O-Hey-o

So my family has been in the process this week of moving to Ohio and a mighty eventful process it has been. Things were running deceptively smooth until I arrived with my black cloud of tragedy. Since it is my constant companion, I have been pondering a proper name for it as of late. I have yet to find the perfect one, but it will be forthcoming. Anyway, the day the of moving into the house my dear mother and I are in the living room when her ever watchful eye notices a box with the words "Broken Angle Wing: Careful". First off, I am very happy the group moving us knows how to spell. Most words commonly used in home can be discerned though incorrectly spelt from sounding it out phonetically. Ex: Kitchin, familee room, sliverwear, offis, ect. Second, it went over quite well with my mother that the "broken angle" was a fairy sculpture my recently deceased uncle had made for us. Not a big deal it is irreplacable and, therefore, priceless or that Kenny's death is still being grieved. Yes, mom took it quite well. After returning from her drive around her new favorite neighborhood, we found our genius movers had followed another bout of our instructions to a tee. Kenny had made another sculpture for my mother a few years back of three delicate seagulls attached to a piece of Hawaiian volcanic rock with a beautiful wooden base. As per our instructions, they were very gentle with this one. Kind enough to completely dismantle it in fact. They detached the wooden base from the rock and either accidentally or purposely detached the seagulls from the rock. Mom took this second blow even better than the first. She smiled sweetly and calmly told the family, "Well, I am going to go on another scenic drive for a few hours. I love this new home a great deal so far and am so happy our movers all graduated from Yale with a 4.0. See you in a few my precious pets". She took it very well indeed as she should have. They only destroyed two of our beloved sculptures. They could have destroyed all of his paintings too or our other more valuable possessions like my endless boxes of beaded pets, old school papers, and useless knicknacks. The cherry on top of our welcoming party came when we delightedly discovered we were going to see Wicked last night. Elated, we got all dolled up and left our box filled house. We got to sit in the driveway for ten mintues in the very pleasant 95 degree whether with high humidity while my father messed around with the broken garage opener, making us a bit on the late side. We rushed to his office to pick up the forgotten Wicked tickets and were within 15 minutes of the show when a driver ahead of us who made excellent use of his turn signal slammed on his brakes. Luckily, we weren't following at an "unsafe" distance and stopped before hitting the back of his car. The 19-year-old body builder named Josh who was driving behind us was not following at a safe distance and we got hit hard from behind. P.S. I had just got new sunglasses to replace the recently deceased zebra ones that died in the tragic cow butting incident. Another pair of sunglasses has joined my family of them in sunglass heaven. The best part of the accident was that Sarah, Kelly, and I had our seatbelts on because we are smart passengers and smart drivers. My dad called 9-1-1 like a good citizen and my mom sat in the front seat in a significant amount of pain. We are still trying to determine precisely what he said to initiate 3 fire trucks, 2 cop cars, and 1 ambulance to come to our very, very mild fendor bendor (our car has one itty bitty scratch on it). They loaded mom up on the comfortable back boards and I sat in the front and made a new friend out of our ambulance driver, Rick. Sarah and Kelly made friends with Josh. Dad made friends with the police officer. Mom made friends with the doctor who, as she told everyone while heavily drugged, was friendly enough to take her bra off for her before she went into X-ray. So in all honesty, though my black cloud held true to its name of injuring those around me more than myself, I technically helped my family make new friends in Ohio. WHat a helpful daughter am I? What would my family possibly have done this week without me ;)

Blueberry and Cyanide Smoothies

I am pretty much the smartest person I know. 3 Reasons why:

1. This past week, I decided to make a smoothie for breakfast. I tossed in some blueberries, cherries and my favorite yogurt (Plain Fat-Free Grade A Cultures baby!). I never really ate cherries as a child nor paid attention to those who did. I discovered between sips that cherries have pits. Astonishing, I know. Not many people know about it or that cherry pits (along with peach pits and apple seeds) are full of that healthy energy boost Jamba loves to use, cyanide. Turns out it isn’t a huge deal to swallow a few pits, but once you blend them up, it really gets those healthy juices flowin. From the said incident, I now have a new friend at poison control. Ed, a true gem of a man, and I might catch lunch sometime. Hold the cherries.

2. I signed up for a race called “Hurt in the Dirt” about a month ago with the impression it wasn’t going to be too hard. Jump over a few logs for 8 miles and call it good. I suckered poor Matty to do the biking (20 miles) part of the race and he so kindly agreed. The race was actually one of favorite I have ever done. I got to run through rivers, hurdle over huge logs, book it up some death trap stairs from the 1800’s, and slide down treacherous hills into overgrown trees. It was my kind of race. I couldn’t have been more in love with it. Matt’s bike course sounded like a living nightmare (sand hills, pebble beaches, log hurdling), but Team Milk proudly pushed through under the four hour mark. Why is this listed as a reason I am lacking in the intellect department? Cause it could have been bad (2 people broke bones, 7 received stitches, and about 60 pounds of ice were used for the injured) and I didn't do a whole lot of research (this is the first year though, so there wasn't a whole lot out there anyway) and Matt and I are both eerily prone to getting hurt doing stuff like this (or doing normal type things like breathing in my case). Also, the “trophy” you get to brag about how legit you are after a race is usually a t-shirt. Not in this race. You get a 64 oz beer mug. Also, I just wanted to tell the cyber world how fantastically fun the race was.

3. You know when you swallow water down the wrong tube and reflexively cough for a few minutes straight? People annoyingly come over and pat you on the back as if it is going to help your lungs relax which is so irritating you just cough harder. Everyone knows slapping someone on the back is never going to help them cough “better”. Where do your hands go when performing the Heimlich maneuver? Oh yeah, in between the shoulder blades. Really helps get air into the lungs and get that intruding piece of whatnot outta there. Anyway, I have started a tally for how often this happens to me when I simply swallow. Count is up to 6 since Friday.