The Mini Van Soap Box

As I'm sure most of us are - I am forever tickled with the Google searches that bring people to my little neck of the woods. The pervs and freaks out there looking for pictures of Bobby Browns penis (I don't have any) and Dancing Poop (mine does not) are endless. We bloggers put down, what we think are rather innocuous statements, only to find through spider searches and other magical internet tools, that to others our statement held an altogether different meaning. Or rather what they HOPED was a different meaning.

In my case it was trying to describe what it feels like to put numbing cream in your pants.

So, let me state for the record. I can not cook with my vagina. I can not teach you how to do this. I can not direct you to who can, or a book that can teach you. I find it deeply disturbing that you would search for this in the first place.

However, the more I type...the more I think that being able to cook with my vagina would be freakin' awesome.

Think how much easier camping and road trips would be!

"Mama, can I have a pop tart?" YOU BET!

"Kerrie, are you pregnant again?" "No. No no. Just got another 4 hours on the turkey!"

When/if I'm finally done with the laser hair removal..I could also consider it a kitchen remodel?

There are so many ideas rolling around in my head right now I could write a book about vagina cooking...but I'm quite certain that I would have to credit half of those ideas to the manufacturers of the medications I'm on right now.

Although I've always considered myself a fairly independent woman, there seem to be a certain number of things that took on a certain "sex" when I married. We've come to call them "blue jobs and pink jobs". The things that lay solely at the others feet. The above is a perfect example of a blue job. I could care less about shoveling the driveway. He commented before he walked outside that this would be the first time he ever shoveled at this house. Which I thought was pretty odd since it did in fact snow last year, and we did, in fact, live here last year.

Turns out that he was out of town for the week it snowed and I just drove over it for an entire week until it froze and then I parked on the street until he got home.

Spring planting, however, would be a perfect example of a pink job. If you were to ask him his feelings on flowers - his response would be that the only reason he doesn't mow over them is out of fear I'll hide his iTouch.

It's an usual feeling - being afraid to go to sleep. I suppose I remember times as a child, after watching something I shouldn't have watched - and then laying in bed for hours, scared of the monsters under the bed or in the closet.

As an adult, I've certainly had my fair share of sleepless nights. Scared of what was to come before I had my daughter - wondering if I was gong to be able to hack it. There have been some news stories over the years that have kept me awake for days as well. But over the course of the last 32 days I have been afraid to go to sleep because I knew that in a couple of hours I would wake up with a ice pick shoved in my brain.

We're no closer to finding the cause today - then we were 30 days ago. I have my suspicions (without a medical degree), and my doctor has his ideas, backed by his actual degree. We really aren't seeing eye to eye however.

Yesterday I think we had a bit of a break through though - because for the better part of the afternoon I WEPT UNCONTROLLABLY in his office.

He thought it would be a good idea to lower my dosage of the meds I'm on. Apparently they can make you a little "off".

I'm also on a brand new blood pressure medication. Apparently an interesting side effect of lowering ones blood pressure is a decrease in migraines. I'm down with that - even if I don't have high blood pressure.

I know I should be happy that my MRI came back clean - but a small part of me is almost depressed that it wasn't SOMETHING. Something they could see. Something they could fix, or cut out. Something to create a light at the end of the tunnel. (can we say dramatic?!)


Also: In completely unrelated news, my sister sent me an article from USA Today. Looks like my laser people really are trying to kill me. Apparently the FDA has warned numerous times that numbing cream and saran wrap are not good bed fellows. As in, you shouldn't do it. As in, it's going to soak into your blood stream and, I don't know, kill you. And as my sister pointed out - if you want to get something into your blood stream quickly, there's no better place than your cooter. And then we ended up discussing how else to get numbing cream into your blood stream - and we decided that either injecting it directly, or maybe snorting it would be the best way....and that turned into a conversation on how many people sell underwear on Ebay. Then she told me about this girl that is selling her virginity on Ebay, and I'm all "whore", and she's like, "yea, no shit!", so we talked about whores for a while.

Because sometimes you just have to forget about the headaches to talk about snorting lidocaine and whores.

Also again: I told my 4 year old daughter on the way to school today that it was Inauguration Day, and that we were getting a new President. She just finished learning about MLK, and asked if HE was going to be our President.

"No sweetie...His name is Barack Obama."
"Baaarraccckkk. B B Baaarracckkk. Like broccoli?"
"Sure, I guess it sounds like broccoli a little."
"But Mama, I don't LIKE broccoli!"

About six months ago, I wrote this. It's a riveting piece about my girl parts. And here I go again.

Even though in July, I wrote the words "my last laser hair removal appointment", that turned out to not be the case. I'm still doing it six months later...with no end in sight. What follows is a description of the very odd day I had on Tuesday.

It all began last Friday when I got a call from the Laser people. They explained to me that the machine that I'm usually treated on is down and they'll need to switch me to a different one. Apparently the reason for the call is that the other machine is stronger, and can hurt more. I basically gave a non-committal harrumph and followed with something to the extent of "won't make a damn bit of difference anyway"... (translation: thieving whores who are just trying to get my money and probably not lasering me at all...") Upon hearing my joy at what will probably be another unsuccessful appointment, they explained that I probably should have been on this "stronger machine" from at least my third appointment.

Now you tell me.

It was then explained, that for this appointment, I would need to use a numbing cream on the treatment areas, since the machine is stronger and not in the "pain free" category. A prescription was called in, and I was to apply the cream to the treatment areas...and then wrap said areas with plastic.

I'm sorry...could you repeat that?

Yep, you got it. I had to lather this crap in my armpits and crotch and then wrap myself in saran wrap. And let me just tell you right now - wrapping your armpits in saran wrap is a physical impossibility. The sole function of saran wrap is to stick to itself...not skin. So, unless I intended to drive 30 minutes with both of my arms sticking out the sun roof, there was no way this stuff was going to stay in place. Sad part was, it took me four attempts with one armpit to figure that out.

Covering my crotch SEEMED easy enough, in theory. Put the stuff on, then a layer of saran wrap, then underwear, then pants. Easy enough. However, just like putting a child in a snowsuit, the second I got all my shit together, I had to pee. And since most women wipe after pee'ing - I needed to do the whole thing over again.

So now I've got 2 applications on my crotch, 4 on one armpit and almost none of the other.

In case you were wondering at this point in the story what it feels like to numb your coochie and then wrap it in saran wrap....it's not enjoyable. Between the goo of the cream, the saran wrap, sitting and the heat of the car - it essentially feels like I've poured a bottle of cooking oil down my pants and am trying to cook it with my vagina.

I finally reach my destination to only be told that because of the medication I'm on for my Angel-verse migraines, I should never have used the cream in the first place, and that I can't have my treatment that day because my meds and the laser apparently don't mesh.

So, if you saw a women at the mall on Tuesday, looking as though she had a log shoved up her ass, hot vegetable oil pooling at her feet, and poking herself repeatedly in the armpit.....That was me.

Apparently, doctors don't have much of a sense of humor. They also don't watch a lot of t.v.

"Can you describe your headaches?"

"Yea, you know Doyle? No? Ok, how about Cordelia Chase? Not her either? Ok, so see - they got visions from the PTB, that would be the Powers That Be, and it was always a vision of someone in grave danger, and then the Dark Avenger, that's Angel, would go save them! So, that's what it's like. Except without the save the damsel in distress scratch and sniff visions."

(Long Pause)

"Yes, well ok. Can you tell how bad the pain is on a scale from 1 to 10?"

"oh, yea. It's a ten"

Afterward, they totally gave me about 10,000 dollars worth of street drugs and told me I have little worms eating my brain from the inside out. No, they didn't really say that - but they did give me enough drugs to start my own business. So, now I'm having a hard time deciding if I'm going to take the drugs or if I'm going to try to turn them into a lucrative brain swapping business.

While although they didn't tell me I had brain worms, they did inform me - ever so urgently - that I needed to have an MRI AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. Because that doesn't freak a patient out AT ALL. Then radiology screwed the pooch and sent me away without an MRI and that totally pissed off my doctors office who in turn basically told me I was going to die without the MRI.

My sister and I discussed it this morning over IM. And even though she spent the better portion of the morning soaking her hands in liquefied shit (you'll have to ask her) she took some time out of her busy day to diagnose me with Lupus. It's never Lupus on House, so it had to happen at some point in time.

I got up for work yesterday, got myself ready, then got her up and dressed - jumped in the car and rushed to get her to school so I could get to work on time.

I pulled into the school parking lot to see it closed down and not a light on anywhere.

"Hmmm...Looks like your school is closed today"

"Um Yea, I told you that yesterday Mama"

Which she had. Which I didn't believe. Why on earth would school be closed on January 2nd. I have to go to work - so my brain just automatically assumed that her school would be open.

I called my folks to see if they could take her for a few hours during the day, since there is no way she would be able to entertain herself at my office for 6 hours without breaking every computer within reach.

I picked her up again at about 1:30 and while there it was mentioned that I hadn't blogged in a while.

True, I haven't. The thing is - I haven't really felt that there was anything the least bit cheery or funny to talk about. I don't really think ya'll want a play by play of the skull crushing, mind altering migraines that I'm having.

Every. Damn. Night.

I'm at a loss. I don't know what else to do. I only have a few more ideas in my bag - and if those don't work...I'll be looking for a head transplant.

Do any of you have a head that you aren't currently using? I would like to upgrade if that's a possibility. Something without gray hair would be nice - and maybe better skin. Something with a little less sun damage and freckles. I'm open to any hair color - since it might be time for a change anyway.

I can offer in trade a slightly used, brown hair with gray highlights noggin. Eyes are slightly sunken in with dark circles due to lack of sleep. 35 years of sun exposure shows in the many freckles across the bridge of nose and cheeks. And when not suffering from super nova debilitating pain - smiles often and is typically a pretty happy head.

Any takers?