Arancio
Meet the newest addition to my Collection of All Things Weird and Random. This handsome little gem came to me from the MOMA website.
I came across this little orange piece of heaven months ago and have wanted him since, though I haven’t much need for a paperclip holder. I mostly wanted him as a cubicle knick knack. And a snuggle buddy.
It was Patrick’s frustration with the swarm of bobby pins living in our bathroom that pushed him to eventually buy this for me.
And it’s serendipitous the way it worked out, because bobby pins, not paperclips, make this little guy look most like a porcupine.
I love him.
The end.
Ever so lovely
There are few things I love more than the look of my smiling dog. She possesses a kind of happiness that is contagious. Never judging, never holding grudges. Just pure happiness, and there’s something so lovely about that. Kya turns five today.
Throughout Kya’s five years of life, she’s demonstrated such poise, such grace and such kindness that I’ve realized why I’ve so often made the choice to pass up nights out with friends to hang out with her.
She wakes up in the mornings feeling happy, which is something I envy about her. She’s grown to be so beautiful.
And she’s become an expert at making me laugh.
As we have done for Kya’s past four birthdays, we went to the pet store to get her a delicious dinner, a treat and a toy. And also sticking with tradition, she spent the whole day wearing her special birthday bandana.
Happy day, baby girl. I love you.
Busted
In light of my recent injury, I’ve agreed to hold a brief press conference to clear up some of the confusion.
Q: Is this a mug shot?
A: No, I wasn’t arrested. I slammed my face into a door. No bar fights, no glorious story to tell the grandkids. Just some good ‘ol fashioned discombobulation that led to the inflamed, colorful markings strewn about my face.
Q: Is it true Patrick clubbed you with a table lamp?
A: Yes. No, it’s absolutely not true. The injury was sustained while attempting to use the bathroom in the dark. Actually, I was 100 percent successful in using the bathroom, it was exiting the bathroom that posed its challenges. I swung open the door, in the dark mind you, and cracked myself in the nose.
Q: Was there bleeding involved?
A: Massive, massive amounts of bleeding. And gushing. And crying. Then more bleeding until finally the bleeding stopped and I resumed my usual wee-hours-of-the-morning activity: sleeping.
Q: Is it true Patrick clubbed you with the butt end of a chain saw?
A: Absolutely not. Next question.
Q: What’s it like being in public? You know, around other people… people who don’t understand the fragile state of your nose?
A: Unbearable. Every time someone wheels a cart near me in a grocery store I scream my mother’s name. And she never answers.
Q: Is it true Patrick clubbed you with a vacuum hose while vacuuming for the 19th time in four days?
A: That’s not true. Except for his vacuuming 19 times in four days. Because that’s exactly right.
Q: What is it like going to work and sitting in meetings with people who are politely pretending you don’t look as though you were mauled by a rampant goat at a nearby petting zoo?
A: I can tell they’re trying to avoid looking at it, and when I catch them, I try my best to wiggle it a little. I think it hurts all parties involved. I can only imagine they assume I lead a double life as a bounty hunter or a parole officer or one of those break dance fighters. I think it’s better to let them make up stories – at least in terms of my street cred.
Q: Is it true Patrick clubbed you with a rampant goat at a nearby petting zoo?
A: That is incorrect regardless of what my coworkers might assume (which I’m still hoping has something to do with break dance fighting).
Q: How has this injury affected your life?
A: I had to skip yoga. I repeat: SKIP YOGA. In other words – THIS NOSE BASHING HAS COMPLETELY RUINED MY LIFE. I have been going to yoga with a layer of tape on my left big toe to help me cope with the pain and make me forget that I AM MISSING A TOENAIL. The amount of pain I feel while rolling over my toes during each vinyasa is nothing compared to the radiating throb that I feel in my nose and face every time I bend over. I’d be no match for the fearless Downward Facing Dog.
Thank you all for your questions. I’m afraid we’re out of time. Let this be a lesson to all of us in the importance of night lights.
Cancer free
Yet another family member of mine was diagnosed with cancer recently. And while his cancer is not skin cancer, I took it as the last straw to go and get a cancer screening. I spend a lot of time in the sun, I live in Florida and even though I always wear sunscreen, my pale white sunscreened skin is hardly a match for the sun. My mother and her mother both had skin cancer. So after hearing my uncle’s diagnosis weeks after having the cancer bug planted in my head by none other than Grey’s Anatomy, I decided to make an appointment with Patrick’s dermatologist, Dr. McCharming.
After hours of waiting in the modernly-appointed office, I was finally escorted to my exam room where I was questioned and handed one of those bibs you get fastened around your neck at the dentist’s office. Only the nurse called it a gown. I waited another 30 minutes in my “gown” before the doctor came in, pointed to my powder blue frock and said, “That’s a great color on you.” I forgave him for the gown.
My main concern was a large mole on my back. A mole that one of my friends once told me was growing a tail. A mole my grandmother called hideous during my wedding dress try on and told me I most certainly had to HAVE IT REMOVED before my wedding. A mole that for some unknown reason reminds me of my mother. A mole that for the last two decades has grown on me in more ways than one. A mole that hid under my bra strap during my cancer screening which made Dr. McCharming say in the most charming of ways, “There it is, right under your bra strap.” A mole that I really, really didn’t want removed.
There’s something so beautiful about moles to me. And to the entire fashion industry, apparently, as evidenced by the success of Cindy Crawford and Nikki Taylor – whose mole doesn’t make her worthy of being listed next to Cindy Crawford.
The night before my appointment I was quite sad. I was struggling with the thought of getting it violently scooped out. How does a girl say goodbye to a piece of her body in an instant? How does a girl wave away one of the only distinguishing marks on her body?
My cancer screening gave me peace of mind. I don’t have cancer, all of my bumps and freckles and spots and boils look normal. Thank goodness – the Mole is here to stay. Nuts to you, Grandma, ‘Ol Moley will be at my wedding. And yes, I know he’s big enough to require his own seat.
Overflowing with adorable
It seems while packing for his trip Patrick forgot to pack one very important thing. I’ll give you a hint: the tennis ball made it to Atlanta.
Futbol
Today I played in my second soccer game of the season. And the second soccer game of my life. This newest venture of mine was as thrilling to me as it was terrifying to the point of losing control of my bladder. And for two games in a row I was able to not pee my pants at mid field.
I played about 25 or so of the game’s 40 minutes, and in those 25 minutes I had about as many turnovers. Definitely not my proudest moments, but I’m pretty sure the team we were playing was actually a fleet of ninjas. From Brazil. We lost seven goals to nothing. Aside from the ninjas and the losing, I’d say it was a pretty good day.
Shway
In an attempt to improve both my mood and my productivity at work I recently made the decision to incorporate the principles of Feng Shui in the redecorating of my cubicle. Yes, improve my mood and productivity and also continue my streak as that Weird Girl With All That Freaking Weirdness. You know, the girl people love to be around so that when they talk about me they can say things like, “Oh, yeah, a carnivorous plant… I know a girl who’s totally into that. And get this – SHE’S NOT EVEN ONE PART CARNIVOROUS.”
So even though I have set myself apart as the girl who BROUGHT IN COASTERS FROM HOME, I figured I’d bring in a few trinkets – crystals and such – as if to say, “Here, coworkers who were kind of on the fence about whether I’m a total whacked out nut job who wears sweatshirts with cat paws on them. It was probably a good idea to not invite me to your little celebratory dinner party because LOOK – I JUST GOT A WHOLE LOT WEIRDER.”
And now it’s justified when they give me that blank stare, one I saw on Patrick for the first time when he watched my mother wash a jar and put it in the cabinet. An old spaghetti sauce jar that she was going to save because should there ever be an emergency situation that required such a jar, as God as her witness, she would have 19 or 34 or 97 jars for just that occasion. Wide eyed and open mouthed, the look on Patrick’s face was something to the tune of “OH MY GOD – IT HAS A MOTHER.”
My Feng Shui process started with a thorough cleaning of my desk, which included removing dust, dirt and various items I no longer use from my workspace. Follow this with some rearranging of some desk trinkets, some hiding of file folders, some sprinkling in of lemon scent and voila – the cleaning was complete.
I was then faced with a choice, a) pay off my credit card, or b) spend money on rocks. You are left to assume that because I am even bringing this up that my money-savvy mother in law is cringing at the mere mention of my credit card debt. OH THE INTEREST! OH HOW IT’S BUILDING!
The stones are for various things – maintaining individuality, inspiring creativity, helping me deal with emotional baggage and feeling peaceful. I even have one that I place at the edge of my desk to protect all negative energy from seeping into my cube. And it protects in all directions. ALL DIRECTIONS! Now if a rock like that isn’t worth eleven dollars, well, I don’t want to know what is.
I’ve also incorporated a number of other things including a mirror which faces the entrance of my cubicle, a pair of garnet stones next to photos of Patrick and me in the corner of my cube representing love and marriage, a plant (which is not in an ideal location for her sake – she’s very sensitive to light. And also to everything else) and a red box in my “power zone” with an Om on it, which I have filled with sage and lavender. Yes, I know, I’ve turned my cube into what some people might call a crazy voodoo space or something. I assure you that I haven’t gone around collecting toe nail clippings or other such discarded parts to shove in pickle jars with dolls resembling my enemies or anything. But now that you mention it, I do have some free time.
How romantic
“You look so incredibly beautiful,” he said to me as I paraded out of the bathroom dressed and done up for work. “You still take my breath away every time I look at you.”
I gathered my things – my purse, my bag of running clothes and my lunch he had made for me – and headed toward the door.
“I love you darling, have a good day,” he said.
“Love you too. Have a great day,” I said in reply.
“Oh, wait!” He said as I reached for my keys. “Here.”
He handed me a fiber bar.
“This will help you go.”
I repeat: DO NOT DEVIATE FROM THESE INSTRUCTIONS!
At the request of my holistic health coach, Amy White, I bought my first Kombucha drink. It’s an organic tea that comes from the natural fermentation (warning: may contain alcohol) of a mushroom. Alcohol? Shrooms? Hardly my style, though just the beginning.
I enlisted Amy’s help to get some tips for taking in foods I never knew existed. Enter: Kombucha.
Amy’s knowledge of both nutrition and the body makes her extremely helpful for, if nothing else, providing me with some kind of ammunition to fire at [insert random person here] who knows what’s best for me and has taken a deep interest in my eating habits since I stopped eating meat. And I knew I’d found the right nutritionist when I learned Amy’s age, because when a woman looks a couple decades younger than she actually is, you know she’s gotta be doing something right.
“Don’t shake it.” She told me, with a look on her face that was the most serious look I’d ever seen her make. “Really. It will explode.”
The bottle has the same warning on the label, bold-faced and prominently displayed. Probably because upon picking up the bottle and noticing the bottom-most quarter inch of the drink has gooey clumps floating around, it’s counter intuitive to not shake it. The human instinct is to stir up the bottom floaties and intersperse them throughout the bottle, perhaps mixing them out of sight and mind.
What is the proper way to drink Kombucha? Well, first, DON’T shake. When it comes to this drink – oh sensitive, sensitive Kombucha – the word “shake” is certainly relative. “Shake” can mean slowly and carefully pulling the bottle out of the fridge and tipping it ever so slightly. It can mean driving over small road bumps with the bottle resting gently in a grocery bag on the passenger seat. While these circumstances seem harmless enough, you must understand that Kombucha is a sensitive drink. A drink that, if it becomes upset, will not hesitate to violently splatter all over you leaving you with a lingering vinegar-esque aroma. And then probably hold a grudge about it.
What made me so drawn to try this drink wasn’t so much that my nutritionist recommended it, which was most certainly a deciding factor. It was because my nutritionist recommended it despite the hard work that went into drinking it, which sent a clear message that the frequently-performed twist-and-run maneuver was, with every bottle, totally worth it.
She jotted down the name of the brand (Synergy, in case you’re wondering) on our consult sheet. She looked over at me as though she were continuing her thought.
“Then..” she started. There’s MORE? It gets more complicated than not EVER tilting the bottles and learning how to dodge violently spraying liquid?
“Have you heard of Chia seeds?” I know what you’re thinking, and yes, she was talking about those Chia seeds.
“After you drink half, take a scoop of Chia seeds and pour them into the bottle.”
I nodded, my mind drifting toward trying to find an explanation as to why I have never in my life owned a Chia pet.
“It will be sort of like a volcano, which is why you have to wait until the liquid is halfway gone before pouring in the seeds. Put the lid back onto the bottle, and – listen, this is important – shake once.”
Wait, what?! Did you say SHAKE? How long have I been singing, “Ch-ch-ch Chia!”?
Hours later at Whole Foods I picked up six bottles – all different flavors. I’ve had two so far, and one sprayed out – Finicky citrus flavor. The second time I was successful and had a pleasant experience, which leaves me with a 50 percent success rate – hardly worth bragging about.
I’m happy I was introduced to this crazy drink because the health benefits far outweigh the hassle involved in the care and consuming of Kombucha: it’s laced with probiotics and enzymes, packed with vitamins, promotes digestion and a healthy immune system and it’s great for the hair and skin.
So far (meaning out of the two I’ve ever had) my favorite flavor is Passionberry, named for the drink’s equal parts passion and berry, which are then mixed with two parts awesome.
