Monday, August 26, 2013

No fairsies!

This can't be happening!!! 

I eat right. I don't smoke or drink. I get plenty of sleep. I meditate. I exercise regularly...

SO WHY IS MY ASS ON FIRE!!!!!!!!

I have what my orthopedist calls radiculitis, also known as sciatica, also known as holy-mother-of-Christ-someone-please-remove-the-white-hot-vice-grip-from-my-hiny!

It's worse than child birth.

YES IT IS! 

At least child birth was reasonable. You know what to expect. Small space/big object/ouch. It makes perfect sense. You're pregnant. Baby's gotta come out. And there's only one way.

But sciatica makes no sense. It just decides to slice through your booty one day without warning.

And although you can get an epidural for sciatica like you can for childbirth, when you have sciatica, you have to wait at least...4 DAYS...

Ahhhhhhh!!!!!!!

First, you have to schedule an office visit with your doc, then get an MRI, then meet with your doc again, then go in for the shot. And that's if all parties above can squeeze you in sequentially one day after the other. For me, there's a weekend involved...

Kill me now.

I'd rather have a baby 4 days in a row, than endure this deep, sickening glute fire for what feels like an eternity.

I tried to work today. No dice. I tried to write this blog post from every weird body angle possible. Wasn't happening. And because I was able to shower and put on a cute dress before MY OWN BUTT ATTACKED ME, I decided to just put my makeup on, although I'd be going nowhere.

Then my friend Becca called with a number for an acupuncturist and I described the scene, "I'm in a sundress and full makeup, which is slightly smeared from crying over the pain, and I'm slumped sideways on my couch. One leg up on a pillow, the other on the floor, hair mussed from writhing in torture. I look like I've been date-raped and haven't gotten around to calling the police yet."

She stayed on the phone with me a little longer than she initially intended.  

I felt better after we hung up because she understood. Becca had her own version of back BS a few years ago. She walked bent forward for months, like those cute old ladies at church who look like they're searching for something on the floor...forever. 

But they're elderly! Becca and I are in our forties and really healthy. What gives??? All I know is my clean living isn't helping right now and I'm PISSED! 

I honestly thought when I felt my first twinge of pain a few days ago, it was because I had eaten a pint of Phish Food the night before. I literally said to my sister, "I did this to myself. I couldn't put down the ice cream. Sugar causes inflammation. F*uck Ben and f*ck Jerry." After three days off sugar, it's worse.

I'm not going back to my old ways, but I'm discouraged and feel like throwing a tantrum, which, in my condition, would send me to the hospital.

My dad brought me a pair of crutches a couple hours ago and I was able to stand for the first time all day without pain. After he left I stood for thirty minutes in the same spot in my living room in silence, staring at a painting my friend Steph made. I was grateful for the relief, grateful for my dad, and grateful for friends who give you free art.

I have some fresh hell ahead of me this week, so I'll just have to be patient. Not sure what I'll be able to do tomorrow, but I think I'll try penning an apology letter to a couple of guys in Vermont who make frozen treats.

Peace ow-t : (

Copyright © Lynda Crotty Radio, Inc

Tuesday, July 2, 2013

Thanks, crazy parents, for making me look awesome!

I have been called an overprotective mom on more than one occasion, mostly by my kids (even the 28 year old!)

But today I learned there are parents out there who are WAY more overprotective than I. And they are of the bat-shit crazy variety. Yay!

In comparison to these nut jobs, I look like I smoke weed while my babies run across the street helmetless, with scissors, after dark, playing Halo, eating processed carbs, with adult strangers they met on Facebook.  

Check out today's article from CNN.com about a college senior (SENIOR!) who took her parents to court for stalking her:
http://www.cnn.com/2013/07/02/living/cnn-parents-helicopter-parenting-job-search/index.html?hpt=hp_c3

Here's a highlight...

"In 2012, University of Cincinnati senior Aubrey Ireland filed and won a civil stalking order against her parents after unannounced visits and cyber-monitoring, among other complaints.

"It's just been really embarrassing and upsetting to have my parents come to my university when I'm a grown adult and just basically slander my name and follow me around," Ireland said in a court hearing.

"She's an only child who was catered to all her life by loving parents," Julie Ireland, Aubrey's mom, fired back in court. "We're not bothering her. We're not a problem."

Ahhhhhh!

Can't you just picture mom "Julie"? Sensible brown bob, eyes a little wider than the normal awake-state, khakis, sweater set, comfortable shoes she's used to stomp every ounce of life out of her husband's spirit so he'll brokenly follow her into hell.

Oh, Jules, I need to send you a thank you note. Because of your narcissistic spazzery, I am now the Sharon Osbourne of St. Paul.

Okay, gotta go make a gluten and dairy free dinner...I mean, pot brownies.

Peace.

Copyright © Lynda Crotty Radio, Inc

 

Friday, June 7, 2013

I'M AN A**HOLE

My friends and I have been talking a lot about being judgmental lately. One of my friends was accused of being judgmental by her therapist and you would think he told her she had Rickets. She can't stand the moniker and asks me every five minutes, "Was that judmental?"
She's asking me because, apparently, I would know. I have been anointed with, and proudly accept, the label of being judgmental among my group of friends.

I'm fine with it because I don't really think I'm judgmental. I think I'm observant. To me, judgmental is when you make assumptions without enough information. I don't do that. I watch, listen, evaluate, then size someone up. (And I'm usually right). If that's judgmental, then that's me. The reality of it is, you're probably thinking it. I'm just owning that I'm thinking it. I prefer the latter. 

See, I usually get called judgmental when I'm speaking the truth. Not like, "You are a stinky bitch." But more like, "I don't feel sorry for him when he can't afford his rent. He chose to be a musician and walked away from a full ride scholarship, even though his single mom was broke." 

Is that judgmental?

If you answered yes, you are a stinky bitch.

If you answered no, you are my people.

Look, those of us who tell it like we see it (when appropriate - not like calling someone ugly at their funeral), are a rare breed around these parts. Most Minnesotans will politely kiss your butt and hate your guts at the same time. That's lying. It's not polite. It's sinister, actually. And you're the same people who will let us walk around with spinach in our teeth and toilet paper on our shoe, because YOU don't want to be the one to give US bad news, even though that news would be helpful. You are protecting yourself, instead of assisting others. Which is mean...and, yes, the fact that I called you mean is judgmental. Deal with it.

YOU: Fine.

MEFine!

YOU: FINE!

ME : FINE!!!! (You have spinach in your teeth. You're welcome.)

You know I'm right. And you'd admit it if you were brave enough to be honest. But it's easier just to sit there and quietly think what I'm thinking so no one can label you like they label me.

That's cool. I'll take the heat. And I'll hold my head high.

Until I'm wrong.

Like I was the other day...

I was walking along the Nicolett Mall during the lunch rush. To my left was an older, disheveled woman holding a sign that read "Homeless, please help." In front of me were three thugs in full regalia -  pants on the ground, fake swagger, laughing about nothing, worrying about nothing, and up to no good. Oh, and somehow they rustled up three very expensive coffee drinks (malts) from Starbucks, which I judged them harshly for drinking, as it clashed with the "I'm a bad ass" vibe they were attempting to pull off, but also because I was sure they stole them.

Suddenly, they see the homeless woman and start to whisper to each other. I panic. Ready to spring into action and come to her defense when they inevitably say something nasty or even throw their girly drinks in her face. Just then, the middle one approaches her and...HANDS OVER HIS TREAT...then rejoins his friends. 

Say what, now?

They resume their conversation as if nothing happened, she eagerly sucks down the Frappucino, and I slow to a stop, stunned. 

A lump forms in my throat and my eyes well up with tears. I start moving forward again and even feel compelled to give the "thug" a pat on the back as I pass him, but I don't. I'm too ashamed for what I thought and how incredibly wrong I was. 

Man, did I learn a lesson that day.

Stop judging?

Hell no. 

I've just added myself to the list of those I judge. As I stood there frozen on the Nicolett Mall, I thought, "I'm an asshole." And, as usual, I was right.

Copyright © Lynda Crotty Radio, Inc