ammogirl

So yesterday Jane wrote about her Rules of the Working Bathroom, and they were very, very similar to the Laws of Workplace Toileting that I hold near and dear. You know, flush the toilet, blah blah blah, basically it all boils down to don’t shit at work. I got all excited when I read it, because I love it when other people who aren’t my sisters share my same exact views. What? Sometimes we’re a bit…specific, us Read girls.

Anyway, when I read her entry, I raised the Fist of Bathroom Solidarity, and then realized that omg! I totally forgot to tell you the absolute most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen in a bathroom, ever.

Now first, imagine the grossest thing YOU’VE seen in a bathroom. Actually, get more detailed with your thinking: the grossest thing in a toilet. And I’m not talking about public toilets, because those are just nasty regardless if they are clean or dirty. I’m talking workplace toilets, where you know at least by face nearly everyone whose ass shares that same seat. I’ll give you a second…okay, got that?

Now imagine having to pee so bad you are walking with your knees together, and you head for the last stall, your favorite stall, right next to the glass block wall, and you are already unzipping your jeans, and right as you launch into the panty-removing spin and sit, you notice…chunky blood all over the front of the seat.

God damnit. Somebody had gone and menses-ed all over my favorite fucking toilet. AND LEFT IT THERE.

You guys, COME ON. Who doesn’t realize they have bled on the front of the seat? It’s just not possible to not know. No! I won’t hear it! Leaving blood on the front of the toilet seat and pretending that you didn’t see it is just as bad as, “Omg, I swear I didn’t realize I was pregnant until I really had to take a big poop, and WHAMMY! out came a baby!”

I am telling you, I would rather have seen crap. I know! But I’m not kidding! Be true, now–do you or do you not agree that shedding placenta from some random woman’s uterus is ten times more disgusting than poop? I realize shit is shit, and pretty damn dirty, but when I saw that, I got flashing neon signs in my brain that said, “INFECTIOUS DISEASE!” and, “BIOHAZARD!!!” and maybe I’m a bit dramatic about this but I DESERVE TO BE! It was gross!

Ugh.

Tschuss!!

I got the news yesterday that our dear friend Sam had passed away.  We will miss him.

John was able to post over on his site about his first week in Balad–it’s a good read.  They have NO WATER right now, you guys.  None.  I can’t even imagine how bad that sucks for him, but I’m more than a little glad it’s him, and not me.  What?  NO WATER.

Recently, I volunteered and was prelim-selected to be a Victim Advocate for sexual assault victims.  To start the process, I have to attend training, and the first day was today.  We had to watch videos and listen to stories and more than once I found myself with sudden tears in my eyes.  It was hard to hear, and that is no joke.

I won’t be able to be assigned cases until I complete 40 hours of requirements–lectures, training…I have to give my own briefing at least once–and then I’ll get screened and  at that point, if I still want to go through with this, I’ll be certified.  I’ll get a special code in my records that will identify me as a VA, and that will be that.

I don’t know what prompted me to do this, it’s weird.  I always say I got none of the compassion genes in our fam, but this just feels like something I need to do.  I think the hardest part about the whole thing is the confidentiality–I won’t be able to talk to anyone about it, except our program coordinator.  Not easy, but I feel like if I can just help one person become whole again, then it’s worth it.

Anyway.  That was like, three paragraphs of somber and I’m not that right now, at all.  What I am is completely fucking worked from my tennis lesson the other day.  My entire body aches, and I have to hold my coffee cup with two hands so I don’t drop it.  Is that what sports is?  Being hurty?  Because when I run or workout, I know exactly which muscles are going to hurt the next day.  This Mystery Bag o’ Pain is NOT FUN.  Sports are dumb!  Yet, I still want to do them!  Or, just “it”, meaning tennis, or sporT, not sportS.  I’m pretty sure I’m going to keep it in the singular for now.

Alright I have to go RIGHTNOW!  As in, I should already be gone.  Stop posting, ammogirl!

Tschuss!!

Whoo boy, I’ll tell you this–without John here to provide an adult ear for my constant chatter, I sort of break.  I got to work today and talked ENDLESSLY.  I couldn’t figure it out, either, why I couldn’t shut up, until BLAM!  It hit me all at once.  I’m like a…an answering machine!  Except I’m leaving all these messages to myself, and I don’t get to play them until I get to work.  It’s fun!  (for me).

So.  The girls take tennis lessons, right?  And John plays tennis and they’re all always like, YOU should play tennis and I’m like, ha ha ha, that’s so funny, sports!  And then Dieter, their coach, mentioned that when the girls go visit their dad for the summer I’ll have all this free time on my hands and why not start lessons then?  Hmmm?  And I smiled and said, surreeee, that sounds good, Dieter, and then laughed to myself because HA HA HA, sports!  And then yesterday Dieter called me up and asked could I stop by the courts today and sign a form and I said sure and after PT today I drove over there all sweaty and endorphiny and Dieter said oh by the way, what are you doing tonight at 6?  I stupidly said, mmmm, nothing?  And Dieter said, great!  You’re first lesson is tonight!

Sports! Ha ha ha!

I said hmmm I’ll have to see when I get home, the girls, you know?  And Dieter said okay, just give me a call then, tschuss!  And I jumped in my car fully intending to call him up and say hi Dieter, mmm ya know, I’m not going to make it but then I started thinking, wait, what do I actually have to do tonight?  And I thought, well, I did tell the girls I was going to make stir-fry for dinner and then this little voice in the OTHER part of my head said but what about the leftover chicken & dumplings you made last night that was super fabulous?  Couldn’t they just eat that?  And the sane part of me said, but the leftovers were for DIY night, and that’s tomorrow, not tonight and the other part said, um, that’s sort of stupid, just switch the schedule and sane part said hush, you.  And then after a moment of silence the other part said but…what about Adventurey ammogirl?  The New Year’s resolution?  And sane part said, “___”.

So then I thought, am I really going to take a TENNIS LESSON tonight?  Really? And then I got very nervous and anxious and felt very outside the lines and okay I will admit, a little excited, okay?

I got home and called the girls down and said so dinner tonight is DIY, I switched it around because GUESS WHAT!  I’m taking a tennis lesson tonight and the girls were all what?  Sports!  ha ha ha!  And then they realized I was serious and got all giddily smiley for me and said of COURSE we can have leftovers for dinner because your chicken & dumplings are FABULOUS.  I ran upstairs and got ready and as I was walking out the door Lindsey was giving me pointers, like, don’t get frustrated when you don’t hit the ball, mom and make sure you bend your knees mom and I said yes, yes, thank you bye!

When I walked in the tennisschule Dieter was very business like and got me my shoes and racket (racquet? yeah, that) and showed me the basics and I was already warning him about the lack of coordination and klutzy and non-athletic and he said psshhh, it’s the first lesson, we don’t care about these things so off we went.

And hot fucking DAMN but I…was actually not too bad.  I’m not bragging!  Dieter said if this was school and he was giving grades I would get a B, and sometimes maybe my backhand would be an A-.  I know, wtf?!  Sports!

Yep.

Okay I have to go.  I have weak wrists right now from all the SPORTS I was doing.

Tschuss!!