On Sunday morning I got up very early to help Laura raise money for ovarian cancer. Afterwards we walked to my car in the parking garage, only to find someone had hit it, leaving a nasty scrape along the back bumper.
“Oh, Pam. That’s…”
“Someone hit my car.”
“Looks like I’m buying breakfast. Hey, look! There’s a note!”
Nope. On my windshield were seven ads for other upcoming races in the area. Not one note from someone who hit my car.
“You know what’s crazy?” I asked. “Someone parked, ran a race for cancer, then hit my car and drove away.”
“That’s really bad karma,” Laura said. “That guy’s totally getting cancer.”
(Best joke of the race went to Laura’s friend, who admitted once we were finished: “Well, I’m glad that’s over-y.” wheee! too many comedy writers + seriousness = going to hell) Read more
I’m a dork, so I took pictures of my allergy tests. Some of you are dorks, so I know you want to hear all about it. (I know you want to hear about it not because you’re a dork, but because you emailed to say, “Please, I want to know what happens when you go to the allergist.”) So consider this a chapter in “It’s Not So Scary.” Read more
Yesterday I made a list of people I needed to call to schedule appointments. At the top of the list: allergist. Mom called yesterday morning and said, “Have you seen the wheat doctor yet? I really want you to be able to eat bread again.” I think the next time I come to town, she’d like to be able to serve “normal food” again. It’s very difficult to eat like a proper Polish girl without pierogies. Also, I don’t like life as much without pierogies. Read more
If there was any wonder how much fun I had at my own wedding, the proof was in today’s doctor bill.
I danced so much in those shoes that I have this.
The day after the wedding the arch of my foot had shooting pains whenever I went on my tiptoes. I knew I had overdone it, particularly during that part seconds after midnight when Everlast commanded that I jump, jump, jump, jump, everybody jump. Read more