i’m back. barely. if i don’t make any sense or have spelling errors and whatnot, blame it on my painkiller. i am.

but dawn, you say, you’ve just returned from a quality, family retreat in florida. why so glum, chum? well. it’s like this. once upon a time ago, about two months time, i fell on my arse coming down the steps. then i did it again about a month ago. you’d think i’d figure out the socked-feet, carpeted step-danger quotient by now. but no. i had noticed a little swelling on my tailbone, but it wasn’t hurting or anything, so i ignored it. then comes florida, and i’m doing much more sitting than my normal super teacher routine, and suddenly i’m in pain. a lot of pain. so much so that i can’t sit down and i’m walking like a woman nine months pregnant. assuming that this isn’t normal, we head over to the emergency room in panama. by we i mean my father and mother and husband. mom and dad had been there earlier when mom had an allergic reaction to a power bar. seeing how they were already familiar with the place, why not make it a family activity?

i got there in a brief lull period. a feverish baby, puking woman, man beaten by cop gun, and a seven month pregnant girl with blood on her belly all came in after me, thankfully. for now it’s just me and my ass. i laid on my stomach while two male doctor’s poked and prodded at the rather tender lump on my tailbone. i’m told that i’ve broken my coccyx and a cyst had formed to teach me a lesson about stair safety. after poking me with a needle, twice, and getting nothing they gave me two prescriptions and sent me on my way.

this brings me to my fourteen hour car drive home. with a doughnut. i can’t drive and can barely keep my eyes open because the painkiller is turning me into a vegetable, not to mention the fever i’ve developed the morning we leave. did i mention the fourteen hour drive home?

so we finally arrive in columbia and i’m still useless. my butt hurts and so does my head. and thankfully tony is a good nurse because he’s been waiting on me, hand and foot. what a good man.

this morning i go to the doctor’s office to see what other torturous procedures i can go through in order for the pain in my ass will go away. at this point, there have been enough complete strangers looking at my bum, that i don’t care. what’s a few more? this doctor is a little more determined; he gets out the scalpel. omygod. after “numbing” the area, and i use that term verrrrry loosely, he pokes another needle in the cyst, cuts it open, then drains as much of it as he can. by this time, i’m in tears. it hurts sooooooooooooooooooo much, i’ve almost bitten through my thumb. and i have to go back tomorrow? this sucks.

so my sage advice would be to walk very carefully down steps, or just buy a ranch home without a basement.

and since it looks like i’ll be spending some time on my side and stomach, please feel free to email me and send positive healing thoughts towards my bum. and you were forewarned about the gross content before you read, so i don’t feel too guilty…

i think i may have mentioned before that tony and i have been working out. partly because we’re going to florida in the very, very near future (we leave tomorrow evening) and mostly because the possibility of turning into lard-asses looms very large. i’ve never been the obsessed work out type, and i mostly rely on guilt trips and nagging
a la tony to keep me grounded firmly on the treadmill. basically i dread the idea of having to go (fighting for a parking space, sweating, etc), but once i get there, i’m glad i’ve done it. i might not be able to lift my arms above my head the next day, and now have a raging case of athlete’s foot, but by God, i’m excercising.

the funny thing is, we go to the campus rec center to work out. if anyone is still a little confused about the title of this blog, two words: sausage festival. i know, i know. what a surprise that the weight room area in a university gym is dripping with maleness. the basic area set up merely perpetuates this atmosphere. you walk along a long hallway which has large glass windows where you can observe the dominate and sub-dominate males displaying their muscular prowess. so in a way, it’s like viewing the gorillas at the zoo, except these guys aren’t flinging poo.

one of the best things about this area though, and one of the main reasons i work out here (besides the views…), is the air conditioning. the cooled smell of foot and stale sweat smacks you in the nostrils as soon as you pry the door open. ahhhh. to left, muscley flexers on the free weights, to the right the “girly” machines like the stair steppers, butt buster (yes that’s its name, i’m not making that up), and the treadmills. i refuse to use the butt buster on mere principle, thank you very much.

being of the non-sausage variety, i run the treadmill, do steps and warily make my way over to manville. one of my favorites is the leg press. i can press about 180 lbs now; so that’s four 45s on the bar. when i do my “i’m a married female, don’t look at me” walk over to the machine, i always keep an eye on how many weights are already there, just in case i have to take 500 lbs off before i can begin. one of my proudest moments was walking over when this guy had just got up from doing his sets (180 lbs). he asked if i needed help taking off the weight. i looked him straight in the eye and smiled. “nope.”

aside from the visual benefits, i do have a few complaints . one, is the fratty girls that go there to “work out”. and i use this term loosely because it’s really hard to exercise in a thong and shorts that are rolled down past your belly button. some girls think they’re in a rap video (it’s gettin’ hot in here, so take off all your clothes) rather than a gym. and because it is such a sausage festival, it is a great place to see and be seen; so it’s not that i don’t understand their motives, but the rest of us chicks that are there in high school track shirts and cut off sweat pants would like a break.

two, can you say anorexia? i’ve lost count of all the twigs i see working out. it’s scary how skinny some of the girls are. i’m talking 0% body fat and taking to the treadmill like they’re chasing down a krispy kreme truck. thankfully, i know you were so worried, i do not fall into that catagory. i love food, but not enough to visit with it twice, if you know what i mean. and i’ve already established my loathing for excercise, so i guess i’m in the clear.

i’m hoping that all my hard work has paid off and that while i’m doing the swimsuit shame dance on the beach (discreetly pulling off my shorts and shirt, baring my incandescent glowing skin to the world), that i’ll only have to suck it in a little less than before.

and if that doesn’t make you feel better, this will. every time i think of it, i laugh.

my sister and i went to get a facial at a spa last weekend. practically asleep after an hour of intensive facial cleansing and hand/neck massaging, jody (the girl cleaning me) puts a spotlight on my face. she hmmms and pokes around a little then asks in a spa-soothing voice, “dawn, have you ever considered a lip-wax?”

needless to say, i’ve retired the goatee i was hard at work on…

have an awesome week and we’ll chat more when i return.