Category: Don’t Look at Me. I’m Ugly in the Morning.
I wish I could tell you I have some health related updates and answers for you guys, but I don’t.
I still have swollen lymph nodes and I even have a few new ones, I still have boob juice, and I still have double periods. Is that everything? I think that’s everything. Sometimes I forget all the stuff and remember there was another thing in my pile of ailments.
Oh, right. There is now a lump on my thyroid that my OBGYN said is another lymph node. She’s testing for all kinds of stuff now too. I get that bloodwork back on the 18th.
I went for an MRI on the 30th to see about the toomah.
It was okay—the MRI, not the toomah. I don’t know about the toomah yet. I only started crying when they showed me the cage they were going to put over my face before sliding me into the machine. I thought “Open MRI” meant like, you know, OPEN? But no. It doesn’t. It means the sides of the thing are open so you don’t go into a tunnel, but you are still enclosed very closely AROUND YOUR HEAD. Had I known there would be a cage put over my head I never would have shown up for that thing conscious. Instead I popped a Xanax and went about my way, Mister at my side and a guided relaxation CD in my hand.
I bumped into the glass on the receptionist’s window because it was so clean I couldn’t see it. I felt like a Major Asshole. Then I handed her my credit card instead of my insurance card and I only filled out one of the three forms she asked me to do. I handed in INCOMPLETE WORK!
She must have thought I was a moron, so, to cover it up, I told her I took a Xanax. I don’t know if that helped my case or just made me look like a bigger douche.
And then I got into the MRI machine room thing and saw the cage they were going to put on my head and I lost it a little bit. But the guy was really nice and very soothing and he helped me through the whole thing. I couldn’t hear my CD though because the machine was so loud. It kind of sucked being injected with dye with the cage thing still on my head. I don’t like needles.
I hate them, actually. I hate them even more when there’s a thing holding my head still and I can’t see what’s going on.
But I survived it, you guys. I survived it. Mister held my hand the whole time and it took about 30 minutes. I got to see my brain afterward. I’m no doctor, but it looked okay to me. I won’t find out if my actual doctor agrees until the 11th. I guess the good news is that there is a brain in there. We wondered about that, so that’s a relief. Mister made jokes to the MRI guy like “I’ve been trying to figure out what’s going on inside my wife’s head for years!” because he’s fucking funny.
I’m just glad he didn’t try to bring his camera because I’d rather not have pictures of me wearing a Hannibal Lector mask and a blue hospital gown. He thinks I’m a bitch for interfering with his art. I just think we can stop at that picture he posted of my placenta and have that be enough of enough.
Other than that scary MRI bullshit, we had a good Christmas which I was able to actually enjoy thanks to the Lexapro starting to work, and a wonderful New Year’s Eve. THE Melissa Lion came with Fancyhats and Archie and stayed the night. We ate absolute crap food almost continuously for like, 10 hours, and drank way too much champagne. Basically we did all the stuff you’re supposed to do on New Year’s Eve except we were all wearing pajamas and didn’t give a shit about our hair. We had a wonderful time together and I’m really sad that they don’t live near us. We would hang with them all the time and Melissa would never hurt me or abandon me. I know she wouldn’t. Girlfriend and Archie totally hit it off and didn’t have one single argument. That’s pretty remarkable because just between you and me, Girlfriend has attitude. But Archie has the same type of attitude. It’s like they were made for each other!
The Melissa Lions didn’t even notice that for breakfast on New Year’s Day I totally bought pre-made fruit salad and then I had Mister cut it up smaller because they always do huge chunks (seriously whose mouth is that big? Are they making it for a yeti?) and then I had him dump it into a bowl and made it look like we made it ourselves when really, no such thing had occurred.
So, in summary, I’m not dead yet, we had a really great holiday season and I faked a fruit salad and fed it to The Melissa Lions.
PS: The title to this post has absolutely nothing to do with anything except that Mister said it while on the phone with me last night and I thought it was funny, so there you have it. That’s the funniest thing about this whole post other than me bumping into the receptionist window and telling everyone I came across that I took a Xanax.
PSS: Today is a Toy with Me day. It’s one of my last as I just found out that they are changing their format back to doing only toy reviews, so enjoy it while it’s here. I’ll link you up when that becomes available.
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.
UGH! Rookie mistake.
Also, it’s Wednesday!
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.
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?
So we’re going to start with the thing that’s bothering me the most and work our way down to the mildly irritating and/or totally stupid.
First up we have Homeslice’s lymph nodes in her little groin area. The one that was swollen over a month ago is still swollen and now there’s another one right next to it that keeps getting bigger although it’s still smaller than the other one. And then sometimes they seem to be almost gone, and then sometimes they swell back up again. I’m hysterical. I think I’m going to bring her back to the doctor because my anxiety disorder is pretty much demanding a blood test at this point even though she’s acting perfectly fine and healthy and has no fever and the swellings don’t hurt her at all and the original one hasn’t gotten any bigger than it was since it first appeared. But then I think maybe I won’t have her tested because I’m really scared of the blood test BECAUSE WHAT IF SHE’S REALLY SICK?
I need to know but I’m really afraid to find out.
And I’m giving up on the dog adoption situation. I had an appointment with a guy last night and he was supposed to bring 2 dogs for us to meet, but then it was just one dog and then he changed the time and THEN HE DIDN’T SHOW UP OR BOTHER TO CALL TO TELL ME HE WASN’T COMING OR ANSWER HIS PHONE.
This is a totally different organization than the other one that blew me off like this FIVE TIMES. They still haven’t returned my call after blowing me off the fifth time. It’s been two weeks.
I guess doing this to people and not respecting their time and the fact that adopting a pet is an EMOTIONAL thing and telling someone they will get to meet a potential new family member and then not even having enough respect for them to tell them you need to re-schedule and instead just letting them clear an entire day or a whole weekend and then completely blowing them off like they don’t matter is the way to run a dog rescue.
They’re always whining about how hard it is to be volunteers and that they have lives, you know, and that people need to be patient and blah, blah, blah, WHAT ABOUT ME? AM I NOT A PERSON TOO? I also have a life and I’m trying to do the right thing by adopting a homeless animal, but I’m getting treated like shit by these people.
I don’t understand.
I’ve learned a lot about people through this experience and it’s not good news, you guys. It’s not good news at all.
So, I’m giving up because I can’t deal with the disappointment and heartbreak anymore.
And moving back to Saturday night having gone to bed late after our Zombie Prom, I woke up at 3 in the morning feeling sticky and wet to discover that Alice had thrown up in our bed, under the blankets, and that I had been sleeping in it. At first I only noticed that I had slid my foot into something, so I checked it out and it was a HUGE pile of super-chunky something. I didn’t know what the hell it was, so I got out of bed to take a look and determined that it was some sort of really putrid contents from something (ass? stomach?) and so I limped into the bathroom to wash my foot off and re-group a little bit.
Mister got up to scrape what he determined to be vomit off the bed when I noticed that my back felt cold and wet, too. I had barf chunks stuck all over my shirt and I had left a trail of them behind me on the way to the bathroom. I had to take a complete shower and rinse the chunks out of my pajamas while Mister stripped the bed.
It took two trips to get all our bedding down to the basement washing machine, Alice following me the whole way and throwing up more little piles of goodness as we went.
It was…very special.
I never got back to sleep after that, so I basically got about 3 hours in before all the specialness was discovered.
That was the second night of sleep deprivation because on Friday night, we went to my friend Gina’s annual Halloween party and when we got home, Homeslice was wide awake and hanging out with the babysitter. She never went back to sleep for more than ten minutes at a time.
That was also a Very Special Evening.
We won best couple’s costume at Gina’s party though, so that was something good riding on the shitwagon that was our weekend.
So I’ve been doing Brazil Butt Lift:
Because YES! I WANT TO LIFT MY BUTT!
And I dare say that Leandro Carvalho has way more feminine energy than my Jillian Michaels.
Sure, she has longer hair and more stubble than Leandro, but do a little Jillianscaping and you’ve got a dude.
Look, they put her in a dress once:
She looked really pretty, but then she was like, “OH MY GOD IT BURNS!! GET IT OFF ME!!! GET ME MY TEE SHIRT!!! IMMEDIATELY!!!”
“Ahhh…that’s so much better. I feel like myself again.”
Have you tried her yoga DVD by the way?
Every time I play it, it rains. That’s how I know that Jillian Michaels doing yoga makes God cry.
Actually, that’s not true. It makes him want to wear a lady’s wig and eat birthday cake.
I kid, I kid. I love my Jillian but yoga is not her forte and neither is being feminine and dancy and sometimes, I just want to be feminine and dancy, and not all butch and diesel.
That’s why I’m really into this Leandro fellow. Not only is the Brazil Butt Lift really fun to do, (particularly the Cardio Axe, which is pronounced Cardio Ash-ay, btw) but it makes me laugh every time he does his “samba tornado” because he’s such a girl. A big, Brazilian girl with stubble and pit hair and a wicked firm ass. And he’s all like “give it to me, Mary!” and “Have fun…show your booty…your bum bum! Don’t be afraid to show what you got!” in his adorable accent.
The only problem is that I am so, so, so not coordinated in the booty shaking, hip gyrating area, and so I look like I’m convulsing more than Brazil Butt Lifting, but I’ve decided it’s all good because I’m having fun. Actually, it’s a lot like when Jillian does yoga. She’s clearly aware that what she’s doing is a total abomination, but she’s not going to apologize for it and neither am I.
If my new Latino neighbors happen to see me through the window, trying my little white girl heart out to do the Lambada moves, and they wind up pointing and laughing and running inside because it’s raining again, so be it.
I, Queefies, will not care because my ass is gonna be spectacular and they can just get an umbrella and shut the fuck up.
Happy Fall, Queefies!
I love fall, but with every new season comes the need for…duh. duh. duuuuuunnnnn
You know how I hate shopping for clothes, right? You should click on that. It’s from way back when I was fun.
But I had to totally douche my wardrobe the other day after crying and tossing shit over my head and swearing. I wound up with two trash bags full of stuff to throw away and another one full of shoes and sweaters and pants and shirts and other crap to donate to Saver’s. I pretty much had nothing left but a couple of pairs of jeans and some not too horrible shirts. I’ve been buying stuff for the kids and I forget to buy stuff for myself and so now all my stuff is just ratty.
Actually, that’s not completely true. Shopping for me sucks and every time I start, I get frustrated and go “I wonder what they’ve got for kids! Lemme check realquick” and then the kids wind up with something wonderful and cute and my shit just gets older and tireder.
People think I’m the Third World Refugee Nanny.
So lately I’ve been shopping and forcing myself to stay on task and not go to the kid’s department. I’ve brought home a few things to try on because fucking forget trying shit on at the store with a 15 month-old. It’s all grab and go for me right now. And I’ve promptly brought it all right back. I bought a bunch of shit online from Gap but their clothes are as exciting as a bag of white sweat socks. I now have some very sassy long-sleeved Favorite Tees in white, navy, and charcoal! YAY!
Are we asleep yet?
I got some sweaters too, but this stuff is all just staples. None of it is pretty, and none of it is making me feel fierce. I guess right now I’m just settling for not homeless?
If I could, I would totally try to rock some super feminine bohemian thing because that’s the stuff I gravitate toward, but whenever I actually try to coordinate something like that, I look like I’m wearing a Gypsy Halloween costume. Also, where do you find stuff like that? Stuff I can actually afford. They ain’t got that shit over at Gap, I can tell you that much.
I’ve also been trying to find some fabulous patterned tights with maybe some flowers on them or a non-dorky paisley (can paisley ever be non-dorky? I say yes) to wear with a denim mini skirt and my Dansko Sallys or something and NOT STRIPES and NOT FISHNET and NOT NEON, but they don’t exist.
I totally HATE the 80′s bullshit right now. I do not want a shirt with a guitar on it. I’m all fucking set.
And forget about shoes. I have not seen one single pair of shoes that I would want to wear in a long, long time. I went to DSW and out of that whole sea of freakin’ shoes, there was ONE pair I liked and they didn’t have my size.
Are we getting a feel for why I dress like an old fishwife now?
So where do you guys shop? I need you to send me where you find stuff that is non-hideous and non-Third World Refugee Nanny or you may used the form provided below to share your own wardrobe drama.
Please and thank you.
PS: In stark contrast to the commenter last week at Toy with Me who clutched her pearls at my use of the term “cum dumpster,” yesterday someone called me a prude. A PRUDE! ME!!!! Can you even imagine? To that I say, “Mon. Dieu.” and also “Ah-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! That’s some funny stuff right there.” I want so much to go over there and defend myself, but I will not lower myself to the level of the trolls. I will’nt. But I soooo want to. Have I ever admitted to you guys how hard it is to come up with stuff to write about every week, and to be criticized for I say and for revealing intimate details of my sex life it…well, you know. Aunt Becky is also a prude, fyi. This person clearly does not understand the mighty awesome Internettian power Aunt Becky and I wield. Well, mostly her, but me a little bit too. We could hurt people with our words if we so chose!
Do you hate it when the only facebook updates people give are to let you know they’re out having a life and how fun it is?
What the fuck is that?
Like, don’t they have anything else going on in their lives other than vacations and fabulous dinners out with friends? Don’t these people ever get pissed they have to do the dishes or…or get hemorrhoids?
I wanna see what’s really going on with my “friends,” not what they want everyone to think their life is like.
It ain’t all Margaritas and beaches and the. most. amazing. sushi! all the fucking time.
I want something truly interesting to happen to them because eventually the sushi is gonna give them The Diarrhea and then what will they have to say?
Absolutely nothing because their lives are nothing but awesome all the time, or so they would have us believe.
Like, wouldn’t it be more fun to read about how they got bloody ‘roids on the beach, and how the blood attracted sharks who ate their legs off but left their assholes (because sharks know that if you eat hemorrhoids, you get them), and so now they have a spilled Margarita, hemorrhoids, and no legs.
That’s the story I wanna hear!
I think I’m going to start leaving updates like that in hopes it will inspire the “ahhhh. surf and sand. It doesn’t get any better that this!” people to cut the shit.
And if you think I’m jealous of those people, you’re totally wrong. I’ve already done my self-exploration on that one. They’re just obnoxious and it makes me stabby to think that they think these updates are interesting to anyone other than themselves.
Oh, and those “pics to come later” that they promised? I’m not exactly sitting on my computer waiting anxiously for them to post, so they can take their time on that one. I might look at them once they’re up, but it’s only to check to see if there’s a tampon string hanging out of the bathing suit.
Have any of you Queefies been truly interested in the details of someone else’s vacation? Be honest. I can’t be alone here.
PS: It is not lost on me that I post a myriad of updates on the latest happenings of my children, but they are way, way cuter than your umbrella drink vacation.
This has been the longest week already and it’s only fucking Tuesday? This seems impossible to me. It should be Friday, shouldn’t it? Thursday at least.
Anyone having anxiety problems and not sleeping?
Only last night it was thunder that woke me up. It sounded like the house next door exploded (oh lord wouldn’t that be wonderful?) but it was only thunder and it scared the bejeezus out of me and I sat straight up, gasping, my heart pounding, and never went back to sleep. I’ve been awake since 2:30 worrying about things that are going on in my life right now and periodically crying my guts out and waking Mister up.
I’m so much fun I can hardly stand to be around myself.
Part of the freakout is anxiety about kindergarten. I’m freaking out because I’m letting my Girlfriend go out into the world where people can hurt her and I won’t be there to kill them. What if some little fucker is mean to her? There isn’t shit I can do. What if she gets on the wrong bus? Will she be lost forever?
Is it still cool in Kindergarten to wear a Care Bears shirt?
What about a Care Bears lunchbox, because that’s what I got her. It has a rainbow handle and sparkles. Is somebody gonna beat her up now? When I was in first grade, Justin Lyons had a Star Wars lunchbox and it infuriated me. I totally wanted to choke him for being such a dork. I remember telling my grandfather about it, it was that big of a deal.
My lunchbox had Lassie on it which was much cooler, obviously.
I don’t want anyone to persecute Girlfriend for loving Care Bears, I don’t.
And I’m signing her up for a yoga class and an acting class and do you think that will be too much for her? Will yoga and playing pretend stress her out too much because that’s so not the point.
These and many other things are torturing your poor Crissy’s tired brain.
Plus, we’ve been to sooooo many parties that the past two weekends have been insanely busy with crap to go to and I haven’t had any head space at all. I want to go hide under my bed because I’m not that social. I’m really pretty shy and having to talk to people sends me right to the vodka.
Mister’s been trying to get me to take a Valium, but I’m scared of it because I’m probably the only person who can take a Valium and have a panic attack because I just took a Valium.
So yeah. That’s all I’ve got for today, so I want you guys to tell me what was on your lunchboxes and if you got beat up for it.
I had a Holly Hobby, Lassie, Muppets, Strawberry Shortcake, Barbie and Smurfs.
So yesterday I was at work and I went to Flickr so I could change my desktop background to a picture of Girlfriend and Homeslice that Mister took on Monday, and what do I find but a picture of me in my bikini top.
and I looked at the comments and it seems that Mister, my husband, added it to the group “SMALL SAGGY BOOBS.”
Yes, he did.
As I understand it, it was at the suggestion of one of his Flickr buddies.
And, as you would expect,the pictures in that group are not very pretty boob pictures. They’re random and sad with a few stunning misfits here and there, but mostly saggy boobs. Here. Go check it out if you want.
What makes this really painful for me, Queefies, is that after the glory and the splendor of the nursing boobs from last year I am left with, yes, small and saggy boobs and Mister knows this is hard for me because boobs are one of the first things people notice on a woman. When you go from a 34 D voluptuous lady to a 34 A 12 year-old boy it sucks pretty hard core.
When I saw that I had been elected to the itty bitty titty committee I started crying at my desk and I felt like everyone was laughing at me. I wonder how Mister would like it if I started a group called “I have a micropenis” and put all pictures of him in it. Knowing him, he probably wouldn’t care, but that’s all I have to compare it to, so there you go.
And he doesn’t think he did anything wrong at all and that I’m being really sensitive and he says the pictures in that group are all nice pictures and the group is owned by a German guy and so there’s something lost in translation and “SMALL SAGGY BOOBS” isn’t really what it looks like, but I still think adding my picture to something under that title, no matter what the content, is a crappy and insensitive thing to do.
Is anyone German? What’s this say? durch.-hängende wackelnde Busen
I put it into Babelfish and it said something about hanging boobs. Still not pretty.
And so I’m pretty sad to have my most insecure thoughts about my body confirmed by the publicness and my husband, so I’m thinking about putting a Paypal thingy on my sidebar so people can donate money to FUCK THE OIL SPILL, BUY CRISSY SOME TITS so people stop calling my boobs small and saggy.
PS: If Mister thinks he’s going to see my small and saggies any time soon, he can take his micropenis and get lost.
PSS: He doesn’t really have a micropenis, but if he did, I wouldn’t put a picture of it on the Internet so everyone could laugh at him.
PSSS: Actually, I would just so he knows how it feels.
PSSSS: It’s a Toy with Me day today! It’s about Major Faux Pas In The Boudouir. Apropos, no?
PSSSSS: The next Ask Girlfriend is coming up and this time it’s on video! Get your questions in!