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No, really. I get it. I'm being tested today. Why else would I
1: fall down in the ice this morning, cutting open the skin on my knee (right), slamming my left wrist (the one that broke the fall), and adding salt to the wound of my already cryptically-pained right arm
and
2: open my computer only to be greeted by mangled internet browser messages and a corrupted e-mail inbox?

It took a few hours of Aleve, cursing, phone calls to tech-types, inserting a lot of files, praying for luck, and...I'm back. Oh no. Nobody Puts Baby in the Corner.

And it's all in keeping with the way things have gone down here this year. A string of highs and lows, days spent riding the roller-coaster of life.

I'm spent and brain-challenged and laughing at myself for a change. That's the good news.

And because I'm in the mood to live up to my childhood nickname-- Chatterbox-- and because I'm in the mood to share another silly highlight of my silly life, what follows is the e-mail I sent to my dear friend Audrey yesterday (minus her personal information, of course). I'm just so glad my computer is working and I didn't lose anything except time and my temper.

Laughing is truly a healer.

Wednesday, March 4th, 2009:

D Day? Red Letter Day?
No, not what you think. Nothing to cheer about. Maybe something to smirk about. Do (Doo?) as I Say, Not as I Do (Doo?) day.

So in the string of One of Those Days that seems, in reality, to be One of Those Last 12 Months:

I was in Target, returning unused, unopened items from S's birthday party.

I am returning all those little impulse purchases I knew I wouldn't need but bought anyway. The cell phone rings. It is the nurse from S's school. The child is asking to come home because she has.. sshhh.. the ugly ol' D... as in diarrhea. Like Elaine on Seinfeld who stops to get her candy before rushing to the hospital to see her sick boyfriend, I got my $13 back and then dashed over to S's school. I bring the child home and get her up to the bathroom so she can continue exploring her D problem. I check the cabinets and discover in dismay there is no Immodium-D (DDDDDD, again!) in the house. I tell S I will run to CVS (so many letters, so little time) to get her what she needs.

I'm gone 20 minutes. When I get back, I give S the Immodium and tell her to get into bed and relax. This kid is like me. We need to be near our bathrooms. I feel bad that I passed on this horrible trait to her. We have weak stomachs, we two. We share the reading and writing genes as well, so at least I gave her something that is positive in her life.

I had not planned on being home this early in the afternoon. With my extra few minutes, I looked around the first floors and felt nauseous, surrounded by dust and all the slushy feet dirt dragged in from the snow on shoes and paws. I do not know how to clean floors. I was not born for stuff like this. I am clueless around mops and brooms. I can handle vacuums and paper towels and Fantastick and Windex but that is where I draw the line. I had no DESIRE (a "D," out of the blue) to clean but I had less desire to stare one more moment at the DISGUSTING dirt and dark decor draped all over the floor. (I know. I am pushing my luck with you.) {}

And I scrubbed and dropped Mop and Glo and wet another mop and tried to make the floor a little presentable. I should not be doing this with my arm. Yes, my damn, damaged arm. But you know how stubborn I am and when I get something in my head, there's no turning back... Er.. no denying my duties?

Speaking of Duty: {}

Charlie has a nasty, obnoxious, annoying bad habit. The dirty dog refuses to make outside in the snow! He hates it. You know why? I just thought of this: because HE IS A DIVA. Can men be divas? Is he a DIVO? Either way, the little fluffernutter is so spoiled that g-d forbid he should have to do his thing in a few inches of cold, hard snow. What does he think? He's a person?? (Uh, yes he does.)

It had been a few hours and I knew it was time to let the Divo outside, unless I wanted something more to clean up INSIDE the house and that is a fate worse than DEATH for me. I do not like touching the stuff. I do not like cats because I am not into seeing or smelling their waste in kitty litter. I get ill thinking about it.

I slid open the deck door and called for Charlie to go outside. The cold air felt delicious on my sweaty skin. (15 minutes of housekeeping and this princess is done for the day!) Charlie came to the door, stared at me, stared at the tall banks of snow and the passage we made to get him to the stairs down to the ground. His body went stiff. Frozen. His tail went flat. That dog would not move. I begged him to go outside but he turned a Deaf ear to me. I sensed a puddle of putrid, smelly urine heading my way on the now-relatively clean floor.

Do dogs get it when their owners play them for a fool?! I couldn't get that boy outside to do his thing so I went to plan... D.

There was takeout Chinese food in the refrigerator. I ran to the kitchen, searched the shelves and snap, came up with a great idea. I grabbed a big, juicy cold dumpling. Charlie followed the aroma and jumped all over me. He wanted that dumpling so bad he could taste it. And then I made him a Deal. And we bartered.

Do not repeat the following Dialogue to anyone.

I said: "Charlie, you go outside. You make your doody. You get a dumpling. Outside. Make doody. Come home. I give you a dumpling. Go. Go. Outside. Go. Make doody!"

Do you get the feeling he wasn't listening to me? All eyes were on The Dumpling.

I was really getting mad. I started to lift him to physically put him outside but Charlie thanked me with a dirty growl. I had never seen his anger like this. I could hear him telling me: "Get off me woman and give me that dumpling on the double!"

His little mouth began snapping. My desperation was mounting. I picked him up, put him out in the snow and shut the sliding door! I know. Call me Evil! The Devil! Charlie finally looked as if he was giving in. He leapt three feet, expressed himself for a second on the top of the deck (despite my screams to GO DOWN, don't do it on the deck, stoppppppp) and that was it. The dog was not moving. Not one more inch. No more bathroom-ing. And I so wanted him to go. You don't know. I saw Charlie ogling the food in my hand. I opened the door, tired and pooped and Defeated and Done. Done with the Divo Dog! I had had it. I just wanted to sit DOWN and get to my Desk. Enough. ENOUGH! My brain was scrambled. Maybe it was the fumes from the Mop and Glo. Maybe it was the image of S's diarrhea and the Immodium-D and the Chinese food and Charlie's anal retention all concocted into a mushy mess. SURRENDER!

In utter frustration, I shouted: "CHARLIE! NOW! GO MAKE A DUMPLING AND I WILL GIVE YOU A DOODY!!"

My daughter, S, heard me from upstairs. The kid was laughing hysterically at my dopey mistake! I made my Daughter laugh even in her Discomfort! I like pleasing her so...I guess being Temporarily Dumb has its benefits!

And as G-d is my witness, I don't think I will ever be able to eat a dumpling again.

Dats all, folks,
Pamela, who has finally come to the e-n-D of this Ding-Dong Dog's Tale!