Insult to injury

So my right arm is KILLING ME and unfortunately I’m injured. It must have happened while I was lifting yesterday. I mean, all I was doing was my usual 140-lb. benchpress (10 reps, as fast as I can), but somehow I hurt myself.

Just kidding. I totally hurt myself cleaning. Yesterday I decided that the bathroom floors needed a good scrub. I sprayed some cleaner with bleach in it onto the tile floor and got to work. I got down on my hands and knees and scrubbed like I was going for an Olympic medal in it and made that tile sparkle. Not to brag, but, yeah, I did the grout. The only problem was that I was scrubbing so hard, I hurt my right arm (my scrubbing arm, obvs).

Sure, at the time I realized I MAY have been working a little too hard as I was panting and sweating and starting to feel lightheaded. But as far as the lightheadedness goes, I chalked that up to inhaling the bleach fumes. I mean, the fumes were already making my eyes burn, but I could still see, so I wasn’t going to stop just because I felt a tad dizzy. My motto is go big or go home and I apply it to EVERYTHING.

Anyway, I noticed the soreness in my arm that evening. I was all, maybe I should take some ibuprofen for that, but then I was all, what kind of wimp takes ibuprofen because her arm is sore from CLEANING? Suck it up, Towbin!

So I did. And then at 4 am I woke up in excruciating pain. In my sleepy delirium I decided that first thing in the morning I should definitely call an orthopedic surgeon about this injury because, really, who else could I possibly call for such a serious trauma? Then I started thinking that I’d have to tell the orthopedic surgeon that I hurt myself scrubbing the bathroom floor and my pride would not allow for that, so I just decided I’d have to deal with it, even if it required surgery (which, at the time, it most definitely seemed like it would).

Then I woke up this morning and realized I was insane. My arm is feeling much better and I realized I just gave it a really good workout. Unfortunately, my right bicep is going to be HUGE and my left bicep will be normal sized and I will look like a freak, but them’s the breaks.

The fruit of my labors, part deux

UPDATE: This morning I went outside to find THIS on my front lawn:

If you recall, earlier this week I found a tomato and then an orange discarded in my yard. And now this.

I don’t know WTF is happening. There is literally an entire produce section collecting on my front lawn. Who is doing this? Why? And do they even know how much money they’re throwing away?

One of my blog readers had suggested that some kid is throwing out parts of his or lunch during the bus ride to school. Okay, that might make sense, except for that pesky tomato: whose mom or dad packs them a whole, intact tomato for lunch?

This has now blown up into the hugest mystery I have ever encountered in my entire life. I wonder if I could somehow craft it into a mystery/thriller kind of a situation, Agatha Christie style. Maybe this is a best-seller in the making?

I will DEFINITELY keep you all updated. Theories are welcome and encouraged.

The fruit of my labors

Before I get into the meat (actually, fruit) of this post, I have to come clean: I haven’t felt like blogging over the past few weeks with everything that’s been going on since the election. I’ve been consumed by the news and feeling terribly upset and hopeless on a daily basis. Writing about things like my cat keeping me up at night has seemed, well, pointless.

I haven’t found humor in much lately, and I also haven’t been sure what I should blog about. It feels wrong to ignore the things that are going on in the U.S. right now, but I don’t want to get into a huge political discourse on here either, despite how deep my personal convictions are.

That leaves me very torn.

So I’m just going to say this: Be an active participant. Go to 5calls.org and make phone calls to your representatives. Donate to the ACLU and other organizations that can make a direct impact. As hard as it is to open myself up to criticism on my blog, it’s harder for me to stay silent.

That being said, I’m going to keep blogging about stupid sh*t because it distracts me from the constant onslaught of horribleness. Maybe the blog will distract you for a few minutes, too. Sometimes we all just need a break.

So today’s break is brought to you by this:

For some reason, somebody put a tomato on my lawn a week ago. I left it out there thinking an animal would come it eat, but there’s been no takers. Every day my kids are all, “The tomato’s still there!” and I reflect anew on how weird it is that somebody put a tomato on my lawn.

Then something even stranger happened. Exhibit B:

It’s an orange. Yesterday somebody dropped an orange on my lawn. Right next to the tomato.

WHAT is happening? Who keeps dropping produce in my yard? And why? What does it mean?!?

My kid thinks it’s a message from the Illuminati. But he thinks everything is linked to the Illuminati, so I’m doubtful. He also thinks we’ll find a zucchini there in a couple of days. He may be on to something.

If you have information about WTF is happening in my yard, please be sure to comment below and let me in on the secret.

 

 

Achy Breaky Finger

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I am very grateful to have my health. So please keep this in mind when I tell you that I am BESIDE MYSELF due to the minor medical problem I’ve been dealing with over the past week.

You see, a week ago Tuesday I decided it would be a good idea to open a package of sausage using a knife and, as a result, I came close to cutting off the tip of my finger. I’m not very good with injuries and blood, so I spent the first 15 minutes after my accident trying not to throw up/pass out/throw up while I was passed out. I lay on my bed for a while, keeping pressure on my bleeding finger that I had expertly wrapped in 15 paper towels. My cat attended to me quite nicely, staying by my side and licking me with concern, but soon I realized I needed a bit more medical attention. And not just because I was panic-sweating through all three layers of my clothing.

After dropping my kids off at their respective evening activities–because come on, like we’re going to miss basketball practice–my husband drove me to the emergency room.

Let me just say that it was not a good time. I was there for FOUR hours. I was the least serious case that night, and so that meant that all the other people there had to be treated before me. Totally understandable, but after three hours of sitting by myself on a gurney in a freezing cold ER, I was kind of done.

I tried to pass the time by live tweeting my experience using the hashtag fingerbooboo. I entertained the idea of snagging one of the “Fall Risk” bracelets hanging on the wall; surely it could help me execute the most hilarious prank. I began to resent the woman behind the curtain five feet away from me that kept talking in detail about her gas. I even mentally lashed out at the woman on my other side who was offered ice water while I was not. I don’t know, nurses, maybe even though I don’t have a catheter and I’m not moaning I might STILL be a little parched for some ice water?

When the doctor finally came, it wasn’t much better. He injected me with some lidocaine to numb the whole finger before he stitched me up. Now, let me tell you, I’ve birthed two babies, and that had nothing on that lidocaine. GOOD. LORD. That was some serious pain right there.

FINALLY at 11 pm I could go home. Unfortunately it was a rough night as my finger was absolutely killing me after the numbing medicine wore off. I could not believe how much pain I was in from a cut finger. It was insane.

The next few days continued to be painful, not to mention inconvenient. You never know how easy life is until one little thing you take for granted is taken away from you, like the use of your left index finger.

My finger started to heal and keeping a bandage on it was annoying, so I stopped covering it and let it all hang out. My kids literally recoiled from me. No joke, my one kid wouldn’t even hug me he was so disturbed by the three stitches in my finger. I started to feel like a leper. It was difficult to cook, to do the dishes, type, you name it.

Yesterday was the day I could get my stitches out. I was so excited and so ready and I couldn’t wait. I went to my doctor and he removed them. I was feeling all good until a couple hours later when I looked down and realized that my finger was A COMPLETE DISASTER. Without getting into too much gross detail, let’s just say it looked just as badly as it did the day I injured it. I don’t know what the hell happened. It hurts all over again and looks totally gross and I tried to cheer myself up by trying a new chocolate cake recipe and instead of making something amazing and delicious I created THIS abomination:

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This fingerbooboo has me totally off my game. All I can do now is slap a Band-Aid on it and hope for the best.

By the way, my pride will not allow me to leave you thinking that I bake cakes like the above on a regular basis. If you’d like to see what I was up to over the last year or so, check out my Instagram account (@towbinma) and see my cakes that are not abominations.

Cat call

Yesterday the most heartwarming, feel-good experience turned into a NIGHTMARE in two seconds flat. Here’s how it went down:

Earlier in the week I went through all our old towels and, after putting in some research, decided that donating them to the SPCA would be a good way to put them to some use. I stuffed four trash bags full of towels and washcloths and headed out to our nearby SPCA chapter.

After hauling them all inside the building, I noticed a few cages out in the lobby. I walked over, and to my delight, found that they were full of kittens!!! I watched them frolic and meow their cute little high-pitched meows. I even took pictures and texted them to my husband:

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He warned me not to adopt one. I responded by making a video of three of them meowing and wrote back, “You are a monster.”

I was about to leave and took one last peek into one of the cages that held a mom cat and her four kittens:

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They must have been only a few days old. I’m standing there watching them crawl all over their mom and literally feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It was awesome.

UNTIL I noticed one of them wasn’t crawling all over its mom like the others. In fact, it wasn’t moving at all. I stared and stared, willing it to move, but it didn’t. I went over to the front desk and told the staff. The woman working there came over to the cage and pulled it out.

It was, in fact, dead.

AND I AM TRAUMATIZED. It was so horrible and I couldn’t get it out of my mind. And the most horrible thing is that the woman who worked there said it HAPPENS ALL THE TIME. I can’t even.

The next text to my husband: “OMG. ONE OF THE KITTENS WAS DEAD. I am traumatized.” His response: “Wow!” Not really the support I was looking for.

I don’t even know why I’m blogging about it. I’m trying to work through it? It was too horrible to keep to myself? I don’t know.

Let’s try to end this on a happy note:

 

 

Deep thoughts

Sometimes I have a deep thoughts, SNL’s Jack Handey-style. It’s actually kind of annoying. I’ll be in a waiting room or hanging at the carpool pickup and just start wondering, “Who am I?” I think and think and when nothing comes to mind, I get myself worked up into quite a state. It usually ends with, “I don’t know who the hell I AM! What is wrong with me?!?”

But the other day I got a fresh perspective. I was chatting with my kid’s friend (who is 10). She was telling me how this girl she knows keeps copying everything she does. And stares at her while she’s sleeping, which I admitted is kind of creepy. Anyway, I told her it sounded like this girl might really admire her and is just trying to be like her.

She thought for a second and said, “She’s not me AT ALL. I like SunChips, turquoise, watermelon, macaroons, other baked treats, and sparkles.”

BAM. Just like that, she summed herself up and was 100% sure of it.

Then I’m all, why can’t I sum myself up like that? Do I have to be all deep and profound and make everything so hard all the time?

So I decided that if someone asks me who I am, this will be my answer: cake, pie, BBC period dramas, pink, Star Trek (TNG, obvs), knitting, books, gelato, naps (with blankets), not being cold, pasta, sweat pants.

Yeah, there’s a lot of food in there, but I like food. And I won’t apologize for it! Woo hoo!

Out of the mouths of babes…

Park it

This was basically what the scene looked like, but way creepier. And with a garbage can.

I’m a little freaked out because of (a) what I just witnessed, and (b) the way I am reacting to what I just witnessed.

This morning I went on my first outdoor run of the season. I like to go to a park near my house and run this one particular loop. So I had just pulled into the small parking lot and was stretching next to my car when this blue sedan with tinted windows turned in. I think I spotted a guy inside, and he drove all the way to the far end of the lot. Which is weird because there was just basically my car and one other in the entire lot and tons of empty spaces. But whatever. I thought he was turning around or something and went on my merry way.

Fast forward to the end of my run (during which two ladies passed me, which always makes me feel like a complete loser, but I ended up passing them later on because they started walking up a hill and I am totally THE CHAMPION). I get back to my car and the blue sedan with the tinted windows is still there.

Now listen here — he’s not parked in a spot, but has positioned his car horizontally over several spots and is idling in the back of the lot right next to a garbage can. I’m like, that’s kind of weird. What is he doing just sitting in his car, idling in a park, for like 25 minutes?

I do my end-of-workout stretching and just as I walk to the driver’s side door THE BLUE SEDAN STARTS MOVING VERY SLOWLY.

It’s at this moment that I start to freak out. A million thoughts run through my head:

  • Was this guy waiting for me?
  • Why is he leaving at the EXACT time I’m going to leave?
  • Did he come up with some murderous plot that involves following me in my car, running me off the road, sticking me in his trunk, forcing me to live my fear of being trapped in enclosed spaces, and then selling me to the highest bidder, who makes me write a sequel to STRAIGHTJACKET using the same tactics as Kathy Bates in Misery?
  • Did he plant a bomb under my car, Robocop style, and he wants to see his dastardly deed completed as I turn the key and my van EXPLODES? Just for the fun of it?!?

Well, it turned out he just drove away. Before I even pulled out. And went in the opposite direction of me anyway.

So I ask you — who’s the crazy one? This guy who on a random Friday hangs out in a deserted park for 25 minutes in front of a garbage can? Or me, who thinks I’m at the center of some big conspiracy that will end with a local news headline of “Local Woman Blown to Smithereens After First Kick-Ass Run of the Season”?

No really, who’s crazier?!? I want to know.

Sunday Funday

My horrible week has finally turned around. That’s right — I had a very, very lucky day on Sunday.

You see, every Sunday I buy the newspaper pretending that I’m getting it to read the news and clip the coupons when in reality I buy it so that I can take a stab at the Sudoku. And when I get frustrated with that, the Jumble. And finally, when I can make no more progress on either of those, the crossword puzzle.

Now in case you don’t know, the Sunday game section is hardcore. The puzzles get progressively harder Monday through Saturday until you hit Sunday, and then the difficulty level is INSANE. I usually do these puzzles and walk away feeling stupid and defeated.

But today! TODAY! Feast your eyes on this:

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I know it’s not done, but it’s almost done. I just found a minor problem somewhere that screwed the whole thing up. But look how far I got! The furthest ever in the history of me doing Sunday sudoku!

And then, I did this:

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I got almost the whole Jumble! Except for the final one. I mean, you have to be Albert Einstein to get that.

The whole time I’m doing these, I’m thinking, why is this so easy for me today? Am I suddenly a genius?!? It’s like everything came together in my brain. To test my theory, I started the crossword. AND I got the most clues I’ve ever gotten! Which is like a quarter of them, but who cares!! It’s clearly my lucky day!

Ah yes, things were bound to turn around at some point.

 

Sock it to me

There’s ANOTHER mystery afoot at Casa Towbin. It’s been a while since the bagel incident, so I guess the time was ripe for another whodunit.

Allow me to present the evidence:

sock

This may appear to be “just a sock,” but let me tell you–it’s totally freaking me out. You see, as I was folding my clean laundry, I came across this baby. Unusual? Not really, EXCEPT THAT THIS SOCK DOES NOT BELONG TO ANYONE IN MY FAMILY.

I have no idea where it came from or who it belongs to. There is only one logical explanation: There is a portal in my dryer through which other people’s lost socks are entering my house. I can only assume that my lost socks are appearing in random homes throughout the city.

Diabolical? Yes. Blog worthy? Of course.

Bugging out

This thing is on its own. Not going near it.

I’ve always had a thing about saving bugs. I have no idea where it came from, but for some reason I go to great lengths to save any kind of insect/spider/creepy crawly thing that gets trapped in my house. (Except for those house centipede things that look like eyebrows. Eww.)

Sometimes—actually a lot of times—my attempts backfire. For example, there have been a lot of ladybugs in the house lately. It’s hard to catch them to save them. So I wait it out, maybe a day or two, until I see them just sitting there, probably dying of thirst/starvation/whatever ladybugs die from. Then I try to pick them up and put them outside. But those suckers are slippery. And they never, ever crawl onto the tissue I put in front of them. So most of the time, when I try to transport them outside, I end up killing them. It’s horrible.

And then yesterday, there was a month trapped in between the screen and the window in my bedroom. I opened the window a crack, just to get my hands through, and unclipped the screen from the frame, prying it open to give the moth just enough room to fly out.

But what does it do? The stupid thing flies UP, in the opposite direction. So I have to unclip more of the screen. And THEN do you know what happened? The screen fell down. Outside. Two stories. And got bent.

I don’t know, maybe I should stop attempting these ridiculous rescues. But who else will be there for the bugs that get trapped in my house? Who, I ask you??

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