So much - and so little - has happened over the last week or so that none of it really will fill a whole post...So it's all here. Just sort of thrown all together like left over's. Consider it Soapbox Stew, if you will. Except no one likes stew when it's 80 degrees outside. So, serve it with a nice frosty beer...That's what I do.

My basement flooded. Again. Asshole basement. My daughter and I were all dressed and ready for church, when my heathen husband was downstairs about to start some laundry.  I heard some...grumbling...coming from the lower level and decided to check it out. The carpet squishes now when you walk on it. It's very cool.  There was also a large spider on the wall when all of this was going on. Which was ALL the child could fixate on. My husband and I were, obviously, concerned with the two feet of water in the FINISHED portion of our basement and where it had come from and she was all AND LET'S NOT FORGET THE SPIDER! HELLO! PARENTS! RIGHT THERE! BLACK WIDOW! Turns out the pressure release valve blew, or some shit like that.  I sent her to church with her Grandparents and spent the next two days moping up water and rolling up very wet carpet. Oh, and yes, I killed the spider.  I'm pretty sure all this happened because my husband doesn't go to church with us.  He'll learn eventually.


I went to a bachlorette party a few weeks ago.  It was all mostly low key and just gals hanging out for dinner and drinks and celebrating an upcoming wedding.  I got the chance to meet some nice ladies - and think I might have made some new friends.  I spent a good amount of time chatting with this one lady who, like me, felt a little old to be doing "bachlorette" sort of things - but certainly didn't feel too old to sit at the bar and drink and mock those that WERE doing the bachlorette things.  We were sharing some of the lamer things about ourselves when I shared that I have this weird thing about copying accents. Even when I don't mean to. (I shared this because the bride is marrying a British guy...and I can't seem to stop blurting out BANGERS & MASH! WANKER! BOLLOCKS!) She laughed a bit, and then asked me if I had Tourette's.

She was dead serious.

"No, sweetie. I'm just a dork who has an I.Q. of a sandwich."


As I'm typing this, I'm making brownies.  I mixed 'em up and put them in the oven and set the timer for 40 minutes.  But apparently I DIDN'T set the timer, I turned the microwave on. For 40 minutes. I didn't realize for a good 20 minutes.  See? I am a dork.


Also, my crotch feels better. Thanks for asking.

If there is one thing I do really well, it's pee.  Seriously, I'm awesome at it. If there was a category in Pee in the Olympics I would have Gold. Lot's of them. (Mostly because it seems to me that this would not have to be a Winter OR Summer event, which means I could compete every two years)

Not everyone can be as good as me.  There are two things that make you an outstanding pee'er.  How often you go and how fast you can do it.

I'm the girl you WANT to be standing behind in line of a crowded bar with only one stall. Trust me, I can drop trough, pee, wipe, get back in my clothes, flush and get back out in the time that it take most women just to lock the door and pick a  place to put their purse.

I am, however, NOT the girl you want to take long car rides with. 6 hours turns into 7. Every time I stop to pee, I also have to refill my 64 oz. drink. So, yes, I do realize they go hand in hand.  There is not a minute in a day that I do not have some form of liquid in front of me.  And no, I do not have some disease that requires this...I just really like liquid I suppose.

So, you can only imagine my, er, discomfort, on Thursday night - when I COULD NOT PEE AT ALL and this horrible back pain with it.  It honestly felt like all of my internal organs had....fallen down...and were now resting on my bladder.  Friday morning came and went - and still not so much in the pee department.  For someone who is so damn good at pee'ing, you can only imagine how troubling this whole situation was.

As any women would, I jumped to the logical conclusion of a UTI (sorry, guys!) and called my doctor.  They got me in quick enough and a few hours later and I was peeing (or lack there of) in a cup.  To every one's surprise, however, it wasn't what we thought.  No UTI. No kidney infection. No nothing.

So, now what?

Take the drugs for the UTI and let's see what's what.

Just to be on the safe side, I called my OB and relayed the story back to them.

"Hmmmmm" was what I heard. "Given your family history, did they give you a sonogram?".


Words I dread hearing.  I'm plagued with broken twats in my family. I have the only living coochie left on my fathers side that isn't riddled with problems.  My Aunt has survived ovarian and uterine cancer.  My older sister, younger than I am now, had her uterus and one ovary taken out.  We call her the penis sleeve. Her husband prefers penis sock.....Which ever you prefer.  Problem is though, I make it a point of making sure I don't hear those words - because I don't go to the damn doctor.

(please don't leave me comments that I'm an idiot - my mother does this on a regular basis. In it's place you can leave me a comment that says "My dog eats his own shit", and I'll know what you mean)

This time I couldn't get away from it - because my lungs are now resting comfortably on top of my bladder.

Today I saw my OB.  Apparently my left ovary had a ruptured cyst.


I know it's fine.  Really, I do.  I know it happens every day to tons of women. It didn't help that I have to go in tomorrow for further testing and that we talked about base lines, and family history, and uterine walls, cysts, CA 125's, and a whole bunch of other stuff that just sounded like white noise.

It did help though that I can could TELL her that my sister is a penis sleeve and she knew what I was talking about, and to better explain the procedure that I have to have tomorrow she used the words "think of a really really small dildo....with a camera on it".

I really like her.