President Obama, Have You Seen My Sock?

It's Saturday morning.
I slept in until my old woman bladder
made me get out of my warm bed,
where I noticed as my feet hit the floor,
that I had "lost" one sock overnight--
probably down at the end of my covers.

Yes. I sleep with socks on.
That's what old women do--
our feet get cold
because the circulation train is slower these days.

My bladder didn't care to look for the lost sock--
and that was how my day started.

I don't know if you've noticed,
but my blogging mo-jo up and died this last week.
I have had nothing to say--
really.
My days have been dictated by
my job--I've been working more than I've wanted
because we're down to 3 employees
and for reasons out of my control,
we cannot seem to hire anyone to work
for peanuts at a design store.
I think peanuts has something to do with it.
You'd have to have a complete passion
for design to want to work for peanuts--
or be like me and live 16 houses down from the store.
Which makes the morning commute a big honkin' peanut.

Seriously,
I can make a tank of gas last for three weeks.
Which is a big deal if you know that I drive a 2002 Suburban--
the beast that Obama wants me to trade in because of gas prices.
And I think he's right--
if you don't need a 9 passenger vehicle,
trade it in for a small little rice burner like the one Mr W bought last month--
he gets 35 mpg and loves it like a rock.
Or move 16 houses down from your job.

But, (here's where I make my personal plea to the ruler of the Free World)--
Mr. President Obama--I need my Suburban. Need it.  I have a huge family
and even when it's not full of immediate family,
we have little friends filling those seats--
so it's great for carpooling.
See what I mean? So in a way,
America needs ME to have this Suburban.
You're Welcome.


Okay. I feel better.

The other blasted thing that has stolen my blogging mojo is
my health.
I'm in my fiftieth year and lemme tell you,
the warranty is expired on this ol' body.
I'm goin' to h*ll in a hand-basket.
First it was my brain-- the memory rolodex wasn't flipping like it should.
Then, my awesomely fun night at the ER
with those shooting pains in my left arm...
which started the longest run on the medical treadmill
I've ever been on!
I wish blood had the exact exchange rate for money.
Because if it did,
then I wouldn't have to keep paying co-pays
everytime I go to the doctor.
They're taking my blood AND my money.
Something about that just doesn't seem fair.
Speaking of treadmills--
I get to go see a cardiologist and do a stress-test--
you know that's where they hook you up
and watch you run forever to see how badly in shape
you really are.
I'm thinking of calling the doc and seeing if they can just bring
their equipment to the YMCA
and hook me up in a Zumba class.
I think the overall experience would be much more fun
for everyone involved.
Heck, they could even get the nightly news channel 5 out there
and it could become a "thing"--
like Barney's "lemon law" from "How I Met Your Mother"--
it seemed unlikely,
but hey, it did, in fact, become a "thing".
I'll let you know how the doc takes my suggestion when I call them next week.
And believe me,
I'll take pictures!
The YMCA will love that.

Mr. Wonderful is doing his Saturday job--
the smell of bacon is wafting up to the loft right now.
I hope my girls find a man who loves to cook on Saturday morning,
because I'm pretty sure Mr W has spoiled them.
He makes us all individual omelets to order.
Cheese, ham, green peppers and onions. Yum.
Of course, I had to introduce him to cheese grits--
the ambrosia of my southern roots.
Don't tell my cardiologist about the Velveeeta aka plasti-cheese,
tho, kthankx.
My dad adds tabasco sauce to his grits.
Actually, my dad adds tabasco sauce to everything
but his coffee.
Hmmm.  Something ain't right about that.

Anywho,
between my job and my health,
I've been sitting on the sidelines here--
reading blogs I love and being inspired and feeling all
warm-fuzzy-ish this week,
even when I had no ambition to write my own.
Sometimes life is just like that--yeah?
Either we're in the race
or we're on the sidelines.

I'm looking for my running shoes,
but first,
I gotta find that missing sock.

Happy Weekend Everyone.