My Fresh Hell
Life in Scribbletown.

Surreal Broccoli Massage


Okay, Groovy Ghoulies! The ďwhat should I treat myself to on my birthdayĒ votes have been tabulated: a massage it is! And, not just any massage but a hot stone massage. I am usually too cheap for such things and always poor but Iíve been reminded that Iíll only turn 40 once (thank goodness), so Iím going all out. Hope my credit card can handle the strain.

The best part of it is that Iíve schedule the massage for next Thursday afternoon, which is the day my employer holds its ďSumm3rF3stĒ for employees. Which I absolutely hate because itís a day-long snore fest of games and sports Ė none of which I have the least interest in and even if I did, I wouldnít want to participate in any of them with my co-workers. Not my thing. Why canít we have a book day where we all get to go off and read books from 10am until 3pm? With a long lunch in the middle somewhere? Or would a yoga demo kill anyone? Massages? Half a day off, even? I get a free t-shirt I donít need (and is too ugly to wear outside the house) but other than that, thereís no incentive. Plus, the schedule, the games, are exactly the same year after year.

Hereís whatís on offer for the morning: Softball (2 games), Bingo, Badminton, Spinner Dominoes [what IS that?], Wheel of Fortune, Tennis and Horseshoes. After lunch, more of the same. I am not a team sports kind of person. I am not athletic in the least. I do not want to be outside sweating my ass off while I avoid getting hit by a big round fast-moving object. I am uncoordinated, don't run fast, don't like to run for any reason, not a team player.

What does that leave me? Bingo and Wheel of Fortune. I am a member of the Granny Club. Then, if you make it that far without shooting yourself (or, preferably, others) in the face, you get to sit around for Door Prizes. My first year, I won an electric toothbrush kit. Itís still sitting, unopened, in the back of my bathroom sink cabinet. Last year, I had to go home and prepare for Redís first birthday (the in-laws were expected) so I missed it. This year?

Gettiní a massage, baby! Iíll let you know how it goes.

Iím sure this means Iíll miss out on winning the Precious Moments ďLet Go, Let GodĒ figurine. But Iíve always been unlucky like that.


This must be documented. My children have always liked broccoli. Itís about the only vegetable theyíll eat, so I donít complain when they decide they wonít eat it. Because usually they do. Lately, Dustyís been against it and I havenít pushed it. But, earlier this week, she suddenly craved it. Even ate the stems!! In fact, her evening snack was...(drum roll, please)...broccoli and strawberries! No lie. I couldn't make this stuff up.


Iíve got an entry to write about Red and all her amazing new abilities but Iíll save that for closer to her birthday (the 16th). All indications are, though, that sheíll be the musical child. On Friday, out of nowhere, during dinner, she uttered a sing-songy utterance:

Whoa WHOA whoa-whoa!

It is sung like you would sing, ďMy FAIR la-dy,Ē in the ďLondon BridgeĒ song though Red sings it more in a monotone. All the time. Over and over. It cracks her up, it cracks us up, coming out of nowhere and meaning nothing.

Whoa WHOA whoa-whoa!
And, if you missed my last note, I've added more photos in flickr - the beach trip and other misc things.


12:38 p.m. ::
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