It Had To Be You, Harry. And Me. You And Me. And Possibly George Clooney, If You're Into That Type Of Thing.

I was miserably sick last week. A bad week to be ill because Friday was the Harry Connick Jr. concert. I was sick enough to miss three days of work, so my chances of attending the concert were looking pretty bad for awhile.

Monday Hmmmm, I feel pretty crummy. My throat is so sore. Lucky I have the whole week to get better before the concert.

Tuesday Blech, I feel worse today. Good thing I went to the doctor and got anitbiotics. I'll be fine by Friday.

Wednesday Okay, still feel like shit. Don't panic. Power through, lady. Don't let Captain Carl see how sick you are...he'll make you stay home from the concert.

Thursday Damn it! Why am I still sick?? The concert is tomorrow. TOMORROW. I. Will. Not. Miss.

Friday morning Seriously? Seriously with the coughing and the phlegm and nastiness? OMG, I might not make it to the concert. No, wait. I'll call the doctor...

Friday afternoon Okay, I managed to convince the doctor to give me a steroid shot on account of my "family reunion" that I couldn't miss tonight. Feeling better. Actually, feeling pretty awesome right now. A little jumpy. Can't feel my left leg from the knee down for some reason. Eyes are on fire. Don't care. This concert is sooooo happening!

And so I convinced Captain Carl late on Friday afternoon that the steroid shot had done the trick, I was miraculously better in a short period of time and he agreed to take me to see my Harry.

I. Was. So. Many. Happies.

And a bit loopy from the steroids and cold medicine, apparently. Because I insisted on making a video in the car on the way to the concert.



I love how the Captain plays along with my stupid ideas. He's the bread to my butter. The stick to my stamp. The fallopian tube to my ovary. Or whatever.

So we get to the concert (late, as usual) and we walk in the back and I can see Harry on the big screen and I can hear him singing and I get all jumpy and clappy and start yelling things like "Harrrrry!" and "Wooooo hoooo!" and "It's okay, I'm here now!!" while Captain Carl drags me to our row.

And as we climb over 15 people to get to our seats, I ask each of them "How long has he been singing? Did I miss much?" and they all just glared at me except one lady who answered with "This is his first song" and I totally stopped right there and hugged her and yelled in her ear "I'm so excited, aren't you???!!! OMG, our boobs totally just touched!". Then the Captain pushed me into my chair and I promptly whipped out my phone and started videotaping. For exactly 21 seconds. That was how long it took the Captain to tell me I was blocking the view of the people behind me.

So then I just tried to take pictures, but the lady in front of me turned around and was all "Hey, they said you can't take pictures" and I was all "Oh yeah? Well, I'll have you know that Harry is family (pretend husband, remember?) so it's okay" and she was all "I'm going to get security", so I was all rolling my sleeves up about to throw down with this bitch until Captain Carl told me to knock it off. So instead I was all "Look, I'm sorry lady. It's the steroids talking" and she was all *blank stare* and I was all "Harrrry!!!! I love youuuuu!!!".

So that's why I don't have any pictures. But here's the video.



21 seconds of pure heaven. Even if he's out of focus. Totally worth the 48 hours of fever and and hacking cough and startlingly large amounts of mucus that followed afterwards.

I'm Sick. And Vlogging. I Don't Know, It Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time.

So I've been sick all week. I'm a phlegm machine at this point. And Captain Carl was out of town until late last night, so I've been spending my time sleeping, walking around like a zombie and feeling sorry for myself. And after I took a slight overdose of cough syrup last night, I decided it was a great time to do my first vlog and post it on YouTube.

Yeah.

And I could have just deleted the video off YouTube this morning when I came to my senses. But you know what? Fuck it. I had nothing else to blog about this week on account of all the coughing and snot. So I'm just going with it.

I promise the next vlog will be better.

Maybe.

Probably not.






p.s. Don't forget to go visit my home away from home, Sprocket Ink. I'm posting later today about American Idol and ghosts. I know what you are thinking and the answer is no, my writing talents truly have no limits.

Damn You, Banana

I know I know. I haven't been around much lately. I have my reasons.

First? Last Saturday I bit into a banana and one of my crowns came off my tooth and I swallowed it before I noticed. A fucking banana, y'all. The softest fruit on the planet ripped a dental crown that is attached with fucking cement right off the remaining nub-of-what-was-once-an-awesome-but-is-now-felled-due-to-a-hairline-fracture tooth. Yes, that sentence just happened.

So I was sitting there, all eating my banana and then I swallowed (just like your mom did last night) and I was all huh, something feels weird and then I stuck my tongue over on the side of my mouth and holy shit, my crown is gone. So of course I start frantically looking around my chair for it, like it somehow walked out of my mouth without my knowledge. Then I realized that I swallowed it (twss). So I looked over at Captain Carl with my hand over my mouth and buggy eyes and he was all "What's the matter?" and I was all *horrified stare* and he was all "What happened?" and I was all "I just swallowed my crown!" and he was all "What?" and I was all "I. JUST. SWALLOWED. MY. CROWN." and he was all "No way" and I was all "Ohmygod" and he was all "Throw up!" and I was all "No!".

And then the pain kicked in. I had a raw, stub of a tooth exposed to the elements. So I cried. And Captain Carl was all "How can you feel anything? Didn't you have a root canal before they crowned it?" and I was all "No, are they supposed to do that?" and he was all "Yes" and I was all "Fucking dentist!". So I found another dentist that was open on Saturday, went to see her with greasy Saturday morning hair and banana breath and she was all "I'll do a root canal and get a temporary crown on there" and I was all "Yes please" and she was all "But not until Monday" and I was all stabbing her in the face. But then she prescribed vicodin for the pain so I totally made out with her.

All this means that sometime this week I literally flushed $500 down the toilet.

Then!

We moved the Kiddo to college and into his dorm on Sunday. He was pretty much all jumpy and clappy and excited and I was pretty much all pretend-happy but wearing-my-sunglasses-all-day-even-inside-because-my-eyes-kept-leaking. And now he's there and not here and Captain Carl was all braggy last week about how he was going to be so excited about being alone! like newlyweds! except with a renter living upstairs! And then on Monday he asked me if I'd been in the Kiddo's room yet and I was all "No, I can't go in there yet" and he was all "It looks like a hotel room with all his stuff gone" and then he burst into tears. Heh heh. Told ya.

Then!

On Monday morning, I got my root canal done but only half of it because the dentist "didn't have time to do the whole thing since it was an emergency appointment". Which means I get to go back in two weeks for a second root canal. Which is extra special awesome. And! This new dentist is good, but she doesn't use the laughing gas like my old shitty dentist did. Which means instead of laughing and peacefully drifting towards the ceiling during my root canal, I was instead sweating and trying not to cry and/or gag. And then on my way out I got to write a check for $620.

Then!

Yesterday I got a sinus infection. And a yeast infection. My body is awesome at infections. I'm oozing from almost every orifice.

And that's why I haven't been around much. Pretty much glad you asked, right?

Even In An Emergency, He’s Still Horny

Guess who went to the emergency room yesterdayyy??? My dear Captain Carl woke up at 4am with sharp, stabbing pains in his side accompanied by massive amounts of vomiting.

I’m a good nurse. Except when vomit is involved. I hate vomit. I can’t even look at my own, it makes me want to vomit more. So I puke in the dark whenever possible. This is exactly why I bought a house with no windows in the water closet. And other people’s vomit? Oh no no no no no no.

So the Captain is miserable and puking and I’m standing vaguely near the bathroom door saying things like “Ummm, are you okay in there?” and “So, ummm, can I get you anything?”. And because he knows how much I hate puke, he tells me he can handle it. And I almost believe him. Until he starts wandering around the house holding a bucket in front of him with a dazed look on his face. The man is in serious pain…I had to suck it up and take care of him. So I guide him back to the bathroom, where he promptly pukes again into his bucket. And I stood right next to him and rubbed his back and tried really hard not to gag. We almost had a dual puking situation, but I managed to be a grown up and held it down. Yea me!

Anyway, we decided this wasn’t an ordinary ailment once the pain got so bad that the Captain had to bend over and breath like a woman in labor in order to keep from passing out. I was all "Do your llamas breathing, honey" and he was all "Llamas?" and I'm all " Yeah you know...llamas. Heh." and he was all *vomit* and I was all "Okay, we're going to the hospital because you are totally not laughing at my jokes which means you are in an emergency situation because I am always hilarious".

Then I piled him and his bucket into the car and headed for the emergency room. Amazingly enough, there was no one waiting and we got a room immediately. The nurse was all "Take off all your clothes except your underwear" and the Captain just stood there looking at me with panic on his face and I was all "You didn't put on underwear, did you" and he was all "Ummm, no" and the nurse was all disapproving face and "Just leave your shorts on" and he was all "I'll be sure to put on my boxers before my next emergency trip to the hospital" and the nurse was all "Be sure to do that, sir" and I was all "Wow, how much fun is this, huh?" and they were both just staring at me so I was all "I mean, no underwear! Hilarious, right? I mean, if you weren't, you know, in serious amounts of pain" and then the nurse just shook her head and walked out, which I'm pretty sure meant she agreed with me.

After an exam and an ultrasound, he was diagnosed with gall stones. They loaded him up with fluids and pain medication and I stood there, rubbing his head and arm and whispering “the pain will stop soon” and “I love you” and “try to sleep” and "you are so buying me something pretty after this is over for being such an awesome wife" over and over. I knew right when the pain medication started working. Not because he finally slept. Not because he relaxed his kung fu grip on my hand. Because he turned his face to me, smiled and said “Maybe next time you could wear a slutty nurse costume”. Then he squeezed my boob and fell asleep. And that was the moment I knew he was going to be okay.

He’s feeling much better today, by the way. Surgery is in the near future, but at least he’s not screaming “Somebody please stop the stabbing!!!” anymore.

In Your Face. Or My Face. Or Your Mom's Face. Whichever.

So here's the deal. I'm flying out to Arizona in a few days to see my parents. I wanted to lose about 10 pounds before I get there because ever since I told my mom and dad in November that the Captain and I were on a weight loss program they've been all "So how's the diet coming?" and I'm all "It's not a diet, it's a lifestyle change" and they're all "Are you less fat yet?" and I'm all "No not yet" and they're all "That's okay we still love you". Which basically means they kind of love me a little less but they can't say that because that would be bad parenting.

Yeah, I haven't lost a damn pound. I went to the doctor and whined about it and she's all "Are you exercising?" and I'm all "Fuck yeah I am!" and she's all *stare* and I'm all "I so totally am!" and she's all "How many days per week?" and I'm all "Ummm...five?" and she's all *blink* and I'm all "Four?" and she's all *foot tap* and I'm all "Maybe three times? A lady? Hahahaaa, get it?" and she's all "You need to exercise every day" and I'm all "For reals?" and she's all "Yes" and I'm all "Isn't there a pill I can take instead?" and she's all "Only if you want a heart murmur and kidney failure" and I'm all "Hmmm..." and she's all "I'm serious." and then I jumped out the window because I'm sorry but life isn't worth living if I have to spend 30 minutes of each day walking around and shit.

So then she was all "It will be very difficult for you to lose weight because of your asshat thyroid". Except maybe she didn't say "asshat" but whatevs. That's totally what she meant. So then I basically begged her to up my medication dosage and she totally wouldn't because according to her, my levels are normal. So I decided to get back at her by not exercising at all and eating everything within my reach for two weeks straight. Take that, sucka!

And now I have to get on an airplane and go see my parents and listen to my mom talk about how maybe I should speak with my oldest sister because she lost a bunch of weight and doesn't she look amazing and blah blah blah stomach stapling. Awesome.

Also? My face has decided to explode into an angry collection of red, itchy patches. Captain Carl thinks it's eczema, but I'm pretty sure it's from breaking down and finally buying a new bra that cost me $60 (fuckkk!) and now my face is protesting because my boobs are totally gonna get even more attention now. Well fuck that shit, face. You aren't the boss of me, face! I'm going to the dermatologist next week because I'll be damned if I'm giving my mom another thing to criticize about me. Oh honey, it never used to bother me that you were chubby because you had such a cute face...but now....oh dear.

omg hotttt!

I took this picture of myself in the car the other day because my hair was totally cooperating and being super cute and my face didn't look too fucked up because I totally punched those red itchy spots in the nards with five pounds of antibiotic cream and six pounds of cover up . I should be a doctor....of awesome! Ya feel me? Yeah you do! Up top!

*sigh*

Meh....I got nothin' today. I'm too busy scratching my forehead.

P to the A to the P to the SMEAR

You know your day is gonna be great when you hear "Go ahead and spread your legs as far apart as you can" first thing in the morning.

Yes, it's that time of the year people. My annual female humiliation disguised as a preventative health check. The pap smear. Also known as "The Speculum Spread" and often referred to as "The Vaginal Invasion". It's the day that your husband smirks and says something stupid like "Damn I'm glad that I'm a dude" or "At least you don't have some guy poking you in the pooper". This is the same day that you, if you are anything like me, punch your husband in the nards and yell back "Imagine that, only with a big shiny metal instrument spreading your pee hole open and then come talk to me!".

I've been putting off my pap for a couple of years. Yeah yeah mom, I know. But last week I had no choice but to schedule it because my doctor was holding my thyroid medication hostage until I agreed to come in and have it done. See, I go to my GP for just about everything. I don't have a special coochie doctor like most women. Mainly because my GP is quick and efficient and doesn't spend much time with me when I visit her. Normally this isn't such a good thing, especially when you have questions about why you are still fat after 2 years of taking thyroid pills and she's all "Maybe eat less french fries. Try it." as she's walking out the door. But I've found that when I'm there with my lady parts up in the air, I prefer that my doctor not dilly dally.

Dilly dally. Huh, I just turned into my Grandpa.

So anyway, when I called in last week for a pill refill, my doctor told me she would call in a prescription but only if I schedule my pap smear first. Quite the negotiator, that one. So I sighed and was all "Fine, but only if it's first thing in the morning because I want to make sure I'm fresh as a daisy for you, doc."

So that's how I ended up sitting on the examination table at 8:30am today, wearing nothing but a bunch of paper towels. The nurse said it was a "gown" but fucked if I saw anything gowny about that thing. It had holes that I assumed were for my arms but that was about the only thing that resembled an article of clothing. And thanks to the nurse who was all "The opening goes in the front" before she left me to strip down, because otherwise I probably would have put it on backwards and hahaha! that would have been funny when it was time for the breast exam! As soon as she left, I put one arm into the gown and promptly ripped the back of it in half.

Then I spent about 15 minutes sitting on the table reading the big poster about all the different kinds of intestinal diseases that were listed on it, sweating in the air conditioning while trying to keep my Brawny quicker picker upper gown up on my shoulders and over my boobs. Oh yeah, I also had the paper sheet over my lap "for modesty" as the nurse told me. Oh yeah? For modesty? Well thank you baby Jesus for that, because otherwise this procedure would be soooo not modest! I feel so much better about having my stomach covered while my tits and ass are hanging out all over the place!

Finally the doctor comes in and without so much as a howdy-d0, she flips out the stirrups and is all "Scoot down and put your feet up". While I'm doing that butt scootching move that all us ladies know all too well (am I right, girls??? Up top Steamy!), the doctor turns on a spotlight and aims it right at my cooter. Well I'll be damned, looks like my va-jay-jay is finally getting her moment in the limelight! I only wish she had prepared a monologue for the occasion. Instead she just sat there, all a-quiver and clenchy.

So in goes the speculum and suddenly my normally quiet doctor decides to have a conversation with me about the swine flu. She was all "So has anyone at your work been sick?" and I was all "Ummm, a few I guess" and she was all "We've been so busy here, it's just crazy" and I was all "Oh really? Haaa, well I guess it's that time of year?" and she was all "Not really, that's what is so strange about it. Okay a little pinch here..." and that was when I realized my butt cheeks were clenched so tight, you couldn't have pushed a dime in between those bastards.

It did actually go pretty fast and when she moved to my chest, I tried really hard not to laugh when my tiny little doctor had to practically climb over me to get to my right boob. It looked like she was kneading a giant ball of dough. Really white, pasty dough with a nipple.

P.S. I also had to give a urine sample and I peed all over my hand. Awesome.