They Should Leave the Heat Up to Nature

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She’s going down.

I tried yoga once a very long time ago. I hated everything about it. I hated the way I had to put my body in ways I didn’t think was natural. I hated the way I had to clear my mind and be present. Everyone who knows me, knows I have squirrel brain. I especially hated the whole “ohm” thing. No way, sister. No way.

I am not a serious person. I could not get through that yoga class without giggling. That day long ago, I promised myself that I would never ever step foot inside of a yoga studio again. Ever.

So, when my friend asked me if I wanted to meet her for some hot yoga, my first inclination was to say “NO.” It was on the tip of my tongue. But she had a coupon. 2 weeks of unlimited classes for 20 bucks. If someone gave me a coupon for free cow balls, I would take it.

“Sure,” I said to my friend. “I’ll go, but if someone farts, I’m out.”

After I grabbed one of their mats, I chose a spot at the very back. I was so pushed up against the wall, the teacher reprimanded me. Something about not being able to stretch out properly. “Horse shit,’ I said to myself. Although I quickly came to realize that she was correct.

That first day was on New Year’s Eve. It was cold in my town. Below freezing with the wind chill. You’d think I would have welcomed the hot air after coming in from that cold, but I didn’t. I felt like I was suffocating. Remember, I’m peri-menopausal. Anything above 65 pretty much makes me break out in a hot sweat. I swear the thermostat in there was set at 790 degrees.

It started out with the instructor telling us to breathe and release the tension and worries of our day. She wanted us to clear our minds.

I peeked out of one eyeball, looking around the room. Everyone seemed to be doing it. So, I closed my eye again and tried to follow suit. Somehow, my mind went from “how long have we been here” to “I hope A. makes that really awesome pineapple infused vodka tonight” to “hmm, I wonder if pineapple is even in season?” to “I should have moisturized my feet better.” Squirrel.

So, we’ve established that I cannot clear my mind. Next.

The dreaded “ohm” moment came. Like I said, no way, sister. And I didn’t. I totally faked it. Which was fine because the guy next to me was so into it, his ohm’ing was the only ohm’ing you could hear for miles. I refused to look at my friend, because I knew I would start giggling. I know, very disrespectful, not to mention childish. But I held it together.

Then the contortionist shit came. I heard words like upward dog, downward dog, child pose, warrior 1, warrior 2, warrior 3, triangle, wheel, tree, something about achunga or muchinga or whatever. I was off-balance and extremely ungraceful. Like Honey Bob-Boo trying to do a pirouette.

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Me and my doggy bitten mat after a hot yoga session

Day 2 I had to borrow their mat again. I did have one at home but it’s thick and one corner of it got attacked by a dog. And I don’t even have a dog, so go figure.

I brought my doggy bitten mat on Day 3 but it got kicked out of class because it was slipping a little. Although I think they are just mat snobs. “Oh, I don’t think this is for me,” I kept saying to myself.

On Day 4, I had to borrow their mat again. Day 4 was also a transitional day for me. I actually left there feeling that I could possibly get into this yoga thing. Possibly. When I told my friend this news, she nearly fell over from a heart attack. Even though I said “possibly.”

I don’t know how it happened. The stretching felt incredibly good. The deep breathing is amazing. The heat? I could do without the heat. I swear to you, I was sweating more than a pig on a spit. No lie. You could have filled a bathtub with my sweat. But the best part? I think I may have burned 350 calories. That right there is a margarita and a half my friends.

By day 4 I was able to get into some of the poses. Not wheel or that half headstand thing where you rest your knees on your elbows, but I could stand on one foot without falling over like an anorexic caught in a stiff breeze.

I can honestly tell you that I’m pretty sure I will never, ever be able to move my body like that. If I do, I’ll let you know. You might want to purchase tickets to see it. It will be that much of a mind blow.

So, will I be going back? I think I will. After I get my own mat, of course. But do you think they could turn down the heat just a tad? What did you say? Oh, is that why they call it HOT yoga? Never mind.

Hormones vs. Hormones

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I woke up in a bad mood this morning. A real bad mood. Even the text to my mother was full of venom. I’m pretty sure she was praying. Thanking the good Lord that she was 639.59 miles away. Safely tucked away in the sweet plains of The South.

I don’t know why I woke up this way. I just did. It happens. So, when I told The Kid to empty the dishwasher, she replied through gritted teeth with a “PLEEEASSSE???” You know, the kind of “please” you say to your two year old when she demands a lollipop.

This was probably not the best day to get snarky on me. Peri-menopausal women are a force to be reckoned with. “Force” as in an Uzi With A Vagina. But what does she know? She’s only 16. So much to learn. Poor thing.

What was my reply? “I don’t think so, child. This is your chore. Why I feel the need to remind you to do your chore is beyond me. So no, I will NOT SAY PLEASE!”

When she was done with her chore, I told her she had an attitude and that I didn’t like it. “Mom, can I say something to you?” she asked.

The previous night I was at the high school for a seminar. It was about drug awareness. Three kids from our town came to speak about their drug and alcohol addictions. A child professional got up and spoke for a bit. One of the things he said is to listen to your child. Never dismiss her.

Usually when I am in this type of foul mood, I would say something really stupid and completely against what all child development people would recommend saying. They would not only cringe at my reaction, but would probably have my kid in some kind of therapy for the next 20 years.

When I am in this mood, it would sound something like this: “no, you can’t say anything because whatever you say right now will not help you. Now go upstairs and get ready for school.” But I didn’t. I stopped and I thought before I spoke. I know, this is a shocker. My mouth is usually louder and faster than my brain.

“Yes, you may.” I nearly had a heart attack at my own reaction. “Mom, why is it every time YOU’RE in a bad mood, we have to suffer?” I looked around for DH. So sure he was hiding in the shadows with a $20 bill.

I was rendered speechless. This is the second “attack” I’ve had from my family in a week. I use the word “attack” loosely. It was more like an awakening. The first time, when we were in the car going somewhere, it was what I like to refer to as a “come to Jesus” meeting. Except I’m the only one who didn’t get the memo. “We think you are going through menopause and we don’t like it. You’ve kind of been mean lately.”

They were as nice as they could be about it. But I sit here thinking about these occurrences. Yes, I have been pretty bitchy around here. Not always. I’m not one of those raging lunatics who should probably be committed. But I have my moments. Perhaps a little more than less lately.

And I know why. Sure, hormones play a part in it. I was born hormonal. You should have seen me as a teen. Think Regan without the complete head turn. Damned as I tried, I could only get my head to go 3/4 of the way around.

I haven’t been taking care of myself as well as I should. I stopped exercising. Exercise plays a huge part in feeling good. It’s got something to do with endorphins. Endorphins are your best friend. But I digress.

Whatever the reason, it’s not a good enough one to treat the people you love the most in this world the worst. No, I seem to save my best mood for everyone else. Friends, strangers, people who I try too hard with.

So, in my eye-opening last two weeks, I’ve decided that I need to lighten up on the closest people to me — my family. I can still be great to my friends. Kind to strangers. Civil to everyone else.

I’m going to save my good energy for my people. The people who, even though I act like Sybil at times, still love me back and never give up on me. Even in my peri-menopausal semi-crazed rage.

With that being said, we are still allowed to get upset with our children when they don’t listen. When they don’t do what we ask them to do. Perhaps I don’t need to spit blood, but I can be a little exasperated. And I’ll try to keep the Regan to a minimum. I promise.

Miracle Lasagna

My mom makes this lasagna. I grew up with it. So, it’s been around since the beginning of time.

Actually, she got this recipe from my aunt, who is a terrible cook so it’s kind of a miracle. Because it’s really good.

I had to use clip art because I don't have a pic of my actual lasagna. Because I don't make it anymore because The Kid is lactose intolerant.
I had to use clip art because I don’t have a pic of my actual lasagna. Because I don’t make it anymore . Because The Kid is lactose intolerant. Which totally sucks wieners.

Miracle Lasagna

    • 1 box of those oven ready lasagna noodles because, hello?
    • 1 pound of ground beef
    • 1 pound of ground italian sausage, hot or sweet, whatever your preference of the day is
    • 1 of those really extra big jars of marinara sauce. I think I use Ragu or Prego but whatever strikes your fancy. Remember, no rules?
    • 1 16 oz container of ricotta cheese
    • 1 egg
    • A hefty sprinkling of parmesan cheese you buy in a container that Kraft makes
    • A couple of cups of mozzarella cheese
    • 1 of those throw-away aluminum lasagna tin pans because, hello?

Directions:

  1. Put that ground beef and sausage in a pan and cook it. Drain out the fat. Put aside.
  2. Mix your ricotta cheese in a bowl with one egg and a hefty sprinkling of parm cheese from the container. Sometimes I will even add some pepper and garlic salt to make it taste good but it tastes good anyway, so save yourself time and don’t do it, unless you want to. I sometimes do it to make it look like I’m professional or something.
  3. Take your aluminum pan and pour a layer of sauce on the bottom. I don’t know why, just do it.
  4. Put a layer of your oven-ready lasagna noodles over the sauce on the bottom. (HINT: don’t do this step until you are absolutely ready to continue building your lasagna, because the ends curl and it’s really hard to add all those other layers with curled edges. I know, umm, experience.)
  5. Put a heaping spoon of the ricotta cheese mixture over the noodles and smooth it all out nice, covering everything.
  6. Put a heaping spoon of the meat mixture over the ricotta cheese and smooth it all out nice, covering everything.
  7. Pour some sauce over all that.
  8. Sprinkle mozzarella cheese on top.
  9. Repeat #4 through 8. NOTE: I do not add another layer of noodles at the very top, but you may if you feel like it’s necessary. People are surprised that I don’t add a top layer of noodles. I don’t know why.
  10. Throw that right into an already warmed up oven of 350 degrees for one hour.
  11. Congratulations, you’re done.

Out of all the 7 things I make, this is a real crowd pleaser. Even my Italian sisters-in-laws like this. I know they aren’t lying either. Because they like to make fun of my 1/2 Irish ways and my lack of sauce making and ability to cook.

Bon appetit? Okay, how about go eat.

 

Girl’s Get-Away

At My Job, I have been helping to organize an all-women’s weekend retreat. This has been a dream of my Friend Boss (Susie) for a long time. Susie has her own, very successful blog called Not Your Average Mom. This is a weekend for women only to come and ease away the stresses of everyday life.

Anyway, I’ll be there. Of course. Because I’m helping to organize it. And it’s going to be fun. I don’t like to miss anything that is going to be fun.

If you’d like to hear more about it, click on this link and you will be able to read a nice post Susie put together explaining the whole thing.

But if you don’t feel like doing that, let me explain what it entails:

Date: February 27-March 1, 2015 (I really like how that date makes it seem the weekend is like, 6 days but it’s really not so don’t get excited)

Place: The Interlaken Inn, Lakeville, Connecticut (note: if you would be traveling out of town, no worries. We will have complimentary transportation to and from the airport/train station. It’s a first come/first serve basis so if you do this, let me know asap)

What’s Included? Well, besides a 2 night stay at the inn, I’ve broken it down for you below:

Friday: Meet & Greet, Dinner, Drinks, a singing man with a guitar (the only man allowed btw)

Saturday: Breakfast followed by three break-out sessions; a yoga class, pole dancing instructions, karate/MMA lessons. There will be a snack break in there somewhere. After the sessions, lunch will be served followed by a 3 hour break to do with as you wish. Some suggestions: a nap, a movie, a walk, a massage, a leisurely shower, hang out at the bar, go check out the sites of the beautiful Litchfield Hills. In other words, do whatever you freaking want to do without husbands and children and housework crap bugging you.

After your break, meet us downstairs for dinner. Then this is where more fun comes in…there will be karaoke, a photo booth, dancing, music, drinking, games, fun, hanging out, the letting down of hair, partying, more drinking and fun, fun, fun.

Sunday: Sleep in a bit then have a relaxing brunch before heading back home to well, home.

So, doesn’t an entire weekend of no grocery shopping, cooking, cleaning, laundry, and all else crappy sound good? I mean, you won’t even have to make your bed! Damn.

And you can come hang out with me. I promise to sing some karaoke. I promise! I warn you that I sound like a dying cat on its last life, but I love to sing and I will sing even though I shouldn’t.

I wish this was a video so you could get a real treat. I am singing American Pie. That song will never be the same.

Seriously, you need to grab a girlfriend, or two or three and come on down or over or up.

How much does it cost? This is how much it costs…

  • Single: $425
  • Double: $325
  • Triple: $300
  • Quadruple: $225

It’s totally affordable. And the reason it’s totally affordable is because today we launched a Crowdfunding campaign. (click right there to the left)

And here’s the Google definition because I’m really bad at explaining things: the practice of funding a project or venture by raising many small amounts of money from a large number of people, typically via the Internet.

So, if you would just love to help to make this a success, please consider a donation. There are perks so you’ll get some goodies in return! Here’s that campaign again.

How do you reserve a room? Call The Interlaken directly at 1-800-222-2909 and tell the operator that you are calling to reserve your spot for the Not Your Average Weekend retreat.

If you have a friend who will be calling in or has called in her reservation, just make sure you tell the nice lady/man on the phone who you want to room with.

Right now, all you need is a $100 deposit to hold your spot! Or you can totally go to the crowd funding link above and see that you can actually get an even better deal on your weekend. But act fast because there aren’t very many being offered at this price.

Leave a comment if you have any questions or send me a nice email at momfeld@hotmail.com and I’ll be sure to answer any question you have!

I would love to see you, to meet you, to party with you! It’s a great way to rejuvenate and catch a break from the winter blahs. Send me a message when you book your room! See you there!

Here’s a sneak peak of what happens when you eat their dessert alone without children hanging on you. And my acting debut:

My Favorite (AKA Easiest) Recipe Revealed

It is absolutely the most common of knowledge that I dislike being in the kitchen. I hate cooking in it. I hate cleaning in it. I do like to stand in it though because my kitchen is kinda new and it looks really pretty. I also like to pour myself a glass of wine in it. Or make a margarita.

But cooking? Ugh, blah, gross, puke and plfffftttt (that’s the sound you make when you stick out your tongue and make a raspberry). My goal is to get in and get out asap. You know, like when those Army specialist guys or Navy Seals are on a mission to go get some terrorists or whatever? Just like that. Without the guns and stuff. And less blood. Well, maybe. If I am careful with the knife and remember to move my finger out of the way.

I have 10 thousand cookbooks. All collected through the years starting in 1992, the year I got married. Because I tried. I did. I tried to cook nice. After I had a cry-fest on my wedding night in the shower, because I totally freaked out that I had no idea what I was going to make this man of mine for the next forever, I snapped to.

I got out my cookbooks, tied on an apron and cooked like a madwoman for a solid week. I know exactly what DH thought. “Boy did I pick a winner. Good decision bucko, I’ll be fed for life and it will be good.”

Except it wasn’t. I hated it so much, I pretty much never did that fancy stuff again. I got by on tomato soup with those white milky specks (why does that happen?), spaghetti with sauce out of a jar and if DH was really lucky, frozen meatballs thrown in for good measure. There was chicken, chicken and more chicken that pretty much resembled shoe leather, and as a special treat…sloppy joes.

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I haven’t opened this cabinet in so long, I was worried a family of mice would be living in there.

My philosophy is now this: Screw those cookbooks. Even though I still have them in the cupboard because you just never know even though I still, to this day, haven’t looked through 98% of them.

The meal has to have very little ingredients, require as little chopping as possible and be quick. If it tastes good, that’s a bonus. But it doesn’t have to taste good. Because then they won’t expect much so that could be a blessing in disguise.

So, get my point? The easier, the better. The faster, the even betterer and if I’m lucky, chinese food when everyone is sick of my cooking. Which is more than I care to admit. Actually, I don’t really care at all.

So, I will bestow to you my best meal ever. And my family loves it so much, I make it weekly with enough leftovers to carry over into the next night or longer. These people are lucky, I tell you.

I call this Sausage Pasta because I don’t know what else to call it and I’m really creative like that. I made this up by the way. Which is weird in and of itself because mostly I don’t know what I’m doing.

Sausage Pasta:

  • Olive oil. I dunno…a couple of tablespoons, maybe?
  • 1 box of Cellentani or Cavatappi or Ziti or whatever you like, al dente. Or overcooked like I do it because I always forget to take it off the heat before it reaches this stage.
  • 1 lb of any kind of sausage you like. I like the pre-cooked chicken or turkey sausage that is usually flavored by something or other. Cut this precooked sausage into slices. If you use fresh, just cook it like you would cook ground beef.
  • 1 can of cannelloni beans, undrained. The juice in this is what thickens the “sauce.”
  • 1 can of artichoke hearts in water for less fat. Cut them up so it looks like you are getting more and getting your money’s worth.
  • Capers. I use those cute little ones and I just pour them in until it meets my fancy.
  • 2-3 garlic cloves, sliced not minced. But do what you want. I won’t tell.
  • Salt, pepper and basil to taste.

While the pasta cooks, mix all of the above in no special order. Unless you use fresh (when I say “fresh” I mean the raw kind, not really sure how fresh it is) sausage, then cook that first. I’m not really sure why. If you really need to know, look it up.

Add to cooked, drained pasta and you have yourself a meal.

If you want to make it even healthier, add in some broccoli or whatever. But that’s an extra step and more work because then you have to wash it and cut it and cook it. So, just throw some on the side raw if a veggie is important to you.

There you have it. A meal that literally takes less than a half an hour to throw together. Don’t say I never gave you anything. You’re welcome.

With a Little Help From a Friend

The month was January 2013. The start of a new year. There were a few things that I was completely unhappy about with myself. 1) no job; 2) overweight; 3) no passion.

After much soul searching, I figured out my passion: writing and starting a blog. Check. I found a job. Check. Now to tackle the huge, ugly problem of being overweight.

In February, I stopped eating like a damn pig. I stopped putting every piece of food that crossed my path into my mouth. I lost about 10 pounds in 3 months. It was coming off, but slowly. I exercised very little. I didn’t have the motivation to do it, so I had stalled.

I hate to exercise. I knew I wouldn’t be able to do it alone. Because I am kind of lazy and have always, my entire life, needed a little pushing and prodding to get anything accomplished ever.

This chick in my town was offering an online fitness course. It didn’t require a gym membership which was good because quite honestly, I am not a huge fan of the gym. This could be done from the comforts of my own home. Or wherever I wanted. If I wanted to go visit Italy while I was partaking in this course, I could. It didn’t matter where I was.

So I joined. It was reasonable. And it was exactly what I needed to get myself over the hump. Because of her e-fitness course, I lost another 18 pounds. I met other women through the forum, there was plenty of support, and Susie (yes, THE Susie who is now my friend-boss – funny how things happen that way, isn’t it? Fate people. Fate.) is a kick-ass motivator and she was exactly what I needed.

I know this sounds like a shameless plug, and it is. A little. But also, I have always been a big supporter of her course. I have nothing but great things to say about it and wanted to share the love. Her course literally changed my life.

If you are in a rut, need a little push or just want to get into better shape, click here. It’s so much more than just exercising. She shares recipes, videos, tips, ways to stay motivated, the list goes on.

Her next e-course starts on August 25. What are you waiting for? It was the best money I ever spent and didn’t regret it for a moment. I truly believe with all my heart, that you will feel the same way. Or else I wouldn’t be here promoting it. I just wouldn’t.

Not Your Average Fitness Course starts here.

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Before
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After

 

Most Ridiculous Inconvenience Part 2

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I had another MRI the other day (click here if you missed my first one).  Because it’s been 6 months since my meniscus surgery and I am still suffering from knee pain.  The kind of pain that takes me twice the amount of time to climb a set of stairs.  Last time I checked I am a person, not a sloth.  Although I do have to admit to feeling like a sloth at times.  But that’s a whole other problem.  All I can say is I promise you I know what it feels like to be 96.  And it sucks so bad.

Anyway, this was my second MRI ever and I am a total expert by now.  Here is what I noticed this time around:

  • Why do they give you that questionnaire thingy when they don’t even look at it?  How did I know they didn’t look at it?  Because the guy re-asked me the questions.  Like I was lying the first time.  Yes, that’s what it was.  I was lying.  On second thought, I do have some shrapnel in my body.  My bad.
  • It is confirmed to me that I have adult ADD when I do something like this:  not listen to a thing the nice man is telling me when I have to get dressed for my procedure.  “Put on these pants and then….”  “Did I turn off the oven?  Wait.  What?”  Ok, so do I put the gown opening in the front or the back?  Did he even say I had to put it on?  Hello?  I’m having my knee x-rayed.  Not my boobs.  Pay attention, pay attention…ooh, a squirrel.

    Me with the gown opened in the back that I didn't need
    Me with the gown that I didn’t need.  Opening in the back.
  • Thank you for the pretty picture of the beach you put on the ceiling.  Too bad that by the time you roll me into the machine it is behind me.  And because you said I couldn’t move, I had to roll my eyeballs all the way up practically into my head so I could enjoy it.  Except I totally looked like I was either having a seizure or a bad drug experience.
  • How come when The Kid had her MRI on her foot, they let her choose the radio station?  Is it because I look like an old hag and they just assumed that I wanted easy listening?  Aren’t they breaking some kind of Equal Opportunity laws or something?
  • Apparently, Barry Manilow is the go-to guy for MRI’s.  Except instead of singing to Mandy, he actually sang to me.  I know this because he said, “this one’s for you.”  Thanks Barry.  You the man.  Well, the MRI man, anyway.
  • Why do the most itches happen when you can’t move?  I could go all day without noticing an itch.  But when instructed not to move for 25 minutes?  It’s like a spider had babies on my ankle and all her little spider babies made their way all the way up to my ear.  What is that?
  • I suddenly remembered a time when someone I knew had to have a test and they couldn’t swallow. “Okay Mo, don’t swallow.  You can do this.”  Oh, wait.  What am I doing?  I’m here for an MRI.  Right?  Squirrel.
  • Oh God, I’m gonna sneeze.  Ooh, remember a long time ago that trapeze family fell to their deaths while doing a circus act because one of the members sneezed?  That was terrible.  But that won’t happen to me.  Honestly, the only thing I’m worried about is the keys flying off the wall and stabbing me in the brain.  It could happen.

So my prognosis?  Something about the cartilage not healing all the way so I need to have some gel injections until it does heal.  Whatever.  Just as long as they don’t have to cut me open again.  I can’t take any more old lady knee.  Not that there is anything wrong with old lady knee.  But I’m not ol…oh, never mind.

 

Everything Gets Old. Everything.

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That’s a dried up peach. Get your head out of the gutter.

Attention all women.  Guess what we have to look forward to as we age?  Besides wrinkles.  And gray hairs.  And flabby skin.  And age spots.  And facial hair.  And toe hair.  And nose hair.  And memory loss.  And menopause.  And dryness.  And baldness.  Ooh, I got a little carried away there.  Sorry about that.  Apparently, there’s a new ailment in town.  Well, perhaps it’s not new per se.  I’m sure it’s been around since the beginning of time but no one felt comfortable about talking about it.  Until now.

It’s called Vaginal Atrophy.  Yup.  You got it.  The walls of your vagina can dry up from underuse.  You heard me right.  Underuse.  If you do not use your vagina, it can have the potential of drying up like the Sahara.  Or like old rubber left out in the sun too long.  And there are side effects that come along with this dryness.  Just think bread but not as nice.  Gross me out the door and gag me with a spoon. (There’s some ’80’s slang for you.  To prove I’m not old.  Oh wait, actually that proves that I AM old, doesn’t it?  Never mind.)

How do I know this?  Because my poor mother suffers from it.  She’s been suffering from the effects of it for months.  Months.  I had to listen to her complain about it for months.  Do you understand?  This is almost as bad as when I got up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night when I was 13, only to find my dad skipping around the living room in his heart covered briefs.  Okay, maybe that was worse.  Okay, that probably was worse.  Okay, that was worse. She didn’t know what it was. No amount of Monistat was curing it.  No amount.  I’m pretty sure the woman bought enough of that crap to put a down payment on a vacation home.

Anyway, her good doctor said it was from underuse.  When she told me, I was overcome with all sorts of emotions.  My amusement turned to disgust.  Which turned to disbelief.  Which then turned to full on panic.  Because I do not want to have vaginal walls of cracked shoe leather.  Like, I don’t worry enough already about getting old.

So, in a nutshell, if you don’t use your vagina, you could possibly suffer from vaginal atrophy.  Can you imagine?  What?  Are we supposed to have sex until we are 80?  I mean, sex is great and all.  But I’m guessing after 60+ years, I may be wanting a break.  Does anyone hear what I’m saying?  I mean, how hot will I look in a maid’s outfit at that age?  After all, if I’m still doing it at 80, I’m going to have to get creative.  Sorry for the visual.  But the truth sometimes hurts.  How would you get in the mood?  I’m talking about you.  Not your husband/significant other/partner.  Because men can go for forever.  They are like the Energizer Bunny crossed with Tony Randall.

It does give sex a whole new meaning though.  “Hey honey,  get ready.  We have some vaginal wall drying-up prevention to do.”  Mmm.  Romantic.  I’ll grab the petroleum.

Reiki Away My Pain

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Reiki does not use a rake. Just so you know.

A dear friend of mine recently became a Reiki Master.  For anyone who doesn’t know what Reiki is, here is the official definition as taken from my google search:

“a healing technique based on the principle that the therapist can channel energy into the patient by means of touch, to activate the natural healing processes of the patient’s body and restore physical and emotional well-being.”  

I know.  It sounds like hocus-pocus medicine man witchery.  But in my opinion it is not.  Our bodies, the universe, everything, is made up of energy.  So really, it makes sense.  But I’m not here to discuss whether you believe in these practices or not.  I am here to tell you my experience in the only way I know how.  My way.

My dear friend wanted to perform Reiki on my bad knee.  Actually, I should say on my “healing” knee.  Because I’m seriously hoping it’s not bad any more.  It better not be after this bull poo I went through the last couple of weeks.  It’s ridiculous.  I would rather birth 10 more babies than do this again.  Okay, so maybe that’s not true.  Birthing babies kinda really sucks.  But I digress.

I’ve never had Reiki performed on me.  So, I went in a little worried that I wouldn’t do it right.  Even though I wasn’t going to be doing the “it.”  The first thing my friend, and I’ll call her “Dee”, said is that I need to think of what the intention of the session is, relax my mind, call for my guides, God and/or Jesus to assist (or something like that).  Well, anyone who knows me, knows that I am unable to relax my mind.  I’m not talking about relaxing my mind of all the stressful, crazy crap in life.  Because honestly, I really don’t worry about that.  Just ask DH.  I basically have a very difficult time focusing.  Period.  I think I am one of those undiagnosed ADD adult people.  In fact, I must be.  There are so many reasons why I think so.  But again, I digress.

The space was beautiful.  I really love that word “space.”  I don’t know why.  It’s just…cool.  The music was calming.  Warm.  So I laid down and allowed Dee to do her work.  I think I started out okay.  Here is pretty much the conversation I was having with myself, inside my head which is supposed to be kinda empty at this point:

“(inhale, exhale) okay, I am focusing on my knee, feel the light surrounding it, let me see…ok I’ll visualize the inside of what my knee looks like.  Loosen up, scar tissue.  Be free.  Mmm, what is that scent?  I think it may be lavender?  OMG, that is my fave!  oh, poop.  Focus.  Knee, knee, knee.  Ummm, please let my knee heal. I wonder if I’m doing this right?  I hope Dee can’t read my mind or that her guides snitch on me.  That would be so mean.  Those tattletalers.  Oh wait, I forgot to ask for God’s help.  Dear God, please come help Dee and me pull bad energy out of my body.  Wait.  Where should I visualize the bad energy going?  Through my head?  But then it will go by my heart.  Is that bad?  Maybe it should go through my eyeballs, ears and nose?  I mean, does it need to go out a hole?  Oh, my feet are closest though.  Lord I hope it doesn’t go through poor Dee.  Does she really need my bad energy?  Speaking of which…Lord, please help me heal.  And spirit guides, if you’re listening, you help too.  I really need to stop by the liquor store for some wine.  I wonder what book I should read next?  Ugh, I hope the dollar store has baskets because otherwise those mothers can be expensive.  I love the dollar store.  I really should start buying my cleaning supplies there.  Do you know how much money I could save?  I think I’ll blog about this.  I wish I could take notes.  Oh, darn.  I’m doing it again.  Knee, knee, knee.  Go out of me swelling and pain.  Vanish.  I didn’t poop today.  I hope I don’t fluff right here on this table.  I will just die.  Oh, but it’s only Dee, she’ll understand.  Fudge.  Oh, sorry.  That probably wasn’t the best choice of word at this moment.  I’m sorry God.  Hey God, please help.  Ok, let me visualize all that ugly swelling in my joint dissipating.  I wonder if Dee will give me bad feedback.  What if she feels that I have something wrong with me.  OMG.  Speaking of knees, I haven’t done my exercises today.  Boy is my therapist going to be mad at me.  I’m such a bad patient.  I think everybody is sick of my drama by now.  Freaking A-Balls…KNEE, KNEE, KNEE.  THINK ABOUT YOUR FRICKIN’ KNEE DANGIT!!!  We would look so weird if we didn’t have necks, wouldn’t we?”

And with that, it was over.  30 minutes gone in a blink of an eye and some serious brain chatter.  But all kidding aside, it was a wonderful experience.  I was completely relaxed (except my brain, but that’s my own fault).  I felt heat in my knee and felt a zing here and a zing there.  I literally got up off that table and felt more flexible.  Seriously.  It feel good.  Really good.  And guess what?  I practically ran down the stairs, using BOTH my legs when I got home.  That right there is a bonus because until today, it has basically taken me about 2.4 minutes to complete that task.  Also at work, I was able to bend my knee.  Like, really bend it.  Total bonus #2 since it’s felt like I’ve had 2 pounds of cotton shoved in my knee joint for the last 2 weeks.

All in all, I would say it was a success.  I think I’ll be going back.  But this time, I will try to leave all that chatter at home.  You do realize that if we didn’t have necks, it really wouldn’t be weird.  But it would be weird if we, the un-necked species, imagined having necks…or would it?

Knee Deep

knee surgery
Before, During and After

The day was perfect for surgery.  Rainy, windy, disgusting.  Perfect.  Perfect for me to lie around sleeping off my anesthesia.  Which, I have to say was awesome!  The anesthesia, I mean.  Honestly, I’m so glad I didn’t cave to peer pressure when I was a teen.   Because there would have been a problem.  A serious problem.

I woke up at 5:30.  Because I had to pee.  But I didn’t get up to pee because I was too lazy.  So I laid there thinking that in less than 3 hours a surgeon would be cutting little holes in my knee.  A knee that I’ve always liked.  A knee that on our second date, DH commented on how cute it was.  I was wearing shorts.  Get your head out of the gutter.  But I wasn’t nervous.  The morning of my hysterectomy I was like a child gripping the doorway.  Kicking and screaming.  Not wanting to go.  But this definitely was less invasive.  And if I survived one bout of anesthesia, I knew I would survive another.

The nurses were super, super nice.  A little too nice, actually.  I was hoping for a bit of a Nurse Ratchet so I had something to talk about.  But, no.  It didn’t happen that way.  I got to change in an area where the only thing separating me from all the other patients was a curtain.  “Everything off except your undies.  Gown, opening in back.  Robe, opening in front.”  I’m just glad I opted for the grannies with a touch of lace instead of my usual thongs.  The entire Operating Room probably didn’t need to see my ass cheeks.  Which, by the way, no amount of running makes those suckers go up to where they were once upon a time.

They asked me the same questions over and over again.  I signed my life away a million times over and told them they better try to save my life if I die.  Okay, I didn’t say that.  But I did say I would have a blood transfusion.  That’s the same thing, right?

They wheeled me into a room.  A room they take you to before you go to the Operating Room.  Again, only separated by a curtain from the other patients.  It was like a cattle call or something.  Then the party began.  The needle containing what I could only describe as liquid heaven was inserted into the back of my hand.  “Ooh, I like this, I wouldn’t mind having a little of this every day, I don’t seem to care about a thing” was the last comment I remember saying to the doctor.  Or was it a nurse?  I don’t know.  They were all starting to look the same to me.

What seemed like 30 seconds went by.  The first face I saw was my doctor’s.  Asking if I was okay.  But boy did I feel good.  I’m sure I said something silly or stupid because that’s what I do.  But I guess I’ll never know.  Which makes me kinda sad.  They should let you record these things.  Really.  I’m not kidding.  I wonder if someone would have taken notes if I asked them?  This shall be one of my biggest regrets.

So, here I am.  With my downloaded Cow Bell app, having DH wait on me.  He’s being a very good servant man.  I’m sure by the end of this weekend, I will be on his last nerve.  But until then, a little higher to the left honey, oh and would you be a prince and fetch me a bucket.  This Vicodin makes me feel like I’m going to vomit.  Because my nerve block wore off and I’m not feeling so great anymore.  Where’s that Liquid Heaven when I need it?