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So many of you have asked about my wedding rings. Right after the fall my finger started swelling. I didn’t think it was broken, just jammed, but figured I should take my rings off anyway. They wouldn’t budge.

I burst into tears — again — because I was terrified the hospital staff was going to have to cut my beautiful symbols of marriage off my finger. Between the pain and the fear of losing my rings, I was a mess.

Michael, who thinks about things and doesn’t emotionally react right away (unlike his crazy, crazy wife), went into the bathroom, brought out some hand lotion and put some on my finger. After a little wiggling, they came right off. Phew.

The nurse told me we had done the right thing, because by the time we got to the hospital my finger was twice its normal size.

So now, the bling is in a box. I can’t wear them for 2-4 weeks until the swelling goes down and they don’t fit on any other fingers so I can’t even switch it up.

Michael is still wearing his ring, of course, which we joked makes it look like he’s cheating on his wife when he goes out in public with me, the ringless woman.

I thought the Vicodin would be better, I really did. Mostly it just numbs the pain a little — which is good — but means you don’t get a funny drug-fueled post. Sorry.

Sleeping was a nightmare. I’m not used to sleeping on my back and by three a.m. I had to take off the sling and wrist brace to get comfortable enough to sleep a little. Meh.

I can move my arm more today which is really great. I’m hoping to be able to start PT in a few days to get full movement back. My finger is gross. I haven’t taken the splint off yet to shower, but I can see the bruises peeking through.

I have a hair appointment tonight and when my stylist called me yesterday to talk about what I wanted to do, she told me I could cancel if I’m not up for it. Are you kidding? I want someone to wash my hair for me! No way I’m giving up that appointment.

I’m off to attempt my first shower as a gimp and am really hoping I can manage to shave BOTH armpits. Otherwise Michael has a new job to do.

This morning I put Kodiak on the leash and took him out for his morning pee. Like most days, a group (gaggle?) of geese were on the other side of our fence. I didn’t think much of it because lately he ignores them, but today was different.

Kodiak lunged and instinctively, I held on. He pulled so hard that I released the leash but had too much momentum. I went full speed ahead and crashed into the frozen ground.

The result — which we found out after a few hours in the ER, multiple x-rays and a few bouts of lightheadedness — is I have a broken left ring finger, a seriously sprained right wrist and shoulder and some big honking bruises.

It could have been much worse, but it still hurts like a bitch.

I’m rocking the finger splint, wrist brace and arm sling. I look ridiculous and will need physical therapy. I am so thankful for Michael who was luckily home and has done everything from put on my bra to tying my shoes to taping my splint closed.

I went to the bathroom by myself but I’ll spare you the details of wiping with the use of only four fingers on your left hand. You’re welcome.

If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll write tomorrow’s post while on Vicodin.

Do you remember life before Facebook? I honesty don’t remember how we found out about each other’s lives before. Email? Phone calls? Letter writing???

Everyone and their mother is on Facebook. Literally. My mother is on Facebook. As well as much of my extended family, everyone I went to high school with, college friends, blogging friends, coworkers, hell, even local bars have Facebook pages.

Michael does not have a Facebook page. He gets his gossip through me.

A typical conversation at our house will go something like this:

Me: Your coworker’s wife is going to Florida next week.

Him: How did you know that my coworker’s wife is going to Florida?

Me: She updated her Facebook status.

Him: (rolls eyes. calls me a dork.)

This morning I found out that not only are two people I went to high school with dating, but they’re engaged. I was so surprised and then realized how insane it is that we know all these things about people we don’t even talk to anymore because they changed their online Relationship Status. (Which by the way, that can cause chaos too. A friend accidentally changed hers to “is no longer in a relationship” and caused an uproar among friends and family until she fixed it. Jeesh.)

I wouldn’t call myself a Facebook addict, but I know some who are. I’m probably more of an addict now that I can access it on my phone and update my status multiple times a day. Usually they’re lame,  but I do it anyway. Right now it says, “Molly had an excellent sleep.”

Really. And I call myself a writer.

Are you on Facebook? Are you addicted? Do you get the same excitement I do when you see she is marrying him?????

Have you ever noticed that a visit home has restorative powers? I’ve been on edge for about, oh, 10 weeks now and was tired of all things Rhode Island. So when the opportunity to go home to New York the same time my sister was appeared, I jumped on it.

The drive is 3.5 hours and while not short, it’s not too long either. It gave me just enough time to clear my head and remember our wedding as I sung along with the CDs the DJ gave us after the wedding.

The weekend was just…so nice. Shopping, chatting and snuggling with my mom, laughing and watching old home movies with my sister, looking at childhood artwork and catching up with my dad.

Though too quick as always, the weekend refreshed and rejuvenated me. My spirit feels renewed and lifted.

I always get a little sad on the way back home, knowing that it will be a least a few months before I see them all again. But as I crossed the roads through New York, Connecticut and finally Rhode Island this morning, I realized I’m lucky to have them all within reach.

My boys in the summer. Can’t wait for it to get warm!


What makes you smile today?

I have a theory that Victoria’s Secret creates their own system of bra sizes so you think you’re bigger than you actually are. Because if you live in America, your breast size must be important, right?

So not only do they have you fit in a size that would be swimming on you in any other store, they also charge a fortune.

This theory does not apply to their underwear.

I’m fan of the 5 for $25 or 3 for $30 or whatever they’re doing when I walk in the door. I like their variety of cuts, styles and colors. I also know that when I find a pair I like, I better scoop up as many as possible because other than their traditional bikinis, the styles are ever-changing.


It appears that with underwear, smaller is better. And I’m not talking a little higher cut on the rear with a little lace that’s oh-so cute (and surprisingly comfortable). I’m talking about squeezing what I think is a relatively small rear end into something labeled medium  that is almost as big as a postage stamp. Almost.

(And oddly enough, in my favorite VS undies, I wear a small. Consistency? What’s that?)

At 5:37 a.m., when the kicky black and white nautical striped skivvies once again inched their way towards the great divide, I was ready to rip them off, hang them on a pole and surrender to the Secret.

You can’t return underwear, people, (And if there’s some place you can, please, I beg you, DON’T.) so it looks like I’m stuck with thong that is not supposed to be a thong and out $9.95.

I think Victoria might need some meds.

Last night I took Kodiak out for his post-dinner bathroom break. We have a motion sensor light on our shed, but it doesn’t reach very far, so I always grab a flashlight to avoid stepping on something of the poop variety.

All was going as usual, when suddenly I heard a child screaming at the top of its lungs.


I stopped. Where was it coming from?

“AHHHH!!!! AHHHHH!!!!”

The sound was stopping my heart. I grazed the beam from the flashlight across the woods, but could see nothing. As the screaming continued I wondered, should I call out to them? Ask if they’re ok?


By now, Kodiak was on high alert — hair standing up, deep bark and growl — and he was dragging me towards the woods. Scared by his reaction, I hauled him back into the house.

Back inside, I opened our bathroom window which faces the yard to see if the screaming continued. As I listened, a different sound began.

Footsteps in the brush. Right next to my house.

I slammed the window shut, locked it and grabbed my phone.

Once up there, I realized that I didn’t have any girl intruder armour. You know…something you could use in case of an attack. I know you’ve all looked around your room and thought would you could use in that situation. I’ve done it before. Only this time, the only thing I could find was a desk lamp and a pair of scissors.

So I sat, looking ridiculous I”m sure, in my hallway. Clutching a pair of scissors.

Moments later, two police officers were combing the backyard and surrounding woods and while nothing was discovered, I’m still glad they looked.

Michael’s friend, an outdoorsy guy, thinks that the noise was probably a Fisher Cat, a small weasel-like animal that is known in this area for attacking cats. He said the first time he heard it, he thought it was a child screaming.

You be the judge. This video (just sound) is one man’s recording of one. Hearing it still gives me chills.


So it turned out the position is only part time and while I was expecting a pay cut, it looks like it would be a PAY CUT so yeah, I don’t think this is going to happen.

I’m frustrated, but am happy I at least had an interview. I am so tired of not hearing back from anyone that just the opportunity to put on some heels and go try and sell myself felt good.

Unfortunately, I”m still in the same old position. I’m not superstitious, but how great could a job really be if I got hired on Friday the 13th?

OK that was lame.


After a lovely lunch with a girl I haven’t seen in forever, I have a job interview secured for tomorrow.

It has absolutely nothing to do with public relations.

I am realistic — it would mean a pay cut, but could be rewarding in many other ways.

I am optimistic.

I am excited.

I have to figure out what to wear.

Ask me anything!

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Alltop, all the cool kids (and me)