Santa, Revisited

Hold on to your britches, folks. Two blog posts in two days. Oh my!

Faithful readers may remember a post in which I talked about Marti's little stuffed Santa. Although the pug has ripped the stuffing out of too many stuffed toys to count (see also: Mr. Hedges), there is no question that Santa is her absolute favorite (thanks Crystal!). I swear the pug only parts with Saint Nick when he's in "the operating room" (aka the bookshelf) waiting to get his latest hole patched up.

Here is Santa in 2006:

Sure, he was missing an arm and a leg, but Santa was still looking pretty good.

Here is Santa now. WARNING! Not for the faint of heart:






It's true that Santa still looks bright and shiny. This is because I'm not afraid to throw Marti's entourage in a scalding wash cycle. But as you can see in the photos, Santa's falling apart. Exhibit A is what I call "Santa's Cuff." Exhibit B is what I call "Santa's Hand." And Exhibit C, well, that's Santa with his stub of an arm. What you probably can't see is the slit across Santa's forehead and the fact that he has one threadbare patch that is barely keeping the stuffing from shooting out of his nose.

When Santa's Cuff and Santa's Hand became detached, Marti thought she had two new toys. They have since disappeared; she either ate them or they're stuck under the couch. I don't know how Santa's Right Leg has managed to get by unscathed, but I'm patiently waiting for the day when Santa's Hat Ball becomes Marti's next target.

Breathing Easy...In More Ways Than One

So Alan can breathe now. That sounds weird, I know, because what was he doing all of this time if he couldn't breathe, right? Perfecting the art of one-nostril breathing, that's what.

The poor guy broke his nose as a teen and has been suffering ever since. So, for more than half his life he's been unable to breathe properly. And has suffered monstrous headaches as a result. And has gotten crazy-addicted to the only cure he could find: Afrin. (Which by the way, is the most amazing over-the-counter drug ever. If you have a cold and can't breathe, GET IT.)

So after some nagging from his loving wife, I finally convinced him to chat to his doctor about his nose. Which led to seeing an ear/nose/throat guru. Which led to a CT scan of his noggin. Which led to OH MY GOSH HIS NOSE IS SEVERELY JACKED UP.

But after going through all of the leg work, he just couldn't get around to scheduling the surgery to fix the deviated septum and turbinates that were effectively blocking his nose. Too busy, blah blah. So I nagged. And nagged. I must have emailed him with the surgery coordinator's phone number at least 10 times. I think he was getting grouchy about my nagging.

But guess what?After an hour of surgery, a couple of days with bloody tampons shoved up his nose and a huge wad of cotton taped to his face, guess who can breathe? Alan. And guess who he is forever grateful to for the nagging? That's right.

So, after that victory for my husband's health, here we were last week. Alan had to take a drug test and pass a background check for his new job. The boy has never touched a drug in his life, and although he did have a warrant in Kansas City for an unpaid ticket, he's had that cleared up for months. I reassured him that all would be fine and that he was worrying for NO REASON. But his paranoia was such that you would have thought he was an ex-convict with track marks on his arms. He was paranoid that the three pain capsules he took after his surgery would show up. He was worried that his Flintstone's chewables would turn into, I don't know, CRACK, on the drug test. I'm only exaggerating slightly.

Now, we're coming up on leaving in just a couple of weeks. We have an apartment set up in New Jersey. The wheels are in motion for our mega lifestyle change. So I can see why he'd be a little nervous. After all, we didn't need a Seinfeld poppyseed drug test failure moment.

After barely squeaking out enough pee to even take the drug test, guess whose urine was as clean as the day he was born? Alan. And guess who is getting a track record of being right a lot lately? That's right.

I'm Cool Now

Now that I'm officially on Twitter. Ok, I admit, I'm kind of anti-Facebook, anti-Twitter, anti-telling-people-what-I'm-doing-every-minute. And while I can't make any promises about how often I'll update, I thought I'd use Twitter when I have something funny or interesting to say that doesn't warrant an entire blog post.

My first "tweet" (oh my God, this is SO LAME) was going to be about how I just peed on myself testing out this product. But I didn't want my first tweet to be about peeing on myself, so instead it's basic. You can check me out at https://twitter.com/erin_wh for what I'm sure will be my thrilling updates.

(P.S. In testing my Twitter link, I noticed my first tweet is gone. Although it says I have two updates. We'll see how long this relationship lasts.)

Poor Neglected

Oh, poor, neglected personal blog. How I've missed you! I do honestly miss updating over here, and each time I do, I vow to myself to post more frequently for my loyal (and by now non-existent) readers. Maybe this will be the month I start to keep that promise. But I make no promises.

Things have been going well over here in Erin-Alan-Marti land. No, we still haven't set a leave-California date, but we're thinking it's going to be mid-August. Then, we'll drive back home because I refuse to put little Martikins on a plane. My precious little pug is not cargo, I'm sorry. And being a snub-nosed breed, most airlines probably wouldn't fly her anyway for fear she'd overheat and keel over. Which I've no doubt she would.

Once we get back to the Midwest, we plan to stay a couple of weeks, splitting the time between Kansas and Missouri. We are so excited to be able to come home, see family and friends, and not be in the big, fat rush we're usually in when we're home for visits. We were home for a wedding in May, and Alan was there for a total of 36 hours. Plus, Martikins will be able to see her old friends, Chuck and Lucy, and I can't wait to see if they all remember each other. Judging from how Marti reacts to labs at the park, I think it'll be like no time has passed.

While we're home, Alan will be relaxing and maxing, while I'll be working from "home." Then, and most exciting, we'll be taking a trip to the Bahamas. Which we've also not planned AT ALL. Hmm. Maybe we should do that soon.

My already precious time has also taken another hit. For job numero dos, I scored six weeks of sessions with a personal trainer at a gym here. I've been getting my rear whooped by a tiny little trainer, and it's awesome. You all may not recognize me when you see me next month because I'll have veins bulging out of my arms and will be running around in circles so fast I'll be just a blur.

See...that was easy. It took but 10 minutes. Hopefully I'll be able to find 10 more minutes to get back here before August.

From California Will Come Chaos

Oh, dog-loving father-in-law. I hope you're prepared for the havoc the pug will wreak upon your calm, retired life when we pass through the Midwest this summer.


I'll make sure she comes hungry.

The Mocha That Wasn't

I've had a bit of a migraine problem as of late. In the past year, the headaches of my youth returned. Luckily, the debilitating pain didn't accompany each migraine, but I was getting frequent auras that would have me blinded for 30 minutes at a time. It's best compared to looking at a bright light and not being able to see for a moment after, only it lasts the length of a sitcom. Or I get psychedelic squiggles through my line of sight. Or I'll feel the motion of a ceiling fan over my head even though there isn't one.

I couldn't nail down the trigger for my migraines, but when I cut down on my morning coffee, they decreased dramatically. Until they didn't, and came back with a vengeance. After seeing my doctor several times, I finally nailed down the cause: good old-fashioned stress. Now that I've gotten that under control, I've been sporadically returning to coffee as a treat.

When Jenn came out to visit, she ran to the corner convenience store to get us a morning coffee. It has a full espresso bar inside, and they'll make you whatever kind of coffee treat you'd like. She made the comment that if she lived so close to this amenity, it would be a problem. It hadn't been a problem for me because I'd stopped the coffee intake, but there she went, putting thoughts in my head.

A couple of weeks ago I made it my Friday treat to stop in and get a mocha. Then yesterday I was really craving one again. I put it off and put it off, waiting for the craving to subside, but it didn't. So off I went, walking to the corner. I was almost drooling as the barista made my beverage...and it wasn't until she was about to hand it to me that she sees my debit card and says, "Machine's down...I can't take cards." She points me to the ATM. Dismayed but not fully dissuaded, I went over to get cash. And then saw it would be a $3 ATM fee. Add that to the fee Bank of America would charge me, and it was adding up to a $9 cup of coffee. Slow tear. Fast tear.

I apologized for the coffee fake-out. But there was no way I was paying that much for a coffee. Sister's saving for a down payment in New Jersey.

The Hotness

In case your air conditioner ever breaks (God forbid, you'd have my utmost sympathy), below are a few signs that will signal to you that your misery is at all comparable to mine.

Signs Your Living Quarters Are Too Hot
1) Your pug has wild eyes and looks like she may expire at any moment.

2) You must lock both yourself and your pug up in the bathroom where it is a few degrees cooler so that you both can survive.

3) You make a sandwich and your bread feels like it just came out of the oven.

4) You take a shower and your shampoo is actually hot coming out of the bottle.

5) You lock the pug in the bathroom and go to the library for the entire day Sunday.


Of course, it's freezing as I sit here at the library. I had to put on my sweatshirt.