Poop Patrol

Sirskatesalot and I walked the pooches yesterday.  A very, very leisurely 20 minute stroll with me limping behind.  It was nice to get outside and move, however slowly.  Then Sirbarksalot (little black lab) went to the bathroom.  No biggie, normal walk.  I take poop bag off leash, clean up and off we go…galump, galump.  Then Sirbiggestgoldenontheplanet has to poop.  Ok, cool.  Another nice break from galumping along.  But Sirskatesalot has Sirbiggestgoldenontheplanet and no poop bag.  Duh.

“You don’t have a bag?”  Sirskatesalot answers, “No, I didn’t notice we only had one.”  Great. What to do now?  I have one, shit filled poop bag and another gigantic, steaming turd on a neighbor’s lawn.  Sirskatesalot is nothing if not resourceful. Remember, he is a skateboarder.  He asks for Sirbarksalot’s poop filled bag and opens it, figures a way to scoop up shit from Sirbiggestgoldenontheplanet and makes it all fit! I must say, I am impressed.  He didn’t use shoe goo or a skateboard and he didn’t even get any on his hand.

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Das Boot

Yes, I know that is the title of a war movie from the 1980s, but it sure sounds like a funny way to refer to my boot.  In addition, das boot is actually a weapon of mass destruction so the war analogy seems appropriate. I know my boot is not a boat, don’t worry.  I just want to share a little about my complex and tortured relationship with das boot.  Das boot is clearly a necessary evil and I am grateful it is removable (only when I am seated) and that I don’t have to be on crutches.

There are some major issues though.  Das boot does not fit under any pants except for yoga pants…stylish, yes, but I only have one pair.  Skinny jeans tuck in nicely but look ridiculous.  The only shoe I have that makes my right leg level with das boot on my left leg is my dirty, trail running shoe.  Do you see another skinny jean dilemma? Das boot has to be removed every time I change.  This process involves lots of velcro, gentle removal of my sad foot and some scootching and manuevering in the seated position to get dressed…sometimes even with legs in the air like a rolly polly bug on its back.

Worst of all is sleeping with das boot.  As you can see from my first post, das boot is enormous.  It is heavy.  It is sharp.  It is plastic.  Cozy up with that and a good book!    This sucker requires me to wake up completely to roll over, it gets caught in the covers, it bangs into my other leg, and it is just downright uncomfortable.  I am sleeping with a weapon of mass destruction and it is not SirSkatesAlot.

 

20 Minutes to Kill

Amazing how fast time flies…especially when you are sitting on your ass wishing you were out on the trails running, or at least up cleaning the kitchen floor.  What can you do in 20 minutes?  Some days I can accomplish a surprising amount and some days, I just limp around in my boot wondering what happened to my 20 minutes.  I have swept leaves around the pool in 20 minutes, made cookie dough…then during another 20 minute slot, baked those cookies (Delicious Snickerdoodles. Let me know if you want the recipe), changed sheets on two beds, made it through a very abbreviated Target trip, shopped for dance shoes with my teen ballerina and showered.

Showering is probably the greatest 20 minute accomplishment so far (yes, shaving and hair washing included).  It truly is a HUGE accomplishment when you add in the time it takes to wrap my Peg Leg in a trash bag and tape the top around my thigh.  This timed, showering accomplishment takes even longer when SirSkatesAlot is being uber helpful and takes the packing tape gun from our bathroom back to the garage…and I don’t realize it is not on the counter until I am already disrobed and have the trash bag cinched around my thigh!  Yes, water is running, hot and steamy now, and I am six minutes into my 20.  Ugh.  Off to the garage I go, galump, galump, galump. Use your imagination, or if you know me personally, don’t.  Anyway, I still did it all in 20 minutes and collapsed, clean, happy, shaved, non-lotioned and dressed.  This is more tiring than the 30k trail race I did in November.  Seriously.

Images from 30K PCTR Santa Monica Mountains to clear your dirty minds of the shower descriptions:

Rain Rain Go Away

It is raining here behind the Orange Curtain.  No, no one melts here.  In fact, most people are made of plastic.  Peg Leg here does have an issue with the downpour though.  My foot cannot get wet until the doctor rips out those nasty stitches next week and I have an appointment this morning.  No worries about fabulous, VIP parking because I have a red disabled placard for the car which is both hysterical and humiliating at the same time.  However, this placard is not big enough to wrap around my boot for the walk into the building.

Do I don a kitchen trash bag around my boot for the walk across the street from the parking to the office?   I am kind of afraid people will think I am homeless or someone will recognize me and… oh my gosh the rumor mill around here is faster than a speeding bullet!  By the time my teenagers get home from school they will think their mother is a beggar or something worse involving the trash bag…Maybe I will wear a hoodie and borrow one of those big arrow signs people spin and dance with on the corner.  I can hide behind it as I limp with my trash bag across the street.  Incognito Peg Leg.

They make cast condoms that they sell for $40, but I could not go there…condoms are gross enough, I don’t want one on my leg.  I have an hour and a half to come up with a waterproof miracle.  Wish me luck.