Here’s hoping.

This morning’s been rough. And it’s only 7:36am. Oh, boy.

My son woke up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at 6am. No idea why. I grumbled lots and said something like “go play in your room”. He did as he was told (what a good little boy) then proceeded to tear everything to shreds. Woo-sah.

I tried to make coffee then cursed like an insane woman at the coffee pot because it wasn’t working. It was gurgling and steaming but producing none of the good stuff. Then I realized I forgot to add water. Aren’t I the bright one?

I have a busy day today to say the least. There’s a parade to celebrate the Almond Blossoms and my Grandpa’s 87th Birthday is after that. If this mornings shenanigans (heh, I just said shenanigans) (and then again! ha!), if they’re any indication of what the day will bring I’m in hot water.

Here’s hoping that a piss-poor start turns out flippin’ fantastic! Shenanigans!

In which I’m very random

I have an orthopaedic surgeon appointment today. Nothing new. He’s going to tell me I have a torn meniscus and I need surgery. That’s a no brainer. What sucks is that I have to go through the pain of him wrenching on my knee to “find out” what’s wrong. I already know, Dude, can’t you listen to what I’m saying? I’m no newbie when it comes to knee injury and neither is he. You’d think (being like-minded) we could skip the formality of the xray and jump right to the MRI and surgical options. No such luck. (I totally just mistyped that last sentence. I originally typed “No suck luck.” Freudian slip, anyone?)

My son’s 3rd birthday was yesterday. It was cold and rainy but the food was good (lasagna, green bean casserole, garlic bread and green salad). I can’t even put the cake into the “good” category. It was beyond good. It was certainly the most elaborate cake I’d ever seen. It was so beautiful, in fact, that I didn’t want to cut it. Can you frame a cake and put it up on a shelf? Or carve into it and save some to put in a baby book? No? Well we should’ve found a gosh-darn way. I seriously have the most talented sister-in-law EVER.

Take a look at some pictures:





Everything was edible, people. From the freight to the grass to the rocks. Woman’s got skills.

The writing is progressing. I’m about 50 pages in on my shapeshifting/vampire manuscipt and I love what I’ve written so far. Every day I’m excited to enter into their world again…it’s so kind of them to let me eavesdrop on their personal conversations and toy with their emotions. My last manuscript is still out. No word yet from Maass or from the other 15 agencies who still have my queries in their inboxes. I’m researching publishing houses who are currently seeking unagented submissions and have found a few I’ll pursue when I get a free second.

And last week I got the best Christmas present ever (yes, you read that right). For Christmas I asked for a housecleaning service to come clean up my mess for ONE DAY. Just one time of my house being deep-cleaned from top to bottom by someone OTHER THAN ME. With my knee the way it is, I cashed in on the gift. And boy does my house smell fantastic. I love the smell of Lemon Pledge in the morning…don’t you? Ah, the icing on my cake.

Meniscus tear

Back in 2002, I tore my right medial meniscus while doing something completely ridiculous. (In fact, it’s so ridiculous I’m not going to mention it here…I may have mentioned it earlier, but if you really wanna know you can do a blog search.) I went to The Stone Clinic in San Francisco where Dr. Stone repaired the tear. (Now people, I may have been very, very drugged but Dr. Stone reminded me of a young Richard Gere.)(I had a great experience…minus the pain and the vomiting in his office trash bin post-surgery…so embarrassing.) (He’s also the inventor of Joint Juice if you’ve ever had any.) Anyway, time to get back on track after my parenthesis attack! Dr. Stone was the surgeon for the US Olympic Ski Team once upon a time. He repaired major, hard-core athletes (which I was totally not). Because of his background, he repaired my meniscus through arthroscopic surgery instead of shaving the torn part off so I could “get back out there”. He must’ve meant to my classroom where I was teaching because I sure as hell wasn’t hitting the moguls any time soon.

I’ve read 20-40% of medial meniscus repairs don’t work because blood flow reaches the outer knee, but not the inner.

Sadly, I’m one of the 20-40%. Every six months or so, usually when I get back on a steady work-out program, my knee acts up. It locks, twinges, hurts, aches, swells, and does every other thing a knee can do to hinder normal everyday activities. But having such an excruciating experience the first go round, I’ve put off surgery and invested in Ibuprofen and ice packs.

Yesterday I went snowboarding again. Sierra at Tahoe was BEAUTIFUL. No wind, people, no wind. And the slopes were empty because it was a school day. Fantastic. I made it through the afternoon with minimal pain…and that’s when it happened.

I was coming to a trail merge and I was going fast. There was a group of people binding up who had just gotten off the lower lift. I slowed, then went down to the ground so as not to take them out. And I refuse to weave in and out like those teenage-snowboarding-jackasses who hate to share the mountain with beginners. Yeah, you know who I’m referring to. Once I was down, I brought the board horizontal in front of me, tucked me knees to my chest, grabbed the front of the board, and tried to muscle myself up (even though I was pulling a tad up hill).

And it twinged. Swelled. Pain shot through it. Just like that I was done boarding for the day. (I made it down the rest of the mountain on my own though. The hubby pulled me up, and I falling-leafed it the rest of the way. It was the falling-leaf of shame.)

What comes next, you ask? Since it’s already been repaired, I’m assuming partial meniscus removal where they shave off the part that’s flapping up causing all the ruckus. I’ve already scheduled my appointment. I can’t walk. But I’m thanking my lucky stars that it’s not locked because then I’d be in a much worse situation; very much like the one I was in before.

Midnight Masquerade

The husband and I went to the Masquerade Birthday Ball I blogged about earlier this week. It was a blast. People dressed in their best. Drinks flowed full (thanks to an outrageously hosted bar). Laughter swirled around the room blending with the pounding of drums and feet.

Did I mention the cake was awesome? My sister-in-law made it, so maybe I’m a little biased. I think she has mad-talent. There was a white sheet cake in back for the guests, then two masks propped up in front (one for the birthday girl, another for the birthday boy).

We seriously danced the night away. My friend closed the place down. Atta-girl. Thirty’s a tough age to turn, I think. I wouldn’t know…I’m not quite there yet. I’ll let you know how hard it truly is in August. Here’s a picture of the thirty-year-old herself, the husband, and me.

And then here’s another of the two of us. The pic is not the greatest. We’re not really that white. Trust me. Okay, okay, maybe the husband is…but he’s Irish so pale white or red skin is kind of expected, isn’t it? (I’m so getting in trouble for that comment later! hehe)

The masks we wear

I’m heading to my friend’s 30th birthday bash tonight. It’s a formal Midnight Masquerade Ball and it should be a blast. Masks are a must as well as dancing shoes and a little booze…but just a little.

I’ll post pictures of the Ball for Silent Sunday, for sure, but the topic of masks got me thinking about how many masks are in pop culture today.

Some masks are used to hide behind…

Others are those we proudly wear (even in death)…

Some are worn to kick some ass…

And others are just plain fun…

Tonight I’m hoping for all of the above. I’ll hide behind my mask and let loose. I’ll proudly wear it because I made it myself (and I’m really not all that crafty). I’ll kick off my heels (okay, a stretch here, but I’m a lover not a fighter). Lastly, I know I’ll have loads of fun because I’ll be surrounded by all my friends. (And what could be better than a kid-free night for all of us at the same time?)

I can’t wait to see what masks everyone will wear. And I don’t care how close they are to me; if Jason or Freddy Krueger make an appearance I’m running for the hills.

RIP Daisy

Sad day at my house this morning. Sad, sad day.

Our beloved rabbit, Daisy, passed away.

Actually, she was attacked by two neighbor dogs. Now don’t go harboring ill will toward the dogs. They didn’t mean any harm. Really. They were chasing it like it was a jackrabbit. (Which we have way out here in the sticks.)

We had two rabbits that looked exactly alike. No joke. Here’s the other:

But the two rabbits fought ALL THE TIME. Minnie, the smaller one pictured just above, would get hurt more than Daisy. And well, we just felt bad for that poor little girl getting picked on and beat up with nowhere to escape her big-bad bully.

So we kicked the bully out–sort of a rabbit time-out. Our yard is fenced. We figured she could run around for awhile and when it got too dark and too cold (maybe when she’d learned her lesson), we’d bring her back in.

But that’s when I got the call from our neighbors. The rabbit escaped through our gate, hauled bunny ass next door, and was chased down by the hunting dogs.

RIP Daisy. You will be missed.