Quick Freddie, stage an intervention!!!

Well, I just finished reading Nikki Sixx's The Heroin Diaries, (Good book by the way) and I feel that qualifies me to diagnose addiction.

So all I have to say is Freddie, grab Daphne and Velma and stage an intervention quick! Shaggy is a junkie!

My first clue was his unkempt appearence. He never shaves or changes his clothes. And who knows how long it's been since he's had a bath. Apathy about personal hygiene is a sure sign of a serious drug problem.

Not only that, there are other serious indicators.

For example:
-Paranoia (always thinks monsters are chasing him)
-Hallucinations (thinks his dog can talk)
-Eats copious amounts of food (marijuana munchies?) but fails to gain any weight (amphetamines anyone?)

Shaggy, if you're reading this, just know you are not alone, there is help.
The first step is admitting you have a problem.

Holy Crap! It's been awhile.

I can't believe it's been so long since I've blogged!
Yeah, I was sick and everything... but seriously!
It's totally NOT because I've had nothing to bitch about. Nothing could be further from the truth. Not the least of which is having yet another birthday. Damn, I hate getting old. But I guess it beats the alternative-getting dead.
Another big part of the reason I haven't been on the computer much lately is because hubby-poo has been buying and selling online to make a few extra bucks. I totally DO NOT mind the money. but he's always monopolizing the computer. If not him, then it's one of the kids. But fair is fair and everybody should get a turn. So now that I've finnally got a turn, I gotta go referee a squabble between kids. Nice. More later.

Oh, Poor Me!

Well, it's been ten days since my surgeries and I'm still not back to normal.
I was told by the docs that the surgeries themselves went well. The only exception being that my gall bladder was swollen, causing them to have to make a bigger set of incisions to get it out. No big deal. And the nose surgery went perfectly. No bruising or anything.
I felt like I was batting a thousand. I was told to expect quite a bit of pain, but for the first three days I didn't even have to get the pain pill Rx filled. Of course, I wasn't doing cartwheels but my recovery seemed to be going really great. Then out of the blue I started hurting really bad in my stomach. I just assumed the stomach ache was the pain I was supposed to be expecting. Then I noticed I was getting a little swollen. Well, actually very swollen. especially my feet. At one point they were looking a bit like water melons with pudgie pork sausages for toes.
Then as the pain got worse, I started losing control of my bladder. Talk about adding insult to injury.
I spent all day July 2nd in the emergency room, only to find out that I was retaining water, but they couldn't figure out why. They stuck a catheter in me to keep my bladder drained and sent me home.
Well, the cath did its job. The swelling went down and I actually lost 18lbs of water weight overnight. I felt a lot better except for the fact that I was forced to carry a sack of piss around.
But I fear things still aren't right. The urine is always heavily tainted with blood. I'm no doctor. Hell, I don't even play one on TV, but even I know that can't be good. I went back to the ER on July4 and they told me it was probably just some irritation and they sent me home with an appointment to see a urologist.
Whatever the problem was, it didn't seem to pass. Three days later my pee still looks like cherry Kool Aid.
I'm seeing the doc later today and I hope to get some answers.
I'm not in a lot of pain (except, I think I pulled a muscle in my upper stomach- nothing to do with the bladder thing) but I'm just so aggravated.
I hate having to carry this pee-sack everywhere I go. Not that I go any where outside of the house, who would want to go anywhere carrying around something that disgusting, like it's some kind of traveling museum exhibit.
I have a new respect for people who have to deal with things like this all their lives. I guess I should be grateful that it's not something much worse. But I'm only human , and therefore I'm allowed a few minutes of self pity.
Now that I've gotten all that off my chest, I'm actually starting to feel better. I guess bitching really is good for the soul.

Just being thankful.

Lately, I've seen quite a few news articles about a group of teens who supposedly made a "pregnancy pact". The girl that seems to be doing all the interviews says there wasn't any pact to all get pregnant at the same time. The only thing resembling a pact was after the fact when the pregnant girls sort of got together and promised themselves and each other that they would make the most of the situation and try to make good decisions in the future.
I can't imagine any group of high school girls getting pregnant on purpose, not in this day and age when birth control is so readily available. But I do know from personal experience that unplanned pregnancies do occur and my hat is off to those girls for taking responsibility for their actions.
Although I wasn't a teen when I had my first child (I was just two weeks shy of turning 22 when Zakk was born) I had the maturity level and the life-experience of a much younger girl.
It could have been a life shattering experience had I not had the support and encouragement of so many wonderful people.
My mom could have turned her back on me so easily. I'd certainly not been the perfect child. It would have been so easy for her to just say "I've got enough to deal with, kid. You're on your own." Lord knows she did have a lot on her plate. But she somehow managed to help me in every way imaginable. All the while not showing the disappointment she must have felt.
Then there were my girlfriends. I couldn't have asked for a better group of girls to be surrounded by. Laura, Kathy, Ann, Susan, even Millie-- these girls got me through this emotionally draining time. I was such a basketcase, it's a wonder that any of them can still stand me.
I consider all of them my closest friends although I don't keep in touch with all of them like I should.
Looking back at that time in my life makes me realize just how lucky I was to have them in my life. I was the first one in our little circle of friends to have a baby. I was a clueless unwed mother but each of these girls enthusiastically jumped into the roll of "aunt" making this experience one of the happiest times in my life.
They all understood and accepted my crazy hormonal pregnancy mood swings.None of them ever rolled their eyes at me when I had to get up in the middle of movies,meals, and conversations to pee twenty times, and after the baby came, everyone acted like it was the most natural thing in the world that I of all people should have a baby.
It would have been so easy for them to blow me off in favor of friends who aren't restricted by parenthood. Friends who can come and go at all hours without giving it a second thought or take spontaneous trips without having to get a baby sitter.
People say that when a girl has a baby at a young age she gives up some of her youth. I believe this is true to some extent. But my friends sacrificed a part of their youth as well, just to support me. That is what I call going above and beyond friendship.
I always talk about how I love the written word as a form of self expression, but right now I don't have any words that can fully express how I feel. Thinking back on all the support I got during that scary and uncertain time of my life, all I can say is I was blessed and come to think of it I still am.

the bra rant

Today's the big day. I'm having surgery. Septoplasti and gall bladder removal. I don't have to be at the hospital for another couple of hours so I thought I'd take this time to vent some frustrations.
Yesterday started off badly. I woke up to find my dog had gone nuts in the middle of the night. He'd knocked over the trash can and scattered garbage all over the place. When he got bored with the garbage he moved on to the clothes hamper. That crazy dog got one of my bras out of the hamper and chewed it in two! He ripped it right down the middle between the cups. Now it's like a pair of beanies with chin straps.
At first I was mad--livid actually. Then I decided I would use my misfortune as an excuse. An excuse to GO SHOPPING!
As a mom, I go shopping all the time. But this time it was diferent. I was shopping for ME! (quite a rarity)
So I went bra shopping.
Did you know that 80% of all women are wearing the wrong size bra? It's a fact! There have been numerous studies on the subject. (probably funded by the US government , because they don't have anything better to spend money on)
As such, when bra shopping, you can't just grab " your size" of the rack like you would anything else. You have to collect about a half dozen different sizes and try them all on to get one that fits just right.
Apparently, there's a science to it. First you have to choose the right cup size. They don't make it easy, like Starbucks. There are a lot more cup sizes than just Grande , Tall, and Venti. And to make matters more confusing, they now have ''half sizes''. The theory being that more sizes will make it easier for all women to find a perfect fit. Not true! It took me the better part of an hour to determine that none of the sizes is going to fit exactly right.
Either I get that muffintop bulging out of the top of the cup or I get somthing that is so loose that it's just a wardrobe malfunction waiting to happen.
Then you've got to worry about support. I don't want to go around looking like a National Geographic centerfold with my boobs blowing in the wind. But the alternative is the dreaded WIRE.
To mis-quote Metallica: Gimme fuel, Gimme fire, Gimme bras WITHOUT A WIRE!
Modern science had created a phone that does everything but tie your shoes, yet no one can invent a wireless bra that still holds everything where it's supposed to be. Or for that matter, a bra that's at least comfortable would be nice.
Men wonder why we're bitches. It's because our bras don't fit right!
So the next time my husband accuses me of being in a bad mood, I'll just point to my bra and ask "Wouldn't you be bitchy if you had a wire poking you in the side-boob all day?"

sick of those butts

I haven' written on this blog in a long time because I've been spending all my spare time reading. I set a goal for myself that I could complete reading all of Steven King's published works this summer. I counted them up and there's 57 (not counting books that have been re-released in different form). So far I have read 39 of them. I may have actually read more than that, but I don't count the ones I don't remember. I read my first SK book (Carrie) in the fifth grade. and to be honest I've lost quite a few brain cells since then.
But I had to take time to vent a little frustration. I am soooooo sick of seeing cigarette butts on the ground out side the front door of Coastal Ga. Community College! As you drive into the parking lot, there are FOUR signs letting people know that this is a smoke-free campus. Which to me means, put out your cigarette in the car ashtray and don't light up again until you get back in the car to leave.
Maybe they think they are being ironic. I think not! I can understand that people have nicotine addictions and have to smoke. But there is no addiction, or compulsion or whatever, that makes people think the ground is their own personal ashtray. That is just plain old nastiness!
But by and large nobody cares. Throwing ciggy-butts on the ground has become acceptable. As if it's just a fact of life. As sure as day follows night, there will be ciggy-butts on the ground.
I take offense, not to the smoking itself--although I don't like it much--but to the idea of people just throwing stuff on the ground, as though it didn't really matter.
Many of the offenders (at least at CGCC) are the same people who spend their days spouting about "going green' and saving the planet. Well, excuse the hell outta me, but aren't ciggy-butts NON-biodegradable? Do they think the Cigarette Fairy comes and picks them up?
Throwing ciggy-butts on the ground is not just trashy, it's disgusting and gross.
So I propose that the next time we see a pile of butts on the ground outside the door of CGCC or any public establishment, we all just drop our drawers and take a big dump right along side of it. If smokers are going to leave their shit on the ground why shouldn't everybody?

Yearly physicals, what fun!

Well, it finally happened! My husband's first prostate exam!

After 20+ years of my own personal degradation and humiliation at the gynocologist's office, I finally get to see him endure the mortifying embarassment that accompanies the necessary, but all too unpleasant, intimate physical exam.

(If it's any consolation to you , honey, the doctor seemed to enjoy it even less than you did.)
The look on that woman's face was priceless. I think that must have been the "sometimes-I wish-I'd become-an-accountant-look". Oh well, that's why they pay her the big bucks, I guess.

So he finally had a small glimpse into what we women have to endure. A VERY SMALL glimse.
I mean, really, what is the "butt-finger" compared to what women have to go through anually at the Gyno's office.

Every year we muster up our courage and traipse down to the office for our annual exam.
We tell ourselves that it won't be that bad, but after sitting in the( appropriately named) "waiting room" for about an hour waiting to be called back, what started out as an uneasy feeling has mutated into full-blown anxiety.

Then your name is called and you get to go back to the exam room where you have to wait another hour, but this time with no magazines, and in a paper dress!

When the doc finally does arrive that's when the real "fun" begins. First comes the breast exam. I'm an old fashioned girl. I usually don't let someone feel me up until they've at least bought me dinner, but I make an exception in this case.
So there I am on the table, arms over my head, getting my boobs pinched and poked. Can you imagine a more vulnerable position? If not, just let me tell you about what comes next.

Next is the pelvic exam. First you have to lay on the exam table, spread eagle with your feet up in stirrups. Then you're told to "slide your butt down." As if you're not uncomfortable enough, now your butt is hanging off the end of the table and a spot light is being shined on your vagina.
Then the doc slathers his latex-gloved hands with KY jelly that seems to have been stored in the freezer. "This may feel a little cold." seems to be the standard line at that point. But the use of the word "little", in this case is like saying that politicians are a "little" dishonest.

Then comes the speculums. If you aren't familiar with this device, it is a metal tool used by the gynocologist to hold open the vagina during the exam, which apparently is stored in the freezer next to the KY jelly. It is unceremoniously inserted and cranked open like the sun roof of a 1979 Volkswagen, so that the doc can proceed to scrape cells from the cervix. Yes, I said scrape cells! I know this is necessary to diagnose cervical abnormalities that might be pre-cancerous in nature, but you sure never hear about a doctor scraping anything off of any MAN!

And heaven help you if you have such an exam in a "learning hospital". It's bad enough with the doctor and nurse in the room. A couple of interns asking questions about you like you're some science project, instead of a human being, really does very little to instill confidence and promote relaxation. And GOD-forbid the exam should show anything unusual in such a place. The next thing you know interns from all over the building will be lining up to look at the woman who's episiotomy scar is shaped like the Eiffel Tower. ( or whatever the case may be)

So, in my must humble opinion, men have it easy. What's a moment of anal angst compared to all THAT!