Okay, bad analogy, but give me a break. I’m on pain meds, yo.
And remember that photo that I was SOOOO embarrassed to reveal? That shit IS supermodel material when compared to my current state.
***WARNING: THE FOLLOWING PHOTO IS NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART OR FOR PEOPLE WITH FUNCTIONING EYEBALLS TO LOOK UPON***
The day of the surgery was pretty non-eventful. Got all prettied up in my nerd glasses and basically just took a nice nap that happened to include doctors shoving instruments in to my abdomen and moving shit around.
When I got home, the local anesthesia was still in full force so I thought I had won the hernia jackpot.
It’s like the lottery, but uglier.
Little did I know that hernia surgery makes you feel like you just had a mini-c-section. It’s hard to get yourself up from the laying position and sweet Jesus help me if I have to sneeze.
The other fantastic aspect of the surgery is my super power: a ridiculously high tolerance for pain medications. I discovered said super power years ago when, despite 50 hundred shots of novacaine in my face, my dentist simply could not get me numb enough to fill a cavity. Then the same happened when I had a root canal.
The dentist eventually had to give me IV sedation for the root canal. After THREE Valium had no effect on me. AND THEN, I woke up part way through the procedure to vomit on the dentist.
So when I was chewing down a few Vicodin, I wasn’t too surprised that they had no effect. Or is it affect. Whatever.
Luckily, the doctor gave me some Oxy and, while that helps with the pain, it also fucks me up! Like lay around with my head swirling in the clouds all day.
Sadly, it also inhibits my plan of blogging non-stop this weekend. Hopefully these posts are somewhat coherent and I haven’t made you delete me from your readers with the After Photo.
Man, I’m witty. Jealous?
Song title: My Hernia by Bill Cosby]]>
I won’t have to be a mom.
I won’t have to be a wife.
I’ll get to be me. Just me.
Well, me with a daiquiri. And hopefully a tan. Because Lord knows you do NOT want to see me in my natural translucent state!
Song title: Raise Your Glass by P!nk]]>
So I’m totally convinced that I’m have been impregnated with a vampire baby.
Here is my reasoning:
1. I’m super sensitive to sunlight today. Now I’m going with the more traditional sunlight-kills-vampires theory here, not the sunlight-just-makes-me-more-beautiful Twilight theory.
2. My contacts are apparently being destroyed by my caustic eye boogers. This is causing me to tear up constantly and pretty much blinds me. It probably doesn’t help that the only glasses I own are an old prescription and are so scratched it looks like I stored them in a blender. Filled with gravel. And savage cats with sharpened claws.
That’d be a pretty disgusting blender.
3. Obviously Cletus the Fetus is a vampire because of his/her rapid growth. I mean, I just went from having rock hard abs to a ferocious muffin top in like three days. There’s just no way that I had those love handles before and never noticed them, right?
4. Bee is a fucking crazy face today. Seriously, she either woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning or is a werewolf and therefore suspicious of the vampire baby in my womb. I’m going with the werewolf theory until proven wrong.
5. I am so exhausted today that I can hardly keep my eyes open. My caustic eye boogers/melting contact lenses aren’t helping the situation either. Obviously, my vampire baby is sucking the life energy out of me.
Well, there it is. Five undeniable reasons why I have been impregnated with Edward Cullen’s baby.
So far I’m only craving Little Ceasar’s Crazy Bread. I hope blood isn’t next.
Song title: Sunlight Theory by Ben Liebrand]]>
Philosophy Orange Chiffon Bubble Bath: $22
Bottle of dessert wine: $13
Too Beautiful To Live Podcast: $0
A quiet half hour to myself: Priceless
Song title: Some Enchanted Evening by Barbra Streisand]]>
I’ll give you three attempts to guess what my favorite feature of the bathroom was…
If you answered C, Congratulations!
You’ve won a shiny new pair of, well, nothing, but you’ve proven your undying devotion to me/the blog/my life/you’re kind of a stalker but that’s cool because everybody needs a hobby (or, you know, your ability to read [see sidebar proclaiming said addiction to television]). But hey, goooooo literacy!!
Although, it was somewhat of a trick question. Because, dude, Godzilla?
I know. I know. And what’s really fucked up is that I couldn’t find anything better on the television to watch in a city where I should know all the television stations.
Stupid satellite tv in my mirror.
Song title: A Dream Within A Dream by Alan Parsons Project]]>
1. Mr. Bee Follow-up
On Wednesday morning, around 1:30 in the morning, Mr. Bee’s nose started bleeding again. Not I-need-a-transfusion-immediately bleeding, but enough to make me shit my pants slightly. We pretty much immediately called a friend to stay at the house with Bee and headed to the local emergency room, where we hung out for about four hours.
Long story short, there is nothing to do but wait for his nose to heal, which will take about a week. In that time, Mr. Bee can’t bend down to tie his shoes, pick up Bee, basically ANYTHING that would cause the blood pressure in his head to rise.
Guess who gets to do E.V.E.R.Y.T.H.I.N.G. and can’t even leave Bee to take a break in case she (meaning Bee, not me – but totally a totally understandable confusion) needs a diaper change? Mr. Bee can’t even put her down for a nap by himself because he’d have to lift her in to the crib (yes, she’s still in a crib – shut up.)
So, yeah. I’ve been a little busy. And…going a little crazy. (Otherwise known as: please disregard the soon-to-be-written whiny-Calgon-take-me-away posts that will be popping up this week.)
Okay, seriously, I can’t remember any of my other blog farts that I was going to write for you. That’s how much of a jumble fuck my mind is right now.
Jesus. Sorry for the asstastic post, friendos.
Now I gotta go lug the lawn mower from the backyard to mow the front yard and take the trash out and start laundry.
Oh, and if you have time, go over to Pearls of Wisdom and tell Pearl that she is lame for wanting to abandon her blog. I mean, not all posts can be web jems like this, but she can always keep trying…
PS: Oh yeah, I remembered one thing. Hopefully I’ll get around to watching Bachelorette season opener this weekend and will record my thoughts for your entertainment. I heard that there is some dude obsessed with feet or something? Stay classy, Bachelorette.]]>
Guess what a SAHM (and Work At Home/Owner of Her Own Company Mom, thankyouverymuch) doesn’t want to hear after relaying the story to her husband, who is home from work to eat the hot meal that said S/WAHM just made for him?
Him: “Whatever. Who would pay you that much?!”
Me: “I think that’s a pretty good price for a chef, nanny, personal shopper, maid, need I go on?”
Him: “Well, you’d never get paid a real paycheck for 4 full-time jobs. There isn’t enough time in a day to do all those jobs.”
Me: “You don’t say…”
Really, though? After a morning where I’ve been subjected to enough Wonder Pets to kill a rabid elephant, had to assemble a Backyardigans puzzle roughly 8 billion times only to have Bee smash it in to pieces and then demand “Together! Together!” after each assembly, and had to wrestle Bee for ten minutes just to get her legs, arms and head pinned down in order to get the snot streaming out of her nose cleaned up. Seriously, the only thing I can compare the wrestling to is attempting to put socks on a epileptic octopus. Or trying to give a pissed-off cat a bath. While drunk.
Apparently I still have some husband training to do in order to get the “Baby, you do so much around the house, you deserve to be paid SEVEN figures!” that I waiting for.
Still waiting, actually…
Maybe he’ll be singing a different tune after I get back from my four-day vacation.
Song title: Acknowledge Me by Prince]]>
First, you’ve got the social breakdown that naturally occurs when 20+ children under the age of 3 are within 20 feet of one another. Next, you’ve got a Thunderdome-esque Big Toy that threatens to kill your 2 year old who can hardly handle the transition from linoleum to carpet without falling on her face. Add in a few older kids who definitely have a “two toddlers enter, one toddler leaves” mentality, and you’ve really got a recipe for disaster on your hands.
I mean, who designs these playgrounds anyway?! Would it kill them to enclose the play area with a fence? Or barbed wire? That’s electrocuted?
And why, dear God, WHY do they insist on creating these death traps for my child to play on? Does the Big Toy really need to be THAT big? What about a Not-Really-That-Impressive Toy that doesn’t tower 150 feet in to the air?
I am TOTALLY *that mom* who refuses to let her toddler climb up that monstrosity by herself. I mean, do these other parents see how high up this shit is?!
Every time I climbed up there with Bee, I peed myself a little.
And had a massive coronary.
But the peeing was more embarrassing.
But not unexpected.
Even with the heart attacks and wetting myself, the thing that really made me blow my top (once, only once) was this pack of wild animals older children that were running around the play area and pushing little kids out of their way. Sweet baby Jesus, when they pushed Bee around on the Big Toy (of all places!) and I heard one kid say “outta the way!”…so help me God, I think a divine presence must have stopped me from turning in to the Hulk again.
Don’t get me wrong, I did yell at the kids. Briefly.
But I figure the real solution is just training Bee to be a little less Timid Freida and a little more Mad Max-ish.
Song title: Where Do The Children Play? by Cat Stevens]]>
Well, there’s no easy way to say this, so here it is:
He has worms.
In his butt.
Did you clench your ass cheeks together just then? It’s okay, we’re among friends. My ass has been itching every since I heard the news. I’ll give you a minute to unclench…
Well, here’s the good shit. These worms (pinworms, to be specific) come out at night.
Oh yeah, you heard me. These little fuckers, after taking 1-2 months to grow from eggs in to worms (gag) in your stomach (gag), like to poke themselves out of YOUR ASS HOLE at night (dry heave) and lay eggs around your butt hole (vomiting tonight’s gourmet dinner of popcorn shrimp).
Seriously, how the fuck do we have vaccines for fuckin’ small pox and shit but I still have to worry about WORMS crawling out of my baby’s ASS?!
Oh and this is the best part. Guess what the super high-tech technique is for diagnosing pin worms?
That’s right, friends. You have to scotch tape your poor little itchy baby’s ass first thing in the morning so the doctor can examine the tape for eggs. Either that or poke around in your baby’s butt in the middle of the night with a flashlight, looking for the worms to poke their little heads out and say hello.
Seriously. What. The. Fuck.
Scotch tape? Really though?! In a world of advanced medical technology, there’s no better way to find out if a child has a parasite laying eggs in their ass crack than slapping some tape up in there? Like they aren’t traumatized enough with itchy butts and mom looking at their butt for five minutes every time she changes their diaper!
Any who, luckily it seems like Bee and her BFF (who all play together approximately 200 hours a week) have avoided Worm Invasion 2009 so far. But of course, they could have little wormies growing in their tummies right now just waiting to poke their little heads out in a month or two (gag).
Just in case, guess what I got to do this weekend (with the help of Mr. Bee)? Clean every. single. toy in the house. Looked a little like this:
While I’m not a huge fan of Worm Invasion 2009, mostly because it means I won’t have the escape of ten million play dates this week, I did at least get my house a little cleaner.
But my ass still itches even thinking about it.
Song title: Wiggley Worm by Nomeansno]]>
Rambling, I can do.
* * * * * * * * * *
Got an interesting “compliment” at Saturday’s wedding. The DJ and I were trying to figure out when the last time we worked together was. We couldn’t remember if we had children then or not, so we decided it must have been while I was pregnant because he noticed that I am “considerably smaller than I was then”.
And just for shits and giggles, I looked up that wedding date just now. Yeah, I was 4 months postpartum. I’m going to look for the silver lining and whatnot and just be happy that I’ve lost that baby weight since the last time I saw him.
A year and a half ago.
* * * * * * * * * *
It’s that time of the month again. The sit-around-waiting-to-be-pregnant-or-start-bleeding time. Due to my god damn stupid basal thermometer dying mid-cycle, I don’t have a good idea of when I ovulated, so who knows if there is a little Cletus the Fetus in there or not… I figure since this is the one month that I’m not freaking out over every single twinge I feel, then I totally will be prego. But who knows? Not I.
* * * * * * * * * *
Did I tell you about the coolest shit I found on Google Anal-tics? I’m always looking for new ways to stalk my tens of readers and I found the coolest thing – a map that shows me where everyone is reading from!
You can even see the exact cities too!
So let’s first discuss something important…
What the fuck is up with South Carolina, Delaware, Montana, Wyoming, South Dakota, Nebraska, New Mexico, Kansas and Alaska? Not a single reader?!
I mean, to be fair, I did have to look up what the names of half of those states were, because, really, all those ones in the middle? Not really my targeted audience.
* * * * * * * * * *
Okay, well, that’s all I got for you today, Interwebs. As always, if you have a topic you’d like to hear my thoughts on, feel free to email me at firstname.lastname@example.org!
As soon as I kick this cold thingy, I’ll be back to my bitchy sarcastic self.
Wild Urge to Ramble by Blue Highway]]>