Friday night we had another softball game, in which I became painfully aware that my legs needed another week to heal. Evidently being able to jog is NOT the same as being able to sprint to first base.

I ended up getting that extra week to heal though, on account of the game being called because one of my teammates broke her leg while sliding into third. Oddly enough, the leg that broke was NOT the leg she slid into the base with.

She was in an excruciating amount of pain until the ambulance showed up and started giving her morphine. Then she was concerned about her socks. She didn’t want the paramedics to cut off her socks because they were new. It’s funny what morphine can do to your state of mind.

She spent the night in the hospital and had surgery early the next morning. As it turns out, she broke the lower leg in several places, so they had to go in and put a plate around the bone, screwing it in to all the pieces to hold them together. She can’t put any weight on it for 6 weeks.

Did I mention she has a 3-year-old? The day before his 3rd birthday, and two days before Mothers Day, she’s laid up in the hospital. It’s very fortunate that her husband’s parents are living with them right now, because I don’t know how one would keep up with a 3-year-old in that state.

The worst part is that they don’t have insurance. I don’t know how much ambulances and surgery and hospital stays are without insurance, but I do know that the prescription blood thinner shots she’ll have to take are $700 by themselves. J and I are trying to help them out, but our contributions seem so meager in the grand scheme of the bills they will have to pay.

Oh, and (as a result of all the hospital tests) they also just found out that they are 6 weeks pregnant.

Again, no insurance.

I’m so totally NEVER sliding into a base. And I’m also rethinking our decision to go without insurance.

Way to go, Sheila!

or “Why I’m the Biggest Dork Alive Vol. #17″

I was my own Southwest Airlines commercial tonight.

I was invited to a “Spa Party,” which I was looking forward to as it fits nicely with my self-indulgence motif. The host’s house is approximately 45 minutes away, so I made sure to leave in plenty of time to get there by 7pm, allowing for “lost time,” and made it almost exactly on time. I was, however, a little curious as to why there were no cars parked outside and the porch light wasn’t on.

The host’s husband answered the door and it took him a few seconds to recognize who this woman was, standing in his doorway looking so expectantly. He gives me a polite, but confused “hi” and then she comes to the door.

When she sees the slightly bewildered look on my face, she makes a pretty good guess at why I’m here.

“It’s tomorrow night.”

“It’s…what??? Tomorrow night?”

“Yeah.” She’s giving me that look that says Stupid people are so cute.

“Are you sure???” I ask. Apparently there is some small part of my delusional mind that actually believes I know more about her party than she does. Like I’m expecting her to say Oh, actually come to think of it, you’re right - it was tonight and EVERYBODY BUT YOU GOT IT WRONG.

“Yeah. …Do you… want to come in?”

“Tomorrow night? What is today?”

“Tuesday.”

“And it’s tomorrow night?”

“Tomorrow night.”

“Tomorrow night?”

Um…We’re just about to sit down to dinner - are you hungry? You could stay and have dinner with us.”

I look past her to see that they are apparently having company. My face turns about 3 shades of red.

“Um…no, thanks. I’ll… be going…now…So it’s tomorrow night?”

“Yeah, are you free tomorrow?”

“I don’t know…I hadn’t even thought about tomorrow night until…now.”

Suddenly, I realize what happened. Another friend of mine was having a party on Tuesday night. I mumble some explanation about Other Party…Tuesday…Jewelry…I’ll be going now…

“You’re welcome to stay for dinner - or are you going to see if you can make it to the other party?”

Actually, the other party was last Tuesday, and I wasn’t able to go. For some reason, the day “Tuesday” stuck with me and I guess I had transferred it over to this party. But in addition to seeming like overkill, that much explanation would probably make her think I had just gotten off the crazy bus. Instead, I just muttered something along the lines of “yes.” And then I left, pausing briefly to scrape my sense of pride off the doormat.

I’ve been on a roll recently with humiliating myself at other people’s houses. Maybe I should just stay home tomorrow night.

Tonight we went to a Christmas Party, with Button in tow.  I was under the impression that there were going to be a lot of kids there, but most of the other people - including the party hosts - had decided to get babysitters.

I actually enjoy bringing Button to parties because a) she’s pretty cute, so she gets a lot of attention and even guys and people who have kids of their own fawn over her, and b) it gives me something to do other than be a total failure at drumming up small talk and chit-chat.

I suck at small talk and chit chat, even when I’m hanging out with people I consider friends.  I’m always the dork hanging on the outer edge of the circle pretending to be involved in the conversation.  Then, invariably, people start leaving the circle one-by-one until it’s just me and somebody I don’t really know and I’m wracking my brain to find something to ask or say in order to thread together some semblance of social interaction so I’m like “So you’re a teacher, right?  What do you teach” and they’re all “Second grade.” and I’m all “Oh.  Really.” and they’re all “Yeah.” and I’m all “That’s cool.” and they’re all, “Yeah.” and I’m like “Please don’t walk away right now because then I’ll be the only one left and I’ll look like a total loser” and they’re like “Bye.”

That’s when they quit making eye contact and walk away or start a conversation with somebody else I don’t know that happens to be directly behind them, so they turn around and I’m standing there staring at somebody’s back.

Yeah.  There’s a dimension to parties that stresses me out, which is why it’s good to have the whole “mother” thing to fall back on.  See, then when they’re all “Yeah.” and I’m all “That’s cool.” then I can be all “DUDE, where’s my kid I’d better go find her and make sure she’s not eating carpet k thx bye” even though I know exactly where she is and that her carpet preferences are pretty much limited to the plush varieties so there’s little worry about ingestion in this case.

Successful social interaction is all about a way out.

This party went well past Button’s bedtime so she was fighting exhaustion and nearly passed out on my shoulder about 4 times.  Sleepiness makes her more shy in large crowds, so she clung to me most of the evening and broke into tears if I walked away.

When she finally got a little more comfortable, she started venturing out on her own.  I found her in the kitchen, backed up against the oven, wide eyed and waving to all the people standing around her.  It was half “this is really fascinating” and half “I think my life is in danger.”

Not one to be daunted by the unknown for long, she then ventured into the living room.  She stood there, spinning in circles and gazing up in amazement from her 2′ vantage point at all the giant people around her.  Then she saw me watching her and came running back.

Toward the end of our stay, she started getting a sugar high her second wind and was in a generally good mood - though if I picked her up, she would cling to my neck and try to go to sleep on my shoulder. When she started asking for her toothbrush (a before-bed ritual), we knew she was nearing the end of civilized public behavior, so we opted to head home.

It was a nice evening - just long enough.  I tend to have a pretty short attention span when it comes to parties.  Not that I’m ready to leave as soon as we get there, but after an hour or two, it’s just time to call it quits.  “Button needs to go to bed” sounds much better upon exit than “I’m tired of being around all these people.”  Trust me, that second one doesn’t go over too well.

I got a chain letter today from a friend.  Well, it says it’s not a chain letter…it’s a sock exchange.  But it’s totally a chain letter.

I haven’t gotten a chain letter since the 5th grade.  And I have no idea who sent me that one.  The return address was some kid from California who I’d never heard of.  Its lofty goal was to make it into the Guinness Book of World Records as the longest chain letter ever to be continued.  At the time, I thought that was Guinnea’s Book, as in “had something to do with Guinnea Pigs.”  So it sounded cooler than it actually was and I think that’s partially why I participated.

I carefully constructed my 10 letters to send to 10 people under the ruse that I would be getting back 100-odd letters flooding my mailbox within a short period of time.  100 letters - that would be like being the most popular kid on the planet.

I never got anything back.

Never.

Not a single letter.

I’m guessing that Guinness never heard about that chain either.

I haven’t decided whether or not to participate in this one.  It’s structured differently, and I only have to send something to one person.  But it’s socks.  Not just socks - FUNKY socks.  What am I going to do with 6 pairs of FUNKY SOCKS?