The Flu Shot

I guess it's that time of year again. We found out today that our pediatrician's office is wait listing kids for the flu shot. They are expecting a shipment, and will call us when it's our turn. Our turn for the hell that will be when our kids realize there is a reason why we are bribing them with McDonalds during the middle of the week. Let there be no mistake. Taking our kids to the pediatrician for shots is no fun! Bribing helps until they see the big ugly monster-like nurse coming toward them with the two foot long needle. Then reality sets in. They're screaming, they're running, they're hiding, they're putting every Power Ranger, Ninja Turtle or super hero move they've ever known to good use. It's a battle, and it's ugly.

As I sit contemplating this upcoming horror show, I start thinking about myself. People say to me every year "Are you getting the flu shot", "Make sure you get the flu shot", "Have you gotten your flu shot yet?" I say to them "Are you nuts? Of course, I don't get the flu shot. I love the flu!"

Let me explain. When else will I get two to five days of solid rest with NO ONE bothering me? Hum? When? I can sleep all day, all night, watch TV in bed without anyone trying to turn the channel or complaining that they don't want to watch what I am watching. I get waited on by my husband, I get lots of TLC from him and the kids, and I get to miss work. I am almost guaranteed the loss of that last five pounds, all while I'm laid up in bed like a princess. That, my friends, sounds like a great deal to me.

The Last 5 Pounds

I don’t know if it’s because I’m older or because I’ve popped out two kids, but I can’t seem to shed the infamous last five pounds. I used to be able to ask the magic skinny genie, and poof, my wish was granted. 5 pounds were gone within 24 hours. Not any more. That genie has left me in the dust, and has been replaced by the evil mirror mirror on the wall. (You already know my feelings about mirrors.)

I sweat my butt off 5 days a week exercising. I’m convinced that there is nothing Billy Blanks, Denise Austin, Jane Fonda, or Richard Simmons can do to make this last 5 pounds go away. I can sweat to the oldies until I am an oldie, and it ain’t budging.

I don’t know why it’s so easy to put on weight, but so impossible to get it off. I mean, I was PREGNANT! I wanted ice cream! Is that so bad? The universe should be forgiving in those situations. Long gone are the days when I could eat whatever I wanted. Now I simply walk by a plate of cookies or a box of donuts they leap right off the counter and onto my butt. Let me tell you, I do not like this arrangement one little bit! I say hook me up to some sort of fat-sucking machine and put me out of my misery.

Sun, Sun, Sun: Here We Come!

According to http://www.mapquest.com/, I live “approximately” 26.62 miles from my office. The “estimated” door to door trip should take 31 minutes. Wanna know what I say to MapQuest: HORSE CRAP! While I can’t blame my commute problems on MapQuest, it makes me feel better to criticize somebody.

Yesterday morning I dropped the kids off at day care a bit early. It was a beautiful morning, and I had good intentions of getting to work as peacefully as the day was proving to be. I placed my diet coke expertly into the cup holder, I put on my shades, I put in my new Nora Roberts thriller (cd of course – I do not “read” books in the car like other morons read the paper), and headed East. I got approximately 1 mile down the road and came to a screeching halt. For fear that my mother is reading this, I will spare you the expletives that came forth.

I could barely get off the exit ramp onto the main highway - the traffic was that congested. So, I automatically start thinking: horrific accident. I mean – it would have to be bad for the traffic to be backed up that far. I mentally prepared myself for the arms, legs, guts and eyeballs that I expected to see hanging from the trees ahead. There was nothing. As a matter of fact, there was nothing for the full 26.62 miles and the HOUR AND A HALF of bumper to bumper crack-smokage. Hello?! No fender bender, no farmer on a tractor, no escaped horse, no overly self-important cop giving tickets in rush hour traffic, no gigantic road kill, not even two dogs screwing on the side of the road.. notta. My conclusion: It was the sun.

Unfortunately for me, I travel to work headed east – and back home headed west. I get sun both ways. Most people wouldn’t consider this a bad thing. But when you’ve got 249,999 morons (1 less of 250,000 which would be ME), all headed to work in the same direction – the sun causes problems.

Here is what I have to say to all of the sun-impaired idiots that ruined my commute yesterday morning:

1. You are not all Chinese! Stop squinting. Open your eyes. Put on your shades. MOVE IT.
   
2. That big bright light ahead is not the second coming of Christ. It is the sun, folks. It’s there every day. Don’t be afraid. Snap out of your trance. We have a mission to accomplish here. Put on your shades. MOVE IT.

From Road Smear to Here

Ever wondered what happens to road kill? Honestly, me neither. That was before I caught an episode of "Dirty Jobs" on The Discovery Channel the other night. You guessed it. There are people out there who get paid to pick up road kill. Dirty job, but........ (pardon the pun.)

So there are men who drive around all day picking up road kill. They see it, they pick it up and drag it, (they may take a moment to barf about it), but ultimately they throw it in the back of their truck and move on to the next victim. Once they have the truck bed full, they take it to the county composting facility where they bury it. After a while.. it decomposes and becomes the mulch we pay money for in the store today. (Don't know about you, but I'm seeing a business opportunity here.)

That's ALL I could think about when the lawn service was out the other day spreading Lord-knows-what onto our yard. Now I'm afraid to walk up the driveway for fear that I'll hear the ghosts of animals past haunting me. All of a sudden, I see the animal version of the "Thriller" video coming to life in my front yard. The smell has attracted every fly in the closest five counties. I'm sure the neighbors are loving us right now. Thankfully, Halloween is approaching because this definitely adds to the fright factor.

I've attached a picture of our yard for your viewing pleasure. I rest assured that what ever this black stuff is will make our yard look beautiful in the spring. In the mean time, please look closely and let me know if you see any not-so-completely-decomposed deer hooves. I hear there is a market for those as well.

What Not to Wear

Hear Ye. Hear Ye. Calling all of my friends. Can somebody please show me some love and nominate me for TLC’s What Not to Wear? (Yes, of course I'm secretly hoping you'll tell me I don't need this service.) However, it is not about need girls! It’s all about me, and what I want. And, I want this.

Yes, they pick on some poor unsuspecting fashion anti-diva.
Yes, they follow her around for weeks making fun of her on video for the world to see.
Yes, they surprise her at work with the invitation to the challenge - ultimately humiliating her in front of the universe.
Yes, they follow her around after the show to make sure she hasn’t died and gone back to fashion hell.

Whaaaaaaah! Cry me a river, and bring it on.
This is how I break it down:

I would get to throw out every item of clothing in my possession and start anew. (Big whoop. There are ways around this one folks. It’s called hiding things at your friends’ houses.)
I would get to live it up in Manhattan for a few days.
I would get to shop it up in Manhattan for a few days.
I would get a credit card with my name on it boasting a five-thousand dollar limit. Oh, the shoes.
I would get to hang out with Stacy and Clinton and get free fashion advice from two sure-to-be life long gal pals.

Ok girls. Help me out here. Where's the love? I’m waiting to be nominated. Waiting for Stacy and Clinton. Hello? Hello? Anyone there?