The Perils of Dying Easter Eggs…

There are some things a person never wants to hear.

My pants were covered in smelly, yellow liquid, when my mom offered to change me.

It didn’t sound good.

I promise, this is not some sort of broken-ankle inducing incontinence. Let’s back up.

Big sis, Mom and I were all dying Easter eggs.

Big sis’s were REALLY boring. Her method is to put an egg in the bottom of the cup, and to leave it there until it’s a really intense color. Uniform all over. *Yawn*

My method involved putting an egg on top of her egg so that only one half would get covered in dye, then switching colors. It was all the more fun because it irritated Big Sis.

See? Those pretty 3 colored ones are mine. 🙂

“You’re mixing the colors.”

“I am not. You’re just sad you didn’t think of it first”

Even when you’re getting closer to 30 than 20, bickering with your sibling never really gets old. We were all having fun, until we battled over colors.

I wanted the purple one, but Big Sis would only part with the yellow, which she placed WAY to close to the corner of the countertop. (I’m not just saying that to make the rest of it seem like her fault. Which it was. Mostly.)

Then, as if on cue, I reached one way, she reached the other, and the yellow dye (with two eggs in it) became compromised. (One of us hit it.  …it might have been me.) It spilled all over the countertop, my pants, and the carpeting below. (By the way, did you know that salt can help absorb liquids that stain? It’s especially recommended for wine spills. Wink wink.)

Anyways, the salt was working on the stain on the carpet, we’d mopped up the counter, and none of the dumped eggs were broken. My pajama bottoms might have been wrecked, but they weren’t my favorites anyway.

As I crutched to the bathroom to remove my vinegar soaked clothing, mom said the words that caused my very soul to cringe.

“You just get into the bathroom, and I’ll come and change you.”

Truthfully, it is difficult for me to get my bottoms on and off. They get caught on the cast, and I’m just not flexible enough to figure it out just yet.

But still, Mom. You’re not really helping on the dignity front.


A little irony came in the mail today…

So, before I fell on the stairs at work and broke my ankle, I was exercising a lot more.

I spent time with my elliptical.

I jammed out with my Wii.

And I was looking at expanding my repertoire.

But I’d completely forgotten that these were coming…

Don't they look nice with my crutches?

Dance workout DVDs. Very helpful when you’re in a cast and hanging out more like this…

This is Nitch, my napping buddy.

Oh well. At least I found a use for them.

See? Excellent Coasters.

An Invalid’s Guide to Alienating His/Her Entire Family

In one week, or less! Results guaranteed.

Step 1: The injury. It must be severe enough to render you useless in most ways, but not so severe as to make others fear for your life. Fearing for your life might cause family members to become sympathetic or worried, and will not result in adequate alienation. Examples that will not work: Sprains of any kind, broken wrist, etc. They do not render you completely useless, and thus, you will not appear to be an invalid. More examples that do not work: dangerous car wrecks, compound fractures, head injuries, comas, etc. If you go this far, your family may never become alienated. See above under ‘fear for life’. The injury should be severe enough to land you in the hospital, but not cause an overnight stay.

A broken ankle works well.

Very well.

Step 2: Recuperation. In order to alienate your family, recuperation must happen at a family member’s home. Appropriate excuses include: having a two story home, living alone, etc. If you are married, then you may only be able to alienate your spouse. This can work, but since the goal is to alientate your entire family, it is best to inconvenience as many members as possible.

Step 3: Do not be physically fit at the time of injury. If you are in top physical condition, you will be able to effectively use tools to compensate for your injury. If you are not physically fit, such tools will simply cause frustration and confusion. See definition: crutches. If you are especially non-fit, use of tools such as crutches may even result in additional small injuries, such as scrapes, bruises, and really ugly rugburns from falling. Be careful, however, not to become severly injured by use of tools, or sympathy from family members may result, which will put your alienation significantly behind schedule.

Step 4: Require help. Lots of it. Again, a broken ankle works well. If you are unable to shower or dress yourself, and family members need to assist you, you will be able to frustrate them extremely quickly. Especially if you…

Step 5: Fail to ask for help until absolutely necessary. Do not request a shower until you begin to get smelly. Do not ask to be fed until you are nearly ready to pass out. Only ask for beverages as all family members are leaving the house. Trust me, they will find reasons to do so often. They will also find reasons to stay out much longer than necessary. This is an indication that you are on the right track. Essentially, failing to ask for help may be seen as by the invalid in question as a way of not becoming annoying. To your family members, it will be seen as a belief that they should read your mind. This is, in fact, quite annoying to all parties involved.

Step 6: Occasionally have meltdowns. If these can be done publicly, they will be more effective. Try the follow up orthopaedic appointment, or your first public outing. The embarrassment of the setting needs to be enough to counteract the potentially sympathy-inducing effects of the meltdown itself. Cry loudly enough that people in the waiting room can hear you. They will give your family members weird looks on the way out. This can be exponentially helpful to your cause.

The greatest part of the entire list is that, with proper planning, it is excessively simple to do. Many items can be done accidentally, without thinking, or even while trying NOT to alienate your loved ones.

You will know you have succeeded in alienating your family when they leave you alone for hours and hours with a barking dog, locked doors, and no conceivable way to reach your crutches, house phone, or cell phone.

At that point, you should publicly blog all frustrations just so you have an excuse for them never forgiving you. The posting won’t really be the cause, however.

They don’t read your blog anyway.

p.s. This list is not intended for use by anyone at all.

p.p.s. If you do happen to be my mom or sister, try to laugh this off. Remember when I fell off the crutches because I got the giggles at something Desi did. That’ll help.

p.p.s. Better yet, pretend it’s because it’s April Fools Day. Yeah. That’ll work.

Strangely enough, the snapping noise didn’t give it away.

You’d think it would.

Or the fact that I was crying before I hit the ground.

Even in those few seconds after you hurt yourself, when you’re still taking inventory of your parts, I knew that I was not going to have the day I’d been planning to have.

For starters, I wasn’t even going to make it to the office.

Now, to the passers-by who stopped to help, it looked as though my right knee had taken the brunt of my fall. But it didn’t.

My left ankle did.

And, knowing all this, as I did, you think I’d have guessed that said ankle might be broken. Snapping noise. Sudden pain. Crying. The “oh sh**” moment when you know all plans are currently on hold.

But for me, on that Thursday morning, I first thought it might be broken when I finally got back to my feet and put a little weight on it.

And felt nothing.

It wasn’t numb, exactly, and it wasn’t painful. It just felt weird. Disconnected from my body, nearly. And then I turned it a little, at which point it took my breath away.

Now, when I sprained my ankle in college, it did not feel like this. That hurt. It burned constantly. It screamed “Do not touch me!”

This ankle injury said. “Huh. That’s weird. Bad weird.”

A trip to the ER confirmed it. Broken ankle.

But more about that later.

For now, this is what I get to look at.

Best timed pedicure of my life, though!

I’m cranky at my brain.

And my work in progress.

Nathan Bransford would probably call this a case of the “am-I-crazies.”

Today I’m second guessing everything. EVERYTHING. I look at my story, and I wonder what I’m doing. I’ve planned. I’ve plotted. I’ve decided how this story should go.

So why am I having such a tough time writing it?

Should I be writing in 1st person? Sometimes I think 1st person is a little too chatty. I don’t love reading 1st person novels. So why the heck am I writing one?

Is my character too much like me? I let my character and I have a few similarities, and now I’m wondering if that was a dumb move.

Was this a silly story to write? Do I really expect anyone to care about it? Has it been told before? Do I have my characters intentions all wrong? Does it feel to much like she’s battling everyone?

Beats me. Guess I’ll see if I can write myself out of a corner.

I just keep telling myself, “It’s only a first draft. It’s only a first draft.”

So, say a prayer and cross your fingers for me. I need some writerly good-karma.

A Simple Solution.

However short-term.


I fell back asleep.


The worst part about a low-on-power smoke detector is that it always starts beeping in the middle of the night.

My roommate and I met in the hallway and had a quick pow-wow.

Of course, we didn’t have the right kind of battery.

We took the entire thing apart.

It still beeped.

That’s how this happened.

Hey, it worked!

It was really late (or really early.)

Me: So, is there any way to shut this thing up?

Roommate: Maybe.

We stood thoughtfully.

Roommate: Maybe if we had a towel and a roll of duct tape.


Me: I have a towel.

Roommate: I have a roll of duct tape.

*Flurry, as we both get our items.*

Roommate: I love that you knew I wasn’t joking.

In the end, our system worked (only overnight).

Kind of looks like a Spiderman attack.

We now have a large stock of 9V batteries.

Wow. It’s been HOW long since I posted?

Goodness me!

Wow. I knew I’d been neglecting the dishes and vacuuming, but I didn’t realize it had been THIS long since I posted.

This must be fixed.


I promise.

Thank Goodness Halloween is over…

Because the Z-words just keep on coming!

It didn’t help that I saw the Zombie Babies twice more before I had all pieces of my costume together.

It also didn’t help that the Halloween party I attended was also attended by a Z-word Abraham Lincoln and a Z-word John Wilkes Booth.

But, I went to listen to NPR’s “Wait, Wait, Don’t tell me,” and their “Not My Job” guest was George Romero…talking about Zs!

Sorry, but that’s just too far.

NPR is supposed to be a safe place.

Attack of the Z words

I have a pathological fear, and lately, it’s becoming more and more of a problem.

I’m only going to use the word once. Afterwords, we’re calling them “Zs”. Got it? Good.


Now, it’s not as though I believe in them. I do not believe that Zs are real.

But they scare the crap out of me.

I’m pretty sure the damage was done when I was pretty young. I still remember watching a few minutes of “Night of the Living Dead” with my parents when I was WAY too little to be okay with that. I vividly recall every scene I saw. A Dad with a gun pointed at his daughter, because she’d become a Z, but he didn’t want to kill her. A gas station blowing up, and Zs eating the charred flesh…(Sorry. I can’t even finish that sentence.)

In typical Flemmily fashion, though, I remember asking some very academic questions that may have led my parents to believe I wasn’t afraid. Questions such as:

“Why is he pointing the gun at her?”

“Why are they eating the people who just got burned up?”

“Why are they walking that way?”

“What’s wrong with their eyes?”

I’m sure my parents thought I was moderately curious, and left it at that. I’m positive I left shortly thereafter.

I’m also positive they had no idea I was scarred for life.

Now, my Z-word phobia didn’t really rear its head until college, and I think that’s for a pretty simple reason.

Zs weren’t in. Seriously—-how many Z movies/costumes/books did you hear about in the mid to late 90’s?

Oh, but in the 2000’s? All about the Zs.

Granted there were some appearances, but it was mostly contained to horror flicks, which I avoid anyway. I get nightmares. Don’t even get me started on “The Ring.” **Shudder** So, I escaped relatively unscathed for a decade or so.

Until Zs came back, in force.

It started with a public safety officer, who liked to walk like a Z. Vacant eyes, arms outstretched, moaning slightly. The first time he did that to me, I curled up in the fetal position and started crying.

I might as well have said, “Game on!”

It became a favorite prank among college friends, to Z attack me in force. It happened at RA camp, at retreats, any given Tuesday in the hallway. No one seemed to notice that it really wasn’t funny to me. My heart would start POUNDING, and I usually cried. I often curled up or crumpled into corners.

Even the spoofs got to me. At an RA retreat, we wound up watching “Shaun of the Dead” in a little out of the way cabin.

I had a full on panic attack. A co-RA had to take me outside and give me a hug.

And then there was a Z walk incident. I went to school in Seattle, and Z walks were common enough in October. And a friend of mine was devious enough to put me downtown at a breakfast joint right by the windows when one came by.

Nice friends have I.

Essentially, a group of fans dress up like Zs and attack pre-chosen victims every block.

And I still don’t understand. People think this is fun?

It upset me so that I cannot even speak of it. It was like all my worst nightmares had come true. Safe to say, however, that this person and I are no longer friends. I’m also pretty sure I’m not welcome back in that restaurant.

The problem I’m having now is that Zs are popping up all over the place. They’re in, big time. They’re even taking over my safe places–places like bookstores. Pride and Prejudice and Zs? Totally unneccesary. And the worst part is, I think they’re gaining power. I suspect there will be more and more books I avoid in the coming years.

Apparently the majority of the population thinks Zs are cool.

Well, I do not.

And if they could get the Z Babies out of the Spirit Halloween stores, I’d be greatful.

Seriously. Who thought that was a good idea? I’d post a picture, but then I’d never be able to check my blog again.

Some lost items: FOUND!

For the record, I have found:

My glucose monitor (Yay!)

My netflix discs (Yay!)

And a pair of shoes I’ve never worn because I lost them within a week of buying them. (Yay!)

Not too bad.

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