Friday, December 27, 2013

My Favorite Doctor


How do you even begin to explain the love you can have for a man?

1.  He has to get your sense of humor from the very beginning.

2.  He also needs to appreciate the little things you do for him to make him happy and comfortable.

3.  He has to be patient when you talk and talk and talk and talk.

4. He has to listen and listen and listen and listen.

5.  He has to give you his thoughts after you’ve talked and he’s listened and assure you that all is well and everything will be ok.

6.  He has to tell you that nobody can see your flaws, unless they are standing close to you, and then they just add character.

7.  He can never hurt you.

This is the email I received from the opthamologist when I got home (this guy has a lot of time on his hands)…

Krista,

I was little nervous when the first thing you asked me was if I had a sense of humor and could be talked into doing things.  I do think that was funny.  I don’t get many people in my exam room who are eager to do crazy things.  You kinda scare me, but I think I like it.  I think that’s hilarious that people say that about you.  I’d have to agree.

I’m glad you told me about your left armpit.  Since I work from the right side it wouldn’t be a problem.  That was, however, a little strange.  Also, thank you for telling me the trick about using anti-bacterial hand sanitizer as a quick deodorant.  That’s handy. Ha! Ha! Ha!  I do have a sense of humor.  Thanks for shaving your legs, but I only work from the neck up, so you were ok.  I apologize that it was not necessary to take your clothes off and wear the robe.  Sorry.  Once again, I do only work from the neck up.  I must also apologize that we are not a souvenir shop and didn’t have anything for your give-away.  One quick question, when the nurse went back to the room she couldn’t find the curette.  You didn’t happen to see it, did you?

I wanted to reiterate the conversation we had in the procedure room.  This is a chalazion and at this point it has created a membrane and secured itself on the underside of your eyelid.  It will not go away, but might change size.  They tend to fluctuate, but it will definitely be permanent.  I heard you when you said that because you had cancer you are more vigilant about weird things that happen to your body, but I am 99.99% sure that it is not malignant.  The armpit thing…well…that’s weird.

Once again, to the normal person your eye will look fine.  When your eyelid was pulled taut it was much easier to see, but that position isn’t natural, so it would be difficult for most people to notice it.  Really, the only people that look that closely at you would be your mother and your husband and I don’t think they would mind.  I will explain, once again, that I am not a plastic surgeon and cannot give you an eyelift.

At this time, I will again recommend that we hold off on removing the chalazion.  If it starts to hurt or impede your vision we will address the situation at that time.  In the future, The Google, as you called it, can be much scarier than real life, so watch with that in mind.  I assure you that zombies are not real and you do not have to worry about the zombie apocalypse, and no I could not see your brain when I looked into your eye, so I don’t know if it would be especially desirable to zombies.  You ask the most interesting questions.

I would like to thank you for saying that I am your favorite doctor.  You were by far my favorite patient today.

Enjoy the rest of your day.  It was nice meeting you.

Sincerely,

Your Favorite Doctor


…and this is why I love this man.  He is awesome!!!  Thanks for your prayers, they definitely worked.  It was a bit terrifying to see the curette and imagine it scooping out the chalazion and probably my eyeball. I think I might keep it as a memento of my favorite doctor, instead of use it as a give-away.




Oops? Seriously? Oops?


Graphicish content.  Read at your own risk.  I kid you not.  Mom, don’t read this you will probably hurl and you’re welcome people for not attaching the link.


Me:  Excuse me?  You want to do what to my eye?

Doctor:  In order to remove a chalazion you must use a tool designed to scoop out the chalazion.

Me:  You knock me out, right?

Doctor:  No.  I will use a local inside and outside of your eyelid.  At this point I will lift your eyelid and go in from the back and make a 3mm incision and remove the cyst.  We will then place a compress on your eye until the oozing blood stops.

Me:  I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you correctly.  I am awake?  I can see you coming at me with a scalpel?  There is oozing? 

Doctor:  Yes.

Me:  Hmmm…I’ve decided that you are possibly NOT my favorite doctor.  The doctor who stitched up my finger was one of my favorite doctors.  I just met you, but I’m leaning toward not after your description.  No offense.

Doctor:  No offense taken.  It will be fine.

Soooo, this procedure happens tomorrow afternoon and you will possibly hear me expressing my displeasure to a sadistic doctor (I mean, really, “it will be fine” basically means you will probably lose your eyeball when he slips with the special scooper and pops it out) and his staff.

I have a lot of respect for people in professions that save the lives of their fellow man:  doctors, nurses, police officers, firemen, paramedics, ice cream men, soldiers, and those whom I’ve forgotten to mention.  Thank you.

But if I have a repeat of one of my previous experiences I am going to unload, AGAIN.

Past experience…

First, when you have slit a hole into someone’s jugular vein, while they are AWAKE, and you are threading in a tube, you are not allowed to say “Oops”.  I believe that conversation went something like this and was very uncharacteristic of me…

Me:  Oops?  Oops?  Did you just say oops?  You DON’T EVER say OOPS in an operating room with the patient AWAKE!!!  What the hell?

Doctor and Nurses:  Ha! Ha! Ha!

Me:  This is not funny.  AT ALL.

A few minutes later…


Me:  Is it supposed to hurt in my chest?

Doctor:  We are cutting into you.  I will give you some more anesthetic.

Me:  No, I mean is it supposed to hurt on my left side?

Doctor:  Um, no.

Me:  I swear to God, if you gave me a f*cking pulmonary embolism I am going to kill you!  I watched the show on ER when Dr. Corday and Dr. Romano couldn’t save Dr. Knight from her pulmonary embolism.  I did not get to say good-bye to my children this morning because they were sleeping!!!  Are you new or something?

Doctor and Nurse:  Ha! Ha! Ha!

Me:  What is wrong with you people?  You should NEVER laugh.  This does NOT make me feel better.  I think you missed that day in med school when they teach you about bedside manner, and I want an X-ray!

Doctor:  <under his breath>  I hate the internet and doctor shows.

Me:  Yah, well you’re not one of my favorite people.

The conversation on my end of this procedure might have resulted in the conversation that I had while my port was removed by a DIFFERENT doctor.

Doctor:  Oh my gosh, who did this procedure?

Me:  A doctor who hates me.

Doctor:  He did a horrible job.  I will do my best to fix the scar.

Me:  You are my favorite doctor.

BTW, do not Google the chalazion removal procedure.  I almost threw up.

I’m hoping my doctor tomorrow will be kind and gentle, and I’m also hoping I pass out.

One more thing, Ambien doesn’t always calm you down.

A Fingernail Is Not A Toothbrush


Driving to the mall with Mammall, Emily, Audrey, and Olivia…

Me:  By a show of hands, who has brushed their teeth this morning?

Four of us raise our hand and one does the “kinda” motion and says eeehhh.

Me:  What does eeehhh mean?

Daughter (to not be named to avoid embarrassment, although, should be identified to avoid death by her breath):  Well I kinda did it.

Me:  How do you kinda brush your teeth?  Does walking by the bathroom and looking at your toothbrush count as kinda doing it?

Daughter:  No, I went like this.  <uses her fingernail to scrub/scratch front teeth between and around her braces>.

Me:  That is disgusting.  Here, use some hand sanitizer and I’m calling Laura when we get home.  You, obviously, need a tutorial, and I’m pretty sure your teeth are going to fall out of your head and I’m not going to pay to replace them, because I paid for toothbrushes and toothpaste.  You should count your lucky stars we aren’t talking about wearing a helmet when you ride your bike, because then I would have to call Lori.

P.S. I miss you Lori.




It's About The Underwear Not The Hair


I love learning new things and thanks to Glamour magazine I now know the “Six Sexy Hairstyles Men Are Attracted To”.

…I do not see a ponytail anywhere on this list. 

Am I not sexy? 

I was pretty sure Wonder Woman lingerie made you sexy.

http://www.youbeauty.com/hair/galleries/sexy-hair-men-love#7

Photo Op


My friend, Kristen, sells really yummy strawberries and jam.  When I head to the grocery store I always text her to let her know I’m on my way to get the “good” strawberries and the Smuckers jam.

Today Liv and I were at Wal-Mart, my home-away-from-home, and the lady at the “Hey, you should use the Pillsbury Pie Crust” kiosk was showing berries:  blackberries, blueberries, and strawberries.  Hello photo op!!!!!!!

I took a picture of Liv next to the strawberries and sent it to Kristen.  You know, cuz I’m all kinds of antagonistic.

Her response was “Gross”.

Welllllll, the next thing you know Liv and I are in a photo shoot for Wal-mart and they are taking pictures of us with different food kiosks throughout the store with our “Yummmm, this is so good” look on our faces.  I tell you what, making “delisioso” faces photo after photo is really hard work.  I know when I am a super model I’ll have to sacrifice, but the paycheck will be worth the possibility that my face will be stuck like that forever.

I Only Keep You Around Because You Are Taller Than Me


Feeling a bit progressive today.

I put the tabs on the van by MYSELF.

I know, I know…I’m not just a silly housewife.  I can step up and do “man” chores. In my world a “man chore”, involves a vehicle.

Yes, I’ve never put on tabs.  I do like to make Thomas feel like he is needed.  You’re welcome, Thomas.

I walked back in the house and told Thomas…

Me:  Yah, that’s right, I just did your job.  I bet you’re starting to feel a bit less needed.

Thomas:  What?  Are you kidding me?  You wet the end of a paper towel, wiped off an 1 ½” x 2” space on the plate, dried it with the other end of the towel, and then placed the sticker on the license plate.  I’m really not feeling threatened.

Me:  Dude, you totally should.  When I read the directions…

Thomas:  You had to read directions on how to put on a sticker?

Me:  Yah, I wanted to do it correctly.  Besides, I read that if you put it on the plate and you try to take it off it will be destroyed and you can’t use it again.

Thomas:  Why would you need to take it off?

Me:  Well, it’s very important to line it up right over top of the old one so it doesn’t show.  You have to take your time and place it very slowly, because once it starts sticking you can’t change your mind.

Thomas:  I stand corrected.  Thanks for taking off the pressure of putting on a vehicle tab.  You’re the best!!!

Me:  I know, right?  But I don’t want to do it again, because it is very boring and you normally do all the boring jobs.  See, I do need you.  Which by the way, I need a couple light bulbs replaced.  Could you pop up and do that?

Thomas:  It is 3 ½ feet above the island in the kitchen.  You walk by it every day. How can you not do it?

Me:  I have to get the bulb out of the cupboard in the laundry room, which means I have to move the laundry basket and stand on my toes.  That is so boring.

Thomas:  You walk through the laundry room every day to get to your van!

Me:  Dude, just do it.  Besides, I’m going out the door when I walk through the laundry room.  I’m busy.

Thomas:  Yah, but you have to come BACK through the laundry room when you get home.  You are ridiculous.

And then he went and changed the light bulb, cuz I am awesome and made him feel needed.

What's In A Stew



Thomas asked if we could have stew for dinner.

Sure, we haven’t had it in awhile, and it is super easy to make.

While I was shopping for the ingredients, I grabbed the V8 off the shelf, put it in the cart, and sent an email to myself.

“V8 – garbage”

Which means…

“After pouring the V8 into the crockpot, rinse the carton and take it immediately to the garbage in the garage.  Make sure to put it underneath any bags that may already be there.”

There are certain things our kids don’t like to eat.  If they knew that those things show up in meals that they DO like, their psyche wouldn’t be able to handle it, and they would stop eating that meal.

I suffer from that with Grey Poupon and vinegar.

So, I make sure to hide the ingredients they don’t like or deny (lie) that it’s in the meal.

For example, “No, that’s not spinach in the smoothie.  It’s green sprinkles.  It’s candy.”

Why spoil one of their favorite meals by telling them what’s in it?


Watch For The Green Light


I have found that I need to check the "Finder" on my computer after the kids use it to see what applications are open. I have recently been shown a video of myself when Olivia started the video on Photo Booth and then handed me the computer. The little creep.

I am not always wearing the best outfit or even an outfit at all. I apologize in advance or for any past exposure your children have witnessed. Stupid Skype and FaceTime. I'll pay for the many years of therapy they will need.

I feel like Kim Kardashian (don't get excited, it's not a sex video, more of a women's European beach swimsuit top video), except I know I'm not going to make any money off of this video or become super famous or have my own reality television show.

On a similar note, yesterday was a "no pants driving home again" kind of day, and there was a van next to me that kept speeding up and slowing down to stay beside me and get a good view. I was finally able to place Mickey Dees napkins on my lap at the stoplight. These are the kinda guys that got excited over their mom's JcPenney catalogs when they were kids. It's only underwear. Settle down.

This is an interesting site about the reason behind (ha ha, i said "behind") the different styles of underwear (pantaloons). I may have shared this before, can't remember.

http://www.fashion-era.com/drawers-pants-combinations-knickers-fashion.htm

I'm thinking my life experiences are not quite like other people.

Plunging Ball



Tuesday Tutorial…

When the toilet is plugged, you do not unplug the toilet by waiting for me to come along and do it for you.

This is especially essential during the night when sight is limited and overflow is imminent.

Therefore, this week we shall work on how to plunge a clogged toilet.

It would be silly to actually plug my toilet to learn this lesson, so I will have the girls practice each day pumping the plunger for ten minutes each.

If poured slowly, I can fill the toilet with more water.

This will help them learn that vigorous pumping will lead to washing the floors, their clothes, and themselves.

Control and a constant plunge is key.

In the past, when a toilet has been clogged, each girl claims that it is not a result of her deposit. 

So in the future, each girl will take a turn at trying to unplug the clogged toilet.

This will not be a pretty sight.

There will be crying and gagging, but not from me.

P.S.  We didn’t tell her that she was swinging around a plunger that had once had poop on it until after the song (which was her idea).


Tornado Alley


Dr. Tornado,

First off, thanks for indoctrinating us into tornado season.  It was something I was looking forward to.  Or not.  I have been informed that we are in “Tornado Alley”.  Great.

Second, I think I kinda pulled one over on you since I recently put the “Weatherbug” app on my cell and when the tornado warning was issued my phone went absolutely insane. I didn’t even know it could do that.  I usually keep my phone downstairs, but for the next few months I’m going to keep it next to my bed.  Also, about 20 minutes before the warning I got the phone number of Erin who is “in the know” about all things tornado.  She has connections.  She suggested I get to the basement since I’m a newbie. Being able to have access to the path of the storm on my computer (unless the power went out) and my phone was awesome.  So I had a few advantages that you didn’t know about.  Booyah.

Things that drove me crazy about this whole experience:  trying to wake two kids that were in the deepest sleep ever and maneuver them into the basement was difficult (Em was reading in her room); trying to find the cats was annoying and if that siren had been going off the cats were on their own (I was informed Saturday morning that it did go off, but I didn’t hear it over the sound of the water running through the pipes because the washing machine and dishwasher were running.  I couldn’t hear a darn thing, next time I shut off the machinery as I run by.); convincing Olivia that Pandie (her cancer coping bear) would be fine and she couldn’t get him was difficult; three girls that were yelling at each other to “stop touching me” with their legs was really, really driving me crazy; arguing over who had to sit next to the toilet (Liv ended up there and before too long she had her pillow and head on it.  Gross.); Thomas being in Seattle while all this was going on was par for the course, me, once again, having to do everything.  I think he planned it.  Geesh; watching the older two play Backgammon was awful because it made me feel stupid; and having Liv sleep with me when we finally went to bed was…ugh (she snuggled right up to me and I was on the edge of the bed and had terrible hot flashes).

When we moved to Canada and had the first big snowstorm of the year we were supposed to be going to a party that day.  We looked outside and thought there was no way we could make it.  We called to cancel and they laughed at us.  By the end of our time in Canada we were pros and knew how to handle the snow.  I imagine our new friends here were having a good chuckle about my nervousness, but this is my frame of reference:  since 1953 there have been 68 tornados in Champaign, ummmm, in that same period the town I grew up in has had one.  You can understand my concern.  I was worried that my post on FB would cause lots of eye rolls, but when one of my Champaign besties, Kristen, didn’t give me a hard time (she was taking shelter in a neighbor’s basement.  Apparently, she didn’t have time to call me to make sure I was safe.) I figured it was pretty serious.    

Things I thought were funny:  we were in an enclosed space and a couple people had gas; one kid went to the bathroom and the other two FREAKED; my left armpit started smelling (I think it was the stress) and I didn’t have any deodorant.  I realize I was in a bathroom, but there was no way I was using someone else’s deodorant.  Gross; and when I chatted with my Dad on the phone he wanted me to run upstairs and grab the Partida Tequila because it’s his favorite.

I was super appreciative of all my friends who threw up some prayers to the Big Guy.  Thanks.

But the most amazing thing of all was when I walked downstairs the next morning.  I couldn’t figure out how you didn’t hit Champaign, but you got INSIDE MY HOUSE.  How did you do that?  You must be like Santa.  I want some freaking presents not a messy house.

Bite me,

Krista

Top Rack Only


I am loading the dishwasher and I want to make sure a container I recently purchased is dishwasher safe.

I flip it over, and yes, it is dishwasher safe…

Top Rack Only

This is going to be a bit difficult.

A Good Purge Makes Everything Better


Tons of movie popcorn for dinner, followed by a huge bite of a self-decorated cookie with three inch high blue frosting at the grocery store = green vomit.

Started out as “THIS IS THE BEST DINNER EVER”, which made me “Mom of the Year”, and later that evening I received the award for “Worst Mom Ever” for, APPARENTLY, FORCE FEEDING the junk down her throat.

She did learn that sometimes vomiting is a good thing and I learned that having your kid sit outside for some fresh air makes for an easy clean up with the hose.

A big thanks to Emily for cleaning it up (this kid is once again amazing), because I had to make a quick switch with the cars, and, of course, that’s when she blew chunks.  Also, a big thank you to Olivia for circling the area with chalk so I wouldn’t walk in it.

When I was exchanging the car and getting ready to head back home, I received a call about the exiting of popcorn and cookie, and I could hear Liv laughing in the background as she chased Em with the hose.  I was so glad she felt better.  Who wants an upset stomach? 

The act of purging allowed me to go out with some friends that night instead of holding back hair.  There’s nothing like a good hurl.

I was also reminded of Art class and the color wheel, and that everything should be in moderation, even if refills are only 54 cents.

Gloria Or Natasha


Me:  Are you watching the Avengers?

Thomas:  Yep.

Me:  Cool.  I like the Avengers.

Thomas:  Who’s your favorite character?

Me:  To look at?

Thomas:  No, actual character.

Me:  Well, Captain America isn’t the cutest one and his outfit has got to go.  I love looking at Thor, but he needs to wash his hair and it’s all about the hammer.  He needs to branch out a bit.  I like the guy with the bow.  A guy with a bow makes me think of Legolas and he is hot, so I love guys with bows.

Thomas:  Hawkeye is barely an Avenger.  I don’t even know why he’s in the movie.  Also, you are talking about how they look not the character.

Me:  Actually, I’m giving a character description, which is very important in any book or movie.  It helps you understand the character and where he’s coming from, who he is, and his goals, like maybe a shower.

Thomas:  <shakes head>

Me:  I suppose you like the chick.  What’s her name?  Black Mamba?

Thomas:  It’s Black Widow.  Black Mamba was Uma Thurman in “Kill Bill”.

Me:  I love “Kill Bill”.  She kicks the shit out of everyone.  I also think it’s funny that the “Kung Fu” guy met his match and it was a girl.  A woman will be the downfall of every good man, except he wasn’t a good man.  Well, he was in “Kung Fu”, but not in “Kill Bill”.  So I’m not sure I can think it’s funny or get excited about The Cricket getting his ass kicked.  He should also watch out for birds.  Omg, I can’t remember, does she do the pelican thing from “Karate Kid”?  This is confusing me.  What were we talking about?

Thomas:  It’s Grasshopper, and the Crane, and we were talking about Scarlett Johansson.

Me:  Right…she doesn’t really do it for me.  Why are you skipping scenes?

Thomas:  I want to watch her run?

Me:  Of course, you do.  Do you want to watch Gloria on Modern Family stir things AGAIN after you’re finished watching Scarlett run?

Thomas:  No, not like that.  You have to watch her run.  She’s probably the worst runner I have ever seen.  It’s hilarious.  It looks like it might be the first time in her life she’s ever run.

Me:  Maybe it’s her shoes.  Anyway, I think I’m going to go with Iron Man.  He has cool toys. 

Thomas:  Me too.  Iron Man and The Hulk.

Me:  The Hulk?

Thomas:  He’s hilarious!  He always wants to punch things.

Olivia:  Puny God.





The Peddle On The Right


I have written a letter to myself to be read on my 80th birthday…


Dear Enhancer (or liar or truth-stretcher or falsifier or crazy…whatever you prefer),

Congratulations!  I’m very impressed that Thomas hasn’t strangled you yet.

By the way, if you look to your left is he sitting beside you? 

I hope he hasn’t died of a broken neck from all the head shaking.  There are many more years of shaking to come.

Old people get to have all the fun. 

They get to do and, mostly say, things that shock their families.  They have kept their thoughts inside for so long that they finally say, “screw it, this is what I think”.

I can hardly wait. 

I think my mom will be so happy she is long gone, because the idea of me getting more open than I am now is probably terrifying for her. 

I’ll speak very loudly so you can hear me all the way up in heaven.  I wouldn’t want you to miss anything good.

You’re welcome.

It reminds me of a poem…

“When I Am Old…by Jenny Joseph

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat that doesn't go, and doesn't suit me,
And I shall spend my pension
on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals,
and say we've no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I am tired,
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells,
And run my stick along the public railings,
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other people's gardens,
And learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat,
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go,
Or only bread and pickle for a week,
And hoard pens and pencils and beer mats
and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry,
And pay our rent and not swear in the street,
And set a good example for the children.
We will have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practise a little now?
So people who know me
are not too shocked and surprised,
When suddenly I am old
and start to wear purple!”


Let me pop back to my letter.  I got sidetracked…

I think my mom will be so happy she is long gone, because the idea of me getting more open than I am now is probably terrifying. 

Mom, I’ll speak loudly so you can hear me all the way up in heaven.  I wouldn’t want you to miss the good stuff.

You’re welcome.

Enhancer, this is what I would like you to do…

Since you have driven everybody crazy with the speed that you drive, I think now is the time to kick it up a notch.

I want you to speed.  I want you to push your foot down on the accelerator really, really hard.

I want you to roll down the window and feel the wind blowing through your hair or what’s left of it.

Again, push down hard on the accelerator.

If you do this then you will probably reach somewhere near the actual speed limit.





It's Bad When You Feel It Tug


It’s not Tuesday…

I suppose there are exceptions to every rule.

You know when you do something, and the millisecond that you do it you know exactly how it’s going to end?

Well…

Remember when we went to the cottage and Thomas went all gung-ho and bought the Ninja blender? 

I am never on smoothie making duty, nor am I on cleaning up smoothie duty, but tonight I decided to lend a hand.

Insert hand into soapy kitchen sink water, use washcloth to wash super crazy ass blade, and then proceed to slice a very clean ¾” line down the pad of your thumb. 

As I was slicing my thumb, I turned to Thomas and said, “This is going to be an emergency room visit”.

Usually Thomas is a “just throw a Band-Aid on it” kinda guy, but this time he took a look and asked if I needed a ride.

Now, here’s the kicker…

We have Convenient Care 2 ½ minutes from our house, so I went there.  They will stitch you up if they estimate it is less than 15 stitches, and it was.  I got four.

I have a new scar.  I’m going to have to come up with a really great story to make it sound more exciting than what I said to the doctor, “Yah, I sliced my thumb washing dishes.  I bet you hear that a lot.”

Bummer of the story…I couldn’t remember when I had my last tetanus shot so they threw that one in as a bonus.

Sooooo, still didn’t go to the emergency room.


Sleepover Rules


The rules have changed on sleepovers since I was a kid (seriously, did I just say that?).

It’s always been normal to have a war to get the kids to go to sleep, but last night these kids were taking forever to quiet down and there were only three of them.  I had no clue why they were so noisy.  Finally, I snuck up the stairs and figured out the problem…..

iPods and cell phones.

Those little sneaky kids were playing games.  They were confiscated immediately amidst pleas of “I promise, I won’t play it.  Can you just leave it here?  I’ll put it in my bag.  I won’t text anyone before 6am.”

Fool me once….


Saint Contrina


You know your kid goes to a Catholic school when they are writing a report on a Southeast U.S. state and when the following conversation takes place and the kid has selective hearing…

Me:  Blah, blah, blah, vampires, blah, blah, blah, snakes, blah, blah, blah, Hurricane Katrina, blah, blah, blah, pelican, blah, blah, blah, New Orleans, blah, blah, blah, voodoo, blah, blah, blah, Duck Dynasty, blah, blah, blah…..

And then when you help edit the report she has written…

“Saint Contrina hit Louisiana.”

There is not a St. Contrina or Katrina, but there is a St. Katharine Drexel, which I think is pretty close to the same name. 

Interestingly enough, Saint Katharine founded Xavier University in New, Orleans in 1915.

Yes, I'm Very Happy To Be A Cougar


I actually wrote this post back mid-June, but have been holding on to it for the right time. 

Unfortunately, due to recent events in the news, the real news, People Magazine, now is the right time, but it’s bitter sweet. 

I think it’s always a good idea to keep your options open.  So when I saw the headline on people.com about “The stars who date the same ‘Type”, I had to check it out.  I needed to see what ‘Type’ I need to be to get the leading men in Hollywood.

Adam Levine likes “Models” (Hmmm, I could model for Women’s sizes since I’m not a size 0, but looking at the pictures of the girls he dates I don’t think that’s what he’s into.)  Here is the sad news…it was announced yesterday that Adam Levine is now engaged and guess what…she’s a model. 

Ryan Phillippe likes “Blondes” (Unfortunately, when my hair grew back many different hair stylists informed me that I will never again be a blonde.  I guess he’s off the table.)

Leonardo DeCaprio likes “International Ladies” (Well, I’m an All-American girl so that’s not going to work.  I like apple pie and baseball.  And McDonald’s.)

Matthew McConaughey likes “Brunettes” (This is a possibility.  I can go darker.  It’s not the best shade with my skin color, but I can make it work.)

And then there’s Ryan Gosling. He likes “Older Women” and his co-stars.  (Ding!  Ding!  Ding!  Ding!  We have a winner!!!! I’m thinking an 8-year age difference puts me right where I need to be.  Now I just have to star in a movie with him.  I wonder if homemade movies count?)

Thomas told me not to post this one because it’s not one of my better stories, but I needed to so I could include the last picture.  You’re welcome girls.  


Also, when was the last time I listened to Thomas?



Timberlake Not Bieber


I often read Thomas my stories before I post them.  Sometimes I read them over and over until I get them right.  There is not a lot of feedback on his part.  However, I think it helps me when I hear it. 

Anyway, the following is the conversation we had about my post, "J.T. Is My Favorite".

I wrote the first paragraph and then read it to him.  He smiled. 

I wrote the second paragraph to him and he said, “First Justin Bieber and now Bette Midler?”  I said, “Not Bieber, Timberlake.  Timberlake.  I love Timberlake.”

I wrote the third paragraph and read it to him and then he told me windmills are not fans and then explained how a windmill works.  I said, “You know what, I’m going to Google it and then show you that you’re wrong.  Birds CAN soar between windmills, I know it.  It totally makes sense.  Unlike how an airplane can be in the air.  That shit’s messed up.  HA!”

He then laughed and laughed and dashed my dreams.  Smashed them.  What kind of person am I married to?

I finished the Windmill/Justin post and turned to him:

Me:  I’m going to read it to you one more time in its entirety.

Thomas:  Why?  Haven’t I heard it enough?

Me:  You have to hear it all together.  It’s like poetry.  You can’t hear it broken up in pieces.  It has to flow.

Thomas:  Fine.  Go ahead and read it.

Me:  Ok.  Are you going to listen?

Thomas:  I’ll hear you.

Me:  No.  Are you going to listen to the words and TAKE THEM INTO YOUR HEART or are you just going to hear Mwaw, Mwaw, Mwaw, Mwaw, Mwaw?

Thomas:  Will you just read me the freaking post!

Me:  Fine.  But really try to take it in.  I feel like this is one of my more lyrical posts.  You know, not just about bodily functions, but about the wind.  Wind is kind of a bodily function.  Oh, well.  Anyway… 

Thomas looked over at me and then faced forward again.  He’s driving, which means he’s trapped with me in the van.  Unless he leaves me at the side of the road he’s going to hear it as many times as I want him to.  Actually, he has been known to pull the van off the road and tell me to give him ten minutes of quiet or get out and he’ll come back for me.  I try to be silent as long as possible, because I’m not quite certain if he’ll come back.

I read him the post, again, in all its splendid gloriousness.

Thomas:  That sounds fine.

Me:  Fine?

Thomas:  Yep, fine.

Me:  Fine?!?!  You know what?  I’m going to write another post about how much of a jerk you are and then I’m NOT going to read it to you before I post it and then the first time you see it will be the same time as everyone else and then you won’t be able to say anything.

(Ok, as I was writing the above paragraph I noticed that I was moving my head side to side and wiggling my shoulders and z-snapped in the air.  Don’t tell Thomas, but I think there might be something wrong with me.)

Me:  I’m going to let people know what you are really like.  (Devious laugh).

Thomas:  It doesn’t really matter anyway, because you never write down exactly what I say. 

Me:  I do too.  My mind is like an ironclad safe.  I have everything you’ve ever uttered stored in there. 

Thomas:  Really, let’s go back and look at some older posts.  Also, you can’t remember jack.  What did we have for dinner last night?

Me:  I don’t have time to play these games.  Besides, I am a writer, and as a writer I get to use a creative license to make the words flow.

Thomas:  You mean make shit up?

Me:  No!!!!!!

And then do you know what he did?  DO YOU KNOW WHAT HE DID?  We had been on the road for about 2 hours listening to “HIS” music and as I was sulking, because I’m very mature, he flipped the music over to Blue October.

Me:  I love Blue October.

Thomas:  I know.

Me:  You’re the best!

Thomas:  I know.

Me:  One little thing.  I’m half way through this post in which I’m slamming your ass, can you listen to what I have so far?