Got Milk?


I’m on Klonopin now.

If I had to trace back to the thing that started me on the journey to needing Klonopin, I think I would start with Homeslice.

The pregnancy.

And my angst has gotten just a tiny bit worse every day, almost imperceptibly, but day by day it has built itself into a big, giant, PROBLEM.

It escalated quickly with the screwy hormones from the weird periods and then the uterus thing and then the bronchitis and then the swollen lymph nodes on Homeslice (which we had checked again yesterday and are completely healthy and fine) and also in my armpits and I started walking around like Mary Katherine Gallagher

checking, checking, checking, checking a thousand times a day to see if they were still swollen.

Because it’s The Cancer again, you know.

And so I made an appointment with my doctor and just before the appointment while talking on the phone to Rachel, I felt a tingle. Like, the kind you feel when your milk lets down, so I gave it a little squeeze and sure enough, there was milk.

I nearly passed out.

And I was all “Oh my God, Rachel! I HAVE MILK COMING OUT OF ME!”
And she’s all, “That’s pretty disturbing. What’s more disturbing to me is why you’re squeezing your nipples while you’re talking to me on the phone.”

And so she laughed at me and told me to go be crazy somewhere else and hung up. She’s 9 months pregnant and she’s got cankles. Some of us have REAL problems to deal with, you know.

When I got to the doctor, I was way past screech level.

I was on…chihuahua level, at least.

And the doctor walked in and before asking me anything about myself or what I was doing in his office shedding fur all over his exam table, he was just like “you look like you need to be sedated for at least 48 hours.”

And then I told him all the things that were bothering me–irregular periods, thickened uterus, bronchitis, swollen lymph nodes, lactation, EEEEEEEKKKKKKKKK!!!!! And when he asked me what was bothering me the most, I told him it was my swollen lymph nodes because of The Cancer, he let out a big chuckle.

He went “hahahahahahaha!” at me just like that, you guys.

Apparently, the lymph nodes are not a concern. He felt them. They’re fine.

But the lactation?

Pretty much a concern.

You, my about to be informed Queefies, can actually work yourself up into such a fit of anxiety that you LACTATE!

It’s completely true. I don’t think men can, though. That’s just a guess. I’m no doctor.

What happens is that your brain releases too much dopamine and to counteract that, you release prolactin, the hormone responsible for helping to stimulate milk production.

The problem is that the lactation can also be caused by a pituitary gland issue.

So, to rule that out, I have to take Klonopin for two weeks to see if the milk dries up with my stress level. I do not like that I have to take Klonopin, but I have to say it is helping. The crazy, obsessive, racing paranoid thoughts are going away and I keep catching myself thinking about normal stuff and not nutsy stuff. I haven’t taken my tiny one eighth of one milligram since yesterday morning and I’m actually feeling like myself again. I even had a cup of caffeinated tea this morning and I’m still okay. I’m totally carrying that bottle around in my purse though, just in case The Crazy tries to sneak back in. Oh, and I haven’t lactated in three days.

So yes.

I am an anxious cow, but I think I might be done embarrassing myself at the doctor’s office for a while.

Fingers crossed because after all, it’s Thanksgiving and somebody at some point is bound to cause a kerfuffle.

I’m actually a little happy this has happened because maybe I can get back on the road to feeling like myself again.

And it’s a Toy with Me day today!!!!


My, my, mymymy.

So there I was admiring the artwork in the waiting room of Dr. Jan Penkala, Wookie Doctor Extraordinaire, and wondering what yard sale he got that shit from.

There’s a clown picture apparently painted by a fifth grader, a HUGE photo portrait of somebody’s baby girl that is undoubtedly meant to be the focal point of the room, a sketch of an old fashioned baby carriage, and a pastel elephant holding an umbrella.

These babyish things are punctuated by the long shelf full of birth control brochures. Are we decorating a gynecologist’s office or a nursery here? Make up your mind, Wookie man. You can’t have your birth control AND your babies. Come on now.

I wondered how many times I studied that clown picture while sitting in that waiting area, feeling really nervous because I knew I wasn’t getting out of there without taking my pants off and being violated first.

So I waited and waited. Waitwaitwaitwaitwait and then finally I hear my favorite nurse, the one who calls me “honey” and makes me feel safe, say “Kristen?”

It was finally my time to go into the back where the magic happens. I thought I’d be seeing the good doctor any minute, but there I was, naked from bottoms down with my paper skirt on, waiting some more. I studied the charts detailing ovulation and pregnancy and read the warning label on the light they use to light up the ol’ love tunnel. I tried not to look at the cart full of scary looking gynecological accoutrements. Once I’d looked at everything except that, there was nothing more to look at in the exam room, so I started looking at myself.

I found a little ingrown hair on my pubical area and of course, I picked at it.

Instantly, there was a knock on the door and in walked Dr. Jan Penkala, Wookie Doctor Extraordinaire. As soon as he pulled back my paper skirt, he exclaimed “oh WOW! Have you been operating on yourself here, dear?” And at first I didn’t know what he was talking about but then I realized.

The ingrown hair was bleeding.

Oh, jeezus. He told me to take it easy on myself and kept checking to see if I had stopped bleeding yet.

What we can learn from this experience Queefies is that if there is a way for me to add extra humiliation to an already humiliating experience, I will find it instinctively.

God, Crissy! Seriously!

The rest of the exam went well and the shadow he saw on the ultrasound was nothing, and even though I have a thicker than average uterus, he’s not going to treat me with any hormones. He wants to see more consistently irregular bleeding first. He’s very conservative, so that’s good.

I guess I shouldn’t be too embarrassed though. The man has seen me shit out a baby, so really my pride flew out the window 17 months ago.

But still.

UGH! Rookie mistake.

Also, it’s Wednesday!

Americans Suck At Flirting

Feeling every bit of Monday

So today is an epic suckfest, you guys. I wouldn’t ordinarily tell you about it but someone on facebook requested a blog post about my Monday, and so here it goes.

Homeslice is acting kind of tired and quiet and of course her lymph nodes are popped back out again and so of course I’m insane over that. She didn’t even cry when I left her with The Other Kristin (a friend who babysits her on Mondays so I can go to work early, heretofore unbeknownst to you, but now beknownst) this morning. That’s unusual, you guys. Usually she cries “mama! maaaammmaaa!” just for that extra layer of mommy guilt as I’m leaving.

She’s got a nervous mother and will probably wind up in a doctor’s office soon. I wouldn’t worry too much, but you know.

It’s kind of my thing.

So there’s that, and I finally broke down and went to the doctor for a cough I’ve had for two weeks–lung chewies and everything.  Turns out it’s The Bronchitis again, and I had to do a breathing treatment and that was really fun. At least this time, Homeslice was at Kristin’s house and I didn’t have to do the breathing treatment smoke machine thing while bouncing her on my hip and keeping her out of the cabinets. That would have been a layer of awesome I don’t think I’m ready for.

And now I’m on antibiotics, so that’s that.

Oh, and on my way in between leaving Homeslice and the Urgent Care, my cell phone went down, so I had to drive to work to tell them I’d be late instead of just calling. That was a pain in the ass. I grabbed the first person I saw and told them I would be in later. Luckily, she was an administratorial type so I guess that was like a total SCORE!

Then later today, I’ll go to the wookie doctor to talk about my lady business problems and have a very special, extra thorough lady exam to make sure that “shadow” the good doctor saw on one of my ultrasound pictures really is just a shadow. He’s probably going to reach all the way up to my throat. I wouldn’t be surprised if I somehow wind up married to my wookie doctor by the end of the day.

I’m still a little freaked out about my lady business. My mother always had lady problems and she suffered a lot and went through some scary stuff throughout my childhood. I just hope I don’t have her genetics. I hope I got my dad’s uterus instead of my mom’s.

Fingers crossed.

And all of this on a work day and I have to make up the time I missed at work while I was playing around at the doctor’s office(s). That’s what I’m doing now. I’m getting in a couple of hours at work in between doctor appointments.

I’m just looking forward to surviving the day at this point.

So that, my friends, is my Monday.


What kind of suckfest you got goin’ on? Or, are you a lucky asshole who is having a pretty decent day?

And her name shall be…


We call her “Vivi” for short just like in Ya Ya Sisterhood.

Now, I know you all voted for Fiona, and we started calling her that, but it shortened to “Fifi” and she’s totally not a “Fifi.”  We decided to go with Vivian instead because it means “alive” or “lively” and that is what she is becoming–a very lively and mischievous girl!

She has mastered the stairs and is very interested in the cat box crunchies in the basement. I’ve caught her nosing around in there a few times.  When I scold her, she slinks away like, “I wasn’t doing anything.  My nose accidentally fell into the kitty box. I swear!”

I’ve had to rescue Girlfriend’s Care Bears from her several times.  She’s particularly fond of trying to relieve Grumpy Bear of his stuffing and I can’t say I blame her.  Grumpy bear is kind of a dick.

My mother-in-law bought her a gift of a Costco sized box of dog cookies. She steals from the box whenever I open the pantry door, but I pretend not to notice because she needs to fatten up. Sadly, Alice is a little too, ahem, fluffy and does not need to fatten up, but she’s right behind the tall girl, stealing cookies. And they run over to the rug in the play room with their treats–thinking they got away with something, and then they make a crumbly cookie mess.

This makes me incredibly happy to see them doing a caper together, and I don’t mind cleaning it up. After all, I have a really nice vacuum cleaner.

But oh my God, you guys, she pees on the orange porn carpet!

I KNOW!!!!

Very, very, naughty Vivian.  The only one allowed to pee on the porn carpet is me and that’s only on Very Special Evenings with Mister. (Not really.  Nobody is allowed to pee on the porn carpet because it’s too nice.)

She has started trying to play with Alice, but due to the size disparity, there have been bumps in the road.

They kind of remind me of Uma Thurman and Jennine Garofalo in The Truth About Cats and Dogs.

Unlike the movie characters though, they’re only sort of friends.  Alice can be a little snotty toward poor Vivian. The way Vivian plays scares the bejeezus out of Alice, and she gets really low and still and looks around like “whoa. What the hell was that?” and when Vivian does her Super! Excited! Greyhound! laps around the yard, Alice takes that opportunity to hide under the deck. I keep telling Alice that doing a few laps with her sister won’t kill her and it might even take some of that extra, ahem, fluff out of her fur, but she’s not much of runner, you guys. She’s more of a sleeper or a stand around-er.  Hence the fluff problem.

But we’re not judging, Queefies.

Hopefully, they’ll figure out how to be playmates. It’s only been a little under two weeks.

Oh, and she walks pretty well on a leash and stays so close to me that she bumps into me sometimes.

And she plays with toys now!

And I caught her sitting in a chair looking out the window with Alice!

She’s…becoming a dog!

But she hasn’t barked yet.

It’s so much fun to watch her grow into her new life. Family and friends have been bringing her gifts and coming to visit her like a new baby.  In fact, I don’t even think Homeslice got this much attention.  My mom got her a crate, and  Bat Cave Twidget even sent her a very fancy collar you’ll be seeing in pictures very soon.

I highly recommend this experience to anyone considering adopting a retired racer. They are totally lovely and sweet and I’m so glad we did this.

Big Pussy continues to not give a shit one way or the other.

An Important Crissyspage HEALTH UPDATE: Is that Uterine Cancer or am I an asshole?

Remember how on Monday I said  something like I hope we can all look back on this and laugh?


The PA called about an hour ago and explained everything and told me not to worry and that I am completely fixable and that my ultrasound was normal and everything looked good.  He just wants me to come in so he can talk about treatment options and to  feel around and double check a shadow that appeared on one of the ultrasound pictures.

That’s all.

It would have taken him thirty seconds to tell me that.  I am totally calling him on that bullshit when I see him on Monday because seriously?  People get scared.

I have to go cry tears of relief now and hug my baby and pet my dogs and thank the imaginary people/persons in the sky for like, everything.

Including you guys.

You’ve been so sweet and supportive and Queefly.

I will have doggie updates for you tomorrow…


Crissy, Queen of Everything Except Her Uterus and Her Imagination

Thank you so much you guys!

I feel better hearing all of your stories and knowing that so many of you have gone through something very much like this.  I’m still pretty scared, but I’m at least not planning my funeral every moment.

My doctor is notoriously hard to read, and so he scared the crap out of me.  I called his PA yesterday to see if she could explain things a little more to me.  She hasn’t called back yet, but I was crying when I spoke to the nurse and she agreed that somebody should talk to me.  So, I expect a phone call sometime today.

But you guys are so wonderful and I really, really appreciate your stories.

Keep telling me stories!  I need stories!!!!

PS: Today is a Toy with Me day!

The Sexiest Movie Scenes of All Time

Female Problems

Do you guys remember how I have this remarkable talent for getting my period like, every two weeks sometimes and I call it My Superpower? (that post was written back when I had a sense of humor. You should read it.)

Well, it’s been happening on and off for years and October was a particularly interesting month because I had My Superpower at the beginning of the month and it was normal and perfectly on time and everything and then I got it again in the middle of the month and it didn’t quite go away completely and so I called the doctor and they brought me in for an ultrasound.

Well, my doctor called me at work which made all the blood leave my head and I started crying because I’m always healthy and OH MY GOD MY DOCTOR IS CALLING ME AT WORK I HAVE THE CANCER!!!!

The good news is that my very small fibroids didn’t get any bigger and my ultrasound “looks good overall,” but the lining of my lovely uterus is too thick.   And he wouldn’t tell me what that might mean, but he wants to see me.  But he can’t do an exam until next week because I have My Superpower again, which I’m actually due for and it’s right on time.  Except I just had it.

I have to wait a whole week thinking I might have The Cancer.

So of course I Google “thick uterine lining” and what comes up first  but UTERINE CANCER.

The blood left my head again  and that’s all I needed to see because here’s where what my first grade teacher called “a wonderful imagination” fucks me and I immediately start picturing my funeral.

And then I put Mister on it and as it turns out it might be something as simple as a hormone imbalance and I’m wondering why my doctor couldn’t have just said that so I don’t spend the next week shitting myself and looking at my kids and tearing up because I might not live to see them grow up.

That would be crazy, right?  I don’t have The Cancer, right you guys?

Everyone gets Female Problems sometimes, don’t they?

Except men.  They don’t have trouble with their periods.  Usually.

I’m freaking out and I hope that in like a month from now we all look back on this and laugh and say “remember you had a couple of weird periods and you totally freaked out and you thought you had The Cancer, Crissy?”


That was so silly.

Tell me about your Female Problems and about how you did not die from them, Queefies.

Lydia, oh Lydia, oh have you met Lydia, Lydia the ta-tooed lady…

Once upon a time, I had a beautiful Greyhound named Tashi.


She was the love of my life, and I still get all teary when I think about her. I was so devastated after she died that I vowed that I could never own another Greyhound again. And then last week I was thinking about her and how she would have been great with Alice and Big Pussy and Homeslice and Girlfriend and so I made a phone call to Greyhound Pets of America and got an appointment to look at some Greyhounds.

It was EASY. They answered the phone on the first ring and said we could come any time to look at the dogs. Nobody ignored me. Nobody treated me like I was inconveniencing them, and nobody was going to stand me up. No more messing around with these Rescue groups. This is a national organization and they don’t mess around.

On Friday, we picked Girlfriend up from school instead of waiting for the bus to arrive, and made the hour long trip on a cold and raw day. The adoption coordinator kept the kennel at her house, and was very sick that day. She kept having to go inside to throw up due to some heavy medication she was on. She could have canceled, and had good reason to, but she was there with a volunteer, dedicated to finding a home for one of her dogs. They stood out in the cold and the damp with us, discussing and choosing the best 5 candidates out of 28 dogs to show us.

We spent time with each and every one of them, and they were all wonderful, but one in particular hit us all in the chest. This one showered Homeslice with kisses and walked nicely with Girlfriend on the leash.


And when I bent down to pet her, she kissed my face and put her head on my shoulder and leaned into me.


It was all over at that point. AFC’s Allison, fresh off a track in Pensacola Florida was destined to be ours. We went home and started making preparations to bring her home with us the next day. Girlfriend picked out a brush and a fluffy bed.


We even got her a seat belt for the car ride, which, by the way, was pure comedy.



It was exactly like trying to stuff a giraffe into briefcase.

Greyhounds aren’t great at sitting down, and so it took massive effort to get her to sit in our front seat. The adoption lady had walked us to the car and was standing there the whole time watching us trying to stuff this mass of gangly legs and claws into our clown car. She had concerns, I could tell, but she still let us take her.

Allison didn’t stay seated for long and preferred to spend her first ever car ride standing up, panting in Mister’s face and stepping on the center console window controls. When she wasn’t doing the windows up and down, she was farting. When she wasn’t doing that, she was trying to wiggle out of her seat belt to come and sit in the backseat with me and Homeslice and Girlfriend. She was all legs and claws and drool and farts for the entire ride and we had to pull over to re-situate her. And of course there was traffic. And of course, Homeslice thought it might add to the occasion by screaming her head off for 40 out of the 60 minutes. And Girlfriend kept asking the kind of ludicrous questions only a five-year-old can come up with.

We finally got her home and introduced her to Alice, which went well, but as soon as we got into the house and she encountered the hard wood floor, she was exactly like Bambi on ice. Her legs splayed out all over because she’s never been inside a people house before. Shiny, slippery wood is not a surface she’s ever walked on.

She’s still struggling with that three days later, but she’s getting better. She kind of skates from carpet to carpet. We still have to carry her up and down the stairs because she’s never seen those before either. She’s desperately thin with chunks of fur missing and lots of scabs and scrapes just starting to heal from track life. There’s fur missing from around her eyes and behind her ears from where the muzzle rubbed it away, and she’s kind of depressed. This is like a re-birth for her and she needs time to adjust. She hasn’t had one accident in the house and is really good at holding her pees and poops.

We feel privileged to have the opportunity to help her learn how to be a spoiled and beloved pet instead of a money making slave. She is a sweet and gentle soul and we are already madly in love. She’s standing next to me right now with her head in my lap. How cool is that?

Alice likes her, too.


And Big Pussy doesn’t give a crap one way or the other.

The only problem we have is that her name is Allison and every time we call her, Alice comes running, but we’re still calling Allison and poor Alice is like “I’m here! Why are you screwing with me!?! WHAT IS HAPPENING???”

So, we need a new name and you, marvelous Queefies, get to help us. You can vote for up to two names or leave us a suggestion if you think we suck with our old lady names.

Allison's new name should be...

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