Nothing fits

Is it wrong to still be wearing your fat pants weeks after Thanksgiving? Normal people put on 3-5 pounds during the holiday season. I must be exceptional as the holiday season isn't over and I'm sure I have already exceeded the 5 pounds.

It is extremely challenging to find a pair of pants to wear to work at 7:15 am every morning. I am not an over achiever and put out my outfit the night before. I work much better under stress.

My clothes closet is a place where my skinny clothes went to die. I have been saving them for the day when I miraculously shed 25 pounds so I can fit in them again. The old saying is if you haven't worn it for a year, toss it. But that's hard!! I love some of those skirts, pants, even shoes.

I noticed the more weight I carry, my shoe size increases. Makes sense, I just don't like it. So my shoes are also in my clothes closet of dead useless items.

So you ask, where are the clothes that you wear that fit you? On the floor in my bedroom!! I actually have to walk over them to get to my bed.

But it makes it easier in the wee morning to just pick up what you just stepped over, smooth it out and put it on!

However, my cat has decided that my piles of clothes make a wonderful place for her to nap during the day. And she sheds. On my clothes. On the floor.

You'd think this would make me hang up my clothes so I didn't have to run around in the morning looking for tape to use to lift off the cat hairs on my pants. But no. I'm not too picky on the tape either. Duct tape, scotch tape, masking tape. The only tape that doesn't work as well is electrical tape. But I have been know to even try that!

My husband asked me this afternoon if I wanted him to put the window air conditioner from another bedroom in storage. Which means my closet. NO NO NO!! Do NOT go in there!! You will never find your way out!!

Seriously, I need to do something. Either lose the weight so I can use my closet again, or inventory what does fit and give the rest of the S-M to Goodwill.

But everytime I attempt to weed out my clothes, I fall in love with them again and I just can't throw it away!!! That sexy fancy dress I wore on the cruise.... the sundress I wore in Maui.... the Tommy Hilfiger shirt that is, well, just cool. I can't do it. So I leave the unwearable clothes in my closet and close the door.

Maybe after the holidays I will get serious about losing some weight. The place I work actually has an exercise building for their employees to use. I have a treadmill in my basement. I have 3 pairs of tennis shoes for walking (altho 2 pairs are in my dead closet). I have yoga pants. And 3 pound weights.

I just need to find my motivation. If you see it, please tell it to come on home. Also, if you see my get-up-and-go, I've lost that too. Reward given.

Cleaning

Why do I wait so long between cleanings? Why is it that the only thing to motivate me is company coming? If I were smart, I'd clean weekly so it doesn't freak me out that I only have 48 hours to clean before 10 people invade my house for turkey dinner.

This year a crawler is coming too. Which means I have to really scrub 12 inches above the floor line. It's been a long time since I had a baby in my house.

I started in the dining room. I figured I would gradually work into the messier rooms. Our dining room usually stays clean. Having 6 for dinner on Wednesday night which means gotta find the table insert to make the table longer. Hmmm, where did I put that table insert? After looking in 3 closets, I found the insert and wala! The table can now fit 6 comfortably. Crap. The table cloth is now too short. Maybe I can find the tablecloth I bought in the after Christmas sales last year. I don't have time for that now. The old tablecloth goes back on and it is a little short, but who's going to really look? 48 hours and ticking.

I grab all my shoes that I have worn for the past month that have been growing into piles in the dining room and throw them in a laundry basket. I will haul them upstairs later.

I then collect all the sweaters and coats I have worn that have matched the piles of shoes and throw them in another laundry basket. I will haul them upstairs later.

Then I start picking up all the jewelry that I remove every day when I get home from work and leave in the dining room. I was excited when I found a silver hoop earring that I thought I had lost months ago.

I vaccuum, I dust. The floor is spotless as is 12 inches above the floor line. I stand up with my hands on my hips and admire my work.

Then it's on to the living room. I have to take a deep breath cause this is where I live. As my father used to say "where she sits, she shits." I have a small section on my couch the size of my butt cause I sit in the same spot every night. And all my favorite things are within reach of that spot. I have 7 bottles of 1/2 empty water bottles. A couple are on the floor as my cat thinks it is fun to knock them over. A start of a crocheted afghan lies on the floor. Yarn is everywhere as again my cat thinks it is fun to play with the yarn. I lost the crochet hook several days ago. And I have a stack of bills that are either to be paid, paid or need to be filed. And of course all the junk paper companies stick with the invoices. Does anyone read that extra stuff? I just recycle that crap on the floor thinking I will pick it up and throw it away... tomorrow.

But I hustle around the living room and throw stuff in the wastepaper basket. My husband comes up from the basement every so often to find the wastepaper basket filled with non-essentials and he empties it. Nice guy.

Time to wash the windows in my french doors. I am spritzing away and cleaning like Cinderella. My husband comes up for the next wastepaper basket emptying and he about slips on the floor. "What the ..." he asks? Apparently the windex that I am spraying on the windows is overflowing to the floor. I try walking on the wooden floor and YIKES I about fall too. Could it be... that I ... OVER CLEANED???

I shrug it off as the windows now glisten but the furniture does not. Out comes the sucky thing on the vaccuum hose. The cat runs for her life. I am sucking up candy corn from last easter, old christmas tree needles, I found ANOTHER earring I thought I had lost. Man, I am on a roll!!
I even sucked the fireplace grill!! I moved the tv and discovered this is where the cat has hidden all her toys. I grab them all and throw them towards the cat. She is beyond excited. Doesn't know what to do. She spins around the very clean floor playing with her toys. It's like christmas came early for her.

The living room is sparkling.

I have to step over the clothes and the shoes in their respective laundry baskets but I head on to the two guest bedrooms.

One room I have used to store art supplies and frames for my artist daughter. And I have tons of frames. Everywhere. And the mats to go with the frames. Everywhere. And the cardboard backings to go with the matts that go with the frames. Everywhere. I sigh. Then I close the door and go into the other bedroom.

Not so bad!! There are my tennis shoes I have been searching for!! Those shoes go in the shoe laundry basket. I strip the bed and here comes my cat with a toy in her mouth and wants to play. No time kitty! Momma has to clean. 48 hours and counting!!

I shake the rug, remake the bed. Dust and vaccuum. Shoe out the cat and leave the room smiling.

Off to the bathroom. Aaah, the cat is thirsty and drinking out of the toilet. Isn't she special. GET OUT OF THERE!!!! Out comes the pinesol. Only I bought generic pinesol and doesn't have that earthy smell. But I bought it, so I use it. Splash Splash in the sink and hang up some clean towels. Make sure there is clean soap in the shower and I'm outta there.

Nothing left now. Gotta face that OTHER bedroom. I open the door and sure enough. The elves did not show up. The room is still a disaster. But wait!! The Vikings are playing today at noon and I should eat something first and watch my team. This cleaning can wait.

Usually I eat lunch in my living room waiting the tv but not today. Not in that sparkling clean living room. Today the cat and I eat in the kitchen. I watch my team score on the kitchen 10 inch tv. I am careful to eat OVER my plate as my husband just cleaned the kitchen and would NOT be happy to see crumbs on the floor. Why doesn't a cat eat table scraps that fall off the table like a dog?

Ok, gotta do it now. I have eaten and feel energized. Gotta go in that bedroom and attack!! I am like a crazed woman. I am throwing frames left and right. I have the staple gun in one hand to put away, masking tape stuck to my sweat pants and cardboard hanging out of my mouth. My cat hisses at me. Isn't she special. I put the frames and accessories in the closet and quickly shut the closet door. I strip the bed, vaccuum and dust and ready to leave another clean room when I hear a racket. In the closet. Open the door and my cat jumps out.

I am just about to sit down for a well deserved rest when my husband says, "When do you want to go grocery shopping?" I am sweating like a pig, I smell like cheap pinesol, my hair is glued to my head as I haven't combed it yet today and I don't think I even brushed my teeth this morning. I reply "now is good." Yup. I am a vision yet I don't really care. 48 hours and counting.

We get the groceries with everyone else in Dubuque and head home. We enter our house and it is breathtaking. It even smells clean. Everything is picked up and presentable. The cat is even sleeping on the couch. It's a Kodak moment.

We put the groceries away and have a lovely dinner. In the kitchen, eating over our plates.

My husband heads for his basement and I haul the first of the laundry baskets full of shoes upstairs to our bedroom. Ohhh, I might have forgotten to mention. Everything I picked up in all the other rooms I had thrown in our bedroom. I cannot see the carpet in our bedroom. I kick my way to make a path and put down the first of the laundry baskets. I go back downstairs and retrieve the second laundry basket of clothes and haul that upstairs to our bedroom.

I close our bedroom door. Outta sight, outta mind.

Tonight I will bask in the glory of my clean house. Tomorrow I will clean our bedroom. Or not. Will anyone really look in our bedroom anyways? And I did make a path. 48 hours and counting.

90 day review

This month I celebrated my first 90 days at the hospital. I work as the assistant to the COO. And I have to admit that I didn't know exactly what COO meant or what this person actually does when I got this job. COO= Commander of Others? COO= Captain Over Operations? COO= just plain CooCoo? I didn't much care what he did, he had a big office and the position sounded impressive. And I needed a job and it was only a block away from where I live!!

I found out that COO means Chief Operating Officer. Or in other words... Mr. Big. I landed a job working for Mr. Big. I was impressed with myself!! And I lasted 90 days fooling everyone there that I know what I'm doing!!

What have I learned you ask?

I learned that if you don't know the answers, do NOT answer the phone. Let it ring. That's what voice mail is for.

I learned that when the CEO walks by, damn well look busy. Pick up a folder and shuffle papers around your desk. And look very interested in those papers!! Your job depends on it!!

I learned that the CEO, COO, CFO and CNO's do NOT go to other offices. Other people come to THEM.

I learned that the assistants to the CEO, COO, CFO and CNO get free drinks!! There is a refrigerator stocked in the board room with every soda imaginable. And I use it.

I learned that just saying you are the assistant to the COO opens many doors at the hospital. "Hi, I'm Joly and I work for the COO......." No mission is impossible after those 9 words. Magic happens.

I learned that you NEVER tell the COO that you are bored. Enough said.

But it was time for my 90 day review. Not a merit evaluation (those are a thing of the past). But just a "friendly" review of how you are doing.

My past work experience includes working for VPs, Managers, Directors, but never a COO. How exactly will a COO handle a 90 day review for his assistant?? First, I had to tell him it WAS my 90 day anniversary. "OH? Put that on my calendar. Find some time for you and me to discuss it."

So I had to put it on his calendar. This man is B U S Y!! But since I have control of his calendar, I just deleted a meeting and put my name in its place. I figure if the meeting was important, someone would notify someone who would notify the COO who would notify me and I'd have to reschedule it. Details.... I needed an hour of this very important man's time NOW.

Two days later I walked into his office prepared. I was ready. Bring it on Mr. Big. I DARE you to find anything wrong with my performance.

The man walked from behind his massive desk and sat down next to me in the "visitors" chairs. "We need to go through a few things." Gulp. We do??

"First I need to go through this checklist of things you have learned in the first 90 days. Actually, why don't you just read through it and check them off yourself." Ok.......

Do you know where the fire extinguisher is? (No, but I checked it.)
Do you know the hospital vision? (No, but I checked it.)
Do you know the hospital mission? (No, but I figured it had to be something about giving people excellent health care. So I checked it.)
Do you know where the hazardous material policy is? (No, but it's probably was on the computer somewhere. Close enough. Checked!)
Are you pleasant to patients? (I don't see them but I would be nice, unless it was a Monday morning. I'm not a morning person. Check!)
Are you involved with your community? (I go to the casino every weekend! Check!)
Etc.

I checked everything. Mr. Big was reading some paper, probably something important.

I gave the checklist back to him. He then wrote a comment and said, "That's it!"

That's .... It?? Where is the glowing comments about my work habits? The compliments I have been dreaming of for two days? Where is the heart felt statement "You're wonderful!"

Disappointed I grabbed my checklist which he asked me to send to HR for him, and went back to my desk.

Before I put the checklist in an intracompany envelope to send to HR, I read his written comment.

"Joly is a joy to work with. She has helped me immensely in the short amount of time she has been on staff. She is a definite asset to both my position and to the Hospital. "

Ok, the man is not long on words. But coming from the COO, Mr. Big, Ruler of the Hospital, I will relish these 3 sentences and allow my head to be just a little bigger even if it is for a micro- second. And he spelled my name correctly. It's the little things in life that count.

Cut

I have been trying to grow out my hair. To be more specific, I have been trying to grow out the sides of my hair. My hair is very thick and coarse and grows quickly... in the back. The sides are much slower and it seems it takes forever for them to grow. About a year ago, I received a horrendous haircut from a novice designer and that did not help my cause of growing out my sides.

But it had gotten to the point where I had to get my hair cut. My bangs were hanging in my eyes and the back was unruly. The sides looked nice tho. Started to show a little growth.

How do I know if there is growth? I can tell by the "line" in my hair color. The dreaded line between actual and fictional hair color. I am a natural medium brown... right out of the box.

I decided perhaps it was time to find a new stylist. I went to "Cost Cutters" - because I had a coupon! A girl who was perhaps 17 1/2 was "available" for me, the 11:15 walk-in. I know I was the 11:15 because it was announced as I entered. "Heather, a 11:15 is here for a cut."

I told Heather I was growing out my sides so that I could have the popular "sling" style. She did a lot of nodding. She then said, "Your sides are too short for a sling." Did she NOT hear me say that I was "growing" into a sling?

In order to get the sling style, I had to have my back cut shorter. Ok...... But I liked my back.

And then like Scissorhands, she began to attack. Clip clip, chop chop.

Then the razor appeared.

"I'm going thin out your upper layers." Before I could say "Huh?" She put the razor to work. Zip zip.

The stylist was explaining all the while that I could have my whole head of hair cut with a razor because it was so thick. I gulped as I saw all the hair on the floor.

And then she spun me around and asked "What do you think?"

I had to admit I liked it! The back was shorter but the side length did in fact look longer!

I was so excited to go home and get rid of that color "line" I forgot to pay her and ran out the front door. Needless to say, I had to return to the store as I had no keys.....

Back at home, I pour the color on my head and wait. 15, 20, 25 minutes.

Out comes the color and I'm quite pleased! Only ......

One side looks longer than the other. I grab my silver scissors.

What if I just nip a little here?

Oh. That looks worse!! What if I cut a little more on this side to match??

Oh lawd!! Why is it puffing out on one side now? It was suppose to lay flat!

I do a little puffing with my hands through my hair. Nothing.

Hair spray the hell out of my sides. Still looks uneven.

I grab the scissors and cut again. Swell, now I have a side that has a straight cut look right in the middle of the side. And it's not attractive, AT ALL.

Do I try and cut the other side to have a straight cut look?

I think not. I put away my silver scissors and decide I will just lean my head to the left for the next 5 weeks.

Diseases

I have been diagnosed with bursitis in my left hip and arthritis in my right knee. This can't be good. Any word that ends with "is" is not a thing I want.

Bursitis
Arthritis
Sinusitis
Tonsilitis
Osteoporosis
Sclerosis
Fibrosis

All this words should end with "tsk". Bursitsk. Because when you tell people you have this ailment they shake their head and think tsk tsk tsk.

I went to the ER one year with a sore throat. The doctor on call said my last name sounded like a disease. He called it Windschitlitis. Take it on the road doc....

Before I was told I had bursitis, I had no clue what that was. This is what I thought of bursitis:

Bursitis is what a southern gets when he walks down Elm Street in Anchorage Alaska in Mid-January. "Doctor, it's so cold. My whole body is frozen solid." "Yes, you have caught the bursitis. Go join Gary Ken and Billy Bob Jr in the town sauna to warm up. Drink two hot toddies and call me in the morning."

And this is what the word arthritis should mean:

Arthritis is found in Shakespeare's unknown play "Lord Art, the Poet." Enter, stage left, Lord Art's manservant. "Lady Olivia. I beseech thee! Lord Arthritis this poem to proclaim his undying love for you. What sayeth you, my Lady, to Lord Art?"

Those definitions make sense.

Sadly, that is not the cause for me.

Bursitis is pain due to repetitive action.
Arthritis is pain due to being old.

To cure my bursitis, I am to sleep on my "other side." After sleeping on my left side for 50+ years, I was thinking this might be a new adventure for me!! How hard can it be to flip sides?

I laid in my bed that night as usual. Then remembered I need to flip. But what do I do with my arms now? Tuck one under the pillow? Flop one over my husband? And I like to have one foot exposed for some odd reason. But it felt wrong to have my other foot feeling air movement.

This is just wrong. wrong. wrong. My alarm clock is now in the wrong place. The neighbor's porch light is now too bright. My husband's face is well... right there!! How can I sleep knowing my world as I know it is backwards!

After 1/2 hour of deliberation, I surmised that this sleeping arrangement was going to take some time to get used to. I got out of bed, took an Aleve and will worry about it another day.

Arthritis is not as easy to justify. I'm not 21 anymore. I don't jump rope anymore or ride a bike for hours as I did as a child. I sit. My husband cannot sit. Sitting is a real art. And I excel at it.

Solution: exercise. Yup, that nasty word again. We have a tread mill. Have had it for eons. Even have a tv in front of it so I have no excuse of boredom while walking. Last time I used it, I was watching the Simpson trial. Wasn't that just last year?

I guess it's time to find the instructions on how to program the tread mill and get these legs moving again. Sounds like effort. Sitters don't do effort.

So for now, I'm hoping the Aleve I took for bursitis last night is strong enough to alleviate the arthrisis too. And I'll start worrying about it another day.

A day in the life....

Upon request, I have started a blog. Called "Joly's World." Here is my first entry. EnJOy!!


I went for my annual physical last week. It wasn't pretty. I need to exercise, eat less and lose weight. Well, doc, tell me something I don't know. What's a few extra pounds on a mature woman?? It's taken me YEARS to get this figure!!

But I paid for this advice so I best heed the doctor's words. I decided to ease into this exercising crap slowly. What to do what to do? YOGA! I can stretch. I can bend, sorta. I can meditate and can easily hum OMMMMM.

A friend recommended a new yoga place downtown. I like that it is downtown. I don't know many people who go "downtown" anymore so I can go to YOGA and make a fool of myself in the company of strangers.

I am quite excited to start my exercise routine. But then.... a few days before the first class, I stubbed my little toe and broke it. I figure this is God's way of telling me I shouldn't rush into exercise. However, I ignore my inner voice and go to yoga, broken toe and all.

There are 8 of us in the class. I know no one. Life is good. Late to class and am forced to flop my mat up in the front of the class. I only pray that the instructor will turn the lights low.

"Hello students! Welcome to Yoga. We are going to learn a few basic positions."

I am pumped. Let's go! Surely this weight will just drop off.

"We're going to start with a posture. Squat down on your toes."

Oh lord. Did she say SQUAT on your TOES? I want to raise my hand and explain that I have a purple little toe that doesn't like to flex.

But I resist the temptation... I can do a stinkin squat.

Only I get into the squat position. My right foot aka toe is on fire. The pain is excruciating. "Hold this position for 10 counts." I last til count 1-1/2. I try and gracefully get out of the squat but alas I roll on my back and my legs go flying up in the air. I could hear snickers. Again I want to explain I have a sore toe. But the yoga sargeant has moved on to another "easy" position.

"Let's now move into a triangle." Say WHAT? I have two legs, two arms, I do not see a triangle shape forthcoming.

"Spread your legs apart and put the weight on your feet." OH NO. I sense a shifting pose coming.

Correct! "Now bend forward and walk your hands to the right foot."

Ok, I got to the bending position but all the blood in my body is now in my face and I feel dizzy. "That's right, walk your hands to your right foot." I am still trying to figure out which way is right. I start to walk my hands to the right and realize that when you do that, the weight goes to that foot. MY TOE!! My purple toe!! PAIN!

"Excellent. Now roll up slowly." Forget the roll. I spring up like a chicken trying to fly.

The night progresses into various poses and I'm ready to think this exercising is wayyy overrated.

Ten minutes left of class and we are now in the "relaxation" pose."Focus on your intentions you had for this evening." My intention was to get off my toe so that I could walk out the door instead of frantically dialing 911 on my cell phone.

"Any questions?" Yup. You got any classes that are easier and that I can lose 20 pounds in a month?

"See you next week." Apparently, they don't.