It isn't often you get a chance to mix Catholic humor with a potty joke.
25 February 2010
I really DO try...
...not to tell kid stories because face it, no one thinks they're cute but me. But keeping in mind I have THREE of them, and I'm reliving every decade of my life every decade? This place is just a zoo.
My dog died last month, and it's still strange without him. We got him the summer The Not Nice Kid was born...a fat little blonde teddy bear. Goofy. When he died, it was ten times worse because...and I haven't told this for a reason because if this kid dies in the next ten years? They'll lock my ass up. The Evil Neighbor Child From Hell, the one who set the woods next to my house on fire last Thanksgiving and who methodically, over a period of weeks, smashed all the pottery I brought back from Texas/Mexico? Stood on the side of the road and threw sticks into the road, for my dog to fetch, until Nick ran out in front of a car. Nick didn't get out much, arthritis and a penchant for hating the people across the street, so I'm sure he was elated to be ripping and romping so. I hope so...it makes it easier to think he was having fun.
Someone put him into her car and brought him up here...it took three of us to haul his fat ass into the back seat of MY car to take him to the vet. I drove...I wish I'd sat in the back and held him. When we got there, they immediately sedated him because he was in shock. Said they'd x-ray and let me know. We came home, got dressed for wherever it was we were supposed to be going, and then went back to the vet.
The x-rays were frightful. His pelvis was fractured. To repair it, his good leg would have been the leg that was about to go out with arthritis. Six weeks immobile. Never able to run again.
The vet and I stood there and I cried, and when I asked he assured me if Nick were his, he wouldn't put him through the pain. I called the girls in and we looked at the x-rays together, and the vet explained again. We cried while we decided that the right thing to do wasn't the easy thing to do.
And they brought him in, and I held his head while the doctor injected him, and he died. The girls and I rubbed his neck, and cried. We took his collar off and brought it home.
I still cry every day: When I don't have to make sure he's in the house when I leave, or when I get out of bed and step over him and he's not there so I bust my ass.
Okay...THEN. After Nick stopped breathing, I asked the vet what my options were for taking care of him. One...I take him home and bury him. The dog had been on a diet for a year and was DOWN to 100 pounds. We are talking BIG hole. We have a lovely farm and lots of great places for him to rest but...BIG hole/RIGHT now. Called my brother, who was out of town. Nix One.
Two...the vet puts all the dead animals in his freezer and when he has enough, a backhoe buries them all. This is the point at which my kids lost their shit. Nix Two.
Three...cremation. Lovely thought, I have it in mind for myself. Cremation it is...what do I do? I PAY ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-FIVE DOLLARS to have Lard Ass's remains cremated! Turns out? By the pound. OMG. But I have his ashes (or, having been spooked by the freaky-ass people in North Georgia last year, I have SOMETHING) in a plastic box in a bag. We're going to bury half the ashes when we plant a magnolia tree at my parent's Easter, and we're going to spread the other half in the mud pond at the branch. This is a good thing.
All of which brings us to...The Not Nice Kid. Who, thankfully, is the youngest of my children and hopefully will never be responsible for my welfare.
The Big Boy's uncle has been in poor health in a veteran's hospital for several years. My father-in-law is responsible for the uncle's care. Call last week, Uncle A's heart stopped beating and he's been air-lifted to Vanderbilt. Turns out, his slow heartbeat got...really slow. Next day, happened again. So they're going to put in a pacemaker but...no point. It won't improve quality of life and there's doubt Uncle A can tolerate either the surgery or maintaining the device. So he's going to be stabilized and sent back to his long-term care facility.
I was repeating this story for my mother. Explaining about the Alzheimers and physical ailments and such. And TNNK stood there, listened to our discussion and then said, "Are they going to put him to sleep?"
This is SOOOO not in my job description. Or my plan. Neither of which exist but Y'ALL!!! What the hell??
Are they going to put him to sleep?
My dog died last month, and it's still strange without him. We got him the summer The Not Nice Kid was born...a fat little blonde teddy bear. Goofy. When he died, it was ten times worse because...and I haven't told this for a reason because if this kid dies in the next ten years? They'll lock my ass up. The Evil Neighbor Child From Hell, the one who set the woods next to my house on fire last Thanksgiving and who methodically, over a period of weeks, smashed all the pottery I brought back from Texas/Mexico? Stood on the side of the road and threw sticks into the road, for my dog to fetch, until Nick ran out in front of a car. Nick didn't get out much, arthritis and a penchant for hating the people across the street, so I'm sure he was elated to be ripping and romping so. I hope so...it makes it easier to think he was having fun.
Someone put him into her car and brought him up here...it took three of us to haul his fat ass into the back seat of MY car to take him to the vet. I drove...I wish I'd sat in the back and held him. When we got there, they immediately sedated him because he was in shock. Said they'd x-ray and let me know. We came home, got dressed for wherever it was we were supposed to be going, and then went back to the vet.
The x-rays were frightful. His pelvis was fractured. To repair it, his good leg would have been the leg that was about to go out with arthritis. Six weeks immobile. Never able to run again.
The vet and I stood there and I cried, and when I asked he assured me if Nick were his, he wouldn't put him through the pain. I called the girls in and we looked at the x-rays together, and the vet explained again. We cried while we decided that the right thing to do wasn't the easy thing to do.
And they brought him in, and I held his head while the doctor injected him, and he died. The girls and I rubbed his neck, and cried. We took his collar off and brought it home.
I still cry every day: When I don't have to make sure he's in the house when I leave, or when I get out of bed and step over him and he's not there so I bust my ass.
Okay...THEN. After Nick stopped breathing, I asked the vet what my options were for taking care of him. One...I take him home and bury him. The dog had been on a diet for a year and was DOWN to 100 pounds. We are talking BIG hole. We have a lovely farm and lots of great places for him to rest but...BIG hole/RIGHT now. Called my brother, who was out of town. Nix One.
Two...the vet puts all the dead animals in his freezer and when he has enough, a backhoe buries them all. This is the point at which my kids lost their shit. Nix Two.
Three...cremation. Lovely thought, I have it in mind for myself. Cremation it is...what do I do? I PAY ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-FIVE DOLLARS to have Lard Ass's remains cremated! Turns out? By the pound. OMG. But I have his ashes (or, having been spooked by the freaky-ass people in North Georgia last year, I have SOMETHING) in a plastic box in a bag. We're going to bury half the ashes when we plant a magnolia tree at my parent's Easter, and we're going to spread the other half in the mud pond at the branch. This is a good thing.
All of which brings us to...The Not Nice Kid. Who, thankfully, is the youngest of my children and hopefully will never be responsible for my welfare.
The Big Boy's uncle has been in poor health in a veteran's hospital for several years. My father-in-law is responsible for the uncle's care. Call last week, Uncle A's heart stopped beating and he's been air-lifted to Vanderbilt. Turns out, his slow heartbeat got...really slow. Next day, happened again. So they're going to put in a pacemaker but...no point. It won't improve quality of life and there's doubt Uncle A can tolerate either the surgery or maintaining the device. So he's going to be stabilized and sent back to his long-term care facility.
I was repeating this story for my mother. Explaining about the Alzheimers and physical ailments and such. And TNNK stood there, listened to our discussion and then said, "Are they going to put him to sleep?"
This is SOOOO not in my job description. Or my plan. Neither of which exist but Y'ALL!!! What the hell??
Are they going to put him to sleep?
23 February 2010
If I don't get my computer back tomorrow?
I'm going to the computer fix-it place and leave The Not Nice Kid. As hostage. As in...I'm not taking her back 'til you give me my computer! ;)
22 February 2010
Here's wishing you Golden Spoons...
Never in your wildest dreams would you have voted me Most Likely To Have All Those Kids, but...things happen ;) And there are treasure troves of things to laugh about when your life is full of goofy kids.
When we lived in Texas, we were living a charmed life. (Wish I had appreciated it more at the time!) Great house, great friends, great neighbors, great money, great kids...life was good. And one of the things I did then was live celebration to celebration.
We literally have four celebrations in February...anniversary, Valentine's Day, Fat Tuesday/Mardi Gras and...something else. Week by week party. The "holidays" started with Halloween and ran through New Year's...I changed decorations more than I changed light bulbs. Kids can make celebrations out of anything and if you're smart? You'll follow.
Of course, to have all this celebrating you need (in addition to event-appropriate alcohol;) "stuff." Dishes. Candleholders. Table cloths. Dangly things and sparkly things and shiny things and things that make noise. When you're dealing with kids? The gaudier the better. (Actually, that's GAWDY, but I'd have to explain.)
So I bought this set of dishes. White dishes with gold stars. We brought them out after Thanksgiving and kept them out until after New Year's. If you ever get the chance to shop at a Garden Ridge? Take it. More fun than the fair. And some time later I was somewhere and there was...gold flatware. Lots and lots of flashy gold flatware, in it's nice box, winking at me.
So I bought it. And now, we have white dishes with gold stars and gold things to eat with and honey, if you are a kid you are in dress-up heaven. How cool is THIS?
It snowed last week and the neighborhood kids were everywhere (excepting the devil kid from next door, to whom we still do not speak) and come lunchtime, I called them in to feed them. Hot ham and cheese sandwiches, with beans and chips and hot chocolate and cup cakes and pickles. And for some reason, I picked up the container and put out the gold flatware.
A little boy from down the street was wolfing down his sandwich and when he reached for a fork, he stopped.
And said, in a breathless voice, "Ohhhhhh...golden spoons."
Golden spoons.
Thank you, God, for giving me golden spoons. And wet gloves and cold champagne and a goofy husband and snow in Alabama. For my great-grandmother's little china cabinet and rose bushes, and snot and peanut butter on my shoulder.
I am truly blessed.
Even if my dog DID die ;)
When we lived in Texas, we were living a charmed life. (Wish I had appreciated it more at the time!) Great house, great friends, great neighbors, great money, great kids...life was good. And one of the things I did then was live celebration to celebration.
We literally have four celebrations in February...anniversary, Valentine's Day, Fat Tuesday/Mardi Gras and...something else. Week by week party. The "holidays" started with Halloween and ran through New Year's...I changed decorations more than I changed light bulbs. Kids can make celebrations out of anything and if you're smart? You'll follow.
Of course, to have all this celebrating you need (in addition to event-appropriate alcohol;) "stuff." Dishes. Candleholders. Table cloths. Dangly things and sparkly things and shiny things and things that make noise. When you're dealing with kids? The gaudier the better. (Actually, that's GAWDY, but I'd have to explain.)
So I bought this set of dishes. White dishes with gold stars. We brought them out after Thanksgiving and kept them out until after New Year's. If you ever get the chance to shop at a Garden Ridge? Take it. More fun than the fair. And some time later I was somewhere and there was...gold flatware. Lots and lots of flashy gold flatware, in it's nice box, winking at me.
So I bought it. And now, we have white dishes with gold stars and gold things to eat with and honey, if you are a kid you are in dress-up heaven. How cool is THIS?
It snowed last week and the neighborhood kids were everywhere (excepting the devil kid from next door, to whom we still do not speak) and come lunchtime, I called them in to feed them. Hot ham and cheese sandwiches, with beans and chips and hot chocolate and cup cakes and pickles. And for some reason, I picked up the container and put out the gold flatware.
A little boy from down the street was wolfing down his sandwich and when he reached for a fork, he stopped.
And said, in a breathless voice, "Ohhhhhh...golden spoons."
Golden spoons.
Thank you, God, for giving me golden spoons. And wet gloves and cold champagne and a goofy husband and snow in Alabama. For my great-grandmother's little china cabinet and rose bushes, and snot and peanut butter on my shoulder.
I am truly blessed.
Even if my dog DID die ;)
21 February 2010
18 February 2010
We're Number One
Today Forbes published its 2010 list of Most Miserable American Cities and - surprise! - the number one most miserable place to live in the United States is NOT Detroit!This year Cleveland overtook MoTown as the Dear God, I Hate My Life capital of the U.S.
On the list, Brown Town is followed closely by a slew of other Midwestern cities including - I am horrified to say - sweet home Chicago.
Yeah, yeah...save your comments. I'm still homesick. Rampant crime, 10% sales tax and 10% unemployment build character, I tell ya.
So Congratulations, Detroit! No longer do you have to end every awkward cocktail party conversation with, "Yeah, but we have a really nice airport!"
16 February 2010
War Crimes and Musical Misdemeanors
Breaking News (dee-deet dee-dee-dee-deet)
Today Quincy Jones was taken into custody for orchestrating the revival of We Are the World.
He will be tried in The Hague on charges of Crimes Against Humanity.
Upon hearing the news of Jones' arrest, Bono, lead singer of the Irish rock band U2 and philanthropist whose work on behalf of third-world countries earned him a nomination for the Nobel Peace Prize reportedly shouted:
"Hang him high! I mean, Jordin Sparks? Haven't the Haitians been through enough already? For God's sake, just write a check, man!"
A similar reaction from Irene Kahn, Secretary-General of Amnesty International who is quoted as saying:
"Finally, a legitimate reason for the existence of Guantanamo Bay."
It is also reported that when the song debuted, Elvis spun in his grave causing a 2.5-magnitude earthquake in Memphis, TN and harp-playing angels wept uncontrollably, explaining a freak outbreak of blizzards and flooding across North America.
**End Report**
15 February 2010
Today was the day...
...I was going to get my blog posting mojo back.
It snowed.
Fucks me up every time ;)
I went to a Mardi Gras party Saturday night and lo and behold...there was my first boss. A lovely lady who (no lie) was the Society Editor of the local paper. I was the Assistant Society Editor. I was 18 years old.
The highlight of the night? Her son (who was 12 when I worked for his mother) telling me I was his first wet dream. I laughed, before I realized...THE KID WAS SERIOUS.
Jeez.
And then, The Big Boy dragged me out at 11:30 when it turns out I was playing Drinking Games with college boys and...they weren't doing it right.
College Boy: Jack...all the men take a shot.
College Boy...Queen...all the ladies take a shot.
Me...CARD!!! Everyone drinks!!!
Me...CARD!!! Everyone drinks!!!
Me...CARD!!! Everyone drinks!!!
Me...QUEEN!!! Everupme drlplsls!
It snowed.
Fucks me up every time ;)
I went to a Mardi Gras party Saturday night and lo and behold...there was my first boss. A lovely lady who (no lie) was the Society Editor of the local paper. I was the Assistant Society Editor. I was 18 years old.
The highlight of the night? Her son (who was 12 when I worked for his mother) telling me I was his first wet dream. I laughed, before I realized...THE KID WAS SERIOUS.
Jeez.
And then, The Big Boy dragged me out at 11:30 when it turns out I was playing Drinking Games with college boys and...they weren't doing it right.
College Boy: Jack...all the men take a shot.
College Boy...Queen...all the ladies take a shot.
Me...CARD!!! Everyone drinks!!!
Me...CARD!!! Everyone drinks!!!
Me...CARD!!! Everyone drinks!!!
Me...QUEEN!!! Everupme drlplsls!
12 February 2010
11 February 2010
Getting a Life
So here's the thing: Outside of work and this house, I have no life.Not that this is a bad thing. I don't particularly love where I live or most of the other people who live here. (CG1 and anyone who knows me well enough to read this blog, obviously excluded).
It's your classic case of square peg : round hole.
Sure, reading and cooking and eonophelia (no, that is NOT sex with dead people) are hobbies, but they don't require much social contact.
Like the self love, you can get by for a while, but there's no substitute for real human interaction.
So tonight I attended my very first writing work group. With other people. In a home other than my own.
And it was pretty cool.
Now, I don't write fiction. Sure, I exaggerate a lot but I'm not sure that counts.
I write non-fiction. Boring, work-related articles, essays, blah-blah-blah.
But I've been noodling around with an idea for about a year. A fiction-ish idea.
I know, right? It shocked me, too, when I found it rattling around in my head.
The problem is that I have no idea how to let it out. I need help. So when a friendly-acquaintance mentioned a writers group, I jumped on board.
It's a minor commitment: two hours, twice a week. Hell, I spend more time than that folding laundry.....and at the very least it forces me out of the house and into creative mode.
And I don't have to do anything gross like pre-soak or clean the lint filter. So, we shall see.
Stay tuned!
09 February 2010
Oh. Yeah. That slacker Blogger thing...
...and the "thing" is...you don't post? It's because there is SO much great material.
ONE of the episodes during the past month or so involves...hormones. If you are a female? Listen and learn. If you are a male, involved in ANY way with a female? Listen and learn. This is in your best interest and if you don't know this now, you will. "If Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy," is NOT just a cute monogram on a handtowel. You mess with me? The dryer won't just EAT your socks and underwear, it will dye them pink. I'm just sayin'.
Remember how, for years, insurance didn't pay for mammograms? It paid for ANY prostate diagnosis/treatment/stimulation deemed necessary by the MALE insurance board but...no mammograms. Several hundred million dollars later, someone did something and now...under duress...insurance will pay for breast cancer detection. Not done WILLINGLY, keep in mind, but...there's a chance The Bitch gets breast cancer? She won't be puttin' out on a regular basis so the male power-that-be agreed to pay for mammograms. If we checked, I'd be willing to bet that somewhere in there is a clause that swaps a certain number of b**wj*bs for mammograms but...that's just a guess.
ANYWAY. Let's see...two years ago I had a total hysterectomy which means...they cleaned it out. Took everything. As a LONGterm infertility patient I was a walking cancer potential so...take it out. Can't use it and it's only going to kill you so...move on. I did. To be honest, I was sort of hoping that removing that tissue would cause my stomach to sink it. I was wrong.
EXCEPT, some of that stuff was still functioning and as it turns out...I was using it. It's one of those situations where...you don't know you need it 'til it's gone. And what happened was...
...hot flashes. Drenching, shower-causing, soak your ass to the BONE...hot flashes. Not at night, like most people get them, but in the daytime. Usually, about five minutes after I'd spent 20 minutes putting on makeup, which promptly proceded to melt down my face. I would get up and leave places and events because I could not BREATHE and it was so hot I couldn't bear it.
Tried the "cures." Clear patches you stick on your skin on your belly fat, which you HAVE because you had a hysterectomy. They worked okay but when you took them off they left a black gummy residue, which I had to scrub off with nail polish remover. Which took off the skin, which then blistered. THEN I tried this...horn-looking thing. Pearly white plastic contraption about four inches tall, with a round thing like the speaker on the old RCA gramaphones. You squirted it onto your forearm...two squirts if you could get by with that, three if you needed more. I never DID figure out how much it cost, because I used the coupon the doctor gave me with my insurance card but I think that thing ran about $200 a month.
Not only was it not the greatest drug I ever tried ;), you had to remember to use it. Now, I know that doesn't sound like a big deal but...it was. I can take my vitamins, but for some reason I never could get used to squirting my forearm after my shower every day. And it didn't work that well anyway.
And then...and THEN...my sister got a pellet in her butt. NOT from a hunting accident, but a doctor-implanted hormone pellet, inserted under the skin on your hip. She RAVED. She LOVES it. She slept through the night, she had energy and...she didn't have to remember to take or squirt anything. Problem solved.
Except when I asked MY doctor for it, he was still on the fence. I brought it up end of summer last year, and he explained why he wasn't sure about the treatment...but then promised he was attending an educational seminar in November and he'd decide after he had all the facts. Went to the seminar, listened to the reviews and...he was in. Gave up birthing babies and took up shooting pellets into butts.
So I got my appointment.
DID YOU KNOW that insurance...in my case, Blue Cross/Blue Shield of Alabama, WILL NOT PAY FOR THESE PELLETS? Won't do it. (I intended to put a link here to contact the physician with BCBS who made this decision, but we don't have it yet. I'll get back to you when I find it.)
According the this bastion of healthcare...it's "experimental treatment." This is one of those things where...other countries have been using it for decades but...the FDA is looking out for me. Protecting my health. Listening to the drug companies.
The kicker? BCBS WILL PAY FOR VIAGRA. The entire country is about to be congested with men running around with hard-ons in their hands and...NO ONE TO GIVE A SHIT!!!!!!!!! Hormones and medication for erections but...we're not assisting the women involved. Just lay down and spread 'em. Doesn't cost anything. Good for you, buddy but...keep that thing to yourself!!
I did, however, fork over the $280 for the pellet and it was worth every penny. Lasts three to four months and then you do it again. You do NOT, however, have to figure out how to use a patch twice a week (There are seven days in a week. Two patches a week. That means what? Three days, then four days? Split that seventh day? Keep up with this HOW?) You do NOT have to have a lotionless forearm, fresh from the shower, hanging in the wind for a couple of minutes while the spray dries. IF you even remembered it.
I did go to pills, at the end before the pellet. They work. They also cause breast cancer but...GLORY BE!!!!! Blue Cross/Blue Shield will pay for mammograms!!!! It loves me! It loves women!!!
It doesn't pay for the hormone pellet. You get the chance? Bitch about this to someone. I'd appreciate it.
ONE of the episodes during the past month or so involves...hormones. If you are a female? Listen and learn. If you are a male, involved in ANY way with a female? Listen and learn. This is in your best interest and if you don't know this now, you will. "If Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy," is NOT just a cute monogram on a handtowel. You mess with me? The dryer won't just EAT your socks and underwear, it will dye them pink. I'm just sayin'.
Remember how, for years, insurance didn't pay for mammograms? It paid for ANY prostate diagnosis/treatment/stimulation deemed necessary by the MALE insurance board but...no mammograms. Several hundred million dollars later, someone did something and now...under duress...insurance will pay for breast cancer detection. Not done WILLINGLY, keep in mind, but...there's a chance The Bitch gets breast cancer? She won't be puttin' out on a regular basis so the male power-that-be agreed to pay for mammograms. If we checked, I'd be willing to bet that somewhere in there is a clause that swaps a certain number of b**wj*bs for mammograms but...that's just a guess.
ANYWAY. Let's see...two years ago I had a total hysterectomy which means...they cleaned it out. Took everything. As a LONGterm infertility patient I was a walking cancer potential so...take it out. Can't use it and it's only going to kill you so...move on. I did. To be honest, I was sort of hoping that removing that tissue would cause my stomach to sink it. I was wrong.
EXCEPT, some of that stuff was still functioning and as it turns out...I was using it. It's one of those situations where...you don't know you need it 'til it's gone. And what happened was...
...hot flashes. Drenching, shower-causing, soak your ass to the BONE...hot flashes. Not at night, like most people get them, but in the daytime. Usually, about five minutes after I'd spent 20 minutes putting on makeup, which promptly proceded to melt down my face. I would get up and leave places and events because I could not BREATHE and it was so hot I couldn't bear it.
Tried the "cures." Clear patches you stick on your skin on your belly fat, which you HAVE because you had a hysterectomy. They worked okay but when you took them off they left a black gummy residue, which I had to scrub off with nail polish remover. Which took off the skin, which then blistered. THEN I tried this...horn-looking thing. Pearly white plastic contraption about four inches tall, with a round thing like the speaker on the old RCA gramaphones. You squirted it onto your forearm...two squirts if you could get by with that, three if you needed more. I never DID figure out how much it cost, because I used the coupon the doctor gave me with my insurance card but I think that thing ran about $200 a month.
Not only was it not the greatest drug I ever tried ;), you had to remember to use it. Now, I know that doesn't sound like a big deal but...it was. I can take my vitamins, but for some reason I never could get used to squirting my forearm after my shower every day. And it didn't work that well anyway.
And then...and THEN...my sister got a pellet in her butt. NOT from a hunting accident, but a doctor-implanted hormone pellet, inserted under the skin on your hip. She RAVED. She LOVES it. She slept through the night, she had energy and...she didn't have to remember to take or squirt anything. Problem solved.
Except when I asked MY doctor for it, he was still on the fence. I brought it up end of summer last year, and he explained why he wasn't sure about the treatment...but then promised he was attending an educational seminar in November and he'd decide after he had all the facts. Went to the seminar, listened to the reviews and...he was in. Gave up birthing babies and took up shooting pellets into butts.
So I got my appointment.
DID YOU KNOW that insurance...in my case, Blue Cross/Blue Shield of Alabama, WILL NOT PAY FOR THESE PELLETS? Won't do it. (I intended to put a link here to contact the physician with BCBS who made this decision, but we don't have it yet. I'll get back to you when I find it.)
According the this bastion of healthcare...it's "experimental treatment." This is one of those things where...other countries have been using it for decades but...the FDA is looking out for me. Protecting my health. Listening to the drug companies.
The kicker? BCBS WILL PAY FOR VIAGRA. The entire country is about to be congested with men running around with hard-ons in their hands and...NO ONE TO GIVE A SHIT!!!!!!!!! Hormones and medication for erections but...we're not assisting the women involved. Just lay down and spread 'em. Doesn't cost anything. Good for you, buddy but...keep that thing to yourself!!
I did, however, fork over the $280 for the pellet and it was worth every penny. Lasts three to four months and then you do it again. You do NOT, however, have to figure out how to use a patch twice a week (There are seven days in a week. Two patches a week. That means what? Three days, then four days? Split that seventh day? Keep up with this HOW?) You do NOT have to have a lotionless forearm, fresh from the shower, hanging in the wind for a couple of minutes while the spray dries. IF you even remembered it.
I did go to pills, at the end before the pellet. They work. They also cause breast cancer but...GLORY BE!!!!! Blue Cross/Blue Shield will pay for mammograms!!!! It loves me! It loves women!!!
It doesn't pay for the hormone pellet. You get the chance? Bitch about this to someone. I'd appreciate it.
Lazy-Ass Bloggers
Hidey-Ho, Kids.So you've probably been wondering WTF is up with us lately.
Bad jokes, kind-of funny pictures, deep thoughts...lazy, right?
Well, I'm on travel for the second week in a row and I am dead tired. Tried to come home early yesterday, but Mother Nature and her PMS-induced Blizzard From Hell put the kibosh on that plan. So here I am, on the road until Friday.
Nothing terribly interesting has happened this trip...er, these trips. I did stay at my first five-star hotel last week in Atlanta and decided that I wouldn't, actually, want to travel like that all the time.
I mean, it was lovely - a bit surreal, actually - but...if a person travels in the lap of luxury all the time...what does she consider a real treat? What is there to get excited about? What in the world impresses you when you're catered to every day of your life?
I've considered this before: If I was able to go out and buy everything I wanted, or travel wherever I liked, in luxury, whenever I wanted it, what would there be to look forward to? What would surprise me? Slumming?
Nope. I think I'll take middle class life with an occasional peek at the way the rich and famous live.
I like getting tickled to death when I find my hotel room features a four-foot-deep soaking tub and a plasma television embedded in the bathroom mirror.
And I actually like coming back to reality when I have to stay at a Courtyard by Marriott that hasn't been remodeled in 15 years.
The crunchy carpeting and oddly-stained sofas I can do without, but, you know, it's all a part of the ride. :o)
06 February 2010
04 February 2010
Friday Fortune Cookie
Women are angels.
And when someone breaks our wings
We continue to fly...on broomsticks.
We are flexible.
And when someone breaks our wings
We continue to fly...on broomsticks.
We are flexible.
03 February 2010
Piper Down
We have a piper down. I repeat, we have a piper down.
No...it's alright. He's just pissed.
So I've been in Hotlanta since Sunday - I suppose I should have warned CG1.
On Friday I leave for Orlando - hey, CG, head's up.
Sorry for the sparse content update...I'll make it up to you later.
I promise.
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