The Day I Burst my Bra... Or: 'The Big Bust'

In the South Minneapolis Catholic grade school I attended in the late 1960's, girls wore plaid skirts and white blouses with just enough sheerness to see the outline of their bra straps.  At age thirteen I certainly didn’t NEED a bra, but was mortified NOT to HAVE one and too embarrassed to tell my mom, so I took my 50 cents-an-hour babysitting money over to the JC Penney “Foundations” department and bought the cheapest bra I could find.  It was 100% unstretchable, unbreathable army surplus canvas with stitching that made me itch like I had fleas.  But as our parish priest, Fr. Fernando, would remind us, "It's better to look good than to feel good."

As the school year wore on, the bra became tighter and tighter and was starting to tear—not because I was progressing thru the bra A, B, C’s, but I was growing everywhere else.  The torture chamber became as tight as a Minnesotan in spandex.  Oh, to have had spandex!

One fateful day I was doing school work in a silent classroom with Tommy O's desk directly behind.  As tightly trussed up as I was, and turning slightly blue from lack of oxygen, I took a very, very deep breath …and the bra exploded.  The deafening noise jolted the students from their work and while the clamorous sound waves ricocheted off the walls, Tommy O shouted, “WHAT WAS THAT!!!?”

I looked around shrugging my shoulders and looking as confused as everyone else while I silently thanked Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and all the saints that I had decided to wear my oh-so-mahvelously-concealing navy blue sweater vest that day. No one knew...     I breathed easy.
 ©2011, Jana B. Patrick           

The Tattoos Blues

I thought about getting a tattoo and wanted it significant in scope. So, having lived directly east or west of it all my life, I had the whole Mississippi River tattooed on the back of my legs—from its humble beginnings in Lake Itasca, thru lock and dam #1, all the way to the Mississippi Delta just below the knees—all major tributaries represented of course.  Now, you may notice that I rarely show these pieces of art. Just imagine my audible gasp when the tattoo artist handed me the mirror. They look astonishingly like varicose veins!--All that time, money and pain --down the river…

Seriously, if I were going to do a tattoo, it would have to be practical—like putting “codeine allergy” on my wrist.  I wear a medical ID bracelet for that reason.  It would make sense for me to have this tattoo because from wear and tear my ID bracelet is scuffed beyond belief.  If I was to pass out and the paramedic tried to read it, she might shout, “She’s allergic to…scuff marks!!!  Get her off that dirty floor!!

The problem with getting the codeine tattoo is that I know I would pass out from pain after the letter “C.”  So when I failed to regain consciousnes, the tattoo artist might call 911.  The next paramedic might say to his partner, “I’ll check if she got any allergies—Looks like she got a “C” on her wrist—prolly for ‘Cold’ hahaha, prolly'll be a cold stiff  if we can’t figger this out!  Can’t ask the tattoo dude-- he don’t speak English so good.  She's prolly in lots of pain; hook her up to one of them codeine drips…”

So you see, I guess my only solution is that next August I will have my ‘State Fair Special’ medical ID bracelet re-engraved.  I best be careful until then.     
…And any new art will be put on the walls.  ©2011, Jana B. Patrick

A.D.D. Random Thinking

Brain rambling has been my lifelong affliction.  It doesn't bother me when, in a conversation, I change subjects several times. My daughter, Lauren, will comment, “Well, that was random, Jans.”  Not random to me.  My brain works like a TV remote rapidly clicking between stations.  When you’re on a new station, you talk about it, right? 
Getting stuff accomplished is a challenge.  I start by picking something up in the always messy office that goes in the kitchen and then I see the phone and remember to call my Mom who reminds me that I missed a family get together yesterday…

It’s genetic.  My sister Bridget thinks about something then starts talking about it as if everyone else is following the same inward conversation, and her husband will say, “Who is “he” and where is ‘there?”

I think I have some of the ‘H’ (hyperactivity) of ADHD as well.  People comment on how thin I am.  Of course I am.  Not only do I forget to eat, but I can’t stop moving—noticeable to unlucky seatmates on airplanes when I change positions like a hyper-caffeinated contortionist.  Once, on a 6 hour flight, I finally fell asleep after driving my seatmate to drink, when the smiling flight attendant jabbed me, “Would you like to eat?!”  I glared, “No!!!”  My seatmate glared at him as well. I can’t sit still in church or a baseball game either.  At a movie, I have to order popcorn—I like it a lot, but mostly, it’s something TO DO.

I wanted to see if ADD meds would help. It took me years to remember to ask my doc, and he said I would need a psychiatric evaluation.  So it took several more years to get around to finding a shrink and then actually calling for an appointment.  And this Psych doc wanted me to come five times for crying out loud.  I went to the first appointment, but naturally missed the second.   She said  she was going to charge me anyway.  I said I missed the appointment because I HAVE ADD!!!—that didn’t fly.  Eventually I was prescribed the meds and darn if they didn’t help—if I remembered to take them… Then I read some article that the meds aren’t so great for adults for some reason or other—death, I think; so I quit taking them altogether and I’m back thinking and moving like a pinball machine.

If my house were more organized I might not always be losing things, especially in my always messy office which I'm going to clean right now...or maybe I'll call my son, Ryan, to see if it's tomorrow or Friday that I'm suppose to have lunch with him...But where is that darn phone???

   ©2011, Jana B. Patrick  

  

Convalescing in Cabo

We are on vacation in Mexico where it's always sketchy whether there will be Internet ...or electricity.  However, you can always count on plenty of Margaritas and Medical Marijuana...  There is a current 'Spring Breakers Special' in town which includes 3 meals and 15 drinks per day. 15! If you want more, it will cost you! The day we arrived some friends were leaving and asked Steve to stop by their condo and get their leftovers.  I asked if he got any breakfast food.  Steve laughed, "Just water, beer and gin!"  Ah, Mexico!

In perfect sobriety (Really!) I have tripped or stumbled several times:  pipes sticking up randomly from broken sidewalks, missing sidewalks, holes in streets, pipes sticking up from holes in streets... (Lawyers in the U.S. LOVE this stuff)  The best one was when I was getting up from a toilet and the whole thing tipped over sideways!  Since the floor stayed dry, Steve said they must have accordion-fold plumbing.  Lauren said IF I had broken my wrist AGAIN that a toilet tipping over in Mexico would have made for a pretty good story.
The food down here has been fantastic but none better than when Steve and Lauren caught our dinner while shallow sea fishing for red snapper and sierra mackerel. The ex-Texan owner of the fishing boat says he has spent his entire adult life in Mexico.  He says he will never be rich, but loves Cabo, the people, the weather and "you cannot ask for a better lifestyle!"  Ah, Mexico!

Thanks for reading!  Tiene una buena semana!  
©2011, Jana B. Patrick

A Rose by Any Other Name Would Smell

We were laughing about a TV laxative ad that skirted around the issue, not really coming out and saying “this stuff really gets your sh!t moving!”  But it DID say, “You be in charge of when you go!”  What?  Do they include a cork? 

And why name it ‘Colace’ or ‘Glycolax’ or ‘Correctol?’   Call it what it is: ‘Poop-Eze', or ‘Sh!t Happens’ or ‘The Log Shoot.’  (The latter would also work for an erectile dysfunction product)  Another actual name is ‘Fleet Pedia-Lax Watermelon Saline Laxative’…If it’s the size of a watermelon, honey, you’re in BIG trouble…


Who names products anyway?  How about the adult diaper ‘Depends’.  Depends on what?  If you remember to put one on??  “Oops—sorry about your new sofa…I thought I had put on—oh never mind.”


Or 'Joy' dishwashing liquid? Joy? HA! (what man came up with that name?) How about 'Dove' soap? Like I'd wash my face with soap named after a bird. We all know how clean they are. And it's white. I do NOT want to know what's in it.
   

I'll leave you with this thought:  Whether your day is Joyful Depends on if there's some good sh!t happening...or...or.. if it already HAS happened...when you decided it should.
©2011, Jana B. Patrick