Hey guys! Brian & I are still in Florida with my funny family and we’re having a blast! Sadly, I’ve already managed to pee myself on several occasions, but I stopped at Walgreens today & bought a box of panty liners, so I think I’m good to “go”. <-- see the funny I made there? (Remember, potential thieves, my in-laws are staying at the house along with Mr. Bojangles)

And I’m really sorry, but I haven’t had a chance to write because I’ve been so busy eating, drinking, laughing, and shaving my legs (hey, it’s not easy to undo something that took weeks to create).

I’ll get back to the good ol’ laptop on Monday. In the meantime, here’s an old Free Advice Friday that I hope you’ll enjoy!

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Dear Kim,

I have been following your excellent advice and also understand you’ve added running to your repertoire of amazing abilities. I feel now is the perfect time to ask your opinion on how to handle a ‘noise’ that may sometimes squeak out from ‘behind the lower area’ when walking /running with others.

Thank you,
Slightly Embarrassed Susan

Dear Slightly,

I’m not sure I understand your nicey-nice talk. Are you trying to say that farts emanate from your ass while you run? If so, I can help.

Here’s my advice: Shit your pants.

You only have to shit your pants once, after that your friends will think nothing of a fart. Of course, they might be concerned that you’re going to shit your pants again, but if they make fun of you for that then they were never your friends to begin with. I’m a firm believer that laughing at someone for farting is funny but laughing at some one for shitting their pants is just plain cruel.

If you feel like this isn’t an option for you (ie. constipation, empty bowels, etc), I have a couple more alternatives.

1. Make it so people don’t want to run with you.

When I run I flail my arms and legs wildly. But don’t do it too wildly otherwise passersby will throw you to the ground and stick a belt in your mouth so you don’t bite off your tongue during your epileptic fit.

In addition to my running style, I take Mr. Bojangles with me (when he isn’t busy licking his own ass). We look something like this…

I found that this is usually enough to put people off.

2. Muffle the sound

There are two ways of doing this. Your first choice is to make a “Wahoo!” yell as you’re farting. Now this is a little tricky because you need to be aware that you’re about to fart in order to pull this off successfully. I’m convinced that all those people in my spin class yelling “yeah, baby!” “wooo!” and “c’mon!” are all just letting one rip. That’s why I always look disgusted when I’m in there.

*Do not use this technique in meditative yoga.

The other way of doing this is an actual physical muffling. I’ve experimented with this and I find that cotton balls and a little duct tape work really well. And the duct tape actually keeps your ass from jiggling so you look tighter and firmer. An added bonus.

I hope I was able to help you, Slightly. Just stay away from the beans, nobody likes a bean fart.

Smell ya later!
Kim

As you may know, my Wednesday posts are reserved for Cheapo Wino reviews. However, my mother in law and I enjoyed a Malbec wine last night, only to discover that it was the “Reserva” (aka- expensive shit). Sooo- there goes that.

But don’t worry, I’m not going to leave you without a post, especially because I have 2 hours on a plane with nothing to do, but write.

“A plane?” you ask. Yes! Brian and I are headed to Florida for a few days- him for business, me for pleasure. He has a conference in Tampa so I decided to tag along and visit with my family until Friday, then we’re heading over to Epcot to drink & eat around the world. It’s what we do best.

Oh, and if you’re planning to burglarize our home, let me just assure you that the in-laws are there…along with Mr. Bojangles.

So here’s how out trip has gone so far:
(please ignore the sloppy writing- I’m typing this on a plane, on my iPhone, with 1 finger, 1. Damn. Finger. People!)

We checked in at the self-service kiosk and our seats are, unfortunately, in the very last row. But we were offered an upgrade to First Class…for $100 each.

 

Brian: Do you want it? I’ll get it for you.

Me: No thanks. It seems like a waste of money for a 2 hour flight.

Brian: Then I’ll take it.

Me: No way! You’re not sitting up there if I’m not. I only passed on it to save “us” money.

Brian: But we’re near the shitter!

Me: Fine, take it then.

Brian: No, I don’t want to piss you off.

Me: Well, if you think it’s a great deal then let’s both upgrade.

Brian: I’m not spending $200.

I suspect he didn’t want to spend $200 and still be sitting next to me.

 

Once we went through security at Terminal B, I decided to get my nails done (who doesn’t do that?). I checked the map and found a Spa Express in Terminal C so I headed over there. But when I arrived, the lady informed me that their nail tech was at their other Spa Express location in Terminal D. Eh, what’s another mile?

My nail technician took forever! She kept talking about her sister who’s opening a new nail salon in the city. They’re trying to come up with a name and she wants my opinion.

 

Nail chick: “My sister likes Cu…Cutical..Cutickle…Cuticle Cubac…Cuticle Cubicle. What do you think?”

I told her it was a terrible idea because,

1. it took her 4 tries to even say “Cuticle Cubicle”

2. Cubicle?

So I suggest “One Classy Motha! Nail Spa” She said she’d mention it to her sister.

 

By now I’m running late but my nails look good.

Pic was taken while rushing to the terminal.

And even though I’m late, I stop and order a breakfast sandwich on my way to the gate (where Brian is waiting). Big mistake…they were so slow!

I make it just as they’re calling last boarding. Brian’s standing in the middle of the terminal, calling me for the fourth time (or so my phone shows, I swear I never heard the ring). He’s all stressed out. Calm down dude. He accuses me of dilly dallying (though it came out sounding like ‘eff-ing around’) and how I’m completely unaware of my surroundings. And I’m thinking to myself, ‘why didn’t I get the 3 egg omelette instead?’

Finally on the plane, we make our way to our shitter seats (that don’t recline). There’s a lady already seated in our row as I’m settling in..

 

Her: Mmm, you smell good.

Me: ?

Me: I have a breakfast sandwich?

Her: oh, it’s your food! I thought it was just you.

Me: ? (bacon, egg, & cheese perfume?)

Brian: You brought food on the plane? You can’t do that!

Her: Yes she can!

Brian: That doesn’t seem right. Now everyone’s going to be pissed because they don’t have any food.

Me: ?

What’s happening here?

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And our runway convo:

Brian: Did you know that security has changed? Today’s the first day you’re allowed to bring a pocket knife on the plane. You know (leaning in to whisper)…people are going to be looking to make a statement.

Me: Seriously? You’re worried you’re going to be stabbed with a pocket knife on this flight?

Brian: I’m just saying, be alert.

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Stewardess giving the flight instructions:
Brian’s take on it…

*oxygen mask– “oh we’re going to need an oxygen mask when it starts smelling back here. Can we get the mask dropped now?”

*flotation device– “yeah, we’re going to see some floatation devices, alright…little brown ones.”

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Brian: Who takes a dump on a 2 hour flight anyway? They’ve got bathrooms before you get on the plane and bathrooms when you land.

Me: Sometimes, when the moment strikes, you just have to go.

Brian: No, that’s when you hold it. I mean really, who’s comfortable enough to shit on a plane?

Me: I have.

Brian: I can’t talk to you right now.
(a few seconds later). Want to join the Mile High Club? It’s just a step away to paradise.

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At this point, I’m feeling really bad for the lady next to me, who I guarantee can hear all of our conversations. But then she does this…

She’s all in my space with her legs and nasty feet. That’s total Shitter Row behavior, right there.

PS- We got all of our luggage. My bag didn’t have a name tag on it but I knew it was mine the moment the tampons fell out.

Brian has had intermittent back and neck pain for several years now and he finally sought help through a corrective chiropractor. On his first appointment, about a week ago, the doctor went over his medical history, took some x-rays, and put him through several ‘range of motions’ tests.

Friday was his second appointment. The main purpose of this visit was to go over the test results, recommendation of care, and the “cost of care” (money, money, mon-ney) before beginning treatment. The doc suggested that Brian bring me along so that I’d be “supportive” throughout this process. WTF does that even mean?

I went…but he’s coming to my next pap smear appointment in support of my uterine care.

When we walked in the office, there were all these patients sitting, standing, and laying around. Yes, laying around- because there, in the middle of the room, were all these crazy ass tables with pulleys and levers. Sadly, I didn’t have my camera with me, but they looked something like this…

 

I’m not sure if this equipment is new age or totally archaic…you can never tell with crazy shit like that.

We were quickly ushered back to a small office to wait. And after about 10 minutes the chiropractor came in, introduced himself, and began his shtick. Man, this guy was good in the most cheesiest of ways. He had a well-rehearsed, polished script that rivaled any 2 am infomercial! I bet if I asked him, ” Will adjustments make Brian’s balls smell better?” he’d say “That’s a great question, Kim!”, then enlighten me on the ‘ball smellage / poorly aligned back’ connection.

He was a true salesman to say the least- any doubt we had, he squelched it, any point we brought up, he countered it, and he did it all while straightening and bending a life size vertebrate. I think he used that vertebrate as some sort of subliminal device, because I found my back hurting when he twisted it like a double helix. In fact, when I stretched my lower back, he brought up his family discount. To shut him down, I screamed, “I’ve never felt better!” and quickly did 10 jumping jacks to prove it. I then resisted the urge to rub my shoulders (shit, they were killing me).

After an hour (YES! AN HOUR!) he announced that Brian would need to come 3 times per week (25-40 mins each) for at least 6 months, and then he’d reevaluate the frequency based on his progress. He also mentioned every piece of rehabilitation equipment that he had for sale, and all the vitamins, and all the skin care, and I swear I heard Amway in there. Oh, and “your insurance won’t cover anything but I have a great cash plan”. What? How many times per week? What’s this going to cost us?

Turns out, it’s going to cost a Toyota Camry w/ a sunroof

…or at least the car payment equivalent.

Um, we’ll get back to you.

Guys, I’m asking you…do you have any chiropractor experience and does this sound reasonable?