jabberwacky: medical malpractice
Ready to Jabberwacky?
- Post the first word or phrase that comes to mind when you read the word above yours.
- You can challenge a commenter to explain the connection in their brain when they wrote their word. (If you know your word choice won’t make sense to others, please take time to explain it.)
- I'm writing an extra bullet point of jibberish to see if anyone even bothers to read the instructions anymore!
- The last word when I close comments will be the starter word next time.
Alrighty then!
Starter phrase: medical malpractice (thanks to Tam)
bunkum: klem
captionating
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jabberwacky: heidi
It's Jabberwacky time! Are you ready?
- Post the first word or phrase that comes to mind when you read the word above yours.
- You can challenge a commenter to explain the connection in their brain when they wrote their word. (If you know your word choice won’t make sense to others, please take time to explain it.)
- The last word when I close comments will be the starter word next time.
Got it? Good. Starter word: Heidi (compliments of The Anti-Blogger)
bunkum: fortunicate
What better to do on a weekend than sit around and Bunkum. Of course, I'll be sitting around on a speeding metal tube at 26,000 feet above the Atlantic. But you guys can have some fun while I'm spanning the globe in a single flight. Remember how this works?
- For the made-up word above yours in the comments, post a definition and/or use the word in a sentence.
- Then leave a made-up word for the next person. Come back to chime in as often as you’d like!
Starter word: fortunicate (compliments of Mandy)
brownie points
We recently crossed the 10,000 comments mark here at The Grit. Brandy won the competition by posting the coveted 10,000th comment. And oh, what words of wisdom she had to share.
Brandy's prize was a box of baked love from Fat Witch Brownies. From the pictures she sent me, I think she enjoyed them...
What do you think the prize should be for the 20,000th comment?
jabberwacky: beautiful
Since we haven't Jabberwackyed in a while, here's a refresher on how this works.
- Post the first word or phrase that comes to mind when you read the word above yours in the comments.
- You can challenge the preceding commenter to explain if you don’t understand the connection they made when they wrote their word. (If you know your word choice won’t make sense to others, take time to explain it.)
Starter word: beautiful (compliments of Melissita over at Nature Girl)
i have pms
I'm alive! My tonsillectomy went well on Friday. Aside from the minutes when I couldn't breathe as they tried to wake me from the anesthesia and my puke-fest after they wheeled me into recovery, everything went smoothly. (Sheesh!) I was at the hospital for quite a few hours more than originally planned (because of the aforementioned mishaps), and have been mostly horizontal since I got home.
My man has been a wonderful form of PMS---he's my Pain Management Specialist. He's taking such good care of me, keeping me hydrated and as doped up as I'm legally allowed to be. He also bought the boxed set of Friends for us to watch during my recovery. Between eating ice-pops and applesauce, drinking lots of slushy iced tea, and taking liquid med-hell-ication, we've already watched the first 1.5 seasons.
But now for the news you're really interested in.
The winner of the 10,000th comment contest is...
with this comment:
So, Brandy (a.k.a. Bran, Bran Muffin, BM, Raisin Bran, cereal lady), when do I get that milkshake?!
Thanks, everyone, for playing along. And for all your love and prayers...
book deals and comment wars
Today's the day Cheech and Chong get evicted. If you're unsure who Cheech and Chong are, let me clarify: They are not my boobs. They are my tonsils. And they have names because, well, anything that big deserves to be called by a proper noun.
But alas, it's time for them to go. Don't worry too much about them; from what I hear, they already have a book deal.
As for me, I certainly appreciate your prayers!
It's probably gonna be a little quiet around here for the next few days, at least from my end but hopefully not from yours. You see, we're getting close to the 10,000th comment mark. I'm not telling you how close, because...
Whoever posts the 10,000th comment wins!
Wins what? you wonder. Not telling. But believe you me, it will be so worth it!
Couple o' rules:
- Comments must consist of full sentences to count.
- The winner has to email me a picture of him/herself with the prize (upon receipt of it), to be featured here at the Grit.
I'll see you again when I'm a few pounds lighter (yes, they are that big!). And may the best blogger win!
bunkum: ecela
It's been a while since we've Bunkumed around here. Here's how it works:
- For the made-up word above yours in the comments, post a definition and/or use the word in a sentence.
- Then leave a made-up word for the next person. Come back to chime in as often as you’d like!
lisa marie presley and hot butts
I'm always surprised by some of the Googled phrases that lead people to my site---
tigress panties -- Rrrrrow.
dirty underwear and uti -- Uhhh... Seriously? Gross.
grit in underwear -- Again: Nast.
no undies because of hot butt -- No comment.
Nixtamalization -- I had to look that up. I'm still confused.
lisa marie presley's nickname by her fat -- I have no idea what that even means.
i am a sissy -- Aww, c'mon! That landed someone here?!
is listerine an insect repellent? -- Wonder if it works for skeeters...
hot mandy nude -- WHA????
captionating
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three a.m. craziness
The last night of our reunion weekend, we------ Hold on. We interrupt this broadcast for an explanation. I know Mandy, Cathi, and I had never met before. But we were already friends, really and truly. And seeing each other felt like coming home. So in my heart it seemed way more like a reunion than a first-time meeting. Okay, back to what I was saying...
The last night of our reunion weekend, we pulled an almost-all-nighter. This is what we were doing around three a.m.
weekend update: when worlds collide
d-day
I'm pretty excited right now. As I type, Niel's on a flight to America. I'm sure he's cramped up in his tiny seat, jamming his knees into the back of the poor soul sitting in front of him. I imagine he's enjoyed (?!) at least one Pepto-necessitating airplane meal and climbed over his neighbor at least once to use the way-too-small bathroom. I bet he's watched a movie or two, slept a bit, and sorted out 1/4 of the world's problems in his brain (he's just amazing that way). He's most likely looking at his watch right about now, counting down the hours till he exits that flying tube of steel. Did I mention that the flight from Johannesburg to New York is 17 hours long? It is.
But that's not why I'm excited.
I'm smiling so big my eyes close because I'm going to surprise Niel when he lands in New York tomorrow morning. He's catching a flight out to Orlando just a few hours later, but I'll get to steal a quick kiss (maybe a not-so-quick kiss) and a long hug (that's the best part right there...).
There's a long story behind the "why", but the short of it is that there are 7 Thrive Trippers on the flight with Niel. Because they took off from South Africa almost 3 hours late, the kids will miss their domestic connections. They've been rebooked on later flights out of a different airport. So I'm going to meet their flight, make out with my husband, shuttle 7 kids I've never met before across the city to LaGuardia ("Hi, I'm Alece! What's your names?"), get them checked in and through security, catch a cab back to JFK, and then drive back to Long Island.
And all this starts with my alarm going off at 6 AM.
Seeing Niel makes that totally worth it. And if you knew how much of a morning person I am not, you'd know what a big deal that is for me.
The bestest part? Since all of this was arranged after Niel boarded the flight 7 hours ago, he has no idea about the excitement that is going to unfold at 9:00 tomorrow morning.
I wanna bring Niel some tangible love. Considering I can only bring things I can find around my house, what do you propose I bring for him?
anti-comments
I don't at all want to steal from the laugh-till-I-cry comment conversation going on over on my uncensored post. (And in case you missed it, here's the anti-blogger's blog-length response to the post.) But, I did want to let you know that tomorrow is my husband's birthday. And since tomorrow is already today in South Africa, I figured I should let you know today rather than tomorrow. (Confused? Me, too.)
Basically, I just want to send you over to Niel's non-blog so you can leave him some anti-birthday love.
So go here and say "Hey!"
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you've been served
My tonsils, strong-willed enough to deserve names, are now (un)affectionately referred to as Cheech and Chong.
tot time
I'm with Silas and still-pregnant Amy at Tot Time at a local rec center. The gymnasium is filled with toys; Silas loves to come here. One wall is lined with bleachers where moms set up camp to watch their kiddos play. Diaper bags, purses, strollers, and shoes litter the rows of bleachers. While Silas is having a good ol' time out on the gym floor, Amy and I are chatting it up on the sidelines (with watchful eyes, of course).
Something in the far corner of the gym catches our eye. An older woman---whom we shall call Fiona---enters alone; she brings no kids, only herself, to Tot Time. Fiona sets up a boombox, flips through a notebook, and stretches out her arms and legs. She hits play on her stereo and cranks up the volume; we can hear the rhythmic music loud and clear on our side of the gym.
Fiona begins an intensive aerobic workout. She's got a whole routine, complete with claps, spins, and stomps. We can't help but stare, and we definitely can't help but laugh. We look down the row of bleachers; most of the other moms are watching and giggling too.
With the change of each song, Fiona turns to a new page in her notebook. Suddenly she is doing belly-dancing moves. We double over with painful laughter.
We just can't imagine why Fiona chose to use the Tot Time gym for her ostentatious workout. "This is a blog post waiting to be written," Amy says with a laugh. "I wish I had my camera!" I reply. Then I remember that I have a camera phone. Of course it has only minimal zoom...
I'm gonna have to get pretty close if I want a decent picture. So I'm off... And I'm on a mission.
Needing a decoy, I say to Silas, "Wanna go bounce that big green ball with Aunt Lizzy?" Of course he does. He heads across the gym, me close behind with my phone in my back pocket. I bounce the big ball; Silas chases after it and bounces it back. We inch closer to Fiona.
I'm only a few feet away. Fiona is facing the wall, with her back toward me. She starts shaking her butt as if she's Beyoncé. I about pee my pants with laughter. I look back to the bleachers to see Amy wiping tears from her eyes. SNAP. I take a picture. I'm laughing so hard, it comes out blurry. SNAP. I take another.
Silas and I keep playing with the big ball, carefully staying in Fiona's quadrant. In an attempt to roll the ball to me, Silas accidentally sends it right toward Fiona. I run after it, looking up at her as I go. Still facing the wall, Fiona spreads her arms out at her sides, leans slowly forward and backward, and shakes her boobs.
The ball rolls right into her leg and she turns around and faces me. Busted! I think. "Sorry about that," is what actually comes out of my mouth.
I look down at Silas, who'd also run forward to catch the ball. He stops two feet away from Fiona, looking up at her. He sways and moves his arms. "Dancing," he says. "That's right," she replies. "You can dance with me if you'd like." Silas stands right next to her and together they get their groove on.
If I weren't hunched over laughing, that picture would be worth a million bucks.
I look back at Amy again; the bleachers are shaking because she's laughing so hard.
Just as quickly, Silas loses interest and runs over to me. Fiona doesn't skip a beat; she jumps right back into her routine. I put up my hand as Silas approaches, and he gives me a high-five.
I get the feeling that he was in on this mission of mine all along...
flying colors
We're staying in Middle-of-Nowhere, Missouri with Granny and G-Daddy. (Note: Their names have not been changed to protect their privacy.) G-Daddy seems to have been testing me since I arrived. The biggest test just got placed in front of me. "Wanna go for a ride?" he asks. A few days ago he told me all aout his motorcycle. When he asked if I'd like to ride with him sometime, I said I'd never been on one before and it seemed a little scary to me. "Oh it's not scary at all," he assured me. "So I just hold onto you or what?" I asked. "Nope. You're not allowed to hold on." My eyes bulged and I started to laugh. Certainly he's kidding... Amid some joking and swift topic-changing, the conversation dissolved.
And now here I am, in the final part of the test to determine whether or not G-Daddy adopts me into the family. (Figurativey speaking, of course.) A quick glance over at Dave and Amy reveals huge smiles and nods. "Do it," Kitty whispers.
I look back up at G-Daddy. "Sure. Let me go grab my sneakers."
Minutes later I am standing outside by his monstrosity of a bike, donned in a leather jacket, black helmet, and bug-deflecting goggles. As I climb onto the bike, G-Daddy whispers, "You can hold onto me if you feel you need to." But I'm determined not to hold on. Not even as we pull away.
We're off, wind in our faces. G-Daddy waves at every car we pass; he honks at a field of cows. We cross the swollen Mississippi into Slightly-Bigger-Than-Middle-of-Nowhere, Illinois. Destination: Wal-Mart. (Can you believe we have to drive to another state to get there?) Distance: 50 minutes. (Am I the only one who thinks of distance in terms of minutes rather than miles? )
"You doing okay back there?" G-Daddy shouts back at me. "Yeah, this is great." "You're not scared are you?" "Nope. You can feel free to open 'er up!" He starts laughing. "Open her up? We're doing 90!" I smile. I know I've passed the test.
My eyes tear up as we pass the first Starbucks I've seen in days. It was just because of the wind though, I swear.
Errand completed, we head back. He cranks up the music. "Is that too loud for you?" "Nope. I like it. Fast and loud: That's how I ride." He laughs really hard. So do I.
I do the YMCA on the back of the bike when the song comes on. I discover that potholes really hurt on a motorcycle. The fields sparkle with lightning bugs; I keep my mouth shut to avoid eating them.
As we come to a stop back at the house, my face feels oddly plastered back from all the wind. I'm proud of myself for not holding on at all. 'Twas a good ride.
We walk into the house. G-Daddy quickly tells everyone about me asking him to "open her up" and my announcement of "how I ride". I smile and laugh.
I passed with flying colors...
