In Case You Didn't Know, I'm an Idiot

The blog needed a new photo, so here's one of my kitty cats, Lucky. She also answers to Lucky Cat, Lucky Bear, Lucky Girl, Little Bear, Luck Luck and whatever else pops into my mind at the moment. It's hard to get a decent picture of her, because she always wants to lick the camera.

Occasionally I do something so entirely idiotic that I even shock myself. But the most stunning thing is when I do that same idiotic thing again. Nine times out of ten, my biggest acts of stupidity result in a physical injury. So I get a nice little reminder of acting like a moron. Case in point, the time I broke my foot.

It was Easter Sunday at my mom and dad's house. I was hiding out in my normal position, far end of the couch, and trying not to make any sudden movements to draw the attention of my crazy aunt. She only asks you questions as an excuse to go on a rant about how we are killing the Earth. She had just left the room for her traditional post dinner 30 minute trip to the washroom (who's killing the Earth now?), so I thought it was a good time to make a break to the kitchen for a soda. I had been sitting on the sofa with my right leg underneath me and apparently had been for quite some time, because the second I got up I realized my lower leg was completely asleep. I had enough time to think, "Wow. My leg is really asleep," before I started to lose my balance, my foot twisted in a way that God did not mean for our feet to bend, and I fell back on the couch. My foot started tingling and I just sat on there until it stopped.

I had ankle length boots on (hey, they were cool at the time!) and I didn't realize that I had developed this huge lump on the top of my foot. I don't know if I have some abnormally high tolerance for pain or what, but it hardly hurt. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't the greatest feeling, but I could still walk around without feeling that uncomfortable. I just figured I sprained it. I put some ice on it and went to bed.

The next day, I put on thick socks and cooshy gym shoes and went to work. This part is kind of gross and should have been a big clue by four that something wasn't right. A few times during the day I could feel something, my bones I guess, shifting around in there. But this didn't raise any alarms with me! See, I told you, it's incredibly stupid even to me. I came home that night and Mr. RK and I went grocery shopping. Finally, around 8 o'clock that night I took off my socks. I was bruised from the top of my second toe (the little piggy that stayed home, probably because he was smart enough to realize his foot was broken) all the way up to the middle of my calf! But did we go to the hospital? Nope. Because we are dumb.

I walked around on my broken foot for a week. Yes, a full seven days before we went to the hospital. The bruising was not getting any better, so I figured this was a sign I needed more then just thick socks and cooshy gym shoes to get better. 'Bout time, right? I don't know if the bones shifted back into place or what, but they couldn't find the break! But since I had all the signs of a break, I had to wear this hidious black sandal thing. If Frankenstien were looking for shoes to wear to the beach, this is what he would wear. You all know how I love my shoes, so this hurt me more then the actual break. Plus, I had to walk slowly. I don't know if I've ever shared this, but I have two speeds- go like a maniac and stop. The other day at work I was walking to the bathroom and this guy, who happens to be a body builder, came out of the copy room right in my path. I was walking so fast that I couldn't stop and smacked right into him. It was like hitting a wall.

So after all this, you would think that I would be a little more careful getting up with asleep feet and legs. I kind of was, until last night. I was minding my own business, sitting on the couch with my right leg tucked under me. I got up to turn the living room light on and thought, "Oh crap, my leg is asleep." At least this time I stood still, sort of. All I did was try to move a little to get in a better position to keep my balance. My leg was so completely knocked out that it didn't want to move at all. The first two toes curled under in an unnatural way, foot started tingling and, well, you know how it goes. Only this time, it hurts on the bottom underneath my big toe, which I can't figure out. I haven't gone to the doctor yet and it's really not that painful. You know, this all sounds really familiar....

New Awesome Sandals

I am a shoe addict and Zappos.com is my pusher. When I moved two months ago I donated at least 10 pairs of shoes and it made no dent in my shoe collection at all. My closet is more like a shoe museum. Yet somehow, it seems like I keep wearing the same 4-5 pairs over and over again. I you have "a look" when 75% of your outfits go with either beaded flip flops or low top Converse All-Stars (in original white and sometimes black).

Anyway, while trying to avoid editing a story I'm writing for a contest, I was checking out Zappos and saw that Minnetonka has a line of sandals. Yes, the moccasin people! They look nothing like moccasins and are actually super cute! They've got a western feel to them, with lots of silver and turquoise embellishments.

Through the magical wonderfulness of free overnight shipping, my Boca Thongs (I guess that's Minnesotan for flip flop with a little heel) came today. I was torn between it and the Silverthorn Wedge, but Boca won because they were $6 cheaper. Sometimes, okay, lots of times, cute shoes are not comfortable at best and downright painful at worst. These are cute and comfortable! I pray that cute and comfortable shoes are not a sign of the endtimes.

Grandpa Was A Stand-Up Guy

I come from a family of storytellers. Somehow whenever we all get together, we end up sitting around the kitchen table, all trying to out do each other, and end up with our side hurting from laughter. People passing by probably think we are a bunch of happy drunks. But even when my brother and I were kids, we'd all end up in howling in laughter over Friday night pizza. No, our parents didn't let us drink! We all just liked to get our best shot in and we still do.

My favorites, the ones I ask my dad to tell over and over, are the ones about his dad as a young man in 1930's Chicago. My grandpa was a steel worker and a tough guy. Family legend says that when my hell-raising aunt wanted to -gasp!- wear a pair of Levi's (that she was shrinking in the bathtub to get them tighter), that he tore them in half with his bare hands. Well, before he landed at the steel mills, he was just kid out of work in Depression-era Chicago. The mob ran everything in Chicago in the 1930's. That is, if such a thing as "the mob" existed and we all know it doesn't, or at least that's what I've heard from the people in Cicero (that's totally funny if you live in Chicago, trust me).

He and his cousin went to the Tribune building to see if they had any newspaper delivery jobs available. They had just enough money to ride the streetcar there and back. The foreman said nothing was available at the moment, but maybe the following week. As my grandpa and his cousin were walking back to catch the streetcar, a taxi driver narrowly missed hitting them. The cabdriver flew out of his car, pointed at them, and started yelling, "Stop them! They didn't pay me! Stop them! Thieves!!" They were dumbfounded, because they hardly had money for the streetcar, so there was no way they would even think of taking a taxi.

A policeman grabbed them and hauled them to the sidewalk. They told him they were out looking for work and never saw the taxi driver before he started yelling. About this time, a very large man in a three-piece suit, cashmere overcoat, and fedora (I like to imagine he had spats on, too) walks up the to the taxi driver. They have words and the man strolls up to where the cop is talking to my grandpa and his cousin. He talks to the cop for a minute and they turn back to my grandpa and his cousin. "Excuse me, boys, but did you ride in this man's taxi?" asked the fedora man. They said they had not and started to explain themselves. He cut them off with a wave of the hand. "That's not necessary. Sorry for the troubles," and handed them each a $5 bill. The fedora wearing man grabbed the taxi driver by the back of the coat and assisted him into his car by way of a shove.

A few months later, my grandpa landed a job driving a truck. Things were tight and he had a family to support, so he let go of the fact that the job description was a little shady. He was to drive this empty trunk to a location, wait while it was loaded, then drive it back. At night. And don't look at the truck bed. Ever. And don't stop for anyone, even the cops. But, hey, money is money and the kids gotta eat, so he did it.

He drove out to this seemingly deserted location. Waiting for him was the biggest Cadillac my grandpa had ever seen. A large, well-dressed man asked if he'd like to wait in the Cadillac and warm up while the truck was taken to another location to be loaded. Having never had the opportunity to get inside a Caddy and it being winter in Chicago, he jumped at the chance. He regretted it when he realized that his escort and his partner were so big that they took up the entire front seat and lacked necks. Grandpa was tough, but not a big guy. If things took an ugly turn, he could maybe have handled one of these guys, but two against one are bad odds with normal, human-sized opponents. He was so nervous, he didn't need the car's heater to warm up.

When the now filled truck came back, one of the no neck men turned to him, pointed a sausage-like finger and said, "Now, don't go snooping around the back of the truck." Like he needed to be told twice! He wasn't stupid, he knew he was probably running illegal booze or guns back into the city and he drove like a bat outta Hell. He dropped off his load and collected his $20. They wanted him to do it the following week, but he turned it down. Granted, it was $20, which was a huge amount, but he knew his nerves couldn't take another round with the no neck brothers!

I wanted to write about my other grandpa, because he grew up near the Lexington Hotel, which is where Al Capone ran his operation, and our family ran a pool hall and that is actually the least interesting of all his stories, if you can believe it! But this is already getting pretty long, so I think I'll save those for another day.

An open apology to Lupe, the flaming bitch on wheels who works at ComEd customer service:

I'm sorry that I called at 5:57 PM when the ComEd customer service department closes at 6 PM. I'm sorry that ComEd sent me a bill for $155 for an address that I have never lived or requested service. I'm sorry that you think I was "rushing you" and not "letting you speak" by asking if there was anything I could do to provide you with more information like my meter or account number. I'm sorry that after three minutes of complete silence and wondering if I was on hold, said, "Hello?" That was brazen, ballsy and totally uncalled for. I deserved your heavy sigh overflowing with disgust. It won't happen again. I was stupid to ask if I had the right group and if you could help me. Your staunch, "NO" should have been enough for me, but I had to keep pushing! So stupid!

You were so right when you told me that the reason my "old address is showing up" it will take 30 days for my bill to reflect my new address. It was completely foolish of me to try and tell you that I didn't move from that address. You were correct to start yelling, "Ma'am can I finish? Ma'am LET ME SPEAK!" I'm still wondering why I was moronic enough to ask for a supervisor. You were right again to tell me that I could not speak to one. Why would I want a supervisor when I had the help of such a knowledgeable, intelligent, and demure flower of womanhood like yourself? I was damn lucky to get you and don't think I don't know it! How could I forget after you told me so yourself? I'm sorry that you think I didn't want your help. Really, how were you to know after my calling into your call center, having all my information ready, and begging for your help? That would confuse ANYONE!

Truth be told, I LOVE getting bills for things I didn't purchase! Sometimes I send Comcast and Nicor an extra two or three hundred dollars and write, "Buy yourself something nice!" in the check memo. I really called in an attempt to wreck the day of a ComEd employee. It's my secret shame. That and the not being able to read. But back to you, Lupe. I'm sorry that my panicked, "Yes, of course, I want you to help me!!!" was so completely confusing that it caused you to respond, "That is it, ma'am. I have had enough. You need to call back tomorrow and speak to a supervisor. I'm disconnecting the call."

But most of all, I'm sorry that when I called back this morning and spoke to another rep, that she was able to tell me in about ninety seconds that the bill for $155 was sent to me in error and to disregard it.

Well, off to write a letter to the Uniden people know and let them know that their phones can really take a fling across the room and into the wall like no other brand!

Highlight of my day and it's only 9:15...

Oh my God, people. This is sort of the day we've been waiting for! Yesterday I sent Dave Barry a story for his blog and he used it and I got a shout out!!! AND he used my real name, not my screen name, so he (or someone with access to his e-mail) read my e-mail! I'm so excited!

Check it out and bask in my nerdiness and no, my name is not Jollymon or Pirate Boy...

http://blogs.herald.com/dave_barrys_blog/2008/06/democratic-conv.html