WTF, RB

It's not very often, but there are instances in my life that even I surprise myself. This is most definitely one of those times.

I came upon a little gem in one of my work notebooks as I was reorganizing my office today. This journal is only utilized for note-taking during business meetings and conferences. And furthermore, this work of art was sketched on a blank page located in the back of my notebook. I can't even begin to imagine why, or more importantly, WHAT I was drawing.

Could it be...

...a pregnant woman?
...a woman stirring a large bowl?
...a woman in a clown suit?
...part madwoman, part duck?
...a shelf booty?
...a woman who swallowed a toilet seat?

And stepping aside from the large protrusion in the picture, why are her eyes scary lightening bolts? Why does she appear to have scoliosis of the spine? Where are her hands and feet? WHY IS SHE SMIRKING LIKE A RAPIST?

Suggestions are welcomed. In the meantime, I need to get a handle on my psychosis.

The Underbelly

I guess there were some pros to having the cast. And, having just had the morsel removed via cast saw, I felt it necessary to send it off in proper fashion. Note: I have since replaced the cast with a much larger, softer and air-compressionable brace. While it is removable, the below still applies:

• Your money is no good here. When making my way through the array of dirty homeless beggars I encounter on a daily basis (at gas stations, while walking to my office, even grocery shopping), it became clear that the cast, in fact, serves as a powerful diversion factor. Once a prime target for street beggars,  my journeys these days are solicitation-free, presumably due to the homeless assumption that I have enough problems. They're right.
• The sisterhood of the traveling boot. It should be known that women pass judgement upon each other more than any other species. I have gotten used to the "skinny bitch" looks I receive, just as oft as I emanate the "big-boobed bitch" looks right back. The cast, however, has produced a miraculous phenomenon. The looks have now produced a "you go girl," and "we're in this together" sentiment that I wholly favor.
• Can I get that for you? Not surprisingly, any complaints, concerns and struggles can be trumped by the broken foot. This also comes in handy when items are dropped on the floor, documents are needed from the printer or beers are needed from the bar. A single glance downward towards the injury has shown to generate a plethora of favors.

A few (eight, ughhhh) more weeks in this brace, and I should be home free. To the land of the RUNNING, heel-wearing, and dirty-look receiving of the women of Phoenix.

Current research obsessions: alligators, crocodiles, killer bee escape strategies and serial killers. Go figure. 

25: When Being An Aunt Becomes Reality

This weekend, I traveled the 1,876-sum miles to Columbus, Ohio to meet my sister's first child - Mr. Marcus Deacon Blaine. Six-weeks old and swaddled in a white blanket in his bouncy seat, the first time I set eyes on him and his full mane of red hair, I felt a wave of love. I instantly knew we were going to be good friends.

The first time I actually held him, however, I was a nervous wreck. That next morning, April passed him along to me nonchalantly so she could shower, and as he squirmed in my inexperienced arms, all I could think was, "Don't drop the baby; Do NOT drop the baby. Do. Not. Drop. This. Baby." I was mildly panicked.

This led me to clumsily lay him down on a pillow in between my knees, at which point he stopped flailing, and slowly averted his gaze upward until he settled on me. We both looked at each other with curiosity and wonder. After a several minutes like this, I found myself choking back tears as I said to him, "Hi Marcus. I'm your Aunt Rebekah. It's so nice to finally meet you."

And that's how we met. Marcus and Rebekah - the Dynamic Duo.

Over the course of the weekend, I was delighted to uncover the similar traits he and I possess: his frequent hiccups, oversized bobbly head, sloppy eating habits and impressive kicking abilities (Although the latter has not yet resulted in a broken metatarsal for him, I did warn of the ramifications of being too confident with your feet while carrying tacos. I showed him my cast, and he seemed clear on this lesson). I also quickly learned that Mr. Marcus despises wearing pants. All of this led me to deduce that his future could hold either a profession in kicking for an SEC football team (ahem, the Razorbacks), or could bring him to showbiz...the showbiz of Chippendales. I'm certain my sister wasn't fond of my conclusions, but I am also certain, that Marcus will soon unveil other personality traits that might bring him to additional professions that I have not yet stumbled upon.

25: So far - not too shabby. I managed to NOT drop Marcus the entire weekend.

Score.

Oh...

...and when your car shows this temperature...casts suck then too.

Casts - They're Assholes: Part Duex

Nine days until D-Day - the day I get this fiberglass morsel removed from my leg - which some might consider a short amount of time. I, however, think of it as nine additional days (216 hours, 12,960 minutes, 777,600 seconds...you get the idea) of non-exercise, hobble-legging, continued ridicule, plastic bag showers and an array of mini research projects I throw myself into these days. 

Casts continue to be assholes, continued:

* Casts are attention whores. The acceptance of others to inquire, gawk and even allow their children to touch - IT'S NOT OKAY! Consider this an extension of my leg; do I go staring at others' legs, even rubbing them when they might look a little especially unique, bumpy or discolored? No. No way. Not now, not never. That glorious day that the "Oh dear, what happened to your leg?"  exclamations acoss parking lots or "So, was it your ankle or your foot?" snarls over my shoulder stop, is the day I'm a happy chickadee.

* Casts are dog magnets. An extension of the first post, but I will note that an array of dogs continue to approach the cast, and when I'm not fully alert, proceed to get a number of good licks INTO my cast, all over my toes, and often up the top of my foot a bit. Also notable is that my office allows dogs, so this incident will more than likely continue for the remainder of my nine-day imprisonment.

* Casts tear up your nice sheets.

* Casts create a "swagger." I've been informed that when wearing outfits that conceal the cast (pants, long dresses, etc), bystanders see my limpy walk as a strut, or a "swagger," if you will. And when you look at it like that, it's an overly-exaggerated "I love myself and you should too" style-walk. I've since, began to wear items that make my cast much more overt.

* Casts aren't allowed in the pool or hottub.

* Casts give you very unsexy tan lines.

Not surprisingly, my misplaced energy once reserved for running, has been spent on mini-research obsessions. Currently, I'm learning about elderly prostitutes, "furries" and re-learning the history of the KKK. Posts will inevitably ensue.