that was. I’m still recovering from all the 40-year-old jokes!
Bottom line: they were my traveling pants jeans because no matter what I weighed – heavy or not so much, they fit….sometimes with multiple layers underneath. They’ve been through bikini seasons. They’ve been through sittings of cookie-dough eating. They’ve been through cattle washings and Ryan’s Family Steakhouse buffets. They were my cattle jeans – the ones that I wore to help my dad on the farm or wore to a cattle show when I didn’t want to ruin “my good jeans” which translates to “jeans I can wear to school because they don’t have shit stains on them.”
I had noted to my husband that they were threadbare and it was only a matter of time, but I didn’t mean it. I’d said the words but hadn’t really allowed myself the emotions of their demise. Okay, so maybe it’s not that traumatic, but it is a sad day in the neighborhood. I mean – which jeans will become my new “farm” jeans? Which ones will get called up from the bullpen, so to speak? Lol. Which ones will I turn to when I’m feeling fat and need my reliable go-tos? Which ones will last longer than all the Kardashian marriages combined? Which ones will be my comfy “I’ve-eaten-one-too-many-corndogs-at-the-State-Fair jeans? These are the burning first-world questions I have on my mind. But you get it, right?
You have that one pair of jeans you love, or a pair of pj pants that soothe your need to kill someone, the jersey that makes you feel like you’re in high school again, or the dreaded “funeral” dress that you know you look appropriate in, right? And you know that inanimate objects are still things we get sad over, right? I find that lots of people end up being emotional over a pair of jeans or a random squirrel they hit on the road. Why? Well, in my non-expert, but still kinda-an-expert opinion, we allow ourselves to let out those emotions about those things instead of the big things that we suppress because we have to be the strong ones in times of seriously traumatic events. So am I mourning my jeans? Maybe. Am I mourning my youth? Maybe. But in this case, it’s really the jeans. I promise. Lol.
But should you need to cry over your teddy bear or your ass-ripped jeans, I’ll be here for ya. That’s what I do.
So anybody got lucky socks or Sisterhood jeans? Anybody willing to admit they’ve been known to cry over selling their car or another inanimate object? Fess up. I need some confirmation I’m not the only Sentimental Sally/Sam in the world today.