Monday, July 29, 2013

Dirt, Sweat and Shiny Rocks

I'm off to find a few of these...

If you ever want to find a few of those, I recommend you go here:

Thursday, July 25, 2013


Yesterday morning I woke up with one of the worst migraines I've had in a long time.

I don't count it amongst the very worst because I didn't end up laying over a toilet bowl in a bathroom without the lights on.  Instead my body gave up and I fell into a deep sleep, a nap that lasted pretty much for 24 hours. 

My parents were visiting and I missed breakfast with them.  The night before we took them to dinner and then Mom and I had girl's night at the casino.  She doubled her bankroll.  I got hit on by a man with a heavy Spanish accent.  We went back to my house and ate sorbet.  Why a migraine had to show up is anyone's guess.

My mom called when they got home and the phone conversation went something like this:

Ring ring ring ring ring (where is my husband) ring ring ring (sound hurts) ring ring....

Me:  Hello?

Mom:  We got home.  We wanted to call to see if you were okay.

Me:  I'm sleeping.

Mom:  That's good.

Me:  Okay.  Bye.

And I hung up.

At least, I think that's how it went down.  I don't remember all that much.  It's entirely possible I told my mother that I was riding unicorns, eating cotton candy and farting glitter before suddenly hanging up on her.  But then, my saying such a thing wouldn't have been a cause for concern.  People are surprised when things like that don't come out of my mouth at any given time.  She should gauge how I'm feeling  by the lack of fart jokes and I should call back.

Where was my husband?  He went to the grocery store for soup.  It was sweet of him.

This morning I woke up completely wrung out without any clothes on.  I remember getting up to shower.  I remember getting up later to brush my teeth because I had soup breath.  I remember my husband watching "A Fish Called Wanda" next to me in bed after dark.  I thought I remembered putting on pajamas...

Glitter in your drawers though...that's gotta itch...the effect is more spectacular without pants.

Monday, July 22, 2013

Kate's stretch marks are more royal than mine.

If I wrote a blog post about royal childbirth, would you roll your eyes and leave me?

Of course you would!  You've been wallowing in it all day.

Congratulations to Wills and Kate, but other than the well wishes, I won't add to the sheer abundance of afterbirth piling up about the internets.  Twitter users and Redditors might find their corners of the web slimy when photos of the new prince pop up in the coming days. 

Americans don't even have the common sense to carry a handkerchief to clean ourselves off with when we slip and fall in it, so it's best to limit our exposure.

Instead, know that the baby squirrels I've been waiting for have finally shown up in my yard. 

I've named the kits, two girls and one boy, "The Wesley Crushers".

This squirrel showed up too.  I've named him "Bill Shatner".

Now I'm going to go weed my yard in my bare feet.

Tuesday, July 16, 2013

Flora? I hardly know ya!

When my urologist gave me a prescription for pills that would "restore the flora", he warned me that there would be side effects.  As a mindful physician, he wasn't just going to throw a prescription at me so he could move on to the cuter kidney stone patient.  He truly wanted me and my bladder to feel better.

I took his warnings in stride. Side effects, schmide effects.  Even baby aspirins cause dry mouth.

Well, the flora restoring pill has given me dry mouth all right.  Dry mouth with the lingering flavor of aluminum foil.  

This is charming enough on it's own, but I'm also lethargic, bloated, and sweating buckets.

Otherwise, I'm feeling better and fortunately none of the side effects are enough to drive ya to drinkin'.

Because that's out too.  Way out.

As in no using alcohol at all even to the degree of swishing your favorite mouthwash because you won't enjoy spending the night vomiting up the very internal organs you are taking the pills for in the first place.

I'm not much of a drinker.  From time to time I've had a glass of wine or a cocktail.  In general I think most alcohol tastes pretty bad and I'd rather lick the seat of a truck stop toilet than drink a that I can't imbibe, I want to.  I want to bad.

Whiskey?  Why, I've never sipped on a quality whiskey!  That might be something I want to do!

That kitschy looking frozen margarita with the upended bottle of Corona in it?  Yum yum gimme sum!

Long island iced tea I love you long time?

Strawberry Quik and whipped cream flavored vodka, cherry on top?  Why, that sounds classy!

Red bull and Jaeger?  Uh...well maybe not.  There are limits.

Still, you don't have to worry over me becoming a lush when my ten day course of pills is over.  When the pill finally clears out of my system and drinkies are permitted, I might not be suffering from another common side effect the doc warned me about...



I'm-a gonna go git me some strawberry Quik right now!

Friday, July 12, 2013

Wading in the Warm Waters of Love

I have a new man in my life.

He's tall.  He's educated.  He's pleasant.  He's ripe for a mid-life crisis.

He's my urologist and I'm fixing to have a long fruitful relationship with him.  Especially since after parking in the wrong parking garage on the advice of my Garmin, exploring two floors in the wrong building per the instructions of the parking lot attendant, moving to a different parking area with free valet parking, and then exploring two more floors in the right building, I finally found his office.

In the past month and a half I've swallowed three courses of antibiotics, peed in many cups and passed at least one kidney stone.  My nether regions are a swollen fiery mass of unhappy.  The last course of antibiotics has caused me to suffer with achy joints and rock hard sore boobies.  Then there was the fun of pushing all the liquids.  Everywhere I went I was scoping out the bathrooms and the drinking fountains, keeping myself hydrated and my bladder distended.  I've peed on the side of the road twice for lack of a toilet.  If you saw my naked bum while my family was travelling in Utah, you've seen the truth of everything I've already testified to in this post so far.  Perhaps I should publish a free informative pamphlet about it.

My urologist has given me new pills that are supposed to "restore the flora" and a comprehensive education on how to pee better.  He started on the assumption that I did actually know the difference between my urethra and my vagina and at that I was completely smitten with him. 

Visiting the doctor after passing a stone and being told that I couldn't possibly know if the blood in my urine didn't come from elsewhere is not sexy at all. 

The very best part of visiting the urologist?  The patient chatter in the waiting room.  God love the folks who drove in all the way from Evanston to wait in support of their incontinent family member.  They told stirrups jokes and proctologist jokes and speculum jokes and donut shaped blow up butt cushion jokes.  Most of the kidney stone afflicted men in the chairs were understandably grumpy but I was near tears with laughter.  When I was finally called back into the office they told me to "knock one out of the park!" and when I was done, they all gave me the thumbs up. 

Bladder support is important.

Tuesday, July 09, 2013

Old Home Weed

Yesterday, we drove past the house I grew up in.  It pissed me off.

From my toddler years to right  before I entered the horrors of puberty, we lived on a horse farm in a small town that boasted of more cows than people.  The delightful cow smell wafted into my fabulous minivan and while my family objected, I rejoiced in the idea of future cheeseburgers and ice cream.  This is the smell of all things that were good in my childhood, the methane that is farmers perfume.

I showed my kids my elementary school, the park I used to ride my bike to, the corner where the one store in town once stood with the promise of penny candy, the irrigation ditches we played in, the big pot leaf the hippies painted on the mountain side by the abandoned quarry,  and the house, where mom got all her funny stories about horses and piles of horse poop.

I think I've written before on how the town I grew up in has changed.  Not necessarily the smell but the mcmansions built by owners who had to resolve themselves that cows or farm life isn't a novelty.   It's one thing to dream of living out in the sticks but the reality of it smells far different.  Cows do not care if you lay Brady Bunch style grass inside your barn, they are going to poop on it the same way they poop on everything else.

No, it isn't the mcmansions around my old house that made me angry, but what they had done to the house itself.

Just steps out the back door stands a tall garage three times the size of the house, where the barn and the stalls and the paddock once stood.

They painted the front door and the shutters black.

The yard and the orchard and the gardens needed tending.

The driveway was wrecked with rubble and weeds.

The brickwork was covered with the wires of modern living, without any concern to how it would look but with the idea that the shortest distance between point A and point B is a straight line.

The flower beds were gone.


It wasn't that it wasn't the same, but that it was so different and generally neglected that they ruined it.

They might as well have painted the whole property puce and called it good enough for government work.  It would have shown they cared.

Speaking of paint, that mountain side pot leaf looked like it needed some refurbishing too.  Its been there over 40 years.  It's history! 

Wednesday, July 03, 2013

God Save the Episiotomy

This isn't usually like me, but for some backwards reason, I'm excited that the Duchess of Cambridge Mrs. Prince of Wales Kate Middleton is due to give birth next week.

I'm excited and at the same time, I don't care.

Let's expound upon this little bit of cognitive if you could stop me.  This is my blog and though I'm bound by terms of service, they still allow me to type as many words I possibly can in their rich text editor, whether you want to read them or not.  You should really just be grateful that I'm not expounding upon the birth of little North West because this post might have gone an entirely different and disturbing direction.

Cankles and pooping during delivery...anyhow...

I'm excited about this birth in that I think that as far as royals and celebrities go, William and Kate are good people.  Good people giving birth and raising more good people is good for the world.  That's a lot of pressure on any infant but I think they'll be able to handle it that and exceed it.

I don't care in that I really don't care how this birth happens.

Many do.  They ask:

Will Kate Middleton have a natural delivery...a natural delivery in a bathtub...a natural delivery with William with her in the bathtub?  Will she breastfeed, cloth diaper, immunize, circumcise, pasteurize or accessorize?  Will she co-sleep, baby-wear, sleep-train, and allow that baby a pacifier?

On top of this rude invasion of personal space, the answers are expected to bolster and legitimize their personal parenting crusades.  Kate will cloth diaper and therefore cloth diapering better than not.  Kate will breastfeed therefore breastfeeding is even better than it was before.  Kate uses any number of baby products available from the billion dollar baby industry therefore these baby products are essential to the health and well being of babies everywhere!  Ka-ching! doesn't matter and it's not my business.  If Kate Middleton gives birth squatting in front of the editors of Parenting magazine, how far down she squats won't in the least bit matter because it will have the exact same result as if they gave her plenty of anesthesia and pulled the baby out with suction from an industrial shop-vac.

Baby will be born.

Baby will get fed.

Baby will be cuddled.

Baby will be loved.

That's the standard folks.  Whether you give birth in a hospital surrounded by machines that go "bing!" or in Himalayan rainforests at the very break of dawn, hopefully you end a pregnancy with a healthy baby that will have food in it's tummy and a warm clean place to sleep.

So, congratulations to William and Kate.  Enjoy that baby.

Hell, congrats to Kim and Kanye too. 

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