I've been hearing a steady stream of misinformation during Sandy. Only one thing was confirmed by CNN.
Those that May be True:
"Power out + backup generators have failed tonight at NYU Hospital, one of NYC's largest. Patients/staff being evacuated. Personnel manually evacuating PICU & NICU down 9 flights of stairs."
- Verified by CNN at 10:32, Twitter had it an hour earlier. I doubted it at first. I doubted it because far more Tweets have been wrong
Those That May be False (or true, just no news channel has confirmed it yet)
"Fire on 3rd floor of Coney Island Hospital, which is surrounded by floodwaters. FDNY cannot access it."
"19 workers trapped in Con Ed station that blew up on video."
"Floor of NYSE flooded."
"Bellevue Hospital is running out of Oxygen & have about 1 HOUR of Power left on Generator
"Jeeps to Be Made in China."
And just like the last Northern weather event, the real story won't be in NYC.
Look! It's Paula Deen' s Boston Butt Roast with a Pork Steak instead.
1 (5-pound) pork butt roast Saint Louis THICK CUT (not the fatty thin cut) Pork Steak. I got mine at Dierbergs a few weeks ago at the end of summer.
4 tablespoons of a pre-made House Seasoning:
(1 cup salt , 1/4 cup black pepper , 1/4 cup garlic powder)
No one in the comments section could stand to add this much salt. I think perhaps they were adding the whole House Seasoning recipe? Mathematically (as I understand math), you could add 2 tablespoons of salt, 1/2 T pepper, 1/2 T garlic powder.
2 tablespoons seasoned salt
4 tablespoons liquid smoke, found in grocery store (This kills me. Are people looking in chemistry books for Liquid Smoke? Or their pantries? I can bet I don't have any from the last time I made a stew because I always throw out almost full bottles, while saying "When will I ever use this again?" I think that's because Mom kept one bottle of Liquid Smoke during my entire adolescence.)
1 medium onion, sliced
1 cup water
3 bay leaves
Barbeque sauce of choice, for serving (I have that now that Gary has stopped feeding the Mac dog food covered with Barbeque sauce.)
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.
Sprinkle 1 side of the roast with 2 tablespoons half the House Seasoning, making sure to rub well. Flip the roast over and rub the remaining half of House Seasoning. Repeat the process with the seasoned salt and liquid smoke.
Cover the meat. (Commenters were outraged Paula left this out.)
Place the roast in a large roasting pan. Add the onion, water and bay leaves to the roast.
Place in the oven and cook for 2 1/2 to 3 hours, or until thermometer reads 170 degrees F.
Let meat cool for a few minutes and then slice. Serve with your favorite barbeque sauce.
My photo (of everything - pork is bottom center).
Adapted from here and from How to Cook Everything.
When we were in England we spent one entire day hopelessly lost on Hampstead Heath. We came back to the hotel exhausted and starving and ordered eight entrees via room service. One was Leek and Stilton soup.
This probably won't be as good since I won't be exhausted.
8 leeks, trimmed, washed and finely chopped in a food processor
2 sticks of celery, roughly chopped
1 T Butter
1 T light and mild olive oil
1 large baking potato, peeled and diced
2 cups chicken stock
< 1 pt cream. I'm too lazy to do the international conversion. I've got less than a pint of cream. I might not use it all.
4-8 oz stilton, crumbled, or blue, or gorgonzola, depending on what they have at Dierberg's. (I was called snobby for shopping at Deirbergs by some Shop and Save fans. Lazy. Lazy is the word. I am Lazy Spice.)
Sea salt and ground black pepper
Serves six (We will see about that.)
Gently sweat the shredded leek and celery in the butter and olive oil for 5 minutes to soften.
Add the diced potato and stock. Bring to a gentle simmer. Cover and cook for 30 minutes.
Whiz (snicker!) in batches in a food processor with the single cream, Stilton and seasonings to a coarse consistency.
Top with strips of cooked leek and serve with warm crusty granary bread. Pft.
2 lbs carrots, peeled, sliced into 1/2-inch rounds
Salt for salting cooking water
1 cup whole milk
1 cup Saltine cracker crumbs
3/4 cup grated sharp cheddar cheese
1/3 cup minced onion
1 Tbsp room temperature unsalted butter
1 teaspoon Kosher salt
1/8 teaspoon cayenne
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
3 large eggs
Preheat oven to 350°F. Butter a 2-quart baking dish and set aside.
Place carrots in a saucepan and cover with an inch of water. Add about 1 teaspoon of salt to the water. Bring to a boil and cook for about 10 minutes, or until the carrots are tender.
Strain the carrots and purée in a food processor or with an immersion blender. a blender on the counter because you are too lasy to get the food processor out if the cabinet.
Don't wash the blender before you use it for the leek soup. That is key.
Place carrot purée in a large bowl. Slowly add in the milk, a little at a time, whisking after each addition so that the mixture stays smooth, not lumpy.
Mix in the saltine cracker crumbs, the grated cheese, onion, butter, Kosher salt, cayenne, and black pepper.
Hold up. I'm sure this is one of those "Serve immediately" recipes. Uh, I'll taste immediately, then refrigerate immediately, but I won't eat all this immediately. Maybe stop here. There are three eggs. I could make this in three batches.
In a separate bowl, whip up the egg(s) until frothy. Then whisk them into the carrot purée mixture. Transfer the mixture into the prepared baking dish. Bake for 40-45 minutes, until puffed up a bit and lightly golden.
Yeah... good if you like your carrots fluffy.
2 lbs zucchini
1 lb frozen spinach, or 6 packed cups of fresh chopped spinach leaves, blanched and drained ... or NOT.
3 slices of thick cut bacon (about 3 ounces), cut crosswise 1/4-inch pieces
1 large onion
1 handful of parsley (about 1/2 cup of leaves, lightly packed)
3 cloves garlic, peeled, coarsely chopped
1/2 cup freshly grated Parmesan cheese
Freshly ground black pepper
Grate the zucchini. Toss the grated zucchini with about a teaspoon of kosher salt. Place the grated zucchini in a large sieve (or colander) placed over a bowl to catch the water as the salt helps the zucchini
release its moisture. Let sit for 30 minutes or so, then squeeze out the remaining excess moisture with paper towels or a clean tea towel.
Thaw the spinach, let drain while the zucchini is draining. Then squeeze out the excess moisture with paper towels or a tea towel.
Heat a large skillet on medium heat. Add the bacon and gently cook until lightly browned and most of the fat rendered out, about 10 minutes.
While the bacon is cooking, peel and finely chop the onion. Add the onions to the bacon and cook for an additional 10 minutes, until the onions have softened.
While the bacon and onions are cooking, prepare the parsley and garlic. Place the parsley and garlic with a small pinch of salt into a food processor and pulse just a couple of times.
Preheat the oven to 350°F.
Place the zucchini into a large bowl. With a wooden spoon (I DON'T HAVE A WOOPEN SPOON. I mean I have HAD them, but now they're all gone.) mix in the cooked onions and bacon. Mix in the spinach, parsley, and garlic.
Mix in half of the Parmesan. Taste, and add black pepper and more salt to taste.
Mix in the eggs.
Coat the bottom and sides of a 2 quart casserole or gratin dish with a tablespoon of olive oil. Put the zucchini spinach mixture into the dish and pack it down. Sprinkle the remaining Parmesan cheese over the top and drizzle with a little olive oil.
Bake in a 350°F oven for 40-45 minutes, until the top is nicely browned.
Mine looked like this after 45 minutes.
It didn't get brown until and hour and ten minutes. Your oven may vary.
Serve immediately. Reheats well.
Frost has arrived. Warm winter food is called for. Planned meals are punted. Frozen pizza stays frozen. Baked potatoes with chili and cheese stay raw.
The plan is to make leek and stilton soup, spinach and zucchini gratin, carrot souffle, and fake-bbq pork steak. These are all new recipes. I've made a leek soup recently, but it was too heavy on the potato and too light on the leek. Pork steak is made around here on the barbecue grill with some Bud drizzled on the coals. I had to look up "Boston roast" to find another recipe, because a) wasps have built a nest on my Weber kettle and b) you all don't know what a pork steak is outside of Saint Louis.
The problem is I will make ALL THIS FOOD today. And we haven't eaten but two servings of asparagus / scallop risotto from yesterday. I really hope flavors do meld after three days in the fridge.
I'm going to live blog it with recipes and photos (Not the risotto though, because I used the asparagus recipe and I don't like it as much as the broccoli recipe.)
Can you tell we're trying to eat more vegetables along with our pounds of chocolate? I went to the vegetable page of www.Simplyrecipes.com and looked for new ideas.
Chances are very good I'll run out of steam at about 2:00.
Caroline (Friend #4, Nicest of the Heartless Cows) organized a chocolate tasting event for her friends at Kakoa Chocolate.
The event was hosted by Brian, the owner, who won my admiration immediately when he said he started his business in 2008. "And it survived?" I wondered. Well, it survived because he makes amazing chocolates sprinkled with smoked sea salt and filled with ganache made of cream infused with lapsang souchong tea.
If you click to enlarge that photo you will see they also make Undead Chocolate Bunnies.
At the very beginning of the presentation, Brian made a statement, I made a joke, a friend sneered at me, and Brian judged the group dynamic instantly. He made me move up to the front of the table, next to him, and then he poked fun at me the whole night instead of letting me heckle him from the other end of the table.
So, here's a photo of Brian, and it isn't particularly flattering, which is what you get if you make me into a Figure of Fun. WHO HAS THE PULPIT NOW.
At the start of the evening, I let it be known that I don't like marshmallows or dark chocolate.
Then I had these ...
... and I believe if they'd been sprinkled with fresh cilantro I'd start liking that noxious plant too.
I realize this is turning into a puff piece gushing about Kakoa Chocolate, so here's a dirty spatula they had lying about. Journalistic credibility.
Missouri is mourning Irene Treppler, former Missouri State Senator.
Her greatest contribution to Missouri was Potty Parity, a law that "requires the same number of toilets for women as there are toilets and urinals for men."
You can read more information here. What I find most interesting is her cause of death: a result of "complications from dementia at her home."
I don't want to think too much about what that might mean. If it was just a normal accident, like "fell down the steps," they'd have said that. What did she do? Try to climb on the roof? I want to know a little less than I don't want to know.
That's a pretty healthy list. I don't think we'll get to all of them.
It was 5:30 pm, and I was leaving work. I was trudging down the hallway next to a man, until the man veered toward the men's room.
The men's room door was covered with a sign. "Women's Room."
A huge number of our field employees are women, and since they were coming in for a conference, the men's room had been appropriated for their use.
You should have seen that man reel back. WOMENS ROOM NO ACCESS! HERE THERE BE GIRL PEE COOTIES.
"Oh it's okay," I said, "Use it. I'll stand out here and make sure no one comes in." Because I am the patron saint of Bladders and Bowels.
"Well ... okay, thank you." He went in so hesitantly I felt like calling, "Be careful you don't slip on any menstrual blood when you're in there!" but I did NOT.
I eyed the hallway. No women were coming. No one came at all, and I felt a little silly. Still, I stuck around till the man came out, and he thanked me. Karma deposit made.
Part 1: The Staff
I walked up to the box office at the Des Peres Cinema, looked at the starting times for Argo and the Five Star Lounge, and said:
"Oh no! Both the 1 AND 3 o'clock showings for Argo are sold out?"
The box office boy looked at me blankly.
"That is tragic!" I said. "Could you tell me if the 1:00 show in Chesterfield is sold out too?"
He said, "You could go inside and ask at the desk and they could look it up on-line."
I went inside, asked at the desk, and they were shocked to hear the 1:00 showing was sold out. "We have forty-seven seats available. The sign outside is probably just not up-to-date."
With one unhelpful staffer and one helpful, it was a wash, but then we met our server.
(Tsk, I hadn't seen the exposed wires till just now. Points off!)
Our server won me over by ending her introduction with "...and I'll be serving you tonight" instead of the hated "... and I'll be taking care of you tonight."
Part 2: The Venue
There are four or five round tables per row, a pair of leather recliners behind each table, and each recliner has an extra swing-out tray for food, a button to summon the staff, and bottom and lumbar warmers.
After out server seated us, she explained how the system works. You just hit the button and the she comes out to your table. (The closest I'll ever come to ringing a bell for the ladies' maid.) After she left I rang her and demanded a footrub.
Part 3: The Comestibles
I really didn't expect much. I assumed the Lobster Nachos would be the concession bar nachos with knots of frozen lobster tossed on top. I went for the nine dollar hot dog, and you know, it was really excellent, especially when paired with the Electric Kool-Aid targeted to the Barely Over 21 set. My companion Anne From Work selected a cabernet and the mini-burgers.
Part IV: The Movie
Argo? Generally great. Absolutely no sex, lots of excitement, but of course I was distracted trying to decide what happened and what was drama. (If you've seen the movie, go here for a breakdown.)
Overall, Spunky gives the whole experience ten toes up!
Dilemma: Why Can't I Stop Seeing the Other Point of View?
I am about as liberal as one can get, but I can't keep myself from reading liberal tweets and thinking, "How would that sound coming from the other side?" Spoiler! It never sounds good. I am about as liberal as one can get, and I have to turn off the television when Debbie Wasserman Schultz comes on the air. Right now I am watching a HELPUNICEF.ORG commercial because I can't listen to her. Perhaps she's false flag propaganda. She's really a Tea Party plant to make Democrats look bad.
Dilemma: What to Watch Monday?
I'm betting the Cardinals don't clinch the Playoffs until the last swing on the last pitch in the bottom of the ninth in Game 7, and of course that means I have to pick between the debate and the Game. Why not just have a BNL concert in town on the same night, Universe?
Dilemma: What to Eat at the Broadway Oyster Bar During Vacation?
"There are risks associated with consuming raw oysters. If you have chronic illness of the liver, stomach or blood, or have immune disorders, you are at greater risk and should eat oysters fully cooked."
- Menu, Broadway Oyster Bar
How about if you have irritable bowels? What if you are old? I haven't had raw oysters since I was 21, when I was told they tasted like semen, and since I hadn't tasted semen myself I didn't know if that was true.
Now I am old, and I suspect I can't eat them. My yearly tests came back from the doctor, and while my white blood cells are normal, that's just because my neutrophils are 13 points high; doing the job for the lymphocytes (16 points low).
Oh! They have fried catfish. Problem solved.
Saint Louisans, feel free to give your honest assessment of these activities. Some of them are a little B-list; some are more child-oriented. Make your own recommendations as well. (I'm not going to the Arch, though.)
First full week of November, remember. Good outdoors weather.
Mansions! Chatillion-Deminl Mansion and / or Lemp Mansion - I'm considering these because that Biltmore Estate is in Asheville and it is not air-conditioned, so this would be the next best thing. Has anyone been to either? How cheesy is the murder dinner theater at the Lemp? It sounds like we'd be there at the end of a long run.
Things I never did in childhood but was curious about: Mastodon State Park. (I was ready to scratch that off the list, and Gary shrieked, "Mastodons! Cool!") Bob Kramer's Marionettes, or the Toy Museum. I've always been mildly curious about both, but never enough to go. Oh, and I want to visit the Puppy Farm.
We also want to re-visit some old favorites, like Grant's Farm and Lone Elk park.
Oh, and did you know if you give the zoo people money you can get up close and personal with the amimals? I've fed the elephant and petted the snakes, but not the giraffe or the cheetahs.
Museums and animals. What do other people do on vacation?
I live in an insulated political bubble, and I don't like it. During the debate tonight, Gary and I cheered and whooped, I followed liberals on Twitter, and then Gary watched MSNBC.
Gary visited the bathroom and I switched on FOX, because there cannot be only one side to a story, or because I wanted to see them cry, whatever. Of course, they were biased. They got pretty bogged down in the Rose Garden speech. I don't care whether he said the next day that the Libya attack was an act of terror the next day. I'd much rather he thinks about it for two weeks, really.
Gary flipped on CSPAN, then back to CNN, and finally I gave up on hearing a balanced argument. Gary came to find me later to say it was a draw.
Physical Therapy today was wretched. I am not laughing anymore.
First off, I'm not laughing because I am no longer surprised by how ridiculously painful it is. I only started chuckling at one point when he gave me an extra unexpected push.
"What? What was that? WE HAD AN AGREEMENT I COUNT TO THIRTY THEN YOU STOP."
"Five second penalty," he shrugged. "You made a face at me; you get an extra five seconds."
"You stuck your tongue out at me. Five second penalty."
So I'm done being quiet and polite. I shrieked and yelped and was the noisiest person in the room.
He pointed out that when he extends my arm over my shoulder, I include the teens and the twenties and end at thirty, but when he bends my arm in the "L" of Agony over my head, I count from one to ten three times.
"I am in so much pain I cannot count like an adult. I can only count like a toddler."
On top of all that, I have taken to lying in a fetal position while they give me the electrode treatment. Soon I will drool and wet myself, see what they think about that.
On the positive side, he measured me and I can get to 175 degrees out of 180 when it comes to reaching my arm over my head. So there's that. And is that worth it? I can raise my arms up over my head and snap my fingers, and that's all Mom ever wanted.
I got Gary to agree we would go see Argo this past weekend at the fancy leather-seated five-star cinema, but Friday ... well, I could have just stopped that sentence with "but." Or rather, "butt." Gary's butt. It is unwell.
It became unwell Friday morning, about an hour before we had our yearly physical. Thanks to Gary, I can report the conversation he had with the GP immediately after his prostate exam.
"Geeeeccchh!" the doctor said as he left Prostate Avenue.
Gary said, "Oh yes, sorry. I haven't been too well this morning. It's probably a mess in there."
"Uuurghhk!" the doctored hacked in response, and then I imagine he very daintily plucked off his glove. Then he gave Gary some tissues. "When you are done wiping off, throw it in the RED container." Probably the biohazard container with the sharps and mucus.
Poor doctor. And of course, poor Gary, who had to spend the weekend in the bathroom with the "stomach flu." (You know, people with the "stomach flu" don't appreciate hearing that you can only get influenza in your lungs.)
After a weekend of the fluid poops (band name!) Gary woke up today and said, "I just had a big house dream. YOU removed the toilet in the bathroom! You said it would be more spacious."
"You know I would never do that," I said.
He went on, "And I was all, what else is a bathroom to a man but a toilet? A man doesn't put his makeup on in there. And then you refused to put the toilet back in."
So again I am sleeping in the guest room. I don't want what he has and he's still grumpy that I got rid of the toilet.
Well, after I typed that title I wandered into the kitchen and made Potato/Leek soup and a pot roast with winter vegetables.
I also marveled at how big the grapes are this year. Grapes Make Deal With Satan.
Speaking of that, I've been watching the baseball Cardinals. (That shows my age - St. Louis hasn't had a football Cardinals team for decades.) Once again they fought off almost certain elimination last night at literally the eleventh hour and 59th minute. And a tiny part of me said, oh, my, how sad for those Nationals, they really had character. Then I stomped that tiny part into slime and braced myself to see the same stressful last-minute comeback over and over again until the seventh game of the World Series AGAIN because no, we don't know how to sweep.
I've been watching my favorite program that only comes up every four years: Frontline's The Choice. I've been watching it in pieces, between ball games, and it seems disjointed. Years ago, The Choice spent an hour making you dislike one candidate, then the next week another hour on the other dislikable candidate. Now they mush it all together, and bounce back and forth, and leave you simultaneously disliking both candidates, but in the same way. Four years ago the premise was: McCain is a fake! And so is Obama! See? See? This year is seems to be creeping toward the conclusion that Romney is anyone the machine wants him to be and Obama just recently figured out who he is. As always, neither of them should be president.
I've been planning a staycation for early November. Not a budget staycation, a Living Beyond Our Means for a week staycation.
Do you know there are all kinds sof absurd things you can do in Saint Louis if you wanted to spend the money AND had not already missed the events?
You can fly a fighter jet and participate in an airplane dogfight, with no prior training.
You can drive a racecar.
You could eat at a cafe that only takes eight people a night.
Sadly, I have missed the deadline to get any of these things done in November. However:
I can make a reservation to see the Purina puppy farm.
I can visit the brewery, which I haven't done since sixth grade.
I can watch Regina Spektor and Lindsey Buckingham on consecutive days at the Pageant.
Sadly, I can't find any way to rent a Porsche, or any type of sportscar. I'm investigating speedboats.
An odd thing happened in Physical Therapy today.
I was negotiating with the PT, because now that I'm on my third physical therapist I've found out what works for me. I like the numbers.
How many of these stretches will you be doing? Five sets of three? Fine.
Will you give me a three second warning? Yes? Good.
And I get to count how long it takes, not you. I'll count to twenty, then we'll rest, right? Thirty? Twenty five. Okay, thirty, but I'll tell you when I'm done resting.
So we got it all worked out so there were no surprises, and then on the first round he decided to increase the pressure every ten seconds. Fine. FINE. Just as long as I know what's coming.
We did fifteen sets of thirty seconds. For the second to last one, he pushed really hard the last ten seconds. I was squirming in pain already, and then he pushed more, and it got so ridiculously painful I laughed for the next ten seconds.
For the last time, he did it again, and I laughed uncontrollably again, along with some uncontrollable cursing.
WHO LAUGHS AT PAIN? I DO, evidently.
I looked it up and it seems common. Women report laughing during childbirth. I've never laughed at intense pain before. I've laughed at Gary's intense pain, of course, but never my own. It wasn't funny at all, it was painful, but so absurdly painful I laughed. Like a Nazi or something.
Here's the upside: on the last one I was counting my three sets of ten, and the PT claims I counted "nine ten eleven one two..." So that means I get a credit of one second on Friday.
It looks like two people on the outskirts of my life have moved on: the Physical Therapist and the contact at the Property Management Agency. Both have "struck out on [their] own." I wisely never trusted either of them. They are New People.
On the other hand, I am growing fonder and fonder of my Old Person, Gary, particularly because he is old. Every problem I have, he has overcome. Work difficulties? Had them. Health problems? Had them. Had them and has advice.
I wonder how my Mom managed when both her husbands were younger than she. It's nice to have an Old and Older Friend.
Gnaw it off with your teeth. (This message provided specifically for people with gel polish who would rather not marinate their nails in polish remover for twenty minutes. It works great. Like eating an artichoke. Just scrape off the gel and your nails will no longer be plasticized. Won't work on toes. You are welcome.)
I was so looking forward to the baseball game today. The Cards have been following the playbook that brought them success last year: laze about all season until the end, then pour it on until you win the World Series. And now here they are in the one game that will determine who goes to the next level. The ONE game, which, right there, goes against All That Is Baseball and Holy. The Wild Card game.
At some point in the seventh inning, lulled by the Cheetoes and comforter and rainy cold weather and the Cards' lead, I fell asleep. When I woke up, all the umpires were huddled in the middle of the field and there was a lot of uproar.
"I have missed a crucial moment," I thought, and because I have not yet upgraded my glasses I read the score wrong. "We're losing? What happened? And why is there trash on the ground? Earthquake?"
So then, for the next half hour while I watched the TiVo backlog I kept thinking that something had happened in which a) we had lost three runs b) the umpires were frightened and c) trash went everywhere from some type of junk bomb. And it was nice that I thought we were losing, because I watched the action with all the tension intact.
I cannot find a photo that really demonstrates the amount of trash the fans threw ... and threw ... for eighteen minutes. And a little bit of my heart cheers for those fans, because sometimes a boo isn't enough, even if it's followed by an official Protest with a capital P.
I know my life is settling down because I am out trolling for drama.
For example, I heard the word "meningitis" on the news last night. I went from DEFCON 1 to 2 when I heard it was traveling westward, from the east coast to Tennessee.
Then I thought, meningitis nearby and me with no leukocytes and wasn't one of those unexplained Gilenya deaths from meningitis? No, but still WOOOO WOOO WOOO DEFCON 3.
Today I heard the meningitis came from a bad batch of steroids. Specifically methylprednisolone, the same steroid they give me in the hospital. Somehow, this was one less degree of separation between me and meningitis, and one more degree of DEFCON.
So I was at DEFCON 4 when I read this article that said the bad batches were given to people with bad backs. Some people died, but not anyone I know, partly because I have spread the alert and partly because the contaminated plant was just shut down.
Early last week, I decided to cut my Celexa in half yet again.
Last Wednesday I came home and cranked it back to where it had been.
This Tuesday I took an extra pill.
And now they're saying Obama lost the debate?
Looks like I picked the wrong week to cut back on my Celexa.
What Passes for Impalement Nowadays. Please. A man eats a French Fry and it tears his esophagus. Is this impalement? I think not. I'm still watching I Was Impaled because I want to know what to do if I am ever impaled, besides the obvious. (Don't take it out.) I'll go up against anyone in a side by side impalement.
Physical Therapy Is Better So Now It Hurts Even More, I'm successfully stretching out now (my left arm will rise almost as high as my right) so now they've added weights. I. Hate. Weights. I would rather have the pain than the weights, I really would. The pain will make me nauseated, but I can try to distract myself. (The PT refused to give me a distracting footrub while tearing my shoulder socket.) I have no weight coping mechanisms. And, this is sad: they are only two pound weights.
Gary's Mouth is Better So Now It Hurts Even More. The day the dentist pulled out Gary's last bone spicule, she bound up his teeth in the Invisalign. Agony. His bottom teeth hurt. It's a huge production to get the trays out of his mouth, so he has made a rule that he can only eat once a day. Strangely, his migraine is beginning to fade.
Gel Nails Are Too Durable. The manicure. That's how they get you. If my toenails grow out, I still never see that little crescent of new root nail, it's too far away. The fingernail root is in your face two weeks after a manicure. You can't take the nails off because they still look great. I took a toothpick and filled in the gap with an identical color. Still Spunky and the Nails may have to take the winter off. This much beauty is too much maintenance for me.
One-Drop Review. First of all, I don't have the hand coordination to stop after one drop; usually I get four drops in the commode. I guess if I stood in front of the bowl and lifted it up to my face and squeezed the bottle at eye-level I would have better luck. Usually I use up all my luck getting into the bathroom. It has a very soapy clean scent, so if suddenly you notice how very clean your bathroom smells you'll know what's up and can give your fellow occupant a belly bump when she comes out.
Here's my complaint about One-Drop. The bottle. It is very tiny. Very discreet. AND IT HAS A TINY TOILET ON THE OUTSIDE.
This may make the Japanese giggle but I do not appreciate it.