Sunday, June 3, 2012

A Crappy Week And How Michael Jackson Made It All Better

Why is the difference of 1 degree on the thermostat either massive amounts of boob sweat or the need for a dog-eared synthetic blanket, haphazardly strewn over most, but not all of my legs?

Just me?  Oh. Sorry for the visual.

This week kinda blew.  Except the part where my Lyme Doc told me I was rockin' the antibiotics, kicking spirochete tail.  That part rocked, but it has come to my attention that the better I feel, the more careful I will have to be that Old Aimee doesn't rear her ugly, over the top, over-scheduled head.  That bitch.

UPDATE: Yesterday I felt like crap.  More of a generalized crap, rather than specific.  I looked tired, felt withdrawn and antisocial, and just wanted to sit on my couch and read/daydream/watch TV.  I keep forgetting that, like getting Lyme, getting rid of Lyme is a constant roller coaster.  One minute you are climbing up, up, up, excited for the upcoming peak and all it has to offer.  The next minute, the track crumbles below you and you end up in a free-fall, hurtling towards certain death.

:::happy dance for the health, to appease the Karma Gods because that's the one treatment option i haven't tried:::

I had a rough work week, dealing with a staff member leaving abruptly.  Because I work with families, staff leaving is a big deal, and puts all my work on hold for about a day until we reassign every child to a new primary caregiver, assuring all our families that we will keep the change as limited as possible, all the while revamping the entire system as to who will advance with which group to the next classroom.  Not my favorite last-minute task.

Monday (Memorial Day) had us floating down the river on rafts.  Sounds great, right? Well, we had kids with us, and the water was about 50 degrees.  Monkey Boy got soaked right away, and it wasn't hot enough to dry him, so he shivered (and scowled/glared/whined) the bulk of the trip.  Which was long, as we floated into the wind the whole way.  Sunscreen does NOT last 6 hours, incidentally.  What should have been a 2-3 hour trip was six, and I was grumpy beyond belief and burnt to a crisp half-way through.  I'm still burnt.

My brother moved in for the summer, and brought his dog.  We love them both, but it's going to be an adjustment for all.  And---We cannot have a dog.  It's only a matter of time before the landlady finds out, and kicks our asses to the curb (knowing my luck this week, she's one of my 44 regular readers...).  Which doesn't seem all that bad, since I STILL don't have a working hot tub, and our deck is a pile of finely aged deteriorating driftwood that keeps tripping people. And the pool guy keeps calling her every time there is a rock in the pool.  The pool that is surrounded by rocks.  I told him, "Snitches get stitches", but I don't think I scared him.  Maybe I will sic the dog on him. That will fix everything.

It's hot.  And Sky King did not tell me the pool had an extra filter put on it, so I can actually USE it.  For 2 weeks, I have been longingly staring at its Tahoe-blue-yness, wanting to get in, knowing I can't be in chlorine.  All the while seething that the jerky landlady hadn't put in the filter she promised us.  Then, during my scathing email, he corrected that one point.  Instead of junk-punching him, I will just be a bitch for 3 days.  That'll teach him.

My kids' school completely revamped the teacher assignments (well, not completely, but it certainly affects us significantly.) They did it quickly, poorly, with no notice.  At 4 on a Friday.  It was handled unprofessionally.  I know, I have been giving bad news to parents for DECADES.  There's a way to do it so that no one wants to punch your head in.  This chick has not figured that out yet.  So I sent a letter, with a few tips.  I'm guessing I won't get that "Family of the Month" parking spot any time soon.

Princess is still in complete dental turmoil, with me cranking her palate spreader every other day. I still can't understand most of what she says to me, which is not helping her mood.  I feel like I need to buy a huge bag of toys, and throw one at her every time I say, "Wha???" three times in a row.  Sort of like some sad carnival game where you get a bejeweled plastic ring for losing. But sparklier.
And Monkey Boy is scraping the bottom of the barrel, academically.  He is smart enough to not get choked to death by me, but disorganized enough to do shit tons of homework each week, only to let it take up residence in his backpack for eternity.  His testing grades are typically A's and B's, but his failure to turn his work in means he is pulling two F's, that best become D's by the end of the school year, which is fast approaching.

I forgot my Ambien one night this week, on the eve of a visit with a friend that had come across the country and had set aside some time for me.  I tossed and turned all night long, and didn't remember the Ambien until 3 am, which would have kept me sleeping through the day. So I toughed it out, and had to cancel everything including work AND my dinner with my friend, because my eyes were gritty and I didn't trust my ability to drive safely. And I got to think about how I'm addicted to Ambien all day.  Which I didn't know until then.

I had to get an IV to test for heavy metals, and then collect my urine for a 6 hour period.  The cup they gave me to collect my "samples" was smaller (and crumplier) than a red Solo cup, so I managed to pee on myself each time.  Sky King mocked me, while retrieving dry panties. On a positive note: the bathroom has never been cleaner.

But you know who made it all better?  Michael Jackson.

Because a lovely friend reminded me there was a Michael Jackson Tribute band called Foreverland and they were coming to a park full of middle aged drunks near me.  So I gathered up my incredibly unwilling family, and made them schlep half our possessions across 472 picnic blankets, all to sit so close we couldn't have a conversation unless it was between "Night and Day" and "Billie Jean".  It was glorious. I didn't bring my sequined glove though. But I did do the "Thriller" dance with 569 strangers, so there's that. And we got to picnic with another family that I love, including another husband there against his will.  I think we are soul sisters.

Monkey Boy had the time of his life, though.  I think most teens enjoy hanging out with bombed middle-agers making asses of themselves in public parks, don't you?

Have sullen teen, will travel. 

Incidentally, he's available for rent.  $5 per scowl.  I may train him to flip off the elderly soon, which I'm sure I could get $10 per. 

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