Recipes, Ryan Reynolds, and Randomness

The other night (when I should’ve been sleeping, because the baby was sleeping, and that’s what you’re supposed to do!) I got sucked into a vortex of blog stats, and started reading the top google (etc.) searches that people used to find/stumble upon me and my story.

I was happy to see that the majority of people ended up here because of my Almond Flour Pizza Crust (which is delicious!, and gluten free!, and low carb! You should try it.)

I was surprised to see almost everyone else was looking for ways to curl their hair with a headband/sock bun/no heat, which I literally tried once (and failed) THREE years ago.

Other popular searches were for good Gluten Free Fried Rice and Copycat Cosi Tomato Basil Soup recipes, and mine are pretty good, if I do say so myself.

The rest of the searches though? They were a mixed bag of totally random, and WTF.

For example.

My BFFs Full Name — I thought, well, that’s weird. Why would looking for my Bestie bring you here? I don’t think I’ve ever even used her full name. So I did a search to see what happened, and almost every google image result was a picture …of me?! And one of our friend Kelly, holding a giant fish. Ummmm. Ok. Obviously we’ve spent so much time together the Internet has decided we’re the same person.

“Tom Selleck Three Men and a Baby” — Obviously, if this is what you’re searching the Internet for, we should get to know each other better. Handsome men, in short shorts, and that stache! Yes, please. I hope you found what you were looking for.


“Pigs Humping” — Now, to be fair, Mike and I DO have a set of S&P shakers from Jamaica in the shape of humping pigs (because they’re hilarious, and when you find something like that, you do not hesitate to buy them for everyone you know.) Unfortunately I don’t think that’s what this person was looking for.

“Ice Skating Shoes” — 1) They’re not called that, and 2) You came to the wrrrroooong place if you want advice about ice skating, other than, never, ever, try to ice skate (you’re welcome).

“Hammocks” — A little generic, sure, but I love a hammock as much as the next girl. Unfortunately my claim to fame involves going ass over teacup into the sand in front of all my coworkers.

“Babies with Muscle Men” — Sorry, friend. That’s just weird.

“Hot Date Tonight” — Good for you! I hope you didn’t come here looking for inspiration, unless you and your significant other are really into ordering Chinese food and watching a SVU marathon.

“PMS jokes” — This had to be a man. Women already know that 1) you better not joke about that shit, and 2) all the really good jokes.

“Ryan Reynolds Naked” — We have SO MUCH in common, my friend. And the Internet just keeps letting us down, right? Believe me, if I could help, I would.

And the weirdest, and my personal favorite:

“Boy Crutching with Hard Leg Cast Next to Doctor” — I don’t even know how to respond. But I’m certain they didn’t find what they were looking for.


Dear Seatbelt, I Love You!

So, yesterday morning, I was on my way to the doctor to have some blood work done so we could start another round of IVF.

But then, this happened:


Long story short: I started to slide on some ice, tried to steer out of it, zigged back and forth across two lanes a few times, down into a ditch, and up and over in what I can only describe as a somersault.

I was upside down. Which was a new experience for me.

I remember a lot — although, upon further investigation, what I remember and what really happened aren’t really the same thing.

I remember being upside down, and knowing I needed to get out of the car. I tried to get my keys out of the ignition, but couldn’t. I unbuckled myself, and laid across the roof , and looked around for a way out. I distinctly remember seeing all the windows we’re broken (but today, when we emptied the car, only the driver’s side window was completely broken). Then I thought, just for a second, “Man, I hope I’m not too fat to crawl out a window.”


So, I grabbed my purse, and army crawled out the window, feet first.

Some people were there — they helped me stand up, and walk back over to the road, and across the very muddy ditch I flipped over. So, I was cold and very muddy, and bleeding a little — but aside from all that, and my pancaked car, I felt OK.

Someone called 911, but then everyone who had stopped had to leave. So, I waited on the side of the road for the police/ambulance/Mike to get there.

A lot of people who passed stopped and asked if I was OK, before one guy stopped and insisted I sit in his car and wait for help. His name is Matt, and he’s awesome — because when I realized I didn’t have my glasses on anymore and couldn’t see anything, he went into my car and came back with my glasses and my keys. (I was like, “My keys! How did you do that?!” and he said, “Well, you forgot to put your car in park.” Good one, Matt.)

The EMTs checked me out, and let us head to the hospital of our choice, where we sat for a few more hours before I got the OK to go home and rest. Meanwhile, the mud caked on my shoes (and about six inches up each leg) started to dry and fall off. So, when I went to the bathroom at the hospital, I left a trail of large, wet, brown lumps on the floor.


I was all, “OMG, I can’t leave that there! It looks like I pooped all over the floor!”

So I grabbed some paper towels and started frantically wiping up the mud — which helped, a little, but basically resulted in me smearing mud everywhere in huge streaks. So then it looked like I pooped all over the floor, and lazily tried to clean it up. Great.

The doctor told me I have “excellent bowel sounds,” so go ahead and be impressed. He said I was lucky, and fine — aside from some cuts and scrapes on my hands and legs, and probably a minor concussion.


Seriously — that’s it. Those are the only visible indications I was in a car accident. My neck, and head and back are sore — but I basically escaped unscathed.

A lot of people would think, why did this happen to me, why am I so unlucky? But I cannot express to you how lucky I am.

I was on a road surrounded by trees, which I did not hit. On the opposite side of the road, was a rocky creek I could have just as easily ended up upside down in. I slid into the opposite lane twice, and there were no cars coming. The only window that totally shattered was the one closest to me, and gave me an escape route. A car flipped over on top of me, and I stood up and walked away from it on my own.

I’m surprised how many people asked me if I was wearing my seat belt. I was. I always do, when I’m driving. I’ll be honest, I never do in the backseat of cars — but I will now.

Yes, it was icy, and it wasn’t my fault. You never expect these things to happen. Life is unpredictable. I was worried about being late for the doctor, and was probably driving faster than I should have, given the conditions. From here on out, I’d rather be five minutes late for something, than upside down in a car, or worse.

So, seat belts, people. Seat belts — all the time. Mine is the only thing that kept me from flipping over and crushing my head or breaking my neck.

Today, I am sore and bruised and woozy. My car is totaled (unofficially, but we’re sure it will be). I was cleared to start our new IVF cycle a day later (I was more upset about the possibility of having to skip this cycle, and about the ceramic cake stand in my trunk, then I was about my car, or my body).

But more than anything, I just feel lucky to be here.

Also, I’m psyched about that cake stand, which is still in one piece.

That Time I Fell At The Bank

My friend Megan has been begging me to write about the time I fell at my bank.

Megan, for some reason, loves stories that involve me falling, or having to poop. I think this says more about her than it does about me.

I think it’s because a lot of Megan’s embarrassing stories happened right in front of me. And maybe, on occasion, I’ve had too much to drink and started telling said stories at parties. To everyone.

Luckily for her, a handful of MY most embarrassing stories happened in her presence — so we have an sort of story-telling truce. Also, I love her, and she’s nicer than me. So she keeps the worst ones to herself.

So, anyway… the bank.

I should preface this story by telling you that I despise my bank. Every time I have to go there, something goes wrong, and it turns into a giant hassle. Why don’t I just switch banks?! Well, I can’t, or I would have years ago.

See, we own a rental property. Yes, we’re fancy-pants, and have two houses. I assure you, it’s not as lucrative as it sounds — thanks, economy!! — and by that, I mean it’s not really lucrative at all. We just can’t afford to sell it, and it’s in a great location, and we have good tenants, blah blah blah. Anyway — there’s a random law in the great state of Maryland that says all security deposits must be held in a brick-and-mortar bank within the state. Hence my stupid bank account.

So, I go to the bank one rainy afternoon to deposit that aforementioned security deposit from our new renters.

Also, “rainy” is an understatement — it’s pouring. And I know from a handful of other near-falls that the shoes I’m wearing are treacherous when wet and on a tile floor.

So, I walk in the door, where they have about a two foot wide section of carpet just inside the bank. I wipe my feet, like a lady.

I start to walk across the room to the teller windows, and immediately slip, and bust my ass on the floor. At lunchtime. In front of a crowd.

The genius sitting at the information desk says to me, “Careful, it’s slippery.” While I’m already laying on the floor.

“Uhhhh, do you think so?!” I sort of yelled at her.

A normal person would get up, and try to salvage any dignity they had left, and — you know — make their mother proud.

I got up, spewing profanity, and kicked off my shoes.

Across the room.

Then I stomped over to them, snatched them off the floor, and walked over to fill out a deposit slip — dropping my shoes, purse, and soaking wet umbrella into a heap in the middle of the floor.

I got in line, and waited my turn — leaving all my shit where I dropped it.

No one spoke to me, obviously.

The line was pretty long, so I was still standing there while the next few people came in and got in line. And, one-by-one, they all looked at my pile of crap, and took off their shoes. People started leaving their shoes and umbrellas next to mine on the floor! I accidentally started some sort of shoeless revolt!

After I took care of my banking needs, I collected my things and walked towards the world’s smallest, most inefficient, carpet to put my shoes back on.

That was when the Bank Manager caught up to me. I’m sure he was terrified I’d try to sue them. Because, clearly I’d been acting like a rational person the entire time I was there.

“Ma’am, I understand that you fell?”
“You understand correctly.”
“I just wanted you to know we put up a wet floor sign.”
“Oh, good for you. Maybe you could — oh I don’t know — CARPET THE FLOOR!” I yelled (again) like a lady.

Stomp, stomp, stomp.

I can never go back there.

Sandy Pants

Every summer my company has their version of an employee picnic — only our’s is on a big boat, and instead of hot dogs and beanbag tosses, they sail us across the bay and let us eat as many crabs as we can handle.  They also let us drink as much as we want.

It is obviously the best work-day of the year.

Unless you’re not drinking (because you’re back on the South Beach Diet, desperately trying to lose as much weight as possible before you get pregnant and gain it all back) and you’re about to get laid off.  Since I fall squarely into both categories, our trip out this past week wasn’t quite the same.

Also, I fell out of a hammock.

As the official event-planner for my company, I’m always in charge of bringing breakfast for the boat trip, which means I’m almost always the first to arrive. Fine, no big deal.  But since I’m usually early, my arrival also coincides with the last-minute cleaning of the boat — which my boss likes to do without a shirt on.

After three summers of trips — I’ve come to expect it.  But nothing prepares you for seeing your boss’ nipples.  Nothing.

Except maybe, alcohol.  That used to help — but was not an option this year. Thankfully my work-boyfriend got there even earlier than I did, and we busied ourselves with any other thing we could think of to avoid accidentally seeing Nipples McGee outside, hosing something off.

I also got sunburned, even though I had lotion on.  I feel like that always happens to me on boat though, usually because we’re moving so fast, I don’t realize how hot my skin is getting, and I just sit there in the breeze, like a pale idiot.

My co-workers repeatedly offered to mix me drinks, or get me a beer while they were getting a fresh one — so I had to endure a lot of those why-aren’t-you-drinking looks/questions every time I said no.  And the only thing more awkward than reminding them that, “No, I’m not pregnant,” is “No, I’m not pregnant — just on a diet.”

But most of my work-friends know the deal, and I hung out with them most of the day anyway, so despite the fact that I was sober, and knew this would be my last trip with them — I had a good time.

After lunch, before we sailed back to our cars — we found a little beach with a tiki bar and a row of hammocks and swings.

All the swings were taken, so I considered getting in a hammock.

Then I made a joke about how it is impossible to look sexy and get in/out of a hammock.

Then I seriously attempted to get in a hammock.

Which promptly flipped all the way over, depositing my hot, sweaty, back into the burning hot sand.

I was literally covered in sand.  It was in my hair, all over my back and my shoulders, and all over my legs, once I got up. And I was hot, and covered in lotion, so it was stuck to me permanently.  It was awful.

It was also hilarious. Believe me, I laugh at anyone who falls down, so I know how funny it was.

It was sooo funny, that no one helped me up, until someone could take a picture.

And yes, I needed help — somehow my shoes got tangled in the hammock, also I was laughing so hard that I couldn’t really move.

Thankfully, since I’ll only be here a few more weeks, I won’t have to hear about it for much longer.