I have a stalker…his name is Murphy

Murphy’s Law says, “Anything that can go wrong will go wrong.” Write about a time everything did — fiction encouraged here, too! (this is a mixture of fact and fiction)

Throughout my life, Murphy has been consistently stalking me.  So much so that now it is akin to Stockholm syndrome and I’ve completely gone past the point of even caring.  I first became a victim of Murphy in first grade.  I was 8 years old.  8!  And that smug SOB was already onto me as a target for the next 20 years.

It was a January day like any other, and I was walking to school with my bright pink puffy coat (with little black triangle on it and a drawstring hood).  I approached the crosswalk, after verifying both sides of the street were safe (safety first, always and forever, that’s me).  As I stepped onto the safety of the sidewalk and trundled towards the school, I was bumped from behind by a 5th grader.  At this point, one thought crossed my mind; It was a really really really bad idea to tuck my hands into my coat instead of using the sleeves and pockets on the OUTSIDE.  I fell like a baby spruce, waving in the breeze before my mouth smacked the concrete.  Blood was everywhere, along with snow and grit, and it took me a few minutes to regain both my composure and locate the tooth that was promptly knocked out.

A few days and a horrified dentist later I was back on my feet, so to speak.  Fast forward a week, yes only a week.  January 8, 1992 to be exact.  I was on the playground during recess (we only go inside on days the windchill was below zero, we are hardcore like that) and the bell rings.  Get inside get inside get inside! My brain is screaming at me as I take off at a dead spring.  Now, ask me where my hands are…no really…ask.  Tucked securely in my coat.  You’d think that I’d have learned, but apparently I was a little dense as an 8 year old.  This time when I fell, I decided to save my teeth and tilt my head forward slightly, figuring the ground can’t be THAT hard, right?  It was grass, after all (ignoring the concept of water tables and ground freezing).  Half an hour later I couldn’t figure out why I couldn’t stop crying during my math test.  My teacher apparently thought that I’d be fine and that I was disruptive, so she sent me to the hallway (friends had been stopping at my desk after they finished the test to ask if I was OK).  So I go and sit in the hallway for a few minute until my head starts hurting and my vision starts to dim.  I return to the classroom and tell the teacher, who sends me to the nurse’s office.   As I walk down the hall with a classmate (making sure I don’t do something horrible like pass out or skip class) I’m thinking ‘why do I feel so weird?’  We make it to the office and my escort leaves.  I lay down on the couch and stare at the “call home” phone, reserved for sick kids or kids getting to brag up a monthly achievement.  It was a Mickey Mouse phone and I couldn’t help but think “I finally get to use the Mickey phone”.

It seemed like it was taking forever for the nurse to come check on me, so I closed my eyes to wait.  The next thing I remember, I wake up and I’m cold, and I’m blind.  I can’t see! What is going on?  Why do I hear sirens?  I don’t understand what’s happening to me and panic overwhelms my childlike mind.  I’m crying, feel like I can’t breathe.  Where is everyone?  I hear my mom’s voice calling my name and I look towards it, saying “I can’t see, mama I can’t see!”  She reaches out and grabs my hand, reassuring me that she’s there.  I’m so ashamed, I ask if I can suck my thumb, too terrified to cope with my current situation.  I remember my mom saying it was OK, and the world faded to black again.

I woke up in a hospital room, IV strapped to my arm, teddy bear that was not mine laying in the bed next to me.  The room is too bright for my sensitive eyes.  I could see again!  The pain in my head was unbearable though.  It turned out that hitting my head on the ground had given me a concussion, and at one point in the ambulance I had stopped breathing.  Apparently firefighters had arrived to give me oxygen and keep me stable until the paramedics could transport me.  Some rewiring occurred in the process, and after that, my clumsiness increased exponentially, and I developed a fun sensitivity to specific textures and sounds.  Cotton balls, artificial silk, and Styrofoam are now my worst enemies.  I actively have to force myself to touch things like felt, some microfibers, and many kinds of wool.  This was the day that Murphy came into my life.

Ten years would go by with mini-Murphy encounters, nothing to brag about except another head injury on a swing set, and then another on a soccer field (diving in the goalbox and hit the pole).  The winter after my 18th birthday, Murray chose to grace me again with his presence.  Christmas Eve 2002, I was a senior in high school and working at a JCPenney’s.  I had a boyfriend who worked a little over a mile away at a video rental store.  My lunch break rolls around and I go to my car…only to find that the car has a flat tire.  By flat, I mean it is on its rim.  So, instead of calling off visiting my boyfriend, I chose to WALK the mile, no big deal right?  Except it was Christmas Eve, traffic was nuts, and there was snow and ice, everywhere.  Don’t worry, my hands were in the sleeves of my coat safely.  I made it to his work, visited for about 15 minutes, then started walking back to my job.  I decided to risk fate and run across the street when there was a break in traffic.

XmasEve2002

This is where it all went down hill.  I made it across the first two lanes of traffic and into the turning lane, waiting while southbound traffic cleared.  I had my moment, no one was coming, and I started jogging across the street, only to slow when I heard the squeal of tires.  A red Ford F150 had ran the yellow stoplight (the one I was too lazy to walk over to wait and cross) and was barreling down on me.  I sprinted towards the sidewalk, angling towards the safety of the curb as I went.  The truck’s tires stalked my every move until the nose of the truck bumped my hip.

My life flashed before my eyes as I hit the pavement, rolling from the impact, knowing that on the ice I’d never be able to get up in time.  I was going to die.  That was it.  I was losing momentum from the truck hitting me, and the truck was still coming, sliding across the sheet of ice that had developed on the wintery road.  With resolve, I threw my body forward, staying curled in a semi- ball, rolling on the ground to keep moving from the truck.  The last of my strength fled and I finally came to a stop, eyes closed, curled in a fetal position.  The heat from the engine washed over me, a dragon’s breath before it devoured me, but the pain never came.  I opened my eyes slowly and stared at the bumper of the truck, which was now just above my head, and reached out to touch the tire a mere foot from my face.

I scrambled off to the side of the road, crabwalking and falling over until I reached the relative safety of the sidewalk.  I leaned against a light pole and started to shake.  I had survived.  I didn’t even notice the truck burn out and drive away.  A dozen other vehicles stopped however, coming to check on me.  Someone had called 911 and again, fire fighters and ambulance and police.  I gave my report, when the officer asked if the driver had hit me, i paused.  In that moment, all I could think of was “that could have been me driving”, and was positive the person would lose their license, possible face jail for hitting a pedestrian (5 years later I’d learn that no, I was at fault so he would have gotten a slap on the wrist), so I said I didn’t know.  I sent away the ambulance, the officer offered to drive me back to work and I declined, knowing I had to face my fear.  I returned to work, and a flat tire so I couldn’t go home…I called both of my parents and their house, with no answer.  At this point I gave up, and Murphy finally left me alone, for the day.  A security guard drove me home so I could get out of the craziness.

One week later, New Years Eve, I was driving with my boyfriend to meet our friends to watch the ball drop at a 24 hour restaurant.  We were on the same street I had been on before, and a woman driving a black truck crossed all 5 lanes to almost hit us head on.  We swerved and the damage was partially avoided, although the car was totalled, we only had minor scrapes and cuts from the glass shattering on the driver side window and windshield.  Again, firefighters, ambulance, a breathalizer this time, and friends to drive us home.  Turned out the woman who hit us actually had marijuana IN her car as well as in her system and was drunk, a double whammy, if you will.  Again, Murphy must have felt some remorse, because life was pretty sedate after that, nothing exciting happening again for years.

Most recently, Murphy visited me on a cruise, by having a “Please wait here for the bus” sign fall off a board and hit me between the eyes, puffy nose, nausea and a massive headache were fun, and then just this week, successfully tripping on concrete (yes over my own foot) while walking to a post office, tearing my only remaining pair of clean jeans, bruising both knees and scraping them and my hands, later followed by dropping milk that I had just bought at a grocery store.

Murphy is a total SOB, but I guess I’m stuck with him so I’ll just continue taking it all in stride.

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Gender Stereotype Reversals at a gym

OK, so here is the link to hilarity:

And now, you have to watch this, it’s freaking hilarious, and as a new-to-the-gym person, there are no words to how appropriate this is.

Darwin and the Huntsman

Jokes.com
Ron White – Deer Hunting
comedians.comedycentral.com
Jokes Joke of the Day Funny Jokes

Ron White…not one of my all time favorite comedians, but this joke seriously stuck with me, for years actually.  I’m going to second this by a few humorous images depicting various “Darwin Award” type situations.

Alright, hopefully you’ll have found the humor in the above images, so I am not crucified for the following statement:  If a kid is playing in the street (we’re talking 4 years or older), sees a car barreling down at them, and proceeds to stand there, even after the car has STOPPED for over a minute, then go back to playing as if there were no car there…they may be testing the process of natural selection.

I say this from an extremely jaded point of view of a person who has this happen on a daily basis, and from the view of someone who has never had kids, so keep that in mind.  Allow me to dig my moral grave a bit deeper…

Driving home from work one day, a child ran into the street…pardon me, three children ran into the street, and stood there, staring at my car.  I pulled to a stop, in the middle of the road, and proceeded to wait as the parents of said children continued to stand on their doorsteps for the length of “Amaryllis” by Shinedown (roughly 3 minutes) before one walked out of another house, into the street, and proceeded to herd the children back to the sidewalk.  As I pulled into gear and crept down the street at a sedate 5 mph, I looked into my rear view mirror, and to my dismay, saw the same three kids run back into the street gleefully, as the one responsible adult then walked back into the house and closed the door.  At this point I made an offhand comment which has consisted to stick with me.  “I swear to god, if Ron White can make a joke out of deer hunting with a car, why can’t it be considered hunting when dumb ass kids play in the street, the same as deer, and get hit by a car”.

I now open the floor to criticism, hate mail, and comments.  And I dig my grave a little deeper.  Here we go!

We hunt game, partly as sport (not for me, but for something like 7% of the American population), and partly for population control.  Game populations would overpopulate, and ultimately chew through their resources, literally (see Mountain Lions in Western South Dakota vs. the Elk population, literally chewing through the population).  So, what do we, as God fearing survivalists do?  We buy little pieces of paper, pick up our guns, and have at it, all in the name of over population.

So…we justify killing animals in the name of population control.  What is there to control our overpopulation?  Our good old friend, Charles Darwin.  So, “Darwin” has been purchasing hunting licenses regularly, and sometimes it seems to unfair that he is cheated out of his tag.  I have to wonder, if we intervened a little less, would Darwin help balance out our overpopulation of the planet?  No, I don’t think kids should be hit by cars for playing in the street, but at the same time I think it’s wrong that they expect the world to bend around their needs from the age of 3 until 30 (or so it seems sometimes) and when they are grown up (note, I said grown up, I’m not suggesting genocide stupid kids, the world would go barren in a heartbeat), sometimes it is fitting that they meet Darwin face to face.

I tip my hat to you, Mr. Darwin, and hope at least for me that we don’t meet for many years, this is one tag you’re going to have to wait for.

Why is re-starting a diet so damn hard???

Excuses

I promise I try to be good, every single day, but it feels like I’m a smoker who’s going to quit, and I quit every day, only to light back up after breakfast the next morning.

I say “I’m back on my diet” as I reach for a soft shell taco at a local restaurant.  “I know what I’m doing” as I reheat my leftover Chinese food for dinner.  “It’s ok,” I say, “It has chicken and a lot of veggies in it, and I’m not eating all the Spicy Brown Sauce.”

Even to my own ears the excuses seem to fall flat, obvious in their attempt at justification.

“I’ll restock on healthy food when I get paid, my shelves are bare from me being gone for a week.” seems to be translating into “I’ll start tomorrow.” and I have to wonder, how many “tomorrow’s” will there be before the scale starts to go up again?

I fought tooth and nail to get down to 162, and although as of yesterday I was below that, I didn’t weigh myself this morning, and deep down I think I know why:

My head is firmly buried in the sand

Have you ever known you were gaining weight, or cheating on a diet, so you avoid the scale?  It’s like keeping your eyes closed at a scary movie.  Everything is happening anyway, but you don’t want to see it.

Today I will try again, and yes, I am out of my GNC shakes, and my Wonderslim is depressingly low, but that is no excuse not to TRY.

PS, my 110 lb dog, Dante, says hello, and…

He is such a sweetheart that one.  And yes, he is a Husky mix, here he is:

Yes really, that’s him…kind of funny that I’m pretty sure he doesn’t think he is fat, either, and it makes total sense his head is buried in the snow…

Today I will bring my cinnamon vanilla cereal to work and snack on it if I get hungry.  It has 15g of protein and only 4g carbs in a baggie.  I will also eat my soup that is at work, another 15g protein and about 6g of net carbs.  Finally, I will drink my 80 ounces of water today, I swear, I will…try.

With that being said, I’ve held myself accountable to the world, and left it all out there, so to speak, and now I go to start my day anew.

Scan a pic scan a pic scan a pic crash!

So last night, a friend of ours needed some help doing a promotional video, which would end up being a job application (they asked for one specifically)…I had been busy scanning my family photos to have a digital copy for my trip to the black hills this weekend, and then it happened.  The guys asked for my expertise.

I thought back to the months of tutorials I’ve been doing at my new job (which I totally love, btw) and gave him all the tips and tricks of my trade.  It is gratifying to realize that I’ve gotten so much better at doing my tutorials that I make it look easy.  So at about 11:30 I decided to go back in and try to scan more photos, the boys left to run a quick errand, and by 12:00 (yeah, the midnight kind) I was realizing that I was re-scanning the same photo 3 times…That was indicative of “time to go to bed” for me.  I toddle off to bed only to realize I was missing my husband…whoops?

Our dog, banished from the bedroom

Fast forward to 5:00AM, didn’t realize my alarm clock had reset and it was showing 5:00PM…let my dogs out and then back in, close the bedroom door thinking both are in there with us…only to find out at 7:30AM(PM) that we left our older dog in the main part of the house…when he started barking at the door… (7:30 is breakfast time).  Actually, he saved the day, because my alarm was not going to go off for another 11 and a half hours…so Thank You Dante, you saved me from being super late to work.

I suppose it’s time to start my work day…only 36 hours until our Shinedown concert at the Sioux Empire Fair, then another 12 hours until leaving for Sturgis…the week of chaos is nearly upon us!!!