When Depressionista woke up from her four-hour nap on Saturday, she wasn't sure she even wanted to know if LilCherie had called or not.
"I pretty much figured Girls' Night was a lost cause," Depressionista said. "When my husband told me she'd called, I hesitated to even call back. I just didn't want the dream to die. But I knew that somehow, I had to find the courage to do it."
The call started out as most calls do--an exchange of pleasantries, updates on what each woman was doing at the moment. Neither seemed ready to broach the topic of whether or not the sinister virus at LilCherie's home had indeed ended what little hope was left for a Girls' Night that evening.
"I didn't want to ask, because I was afraid to hear the answer," Depressionista said. "I thought LilCherie sounded rather perky, but she often enjoys spending time with her family so I figured maybe she was okay with no Girls' Night. But then she asked me if J. had told me anything about their call earlier, and that's when I started to think maybe, just maybe..."
At 4:26 p.m., LilCherie confirmed that Girls' Night was a go. According to LilCherie, the D-Man was still feverish but his symptoms were being well-managed with ibuprofen, and Big R had recovered enough to be able to handle the next 17 hours on his own.
"I just couldn't believe it," Depressionista said. "I was so excited I squealed. After I calmed down, I got myself together and quickly got into gear to begin the preparations for the evening. I still had a shower to take, coffee to make, and also had to put in some kid duty to limit any guilt later on. I was so happy I even let J. take a nap while I waited for LilCherie to get here!"
LilCherie arrived at approximately 6 p.m. The two women laughed easily as they played with Depressionista's son while her husband finished his slumber. It was as if there had never even been a question about whether or not the evening would happen.
"I can't believe we did it," Depressionista said.
"Yep," LilCherie replied. "We pulled off another Girls' Night."
Their shared laughter floated through the air like bubbles in the wind as they reminisced about all the times it almost didn't happen. There were the Girls' Nights after sinus surgery, strep throat and a tonsillectomy; the blizzard a couple years ago that Depressionista weathered on the way to LilCherie's; and of course, who could forget the ice storm last November that LilCherie and PioneerGirl drove through to attend the Girls' Night Christmas 2007 Extravaganza?
"You know, we really shouldn't even worry," Depressionista said. "We're like the postal service. Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays us from the swift completion of our appointed rounds."
"Amen," LilCherie replied. "Amen."
Showing posts with label JustForLaughs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label JustForLaughs. Show all posts
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Saturday, March 15, 2008
In the Shadow of Sinister Virus, Two Women Struggle to Save Girls' Night
When LilCherie's husband, Big R, came home Tuesday night, March 11, she thought nothing of his slightly nasal voice, sniffles here and there and his general malaise.
Tonight, however, on the eve of what is supposed to be Girls' Night with her friend Depressionista, she looks back with the knowledge that only time could bring.
"I was so naive," she said, shaking her head. "I thought it was just a little cold. Little did I know that it would become a full-fledged, weekend-plan-threatening flu."
By Wednesday morning, Big R's condition had worsened to the point that he had to call in sick to work. When Thursday morning arrived with little improvement in her husband's condition, LilCherie began to worry about the days ahead.
"Depressionista and I had planned to get together tomorrow night for Girls' Night. When Big R called in sick again on Thursday, I started getting a bad feeling about it," LilCherie said. "I still didn't want to say anything to Depressionista. I didn't want to worry her needlessly."
Things seemed to be looking up by this morning. Big R had started to feel a little better the night before and was able to go to work. The D-Man, the couple's son, was just as chipper as ever--in fact, he'd even gotten sent to the principal's office the day before for an unusual display of rebelliousness.
A phone call at 3:45 p.m. this afternoon, however, shattered the fragile bubble of LilCherie's optimism. It was a call from the D-Man's school, and it would change the odds for a successful Girls' Night that weekend dramatically.
"The school nurse said he was crying, and that he said he didn't feel good and he 'hurt all over,'" LilCherie recalled. "I knew right then that the D-Man had it. It was a nightmare. I just couldn't believe this was happening--not to us."
Soon after the call, LilCherie decided it was time to break the news to Depressionista.
"I was so glad I got her voicemail," LilCherie said. "I didn't want to hear the anguish in her voice when I told her that the probability of Girls' Night had just gone way down. On a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being Girls' Night not happening at all, I probably started out the week at a 9. After Big R got sick it went down a few points, but it was up again this morning. When I got that call from the D-Man's school, though, it went all the way down to 3 or 4."
The D-Man came home with a fever and the chills, but after just one dose of ibuprofen he was almost back to normal by bedtime. That, coupled with the fact that LilCherie thought she was getting the virus Thursday but felt better by Friday, made it difficult to predict how the weekend might go. Complicating matters even further, she had her period, which made accurate interpretation of her body's signals almost impossible.
Riddled with uncertainty, LilCherie and Depressionista spoke to each other on the phone late this evening, trying to reassure one another in the face of the unknown.
"He seemed a lot better after he got some ibuprofen," LilCherie told her. "I'm not sure what will happen. I think we should PBE it [Play It By Ear]." She hung up the phone with a look of resolve and resignation.
"She took it well," LilCherie said. "I expected her to demand me to rate the chances of a Girls' Night from 1 to 10, but she didn't. In fact, she reassured me that whatever happened, it would be okay. Somehow, I'm at peace with it all. If Girls' Night is meant to happen tomorrow night--if it really is God's will--it will happen."
Check back for updates on this developing story.
Tonight, however, on the eve of what is supposed to be Girls' Night with her friend Depressionista, she looks back with the knowledge that only time could bring.
"I was so naive," she said, shaking her head. "I thought it was just a little cold. Little did I know that it would become a full-fledged, weekend-plan-threatening flu."
By Wednesday morning, Big R's condition had worsened to the point that he had to call in sick to work. When Thursday morning arrived with little improvement in her husband's condition, LilCherie began to worry about the days ahead.
"Depressionista and I had planned to get together tomorrow night for Girls' Night. When Big R called in sick again on Thursday, I started getting a bad feeling about it," LilCherie said. "I still didn't want to say anything to Depressionista. I didn't want to worry her needlessly."
Things seemed to be looking up by this morning. Big R had started to feel a little better the night before and was able to go to work. The D-Man, the couple's son, was just as chipper as ever--in fact, he'd even gotten sent to the principal's office the day before for an unusual display of rebelliousness.
A phone call at 3:45 p.m. this afternoon, however, shattered the fragile bubble of LilCherie's optimism. It was a call from the D-Man's school, and it would change the odds for a successful Girls' Night that weekend dramatically.
"The school nurse said he was crying, and that he said he didn't feel good and he 'hurt all over,'" LilCherie recalled. "I knew right then that the D-Man had it. It was a nightmare. I just couldn't believe this was happening--not to us."
Soon after the call, LilCherie decided it was time to break the news to Depressionista.
"I was so glad I got her voicemail," LilCherie said. "I didn't want to hear the anguish in her voice when I told her that the probability of Girls' Night had just gone way down. On a scale of 1 to 10, 1 being Girls' Night not happening at all, I probably started out the week at a 9. After Big R got sick it went down a few points, but it was up again this morning. When I got that call from the D-Man's school, though, it went all the way down to 3 or 4."
The D-Man came home with a fever and the chills, but after just one dose of ibuprofen he was almost back to normal by bedtime. That, coupled with the fact that LilCherie thought she was getting the virus Thursday but felt better by Friday, made it difficult to predict how the weekend might go. Complicating matters even further, she had her period, which made accurate interpretation of her body's signals almost impossible.
Riddled with uncertainty, LilCherie and Depressionista spoke to each other on the phone late this evening, trying to reassure one another in the face of the unknown.
"He seemed a lot better after he got some ibuprofen," LilCherie told her. "I'm not sure what will happen. I think we should PBE it [Play It By Ear]." She hung up the phone with a look of resolve and resignation.
"She took it well," LilCherie said. "I expected her to demand me to rate the chances of a Girls' Night from 1 to 10, but she didn't. In fact, she reassured me that whatever happened, it would be okay. Somehow, I'm at peace with it all. If Girls' Night is meant to happen tomorrow night--if it really is God's will--it will happen."
Check back for updates on this developing story.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Ripped From the Headlines...
Click on the photos for more....
Something that made me laugh:
Wow....that tour seemed like SO much longer
than three hours, man...What did you say Gilligan?
....and back in the Oh Yeah,
You Can Rock Me Amadeus days.
Something that made me laugh:
Wow....that tour seemed like SO much longer
than three hours, man...What did you say Gilligan?
Something that made me feel old:
Tom Hulce today....
Tom Hulce today........and back in the Oh Yeah,
You Can Rock Me Amadeus days.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
For Tingle's Boss
My friend Tingle gave me and LilCherie an important job for our last Girls' Night. She asked us to come up with activities that her boss and her boss' daughter could do while recovering from a broken leg (boss) and a broken pelvis (daughter). Here's what we came up with! (Be sure to click on the photos for more information!)
Rent laptops and look at porn.
Cultivate a Chia Pet. ("I have been on this couch since that thing was bald!")
Watch seasons one and two of "Weeds."
Learn a new language!
Look at pretty sparkly things.
Shrinky Dinks and suncatchers! (Note: Need an assistant to do the baking)
Eat lots of Oreos.
Learn how to play the recorder.
Do a huge splatter painting (so they can just throw the paint at the canvas).
Have a babyfood tasting.
Have theme days like "Mexican Day" where they can work on piñatas, eat salsa, chips and tacos, and drink sangria.
Grow out their toenails.
Finger paint.
Make nippleprints.
Learn to identify different cuts of meat.
Build a model.
Make cool things out of Sculpey.
Learn to be a cobbler.
Start a blog!
Start their memoirs.
Puzzles.
Learn how to create a crossword puzzle.
Call us. Just call us!
Call 1-800 numbers and order samples and catalogs for other people.
Explore their genealogy.
Sleep.
Become wine, cheese, or beef stick connoisseurs.
Watch Court TV.
Write a soap opera.
Learn sign language.
Do projects like typing, organizing things, rewriting recipes, etc. for other people.
Decorate Easter eggs!
Organize a charity drive. Use the computer and Paypal and have people sponsor them by pledging $5 for every day that they are immobile.
Rent laptops and look at porn.
Cultivate a Chia Pet. ("I have been on this couch since that thing was bald!")
Watch seasons one and two of "Weeds."
Learn a new language!
Look at pretty sparkly things.Shrinky Dinks and suncatchers! (Note: Need an assistant to do the baking)
Eat lots of Oreos.
Learn how to play the recorder.
Do a huge splatter painting (so they can just throw the paint at the canvas).
Have a babyfood tasting.
Have theme days like "Mexican Day" where they can work on piñatas, eat salsa, chips and tacos, and drink sangria.
Grow out their toenails.
Finger paint.
Make nippleprints.
Learn to identify different cuts of meat.
Build a model.
Make cool things out of Sculpey.Learn to be a cobbler.
Start a blog!
Start their memoirs.
Puzzles.
Learn how to create a crossword puzzle.
Call us. Just call us!
Call 1-800 numbers and order samples and catalogs for other people.
Explore their genealogy.
Sleep.
Become wine, cheese, or beef stick connoisseurs.
Watch Court TV.
Write a soap opera.
Learn sign language.Do projects like typing, organizing things, rewriting recipes, etc. for other people.
Decorate Easter eggs!
Organize a charity drive. Use the computer and Paypal and have people sponsor them by pledging $5 for every day that they are immobile.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Playing Tag
CharmedGirl tagged me, which always makes me feel loved, so thanks! Here's the deal:
1) Link to the person who tagged you.
2) Post the rules.
3) Share six non-important things / habits / quirks about yourself.
4) Tag at least three people.
5) Be sure the people you tagged KNOW you tagged them by commenting what you did.
1. Food Weirdness: I segregate all my Lucky Charms while I eat them. I go for all the oat shapes first, so that at the end of the bowl I have a several yummy spoonfuls made up almost entirely of charms. I also do this with popcorn, saving the big, puffy, cloud-like kernels for last. Then I nibble off anything that's hard so that at the end, I have one handful of completely hull-free popcorn that melts in my mouth. When I was a kid, I used to personify my pancakes. When I ate the second-to-last piece of pancake, I would tell the lone piece left on my plate, who was surely lonely and scared, that it was okay, soon it would be with all of it's pancake friends in my stomach.
2. Every so often (right now, in fact) I decide to grow my toenails out. Not to be pretty, oh god no--in fact, just the opposite. I want to see how long I can stand the grossness and also enjoy disgusting my inner circle who is subjected to viewing the nails. The last time I did this, we had a ceremonial toenail-cutting during a Girls' Weekend at the cabin.
3. Once, after a Girls' Night at LilCherie's in which she forced me to watch titillating films from the 60s, I was so desperate to get off that I snuggled up to her electric shiatsu chair massager. It didn't quite work, but the frontal action was so exquisite that I bought my own the very next day. Now I keep an emergency vibe at her house for just such a situation. Always be prepared!
4. Occasionally, just for fun, I will fart loudly in a public place (usually Walgreens) to embarrass not only myself, but whoever is with me (usually it's LilCherie or Tingle). What can I say, I enjoy fart humor. And embarrassing people.
5. A local grocery store chain has special parking spaces at some of it's locations that are "Reserved for new or expectant mothers." It has a little stork on it and everything. When I was TTC, they irritated me, but after losing Hope they enraged me. Since then I have made it a personal mission to always park in this spot if it is available. Since I'm fat, it works out well--all I have to do is arch my back a bit and I can pass, if I feel like it. Otherwise, I just walk normally and send out the "I dare you," vibe to the universe. In some small way, it feels very satisfying.
6. I am somewhat obsessed with serial killers. I just find it fascinating and scary and it's kind of always been a fear of mine so I guess it's natural that I would want to learn more about it. My area of specialization would have to be Ted Bundy, because after reading "The Stranger Beside Me" by Ann Rule, I was hooked. This personal quirk freaked Tingle out quite a bit because, for some reason, this came up during her first visit to my house...and moments later, J., for some reason I don't remember, decided to show her and her hubby his grandfather's meat cleaver that had been passed down to him and was hanging in our basement. And she's still my friend. That's love, folks!
Alright....well, I hope after reading all that, you'll still come back! Now I'm going to tag Complicated Mama, Melissa, and Thrice.
Thanks, Charmy, for the fun topic. It was a great diversion!
1) Link to the person who tagged you.
2) Post the rules.
3) Share six non-important things / habits / quirks about yourself.
4) Tag at least three people.
5) Be sure the people you tagged KNOW you tagged them by commenting what you did.
1. Food Weirdness: I segregate all my Lucky Charms while I eat them. I go for all the oat shapes first, so that at the end of the bowl I have a several yummy spoonfuls made up almost entirely of charms. I also do this with popcorn, saving the big, puffy, cloud-like kernels for last. Then I nibble off anything that's hard so that at the end, I have one handful of completely hull-free popcorn that melts in my mouth. When I was a kid, I used to personify my pancakes. When I ate the second-to-last piece of pancake, I would tell the lone piece left on my plate, who was surely lonely and scared, that it was okay, soon it would be with all of it's pancake friends in my stomach.
2. Every so often (right now, in fact) I decide to grow my toenails out. Not to be pretty, oh god no--in fact, just the opposite. I want to see how long I can stand the grossness and also enjoy disgusting my inner circle who is subjected to viewing the nails. The last time I did this, we had a ceremonial toenail-cutting during a Girls' Weekend at the cabin.
3. Once, after a Girls' Night at LilCherie's in which she forced me to watch titillating films from the 60s, I was so desperate to get off that I snuggled up to her electric shiatsu chair massager. It didn't quite work, but the frontal action was so exquisite that I bought my own the very next day. Now I keep an emergency vibe at her house for just such a situation. Always be prepared!
4. Occasionally, just for fun, I will fart loudly in a public place (usually Walgreens) to embarrass not only myself, but whoever is with me (usually it's LilCherie or Tingle). What can I say, I enjoy fart humor. And embarrassing people.
5. A local grocery store chain has special parking spaces at some of it's locations that are "Reserved for new or expectant mothers." It has a little stork on it and everything. When I was TTC, they irritated me, but after losing Hope they enraged me. Since then I have made it a personal mission to always park in this spot if it is available. Since I'm fat, it works out well--all I have to do is arch my back a bit and I can pass, if I feel like it. Otherwise, I just walk normally and send out the "I dare you," vibe to the universe. In some small way, it feels very satisfying.
6. I am somewhat obsessed with serial killers. I just find it fascinating and scary and it's kind of always been a fear of mine so I guess it's natural that I would want to learn more about it. My area of specialization would have to be Ted Bundy, because after reading "The Stranger Beside Me" by Ann Rule, I was hooked. This personal quirk freaked Tingle out quite a bit because, for some reason, this came up during her first visit to my house...and moments later, J., for some reason I don't remember, decided to show her and her hubby his grandfather's meat cleaver that had been passed down to him and was hanging in our basement. And she's still my friend. That's love, folks!
Alright....well, I hope after reading all that, you'll still come back! Now I'm going to tag Complicated Mama, Melissa, and Thrice.
Thanks, Charmy, for the fun topic. It was a great diversion!
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Monday, February 04, 2008
Today's Musings
Today I learned that...
Two pieces of cheesy garlic bread are not enough.
I'm done fuckin' around with those generic, cheaper brands of frozen garlic bread. If it's not Pepperidge Farm Garlic Texas Toast® then it's not worth it.
It's not a good idea to broil your second set of cheesy garlic bread Texas Toasts on "hi" without watching them or setting a timer.
While you're fucked up.
And your husband is just about there in terms of getting the 3-year-old asleep.
When the smoke alarm goes off.
Things I Feel Compelled to Share With You Tonight
The thought of LilCherie, in the Grumpy Pants I made her for her birthday, standing in the snowy parking lot of the hospital this morning after finding out that her surgeon was snowed in in another city and would not be able to perform her tonsillectomy, kicking her car in anger, really makes me laugh. Now that she's accepted it, I mean. I really felt bad for her at the time. But I still wish her husband could have secretly videotaped it for me.
I read the Lunchables® post over at A Little Pregnant and it really pissed me off. But I was too much of a chickenshit to post a dissenting view, because Julie is blog royalty and I didn't figure it was really worth it. Of course now that I'm putting this on my own blog it's "out there." Oh, jeez, what are we supposed to do? It's already out there! Call the cops! It's already out there! (Random movie quote -- do you know which one it's from?) But I was excited to see that Patty from Monday Changed Everything stuck up for herself. If you read her blog you'll see that she has a good excuse. I just feed my child crap because I'm lazy and depressed.
I'm half-afraid that I'm dying of cancer because I haven't felt like eating much lately, I'm really tired, and I have several unaccounted for bruises on my upper thighs (and one on my forearm). Of course, the appetite and fatigue could be attributed to the depression, even though I'm usually a "fat depressive" (I just made that term up. Impressive, huh?). And I guess the bruises could be from beating my fists against my legs in hopeless frustration, right?
I found out tonight that when trying to disinfect a light green throw rug after a dollop of your child's almost-diarrheal poo drops on it, a bleach-based cleanser should not be your first choice. There is now a five-inch circle of my throw rug that's the same shade as Greg Brady's hair in the episode where he buys the hair tonic from Oliver. Or, baby-ate-carrots-shit orange. I couldn't have just thrown it in the washer because you know, I was just too lazy and depressed.
I'm reading a great book right now called "Mommies Who Drink," by Brett Paesel. When reading books like this, I momentarily think to myself, "I could write this well! I could be this funny! Why am I not a published, successful author?" Then I remember, oh yeah. I'm too lazy and depressed.
I'm thinking of changing the name of my blog to "Lazy and Depressed." Do you think that would pull in the readers or what? Sadly, I would be all about a blog named that. I should do a blog search...maybe it's already out there?
Today's Aha! Moment
I think I've come to a realization about how men--or at least J.--think, and why it causes a problem in relationships. I think he is mentally incapable of moving past the first most-likely outcome of an action or comment. Here are a couple examples, including the correct "Mom thought" as well:
J.'s first thought: Bubba is thirsty.
Most likely outcome: I'll give him some milk, then he won't be thirsty anymore.
Mom thought: But Bubba has to drink four ounces of juice laced with laxative so that he won't have a hard poop because is his holding his poops in and we are trying to get him to go without the hysterical drama and causing Mommy to have to take one of her anxiety pills. So, I'll give him the laxa-juice now and then milk later.
J.'s first thought: I want to make Bubba laugh, so I'll put some Toobers and Zots® (I'm lovin' that symbol tonight, by the way) up my nose and pretend they are boogers.
Most likely outcome: Bubba will laugh. Job done!
Mom thought: Bubba will think it's great, then put them up his nose, and then put other things up his nose, and then we'll be in the emergency room at 3 a.m. while some poor staff physician fishes pus-covered gravel from our child's infected nose. So maybe we'd better not model putting stuff up our noses as appropriate behavior for our 3-year-old.
J.'s first thought: It's time for Bubba to go to bed, so I'm putting him to bed.
Most likely outcome: Bubba will go to bed.
Mom thought: It's time for Bubba to go to bed, so we better get him his allergy medicine because if he doesn't get it he will be stuffy and he already has a cough; fill and turn on the humidifier because of the aforementioned cough; see if he has to go potty one more time so that he doesn't wet the bed; and bring in a glass of water and the toothpaste so we can brush his teeth.
I think you get what I mean here.
And now I guess it's also perfectly clear why, when I was having a spiral last week and told J. I felt like I was turning into my mother--the ultimate killjoy-- J.'s. answer was a sobering, "Yep."
Two pieces of cheesy garlic bread are not enough.
I'm done fuckin' around with those generic, cheaper brands of frozen garlic bread. If it's not Pepperidge Farm Garlic Texas Toast® then it's not worth it.
It's not a good idea to broil your second set of cheesy garlic bread Texas Toasts on "hi" without watching them or setting a timer.
While you're fucked up.
And your husband is just about there in terms of getting the 3-year-old asleep.
When the smoke alarm goes off.
Things I Feel Compelled to Share With You Tonight
The thought of LilCherie, in the Grumpy Pants I made her for her birthday, standing in the snowy parking lot of the hospital this morning after finding out that her surgeon was snowed in in another city and would not be able to perform her tonsillectomy, kicking her car in anger, really makes me laugh. Now that she's accepted it, I mean. I really felt bad for her at the time. But I still wish her husband could have secretly videotaped it for me.
I read the Lunchables® post over at A Little Pregnant and it really pissed me off. But I was too much of a chickenshit to post a dissenting view, because Julie is blog royalty and I didn't figure it was really worth it. Of course now that I'm putting this on my own blog it's "out there." Oh, jeez, what are we supposed to do? It's already out there! Call the cops! It's already out there! (Random movie quote -- do you know which one it's from?) But I was excited to see that Patty from Monday Changed Everything stuck up for herself. If you read her blog you'll see that she has a good excuse. I just feed my child crap because I'm lazy and depressed.
I'm half-afraid that I'm dying of cancer because I haven't felt like eating much lately, I'm really tired, and I have several unaccounted for bruises on my upper thighs (and one on my forearm). Of course, the appetite and fatigue could be attributed to the depression, even though I'm usually a "fat depressive" (I just made that term up. Impressive, huh?). And I guess the bruises could be from beating my fists against my legs in hopeless frustration, right?
I found out tonight that when trying to disinfect a light green throw rug after a dollop of your child's almost-diarrheal poo drops on it, a bleach-based cleanser should not be your first choice. There is now a five-inch circle of my throw rug that's the same shade as Greg Brady's hair in the episode where he buys the hair tonic from Oliver. Or, baby-ate-carrots-shit orange. I couldn't have just thrown it in the washer because you know, I was just too lazy and depressed.
I'm reading a great book right now called "Mommies Who Drink," by Brett Paesel. When reading books like this, I momentarily think to myself, "I could write this well! I could be this funny! Why am I not a published, successful author?" Then I remember, oh yeah. I'm too lazy and depressed.
I'm thinking of changing the name of my blog to "Lazy and Depressed." Do you think that would pull in the readers or what? Sadly, I would be all about a blog named that. I should do a blog search...maybe it's already out there?
Today's Aha! Moment
I think I've come to a realization about how men--or at least J.--think, and why it causes a problem in relationships. I think he is mentally incapable of moving past the first most-likely outcome of an action or comment. Here are a couple examples, including the correct "Mom thought" as well:
J.'s first thought: Bubba is thirsty.
Most likely outcome: I'll give him some milk, then he won't be thirsty anymore.
Mom thought: But Bubba has to drink four ounces of juice laced with laxative so that he won't have a hard poop because is his holding his poops in and we are trying to get him to go without the hysterical drama and causing Mommy to have to take one of her anxiety pills. So, I'll give him the laxa-juice now and then milk later.
J.'s first thought: I want to make Bubba laugh, so I'll put some Toobers and Zots® (I'm lovin' that symbol tonight, by the way) up my nose and pretend they are boogers.
Most likely outcome: Bubba will laugh. Job done!
Mom thought: Bubba will think it's great, then put them up his nose, and then put other things up his nose, and then we'll be in the emergency room at 3 a.m. while some poor staff physician fishes pus-covered gravel from our child's infected nose. So maybe we'd better not model putting stuff up our noses as appropriate behavior for our 3-year-old.
J.'s first thought: It's time for Bubba to go to bed, so I'm putting him to bed.
Most likely outcome: Bubba will go to bed.
Mom thought: It's time for Bubba to go to bed, so we better get him his allergy medicine because if he doesn't get it he will be stuffy and he already has a cough; fill and turn on the humidifier because of the aforementioned cough; see if he has to go potty one more time so that he doesn't wet the bed; and bring in a glass of water and the toothpaste so we can brush his teeth.
I think you get what I mean here.
And now I guess it's also perfectly clear why, when I was having a spiral last week and told J. I felt like I was turning into my mother--the ultimate killjoy-- J.'s. answer was a sobering, "Yep."
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Happy Birthday LilCherie!
Hey! It's your birthday! In approximately 2 hours and 7 minutes (can't tell I'm counting the minutes, huh?) I will be heading out to come to your birthday bash. I cannot wait!!!So, you're 37 now, which means I have only six more months of being younger than you :-) Wow. 37! Remember when we were just 17 and thought we were so grown up? We were 17 TWENTY YEARS AGO!!!! I remember it like it was yesterday. So glad you're not still with Brent :-)
Hope you have a great birthday and a great 37th year. Thanks for sharing it all with me!
Monday, December 24, 2007
'Twas the Night Before That Crazy Man Breaks Into Our House Leaving Loud Toys We Don't Need And That Bubba Will Cry Over When We Have to Go to NaNa's
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house,
All the creatures were running from our child, the grouch.
The stockings were hung to be filled in the night,
While Bubba bawled at the table, refusing "just one bite."
Other children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While our precious son cried to "sleep in Dad's bed!"
And mamma with my Clonazepam and Daddy with his smokes,
Had just settled down for a long, calming toke,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I rose heavily from the porch to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I stumbled and crashed,
Tore open the shutters and threw down my stash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen ice, sleet and snow,
Gave the lustre of mid-day to all the stuff down below that we haven't picked up yet from summer.
When, what to my extremely dry eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer.
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in couple of minutes that it must be St. Nick.
(Either that or it was pharmaceuticals fucking with me).
More rapid than a mother trying to get her puking son to a toilet his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now Dasher! Now Dancer! Now Prancer and Vixen!
On Comet! On Cupid! On Donder and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!
Now dash away, dash away, dash away all!"
Like dry heaves from your child makes you grab him and fly,
St. Nicholas and his deer quickly took to the sky,
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of more noisy, lead-ridden toys (and St. Nicholas too).
And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
Soon after, from the din, I heard my child rise,
Then I forced him to stay in bed so it "would be a surprise!"
As I finally got my kid asleep and unwound,
Through the open porch door St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot from all those richy houses that have fireplaces in their living rooms.
A bundle of toys he had flung in his sack,
That, hopefully we won't have to take back (because Nana already got it for our extremely spoiled son).
His eyes--how they twinkled! His dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
He was smiling, actually, like a real psycho.
The stump of the pipe he held in his teeth so tight,
Smelled familiar, then I knew how he flew so damn high.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
He must have had the munchies, 'cause he emptied my shelf.
He winked his right eye, and for awhile he zoned,
Then I knew for sure good old Santa was stoned.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
He snorted some horse and then finally arose.
He staggered to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Merry Christmas or whatever, and to all a mellow night!"
After he left, we finally rested our heads,
For about five minutes until Bubba started crying and climbed out of bed.
It was Christmas alright, there was nowhere to go,
Better wake up and face it. Ho ho fucking ho.
All the creatures were running from our child, the grouch.
The stockings were hung to be filled in the night,
While Bubba bawled at the table, refusing "just one bite."
Other children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While our precious son cried to "sleep in Dad's bed!"
And mamma with my Clonazepam and Daddy with his smokes,
Had just settled down for a long, calming toke,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I rose heavily from the porch to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I stumbled and crashed,
Tore open the shutters and threw down my stash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen ice, sleet and snow,
Gave the lustre of mid-day to all the stuff down below that we haven't picked up yet from summer.
When, what to my extremely dry eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer.
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in couple of minutes that it must be St. Nick.
(Either that or it was pharmaceuticals fucking with me).
More rapid than a mother trying to get her puking son to a toilet his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now Dasher! Now Dancer! Now Prancer and Vixen!
On Comet! On Cupid! On Donder and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!
Now dash away, dash away, dash away all!"
Like dry heaves from your child makes you grab him and fly,
St. Nicholas and his deer quickly took to the sky,
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of more noisy, lead-ridden toys (and St. Nicholas too).
And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
Soon after, from the din, I heard my child rise,
Then I forced him to stay in bed so it "would be a surprise!"
As I finally got my kid asleep and unwound,
Through the open porch door St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot from all those richy houses that have fireplaces in their living rooms.
A bundle of toys he had flung in his sack,
That, hopefully we won't have to take back (because Nana already got it for our extremely spoiled son).
His eyes--how they twinkled! His dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
He was smiling, actually, like a real psycho.
The stump of the pipe he held in his teeth so tight,
Smelled familiar, then I knew how he flew so damn high.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
He must have had the munchies, 'cause he emptied my shelf.
He winked his right eye, and for awhile he zoned,
Then I knew for sure good old Santa was stoned.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
He snorted some horse and then finally arose.
He staggered to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Merry Christmas or whatever, and to all a mellow night!"
After he left, we finally rested our heads,
For about five minutes until Bubba started crying and climbed out of bed.
It was Christmas alright, there was nowhere to go,
Better wake up and face it. Ho ho fucking ho.
Merry Christmas!!!
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Why Men's Asses Stink So Bad
Inspired by Tingle's comment on my last post, I decided to put a few theories out there. Here are my thoughts.
Why Men's Asses Stink So Bad
1. They're too lazy to wipe their butts adequately after a dump.
2. After they take a dump, if not interrupted, they sit there for an average of 25 minutes reading a magazine. I posit that during this time, poo particles crust onto their skin and are not removed due to the inadequate wipe, which leads us to....
3. Later, rehydrated by the man's sweat, the particles release themselves into the underwear, causing the all-too-familiar skidmark and emitting that familiar odor of butt.
4. They purposely cultivate a little shitgarden down there just to annoy us.
5. They're too lazy to actually bend over or use soap in the crack area during their 30-second showers.
6. More hair down there (see #2 --ha ha, get it?--of this post.)
7. It helps them recognize each other in the wild.
8. The jalapeno burger for lunch, the Triple X chili at the Superbowl Party, Tabasco sauce on everything, the strange desire to prove to other men that they can eat something that's really hot...it adds up.
9. Moist farts.
10. Their ability to go an entire weekend without showering or shaving--and still leave the house and carry on with their normal business--even when they are completely healthy.
11. It's a diversionary tactic to try to get us to stop asking them about their feelings.
I know you all must have some good ones to add to this list. Let's hear 'em!
Why Men's Asses Stink So Bad
1. They're too lazy to wipe their butts adequately after a dump.
2. After they take a dump, if not interrupted, they sit there for an average of 25 minutes reading a magazine. I posit that during this time, poo particles crust onto their skin and are not removed due to the inadequate wipe, which leads us to....
3. Later, rehydrated by the man's sweat, the particles release themselves into the underwear, causing the all-too-familiar skidmark and emitting that familiar odor of butt.
4. They purposely cultivate a little shitgarden down there just to annoy us.
5. They're too lazy to actually bend over or use soap in the crack area during their 30-second showers.
6. More hair down there (see #2 --ha ha, get it?--of this post.)
7. It helps them recognize each other in the wild.
8. The jalapeno burger for lunch, the Triple X chili at the Superbowl Party, Tabasco sauce on everything, the strange desire to prove to other men that they can eat something that's really hot...it adds up.
9. Moist farts.
10. Their ability to go an entire weekend without showering or shaving--and still leave the house and carry on with their normal business--even when they are completely healthy.
11. It's a diversionary tactic to try to get us to stop asking them about their feelings.
I know you all must have some good ones to add to this list. Let's hear 'em!
Friday, March 02, 2007
Like Chili (or Lasagna?) for Chocolate
Today I decided to take the day off. It's snowy, windy and cold; my
sinuses are really congested and I'm blowing chunky shit out of my nose; I have a touch of the diarrhea; and, frankly, I just needed a day at home by myself and this is the only way I'm going to get it! Obviously, I don't feel 100 percent, but I feel well enough to enjoy a little time to myself.
The good news for the day is that Nate is coming over tonight to play videogames with my husband! Yesterday, I asked J. if he had anything fun planned for the weekend. He said no, so I said "Why don't you see if Nate wants to come over tomorrow night?" He teased me about my Nate-lust and then said it did sound like a good idea. Nate got back to him this morning and said he'd like to come over. Oh, joy! I told J. on the phone that I was kind of feeling weird now because J. knows about my lust. J. responded, "C'mon! It's your dream double team, isn't it?" Or something like that. I'm glad he can have a sense of humor about it. I just find it better to upfront about stuff like this, because I'm a terrible liar and trying to conceal anything from J. feels very wrong to me and infringes on my enjoyment.
So....anyway...I'm planning to make a lasagna to feed my men tonight. I always have some anxiety about fixing food for someone I don't know very well. I don't know that I've ever met someone who hates lasagna...but still, I'm always worried that I'll make the one thing they can't stand and then they'll feel like they have to eat it. Many years ago, when I was fresh out of college and working at my first "real" job at a smalltown newspaper, I had to interview a woman who had won an award from, I believe, the Egg Council or something, for her breakfast casserole recipe. Yes, this was worthy of a feature story in this town of 1500 people, most of whom were related to one another.
Anyway, I get there for the interview and she sits me down at the table and brings out a steaming dish of her award-winning egg and sausage creation. Now I abhor eggs. I hate them. I hate the way they look, I hate the way they smell, I hate the way they taste, I hate the boogery texture of them in my mouth, I hate the fact that they are pooped out of a chicken. I once stopped eating pancakes for an entire year because I found a microscopic piece of cooked egg white peaking out from inside of one. It's almost a phobia.
What did I do? I briefly contemplated telling her I had an allergy, but she was just too sweet. So I snarfed it down as quickly as I could to get it over with and tried not to be too obvious about the fact that I wasn't chewing much and was drinking a lot. I'm still scarred. I never want anyone to feel that way in my house, so I really do my best to serve stuff that usually has universal appeal, rather than breaking out the Mexican Meatloaf or any kind of casserole (those often gross me out, too, unless I've made it and know what's in there).
I could also make chili; I have a really mean veggie chili recipe that has won universal raves when I've served it at potlucks and such, and what man doesn't like chili? I honestly can't think of one; can you? Let me know what you think--lasagna or chili? Which dish better says "Please come back and visit us again so I can feast my eyes on your hot bod, laugh at your sexy sense of humor and fantasize that my awesome cooking will just make you lose control and fuck me?"
I'm such a freak.
sinuses are really congested and I'm blowing chunky shit out of my nose; I have a touch of the diarrhea; and, frankly, I just needed a day at home by myself and this is the only way I'm going to get it! Obviously, I don't feel 100 percent, but I feel well enough to enjoy a little time to myself.
The good news for the day is that Nate is coming over tonight to play videogames with my husband! Yesterday, I asked J. if he had anything fun planned for the weekend. He said no, so I said "Why don't you see if Nate wants to come over tomorrow night?" He teased me about my Nate-lust and then said it did sound like a good idea. Nate got back to him this morning and said he'd like to come over. Oh, joy! I told J. on the phone that I was kind of feeling weird now because J. knows about my lust. J. responded, "C'mon! It's your dream double team, isn't it?" Or something like that. I'm glad he can have a sense of humor about it. I just find it better to upfront about stuff like this, because I'm a terrible liar and trying to conceal anything from J. feels very wrong to me and infringes on my enjoyment.
So....anyway...I'm planning to make a lasagna to feed my men tonight. I always have some anxiety about fixing food for someone I don't know very well. I don't know that I've ever met someone who hates lasagna...but still, I'm always worried that I'll make the one thing they can't stand and then they'll feel like they have to eat it. Many years ago, when I was fresh out of college and working at my first "real" job at a smalltown newspaper, I had to interview a woman who had won an award from, I believe, the Egg Council or something, for her breakfast casserole recipe. Yes, this was worthy of a feature story in this town of 1500 people, most of whom were related to one another.
Anyway, I get there for the interview and she sits me down at the table and brings out a steaming dish of her award-winning egg and sausage creation. Now I abhor eggs. I hate them. I hate the way they look, I hate the way they smell, I hate the way they taste, I hate the boogery texture of them in my mouth, I hate the fact that they are pooped out of a chicken. I once stopped eating pancakes for an entire year because I found a microscopic piece of cooked egg white peaking out from inside of one. It's almost a phobia.
What did I do? I briefly contemplated telling her I had an allergy, but she was just too sweet. So I snarfed it down as quickly as I could to get it over with and tried not to be too obvious about the fact that I wasn't chewing much and was drinking a lot. I'm still scarred. I never want anyone to feel that way in my house, so I really do my best to serve stuff that usually has universal appeal, rather than breaking out the Mexican Meatloaf or any kind of casserole (those often gross me out, too, unless I've made it and know what's in there).
I could also make chili; I have a really mean veggie chili recipe that has won universal raves when I've served it at potlucks and such, and what man doesn't like chili? I honestly can't think of one; can you? Let me know what you think--lasagna or chili? Which dish better says "Please come back and visit us again so I can feast my eyes on your hot bod, laugh at your sexy sense of humor and fantasize that my awesome cooking will just make you lose control and fuck me?"I'm such a freak.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Laugh and the World Laughs With You
The other night, I read some of my wittier, in my opinion anyway, posts from this blog. He listened half-heartedly and when he looked like he was about to fall asleep I stopped and then we fought for awhile about how I wasn't being "understanding" enough about his depression. Anyway, he made the comment that "all your blog is is bitching about how shitty your life is."
I've kind of been thinking about that lately and while I don't totally buy it, I do believe I need to sprinkle in some more lighthearted or funny posts here and there. In an effort to make this blog more enjoyable and maybe even improve my own mood, I am committing to attempting to include a funny, lighthearted, cute or otherwise warm and fuzzy anecdote with every post. Unless, of course, the post itself is funny, lighthearted, cute or otherwise warm and fuzzy, in which case that would be redundant. Or whatever. You know what I mean.
As part of my job, I encounter a lot of names. Not as many as a telemarketer or a salesmen, but a goodly amount. A few years back, I decided to start keeping a list of real names that were really funny. My husband got on board awhile ago because he also encounters a lot of names in his line of work.
My criteria for the list is simple. Is it someone’s real name, and is it funny? If so, it’s on. Even just a little chuckle counts. I’d really like to post it here but I’m afraid someone might Google themselves and find me and boy, that would be great, huh? Plus, someday I might publish a bathroom reader of funny names and I don’t want to give them all away here, right?
But I will tell you the one my husband sent to me today. I feel okay putting this one up because it’s the first two initials, coupled with the last name. I can put it out there without feeling like I’m compromising someone’s identity.
B.J. Belcher.
J.’s comment on this name was “ick.”
Just so you don’t think I’m a total bitch, I did have a really difficult, embarrassing last name when I was growing up, so I have enough karma built up that I can make fun of people’s names with impunity.
I've kind of been thinking about that lately and while I don't totally buy it, I do believe I need to sprinkle in some more lighthearted or funny posts here and there. In an effort to make this blog more enjoyable and maybe even improve my own mood, I am committing to attempting to include a funny, lighthearted, cute or otherwise warm and fuzzy anecdote with every post. Unless, of course, the post itself is funny, lighthearted, cute or otherwise warm and fuzzy, in which case that would be redundant. Or whatever. You know what I mean.
As part of my job, I encounter a lot of names. Not as many as a telemarketer or a salesmen, but a goodly amount. A few years back, I decided to start keeping a list of real names that were really funny. My husband got on board awhile ago because he also encounters a lot of names in his line of work.
My criteria for the list is simple. Is it someone’s real name, and is it funny? If so, it’s on. Even just a little chuckle counts. I’d really like to post it here but I’m afraid someone might Google themselves and find me and boy, that would be great, huh? Plus, someday I might publish a bathroom reader of funny names and I don’t want to give them all away here, right?
But I will tell you the one my husband sent to me today. I feel okay putting this one up because it’s the first two initials, coupled with the last name. I can put it out there without feeling like I’m compromising someone’s identity.
B.J. Belcher.
J.’s comment on this name was “ick.”
Just so you don’t think I’m a total bitch, I did have a really difficult, embarrassing last name when I was growing up, so I have enough karma built up that I can make fun of people’s names with impunity.
Friday, January 19, 2007
I've been memed...
Melissa at Musings and Mutterings tagged me for a meme (you should check her out, she does kick-ass song analyses)! The rules are:
1. Find the nearest book.
2. Name the book & the author.
3. Turn to page 123.
4. Go to the fifth sentence on the page. Copy out the next three sentences and post to your blog.
5. Tag three more folks.
So, here's where you get to see what kind of a hypochondriacal dork I am. The book nearest me is the one I've been reading for the past week or so, Flu: The Story of the Great Influenza Pandemic of 1918 and the Search for the Virus That Caused It by Gina Kolata.
The sentences requested are as follows:
"The winter of 1975-76 had been piercingly cold, with bitter weather that drove even the hardiest people indoors. Gray piles of hard-crusted snow cluttered parking lots and rimmed roadways. Everywhere--on buses and subways, in classrooms and offices--people were coughing and sneezing."
Sounds kinda familiar.
It was a great book up until about page 250 or so where she starts talking in-depth about the litigation nightmares surrounding the swine flu immunization campaign of the 1970s. Then I kind of lost interest, but I'm still carrying it around in my bag in case I get the urge to pick it up again.
I like to read stuff like this in an effort to figure out how to save me, my family and friends when the shit comes down.
I'm tagging LilCherie and Tingle in an effort to get them to post. (oops, sorry LilCherie, I didn't notice you'd updated today). If you don't know what a meme is, all you have to do is do the same thing on your blog that I've done here, and then tag other people. It's easy!
1. Find the nearest book.
2. Name the book & the author.
3. Turn to page 123.
4. Go to the fifth sentence on the page. Copy out the next three sentences and post to your blog.
5. Tag three more folks.
So, here's where you get to see what kind of a hypochondriacal dork I am. The book nearest me is the one I've been reading for the past week or so, Flu: The Story of the Great Influenza Pandemic of 1918 and the Search for the Virus That Caused It by Gina Kolata.
The sentences requested are as follows:
"The winter of 1975-76 had been piercingly cold, with bitter weather that drove even the hardiest people indoors. Gray piles of hard-crusted snow cluttered parking lots and rimmed roadways. Everywhere--on buses and subways, in classrooms and offices--people were coughing and sneezing."
Sounds kinda familiar.
It was a great book up until about page 250 or so where she starts talking in-depth about the litigation nightmares surrounding the swine flu immunization campaign of the 1970s. Then I kind of lost interest, but I'm still carrying it around in my bag in case I get the urge to pick it up again.
I like to read stuff like this in an effort to figure out how to save me, my family and friends when the shit comes down.
I'm tagging LilCherie and Tingle in an effort to get them to post. (oops, sorry LilCherie, I didn't notice you'd updated today). If you don't know what a meme is, all you have to do is do the same thing on your blog that I've done here, and then tag other people. It's easy!
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Another post about my intestines
As I mentioned in yesterday's post, I am suffering from antibiotic-induced diarrhea. Warning: If long, wordy "passages" about bodily functions unsettle you, then you should probably stop reading now. Those who know me in real life know that occasionally, I just have to "dump" about this issue.
Today is such a day. After yesterday's half-hour shit-out at the public library on my way back from the therapist's, I started the probiotic regimen I should have begun when I started taking the medication. Last night was fairly calm but for a few otherworldly rumblings in my lower intestine when was eating my ultra-healthy dinner (at 9:30 p.m.) of pastrami and swiss with brown mustard on pumpernickel rye and two Larry's® Cheddar and Sour Cream Mashed Potato boats (made with REAL potatoes!). So today I began the day with some confidence.
It was dashed about half an hour ago, approximately 20 minutes after my lunch. Now when you hear this next part, you're going to think I'm just plain stupid, but you have to realize I was starving, I was in a low-blood-sugar daze and all I could think of was getting calories quick. So I ducked into my favorite vegetarian Indian place and decided hey, I'm feeling okay, I'm sure the Indian buffet won't cause any problems! It was delicious.
On the way back to the bus, I knew it was a mistake. There were a few moments at the stop when I had to let out some of my buffer and I momentarily panicked that perhaps it was more than just air, you know what I mean? I was imagining the conversation I would have to have with J. ("Um, I need you to drop whatever you are doing and come get me and bring me home right now because I'm having an incontinence issue...") By the time the bus got there I was already fantasizing about getting to the relatively safe turf of my building, and by the end of the bus ride, I was doing some strategic planning. 'I'll take off my coat and scarf in the elevator, that way I won't have to mess with it in the stall and I can go straight to unbuttoning my pants.'
I managed to walk into the building without shitting my pants, and luckily my winter coat disguised the clenched-butt walk that was required. I made it to the bathroom without problems and my coat/scarf/pants plan worked perfectly. As I did the stall scan I realized there was one other person in there, but at this point it wasn't going to be an issue for me.
This brings me to the oft-discussed issue of bathroom etiquette. I've read the emails, I know all about the safe haven and employ it to my advantage whenever possible. Still, even then sometimes you have a visitor. And even if I don't know the person, I really don't want to have explosive, exceptionally foul diarrhea within ear- and nose-shot.
I was thinking about this in between the cramp waves, and decided the perfect solution would be a shit-stall specifically designed to tackle the myriad issues required for those times when someone has to take an exceptionally nasty shit in a public restroom. It would be an entirely self-contained, sound-proof facility, designed using the same advanced technology employed by those working with highly-infectious organisms, similar to a Biosafety Level 3 facility. Consider the following passage, which I've based on the CDC web site referenced in the previous sentence, edited liberally, of course, to give you an idea of my thoughts for a ShitStall 3 facility.
ShitStall 3 is suitable for shits producing agents which may cause serious or potentially lethal consequences as a result of exposure by the inhalation route. ShitStall 3 facilities should be located away from high-traffic areas.
There is a door that can be closed to keep visitors out of the ShitStall 3 while work with the agents is in progress. The door to the ShitStall 3 is kept closed to minimize unnecessary access by casual visitors, vendors, or persons not needing to be in the facility. Hazard warning signs may be posted on the door indicating any hazards that may be present, including radioactive materials, lazar lights, high noise emitting equipment, or toxic chemicals. There is a hand-washing sink available, preferably near the door. Waste materials are segregated according to hazard type, and there is an appropriate chemical decon tray for collecting contaminated implements. Work is done on the open bench, and plastic-backed absorbent pads can be placed on the work surface to collect splatter or droplets associated with the work. The bench tops should be impervious to acid and all furniture should be sturdy. If there are openable windows in the facility, they should be fitted with screens...additional protective equipment may include working behind a splatter shield or wearing eye or face protection. Depending on the nature of the work being done in the ShitStall 3, additional personnel protective devices may be worn, such as respirators.
There are some specific secondary barriers needed at ShitStall 3 facilities. These facilities are characterized by having a double-door entry. Because the agents released at ShitStall 3 facilities are transmissible by the aerosol route, particular attention is given to air movement in these facilities. Air moves from areas of lesser contamination to areas of higher contamination, such as from the corridor into the laboratory. Air movement is also single pass; exhaust air is not recirculated to other rooms. Exhaust air does not have to be HEPA filtered, unless local conditions are such that reentrainment into building air supply systems is unavoidable.
All work that may create aerosols or splatter is done inside a biological safety cabinet. Wall, ceiling and floor penetrations are sealed to keep aerosols in and to keep gaseous decontaminants in. The floor is monolithic, and there are continuous cove moldings that extend at least 4" up the wall. Ceilings should be waterproof for ease of cleaning. Vacuum lines are protected with HEPA filters so that maintenance personnel are not exposed to infectious aerosols.
I really don't think it would be any more embarrassing to enter a ShitStall 3 than it is to sit in an open-air restroom and let it fly. Plus, my idea would incorporate a separate entrance and exit so one wouldn't have to face the person next in line and vice versa.
And finally, one more thing. The courtesy flush. Am I the only one out there who resists the courtesy flush because the idea of a million aerosolized particles of diarrhea flying up into my vagina is troubling? When I've been forced to employ the courtesy flush due to an extra-heinous expulsion, I try to lift myself up off the pot a bit to try to minimize the risk of e.coli-nizing my cooter, but if you're mid-poop with the runs that maneuver can get dicey.
Finally, I leave you with this: the fruit of my Internet journey today to bring you the must up-to-date information on the topic. This is great.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
What Tarot card are you?
I found this on Sarah's site who got it from Catherine's site. It's pretty cool. Catherine and I are the same card...which one are you?
You are The Star
Hope, expectation, Bright promises.
The Star is one of the great cards of faith, dreams realised
The Star is a card that looks to the future. It does not predict any immediate or powerful change, but it does predict hope and healing. This card suggests clarity of vision, spiritual insight. And, most importantly, that unexpected help will be coming, with water to quench your thirst, with a guiding light to the future. They might say you're a dreamer, but you're not the only one.
What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.
Thursday, December 21, 2006
I got tagged! Ooooh, I'm so excited!
Thanks Meredith for tagging me! This is my first tagging! I'm so excited! I feel so popular or something!
The subject is "Five Things You Don't Know About Me."
Many of my readers will already know these things....but they know everything about me so there's not much I could do about that. So here goes!
1. When J. and I were dating, back in high school, there wasn't a whole lot to do in smalltown USA. My parents were gone and apparently we'd already exhausted the fondling/fellatio activities that we satisfied ourselves with since we weren't bold enough to be having sex yet. So one night, out of sheer boredom, I asked J. if he dared me to piss my pants. Of course he said yes so I went and got a towel from the bathroom, placed it on the foyer floor, and proceeded to piss myself in my gray sweatpants. J. was stunned that I actually did it, which made me kinda proud, and then I gathered myself up and went straight down to the washer and cleaned up the mess. Yep.
2. I must preface this by saying that anyone who knows me knows that I am an open-minded, accepting person who not only tolerates those of other cultures/races/religions but am quite interested in finding out more of them. But please understand, this was back when I was like 12, and it's haunted me ever since. I had a friend named Deanna. Her mother was white and her father was black. All were very nice. We had dance lessons together and her parents and mine took turns carpooling us around, and we got together for sleepovers now and then. One night Deanna was at my house and I was gushing over the latest magazine photo I'd found of Simon LeBon. In the photo, Simon looked...rather tan. So tan, in fact, that I had to comment on it to Deanna....and before I knew what happened, I had used the "n-word" in reference to his appearance. I was horrified, and unfortunately lacked the social skills to know what to do, so we had an awkward silence and then went on like nothing happened. We remained friends for some time after that, but I have felt so terrible about it ever since. I think she lives in Texas now, and at least 10 times a year I feel like I should try to find her and send her an apology. A horrible moment in my life, for sure. So horrible that I feel that by confessing it, at least I'm punishing myself for it in some small way. Okay. Let's move on.
3. I have an unhealthy obsession with serial killers. Their stories, the grisly details, everything. I believe it all started when I read "Helter Skelter" when I was about 11 (although technically, I think the Manson family would be called mass murderers rather than serial killers) and then moved on to read Ann Rule's "The Stranger Beside Me" about Ted Bundy at least 10 times. I think my fascination stems from my desire to know all I can about what I fear the most, thinking that I can somehow protect myself from it. This obsession troubled Tingle a bit, especially when J. and I showed her, within 15 minutes of their arrival for their first visit to our home, the antique meat cleaver we had hanging in the basement.
4. I was never and will never be athletic, so gym class was often traumatic for me. I was the last picked for everything, and when I was picked it was often accompanied by groans of displeasure from the jock-types. One day, in 4th grade gym class, we were playing kickball, and I was assigned to far left field or something that was assumed to have the least amount of responsibility possible. I was incredibly bored, so I turned my attention to grooming my fingernails. I was so intent on this activity that I didn't notice it when, of course, someone kicked the ball directly to my area. It slammed into my head. I was ridiculed. Now I think it's pretty funny, though, so it all worked out in the end.
5. The curse of the shit rock came early in my life. When I was a baby, I rolled off the counter during the nanosecond that my mother reached for the shampoo. I got a skull fracture so I had to stay in the hospital overnight. My mother ran home for a change of clothing as she would be spending the night with me. While she was hurriedly putting her things together, a chaplain knocked on the door, and when she opened it, he said "I'm so sorry your daughter has passed away." Obviously frantic, my mother raced back to the hospital to find me safe and sound. I had apparently been put on the "wrong list" by accident. And so began my life....
Okay, probably not the best I could do, but I have to get back to work! But not before I tag Tingle, LilCherie and Trish!
The subject is "Five Things You Don't Know About Me."
Many of my readers will already know these things....but they know everything about me so there's not much I could do about that. So here goes!
1. When J. and I were dating, back in high school, there wasn't a whole lot to do in smalltown USA. My parents were gone and apparently we'd already exhausted the fondling/fellatio activities that we satisfied ourselves with since we weren't bold enough to be having sex yet. So one night, out of sheer boredom, I asked J. if he dared me to piss my pants. Of course he said yes so I went and got a towel from the bathroom, placed it on the foyer floor, and proceeded to piss myself in my gray sweatpants. J. was stunned that I actually did it, which made me kinda proud, and then I gathered myself up and went straight down to the washer and cleaned up the mess. Yep.
2. I must preface this by saying that anyone who knows me knows that I am an open-minded, accepting person who not only tolerates those of other cultures/races/religions but am quite interested in finding out more of them. But please understand, this was back when I was like 12, and it's haunted me ever since. I had a friend named Deanna. Her mother was white and her father was black. All were very nice. We had dance lessons together and her parents and mine took turns carpooling us around, and we got together for sleepovers now and then. One night Deanna was at my house and I was gushing over the latest magazine photo I'd found of Simon LeBon. In the photo, Simon looked...rather tan. So tan, in fact, that I had to comment on it to Deanna....and before I knew what happened, I had used the "n-word" in reference to his appearance. I was horrified, and unfortunately lacked the social skills to know what to do, so we had an awkward silence and then went on like nothing happened. We remained friends for some time after that, but I have felt so terrible about it ever since. I think she lives in Texas now, and at least 10 times a year I feel like I should try to find her and send her an apology. A horrible moment in my life, for sure. So horrible that I feel that by confessing it, at least I'm punishing myself for it in some small way. Okay. Let's move on.
3. I have an unhealthy obsession with serial killers. Their stories, the grisly details, everything. I believe it all started when I read "Helter Skelter" when I was about 11 (although technically, I think the Manson family would be called mass murderers rather than serial killers) and then moved on to read Ann Rule's "The Stranger Beside Me" about Ted Bundy at least 10 times. I think my fascination stems from my desire to know all I can about what I fear the most, thinking that I can somehow protect myself from it. This obsession troubled Tingle a bit, especially when J. and I showed her, within 15 minutes of their arrival for their first visit to our home, the antique meat cleaver we had hanging in the basement.
4. I was never and will never be athletic, so gym class was often traumatic for me. I was the last picked for everything, and when I was picked it was often accompanied by groans of displeasure from the jock-types. One day, in 4th grade gym class, we were playing kickball, and I was assigned to far left field or something that was assumed to have the least amount of responsibility possible. I was incredibly bored, so I turned my attention to grooming my fingernails. I was so intent on this activity that I didn't notice it when, of course, someone kicked the ball directly to my area. It slammed into my head. I was ridiculed. Now I think it's pretty funny, though, so it all worked out in the end.
5. The curse of the shit rock came early in my life. When I was a baby, I rolled off the counter during the nanosecond that my mother reached for the shampoo. I got a skull fracture so I had to stay in the hospital overnight. My mother ran home for a change of clothing as she would be spending the night with me. While she was hurriedly putting her things together, a chaplain knocked on the door, and when she opened it, he said "I'm so sorry your daughter has passed away." Obviously frantic, my mother raced back to the hospital to find me safe and sound. I had apparently been put on the "wrong list" by accident. And so began my life....
Okay, probably not the best I could do, but I have to get back to work! But not before I tag Tingle, LilCherie and Trish!
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
And the winner is....
....Sex and the Silos, with two first-place votes.
As I contemplate "Sex and the Silos," I feel it should either be as true to its inspiration as possible, in which case I'd need to make rural life sound so great that everyone would be envious of us Midwesterners, or it should be entirely satirical to make fun of the original series. I don't know yet which way I'll go, and it might evolve over time. One promise: I will not make rural people...okay, more specifically, our rural heroines...into the stereotypical dumb hicks we so often see portrayed in the media.
I'm interested to know if anyone has any specific plot lines you'd like to see appear at some point in "Sex and the Silos." I'm always interested in ideas, so send 'em on, no matter how outlandish. We can use entertaining real-life personal experiences or fantastical ideas. Help me out...I need a distraction and this might prove to be perfect!
As I contemplate "Sex and the Silos," I feel it should either be as true to its inspiration as possible, in which case I'd need to make rural life sound so great that everyone would be envious of us Midwesterners, or it should be entirely satirical to make fun of the original series. I don't know yet which way I'll go, and it might evolve over time. One promise: I will not make rural people...okay, more specifically, our rural heroines...into the stereotypical dumb hicks we so often see portrayed in the media.
I'm interested to know if anyone has any specific plot lines you'd like to see appear at some point in "Sex and the Silos." I'm always interested in ideas, so send 'em on, no matter how outlandish. We can use entertaining real-life personal experiences or fantastical ideas. Help me out...I need a distraction and this might prove to be perfect!
Friday, December 15, 2006
Envy and the Insomniac
Last night I was watching "Sex and the City" because it was the only thing on at midnight and also because I have a love-hate relationship with the show. I love it because I wish that was the life I led.
I hate "Sex and the City" because....well, because it isn't the life I lead.
I think they should do a kind of Sex and the City II more along the lines of my life and the lives of those I hang with. I have a few ideas for titles, depending on which way you want to go with it:
1. Coitus and the Country.
2. Sex and the Silos.
3. Celibacy and the Soybeans.
4. Sex and the Cornbelt.
5. Fridigidy and the Farmland.
6. Boredom and the Boondocks (or, if you prefer, "Boredom and the BuFu").
7. Doldrums and the Dairyland.
Maybe I'll come up with a serial here on the blog, going by whatever title wins by most votes. So c'mon, all you lurkers, all two of you that I KNOW are out there, cast your vote now for the next big hit!
More to come...
Wouldn't it be great to be thin, beautiful (or at least have people act like you are; I've never really seen the attraction of Sarah Jessica Parker), and have a cool job like writing a sex column where all you had to do was sit in your funky New York City apartment smoking and writing about your endlessly fascinating sex/love life on your cool laptop computer?
Wouldn't it be awesome to actually have an endlessly fascinating sex/love life?
Wouldn't it be cool to meet "the girls" for breakfast, lunch or dinner every day?
Wouldn't it be cool to somehow have enough money to buy the latest fashions AND be able to pull them off without looking ridiculous?
Wouldn't it be fabulous to have the perfect gay male friend, and to have endless invitations to go to Brazil or Paris to be some handsome, rich man's concubine?
Wouldn't it be fun to spend the evening bouncing from cool nightclub to fancy restaurant to handsome man's apartment?
I hate "Sex and the City" because....well, because it isn't the life I lead.
This morning I woke up, made breakfast for my toddler and gave him his nebulizer treatment, dressed him and then picked out my clothes for the day: a jean skirt I bought somewhere around 5 years ago that's about one size too small now, so I had to do the hands-in-the-waistband squat maneuver just to stretch it out enough to button; a Lane Bryant button-down shirt I've had for about...again, 5 years, I guess; and a new pair of blue tights that even at size "4" (read: huge) were almost unable to go past my thighs. In fact, in order to stretch them out, I stuffed two full-sized pillows in the waist and butt area of the tights and left them like that while I took my shower.I don't want to hear any pablum about how much more rewarding my life is because I have real struggles and triumphs and Bubba and a committed relationship and the women portrayed on SATC are so shallow, blah blah blah. It's a fantasy, I know, but damn! It makes me feel like my life sucks. And yet, I can't look away.
I am lucky that I get to see "the girls" -- or at least, "the girl" (LilCherie) -- almost every week. Getting my "girls" together would involve coordinating with LilCherie and H., as well as my friend Tingle hopping a plane or driving for 8 hours.
I write PR materials for health colleges. BORING.
I can't smoke inside my house because I have a child.
I can't sit around and write witty observations about my fascinating sex/love life because a) I don't have one, and b) there's too much laundry/childcare/food preparation/dishes/laundry/childcare/food preparation/dishes to have time for it.
I have a few gay male friends, but it's not like we "hang out" very much. We don't meet to go shopping on Saturdays or anything because we aren't that close and...
...I never have any money.
I've never been invited to Brazil or Paris to be some handsome, rich man's concubine. In fact, I've only been hit on perhaps five times in my entire life. A dork in high school (not the same one I married--he never even hit on me. I chased him.); a couple of drunk guys in college; an older, portly, drunk guy from Jordan who had a cockroach-infested apartment (and the only reason I know that is because I was drunk and stupid and frankly, desperate for some attention. It never went any further than a quick dance in his living room and then an even quicker exit); and LilCherie's ex-boyfriend (again, drunk as a skunk).
I think they should do a kind of Sex and the City II more along the lines of my life and the lives of those I hang with. I have a few ideas for titles, depending on which way you want to go with it:
1. Coitus and the Country.
2. Sex and the Silos.
3. Celibacy and the Soybeans.
4. Sex and the Cornbelt.
5. Fridigidy and the Farmland.
6. Boredom and the Boondocks (or, if you prefer, "Boredom and the BuFu").
7. Doldrums and the Dairyland.
Maybe I'll come up with a serial here on the blog, going by whatever title wins by most votes. So c'mon, all you lurkers, all two of you that I KNOW are out there, cast your vote now for the next big hit!
More to come...
Thursday, October 26, 2006
Overheard on the bus in a midwestern college town
"So like, we used to live right next to the railroad tracks, right, so one day, my dad was like, looking out the window and saw the headlights of the train coming down the track, right, and like, there was this truck and trailer stuck on the tracks, and like, the trailer was full of, like, cows, and it couldn't get across in time and like, the train just smashed into it, and like, I'm not kidding, like, this truck just got completely, like, torn apart, and there were like, bits and pieces of like 17 cows all over the side of the railroad tracks. Seriously."
***
I know, I know, this is kind of a strange entry for my first blog post in what, three months or something? But I heard this on the bus and had to share it.
I've been working up to blogging again, so I'll try to come back with something a little more substantial next time.
***
I know, I know, this is kind of a strange entry for my first blog post in what, three months or something? But I heard this on the bus and had to share it.
I've been working up to blogging again, so I'll try to come back with something a little more substantial next time.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Don't You Just Hate That....
I have a book called "Don't You Just Hate That? 738 Annoying Things" by Scott Cohen. Firstly, this book is hilarious and oh, so true. Secondly, just a disclaimer in case I've somehow unconsciously co-opted one of his aphorisms for my list, titled:
"Don't You Just Hate That? 14 Annoying Things About Being Fat."
1. When you're walking down the street in that new dress and the wind blows against you, thereby revealing your huge stomach and the outline of your knee-panties (worn to protect your thighs from chafing)?
2. When for some reason you aren't wearing your knee-panties, and your slender, fit coworkers decide that it would be great to walk to lunch, even though it's 90 degrees outside, so you have to go along with it because otherwise you're the high-maintenance fat person, but your thighs then burn for days because of the chafing.
3. When, during the above-mentioned walk, you try to continue talking with the group in order to be "normal," but it's difficult because you are struggling to catch your breath and yet trying not to breathe heavily because you don't want to be the panting fat person.
4. When you are standing with a group of unfat people waiting for the elevator, and you step on it but they don't, because they are going down and you are going up. Then you spend the rest of the elevator ride wondering if they are saying things like, "She really should be using the stairs...ha ha ha!"
5. The constant vigilance required to minimize the appearance of your stomach, i.e., sucking in, strategically placed bags or folders, untucking your shirt or dress from between your fat rolls, etc.
6. When someone asks "When are you due?" and you're not. Especially when you're struggling with infertility. And you are standing in the receiving line at your father-in-law's funeral. Yep, it really happened.
7. When you are laying on the couch and your toddler wants to do something like go outside, and you just really don't want to do it, and then you get this mental image of yourself as the "fat mom" that you are, and then the guilt forces you up off the couch, but you still don't have much fun because you're so damn tired from hauling your fat ass around all day.
8. Hoisting yourself out of the car, up off of a low couch, or out of any other awkward seat, or having to do a modified rolling maneuver to get up from a seated position on the floor.
9. The panic/dread as you reach for the airplane seatbelt and wonder if this will be the time you'll have to ask for seatbelt extenders.
10. That feeling you have whenever something creaks as you sit down on it.
11. That feeling you get right before the "fat talk" at the doctor's office.
12. When a thin person says to you, "I love your dress! Where'd you get it?" and you have to say "Lane Bryant."
13. Turnstyles.
14. Pulling a muscle when trying reach around your girth to wipe your ass.
I'd love to hear more annoying things about being fat, if you have something to add. If you have annoying things about being thin....well, sorry, I just don't want to hear it!!!
"Don't You Just Hate That? 14 Annoying Things About Being Fat."
1. When you're walking down the street in that new dress and the wind blows against you, thereby revealing your huge stomach and the outline of your knee-panties (worn to protect your thighs from chafing)?
2. When for some reason you aren't wearing your knee-panties, and your slender, fit coworkers decide that it would be great to walk to lunch, even though it's 90 degrees outside, so you have to go along with it because otherwise you're the high-maintenance fat person, but your thighs then burn for days because of the chafing.
3. When, during the above-mentioned walk, you try to continue talking with the group in order to be "normal," but it's difficult because you are struggling to catch your breath and yet trying not to breathe heavily because you don't want to be the panting fat person.
4. When you are standing with a group of unfat people waiting for the elevator, and you step on it but they don't, because they are going down and you are going up. Then you spend the rest of the elevator ride wondering if they are saying things like, "She really should be using the stairs...ha ha ha!"
5. The constant vigilance required to minimize the appearance of your stomach, i.e., sucking in, strategically placed bags or folders, untucking your shirt or dress from between your fat rolls, etc.
6. When someone asks "When are you due?" and you're not. Especially when you're struggling with infertility. And you are standing in the receiving line at your father-in-law's funeral. Yep, it really happened.
7. When you are laying on the couch and your toddler wants to do something like go outside, and you just really don't want to do it, and then you get this mental image of yourself as the "fat mom" that you are, and then the guilt forces you up off the couch, but you still don't have much fun because you're so damn tired from hauling your fat ass around all day.
8. Hoisting yourself out of the car, up off of a low couch, or out of any other awkward seat, or having to do a modified rolling maneuver to get up from a seated position on the floor.
9. The panic/dread as you reach for the airplane seatbelt and wonder if this will be the time you'll have to ask for seatbelt extenders.
10. That feeling you have whenever something creaks as you sit down on it.
11. That feeling you get right before the "fat talk" at the doctor's office.
12. When a thin person says to you, "I love your dress! Where'd you get it?" and you have to say "Lane Bryant."
13. Turnstyles.
14. Pulling a muscle when trying reach around your girth to wipe your ass.
I'd love to hear more annoying things about being fat, if you have something to add. If you have annoying things about being thin....well, sorry, I just don't want to hear it!!!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
