I've been afraid this was going to happen...

...I got recognized by one of the pizza guys at my local Davanni's. I have officially gone there so many times to pick up my medium, thin crust, veggie works pizza that dude behind the counter was like "That's Asia" to the guy at the register and "I totally remember you" to me. I can only say that at least he's cute and I believe that he thinks I'm cute too. I was taken aback though because I just got my hair cut short and dyed blonde with red underneath yesterday and feel like I would be unrecognizable to someone that I don't see that often. Like, for instance, Pizza Guy. He's not even there every time I come in. Yikes. I probably order pizza once or twice a month. Maybe three times. It's hard to say...I'd have to check my bank records. And I don't want to do that. It might be sad. I really can't help it...I happen to love pizza, dislike grocery shopping, get too lazy to grill or cook and today it's too warm outside to turn on the oven. I have a salmon fillet in the fridge that I was going to cook on the grill, but I just didn't feel like it and decided that pizza sounded delicious. And I'm having one of those I-had-a-few-cocktails-last-night-and-just-want-to-eat-crap-all-day kind of days. I had chips and salsa for a mid-morning snack. This whole Davanni's thing is not the first situation that has led me to decide that my life is becoming more and more like Miranda on Sex & the City. Chocolate instead of sex was the first one. Not that I'm on strike as she was, but still. There have definitely been times when I've made brownies or eaten several pieces of dark chocolate instead of trolling for a random guy to have sex with. It's safer I suppose, but not as satisfying. So I now have to be on the look-out for an old boyfriend with one ball...and run away!

FU. Jerks.

I totally forgot to cancel my match.com membership and it automatically re-enrolled me by charging my credit card without asking me first. I'm finding this to be rude, presumptuous and, quite frankly, a little hostile. As if to say "Hey there Asia, we noticed that after 3 months you still haven't found 'the one'. What's your deal? We're gonna go ahead and renew, forcing you to check out the losers that email you things like 'Nice pics, you look good' and 'Seems like we have a lot in common' (this coming from a guy who starts by saying he's very adventurous and outdoorsy, while my profile specifically states that outdoorsy to me means sitting out on a patio drinking a Stoli soda with a twist of lime) and the 44-54 yr olds that wink at you because even though they are old, the haven't got the balls to actually say something. Hope that's okay." Well you know what match.com? It's not really okay. I would have preferred an email letting me know "Hey there Asia, your subscription is almost up. Would you like to renew?" I could have spent that money on shoes. Or alcohol. Or porn. So now I feel obligated to go onto the website and check out the losers.

Early-onset dementia or brain fart?

I was out of the house for 6 1/2 hours today and at about hour 6 I had a moment of panic. I thought for a brief second that maybe I had left Max outside in 90 degree heat. I literally couldn't remember letting him back in right before I left. It made my heart race. I tried desperately to remember some part of the leaving process...I didn't give a treat as usual because he had already had one earlier...I couldn't remember saying "Maxie stays" like I do when he tries to leave with me. Nothing. But, I decided that I must have let him in because, while being the absent-minded professor that I am, I could never FORGET to let my dog back inside before I left. Right?! Also, now that I really think about it, had I actually walked out the front door and to the car, Max would surely have come trotting over to see what the hell was happening. He can get halfway up the walkway between the house and garage and would definitely have noticed me in the driveway. Yes, this is not something that could happen. Ever. For crying out loud. I need a beer. Or two.

Bad-ass chick or too independent for her own good?

The last time I mowed my lawn was a few days before I broke my foot. So roughly two weeks ago. It was VERY long and in desperate need of mowing. My neighbor's lawn service had been out twice already to mow theirs. The neighbor on the other side also had mowed twice. It was starting to look like the shitty house on the block. I don't want to have the shitty house on the block. It's bad enough that my yard is 30-40% weeds and that the boulevard is 99% weeds. I can't also have the seeding grass up to my knees (it wasn't that long...shin maybe). So I thought Brett was going to do it. I had brought it up last week...Wednesday or Thursday and he said he wouldn't be able to until Monday since he had to work til close every night until then. I didn't actually make a plan for him to do it, I just assumed. I called when I got off work, he was in Burnsville working on a buddy's car. No biggie I say...told him I was just hoping the get him to mow the lawn then take him out for dinner and a beer. He seemed intrigued by the beer and food offer (I know how to get him) and said he'd come out when he was done. Long story short, he wasn't gonna do it. It was getting too late, he was too busy. I laid a guilt trip on him for...well...no reason really...it's just what I do. Either way, by the time he says for sure that he can't do it today, I'm already in the backyard weed-whacking the shit out of the back section of my back yard. Which is 95% quackgrass and 5% some kind of vine-weed thing that is making it's way quite easily into the actual yard area. It's a HUGE pain in my ass, but I figured I'd get out there and do the edging and whatnot before Brett came out to mow. So I'm out there already, the foot is feeling okay as I had a beer after work so I decided that I would just walk really slow and it would be all good. 30 minutes in and my foot is not feeling so good, I really should have just stopped at the back yard and had Brett do the front tomorrow or whatever, but that's just not me. No, no. I figure I'm already out there, the foot already hurts, I might as well finish it. The front yard is remarkably more uneven than the back what with all the dandelions, clover, old clumps of dead grass and "bunny spots" (small oval shaped depressions in the grass where bunnies have been nestled in for a rest). Ouch. The foot is still throbbing lightly an hour later with no signs of stopping. I'm having another beer. So the question remains: Am I a bad-ass chick for mowing my lawn with a broken bone in my foot and a still very stiff swollen ankle? Or am I a stupid girl who should just learn when it's okay to wait for help...and that it would have been okay to wait another day or two until Brett could do it because let's face it, it was already way too long? I prefer the former, but fear that it may be the latter.

Oops.

Looks like it's been a bit more than a day since I last wrote! I kept coming on here in the hopes of writing something, but then I would just leave. I don't know why...it seemed exhausting to me.

It's dreary, rainy. Makes me feel tired and that everything is an effort. It's not entirely just a feeling though. It's difficult to get around lately because of my foot and it's got me bummed out.

I lost my footing walking down some stairs a little over a week ago; rolled my ankle and put a nice little crack in one of my foot bones. I was on crutches and in an immobilizer boot for 5 days before being told by the orthopaedic doctor that all of that was unnecessary overkill. Now that I'm walking on my foot, I long for my crutches. It was all good when I wasn't putting any weight on it, no pain. Now it constantly aches and walking on it is like walking on a huge bruise. Right now it's bothering me that Blogger spell check thinks I spelled orthopaedic wrong. It's just the way it's spelled at the clinic and I like it better that way. Blogger wants me to lose the 'a'. I refuse. I'm taking a stand...while sitting on my couch. I have to wear slippers to get around the house to put a little cushion between the hard wood and my foot. I'm doing laundry and I'm afraid I'm going to fall down the stairs. I have to take one at a time and I can't see where I'm going because the basket obstructs my view.

Here are a few pictures of my foot and one of the sweet bruise on my arm. Enjoy. Note the swollen ankle and beautiful array of colors. The pictures don't really do it justice. Sigh.