Uncultured much?

No other electronics store I enter will ever compare to the one Head Thing introduced me to the other night:  Fry’s Electronics.  O…M…F…G… Huge does not even begin to describe this place. 

Upon entering the store I think I turned a few heads, not realizing how loud I was.  As soon as we walked in there is a huge ass fish tank floor to ceiling.  “Whoa, fish tank!” Yes, I actually squealed that in a high-pitched voice, I could have shot myself.  As I approached, “whoa there’s a shark!”  Still just as excited, but a little less nails on chalk board this time.  As if I have never seen these things before, right!  I’m easily entertained, what can I say, that, and I don’t get out much.

We spent what seemed like an eternity in that store.  Who couldn’t though, it was amazing!  After walking the majority of the store we went to go get in the check out line. 

I shit you not when I tell you this store has 70, yes 70, freaking registers.  Not a single one of them was open.  No joke.  The line grew to about 20 people before someone came up to the front of the line to let us know they were rounding up employees to come work the registers.  Baffled.  They put a neanderthal bigger than a bouncer at the exit to make sure you're not going anywhere without paying, but Gods forbid the store provide a way for the customers to pay...I feel like we're being set up for failure.

To my dismay, people just don’t get me, or they are uncultured.  My spouse hands his card over to pay for the merchandise.  The gentleman behind the counter gets the receipt and hands it to my hubby, “ok, I just need your John Hancock.”

Me and my constant movie referencing blurts out. “John Hancock, it’s not John Hancock…it’s Herbie Hancock.”

The dude looks at me as if I am wearing the helmet Head Thing promised to buy me,  “Herbie Hancock?”

“Seriously, you can’t tell me you haven’t seen Tommy Boy, come on,” I rebuttal.

“Ahhhh, hahaha.” The realization hits him.

Yeah dude, if I have to explain it to you, its lost its luster.  Better luck next time.  <Fold my arms and pout, this blows, my joke lost in the sea of cluelessness.>

Ode to a Queef

WARNING:  Content not for the faint of heart, or those easily offended.  If you do not possess a sense of humor, redirect to another page immediately, do not continue reading.

Over a year ago I promised my next post would be about queefs.  Well, I’m finally delivering…only a tad bit late.

I know I cannot be the only woman out there with this problem.  Especially after pushing out Thing 1 and Thing 2, I just don’t think the ole vaginal canal is what it used to be.  So, a while ago I wrote down some thoughts on the issue:

Who even came up with the feasibility/idea for a queef?  Seriously, farting aloud is already embarrassing enough.  No, give us women two holes, one that smells like shit when it sings, the other like fish.  Not to mention the relative sound to motor boating. (Yes, a third whole exists, I know this. Pee hole, Glee hole, and Do-dee hole, what fun!  It’s like our own mini planetary alignment in our undershorts.)

When it comes to doing physical activity I now have to wear a tampon, even when I’m not ragging.  I use it as a sound barrier between the two worlds of my cavernous va-jay-jay and the realm of humanity.  I like to think of it as a “Dignity Plug,” or “Mute-ation Device.”

There is nothing worse than being in a crowded yoga class in downward-dog and feeling your cooch take a deep breath in like it has its own set of lungs.  Then as your slide into cobra the force of tightening your abs expels the inhalation and flaps your lips back and forth like they’re clapping.  I’m sorry, but there is nothing that exciting taking place down there that stems the need for an ovation.

I often wonder if I’m the only one, then there are days in the yoga class where certain moves elicit a queefing symphony, and I smile knowing my tampon is saving my addition of notes.  The smile is then quickly replaced by a turned up nose, the stink of sweat and fish market linger; not a welcoming combination!

For those women contorting your faces into smug positions as if you don’t ever do this, just like you don’t fart or shit, just get over yourself…it’s one of natures many hilarious gifts given to us to laugh about…clap about, however you want to look at it.

Only in a man's mind...

Warning to any men about to read this:  If you can’t handle the thought of, or reading about periods, bleeding like a stuck pig for seven days and not dying, i.e. menstruation, DO NOT CONTINUE.  You have been forewarned.

So like I said, Wednesday night the 14^th we get in, last day of anti-biotics, I’m out of the car finally.  There’s a light at the end of the tunnel.

Next day we go run some errands and pick up necessary items we need for the house before the movers bring our goods.  Guess who decides to rear her ugly head?  That’s right, Aunt Flo.  And guess who has two thumbs and no pads or tampons?  That’s right, you guessed it, me!  FML!  Seriously, what else do you have for me Mother Nature?  As if things haven’t been chaotic enough!  So halfway through the second store the pain is horrific, and can no longer stand.  (I’m one of those special women out there who for the first two days of that lovely monthly gift, can’t function due to pain and very heavy…menstruating.  It feels like my nether regions have been bludgeoned with Thor’s Hammer…or a meat cleaver, same result…the urge to cut my vagina off!

Now, onto the main point of the story.  Standing in my new bedroom on Sunday afternoon while the Head Thing is laying in bed still trying to fight a hangover.  He tried to play with the big boys the night before and failed miserably.  Maybe I should have given his balls back to him out of my purse before he attempted beer pong on top of his other beverages.  He’s at least awake and talking to me…

I’m pacing going back and forth to the window waiting for the Direct TV guy to come.  And this is the question my husband asks, “So, uh, are you done yet?”

Me:  “Don’t you worry your pretty little face about that.”

Him:  “Why wont you tell me?  Are you at the beginning still, close to the end?”

Me:  “I’m in the middle”

Him:  “Oh, so you’re just finishing up the 9^th hole.”

Silence…I am actually speechless at this moment.  Did he seriously just relate my period to a game of fucking golf?  “Yes dear, I’m about to play the back 9.” 

You know, there are those split moments where I am curious to know what he’s thinking…not any more.  After that, I’m terrified to see what goes on in that man’s head!  Who the fuck relates a bleeding uterus to a game of golf?  Only in a mans world, I swear!

Yep, heading to the 10^th hole now.  This one is a Par 4, so by the time I make it to the 18^th you should get laid again, oh in say another week.

You Can't Even Make Something Like This Up

It’s been quite some time since I blogged.  A LOT has happened.  We’ll start with the present but we’ll “do the time warp again” here and there.  The Head Thing received orders to California back in December and left the 30^th of January, leaving myself and Thing 1 & 2 back in North Carolina.  Major suck!  But things fell into place so the kids and I could move to be with him.  Here’s where the fun begins.  Head Thing flew home on the 1^st of March to get us packed up, finish things around the house before turning it over to a rental agency, and drive us across the country. 

Two days after his arrival I start getting sick…I am not even embellishing the severity of this next part…not the cold, not the flu, not really a fucking clue to be honest with you.  Some of the symptoms were common of the flu, but then the stiff neck for two days, the fevers over 103 for four days, coughing that hurts to the deepest part of my lungs; something is going on.  I no shit sweated off 10 pounds over the course of five days!  Monday the movers came and I was stuck in the fetal positing in the corner of the room, unable to open my eyes.  I soaked through two blankets, and clothing with sweat that day.  I literally felt like I was knocking on Death’s hatch that day.  The spouse helped me to get into a bath that evening, due to not being able to walk on my own, and after I was done, crawled back under a blanket naked and fell asleep. 

A couple hours later some friends of mine stopped by to pick up a dresser.  They stopped by the room to see me.  When I woke I immediately felt the shower spray of sweat leech from my body.  If I hadn’t of been so out of it I probably would have vomited; sweat grosses me out!  Deciding that I was not getting any better with Ibuprofen and Benadryl, I went to the ER on Tuesday:  spinal tap (thankfully not meningitis), chest x-ray, IV of fluids due to severe dehydration and a urine sample.  All amounted to nothing.  The doctor wanted to send me home with nausea meds.  I told him to keep it, that I didn’t want any.  Seriously, what the fuck are nausea meds going to do for a constant fever, cold chills, profuse sweating, and the inability to eat because you are so sick?  Dick, that’s what!  Why the hell would I load myself up with a drug that’s not going to do a damn thing to fix the problem…and you’re a doctor?  Where’d you get your license buddy?  Out of a Cracker Jack box?  The brilliancy of some people amazes me!

So here comes Wednesday, I do what I can to help my hubs around the house but then I have to lie down because I pushed myself too far, the fever is coming back tenfold.  Another friend stopped by and told me that I needed to go back to the ER.  Thankfully I listened.  She took me and within 20 minutes in the waiting room I already had blood drawn and another urine sample taken.  Though it would be another two hours before I escaped the waiting room and got a bed in the “express care”.  After a bit the triage nurse called me in again and told me I had a UTI, and that apparently my sample from the night before also indicated that.  Funny, it doesn’t burn when I pee…never would have thought that, but ok.  She said there were ketones in my urine.  Ok, I’m smart enough to know those aren’t supposed to be there!

Finally I’m taken back and put in a bed…and we wait.  Oh did I mention my back is in so much pain from the spinal tap the night before I can barely move?  Yeah, this is really fun, and I’m supposed to be getting in a car to ride across country.  FML!  The PA walks in listens to my chest, tells me he can hear wheezing in my lungs, wants to do a breathing treatment on me, oh and I have an upper UTI, which means my kidneys are pissed, which is his explanation for the fevers.  Great, so if I had not of listened to my friend and gone back to the ER I could be dead or in renal failure, close enough!  Great to know!  He also gave me a party pack of vicodin to help with the pain from the LP.  They no joke have pre packs of vicodin made at this hospital.  That blew my mind.  But for that pack I am thankful because it helped the pain and helped me finally get some rest!

Prescription of inhaler for the Upper Respiratory infection he dx, and Cipro, a seven day course of the most intense anti-biotic out there.  Gods if I thought I was sick before this pill surely made me want to die!  One in the morning and one at night.  The pain this pill caused made me question if it was even worth taking.  Eating was also a problem for me the past few days being sick, now it’s even worse with this pill.  Will this bullshit cease!?  I feel like you can’t even fabricate a story to this level, but alas it managed to take place.

We leave Saturday around 4pm to start our road trip.  Most of the pain has subsided in my back from the LP, but now I can feel the pain in my kidneys.  I’m still nowhere near ready to travel, but we must.  Gotta love time constraints!  I was actually looking forward to this trip…before I got sick.  Now I’m dreading it.

We made it in the night of the 14^th, my last day of anti-biotics, thank the Gods!  Here I sit now, the 19^th and my lungs are a disaster.  I go to my inhaler like David Hasselhoff goes to a hamburger on a binge.  It’s rather sad.  Shake, shake, puff.  Shake, shake, puff.  Oh, but wait, only two puffs every four hours.  Fuck, I can’t breathe after one.  This is bullshit!  I have no clue if the Cipro did its job and fixed the UTI.  I’ll have to set up a doctor’s appointment for that and unfortunately that’s on the backburner at this point with all the other things on my list I need to do.

So that’s just some of the last two weeks.  There is so much more to share, and I will…another day. 

Bodily Dysfunctions

The other night the things are in the bathtub.  I stepped into their room to get their pj's ready and hear the following:

Thing 2:  "Do you want some tea, braver?"

Thing 1: "Sure"

Silence.

Next, an indescribably heinous fart escapes from Thing 2.  The sound the water made was as if it was trying to drown itself than be the recipient of the gas. 

Which brings me to my main story.  This little "encounter of the turd kind" made me think about what had been going on with me the last few days and my thoughts and feelings towards it.

I started taking some vitamin supplements a couple weeks ago.  I noticed a difference in my energy levels after 2 days which was great.  However, I have noticed that when it comes time to pee, it looks like I'm pissing chem light fluid.  It's neon.  I seriously think if I turned off the light it would glow in the dark!  Cool!

Now comes the worst part of it all.  You know when you fart you can crop dust (walk as you leave the offending trail behind you) so that you don't have to deal with the smell.  Now shitting is a completely different story.

I have found since I've been taking these supplements my shits smell worse than pregnancy shits.  Oh yeah, they're THAT bad! No, the fan in the bathroom does not help.  I can't breathe in through my nostrils for fear of singing all of my little nose hairs. Breathing through my mouth evades some of the smell, but gives you more of a taste of what's being delivered to the porcelain below.  I have to close my eyes to avoid the pungent aroma attacking my tear ducts and making me water.  I breathe as shallowly as possible, but find myself getting light headed…I am literally suffocating myself every time I have to go "do the doo".   I'm all for getting healthy, but damn, is my shit trying to turn me away from food?  I know what I'm eating does not smell bad going in.  Why is it, it could choke a horse coming out?  I would seriously rather do a visit to the gas chamber again with the CS Gas, then to smell what's going on in my bathroom when I go in.  A fart you can escape, but not this.  You're stuck on the toilet having to deal with everything your own ass has to dish out.  There is no running away from the stench until you've successfully wiped your ass and run out of the bathroom crying because you've scarred your sense of smell for life.  I'm starting to question in the supplements are worth it.

Next post…quiefs.  Yes, you read right…quiefs.

Priceless

Thing 2 (reminder: 3 years old) is finishing his pop tart that he desperately needed before he went to bed.  I am getting tooth brushes ready and already working on Thing 1's teeth.  I tell Thing 2 that he needs to go get a drink of water prior to daddy brushing his teeth.  He looks at me and says "but mommy Istill have food in my mouth."  I tell the little minion when he is finished then, to go get a drink. 

At this moment he is standing in front of the couch where the head thing is laying.  Thing 2 finishes munching on his pop tart and now daddy tells him to go get a drink of water.  I missed the gesture that took place at this point in time but my spouse starts laughing hysterically.  He explains to me that Thing 2 "put his hands up in the air like 'what the fuck dad?' where do you want me to pull the water out of? My ass?"  Then chimes in Thing 2 without any hesitation, "what the fuck dad?"  My jaw dropped to the floor.  I had to cover my gaping mouth with both hands to stifle the laughter that was about to erupt.  I then explain the Thing 2 that he may not say that again because it was a bad word, but damn if it wasn't hilarious to hear him say that!  Ahhh children!

Ummm...sure?

Have you ever been in a situation conversing with someone and you were responding to as minimally as possible so as to end the misery?  They ask a question and you give a two word response hoping and praying that it stops there.  Well, apparently there are people out there that do not pick up on hints.  I'm usually a beat around the bush kind of person, so I remained part of the conversation to be as nice as possible. 

It started with me advertising that I was selling my motorcycle and an acquaintance of mine being interested.  He started chatting with me one night on Facebook.  Standard questions about the bike, which I was more than happy to answer.  Then the conversation somehow took a turn towards cars.  I honestly think at one point I was ready to claw my eyes out because the pressure behind them was mounting.  I can honestly say I did not possess the intellectual capacity to even remotely attempt to keep up with the conversation.  I consider myself verbose and have a sizable knowledge of grammar, but there were words being used that I had no clue what they meant.  I speak fluent English, Pig Latin, Thing-anese, that is it.  I do not understand Testicleese, Carandriver, or Motorin, nor do I ever wish to.  I am quite happy in my little secluded world!  Again, I responded at little as possible, but for some reason that just prompted him to say more.  PEOPLE, sometimes more is NOT better!  By the time I thought the conversation was almost over, I was closer to walking in front of a moving vehicle than understanding his clutch thingamajig he does to drift around a corner.  Make it stop!  I know I could have ended my own misery by logging off Facebook, but I was talking to another friend of mine and not willing to leave that conversation because of this carhead dude.

He moved on from all of the over my head, warning:  brain implosion in 10 seconds, crap, to his jobless state, his ex-wife, and his new found love who is a Mormon.  What on earth did I say or do to make this guy I hardly know, think that I wanted to hear his life story? 

I happened to run into this guy face to face last night at a friends party.  It's really a lot harder to evade people when you're in the same house as them than it is behind a computer screen.  He saw my phone, the iPhone 4.  And that's when it all went downhill...yet again he started another conversation that was beyond the realm of my capabilities.  It's a phone.  It calls people.  It plays music.  It has games.  It has my alarm clock that is an epic failure thanks to my bakery app.  That's what I know about the phone.  I do not know it's resolution specs, nor do I really give a shit.  Can it wipe my ass? No.  I know the basics.  I'm not a techie.  I know I'm a bit geeky, but I make one piss poor example of a geek because I'm fucking clueless.  I tried to keep my responses minimal and a lot of "uh-huhs" and "I don't know's" but to no avail.  After about 10 minutes of being subjected to this...shit I could care less about, he finally walked away to go feed a beer to his face.  Thank the heavens for that!  I was finally saved from his company...hooray!