Lisa Gerardy's Blog, page 26

Eye-burning Fickle Fireball

Does February, the Polar Vortex’s BFF, suck your brain out, too? This is what happened to me this month.  I was on a roll, doing that whole day job thing, posting blogs two or three times a week, keeping the house super clean, baking, cooking, and then February came and took my brain from me. 

Way back in the day, when I was going to elementary school in South Florida, I learned all of those cute seasonal rhymes like the rest of you.  March was in like a lion and out like a lamb.  Everyone knew that April showers brought May flowers, but not pilgrims.  The Mayflowers brought those.  I repeated these sayings, just like I repeated my times tables, without really understanding them.  In South Florida, March and April are identical.  The summer is rainy season, and flowers are a year round thing.  I didn’t see leafless trees or snow until I was 35.  I had no idea what these little rhymes meant.

Then, we moved to Fort Wayne, IN (AKA the armpit of America).  We stayed there for 5 LONG years, and now we are next door in Ohio.  For a year or two, seasons were cool. The colored leaves were SOOOOOOO pretty, and snow was like magical fairy glitter.  I LOVED seasons.  See that past tense.  Now, my eternal, inner Floridian has had enough. 

 

More Frigging snow!

This winter has been incredibly long.  It snowed on Halloween, and it is going to snow again on Sunday, March 2.  There’s that lion.  Here in Ohio, it is cloudy 99.967543% of the time.  When the sun comes out, for like 49 seconds at a time, my eyes actually hurt.  There is not enough coffee in the world since the clouds somehow sneak into my brain and take over.  And the thing that is really annoying, other than shoveling snow, is that people around here think that FIFTY degrees is warm.  Yes! The locals will actually put on shorts and pronounce it “nice outside” when I am still in layer upon layer of wool goodness. 

 The only thing that gets me through the 5 or 6 months of cold every year is my Hawaiian fantasy land.  I daydream about endless summers, wearing sandals every day, and living on pineapples.  I may need to retire there.  I am looking forward to old age.

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: Brain fog, Polar Vortex, SAD, Winter

How You Will Know I am Dying

Recently, I was having coffee with a friend and we were talking about his mother, who had recently passed away.  She had a short, but difficult bout with cancer, which she opted not to fight as it was advanced.  For a while, it seemed like she was getting better, but then a sudden clue told the family that she was close to death.  She stopped smoking. She had been a smoker for over fifty years, and she suddenly quit.  She smoked her last cigarette on a Monday, and died on a Friday.  This got me thinking about my habits, or things I’m known for, and I made a list of ways people will know I am dying.

I will stop writing snarky blogs. Well, I will probably stop writing altogether.
I will stop scooping litter boxes every two hours. Seriously, I am a fanatic about litter

I’ve EARNED my ice cream, and I’m going to ENJOY it.

boxes.  I have three cats and two dogs, but I don’t want my house to smell like I do.
I will stop noticing when things are dirty. I may have mentioned that I am a neat freak.  I am constantly cleaning something.  If my house is ever a mess, worry about me.
I stop rolling my eyes at political and religious posts on Facebook. Seriously, my eyes will roll out of my head one day.  That may be what kills me.
I will lose interest in Facebook. I LOVE finding old friends on Facebook.  Without social media, I would be wondering whatever happened to all of my high school buddies.  Now, I know.  If I were dying, I wouldn’t care.
I will stop baking. I love to make cookies and muffins.  It’s like I have a quest to fatten everyone  up.  If I am terminally ill, people in my life will go down a size. 
I will stop yelling at the dogs for barking.  Well, maybe not.  I think barking would be more annoying then. 

 Well, on that note, I’m going to go enjoy some ice cream and trash TV. I’ve already burned the calories from cleaning the kitchen and vacuuming. 

 

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: Death, Dying, habits

Tom Attwater Is Dying. His Daughter Might Die, Too. The Letter He Left For Her Is Unforgettable.

Tom Attwater Is Dying. His Daughter Might Die, Too. The Letter He Left For Her Is Unforgettable..

Filed under: Uncategorized

Cool WAHM Shoes

It’s Sunday afternoon, the time when most people start preparing for and dreading Monday.  Like a lot of working moms out there, I prepare for Monday by figuring out what I’m going to wear.  If you have ever read this blog, or even if you just read the title to this entry, you know that I’m a WAHM. Incase you are unfamiliar with the term; I’m not trying to say, “I’m warm” in an Italian Boston accent. WAHM stands for Work At Home Mom.  So, I stay home with my children (5 furry, 1 not furry), AND I try to concentrate enough to work full-time for an online university.  This makes me crazy and a wee bit ADHD.

There are times when I would rather work in an actual office with people, and I hate being around people.  I just figure that adult human co-workers probably wouldn’t want me to throw ice cubes in their mouths whenever I got a glass of water.  They most likely wouldn’t poop on the floor or hiss at each other. At least I’m hoping they wouldn’t.  The big draw back to working with people would be the need to wear real clothes, shoes, and a bra.  See, while other working moms are picking up their suits at the dry cleaner or ironing their uniforms, I’m digging in a drawer for my “good” yoga pants and trying to decide if it is cold enough to wear socks with my slippers.  I also have to decide which slippers to wear, as I have a few pairs to get me through the workweek.

My cutest slippers are the gray and white polka dot slippers that my son got me for Christmas.  I love them because they are adorable, they match everything, and they are a gift from my son, who is 16.  You may not know this, but teen boys would rather spend their money on condoms and video games.  So, if they spend ANY money on their parents, it should be celebrated and publically mentioned.  [waves at son]

So cute!

I don’t wear my Santa shoe slippers often even though they are like clouds of red velvet and happiness because they irritate my husband.  They have little bells on them, and my husband tells me that I remind him of an outdoor cat with a bell collar.  This sends me into a tirade about how cats should not be allowed to roam outside and how I really do want to open that Pussy Ranch and save them all.

Like walking on holiday happiness

I got my plain black slippers at the orthopedic doctor’s office last year after I had my whole ankle injury and blood clot ordeal.  I paid $60 for them, which makes them my most expensive pair of slippers.  They have a super firm arch support, so I don’t wear them often.

No fallen arches here!

I just got my Steve Madden slippers last weekend, when I couldn’t find any boots to fit my super fat legs. DSW actually told me that my calf size, 16 inches, is the maximum width for wide boots.  Like most things that happen in my life, I wrote a blog about that.  I’ve always loved Steve Madden shoes because they tend to be wider, which makes my Dublin stubs look almost normal.  His slippers are the same way.  I love them.

Steve! STEVE MADDEN!

So, now you’ve seen my work shoe wardrobe.  What kind of shoes do you wear to work?  Any other WAHM’s out there? Tell me about your favorite work attire.

Filed under: Shoes, Uncategorized Tagged: cats, Shoes, Slippers, Steve Madden, WAHM

Lush and Apple get the thumbs up; Best Buy and Pearl get the Stink Eye

Most of the time when people take a sick day and end up at the mall, it’s because they’re faking the sick part. This was not the case on Monday. My husband and I were both up sick all night Sunday night and we can only narrow it down to the spinach salad we shared at Pearl, a new restaurant in town. Stink eye to you, Pearl.

When the alarm went off, neither one of us were in any shape to work, or even think.  So, we went to our computers to email our bosses.  You know I wasn’t feeling well because I work from home and I was using a sick day.  So, I attempted to turn on my TWO MONTH OLD MAC, and it clicked at me.

I thought I was hearing things because I have tinnitus and the hearing of an 80 year old, but my husband said, “What is that noise?” That’s when I got scared. The noise was real, and it was coming from my precious Mackenzie.  Yes, I name everything.

So, I emailed my boss from my iPad and went back to bed, while the husband made a Genius Bar appointment for later.  He had already tried calling the customer service line at Best Buy, where he bought the computer, my Christmas present.  Best Buy told him that since we did not buy their extended warranty they could do nothing for us.

We both went back to sleep and rolled out of bed at noon, like rock stars, or just middle-aged people with abdominal cramps.  We carefully, and slowly, ate some toast with plain tea.  Then, we ventured off to the last place we both wanted to go, the mall.  On the way there, I told my husband to check the Von Maur bathroom if I disappeared from the Apple store.  No matter where you live, if you have a Von Maur in your mall, that bathroom is like a slice of septic heaven.

My poor Mackenzie’s test results

I managed to avoid running to Von Maur.  I’m proud of myself for this.  I waited in Apple with my husband for our Genius, and he really was and is a genius.  I say this because he fixed my computer for free.  Bobby, our Apple person, tested Mackenzie and found that her hard drive was bad.  He had some time open RIGHT THEN, and he was able to fix her within an hour.  Bobby, you rock, and I hope I am spelling your name correctly. If you are an ie Bobby, I apologize.

We had some time to kill, so we did what all older people do and walked the mall.  We ended up walking in to Lush Cosmetics just because the colors were pretty and it was a good distraction from our rumbly stomachs.

They aren’t kidding about that handmade stuff.

If you read this blog often, or ever, you know that I HATE talking to people I don’t know, and I REALLY hate talking to salespeople.  Andrea and the gals at Lush were lovely.  I ended up buying some soap, a mask that is so natural it needs to be refrigerated, and a “Charity Pot” of a lotion.  Lush does not test on animals and they support a number of charities.  Their prices aren’t bad either.  Everyone was so helpful at Lush, and I wish I remembered all of their names, but I’m always bad at that.  I’m surprised my husband didn’t get their names as he remembers EVERYONE’S name.  He is the reason we asked for “Bobby” when we went to pick up Mackenzie.  If it had been up to me, we would have been asking for “that guy with the sleeve tattoos and the long beard.” So, you know, like most of the guys who work at Apple.

After Lush, we got a couple of decaf coffees at Starbucks and sat in the comfy leather chairs and talked about how awesome Apple and Lush were.  And how we would never buy anything from Best Buy ever again, or eat at Pearl again.

So, though it wasn’t the best day ever, I did learn some valuable lessons on Monday.

If you are tattooed to high heaven, and you are having trouble getting a job, Apple, Lush, or Starbucks are the places for you.  Please note that my son has stretched ears and has not been able to find a job.  This is why I notice where the tattooed and pierced could work.  I am not tattooed, and I do not judge people who are.
Do not buy Apple Products, or anything really, at Best Buy.  First of all, they never have anything in stock, and second of all, they would not do a simple exchange in this situation.  If they had, I MAY be writing good things about them.  You lose, Best Buy.
Buy all of your beauty products at Lush.  They support these kinds of charities, and they don’t hurt our furry friends.
Stick to things that are cooked, NOT SALADS, when dining out.  At least you have some chance of the germs being cooked away.
Back up EVERYTHING EVERY DAY.  I’m talking about on the computer.  I’m not suggesting anything inappropriate here. I LOVE my Google Drive, and I will never not use it again.

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: Apple, Best Buy, Lush, Mac, Pearl, Starbucks, Tattoos

WTF, DSW?

Nope! Not on these Dublin stubs.

Since my husband had a five-dollar birthday coupon for DSW, and since I need some short boots, and he needs sneakers, we decided to go shoe shopping.  As I marched my Dublin stubs (my legs) through the door, I eyeballed the long boots, even though I knew not to get my hopes up.  I have one pair of long boots, but I need my husband to help me zip them, as I have incredibly thick legs for a short, size 8 girl.  I’m talking legs that could protect you during a tornado.  My legs are the size of someone Richard Simmons would cry over. I don’t want to need help to put my boots on.  Coco Chanel’s entire reason for designing simpler clothes was so that women could dress themselves.  And I do love me some Coco.

My husband encouraged me to try on long boots.  He even got a pair labeled “wide calf” off the shelf.  Guess what? They didn’t fit either.  For real.  I’m a size 8.  I’m not skinny, but I am also not a rhino.  Seriously? They don’t make boots to fit me? I wanted to walk up to this woman who was much bigger than me, who had long boots on, and ask her where the heck she got them.

And it’s not a matter of losing weight, gym rat friends. Even when I weighed 105 pounds, I had thick ankles and calves.  I could not wear an ankle bracelet comfortably.  [Waves to mom’s side of the family, holding up middle finger] Thanks for the fat legs, guys!  It shocks me that some people actually get calf implants.  Really? You actually want big legs?

Steve! Steve MADDEN! Watch the clip!

I tried on some shoes and boots, and found a lot of things I did NOT like. I ended up getting a pair of Steve Madden slippers.  Because as your friendly neighborhood work at home mom and hermit, I need more slippers.  Whenever I see Steve Madden shoes I think of this scene in Wolf of Wall Street: STEVE MADDEN (FF to 1:30).

We spent some time being disappointed in DSW before we moved on to rolling our eyes at Kohl’s, where some Jackwagon left a dog in a car, even though it was TWELVE degrees out.  I reported him/her. After Kohl’s we had to stop at the grocery store.  Joy.  Then, when we finally got home, and started to cook dinner, the sink clogged, and flooded the entire cabinet area under the sink, and my husband sliced his finger open.  Really? First I can’t wear boots and now this?

Did I mention that I skipped lunch?

Here are all of the shoes I HATED:

1960′s Havana dialed in on their rotary phone;they want their fashion back.

 

Caesar called. He wants his shoes back.

If C3PO rode a Harley

Dude, where’s my bong?

The strip club called. I have to work tonight.

MOOOOO Shoe

Wanna go to my tap dancing recital?

I am into foot binding even though it is not the 11th Century.

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: big calves, Boots, DSW, Fat legs, Richard Simmons, Shoes, Steve Madden

Was that speculum warm enough for you?

If I get one more survey email or phone call, I may move to a Hobbit cave without Internet or cable, or even satellite TV.  Seriously, why is there a survey for EVERY SINGLE thing you buy or do? They even ask you to fill out surveys online when you go to the frigging grocery store.  Believe me, if everything is NOT OK you will hear from me.

So, like I normally do when I am irritated, I started to imagine how far this whole survey thing will go.  Will I start receiving surveys after medical appointments?  If so, what will the questions be?  Here are some possibilities.  Let’s all hope I am wrong about this.

Gentlemen:  There is a gynecologist section.  You have been warned. 

Mammogram:

Did the tech warn you not to move after placing your breasts in the vice grip, humoring you that you COULD move or even breathe?

How effective was that deodorant on a wipey nonsense we gave you?  Are you thinking of maybe packing your own next time?

Gynecologist:

Was the speculum properly warmed before your exam? If not, did you curse, jump, or bite your lip?

Should we offer an open bar option with the vaginal ultrasound? Should we play a Barry White album?

Dentist:

Should we find a hygienist with smaller hands so you don’t leave the office feeling like you just swallowed a box of rubber gloves?

Do you feel like you actually chewed shards of glass or should we get sharper hooks?

Colonoscopy:

Did the prep allow you to catch up on an entire season of your favorite show, half a season, or were you too ill to open your eyes?

Do you remember any of the CRAZY crap you said in the recovery room? Has the FBI been to your house yet?

Optometrist:

Did the doctor actually kiss you during the examination, or were you just SO SURE he was about to?

Did you have to bury your head under pillows after we dilated your eyes, or were the paper sunglasses enough protection?

Can you just imagine?  Where will it end? I don’t know about you, but I am refusing to answer any surveys from now on. This nonsense has to end.  Just say no to answering questions.

Copyright All rights reserved by fwrdcrm

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: customer service, doctor surveys, humor, Surveys

I can’t sue McDonalds!

You guys, I have something SHOCKING to share with you (insert sarcasm font).  I know why I continue to be chubby.  Brace yourselves.  It’s because I have been eating TOO much and NOT exercising enough.  I know! I was shocked, too.

It turns out that it wasn’t:

My thyroid.

Fast food portion sizes.

Restaurant portion sizes in general.

The Polar Vortex.

President Obama

The GOP.

Benghazi

Gun Control.

Muslims

Carbs.

Protein.

Or anything else.

It WAS because I decided I like eating marshmallows from the bag more that I like running, going to the gym, doing pushups, or NOT eating marshmallows.

It’s all about self-control.  Who’d a thunk it? Shaking my head.

A YUMMY choking hazard!

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: marshmallows, McDonalds, middle age, overweight

Me and John Cusack

For some reason, whatever great spirit there is, be it the universe, or the Great Pumpkin, or whatever you want to believe in, has decided that I must forever be one degree of separation from , who I have admired since seeing him in Class a million years ago.  I’m talking about the movie Class, not an actual class.  I was not lucky enough to go to school with John Cusack.  I have never met him, but I know people who have, and it makes me so jealous.

I have a friend, and former co-worker (I’m talking about YOU, C!), who lived next door to him on Malibu Beach.  One time, while John was walking on the beach, she was out with her dog and, brace yourselves, JOHN CUSACK PET MY FRIEND’S DOG AND SAID HE WAS CUTE.  OMG. I’m so jealous.  If that had been my dog I would have preserved that spot of his fur with shellac or Press ‘N Seal.  I would have never bathed the dog again.  (Animal Rights People, I’m totally kidding about the shellac.) My friend moved to another state before I could fly my hermit behind out there, coat my pasty Irish skin in sunscreen, and sit on the beach with her dog for as long as it took to meet JC.  How could she have done that to me?  UGH!!

I will work for reviews.

Now, I’m in this book review Facebook group with other authors. Basically, we read and review each other’s books on Amazon because you need reviews in order to sell more books, but you need to sell books to get reviews.  It’s one of those vicious cycles.  I just found out today that one of the people in the group is John Cusack’s cousin.  For real! I’m about to jump out of my skin with envy.

I have always admired John’s acting, and I love his posts on Twitter.  He keeps it real, and if you read my blog, you know I admire that in a person. While I was writing my YA novel, Misfit Academy, I pictured John as the father in the movie version.  Yes, I was fantasizing about a movie version the entire time I was writing the book.  I pictured taking my son and his friends, who helped me with the revision process, with me to the big premier.  I even got all teary-eyed at how wonderful it would be.  I mentally designed the huge, no-kill cat shelter I would build with the millions I would no doubt make from my Oscar-winning film.  I would call it the Pussy Ranch (the cat shelter, not the movie), which would make it a top search result on Google. I have such big plans.

John, are you reading this?  Will you please be the dad in my Misfit Academy movie? I just want you to produce and star in a movie of my book.  I’m sure like a million other people have never asked you this, right? If you don’t like Misfit Academy, I am in the process of writing something a little more unique.  It’s called the Lizard King Club.

Don’t worry, John. I’m married, and I love my husband. I’m not some crazy stalker chick. I am, however, a crazy cat lady (that explains the Pussy Ranch). So, if you’re allergic to cats, I guess I could be dangerous because I’m usually covered in fur. Even if you are allergic, it’s OK. I carry an Epipen and Benedryl in my purse at all times. I’m also equipped to handle a number of other ailments, like GAS. I’m including a picture as proof.

See, I’m totally safe and I am prepared for all emergencies.
https://www.facebook.com/KelleysBreakRoom

OK, I’m starting to sound crazy, even to myself, and that is saying something.  Obviously, John Cusack is not reading my blog.  He probably has better things to do, like stroll the beach and pet other people’s dogs, and star in movies and stuff.  But, if you do know John, and odds are you do if you know me, show him this blog.  We’ll put you down as a producer on the Misfit Academy or The Lizard King Club movie, whichever is made first.  Pinky swear.

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: Crazy Cat Lady, John Cusack, Misfit Academy, One Degree of Separation

A Letter to the Dog Who is Clearly NOT Mine

See! You’re Daddy’s dog.

Dear Sophie,

Let’s just be honest.  You are not MY dog.  So, stop following me around like we are BFF’s.  We aren’t; OK?  Don’t get me wrong; I don’t HATE you or anything.  You’re a sweet dog; I just like the cats better.

The cats don’t chew the baseboards or the dining room chairs.  Seriously, why do you do that? You have oodles of toys.  You do not need to chew our house.  You act like you just quit smoking or something.  You constantly have to have something in your mouth.

The cats also do not eat poop, ever.  You actually tried to bring a frozen turd into the house today.  INTO MY HOUSE! What is wrong with you? That is gross, and unnecessary.  We have tried EVERYTHING to get you to stop, including giving you extra treats.  I feed you enough throughout the day to keep a small farm animal alive.  Well, at 74 pounds, I guess you ARE a small farm animal.

I like you when you are calm.

My favorite thing about you, Sophie, and yes I have one, is that you are NOT allergic to peanut butter.  YES!  This allows me to stuff it in Kongs or those hollow bone things to get about 27 minutes of concentration time.  You see, Sophie, I work from home, and in order to, oh say, work, I need to not have to let you in and out of the back door every 16 seconds.  Really.  Pick a side of the door and stay there a while.

You’re probably thinking, “Work?  All you do is stare at that square thing.  You should chew it. That would be work.”  Actually, Sophie, if I don’t stare at the square thing, AKA work on the computer, you would not have as many nice toys to ignore while you are eating wood and poop.  Man, I wish they would just come out with a Nylabone shaped like a turd.  And without my square staring job, you could forget about the Blue Buffalo food and doggy daycare visits.  I do love those daycare days.  Sigh.

This is cat for “I hate you.”

When you are actually here with me ALL DAY LONG, you could do me a couple of favors to help me concentrate.  First, stop barking at everything.  The wind has been blowing for millions of years.  Barking at it will not make it stop.  If that worked, the people along the East Coast would put you on the beach during hurricane season. Also, other people live on this street.  I’m not happy about it either. They, too, are dumb enough to have big dogs.  Those dogs are sometimes in their own yards.  Your barking at them is not going to make everyone move to a new neighborhood.

Another thing you could do for me is stop trying to be friends with Andre.  He simply does not like you.  He is NOT playing with you.  If he had opposable thumbs, I am certain he would jump on the counter, grab a knife from the block, and attempt to stab you.  Of course, you would probably think he was playing and would take off running with the knife and the cat stuck to your back like you were in some kind of big dog rodeo.

Sunny Spot Truce

Thanks for reading, Sophie.  Now, if you could just keep chewing that gross dog bone you are busy destroying for the next few hours until daddy gets home, that would be dreamy.  You are DADDY’S dog.  The boy will be home soon to love on your for a couple of minutes, too.  Monday is going to be a daycare day for you, girl.  I think we both need it.

Hugs and Kongs, “Mom”

 

The boy loves you.

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: Black Lab, cat people, cats, Great Dane, Hermits, WAHM