I think I might be psychic.
It all started Sunday night, when Jason and I were talking about getting rid of our satellite to save money.  The next day, all of our programs failed to tape due to "lost signal".  It was as if the satellite dish had heard us talking about getting rid of it, and was expressing its disgust. (Either that, or the dish was protesting the new actor playing Michael on General Hospital, which is just ridiculous.) Weird, right?
I chalked it up to coincidence and went on with my week. On my way in to work on Tuesday, a bird flew in to my car. My first thought was "Oh, gross, I hope it's not stuck in the grill." People kept flashing their headlights at me, confirming it was indeed impaled to my bumper, but I kept swerving all over the road and eventually it fell off and I ran over it. My second thought was "thank goodness it wasn't a deer!"
Later that day, my friend Kathy called me and told me her roommate's daughter had hit a deer that very day. Eerie, I thought, and promptly forgot about it.
On Wednesday night, I had a vivid dream about Teddy Kennedy. He was applying for a job where I work. The very next morning, I went to a seminar on health care reform, one of Kennedy's champion causes. Sure, this could be chalked up to the fact that I just finished reading True Compass, Teddy's autobiography, and I was well aware of the topic of the next day's seminar. But those answers seem a little too easy to me. It is entirely more plausible that there were some psychic elements going on.
Thursday night, I couldn't figure out what to make for dinner, and then the cat power-vomited all over the kitchen floor, which made me realize I was totally in the mood for scrambled eggs. While I was cooking, and Jason was cleaning up the cat barf (see last week's blog entry), we were reminiscing about how much fun we had with Danny Evarts this summer playing croquet at a writer's conference. (Actually, Danny and I had fun - someone else takes the game waaay too seriously.) Ten minutes later I received an email -- my short story had been accepted in Shroud, the same magazine where Danny works as a Technical Editor.  
The signs were everywhere. Clearly, I had supernatural abilities that I needed to learn how to harness. I began to worry about whether my friends would start shunning me because they feared my awesome psychic abilities, and debated if I should use my power for good or for evil.
As I looked over the events from the past week, I realized one very serious, very important thing: who cares if I'm psychic? I'm going to be in Shroud! How cool is THAT?

It has become increasingly clear to me each day that I am married that men just don't get women. My husband spends most of his days puzzled, frustrated, and confused as he tries to figure out just what he has done wrong this time. So, for his benefit, I offer you ten perfectly logical insights into the mind of a woman.

1.  Yes, we are perfectly capable of changing a tire or killing a bug. Sometimes, we just want you to do it for us. Everybody likes to be taken care of once in a while. 

2.  You're the one who wanted the cat. That's why it's your job to get up when it yarks up a hairball in the bedroom at 5 AM.

3.  We are always more generous with others than we are with ourselves. This is why we forego the shampooing that will only cost $5 extra at the hairdresser, and then tip her 50%.

4.  Sometimes we just want to be left alone. It's not that we don't love you. We just don't want to be joined at the hip.

5.  Probably ten of our Facebook friends are former boyfriends. Clearly it wasn't serious, because we're with you, not them. 

6.  Our sister is our best friend. We have known and loved her a lot longer than we have known and loved you. You are never, ever, allowed to criticize her.

7.  Don't criticize her kids, either.

8.  This does not go both ways. We absolutely will make fun of you when talking to our sisters. 

9.  Sometimes we are having a "fat for me" day. These are the days when we know we're not fat, we just feel a little bloated. Don't suggest we join a gym on these days. Don't tell us we're perfect the way we are. Just point out all the other people that we are skinner than ... even if we're not.

10.  Is your laundry done? Is the house clean? Did we pick up the martial arts movie out of the Redbox even though Jackie Chan gives us the dry heaves? Then yes, we love you. Now be quiet and clean up that hairball.

I’ve been experiencing back pain for almost two weeks now. At first, I thought I’d tweaked my back doing housework, but ice, heat, and Tylenol did nothing to help the pain, which was getting worse. Finally, on Tuesday, after stepping outside to scream for a full three minutes in the hopes that that would help with the pain, I finally went to the doctor. Diagnosis: kidney stones.

I’ve heard that the pain of kidney stones is similar to that of giving birth. I really wouldn’t know, now that I am on the BEST PAINKILLERS EVER.

When I took one Tuesday afternoon all I wanted was to ease the agony in my side. I was thrilled when the pain actually went away. I was absolutely giddy with happiness. This giddiness may have been a side effect of the medication. I pretty much giggled at everything that day. Oh, and I also forgot where I lived.

The next day, Jason and I had planned on a trip to Boston. I decided I was still up for it, now that I was feeling no pain. Our first stop was the John F. Kennedy Library and Museum, which was awesome. I think. I’d like to say it was my emotional attachment to all things Kennedy that caused me to weep all the way through the museum, and not just the drugs. I broke down sobbing when I saw Bobby Kennedy’s ashtray. I’m sure that would have brought me to tears even if I wasn’t on painkillers.

We made it through the rest of the day without any other side effects, except that I confused spanikopita with baklava at the Greek deli in Quincy Market. Imagine my surprise when I bit in to the phyllo dough expecting walnuts and honey and got a mouthful of spinach and feta. I have to imagine it myself, because I honestly didn’t notice the difference until Jason told me I had spinach in my teeth.  

Thursday brought about the Hebron Fair. I hadn't taken any painkillers before this event in an effort to see if I had passed the stone yet, but my howling with every footstep was distracting the other patrons, so I took another pill. We proceeded to watch the best demolition derby ever, which was strange, because usually those things bore me to death. One car was painted to look like a Holstein! I chuckled for hours thinking of that guy. Moooo!

At one point, Jason clocked me in the head by accident with the folding chairs he was carrying. I didn’t feel a thing.

The doctor says I should pass the stone within a week. Jason says it can’t happen soon enough. What ever. Wait.  Where am I?

My friend Todd, who lives in Lincoln, has teased me for years about the rivalry between Penn State and Nebraska.  I’ve let his jokes good-naturedly roll off my back, because honestly, his team wasn’t the one in the Big Ten, and mine was.  Plus, we have Joe Paterno, and even though he is older than Stonehenge, he’s still the Greatest Coach Who Ever Lived.

Then the news broke that Nebraska was being allowed into the Big Ten (actually, it was the Big 11, now it’s the Big 12.  I’m sensing a trend here.)  Uh-oh.  Lording it over Todd that Penn State was in the Big 10--and remind me again whose team was NOT, Mr. Fancy Pants?--wasn’t going to work anymore. Time for the Nittany Lions to put their money where my mouth was.

I don’t like losing at anything, and even though the first Penn State vs. Nebraska game isn’t scheduled until 11/12/11, I decided I needed to act now.  I promptly lost 20 pounds, bought a padded bra, visited my local Mary Kay rep for makeup tips, and set out to meet one Roy Helu Jr.  Apparently, he’s a big deal in Nebraska.

My plan was to seduce him, make him fall in love with me, and convince him to abandon his Huskers red to bleed Penn State blue. I strolled out on the field during practice wearing my tightest skirt and my favorite tube top, ignoring the cat calls of the other players saying fresh things like “Hey Grandma! Put a bra on!”

I gave Roy my most sultry look and licked my lips. He seemed unimpressed, but very polite. “Um … are you friends with my mom or something?” he asked.

Note to self:  I no longer have the same effect on college men as I did in college.

I tried everything I had in my bag of tricks. Bribery was unsuccessful. Pointing out that Coach Bo Pelini has a funny name and is nowhere near as popular as Joe Pa (8,330,000 Google hits to Bo’s 941,000, so suck on THAT, Todd!) didn’t seem to matter to this guy.

Showing Roy a picture of Todd and pointing out his number one fan’s uncanny resemblance to David Letterman, which the other football players might make fun of him for, had no effect. I begged. I pleaded. I offered him my autographed photo of Duran Duran (okay, it was a fake. I keep my real one in the safe deposit box.) This kid was unshakable.

So I chloroformed him and started dragging him off the field, but I have to tell you, he was pretty darn heavy. One of the other players noticed me struggling and shouted “Hey, Granny’s trying to kidnap our I-back!” Then three guys resembling the Hulk tackled me.

I am happy to report that I did bruise one of the third-string defenseman’s pinky fingers with my ribcage in the tackle. Won’t I feel self-righteous when Penn State beats Nebraska 14 months from now thanks to this devastating injury!