eyes wide shut?

I had an eye exam yesterday, and the bastards dilated my eyes.  Much like a gremlin (a good one like Gizmo or a naughty one like Stripe), I do not like bright light under normal circumstances.  Dilate my eyes and I want to climb in a coffin until nightfall.

So what they do is put the drops in your eyes and then leave you in the lobby in front of a huge sunny window and under the brightest indoor lights known to man and they wait…they peek at you periodically, waiting for your eyes to be optimally dilated.  They know you’re ready to visit with the optometrist when you’ve made every attempt to crawl under the lobby chairs far far away from the light that’s searing into your brain and you’re trying to dig an escape hole in the carpet.  Fun stuff.

The optometrist—I have no idea what he looks like, he’s a blurry man as far as I know—then proceeds to shine lights in my eyes until what little sight I had is gone…he then offers me a copy of the photos of the inside of my eye (“look, that’s your optical nerve!” “ummm, I can’t actually see anything you’re pointing at, sorry.” “I can make a copy for you to take home on CD.” “What a Christmas card that would make! No thanks.”)

Completely blinded, I’m led back to the lobby where I’m now supposed to shop for new eyeglass frames.  WTF?  I’ve decided it’s a ploy because they don’t want you to see how much the frames cost.  Even without sight, I can put my hand on the most expensive pair of frames in every display the salesman has; it’s a gift, a  talent.

It’s time to pay and I am running my hand over the cards trying to tell the difference between a Visa and a BiLo Bonus Card while the salesman calculates how much money he’s made off the blind that day.  Lots, I’m sure.  It’s easy to rob the blind.  Bastards.

song of the day, commercial of the day

sing backup with me, chiquita…ooo oooo

 

if you watch the video closely enough, i think you can become hypnotized by marky mark’s bellybutton.

and because that’s truly not enough shirtless wahlberg for one day…

…sigh.  and how did we get from that to “say hi to your mother for me???”  ah, who cares…i’m gonna watch those videos again…and probably again.  i need some privacy now.

what a rip off

I just want to bitch for a moment that there were no 100 Grand bars nor Baby Ruths in Minime’s trick or treating loot Friday night.  What the hell is this world coming to?  Nevermind that I had to steal Hot Tamales from a kid that wasn’t even my own…but not even one measly snack pack of M&Ms either!  Lots and lots of pixie sticks and gum and jawbreakers (Minime and two of her friends all lost teeth on Halloween night thanks to those jawbreakers) but we were distinctly lacking in chocolate, Hot Tamales, Sour Patch Kids and Swedish Fish.  I’m pretty pissed about this. (OK, yes, I know, I’m 35 and can drive myself to Ingle’s or wherever and buy a jumbo bag of Sour Patch Kids any day of the year but it’s just not the flippin’ same as digging through the trick or treat candy and hitting the jackpot, it’s just not the same, pfffffffffffft)

On the mend!

Hey, thanks for all the nice emails…the ankle is on the mend.  The bruising is a lot less frightening, and if I go barefoot, I can get around pretty well—still hurts a good deal, but a big improvement over this time last week.  When I put a shoe on for work, though, that freakin’ makes the whole mess ache all over…so I try to be barefoot as much as possible!!

Street Fighting in Charlotte

So I met up with the Steinster in Charlotte yesterday. 

She said, “Why ya in my town, beeotch?”

I said, “Wahlberg.  Donnie Wahlberg.”

She said, “He’s a wuss.”

The Steinster  was frozen to the core by the icy stare I gave her as I said through clenched teeth, “You did not just disrespect a Wahlberg in front of me.”

And then it was on, street fighting right there on Trade Street.

I went all ninja on the Steinster for talking smack about my favorite New Kid.  I flew through the air sideways and kicked her in the head with both feet.  She recovered quickly and brought a roundhouse kick to my spleen.   I barfed my peanut M&Ms on her suede boots and hurled throwing stars at her in rapid-fire succession.  The Steinster was swift and cat-like, dodging the stars, catching the last one in her teeth and spitting it back at me…I ducked, rolled and kicked her feet out from under her just as the throwing star hit my Donnie Wahlberg in the rattail, killing him not quite instantly…he did have time to whisper to me as I cradled him in my arms right there in front of Baskin Robbins, “Kat, I’ll be lovin’ you forever, ’cause you got the right stuff, love the way you turn me on, cover girl” before he went to join the great boy band in the sky, disappearing into the ether in a cloud of bubble gum scented smoke, leaving behind only a black jelly bracelet on the sidewalk.

I slipped on the bracelet, then wiped a tear from my cheek.  I turned to the Steinster and said, “The world has lost a cultural icon and I have lost my reason to stay on the right side of the law.  I’ll be back for you when you least expect it.”

As I strode off into the sunset, I knew that Step By Step, I had to keep Hangin’ Tough.

 

 

(ok, so that’s not really what happened exactly and precisely.  no wahlbergs were harmed, thank goodness!  chiquita and i did see the steinster and her man friend in charlotte and we had some very very small food and it was fun!  i was there to see donnie wahlberg, that much was true, i came to see him shake his moneymaker and indeed he did, oh yes he did,  and all is right in the world.  but i could go ninja on you at any time, so keep your anti-wahlberg talk to yourselves, folks)

what happened, and what the hell did i say?!?!

What happened on Sunday: In slow motion instant replay, I nudge the ball away from the opposing player in a ninja-like move, but so quickly he doesn’t realize the ball is gone, so he kicks the ball for a goal, only it’s not the ball, it’s the inside of my left ankle!!  And my whole left foot goes out from under me in a direction one’s foot shouldn’t go!  Awful.  On the bright side, if I’d known how many sweaty strong men would volunteer to carry me around, I’d have taken a fall ages ago, a single girl’s dream come true, except for the agonizing pain part that had me so delirious I almost threw up.  I was shaking all over from the pain, trembling, trying to breathe but it was horrible, an ache that started somewhere inside my foot and went up to my brain.
 
Went to one of the local urgent care places to make sure nothing was broken.  Got to ride in a wheelchair, wheeeeee!  First thing the nurse did was drive my foot and ankle into a chair in the lobby, no joke.  Thought I might black out!  So then I became uncooperative (their word, not mine) and didn’t want to take my cleat off because it hurt so much after being shoved into the lobby chair, I told the nurse I was pretty freakin’ sure they could xray my ankle through my sock and shoe given that it was an xray machine and all!  A second nurse had to talk me into giving up my shoe and sock and shinguard.  Xrays came out ok, thank goodness, but then the nurse who drove me into the chair assured me I would wish it was broken instead of a severe sprain because a break would heal faster, nice, obviously tops in the tact class at nursing school in addition to the how to drive a wheelchair class.  They wrapped me up, put me on crutches, told me to take drugs and be nicer to woodland creatures.  Maybe I’m making up the woodland creatures part, but the crutches are hard to contend with given that I’m sort of a spaz on a normal day, nevermind on a gimpy day.  I can’t get a shoe on my left foot and of course it was snowing this morning. Today my ankle is swollen,  turning blue, purple and green.  Minime tells me it looks “lumpy.”
What’s interesting is all the emails I’ve gotten from teammates and the opposing team…someone was asking me about something I said, a conversation I don’t recall at all.  Apparently, when I checked out mentally while I was sprawled on the other team’s bench trying hard not to puke (I’m a pain and stress barfer—huge emotional distress or extreme physical discomfort make me want to hurl), I kept talking. I have no recollection of talking to anyone about anything…I was out of there, Elvis has left the building, but according to several folks, I was rambling on about all kinds of nonsense including my astrological sign.  The only moment I can really remember is one of my own players, one who seldom speaks and keeps very much to himself, kneeling down beside me to cover me up with a jacket (I was shaking and cold, shock maybe?) and then I closed my eyes…and that’s it really for clear memories until I got to the urgent care place.  I recall bits of things, but nothing that makes much sense…so…sorry if I overshared about being a Virgo?!? and who knows what else.
I’m on the mend already, just trying to take it easy.  Thanks for the good thoughts, and I’ll be back to it in when the spring soccer season rolls around!