Gauchos are the pants of the crippled

I had surprise surgery last week, and while I spend approximately 19 hours of every day in bed, I somehow have found more important things to do than blogging. Like take Percocet and Google Image search puppies. My orthopedic surgeon uncle gave a loosey-goosey tendon in my ankle a home. I would like to take this opportunity to form a public complaint about the lack of a program comparable to Microsoft Paint on Macs. Because you have to believe this would be a good'un.

I am currently sporting a plaster splint that is the most counter intuitive crapshoot on God's green earth. In its free time, when it is not producing leg sweat and making me feel claustrophobic, it enjoys personally trying to pull apart every stitch or staple or whatever grossnasty post-surgical thing they use these days.

Everyone is showering Dog Breath with praise, because the reason she won't leave my side is because her dog-sense knows that I'm in pain. Right. And totally not because my side is in bed 19 hours of the day.

I must go now, because last week in a weird prescription drug comatose, I ordered orange pants online. I was just looking at my receipt email to assure that this actually happened and track the order when the UPS dude pulled up. It's fate. Orange pants fate. The pants gods are looking down on me saying, "Yeah. You deal with this."

Guilty Face

Summer camp always looks worse on paper. And then you commit to going out of guilt, get there and have fun and the guilt is redistributed. I spent the week with 30some high school girls up at summer camp last week, personally showing seven going-to-be seniors the Jesus light via copious amounts of fruit snacks, dancing, flatulence and brownie batter. Not the kind you eat, but the kind you put in kiddie pools and throw at each other for extended periods of time. You can find my fellowshipping methods in Deuteronomy.
I spent approximately 2 hours combing fellowship out of the hair of Wit-Knee! and The Future President of Africa:


Isn't the first thing that comes to your mind, "Wow, I wish I went to college with someone as loving as that one in the orange!". I know, I know. But we can't all be that lucky. Just me. I'll be joining her and all of her hippie friends at EarthLand next year. GirlLand, I will miss so many aspects of you, but most of all, I will miss your company.

There is a road that meets the road that goes to my house

Yesterday at Mass "we" sang America the Beautiful and the national anthem. I dig freedom, but the kind of freedom that keeps my Jesus life separate from my America life.
My America life last night made a surprise appearance. I tend to not like holidays that I'm not really old enough to celebrate properly, so I usually find myself meandering with Colleen to and from our houses on foot in search of seasonally-appropriate foodstuffs. Last night we made as usual, plus several ghosts of our elementary school lives past, which always makes for uncomfortable hugs. It's hard to ask someone what they've been up to since you last ate crayons together. It's maybe easier to just bring your own new box of 64.
I am headed out tomorrow to be a camp counselor for a week. I haven't been to this camp in a few years, because last time I was there, I ended up with foot juice in my eyeball. I'm going this year in confidence that I will still hate the field games and will still come back with enough freckles to make me look Monet-tan. But knowing people who are involved in the programming of big events like this always guarantees extra laughs and extra pride. I'll be sure to tell the kids that only one of those is a deadly sin.

OH! Unrelatedly, you can now find Roommate Tréza elephant parading herself around these parts. She is my captain of misadventures and debauchery. She will keep you updated on everything you need to know about pop culture and will give you one song with each post. In writing this, I'm realizing she is a lot cooler and more useful than I will ever be. Zonino!