Hello, Readers! I hope you all had a safe and happy Labor Day weekend? The Minxes spent quite a bit of time outside, hitting tennis balls (Miss M.) and swinging (Miss D., with headphones on, of course). They also spent time on some new [early] birthday presents that some sucker their daddy picked up for them. Miss M. spied one of the neighborhood kids riding one of these around our cul-de-sac and was quite intrigued.
^pink helmets rock
This thing is kind of a hybrid bike/scooter/tricycle contraption, made by the Razor company. I only got the back view here, but it looks way cool in the front. I’m sorta of jealous of it and wish they made one for adults. I’d totally get my nerd on and zip around the neighborhood in that thing! D. scored a newer, cooler, faster Razor scooter and I’m tempted to steal that as well.
We did make it down to Denver for the Taste of Colorado festival and Joan Jett and the Blackhearts. Miss D. is a longtime fan–when our goofball family plays Rock Band, she’ll often choose to belt out some good ol’ Joan.
^singin’ Cherry Bomb
I must say, I was impressed at how well-preserved Ms. Jett looked. She can still rock a white wifebeater like nobody’s business. No floppy Lunch Lady Arms for her. Hmph.
I always forget how mobbed that festival is, though. With my aversion to crowds, you’d think I’d remember, but somehow, I always forget. We got to the tented area where the stage was with 15 minutes to spare, but people were already packed in like sardines. We opted for the lawn area farther back, which was less cheek-to-jowl but once Joan started doing her thing, Wham! We were hit with instant Eau de Weed. Apparently, the back lawn is Ganja Central.
“Ewww. What is that smell?” Miss M. said, wrinkling her nose.
“Marijuana,” I said, cringing a little.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Uh, well, it’s this grassy, herby thing that some people like to smoke and uh, it’s not illegal in this state and uh…”
“God mom, just cut to the chase already,” Miss D. barked, rolling her eyes. She looked pointedly at her sister. “It’s drugs M. Drugs.”
Yeesh.
I thought to myself, “Thanks, Colorado. 9-years old is a little early to be talking to my kid about marijuana,” but then I remembered this and realized that I wasn’t any older when I was exposed to the stuff. The only difference is that people used to have to sneak it in. In all honesty, I don’t care if people smoke it and I actually supported the legalization of it, but dang, I wish people would just smoke it in their own homes, because the stench of Mary Jane makes me violently ill. I could only stand about forty minutes of inhaling smoke before telling my husband, “I’m going to throw up on this lawn if we don’t leave now.”
D. was a little bummed that she missed the end of the show, but at least she got to hear “Bad Reputation,” and let’s face it, that’s the fist-pumper we all want to hear. The entire ride home, I was clutching my stomach and groaning. It made my husband a little worried that I was going to hurl in his new car, but luckily, that didn’t happen.
“You know, if you’re that violently affected by pot smoke, you kinda live in the wrong state,” he chided.
No shit, Buddy.
*awkward segue*
Many of you readers have sent emails or FB messages lending your kindness and support re: my pathetic menopausal state, and that’s so nice. I truly don’t deserve you guys. Some of you have confided that you are facing the same thing (either now or in the near future) and are wondering how I’m faring, so I’ll dish.
I’m sure the experience is different for everyone (and some of you who have breast cancer in your family won’t be going the hormone-replacement route) but so far, things haven’t been too bad. Things haven’t changed radically, either. I’ve been popping my little pills for only a couple of weeks, though, so who knows.
The hot flashes and the night sweats have definitely diminished, but they’re not entirely gone. I gotta say, I’ll take it, because instead of waking up roughly every 45 minutes during the night with some kind of “temperature issue,” I’m only waking up around 3-4 times a night. That is a huge improvement. Waking up every 45 minutes during the night sucks ass and you never really get your REM sleep, so no wonder I was drooling and feral like Cujo. I still have moments, but I am less Cujo-esque.
This weekend, while we were driving to Denver, I had the mother of all hot flashes, though. I panted and fanned my face and fidgeted and finally blurted, “GAAAA!, why the Hell am I so blazing hot? I thought these things were supposed to get better.”
Uh, turns out, for some accidental reason, the seat warmer in the car was turned on full-blast–just mine. Whoops. Thank goodness my husband figured that out because I was not a nice person.
Alas, I still have tinnitus. I am depressed about it, and the idea of living with this ringing in my head for years and years is something I just can’t dwell upon, but I think maybe it’s improving slightly. It’s still there–all the time–but I haven’t had the episodes where it’s so unbearably loud that it brings me to tears, rocking in a corner.
The litany of other menopausal woes…we will just have to wait and see.
One benefit to being on the Menopause Train of Fuckery? Your husband will feel a) relieved that he knows why you have been Cujo for months and months and b) he will feel sorry for you and your ancient, decaying lady parts. So he will send you these.
To his credit, the card did not read: Sorry about your ancient, decaying lady parts, Babe! xo
He is a good and wise man.
We are hanging in there, and my newly menopausal state has compelled me to do drastic things like booking appointments with the dentist, which is what mature people do. But you guys do know that I am one of those FREAKS who fears the dentist, right? Maturity stinks. My poor husband took pity on me and drove me to my initial appointment (I love you, Valium!) but turns out, The Crone needs two replacement crowns, so I get to go back for hoursandhours next week. I must have given off a sufficiently anxiety-laden, creepy vibe because the dentist immediately gave me a prescription for Halcion without any questioning.
Stay tuned. I hope I don’t bite him.
{ 4 comments… read them below or add one }
Accidental Seatwarmer Hotflashes–new band name, I called it!
Glad to hear that things are going OK on the menopause route, or at least as good as can be expected.
I had to laugh about the car seat warmer – I’ve done that this summer and I was like “what the hell is happening to me!” only to see the red light on that my seat warmer was on high in 90 degree weather. :P
Your daughters are growing up so fast – tell them to slow it down a bit, okay?
Menopause (ugh). I am in the throes of it too! Tired, hungry and hot all the time.
Your minxes are growing up! Beautiful girls.
Velva
It has been so long since I’ve been here, but yet again, you made me snort! I have missed your writing and your humor:)