The Mini Van Soap Box

I've been feeling a bit uninspired of late.  A little boxed in, as though I had created this persona that I couldn't keep up.  

The last few years, for the most part, been crap.  At least medically.  I'm not even going to link back to the numerous post about Doctors, MRI's, deadly migraines and exploding ovaries...so, let's just all agree that over all I've spent more time with Doctors than I have with my best friend.  And I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that she fell is love and got married and is still in that blissful first year of marriage where pee on the toilet seat is cute.

I'm sure we'll start hanging out again in about a year.

Anyway, I'm a firm believer in being my own advocate.  And even though I saw a slew of doctors - the truth was - none of them REALLY knew why my brain was exploding.  So, I continued to see different doctors until the pain stopped - or until on of them could give me a logical reason as to why it was happening.  Funny thing happens when you see a lot of doctors.

1.  You get a lot of different drugs.
2.  You get a lot of bills for said drugs.  And apparently the health insurance company gets those bills too.

I will start off by saying I AM grateful I have health insurance. Very grateful.  Even if I am baffled by the fact that they won't pay for 'alternative treatments' (acupuncture or massage therapy) but they will pay for me to have Botox injected into my neck.  But all things being equal - I'm grateful that they are paying a portion of the medical bills.

At least until I started getting what I can only describe as Health Insurance Junk Mail.  Apparently they have taken all of my claims for the last TWO years and diagnosed me.  With Fibromyalgia.   And because they were so smart and diagnosed me all on their own - they put it on my ever so official Health Insurance Chart. This patient has Fibromyalgia.

Health Insurance Nurse:  "Hey! I have a great idea! Let's put her on EVERY SINGLE MAILING LIST there is for people with Fibromyalgia.  Even though she has no idea what that even is...or even how to pronounce it correctly"

Health Insurance Nurse 2:  "Hell Yea!"

Then began six months of going to mail box and going "What the shit is this?" and throwing it away.  My health insurance company is partly to blame for the lack of oxygen because of all the paper in my mailbox. I finally caught on to what was going on and called them.

Me:  Hi Insurance People.  Do you think I have Fibromyalgia?
Insurance:  Yes. Yes we do.  We pieced it together from all of these claims.  We are very smart.
Me:  I don't have Fibromyalgia.  Has an actual DOCTOR said that I have this?
Insurance:  No. Not at all. Like we said. We are very smart.  We figured it out ourselves.
Me:  Well, I actually find all of this kind of condescending. I don't have Fibromyalgia. And you sending me pamphlets of how better to manage my disease just pisses me off.  So stop.  Unless you can diagnose the feeling of my brain trying to push it's way through my eye ball.  Feel free to send me literature on that.

I did manage to ask before I got off the phone if massage therapy is covered yet.  It isn't.

The first two weeks of school have gone fairly smoothly. No major upsets or disasters - and we've managed to make it to the bus stop on time - two weeks running!  Only complaint I have is the cootie that she brought home as a present to me.  This particular cootie has crawled up my nose and is firmly lodged in my brain - making me feel as though my head is swimming while the rest of my body feels like it's been hit by a truck.





*****
The other day, while folding and putting away laundry, my daughter came running into my room.  She jumped on to my bed and said:

"Hey Mom! Can bugs hear?"
"I'm not entirely sure that EVERY bug can, but yes, I think some bugs can hear."
"K! Thanks!", and ran away

I assumed it was something she learned in school.  How cute, I thought, she's still thinking about her studies when she gets home! Yea! School is awesome. She'll be brilliant! Then I started trying to decide how we'll pay for the Ivy League School she's destined to attend.

And then I heard the screaming from down the hall.  I found a small child with her body pressed against the wall - screaming at the ceiling.

"HEY BUG! MY MOM SAYS YOU CAN HEAR SO DON'T IGNORE ME! GET OUT OF MY ROOM!

*****

Every so often my husband has to work after hours. He's usually home at a decent enough time, but this particular evening he didn't get home until after I had fallen asleep. 

I can only guess that he wasn't as stealthy as usual while trying to change his clothes and set his alarm clock for the next day, because apparently I woke up.

I say 'apparently' because I don't remember much of this.

Turns out I was extremely irritated that he didn't have my sister with him.  I shot up in bed and demanded to know where she was.  How dare he not have her with him.  My sister that lives 5 hours away. The sister that has no plans of coming to visit as far as I know and who was certainly NOT supposed to be in my bedroom at 1:00 in the morning.  I can only assume his reaction was something like "Wha? Huh?"

I used to talk in my sleep all the time when I was younger.  Interestingly enough, my sister would intentionally talk to me while sleeping - and then write down the crap I said.  Something about strawberries, a snow man and a Smurf.

It's seems I'm in good company this week.  I've read so many stories and posts about sending the kids back to school.  Some folks are thrilled - some sent theirs off for the first time, so there have been tears and fears.  Mine started 1st grade - and although we aren't new to the idea of school - we are new to public school.

For the last two years we've had her in private school.  Not because we're private school people, or that our public schools suck, but because Kindergarten in our area is a half day program.  I have NO idea who that's good for.  Certainly not for the parents who have jobs. And I can't imagine any five year old can learn anything in the two hours that they are there.  It takes me two hours to get her ready in the morning...So, I'm thinking just enough time to get to school, get the coat off, have a snack, pee and then back home again.

One of the things I love most about our private school - aside from the Teachers and staff is the privacy & security of the whole thing.  One door to get in. One door to get out.  Staff members sitting right at that front door...watching.  And it's locked from the outside.  You sign your kid in and out.   For a mom that has some serious anxiety issues - this was good for me.

However, as time goes by I realize more and more that my anxiety is my own, not hers.  I have to let her grow and do the things that she wants to do (within reason, of course!) She wanted to ride the bus - and as much as it killed me - I agreed.  Now, that's not to say I didn't have the runs for the four days leading up school starting.  And weird dreams. And quite a few sleepless nights.  But Tuesday morning found us at the bus stop with all the other kids.  Mom's taking the required 1st Day Of School pictures - and me hiding behind my sunglasses - smiling and chatting with the other Mom's - but secretly plotting how I can start home schooling her.

We are now three days into the school year - and aside from a few small mishaps - she loves it.  I'm thrilled with her teacher, and from what I've been told from the other Bus Stop Moms, the school we go to is great. I've relaxed a bit more - and pooping a bit more normally, thanks for asking.

But I will never forget that cute little face pressed up against the school bus window blowing kisses and waving.

The Bus Stop Moms have told me that THAT novelty will wear off soon - and I'll be dragging her ass to the bus stop just to make it on time.  Enjoy the moment while we can.

This last Saturday we went to a party at a friends house.  It's always nice when the friends you have, that have kids, have kid friendly gatherings.  You let the kids try to kill each other - while all the adult folk sit back, drink beer and make sure there isn't too much carnage. No one likes blood stains on their furniture.

The friends house that we went to is an old friend of mine, I've known her since high school.  In the last few years she's been married and had a baby.  I couldn't be happier for her - her husband is a riot and her baby is adorable.  Perfect little Christmas card family.  Her husband is Cuban American and his family is, obviously, as well - and lives in Miami.  A few of them even came up for the party.

Hours into the party - kids asleep on the couch - the adults have mostly separated into two groups.  The girls are inside talking about girl stuff and most of the guys are outside talking about....whatever it is they talk about. 

I spent about a half an hour or so with the girls, and went outside to check on my husband (or to get another beer) and when I opened the door - all I heard was a very agitated Cuban talking about glue sticks. I leaned down to my husband...

"What the hell is going on?"

"I told him what was on the back to school supply list that you got. I think I might have told him how much a glue stick is..." he says

You see, I've spent the last month trying to get all of the supplies on this list - and every day I'm AMAZED at how much I'm supposed to send to school.  25 glue sticks, y'all.  50 pencils.  Crayons, markers, colored pencils, highlighters, dry erase markers, scissors, tissues, antibacterial hand stuff, Ziploc bags, and sanitizing wipes.  If you don't find the right store - and the right price - a large glue stick can cost up to $3.00.  If you aren't willing to put the time to shop around - that's $75 in glue.  Just glue.

Now what's totally awesome about getting a Cuban worked up...is half of what they say is in English and the other, well, isn't.  And they talk a lot with their hands.  And loudly too.   Then his parents got into it.  I've never heard such outrage! Over Glue! And somehow the conversation turned into how good of parents we are! "¡Increíble! If MY KID needs glue -¡Mierda santa!  You call me! I'll bring him some damn glue!  ¿Usted me está embromando? Freakin' Glue!  ¡Pegamento!

My husband started the Great Glue Cuban Riot of 2010.  I don't know if we'll ever be invited back.

The other day I ran over to 7-11 to get a Big Gulp.  Actually I ran over to 7-11 to get a straw for the Big Gulp I already had - but felt weird just stealing a straw, so I bought an entirely new Big Gulp.  That's me helping the economy, y'all.

Anyway.  The guy behind the counter was trying to figure out how to give me my change and my eyes started to wander.

Ugly guy getting gas outside.


Oh, Look!  The Power Ball is up to a gazillion dollars.  


Hmmm...Two slices of pizza for three dollars.


Little sign behind the counter...."Patrons must have been born on/before 1992 to buy tobacco products"

Ho-ly! Crap!

Someone BORN the year I graduated from High School is now old enough to buy cigarettes. I don't know why it shocked me so much...But the idea that it's been 18 years since I was in High School just kind of threw me.  The year I was barely graduating from hell - a baby was being born.  And now that baby is walking, talking, driving, smoking, voting and probably a total asshole - because when your 18 you're an asshole by default.  I certainly was.

So convinced at 18 that you know everything - and the world is your playground. Heading off to college and getting that first taste of freedom.  It's only a few years from now that you realize you don't know jack - and want to move back in with your parents.  Eventually you'll get your shit together.  Settle down, get married, buy a house - get a real job.  Get divorced, buy a different house, get a better job and marry again.

That's when you realize that you know less now than you did when you were 18.  And want to move back in with your parents.  With your husband and kids. 

I'm at an age now where I should start getting mammograms.  I'm not too far away from preparing for menopause and colonoscopies. My back hurts and I need to eat better.  Vegetables and eggs give me gas and I have a stash of Tums in my bedside drawer.  I hate driving at night and I own a freakin' Minivan.

12 years from now my own daughter will more than likely be an asshole herself.  An adult in societies eyes and old enough to go out on her own.  Hopefully by then I'll have taught her enough to let her go. And when I do let her go... I'm selling that damn minivan and getting a boob job.

People say that we have four seasons here.  Even the calendar on my wall says it.  Personally, I don't believe it.  What we really have is Summer and Winter - and then Almost Summer and Almost Winter.  However, if I had to choose just one season it would be summer.

That's not to say I don't love watching snow fall, or curling up on the couch in a pair of sweats with the fireplace going. I'm even okay with the occasional snow ball fight.  Winter brings Thanksgiving, Christmas and even my birthday.  What I detest about Winter is wearing a coat.  Seeing my breath leave my body in my own car.  The 20 extra minutes it takes to get my daughter out of the house because I have to wrap her body in fleece - and THEN she has to pee.  I also hate pantyhose.

Summer is flip flops and tank tops.  It's rolling her out of bed, brushing her teeth and chucking her butt in the car. Barbecues and fire works. Tomato plants and swimming pools.  Summer is just, well, better.

Except when I sleep.

I can't STAND being hot when I sleep, and even though our central air is "fine" - it just doesn't cool the upstairs as much as I would like (without the $500 electricity bill). I toss and turn and sweat and throw covers around.  He tosses and turns and sweats.  A few months ago I actually asked him if he spilled water on his pillow.  He hadn't. 

So, apparently tired of hearing me bitch and moan.  My folks pulled this out of their attic for me. 

Isn't it the ugliest thing you've seen? It's even more horrible when you are looking at the back of it from the backyard.

DON'T CARE!  This is now my favorite piece in the house.  I show it to people when they come over.  "Oh, do you like the paint job I did in here?  How about the hardwood floors? Come see my WINDOW UNIT! It's the best!"

We only turn it on at night - and not even that high - but I have slept better the last few weeks than I have in months.  I wrap myself in my comforter now and snuggle in.  In even makes a nice sound so I can put my noise machines away. 

Have NO idea what it's going to do for my electric bill though.  I may be writing an entirely different post next month. 

For the majority of the summer, the talk of the house has been 1st grade.  What a big girl she is....How exciting it's going be....How different the school is going to be compared to where she is now...etc. etc. etc.

So, a few months ago she, quite matter of factly, told me that if she was going to be a big girl in the 1st grade, then she felt as though she deserved a big girl bedroom.  Personally I didn't think she had a baby room by any stretch of the imagination. I was a bit perplexed about what part of her bedroom she dubbed as "babyish".  So, I asked:

"What exactly is a big girl room sweetie?"

She looked at me...rolled her eyes so hard that they are still currently looking out of the back of her head...and said:

"DUH! Pink!"

After choking back a bit of vomit I thought:   Awesome.

We agreed, as adults do,  that I got to choose what colors would go in - and what accessories.  Mom would do the room - and surprise her.

Because over my dead body was there going to be a pink princess room with a pink canopy and princess decals stuck to the walls.  It was one of those foolish things I said out loud when I was pregnant and found out I was having a girl:

"I will never have a pink room in my house"

I am now, officially, eating my words.

It's taken me three days, many trips to Target and my house still has the stench of paint.  But it's done.  I unveil to the internet:  My girls "big girl room".

An alternate title for this post was going to be: Seriously? NO! SERIOUSLY?!?!

And not just because I watch a lot of Grey's Anatomy but because SERIOUSLY!?!

I'm sure some of you remember that it wasn't long ago that we were giving swimming lessons in the basement of the house because the pressure release valve blew.  Nothing we could have done about it.  The house apparently seems to be at an age where it's bones are staring to creak and break and there's only so much of a preemptive strike you can do.

Not much to do but suck it up and pay the plumber.

We've been in discussion for a while about the possibility of a pet.  Our daughter is at an age where she's old enough to appreciate and also possibly be a tad bit responsible enough to have one.  Not to mention, I think it's important for children to grow up with a pet.  You ever talked to someone as an adult that said "I never had a pet when I was a kid"...and for some reason people instantly feel sorry for them?  Like what they were really saying was that their parents locked them in the closet, fed them liver and never let them watch The Great Space Coaster.  Yea.  It's like that.  If you don't get a pet as a kid - you grow up to be THAT guy.

Here's the problem.  I'm a dog person.  My daughter is a cat person. And my husband doesn't give a shit - as long as he doesn't have to DEAL with the shit.

So, after a heated discussion (that took all of 10 minutes) we decided to get a cat.  Here's the rub:

I'm allergic to cats.

I know. I know.  Get an iguana.  I've heard it before.  Not very cuddly.

The truth is, I was raised with cats.  I mean....we think she was a cat.  Mom says she was...but I'm pretty sure she was part Doberman and part Puma.  That cat hated everyone but Mom.  She would sit at the bottom of the stairs and wait for me to head upstairs and then attack my ankles.  Still have the scars to prove it, y'all.

So, it's all about WHICH cat and what are the rules.  Long hair cats are automatically out.  There are, apparently, some cats that just shed less - and have a "different" dander then some.  So, the search for the perfect kitty was on.  Hundreds of internet sites are bookmarked....Tons of emails have been sent out.

And then the water supply line into the house blew.

Plumbers are coming tomorrow to charge me $3400 to rip up my front yard and put new pipe in.

The kitty dream is dead.  Thank God we didn't mention any of this to our daughter or else she would grow up to be THAT girl.  The parents who dangled a cute little kitty in front of her and then ripped it away for a plumbing job.

This last week has mostly been a blur.  I had days that I went to work.  I had days that I went and worked on the deck again.  And days of trying to pick up the slack on everything that wasn't getting done because I was going to work and/or working on a deck.

I suppose the main reason why it's been a blur is because it's 200 DEGREES outside.  If I have to hear my mother say one more time "drink some water" or "jump in the pool to cool off"...well, I'll just...probably drink some more water or jump in the pool to cool off.  Because it's too hot to argue with her.

We are getting much closer to the half way point on this deck - so we are starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel.  However, by the time we're done we are all going to be so sick of hanging out with each other that I'm not going to be able to enjoy it.  Not to mention I think they might still be pissed that I screamed bloody murder when he was about to chop through a power line.  Which turned out to be an orange colored tree vine.  Honest mistake...but everyone had to change their shorts after that.

I did, however, find time to make a gift basket for my best friend.  She's recently married and they bought themselves a farm house out in the boonies.  They are going to fix it up and mow the back 40 and milk cows...or something.  All I know is that a new china place setting wasn't the appropriate gift for someone who's ripping down dry wall and re-plastering walls.

Everything I put in the basket is below.  Emergency items for home rebuilding.

And some girly stuff.   And squeaky tennis balls for her dogs.  And a fire extinguisher.


Probably easier to just get them a Home Depot gift card....But then what would I use all my tulle for?

A few months ago my husband and I started the process of getting new Life Insurance policies.  The ones we currently have are fine, I guess, but after talking about it for a while we realized that should anything every happen to him - my daughter and I would have to move in with my Mom.  I already used the one "move back" that she gave all of us kids back in my 20's. So, that wouldn't be an option.  Not to mention they are always renovating rooms and decks in that house - and I don't want to have to work that hard.

So, we looked into other options and found a better policy for about the same price as what we are paying now.  Problem with new life insurance policies is there is a boat load of paperwork to fill out.  And mess up.  And then fill out correctly.  Plus, there is that whole nurse coming to your house and taking your blood and pee and stuff. It's a very bizarre feeling sitting at your own kitchen table and having a stranger stick needles in your arm...The whole while talking about how much she loves the show True Blood.  Totally not kidding.

I mentioned to my Mom a couple of weeks ago that I would be late to work one day because said Nurse was coming in the morning, and how much it was going to suck because you have to fast. The only thing I'm allowed to have is either water or black coffee for the 10 hours leading up to her arrival.  She told me that many years ago she had to go through the same thing, however HER appointment was at 4:00 in the afternoon. At least mine was in the morning - so technically most of my fasting was while I was sleeping.  She had to spend her entire day at home - with nothing but water.  Turns out that the weird guy that came to get her pee actually made a COMMENT about how clear it was...."My Word! You are very hydrated aren't you!"

Fast forward to my appointment.  I spent the better portion of the morning drinking water - mostly because I ALWAYS have a drink in front of me.  Weird True Blood Nurse shows up and gives me my little cup.  I fill it up to the little black line, wash my hands, and give her my sample.  When I handed it back to her, I actually said, OUT LOUD - "Hey Look! Mine looks just like Mom's!"

Do you have any idea how hard it is to explain to someone that you don't actually spend a lot of time comparing urine sample's with your Mother?

There is nothing better than a bunch of good Christian women getting together to feed the masses. At my church, we'll eat for a slew of reasons.  Someone died, someone was born, someone is leaving or joining. We make food when folks are sick and when they get better.  I've been a member of this church for as long as I can remember and one thing is for sure....Those women can cook.

I've gotten to an age now that it's only right that I start doing my share - truth be told - that time past a while ago.  So, this last weekend I pulled my weight.

I took a couple recipes from my new favorite cookbook, The Pioneer Woman Cooks - and also nabbed a casserole recipe from my Mama.  Three dishes in total and just pray that one turns out okay.  Last thing you want to do is bring crappy food to a Sunday Potluck. And trust me, you'll know if it's crappy....It'll be the casserole dish left with only one scoop out. Then you have to make the walk of shame to the big garbage can and dump the leftovers out.

Here's the casserole I took from Mama..It turned out pretty well and pretty easy to make.  (full recipe at the bottom)

Here's what you'll need

It's been an interesting couple weeks here on the home front.  School officially ended - and summer camp officially started.  To her, it's a big freakin' deal. To me - it just means I don't have homework duty and don't have to worry about school uniforms.  Other than that, it's the same routine, same school, same kids and same weekly bill.

Oh, we also bought a shed. That was the other interesting part - but I'm sure y'all don't give a crap about my new shed.

So, we've decided to transition to public school in the Fall and there's all this paperwork I have to fill out.  Apparently the lady that takes the paperwork is taking the whole month of July off so I had to get it done quickly. Doctors notes, original birth certificate and the original Deed for the house.  Yea.  I have no freakin' idea where that is.  So in it's place I took our mortgage bill, a water bill and a electric bill - all of them show our address & phone number. I assumed it would be enough.

I was wrong.  Apparently she has a "check list" that she goes through for registration and it clearly says ON THE CHECKLIST, "Deed".  Therefore I have to have the deed.  Think about it, y'all! She breaks the rule for one parent and the next thing you know the whole public school system is down the tubes! Parents signing their children up for school with magazine subscriptions - junk mail - and all those other things that read "Resident" in your mailbox.

I also managed to piss her off.  WITHOUT EVEN TRYING.  I was raised to say Ma'am and Sir. So, every time she asked me a question I would say "Yes Ma'am".  It wasn't until the whole meeting was over that she turned to me and said "By the way, My name is Sally - Not Ma'am".  Well shit. I'm making a GREAT first impression. My kid is going to get the teacher that picks his nose or won't actually memorize her name until the school year is almost over.

And lastly, since I figured I had already stuck my foot in my mouth, I mentioned that I'm very nervous about the bus.  "What are the procedures? Does she get help finding her classroom? Is there a buddy system or something? I'm just nervous she'll get lost or get on the wrong bus."

"Well, I certainly can't say we've never lost a child.  But they always turn up"

This is why I drink.

It's a wonder I look forward to summer.  I imagine it's more because I detest the cold - but so many things just, well, suck, in the summer - that I almost forget that I hate the cold.  And almost all of my problems are centrally located in my backyard.

Let me start of by saying that in a perfect world (and by perfect I mean where I have lots and lots of money) this is not what my backyard would look like.  I don't really care for the patio. I can't stand those beams around it. The whole thing has sunk over the years - and during really bad storms the water comes crashing into the basement window wells and we have leaking issues.  The whole yard needs to be re-graded, the patio removed, the beams removed.....blahblahblah.  It's a lot of work - and a lot of money.

So, I do the best I can with what I have. I move on! I'm glass HALF FULL!  I try to move the eye from the ugly to the pretty! Flowers! Bushes! Trees!


However...the ugly is winning the battle.  There's only so much I can do.

Exhibit 1:  My husband is a dork. And decided to get in a snow ball fight with my daughter...and apparently threw an ice ball instead.  See?  He still hasn't fixed it - so everytime it rains...or the wind blows...it shreds just a little bit more.


Exhibit 2:  My daughter is over the moon for green peppers and tomatoes.  I can't buy them fast enough for her. Awesome...I know! But expensive as crap. So, brilliant me decided to grow her OWN freakin' vegetables this year.  And now the sun is just killing them! Killing Them! The sun exploded over my backyard and there is nothing I can do except build the vegetables a tent.



A letter from the Home Owners Association will be coming any day now, I'm sure.  It will be addressed to "White Trash Neighbors".

The summer between high school and college was a busy one.  Saying goodbye to old friends and making sure you get in all the partying you possibly can before everyone leaves.  Most of my friends were packing trunks for far away exotic schools.   I was unable to go away to college - so I didn't really have to pack, or shop, or really anything.  All I needed was a parking pass for the local Community College.....and a tan.

Spent a few days at the beach the week before school started and convinced myself that I could get a fantastic tan - in two days. It sounds logical when your 18.   So, what does a dumb ass like me do? I laid out - from about 10 in the morning to almost 6 at night (I also never turned over). At about that time my mom came outside to basically CALL me a dumb ass and to get my lobster body back inside. 

By the way, I guess it's important to mention that I wasn't wearing any sunscreen.  At all. I know.  Dumb Ass.

I won't tell the whole story, because honestly it's kind of gross and depressing - but let's just say after everything was said and done I wept through my first college class, got thrown out because I was scaring people - and ended up in the ER with 2nd degree burns on both my legs and arms. 

Thus started the next 20 years of everyone in my life being on sun screen patrol.

This last week my husband and I got to spend a few days in Key West.  Parts of the trip were great - some parts not so much.  Like Delta losing our luggage.  That was awesome. We learned a new acronym for Delta while we were there....Don't Expect Luggage Too Arrive.  Funny, huh? Yeah, we were laughing our sweaty, nasty, non-teeth brushed asses off for a whole day.

When the luggage finally arrived, we decided my husband would just go get it...Instead of trusting them to deliver it to us - and I sat by the pool to wait for him.  2....maybe 3 hours total in the sun.

Ever been to Key West? It's fun isn't it? You know what else it is? It's a million miles closer to the sun. It's a special kind of sun down there - with a really special kind of heat. It's hot. We had the air conditioning in the room set to 63. And it wasn't even all that cold.

By Thursday night we knew I was going to have an issue - and by Friday morning I couldn't walk anymore. My right leg and ankle had swollen up so much it was starting to resemble my neck.

A week later - I've seen two different doctors - have about 2000 mg of drugs to take - some sticky white cream that I have to lather on 4 times a day - and a leg that STILL resembles a neck of a WWF wrestler.  It's also a really interesting purple/blackish color. Ugly and crusty. Totally gross.  I'm going to tell people that I saved people from a burning building....Because no one believes me when I say it came from the sun.  So, it still looks gross - but I'll be a hero. And not get that "you fucking idiot" look from everyone.

Oh, and my Mom? She's PISSED. Like UBER pissed.  But it's that scary pissed that a mom gets - when it's laced with sweetness and wanting to take care of you....But you know when you start to heal and get better she's going to beat you to death with a bottle of Aloe.

The only good thing that has come out of this is that I have sufficiently scared the shit out of my kid.  Now she's afraid to go to the grocery store without sunscreen.  She's determined to NEVER be as stupid as her mother.

I'm a walking Public Service Announcement.  Except I'm not really walking all that well...more of a limping hobbling PSA.

About a week ago, I said something that hurt my mother's feelings - and as punishment I had to go over to her house and build her a deck.

I'm exaggerating.  But only slightly. I did say something that hurt her feelings. And I did go over and help with the deck.

15 years ago, the three of us built the deck on the back of their house.  I learned yesterday that it's 1400 square feet of deck.  I don't think you really realize how freakin' big 1400 square feet is until you have to build it - or you move into your first apartment.  Because yesterday, while demoing our creation from 15 years ago it dawned on me just HOW LARGE their deck is...and how very small my first apartment was - comparatively speaking.

So, it's time for the old to come out and for the new to go in.  They got a quote for some new uber cool boards that they are going to use - and then the quote for just delivery of the boards and the quote if someone ELSE would build the deck for them.  Let's just say it was an easy choice to build it themselves.


There are muscles in my body right now that are screaming - and these are muscles that I didn't even know I had. My ass hurts. It hurts to sit down. It hurts to get back up. It hurts to bend over. I actually had to ask my daughter to get my shoes on for me this morning.  It's times like these where you realize you really need to get into the gym.

But given the way I feel I would rather blow up the nearest gym and then go for ice cream and watch it burn.

While sitting on the couch last night I asked my daughter to please not hurt herself in any way because I just didn't think I could muster the energy to save her life. Or even get up for a band-aid.  That's how awesome I am.

I could tell you how awesome my Mom and I are with power tools, or how every single time we accidentally killed an earth worm we would apologize - or how I wasn't allowed to kill any of the 5 million spiders that tried to eat me....But even the tips of my fingers hurt, so this is all you get.

Please send ice packs.

It all started with my folks having to go downtown. He had a "thing" at work. She wanted to go see it. I said I wanted to go too.  What follows is why my mother and I should not be allowed together, in public, without supervision.  Or maybe just not allowed together at all.  Or maybe neither one of us should be allowed out of our homes- regardless of if we are together or not.

We don't go downtown all that often. So when it happens it's kind of an experience. We have to figure how we're going to get there, what we're going to wear, what time we're going to leave, when we'll get home, when the sun will rise, what we will be doing every second we are there, and what shape the moon will be in later that evening.  It's kind of a big deal.  Which to the males in our lives...going downtown is kind of .... "meh".  They do it everyday.

We had a few hours to ourselves to just walk around - no problem. Shops, sightseeing, people watching. Turns out this week is the Policy Unity Tour downtown, so there are about 5 gazillion cops downtown. Makes you feel pretty safe actually. They are pretty easy to pick out - turns out cops come from far and wide to unite for fallen brothers & sisters.  However, they can get pretty rowdy when the sun goes down.  While standing at a street corner waiting to cross...MY mother says:

"You could jaywalk anywhere in town today and no one would care since all the cops are probably already drunk!"  and from directly behind we hear...

"Not quite yet"

Turns out we were standing right in front of a cop and his lovely girlfriend.

Score 1 for Mom and I.

Shortly after that we were chased down an alley by some crazy man talking to himself...or us....or his imaginary friend. We really didn't want to stick around and ask him who in the hell he was talking to.  Or if the voices spoke back to him.

And after THAT some greasy guy asked me for money, and when I POLITELY shook my head.....Well, let's just say he said things about me that I won't repeat on this blog.  And y'all KNOW the language I use on this blog.

When we finally made it into his office, we learned that apparently my mother and I are wanted criminals.....Because it's the kind of office where we have to wear tags with a big red V on it and be escorted every where we go.  Including the restroom.  So, it was actually all very cool and spy'ish. Except I learned that my mother can't be cool when trying to be stealthy trying to sneak to the bathroom without trying to be noticed.  I'm never taking her to break into a bank.  She'll totally break my cover.

That was after we were locked in an office for an hour and decided to put lotion on our feet because we had nothing else better to do. And then realized that the lotion was so slippery and gooey that when we put our shoes back on we both fell flat on our faces. So we spent a good 10 minutes trying to wipe the lotion off - only to realize that we were trying to wipe the lotion off with tissues with lotion built in.

You need to understand at this point in the story that we have yet to actually start the reception or meet another living soul.  We just do this when we're alone.  And frighteningly so, sober.

We managed to get our shit together by party time. We were cool, calm, collected.  We met people, we shook hands - we were thrilled to meet all the folks he worked with. It was a great reception.  We met people we've only heard stories about - and finally got to put faces to names.  And apparently for them as well.  People seemed excited to meet us as well.

And I have to say - I think I have "some girls" now.  Even if I did say to one of them that the lady bug pendant that she was thinking about buying was, indeed, not cute.  And they did ask me a few times if my soda was, in fact, ONLY soda.  I'm sure that was said out of love.

We ended the day with a final restroom break and while using the facilities I chatted away at Mom's feet.  Only to realize while standing out in the hallway waiting for her - that my Mom was on the other side of the building.  I have absolutely no idea who the hell I was talking to in the bathroom.  Or what the hell I said.

Very few days go by that I don't talk to my best friend. Most of those conversations are nonsense.

I called her the other day to tell her that some lady was walking her dog. In a baby stroller. You can't make this shit up y'all.  She was walking.  With a dog. In a baby stroller. And she was stopping every so often, and peering inside...petting him...and then would continue to walk. I was stuck at an goose accident.  Again, you can't make this crap up. Some asshole hit a goose on a small road behind my house. So, I got to spend a good 10 minutes watching this woman...I don't know...Stroll her dog.

It was one of the weirdest things I had ever seen.  So I called her.

That's what I do when I see stupid shit. I call her.
It's also what I do when I DO stupid shit. I call her. And she agrees. "Wow, you're a stupid shit."

We also talk about Lost.  A lot.  We're scared that come the end of May we won't have anything to talk about anymore and our friendship will end.  I feel as though that as long as there are stupid people in the world, our friendship will survive.

Anyway, I was talking to her the other day - and I'm not entirely sure what we were talking about - but somehow we got on the subject of Cinco De Mayo.  And me, being the stupid shit said, "When is that?"

I'll wait here......Done?  Ok.

We laughed for a while and I explained that on MY calendar at work it doesn't say 'Cinco De Mayo', it says "Battle of Puebla". So, of course we both immediately looked it up.  Thanks Wikipedia.

The point of this post is that neither of us knew WHY we drink on Cinco De Mayo.

But we drink none the less.
And decided that I need a new calendar.
And a history class.

Happy Battle of Puebla Day!!

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?".

DING DING DING DING

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.

Awesome.

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.