I turned the big Five Won the other day, and to celebrate, I pulled a reverse surprise party on some friends and family 🙂 Todd and I met them in a predetermined spot, and had them wear warm, comfortable clothing. We let them know when we’d be done. We figured that’s all they needed to know. So thankful they showed up! We all boarded a party bus, complete with stripper pole, Starbs and mimosas and we were off. Todd and I have always had an adventurous streak, enjoying quite a few intrepid expeditions over the years, and after my brawl forced us to take a couple of years off, we were itching to get back to our bucket list. This was our chance to include some nears and dears in a daring, gritty exploit that they would never have risked doing on their own. Todd had everyone quite worked up on the way to our destination, talking about wetsuit sizes, sea sickness meds, types of sharks we should expect to encounter, etc. We brought our friend, Jared along to play the part of marine biologist for a while. We finally spilled the 42 pound beans, and let everyone know we were going to try the death defying sport of curling 🙂 Face it, you’ve all shouted with know-it-all disgust at your Olympic tv screens, “I could do THAT ~ that’s SO lame ~ how’s THAT a sport?” Am I right or am I right? Part of my new post-almost-bought-the-farm mentality is to try new things, and I figured I’d force everyone else to try it, too. Who knew? There could have been someone in the group who was unknowingly born (or transplanted) with an untapped rock sliding/sweeping gene! One of our first timers could have gone on to rep the US of A at the Pyeong Chang Winter Games in 2018, and there was only one way to find out! PS – it’s harder than it looks, and this aint no porch-type sweepin’. PSS – Safe to say no one from our group will be sliding rocks across the Korean ice in a few years. PSSS – The stripper pole went unused, for the most part.
Birthdays are wonderful things, when you consider the alternative! I must give a shout out to my friend, Amina, who had this awesome gift made for me in Egypt: (the Arabic letter F)!
JEEPERS, CREEPERS, THEM ARE EFFED UP PEEPERS!
My mornings these days go something like this:
Wake up, throw the covers off, swing my legs over, stand up, make my way to the bathroom slowly with arms in front, Frankenstein-style. Notice I didn’t say open my eyes? My peepers are sealed shut by the goo that oozes out and hardens while I’m catching zzzzzs. Forcing them open results in lashes being ripped from their follicles, so I press warm compresses on them to ease them open by melting the cement. Sometimes I can only get one to cooperate on the first try, and then depth of field is lost and the toothpaste isn’t easily placed on the brush. Eventually, my prying skills prevail and I’m rewarded with this wondrous reflection:
Ocular Graft vs. Host Desease has taken a strong hold on my eyes at this point, so I’m headed back to see Dr. Fantastic and Dr. K, my ophthalmologist tomorrow and the next day. This can be quite serious, so I’m hoping we can get a plan together to prevent any permanent damage. They won’t operate on my cataracts until this is well under control, and my vision seems to worsen daily. I’m sitting in front of my computer with those huge ass black wrap-around shades you see geriatric eye patients wear, because the screen is painful to look at. With or without glasses, I can barely make out the words my fingers are attempting to create. Thank goodness for my 9th grade typing teacher, Mr. Jentges, who drilled me with such riveting exercises as: hhh space, bbb space.
One of Dr. K’s associates, also Dr. K, prescribed a new eye med for me:
Yep, you read correctly, FML ointment!