Friday, June 28, 2013

Prosthetic Limbs…I’ve Made a Few.

One day I was working at the tattoo shop and this guy rolls in…I immediately think to myself, it’s one of the Super Mario Brothers. He had a large puffy mustache and a big smile. Well it wasn't. It was a guy wanting his entire back tattooed. He told me what he wanted and asked if I could draw him something. I hesitated a little bit as I always did when somebody who didn't have any tattoos asks me to draw up something that big and detailed. A tattoo that size can take 20 hours to tattoo and at $100 per hour…not many go through with it. But I gave him the benefit of the doubt and did it. He liked what I drew for him so we sat down for our first session and started chatting.

He told me that he owned an orthotics and prosthetics practice. Upon hearing that, I was immediately intrigued. I have always been fascinated with the human body. It amazes me how every part of our bodies has a purpose or function. It’s truly a masterpiece.  I was really into collecting old medical devices and instruments at that time. I was like “Hey dude, do you have any legs or body parts laying around that you aren’t going to use?” He said yes and agreed to give me an old leg as a tip when I finished his back piece. I was pumped! Then he asked me if I would be interested in working for him part time. It was perfect timing because just a couple weeks before that, my car was totaled while it was parked on the street in front of my house. It still blows my mind to this day that I didn’t hear a thing. I walked out to go to work and the back seat of my car was now in the front seat. My car was now half the length it used to be and I didn't hear shit. The bastard hit it so hard that it pushed my car in front of my mailbox. My heartless mailman refused to get his lazy ass out of his truck to deliver my mail for weeks. I probably didn't catch on for a week. Kept checking my mail…and nothing. I’m super smart.

Anyway, I needed money to buy another $500 car to impress the ladies with, so I said yes. My job was to cast the feet of diabetic patients who had big sores on them. I would pour plaster into the cast and then build an orthotic that would allow their sore to drain. Pretty sexy eh???  One day at the tattoo shop, my boss told me she was selling the shop.  So my boss at the prosthetic practice offered me a full time position and I accepted. We made all sorts of things there. We made arms and legs, braces and we installed Halos on people that had broken their necks. A Halo consists of a vest connected to a metal ring that is worn around the head and attached by screws that are inserted into the skull. This helps stabilize the bone and allow it to mend. We would go to the hospital and sit there and watch them do some sort of surgery on somebody’s neck .Then we would go in and install the Halo. It is a crazy feeling to put screws into somebody’s head. I kinda freaked out the first time I did it because as I twisted the screw in, this guy’s eye started to open. I literally jumped out of my skin until I realized he wasn't waking up, it was the skin twisting around the screw that was pulling his eye open.

When we built a leg, we would first cast the stump…whatever they had left of their leg. We would pour plaster in the cast and stick a pipe in it and wait for it to dry. We would then build the leg around that plaster cast. We did everything in house except carve the foam that went around the pipe into a calf like shape. One day my boss decided that since I was an artist, I could save him some money by doing it there. I was like…” I got this shit, no problemo!” So we had this grinder that was just a long pipe with a cone on the end of it that was sticking out of the wall. We would use for all sorts of stuff. So I rolled up to that bitch with this leg in my hand ready to get my grind on. I passed the leg under the grinder a few times and it was cutting through it like butter. Everything was going real smooth like until the grinder caught the lip of the foam. That fuckin’ foot flew up and kicked my square in the eye. It knocked my sorry ass across the room. I blacked out for a few seconds and came to, with my boss standing over me. At first he was concerned, then he laughed, then he took a picture. That would have been my exact reaction in that moment. I was feeling really cool as they sent me to the home for the day with an ice pack and a big black eye.

It just so happened that I was supposed to be walking in a fashion show that night called Unraveled. I really didn't want to do it, so I thought,  at least I can get out of that shit….wrong again. The girl that designed my outfit BEGGED me to still do it. She said, “Just get creative with your makeup.” So I basically did a bluish purple line that started under my eyes and faded down to my cheeks. It was very Daniel Day Lewis in The Last of the Mohicans. The picture above was taken before the accident in question. We sent the legs out to get shaped from that day forward. And I got that leg back by stomping on it’s toes when my boss wasn't looking. I think the leg learned it’s lesson.

Wednesday, June 26, 2013

Chapter 2: People of Walmart

Tales of a Tattooed Chick in the Dirty South Tryin' Not to be Noticed

Chapter 2: People of Walmart

Please watch video before reading...It is a classic. 9,000,000 people can't be wrong! I'm pretty sure I will be making an appearance in one of the sequels.

First of all, don't hate me because I shop at Walmart... I know I know, I'm a bad person. I'm not bad, just thrifty and a one stop shopper. Growing up, money was tight until I hit 8th grade. We bought cheap processed food in bulk. When you opened our pantry, all you saw was a wall of generic items in a white package with a green and black stripe on them. You couldn't tell the difference between a can of corn and a can of dog food. It looked exactly the same. You had to get right up on that shit to figure it out. To this day, my mom won't eat hot dogs, since that was one of our main food groups. Canned vegetables and potato chips were the other two. Things eventually got better financially in our family, but buying cheap food has stayed with me in a lot of ways to this day. I do balance it out by getting a locally grown organic produce every i'd say i'm breaking even in the sell-out department. I also don't like to go to a bunch of stores to buy different things. I prefer to get my gun, cottage cheese and bathroom towels all at one place.

I can't seem to go anywhere without having a discussion about my tattoos or overhearing somebody else talking about them. I usually look like the Uni-bomber when I shop to avoid talking to strangers. People are always asking me why i'm wearing long sleeves when it's 90 degrees out. Well for one, I don't like the sun on my skin and for some reason, I think if they don't happen to look at my neck or hands, they might not notice my tattoos. I'm not ashamed of my tattoos, I just want to pump gas in peace without hearing about somebody who got their baby-mamas name on their neck for "real cheap". I can spot them eyeballin' me from a hundred paces. I'm not really sure how far that is, but it seems like that is really far away. As they start to walk in my direction, I immediately start analyzing them. I'm a horrible liar. I tell the truth to a fault unless I'm protecting somebody I love or I'm about to have a discussion about my tattoos with a stranger...again. I try to figure out exactly what it is they want to hear, and I say that whether it's true or not. I'm not trying to argue about shit. I want to agree with everything they say, so they will go away faster...."Yes, I do have a lot of tattoos. Yes, they all hurt. Yes, cheap and free tattoos are a good idea. Yes prison is the best place to get them."...and so on.

I've probably had more discussions in Walmart than any other place about my tattoos. I was a tattoo artist for about 10 years before I was a trainer. In my early days, I would make the mistake of telling people I was a tattoo artist...It would have been a better idea to slash my wrists. Then there were 5-10 questions of  "How much would you charge me for________????" followed by shock and awe when I told them. They would say things like "Well my cousin bought a gun and tattooed me on the kitchen table for free and it looks real good!" And then I got the pleasure of watching them take off some article of clothing to show me the masterpiece. It was always AWESOME.

Eventually, I got a little smarter and said "NO" when they asked me if I was an artist. The best thing I ever did was date another tattoo artist. So then when they asked, I'd say no...but she is...and then I would slowly walk away and leave her there to answer questions. I would go to the end of the aisle and turn the corner and wait. I would peek around the corner or walk back and forth super pleased with my work. I'm pretty sure she launched a jar of pickles or two at my head for setting her up for failure...but it was worth it! I can't believe that relationship didn't work out.

As they stood there drilling you with questions, their eyes would go from your skin to your cart. They were always quite curious about what a freak like me had in it. I sometimes plant things like knives, shovels, Duct tape and maybe some plastic sheeting in there just for fun. I also know how pregnant women feel when everybody is always trying to touch their belly. Walmart shoppers REALLY want to touch my tattoos. They will start twisting my arm to see it all the way around to the point of snapping tendons. This is super fun for someone like me who jumps out of a window at a party to avoid "hugging it out" on the way out of the door.

I probably have had the most conversations with the employees of Walmart. Just last week one of them rolled up behind me and said "I like your tat's!"....that's short for tattoos in case you aren't familiar with the lingo. The full word tattoo is never used at Walmart. I turned around and said "thank you."  She said "I have 16 and I'm working on more." And I know I'm a horrible person for saying this, but as she spoke the only thing I could think was...maybe dental work would be a better investment since she only had about 6 teeth. I guess we all have our priorities. On that same trip, two of her fellow employees were walking toward me and said...wait for it... "I like your tat's." Again, I said thank you and tried to keep moving. No such luck.  They said "What does it say on your knuckles?" I said "WORK HARD." And they said..."Oh no...we don't like to work." and I said "Clearly."

Every trip ends with me standing in line where one of two things happens. Usually there is a mom and several children standing in front of me. One of the children always starts pointing and says "Mom...look at her!" over and over again until the mom turns around all uncomfortable and gives me one of three looks. 1. I'm sorry. 2. I'm not sorry or 3. Don't steal my purse. If there are no children involved, then I get the what I refer to as "the don't look now lean." Two people will be standing in front of me. One person will notice me and lean in to tell their friend... "Don't look now, but there is a freak behind us." I watch as the person struggles not to look, but can't resist. I usually look them right in the eye and wave.

Once I finally check out, I watch the heads turn as I push my cart towards the anti-theft sensors by the door. They wait for them to go off as I pass under the threshold...but no dice my friends. People that look like me don't break the law. I have a target on my back at all times. When you watch the news, you always see some neighbor talking about "He was such a nice normal guy. I would have never suspected there was a pile of bodies in his basement."

Upon pulling out of Walmart, I always swing through McDonald's for a "you made it through another trip" chocolate dipped ice cream cone. Moral of the story? There is a price to pay for being thrifty...but you can always reward yourself with ice cream :)

Monday, June 24, 2013

When bad Christmas trees go good :Snoopy ain't got shit on us

This is a story about the best Christmas I ever had. I was about 5 or 6. My mom was divorced and working trying to support my brother and I. We were just barely getting by living on a farm out in the middle of nowhere. Christmas was coming and I knew one thing for sure, Santa wasn't coming to our house. 

On Christmas Eve, my brother and I went out into a snow blizzard to find a tree. The snow drifts came up to my chest. The only thing we could find was an old dead branch. So we drug it into the house and slapped it into the stand. It may have been slightly askew. We decided it was cool because Snoopy had a tree just like it. We didn't have any ornaments, so we made some mini Christmas presents out of this orange, brown and yellow tissue paper we had from Halloween. We made a star out of some tinfoil I stole off the TV antenna. Mom was pissed when she tried to watch Wheel of Fortune later. I also fashioned a few nooses and hung some stuffed animals from it. Nothing says Christmas like a dead branch with suicidal stuffed animals hanging from it with a bitchin' Halloween flair and what appeared to be leftovers as a star. We were really proud of that tree. It was one of a kind to say the least. Martha comes to us directly for all her crafting ideas.

My mom sent us to bed. I dragged ass going up those stairs to my room. I flopped down in my bed and looked out my window hoping to see Santa. I barely slept that night. As each hour passed, my sadness grew. I remember watching the sun come up over the horizon and crying when I saw daylight. Santa had skipped our house just like I knew he would.

My brother woke up and jumped out of bed and ran towards the stairs. I slowly followed him. As I got halfway down the stairs, I looked up and I couldn't believe my eyes. There stood the most perfect tree that I had ever seen. There was an avalanche of presents descending from it. My favorite present was a perfect little pink baby doll carriage. Not that I had any dolls... Well none with heads on them anyways. I was super pumped because now I had a way to transport all the mice I had collected from the field. Don't tell my mom, but there may have been a few escapees over the years. The kitchen counters were overflowing with food. A church had picked several needy families to sponsor in the area and we were one of them. I felt like I was in a movie or an after school special. It was perfection.

I believed in Santa probably longer than any kid should have because of that day. That may have been the best gift of all...hope. Dreams really can come true!

Sunday, June 23, 2013

Life can be hard…coming close to death seemed so peaceful

Part 1

Death is an unfortunate part of life. Especially for the friends and family of the departed. I have been to 4 funerals in my life. Each one has devastated me for weeks after. It almost puts me in a trance like state. I think we all think about what would be the best and worst way to die. Many of us have a very natural fear of what it will be like. I certainly did until I had two near death experiences.

I grew up on a lake. I few doors down from my house, there was a bar called the Gold Nugget. At one point I lived above that bar with my mom and brother until it burned to the ground. I’m sure I will be writing about that in the future. Another way my step father literally saved my life. Anyways, they did para-sailing from the bar because nothing goes better with alcohol than parachutes! I would spend hours on my pier watching the boats pulling people through the sky hanging from them. What else was I gonna do while I was roasting in the sun drenched in olive oil getting my tan on.  I begged my parents for years to let me go. So finally when I was 14, they told me if I beat a certain time in a 5K that weekend, they would take me. Well there is nothing I like better than a bribe, goal or a triple dog dare, so you bet your sweet ass, I was gonna beat that time. And I did.

So we headed down to the “Nugget” as the locals called it,  and I was ready for action. I was the first person to go up that day. Basically, they put a parachute on you and attach ropes to a harness on your chest. You stand on a moving barge and there is a boat that travels at the same speed in front of you. The boat picks up speed and you go up in the air…most of the time. Not this time. The boat took off and there was too much slack in the line and I flew off the side of the barge . I smashed into the side of the barge and then was drug underwater by my chest completely vertical for what seemed like an eternity. I’m sure it was only a few seconds, but those seconds were action packed. You always hear people talking about their lives flashing by in near death situations and its totally true. Everything that had ever happened in my life flashed before me really fast yet almost in slow motion. It was truly surreal. I must have been in shock because I don’t recall a time in my life when I was ever felt that peaceful and relaxed. I remember thinking, this is it. I’m gonna die. And I did not want to die, but I felt ok about it in that moment. I didn't feel  a thing until some dude grabbed me and pulled me up onto the barge. Then I was choking on water, I had a huge cut on my leg and my neck and back hurt from bending in a way it shouldn't. 

After I settled down a little bit and stopped crying, the guy on the barge says “Well you ripped the parachute, but don’t worry, we have another one. We’ll get you in the air in no time.” Going up was the LAST thing I wanted to do in that moment. My pride got the best of me. So there I stood on that barge watching that boat take off in front of me. As I watched the rope uncoil I thought, why aren't  you stealing beer from your parents like the rest of your friends right now, and up I went. I have never been so more terrified in my life. It’s strange when I thought I was going to die, I wasn't the slightest bit scared.

This experience and another one I will write about later, took away my fear of my eventual death. It also eased the pain of losing people I loved a little bit. I hope they felt no pain or fear and were at peace. I miss them every day.

Saturday, June 22, 2013

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Friday, June 21, 2013

Flesh and bones and tendons oh my….Put em’ in yo mouth!

I was just watching a series called TedTalks: Chew on This. I love nothing more than a good documentary on food…except maybe eating food. I am a vegetarian. I have no interest in what other people put in their mouths, but lots of folks are interested in what goes in mine. They are downright offended that I don’t eat meat. It is fucking mind blowing to quite a few people. Never was this clearer to me than when I was in the Army. A Major in my unit overheard me asking about vegetarian options at a restaurant and said “What is wrong with you? You are going to be in a world of shit if we go to war.” My response was “Sir, I’m already in a world of shit…I’m used to it.” I was activated for 6 months during Hurricane Andrew. We got Shoney’s for breakfast and Sonny’s Barbecue Pit for lunch and dinner every day. I ate nothing but french fries and french toast sticks the entire time. I MAY have gained a few lbs during that time. Be all you can be! And I was… a little extra.
So why am I a vegetarian anyway you might ask? Well obviously because it’s the lesbian thing to do, that’s why. It is how my people eat. Actually, it happened when I took a trip to China to run in the Junior Olympics when I was 14. There were several incidents that drove me into a life without meat.
One morning, we were on a training run. We ran under this dark overpass. I couldn't see shit. I came to an abrupt stop when I tripped INTO a pile of dead goats that were laying on the street. They were nice and warm and stinky. It took me several hours to get the smell of death out of my nose. I tell you what, the surge of adrenaline was awesome. I jumped out of that pile of meat like I was shot out of a cannon!
The second incident and clearly the most scarring was when we walked through a meat market. I’m not sure what my coaches were thinking when they paraded us through there. One thing about least the part we were in, is that the majority of people were extremely poor. They ate anything they could catch and I don’t blame them. I would eat anything to survive…except maybe those coagulated blood balls I saw on Fear Factor once. Deeeeeelish! Every animal you could imagine was alive in a cage or dead on a hook…head and all. There were puppies, snakes, owls…you name it. There were goats and dogs hanging completely intact, but they had no skin except on their heads and their testicles were draped around their necks like a fancy scarf. Refrigeration was not an option, so the whole street smelled like rotting flesh. I just put my head down and cried. Those images and smells are tattooed on my brain. It really makes being a vegetarian effortless for me. It never even crosses my mind until somebody else reminds me.
As I get older and more educated, I realize that there are a lot of really good reasons not to eat meat. Diabetes, heart disease and some cancers are a result of our diet. 10 billion animals are slaughtered every year in the United States for consumption. Because of this, after energy production, livestock is the second greatest contributor to global warming. Transportation is number 3.  Half the antibiotics administered in this country are given to animals, not people…until we eat them that is. But hey…I ain’t your mama. I understand the food chain and that animals were put on this earth solely for us to eat. If you want to eat flesh and bones and cartilage, knock yourself out. Nothing is more delicious than biting into a chicken a sandwich and having a tubular vein snap back into the sandwich. I’ll take two please!

You worry about your mouth and I’ll worry about mine and we’ll all get along just fine.

Thursday, June 20, 2013

Tales of a Tattooed Chick in the Dirty South Tryin' not to be noticed (Is that title too long??? Nah.) Chapter 1

When I got my first tattoo at 19, I never knew I would turn out to be the full freak that I am today. It happened one piece at a time until they all just connected into one giant tattoo. When I look in the mirror, I don't really see them. It just looks normal to me. The reaction of people I come into contact with makes me completely aware of my tattoos. The more heavily tattooed I become, the stronger the reaction. Sometimes the reaction is good, sometimes...not so much. I could easily write a book with several volumes based on all the random experiences I have had because of my tattoos. Thanks to shows like Miami Ink, the world has become much kinder when it comes to heavily tattooed women. But just like racism... There will always be assholes in the world that feel like it is their duty to ruin my day because they don't like what I have done to my skin. They all seem to know exactly why I did it too. I mostly hear I did it for shock value or attention. Maybe I hate my mom or she hates me and I'm just doing it to hurt her...ya know rebel and shit. It's funny, because I have heard that is also the reason I dress funny or prefer women over men. It seems I got dealt every freak card in the deck. Sometimes, it really pisses me off. Why couldn't I be a straight girl who likes tattoos or a lesbian who doesn't. Some days, it seems like everything I love seems weird to the masses. And they all feel the need to voice their opinion about it. My favorite accusation is that I do it for attention. This blows me away since many people who don't know me think I'm a bitch because I don't make eye contact and don't possess the ability to bullshit and make small talk to people I don't know. It doesn't help that when I'm not smiling, I look angry. I can't help it people...that's just my face! The truth is I have horrible stranger danger. I'm painfully shy. The irony is that I'm a fitness instructor and personal trainer. My job requires me to talk to strangers all day. I do my best to make my current clients happy to ensure I won't have to get new ones. I didn't sleep for the first two years that I was teaching classes. My favorite seat in any classroom, restaurant, bus or any where is the furthest corner in the back row. I wear long sleeves all the time to cut down an some of the stares. People say if you didn't want the attention, you shouldn't have done it. That's like saying a woman deserves to be raped because of the clothes she is or isn't wearing. It's total bullshit. What I do to my body has no effect on anybody else's life...but there are some that are DEEPLY effected. This little blog will be all about those people. The good, bad and downright ugly. Some of it is tragic, but a lot of it is just hilarious. It's never boring, that's for sure. Stay tuned for the next chapter entitled "The People of Walmart". It's action packed!

payback's a bitch

I give you three photos. One is a piece of farm equipment. The next, a chain, and finally a crying child. What do these things have in common??? Well I'm about to tell you a little story about my first journey into the world of bondage. And get your head out of the gutter... It ain't that kinda story. Maybe I'll tell ya that one next week.

So my mom brother and I lived in this farm in Illinois. We were poor and we kinda worked the land for a farmer in exchange for rent. The farm was out in the middle of nowhere. The nearest house was across a huge cornfield. And when the corn was high, we would get lost in there for hours trying to get to it because our only friend lived there. My brother is two years older than me. I think he was 7 and I was 5 at the time. Since there was nobody else around, all we had was each other. As future stories will reveal, he was the bad seed. Always getting into trouble and always doing the wrong thing. I was bored and had nothing better to do, so I was always just the little sister standing there watching him blow stuff up and what not. Things we did for fun consisted of riding the pigs, grabbing the electric fence and then each other, shooting out barn windows, catching field mice, and building jumps out of a cinder blocks and old warped pieces of plywood.Our friend from across the cornfield left his bike at our house, so we would both get on that thing and go over those rickety old jumps we built on a gravel driveway. I’m certain we crashed every time. My brother Tad was always driving. I have the scars to prove it. He did teach me to ride a bike by aiming me at a barn and pushing me towards it. I only ran into 7 or 8 barns before I got the hang of it. He was always beating me up, throwing rocks at me and shooting me with his BB gun. I just kept coming back for more because I had nobody else to play with. Finally the day came when I got my sweet, sweet revenge.

It was a sunny autumn day. The leaves had changed colors, the birds were singing and my glorious moment for pay back had arrived. It amazes me to this day that my brother and I got made it to adulthood and we made it out with all our limbs. There was old rusty farm equipment everywhere. We would play on it or with it all day long. Our favorite machine was this giant thing that looked like a teeter totter. I think it was used to drop corn into those giant silos. If my brother and I walked to one end, that end would go down to the ground. If one of us walked the other way, then that side would go back up. We spent hours on there going up and down. One day my brother says to me, “Hey Nicole, wrap these chains around my ankles, I want to hang upside down.” I couldn’t believe my ears. I said with a smirk… “no problem”. So I wrapped the chains around his ankles, walked to the other end and his end went up at least 20 feet in the air. And there he hung, upside down by his ankles with a big smile on his face. That smile turned to tears as I turned around and started walking away…slowly. I’m pretty sure I picked a flower as I walked to the house hearing him cry and beg to get him down. I never turned my head or responded in any way. Just left that fucker for dead.

I walked in the house where my mom was sitting at the kitchen table with a friend. She said “Where’s Tad?” An I swear to God, I said… “Oh, he’s just hangin’ around.” I was a smart ass from birth.

I completely forgot about him. I was sitting in the living room watching cartoons for a couple of hours when he came crawling through the door crying. My mom said, “What happen?” and he told her. She laughed and said “Well, she finally got you back. Maybe you won’t pick on her so much anymore.” Moral of the story??? I may be silent, but I’m deadly. And payback’s a bitch ain’t it?

flash flood

My phone just alerted me that there is a flash flood in the area and that I should avoid flooded areas... Why thank you iPhone. I would have driven directly into the flood without your warning. I wish it would give me a warning I can use like "Don't get in that REALLY long line at the McDonalds drive thru... The ice cream machine is down." Now that's some important info I can get behind.

Disco Pooh

I give you three pictures. One is a bottle of Elmer’s Glue…clearly. The next, a record player. And finally, a picture of my dad doing drag for an American Legion fundraiser… I assure you it was the one and only time. He is actually my stepfather. He was a welder that took on raising two kids when he married my mom. We were poor…really poor. When he met her, instead of bringing her flowers, he would bring her food for us which could be a 50lb bag of potatoes or a ¼ of a cow. Not very romantic I know…but needed. But this isn’t a sad story. He saved us.
Fast forward to Saturday. I was taking a cycle class and the instructor said we were going to sing along to a song. Which upon hearing this made me want to leave immediately. She reassured me it would be just one. It was “Jessie’s Girl” by Rick Springfield. Upon hearing that, I told her I would sing too. Call it fate of just a strange coincidence, but that was my favorite song when I was seven…yep…I’m old. My dad gave me my first record player that year. It was a bitchin’ Winnie the Pooh record player called ”Disco Pooh.” It was the best record player ever and it came complete with flashing disco lights. He also gave me a “Jessie’s Girl” 45 rpm record to go with it cuz it was my favorite song. That would be his greatest mistake. I played the hell out of that record. I drove my family absolutely crazy. I had that shit on repeat for months. Finally my brother snapped…and then he snapped my record in half and threw it at me. I was devastated. How could he do that to Rick??? My future husband! As soon as my seizure subsided, I pulled myself together, got some Elmer’s Glue and glued that shit back together and BAM! I was back in business bitches!!! I was singing along at the top of my lungs within minutes with the volume all the way up and my door locked to protect me and Rick from any future assaults. The icing on the cake was now it was even MORE annoying because every time that needle went around and hit that sloppy glue seam on the record and it made a “thud” sound. So once again…old Nikki got the last laugh!
So I’d like to thank my dad on this Father’s day for giving me the gift that kept on giving…and giving…and giving. My brother is currently in therapy because of it. Seriously, the real gift was him becoming my dad. I love you…even though you called me “Button”…and then put that on the license plate of my first car which opened me up to harassment and nonstop ridicule in high school. I will be 40 this year and he still calls me Button every time he sees me. Why you ask??? Cuz I’m cute as a button…duh.


I’m not one to generalize or stereotype but I’m about to do it right now… I give you…the Toyota Prius driver. I was on my way home from the gym and I got behind one of these bad boys. I started thinking that most days when I have to slow down on the road, I’m either behind a Prius or a scooter. I decided to stay behind it, (which was easy to do even though I was on my scooter) and even went out of my way a little bit to observe it’s behavior. As we approached a school zone, the Prius slowed down even though it’s Saturday and that little yellow light was not flashing. The next obstacle we had to overcome were a series of speed bumps. I actually had to put my feet down because they were coming to a complete stop to get over them safely. As we came up on a yellow light, there was no doubt in my mind…they were stopping. You will never see a Prius blow through a red light…ever. Our journey came to an end as the Prius pulled into Kroger.I would bet my life on the fact that they brought their own bags and were giving the people who didn't the ol’ stank eye. As I ran into my house to use the restroom I thought…they definitely live by the motto…”If it’s yellow, let it mellow. If it’s brown, flush it down.” In closing I’d like to say to Prius driver’s everywhere… when I get behind you, I’ll be late for work. But I will get there alive. Drive safely out there folks!

Top 3 things I fear most on my scooter

And now....

Top 3 things I fear most on my scooter

1. Squirrels

My tire is 4 inches wide... Don't know why they feel the need to play chicken with it. One or both of us are gonna die soon. I have been t-boned by one of those little bastards while running in the past ... Refer back to my post of "Top 5 reasons to run indoors". I think the squirrel mob has a contract on my life.

2. Leaf Blowers

While the sandblasting/exfoliating effects are nice for my skin. I can't breathe and all that shit gets in my eyes... It's just plain rude! I may need to move to a city where there are no trees or grass... Cuz lawn mowers suck too!

3. Banana Peels
I slipped on one while walking once. My feet actually flew over my head. I figure the result on my scooter would be the same.

The end.

Just call me stacks

I don't mean to brag but I'm officially the best stacker of dishes in all the land. I can wash 3 sinks full of dishes and then like an architect, stack them into a pyramid taller than me. Then later when I decide I would like some tea....I can reach into the bottom of the pyramid and remove a cup and spoon without so much as a shift. Maybe I need to take up Jenga. That is all. You are not worthy.

5 reasons to run indoors on a treadmill...make sure you scroll down to #5

1. Injury prevention

2. You can watch Netflix while running.

3. Climate control

4. There is a restroom if you need it.

5. Most important one... Read closely.... You are guaranteed NOT to be T-boned by a squirrel. Little bastard ran right into my ankle. I nearly shat myself.

The end.

Please contact me if you need anymore tips.... Love Nikki