Animal Nightmares

        Many of my peeps know that a vast majority of my knowledge is gained from channels like Animal Planet and National Geographic.  It is also well known that I have an obsession with "Shark Week" and shows such as, "Animal Nightmares."  I heard a real gem of a quote from a narrator on the Wild Channel this afternoon.  The name of the show?  "Snakezilla." Obvi.  Here it is:

        "When you see a wild python out in the Everglades, you better bring your A- game because that snake is going to want to eat you alive."

        There is one thing that concerns me about this statement.  If you do not know that wild pythons can grow to over 30 feet long (there was speculation that a 49 footer had been found in Indonesia, but when official measurements were taken it was something closer to 20 feet long and only about 1,000 pounds,) and you are wandering around in the Everglades, you probably don't even know what A-game means.  In which case, you have a bigger problem than a giant reticulated python- you're stupid.

Look at these fools

        I was in the wild myself this weekend.  I camped on an air mattress in the primitive outdoors of Mattson Farms in Cashmere, WA.  I did not come across any Snakezillas, but I did come across this deadly combination...

Deadly cute, that is.

        This deadly cuteness almost turned fatal when a stray horseshoe flew toward this pug puppy's head.  Look, if I had any control over where I was throwing, I wouldn't have lost the game 2-6, nor would I have plotted the death of a puppy in front of dozens of people.  It was an accident.

       Besides, this puppy was a little bit of a fool.  He was way too occupied with sniffing the ground to notice giant metal objects hurtling at his miniature noggin. Well, he might have been blind in one eye, too, so not really his fault.  It was an accident.  If you want to blame someone, blame the idiots that let me throw horseshoes with people and small pets around.

        I watched in horror as the ultimate party foul unfolded 20 yards away from me in slow motion.  My feet were frozen next to the stake, and all I could do was screech, "Oh goooooooood!"  Luckily, I was not as strong as I anticipated and the horseshoe landed several feet away from... 

        Okay, I'll tell you.  The. pug's. name. is. Tebow.  I almost killed TEBOW.  Of course.  It's like I'm trying to go to hell.  

Hey Nicole, what's a really good way to secure a spot in hell?  

Easy.  Just smash the skull of a puppy who is blind in one eye and was named after Jesus' favorite NFL quarterback.   

     Lucky for me, Jesus saved him- as always.  Also, I am quite certain his owners were more pissed that I took the Lord's name in vain than at the fact that I  practically crushed their puppy's face in [even more than it already is.] 

        And since this has gone from a deadly animal post straight to a religious commentary, let me bring you the good news: 

         If you find yourself in the wild, watch out for giant snakes and/or blonde freaks chucking horseshoes in your general direction. They can be equally deadly- especially if you are a tiny smoosh faced puppy named after Tim Tebow.  (I don't teach Sunday school anymore, it's okay.)

Don't worry, if I ever see these two together near a horseshoe pit, I will be the first to run screaming in the opposite direction.

Just because you have a trick knee, it doesn't make you a hooker

        I'm going to give you all a little lesson on what I like to call "The ol' trick knee scenario."  I have been putting in about 20 miles per week over the last several months training for my half marathons.  Now, that's nothing for elite runners and marathoners, but those guys are assholes (not you Jaimie and Katie.)  If you're a regular human, running twenty miles in a week is a fair amount, if not a lot.  Also, if you are a regular human, running twenty miles per week will catch up to you at some point, perhaps, in the form of a [minor] injury.

It's all smiles and waves until somebody gets plantar faciitis

        This brings my to my scenario of "The ol' trick knee."  I was running with a friend the other day, who knows I have acquired a trick knee.  (I don't really have a trick knee.  I am pretty sure I have IT band syndrome, but 'trick knee' just has a better ring to it.  Eric hates it when I refer to it as my trick knee because he says it makes me sound like I'm 90 years old.  Rude.  You're 90 years old, Eric.)

        Anyhow, this particular friend is probably one of the least sympathetic people I know- you know who you are, and you can't deny it.  I should say, he has no sympathy for injuries, whether real or imagined, that haven't plagued you for more than a few months.  Also, as an aside, he doesn't really believe in physical therapy... especially if you are prone to imaginary diseases and/or fake tumors, which I am-obvi.  My point is, we were running the other day and he noticed I was limping a little (the old trick knee just needs to warm up) and told me, "You know, you probably won't believe I'm saying this, but maybe you should see a therapist." 

Maybe YOU should see a therapist- Rude.

        Then I realized he meant a physical therapist.  Luckily, I figured it out before I intentionally tripped him.  (Because that would have confirmed a necessity for the other type of therapist as well as anger management.)  Boom! Welcome to the ol' trick knee scenario.

        Step one:  Find something that is mostly false with a grain of truth and exaggerate.  (Trust me, I do it all the time.  My whole blog/life is based on this formula.)

        Me:  Oh the old trick knee is acting up.  *limp*

        (The limp was real.  Again, I do not seriously have a trick knee- I don't even know what that means.)

        Step two: Wait for something miraculous to happen.

        In this case, the miracle was getting a recommendation for physical therapy from a person with sympathy for neither pain nor PT.  It's not like I really got anything out of it, though, particularly because I didn't have a recording device to prove he'd actually said this.

        This technique is more functional if, for instance, you get home and you are too tired to make dinner.  (I was even too tired for yoga the other night, and I love Tuesday night yoga.)  

        Me: I am soooooooooo tired.  I can't make dinner.  There probably won't be dinner tonight.

        (I was really tired- have you been to bone tumor clinic?  BLERG.  I could have made dinner, though.  I just didn't want to.)

        Wait for it.

        Voila!  Eric made dinner, and it included all of my favorite things.  Wine and sandwiches.  

        I feel like I need to add here, that the miracle of Eric making dinner isn't because he sucks.  It's because I am a control freak and like to cook dinner every night.  It's an "I - only - want - what - I - want - when - I - want - it" kind of thing.  Plus, I like cooking- except for when I don't. 

Here I am frying pickles- which isn't really dinner.  Also, this smile is fake.

     
        Whether you're looking for free medical advice or a dinner that magically appears on your plate after a long day, the ol' trick knee scenario can work for you too.  Take a fragment of reality, exaggerate, and wait for the magic to happen.  Aaaaand that's how you work smarter, not harder.  You're welcome... again.  I really give you guys a lot of free advice.

Welcome to Earth, you little Alien.

        Nothing like throwing a baby shower only to end up with a gigantic hangover the next day.  P.S. hot yoga does not cure hangovers- I would recommend avoiding this activity the morning after one too many drinks.

One time I went to  Disneyland when I was hungover- also not recommended.

        It's true, we did put on a pretty kick ass baby shower...as kick ass as a baby shower can get, I suppose.  We included alcohol - which was a little bit of a slap in the face to the guest of honor-  but every time I go to a baby shower, I think, "I could use a drink right now."  I especially think this at the showers where you have to guess which candy bar has been melted into a diaper to imitate baby poop.  There is nothing fun about baby poop, so when someone shoves fake baby poop in your face and calls it a game...well, you need a drink.

This is my "You're welcome for the baby shower, but if you ask me when I am having a baby I will cut you" face.

        We didn't really play any games- obvi.  The only sort of game was to get onesies and Emily had to guess who brought which item.  It may sound sort of terrible (and by terrible I mean awesome,) but I was several glasses of Prosecco in, so it seemed like a fine idea at the time.

This is what I got her.  Miniature bedazzled ice cream cone tank top? Yes please. 

        Also, the food was pre-tty good, if I do say so myself.  Carly and I had to haul balls to get it all together.  Luckily, I have a different friend who has more party decorations, bowls, and baskets than Crate and Barrel, so I borrowed a bunch of stuff from her that really classed it up.  You know me- always classy.  Okay, maybe 'sometimes classy' is more accurate?  You know what? I don't think we need to quantify it.

Um, yeah.  I made this.

Individual napkin and silverware baskets- that's how fancy I am.

Cute.  If you like that sort of thing. 

sign by Shan

Table by Holly

        If you know me a little bit, you might be surprised to find that I actually had fun doing this.  Only because I love Emily.   Fine, we had a four person SWAT team that made this happen. (Strong work Shandra, Holly and Carly.) Also, Carly is hilarious, and one of the only people who can get away with telling me to calm the f@&* down.  Let's be honest, I need that person.  We all need that person sometimes.

        Moral of the story: when life gives you pregnant friends, selflessly throw them baby showers so their family and friends compliment your fabulous cooking skills, and -more importantly- so you can pick the alcohol that pairs best with onesies.

       

Carly and I several years ago before we had to booze with a bunch of pregnant people and babies.