Totally Awkward Tuesday

-Or-

Reason #1,378 I do not have a career in athletics

I've been lurking around Tova Darling's fabulous blog for a while now, but have never done a TAT.

The awkwardness of this one is still a little bit fresh...but at least the wounds have healed.

So, the hubbs and I are constantly trying to relive our childhoods in some manner or other, be it in hunting for all the marshmallows in a box of cereal or quoting "Saved by the Bell" with the vigor usually reserved for religious texts. So when the hubbs suggested we go go-carting one fine spring day, I jumped at the chance...having never actually BEEN go-carting. We headed to this entertainment-mecca type establishment (that I clearly remember as being far less tacky) and took our turns on the course. It was a blast, and riding the high of a successful outing, I suggested we hit up the batting cages, too.

Perhaps I should not have been so literal in my wording.

The hubbs takes his turn in the slow-pitch first, doing pretty well. In typical me fashion, I get the idea that it can't possibly be that hard, so I pop my tokens in the machine, take what I think is perfect batting stance, smile at the six-year-old in the cage next to me, and get ready to swing. First one, miss. Not surprising. I gear up for pitch two. I see the ball. I tense up, ready to swing...and am blinded by white-hot pain in my hand. You know, the sort of pain that kind of makes you think you're going to puke a little bit? Before any more balls could whiz past my face, I step out of the cage, trying to keep my composure and NOT cry in front of the first-graders waiting in line.

Turns out, the slow speed of the ball probably saved my hand. As it were, the ball busted up my fabulous diamond engagement ring, bruised the bone of a couple fingers and somehow caused a decent amount of bleeding. A trip to the ER and two more to the jewelry store, and all was fine. But it was certainly the last time I'll try my hand at the cages.

Because It Was a Dentist's Favorite Time...

So I've basically been avoiding my old dentist for a year now, after he not-so-subtly issued a warning that I'd better have my wisdom teeth out before I saw him again. Since I'm basically terrified to do that whole thing, I figured it would just be easier to find a new dentist. Which I was totally going to get around to. Eventually.

But eventually came yesterday when I busted a tooth on seedless watermelon (nope, you read that right). After weighing the options of leaving it or going to see a dentist, I begrudgingly checked out the insurance Web site to find a guy who could get me in soon-ish.

I rank going to the dentist somewhere just above having my eyelids stapled shut on my list of things I dread, so I was already out of sorts when I went in before work today. After the initial x-rays, exam, small talk, etc., New Dentist tells me the same thing Old Dentist did. Wisdom teeth need to make like a chain and get yanked. He (nicely) helped me set up a date and time with an oral surgeon, patted me on the head and sent me on my way.

I was tweaking about having to go under the knife, or the wrench, or whatever the heck it is that they pull teeth with, so I stopped at my friendly local chain grocer to pick up some comfort food. Keep in mind it is barely 9 a.m., I'm decked out in my not-so-finest sweats and the only make-up I'm wearing is leftover eye smudges from the night before. I select my (albeit soft) sweets, and head to the cashier, who is the real-life twin to the Simpsons' Ned Flanders. I expected a Hi-Diddly-Oh from this guy. But he must have gotten his TV-alter-ego wires crossed, because Faux Flanders had the personality of horny used car salesman.

FF: Hey, I've been waiting all day for a beautiful girl to get in my line.
Me: It's still early, don't give up yet.

I go to punch in my debit card pin, and he notices the rings I'm sporting on good ol' lefty.

FF: Aw, man, why is it that all the hot girls are married?
Me: Maybe because you are a skeevy 50-something Jewel cashier?
Yeah, I wish. Instead, I grabbed my receipt and bolted. Dental pain and skeevy dudes are far too much to handle before 10 a.m.

Meltdown - Literally

Riddle: What's black and blue and red all over?

Answer: This kid right here.

Friday I had the unfortunate luck of spending all day lounging by the pool. I know, poor me. I toted Lola along for the day, and instead of hanging out in the shade, she decided she wanted to be up on the deck where all the people were. Seeing as it was something like 212 degrees, I wanted to keep her cool, so I thought she'd enjoy a swim...except Lola hates water. Apparently, all water. Even when it is cool and refreshing. So though she's only 30 pounds of pup, she reacted with the force of a Bull Mastiff, and now the front of my legs look like I've been beaten by a very large bat. So there's the black and blue. As for the red...

As a member of Pasty White Girls anonymous, I was diligent about the SPF allllll day...until I fell asleep for 2o minutes. Since no one bothered to wake me up, the back side of my body got a very lobster-esque hue. Hurts like the dickens, too.

I think it's safe to say I'm a hot mess at the moment. Sucks. But at least I've got some color(s)...

Hot, sticky and not-so-sweet...

Sweat + dog hair = disaster.

We've been without AC for four days. The hottest four days of the year. It's been pretty bad, and not only for the Hubbs and I. Poor Lola has been shedding like crazy, and any hair that puffs off of her lands on one of us. The people at Jewel yesterday must have thought I was some sort of lapdog-werewolf hybrid when I ran in for groceries.

Hoping the problem can be fixed soon :(

Worse than getting rained on

The Hubbs and I are parents to an adorable dog, who we admittedly treat more like a child. Her name is Lola (go ahead, you closet Fanilow, start singing, you know you want to), and other than being an affectionate, shedding ball of love, she's also petrified of water. We learned early on to send her to a groomer for baths, to take her out before rain starts to fall, and that a squirt bottle is the best weapon against bad behavior.

A few weeks ago, we took her to a dog park by our house. She ran, she frolicked, she...got peed on pretty extensively by a Great Dane.

Trust me, yellow urine really stands out on a white coat. And the stupid thing kept standing there.

We tried to hose her off in the parking lot with one of the various bottles of water I always have around (not fun) and then took her home to give her a real bath.

I'm hoping the scratches heal eventually.

Double-blogging

So if you are interested in cool jewelry, or if you want to see what I do with my time, check out my other blog, Bejeweled Bliss. It's kind of a work in progress, and I'm still working on my etsy store, but there's a link there.

Anyway, enough shameless promotion for today.

No longer newlyweds

The Hubbs and I celebrated the big 1 year this past weekend. This means several things:
1. If we split, I don't have to return any of my gifts, including my cherry red Kitchen-Aid that has basically become a status symbol/paperweight due to my lack of kitchen prowess.
2. Those of you who owe us wedding presents (and we know who you are) are now officially late and will have a 10 percent fee added to your gift (clock's ticking, people).
3. No one can ooh and ahh at us, asking us how it feels to be married (answer: depending on the day, either freakin' cool or what-have-I-done?).

Happy Anniversary, dollface. Here's to six or seven more:)