I never understood why people say that. Isn’t it kind of redundant? Or is that the point? At this early hour and with all that is on my mind, I’m sure I’m missing something.
I was reading No Pithy Phrase’s latest post and instantly traveled back in time several years.
At 4:40 one morning, I got a phone call. Calls in the middle of the night are never good news, unless it’s your drunk friend singing 80s songs in your ear because she thinks it’s so funny.
The non-BF: (no “Hello” but) I think I’m all right. Not sure about the truck, though.
He sounded a bit high. And he is totally “hugs, not drugs,” so I was caught off-guard.
Me: Mmphmmph, ack, hello?
The non-BF: Oh, here’s the ambulance. I gotta go.
What the holy HELL?
So what do I do? The most obvious and
logical hysterical thing I can do: I get in my car and start driving around, looking for accident sites. At five a.m. Without a clue where the accident happened. Finally, I stop my shallow breathing and crying and turn my car around to head back home.
For three of the longest hours of my life, I sat in the bathtub emptying and refilling the tub when the water got cold, all the while calling the non-BF’s cell phone every two minutes. And crying like I hadn’t cried in years. Eventually, an unknown number popped up on the screen and I answered it by yelling out his name with a question mark at the end.
It was a nurse who told me the non-BF was fine. She let me know which hospital he was at, so I called my mom and we took off together. Walking into the trauma room (I still cringe when I hear those two words together), the non-BF was in good spirits and making the doctor laugh a lot. He is like me in that when the crisis is too much to deal with at the moment, everything – and especially the crisis – becomes a joke. It’s an excellent coping mechanism, and much more tolerable than bitching and/or crying about whatever happened. Just my opinion. Anyway, it has served me well over the years.
He and I were very fortunate: I got to take him home that same day. I realize it could have been much worse – it could have been the very worst scenario imaginable. Even though he was (and still is) the Worst Patient In The World, I didn’t mind because he was still alive! Family stepped in to give me a rest and I remember looking at myself in the mirror a week later and thinking how I seemed to have aged ten years in seven days.
We will never really know how the accident happened, but from the force of the impact and from how far the minivan cab rolled, the police thought it must have been a semi that hit the cab as it entered the highway on the way to the airport (he was going on our vacation early, and I was to meet him three days later…instead we spent our vacation arguing about him not taking his pain pills, stubborn ass!). To this day, I still give truck drivers the evil eye. No offense to those truckers out there who drive carefully – I am and probably always will be biased. How do you cause an accident like that and not even stop to help? Unimaginable bastard. It took about two years before I finally stopped wishing horrible things for that person.
So I hope that Jess‘ husband has a quick recovery. I hope that she doesn’t go stir-crazy sitting by his side at the hospital. And I also hope that all of you tell at least one loved one today how remarkable and special they are to you. Life is fleeting. Say “I love you” while you still can.
P.S. I learned my lesson that time – bring in reinforcements. That way you have someone to commiserate with when things get difficult (like him trying to do way too much while he is all injured and shit). I love him dearly but Jesus H. Christ, he really is The Worst Patient In The World!
- Coming off of over 41 hours awake, 25 spent in the bathroom throwing up. Happy Labor Day to me – I was laboring over a toilet.
- Must have been delusional because I swear I saw Pikachu staring at me in the dark in my bedroom, sitting on top of a three foot pile of Skittles.
- At four a.m., I was trying to watch “Falling Skies” so I could fall asleep but I just didn’t get the show, and the music was spooky, so yeah, probably a poor choice on my part.
- Last night was the night Wormy Kitty decided to “take the day off” and wasn’t doing loud acrobatics in the middle of the night. Shit, if I was going to be awake all night, I might as well be entertained, because Noah Wylie sure as hell wasn’t cutting it for me.
- Was looking at the Office Mate’s Linkedin profile. Me: Take the apostrophes off your CEO’s, VP’s, etc. It shows ownership, not plurality. The Office Mate: Well, when I worked for them, I did own them!
- Even though I am a girlie girl to a fault, I hate buying bras. And panties. I am pretty utilitarian about underwear because, well, who’s gonna see it? Okay, so the non-BF does – point taken. In order to cheer myself up from my Vomit Funk today, I went to Victoria’s Secret at lunch. It’s about time I put some color on my tits & ass!
- Only one thing was boring beige. The rest are so bright, I doubt I’ll be able to wear them under anything except black. (10 pairs of panties, one boring beige bra and one shiny, sparkly blue and pink bra. No more underwear shopping for me until 2013.)
- When I got back from lunch, I went to the bathroom and noticed myself in the mirror. Wearing my standard I Don’t Feel Good So If You Know What Is Good For You, You Won’t Fuck With Me uniform (papery cotton baggy brown cropped pants, a fugly blah-colored t-shirt, my glasses, didn’t bother to do my hair and very little makeup because I may just be laboring over the toilet again), I looked SCARY. Ran back to the office and told the Office Mate I had to take some pizzas to a class tonight and I just couldn’t do it. Me: Look at me, I look like shit. (Silence from the Office Mate.) Me: No, I look like a homeless person! No wonder those girls at Victoria’s Secret were following me all around the store. “Watch her, bitch is gonna steal some bras so she can trade them on the street for a couple 40 ozs!”
- I typically make notes of overheard shit or conversations I’ve had on whatever is around me at the time, including napkins, credit card receipts, cardboard beer coasters and once, a Tampon wrapper. Then I shove them inside whatever bag is closest to me and forget about them. Was cleaning out my work tote this evening and noticed a wadded up paper napkin at the bottom with “That dress is going to end up in a trash can later tonight” written on it. I wish to the baby Jesus and all that is holy I knew when and who the hell I wrote that about!
- On the other end of the napkin, I found this. Me: Awkward teen? The non-BF: Yep, she’s never kissed a boy. But I bet she’s kissed a few girls. Me: Slumber party practice? The non-BF: Oh yeah.
- Ooh, a bonus find tonight! Mom: You know, that Spanish Club El Rio. That’s where it happened. Me: El Rio? The RIVER? Sounds like a white person came up with that name. It’s like calling it El Taco or some such shit!
- Conversation tonight with the non-BF – Me: No, you didn’t send me Captain Pervy. You sent two emails to me with photos of me with really bad hair and a boa constrictor wrapped around my neck. (No, NO ONE will ever understand us. I still don’t.)
- On the way home from work on Friday, I was stopped at a traffic light next to a chick sitting behind some guy on a Harley. She was wearing a sweater set and pearls. He was wearing a bowtie.
- Why do I always see the strangest things when I cannot possibly take a photograph, damn it?!
- Why doesn’t anyone use the term “cad” anymore? I always found it so much classier than calling a guy a prick, douchebag or fuckface. Don’t you?
- Had to run to the grocery store because all of my salad stuff was expired. While I was there, I decided to get the furbrats a rotisserie chicken, and I returned home to discover I picked one that was a little, um, DRY. On the phone with the non-BF, I said, “Oh well, it’s just for the dogs, right? Let Momma have a taste first…” Was so hungry from being sick for two days that I didn’t chew properly and almost choked on the motherfucking chicken! Me: Mgmpmhph…ack! Okay, I am okay. I’m okay. Him: You’re falling apart. First you pass out from swigging gin and now you’re choking on your chicken. I’m going to have to get you one of those “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” buttons. One day, I’ll come over there and the dogs will be feasting on your thighs. Me: [Click]
- Of course I didn’t really hang up on him (although I kinda sorta wanted to – why did he have to say “feasting on your thighs” like they were a couple of luau pigs – so meaty! – or something?). He had a point about the fowl play on the phone, though, because if I wait too late to eat, I eat too fast. But the gin thing? Nope, the fucking Austerity Campaign has sadly kicked in. Besides who has feverish sweats and hallucinates from a gin & tonic?
- Okay, okay, so from
threefour gin & tonics?
- Swear to God, y’all, it was a stomach bug. Damned non-BF always trying to get me into trouble!
- P.S. I have the swollen lymph glands to prove it. So there. Nyah!
- I once had a fever so high that I had this out of body experience where I got up out of my sweat-soaked body in bed, patted Trouble on the head and went to turn the A/C up because I was freezing. I know it really happened, too, because I remember thinking to myself on my way back to bed, “Bitch, you really ought to clean this apartment more often.”
- My feet are so overdue for a pedi, I’m almost ashamed to go back to my regular place. I just know they talk about people’s crusty feet in their native language while they are sitting there smiling at us.
- Plus, they seem to find it amusing that my feet are so ticklish and I squirm and giggle when they are scraping them. I’m really only worried I might squirm too much one time and “accidentally” kick one of those bitches in the face.
- Got up to make myself some hot tea to soothe my poor Chicken Choking Throat and looked down. There it was again. I swear, I picked out the most godawful combination of clothes in my fucking closet. Come to think of it, I think I reserve this ensemble for my Stinky Dog Bath Days.
- You should have seen the one time I tried to bathe all four at once. I am Non, Queen of the Idiots!
- I bought the Wormy Kitty another catnip toy but this one is a hanging one, which is much more entertaining for me. Plus the little shit can’t drag it off into her water bowl then bury it in the litter box. Was in the other room and heard this weird, semi-barking sound and ran to the crate to find Rainbow trying desperately to pull the catnip bug through the gate. “Hugs, not drugs, Rainbow! Hugs, not drugs. Your crack pipe days are over, you big pussy!”
- I cannot hear “Moves Like Jagger” without wanting to get up and dance. Then go Google “naked Adam Levine.” What is it with me and skinny singers with lots of tattoos? It’s not I’d look twice at that shit if they were walking down the street. But give them a microphone and hell yeah.
- I used to love it when the boys in the band would dedicate “Rebel Rebel” to me. Hot tramp, I love you so!
- It’s so quiet around here sometimes now that Mr. Swirly is gone, I often forget I have other animals and try to do something for myself, like take a nap after going over a day without sleep. It’s quiet, that is, until one of the dogs leaps up on my chest and barks in my face, almost giving me a fucking heart attack. How completely impudent of me to think I’m allowed a little “me time.” So sorry!
- UPDATED: I cannot stop laughing over this.
- The non-BF and I keep calling Wormy Kitty a “he.” I told the non-BF she was going to end up with gender identification issues. The non-BF: “Don’t you mean gender identity issues?” Me: “Here is something I will say that you cannot correct: Fuck off.”
- Rainbow is a Spiteful Pisser. I have to be careful when packing for a trip because he will pee on my luggage. His resentment towards Wormy Kitty is evidenced by him pissing on the jug of kitty litter. Vindictive little bastard.
- Even so, he isn’t as bad as Trouble was. I once pointed my finger at him and chastised him for something he did. Little shit snuck up behind me while I was doing my makeup, bit me on the ass and ran off.
- I miss that damn dog.
- LONG day today – at work before 7:30. On the phone with the non-BF just now. Me: It’s been quite a day. I think I am just going to relax. Him: Translation – Hoda.
- Wouldn’t it be great to have a job where you get paid to drink early in the morning on TV?
- Hate going grocery shopping without a list. I forgot nail polish remover and at the last minute put back the Woolite. Good thing, since I have three big jugs of it at home already.
- Forced Austerity Campaign has sucked in one way: mani/pedi. While my toes turn out looking halfway decent, my right hand looks like a three year old took to it with a crayon.
- Someone told me I smelled nice today. Them: What’s that you’re wearing? I like it. Me: Lysol Spring Waterfall scent.
- Just spilled wine on my carpet. (No, Mom, I’m not drunk. Just fucking clumsy is all). Good thing I prefer white wine. Oh well, the stain will go well with the vomit stains from Rainbow’s illness a week ago. It was a genius idea I had to put light beige carpeting in my den of a house that has (had, at the time) four dogs.
- No, wine is not on the off-limit list for Forced Austerity Campaign, at least not for today. Don’t push the issue, either, because I will push back. And I can push harder.
- Trying for the third night in a row to repaint the Pointer Finger and Fuck You Finger on my right hand. Now I don’t remember which of the three-insignificantly-different-shades-of-pale-pink-nail-polishes I used on the other eight.
- I’ve had every hair color imaginable. Okay, well every hair color found in nature. I will try pink someday. I just cannot pull off being a redhead, though. Not because of my personality. I just look like Ronald McDonald when I do.
- Totally know when it is time for a visit to my hair stylist: I start braiding the top of my head. Time to hide the scissors AND the alcohol. Bitch may start cutting if you don’t watch out!
- I swear, I can’t remember crap from like five minutes ago, but I know what outfit I was wearing on a date in 11th grade. Is that early onset Alzheimer’s shit selective?
- Between Blindie’s insulin injections, the animals’ medicaton distribution and wrapping up my Probably Broken Toe, I am quite sure I was a nurse in a former life.
- I just hope it wasn’t Nurse Ratched.
- Wormy Kitty sounds just like Woody Woodpecker when she mews. I really need to record that shit.
- Every now and then, I look around at the stuff that is my life. It really is a dichotomy. On the one hand, there is all this shit I have to do to keep this one dog (and now cat) alive and well. And there is all of the animal-related heartache I endured. On the other hand are all the beautiful people I’ve met along the way. And all the animals. Mr. Swirly left a legacy, as did Trouble. Blindie probably will as well.
- Rainbow, on the other hand, only gave his opinion on window treatments. Yeah, and okay, he is the most precious momma’s boy EVER! “I wish all my boys were gay. Then they would never leave me!”
- Well shit if I didn’t mess up the Pointer Finger again. I fucking give up!
Heard that song on Pandora yesterday and apparently, it was foretelling. The following was my day. And it isn’t over yet.
It was cool early this morning, so I was walking up and down the street while I was talking to the non-BF on the phone. Saw a neighbor’s dogs out in their backyard and without even thinking, I went up to the fence and stuck my hand over to pet them. The alpha bitch totally bit my ring finger, broke the skin and bruised it. Now I have done enough dog rescue to know that it is really STUPID to do such a thing, but I just wasn’t thinking. Talked to the owner later and was assured that they were all up to date on their shots – said that because of the breed, he had all the paperwork, etc. I’m quite sure he thought I was going to sue him. Nope, I just apologized for my utter stupidity and went home. What kind of fucking idiot goes up to a barking dog in its own backyard and tries to pet it? Me, that’s who.
I can’t help it. I love dogs and I really love Pitties. Did the same thing several years ago to my neighbor’s Dachshund and still have the scar to prove it. Fucking dumbass.
Had to break up three dog fights in under an hour later this morning. Mr. Tail was visiting and Blindie kept picking fights with him when he tried to get next to the foster kitty’s crate. Blindie “guards” the kitty by sitting in front of the crate and snapping at anyone who comes near, including me.
By the way, that “spider bite”? Not only is it not lethal, it isn’t a spider bite. The foster cat has ringworm. Now so do I. No good deed goes unpunished. At least I can color coordinate the monkey bandages with my outfits next week. Always look on the bright side of life, right?
By the way, don’t use Lysol on your skin if you are worried about something spreading. Anti-bacterial soap is enough. My skin is itching so badly now, I’m like that bitch in the ABC After School Special who took those drugs, started screaming “The worms! They are under my skin!” and leapt out of a second story window. That shit really dries out your skin! I cannot find any body lotion, so I’m using a tiny pot of $25 lip balm to salvage my arm skin. Fuck.
Ran an errand in a dicey part of DFW and got laughed at by what I can only assume was a cheap hooker and her “date.” Bitch, please! I was sporting a super cute ocean blue sundress with matching Coach cork platforms, my dog bite and my monkey bandages on my chest. She had electric blue eyeshadow from fake lashes to brow, day-glow tennis shoes and stretch pants in an off-black snakeskin print that barely covered her huge ass. She and her “date” were buying vodka and a jug of orange juice. They took off in a Mercedes and I thought to myself, “If the car is a rocking, don’t come a knocking.” Classy.
I’m toally going to bed before anything else goes wrong!
Tied up in an all-day meeting tomorrow (ha! I accidentally typed “ass-day“), and then dinner, so you’re getting this shit early:
- During Forced Fitness today, I saw an elderly woman walk in the gym wearing an AC/DC shirt. Too bad I was too far away or I would have taken a photo and used that as my avatar.
- While on our morning phone call, the non-BF was telling me about his success with his Austerity Campaign (NO, I haven’t officially started mine yet, and don’t ask why because I don’t want to have to slap you). That bastard has lost 11 pounds in 8 days. I responded by telling him about the dream I had about him last night. Me: “You were totally living downtown in some loft or something and I found out you went downstairs to eat KFC with your hot twenty-something neighbors. And took Mr. Tail. So basically, you triple betrayed me, jackass.” Him: “I’m the only person I know who gets bitched out for what I do in someone else’s dreams.”
- After that, I described in full detail the cheesey eggs I’d be eating for breakfast. Take that, ha!
- Don’t think I’ll be getting that MacBook Pro anytime soon.
- I think I am going through another phase where sugar free Red Bull makes me sick. That happened for about two months earlier this year. Or else God is paying me back for taunting the non-BF with what I ate for breakfast. Projectile vomiting twice in one day is no fun.
- Unfortunately, I think I also threw up my Crazy Pill.
- The toilet in my bathroom was acting all crazy and shit, so I shut the water off until my dad could take a look at it. Today, I got home and all the stuff I had on the toilet tank top was on my bed. Called my mom and asked if he had fixed the damned thing. She said yes. Me: “Well, he forgot to put everything back.” No Daughter of the Year award for me in 2012.
- I did call him afterward to thank him. Dad: “I forgot to put the stuff back.” Me: “Don’t worry about it.” My mom totally does NOT get my sense of humor.
- He also bitched at me for “putting that blue shit in the toilet.” I really like the blue shit, Dad. It reminds me of the ocean.
- I’m still waiting for a bar to name a drink after me. “The Tonic Boom” is a good name.
- Dallas pretty much sucks. Not because of the pretentiousness that is rampant here (I kinda like that…lots of shit to make fun of!). No, it sucks because of the horrible quality of the air. My sinuses are all screwed up, and everyone I know says the same thing. A twenty minute nosebleed every morning is not the right way to start your day.
- You know it’s fucking hot as hell when the Min Pin Who Can See won’t chase the birds standing in the backyard. They all had their mouths open and looked so thirsty. Yet every time I try to hose them down, they all fly away. Ungrateful motherfuckers.
- I really don’t spray them with water. I turn on the hose and hope they come by for a drink. I’m a huge animal rights/welfare person. Only reason why I’m NOT the Crazy Dog Lady is that my family has me on watch.
- I’m sad because my laptop is dead. The non-BF: “Did you back it up?” Well, hell no, that’s a stupid question! Me: “You still have the last back-up, right?” I did send the important shit to myself via email. But I forgot to put my “Shopping” spreadsheet in with the rest. Now I’m going to have to make another one. Damn. Good thing I still have the folder with:
- If the non-BF ever called me by my birth name, I’d be nervous as shit. I think I’ve had one or another nickname from him for 12 years now. If he uses my real name, I know I’ve fucked up and better start working on damage control, and FAST.
- I’m on a mission now to retrieve my old non-girlfriend archives from the Other Dead PC. If so, I will repost some of my favorites.
- Typically, if I paint my own nails, it looks like a drunk three year-old got some Essie and went to town. I’m sticking to a “nude” color for my fingernails and hoping like hell for the best tomorrow!
- That’s about two day’s worth there. I’m off to “relax” with some wine and force the Min Pins to watch cooking shows.
- UPDATED: For the love of the sweet baby Jesus and all that is holy, another fucking kitten showed up. The one I couldn’t find on Saturday. Meowing like really loud outside my front door. I had to look out the front blinds in case it was one of those urban myth things where a gangster was waiting to kill my ass or worse, take me off into sex slave trade when I opened the door. Little shit ran off and hid under my porch. So yeah, I have two Dixie bowls on my sidewalk with water and food. Nice way to attract bugs. Ugh! No longer the Crazy Dog Lady…I have a new title. Crazy Stray Animal Bitch. God help me.
My fucking laptop died today. Both keyboards (on the laptop and wireless) suddenly started typing zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz without me touching them then randomly shut down. Now I cannot use either keyboard. I think I may have a virus. Well, not ME specifically, but the stupid fucking laptop in my study. Thank you baby Jesus for the non-BF leaving his in my den. You all would have missed me terribly had I dropped out of sight until we can figure out what the hell is wrong with mine, or until I convinced him to buy me a Mac.
The non-BF and I went to look at new cars today (for him, not for me, unfortunately). Now he thinks he will wait awhile on the purchase. I’m all, “Oh, come on, just get it” since it’s not my money we are talking about. Right? P.S. Don’t ever take me shopping if you want someone to convince you NOT to buy something. We left two hours later without a car so he was buying me lunch, damn it. By the way, the salesguy directed all questions about the car to ME, not the non-BF. He said 80% of car purchases end up being the woman’s decision.
At lunch, I decided to see how successful my pouting would be and while I got a “You ARE cute,” I didn’t get a new laptop. The non-BF tells me I am too impatient and that it is probably fixable. He’s right. Seriously, it was only a science experiment anyway. The results: I really need to work on my pouting.
So I drive back home only to arrive to greet two freaked out dogs. A friend is giving me their slightly used and very firm mattress, so I moved my old mattress into the dogs’ bedroom. [Yes, my dogs have their own bedroom. I also heat up rotisserie chicken to put on top of their fucking $10-a-tiny-bag all-natural dog food.] Apparently, they don’t particularly care for their change in bedding, even though that is the same fucking bed they sleep on every night. Brats.
I really hate using his laptop keyboard, but I am afraid if I connect my wireless keyboard to his computer, the demon seed that inhabited my laptop’s body will possess his laptop as well. Then I really WILL be fucked. I think this post is taking a long time to type? Try doing it on an iPad.
While I should be happy it’s finally fucking Friday, I’m a little too depressed to get excited. I’m just bitter at the moment. It will pass. I never realized how much I’d mourn my stupid computer.
Oh yeah, spam comment today:
Hi, you used to write exceptional articles, but the last several posts have been kinda lackluster� I miss your super writing. Past couple of posts are just slightly out of track! 48059
Dear Spam Commenter, How is this for more “on track” writing: Fuck off. You picked the wrong day, dude. Love and hugs, the non-girlfriend
[I hope I didn’t fuck up by clicking on the bot’s poorly written post. It looked legit.]
UPDATED: Oh my God, I am a fucking IDIOT! It was the keyboard batteries. I thought I had changed them two weeks ago but it was the mouse batteries I replaced. I feel like I did that time I was on the phone trouble-shooting my dial-up (years ago) and they asked if my phone line was plugged in. It wasn’t, but I lied and said yes because I felt like such a jackass. Poor tech had to stay on the phone with me for another five minutes before I told him, “It’s WORKING!” Glad I could share my complete and total stupidity with all of you! Hahahahahahahahaha
P.S. I still want a Mac, though
UPDATED, PART TWO: Okay, so I fixed the “typing problem.” Now I get the Blue Screen of Death? I still think I need a new laptop.
UPDATED, PART THREE, LAST UPDATE – I SWEAR: Motherfucker is dead. Back to the non-BF’s laptop. Ugh.
The non-BF is always trying to find a reason for me to stop taking my Crazy Pills. Every ailment I claim to have, he says, “Maybe it’s Those Pills You Take.” He will ask if I checked on the side effects, did I talk to my pharmacist, etc. I told the Office Mate today that he does NOT want me to stop taking my Crazy Pills.
I knew she would agree. Before I got on them, I was a Super Bitch. Now I’m Just A Bitch.
So this morning, during our daily commute phone call (my commute is 5 minutes, so really it’s HIS daily commute call), I said my nose was hurting. I think I have been complaining about my nose hurting for about three weeks now.
Him: Maybe it’s Those Pills You Take.
Me: Nope. It’s allergies because of this stupid hot weather in Texas. It is a Snot Fest every morning these days.
Him: Maybe it’s Those Pills You Take, and BOOZE.
Me: Nope, booze only intensifies the drowsiness side effect. And I don’t drink while I am operating heavy machinery. I learned my lesson after that forklift incident.
Him: I think you need to talk to your doctor. You’ve been saying your nose hurts for a while now. I think maybe it’s Those Pills You Take.
(Note: The non-BF will never call them by name. I have no idea why. I really should Sharpie “Those Pills I Take” on my bottle.)
Me: No, it isn’t Those Pills I Take. Okay, if I am going to be honest here, I was cleaning my nostril some time back, and I scratched the inside and it hasn’t fully healed yet.
Him: So basically, it’s because you’ve been picking your nose, and all this time you’ve been blaming it on the weather?
I’m so glad he doesn’t get grossed out by stuff like that. Or things like the time my IBS flared up and I shitted (shat?) my shorts. He’s so awesome that way.
My quote up there is from Samantha Jones and I’d post a photo of her, but I can’t find one that isn’t copyrighted (YET), and after hacking my hometown’s Wikipedia page yesterday, posting a copyrighted picture today may very well be pushing it.
I took one of those stupid “Which Sex And The City character are you?” quizzes a long, long time ago, back before the non-BF. Naturally, I scored Samantha. Like there was ever a doubt.
These days, I’m probably more Charlotte (minus the husband and two kids) because, yeah, she shit her pants, too. And I totally have one of the Tiffany & Co. necklaces she was sporting in one episode. Plus, I am sorta classic/preppy in my dress style. And I’m very particular about certain things. Well, most things. Personality-wise, though, I’m a combo of Carrie and Miranda – high maintenance and bitchy. But in a really good way.
I don’t know about the rest of you, but I love Web MD and self-diagnosis. As the non-BF said, “Five minutes and an internet connection and you’re a MD.” In all honesty, I’m really healthy (all that clean living I do!) and the only health issue I have that isn’t self-inflicted is allergies. (And IBS, but that might actually just be Booze Shits.) However, everyone I know in the Dallas area has allergies. Our air quality is for shit here.
Still, I’ll get a headache and a pain in my lower leg, look up “pain in head” and “pain in lower leg” and five minutes later, I decide I have tumors in my brain and fibromyalgia. I had a car accident earlier this year, and they did a CT scan because I kept getting dizzy. It was much easier to handle than the MRI was (I crawled out of the tube and had to be talked down from the ledge). The doctor told me he had the results.
Me: It’s a tumor. Do I have tumors? I bet you found a tumor.
Him: (Silence, and a strange look.) No, everything is fine. Your brain is normal.
Me: Oh. Okay.
Him: You seem disappointed that you’re okay.
When I posted on Facebook that my brain was normal, quite a few friends objected. My friends list is a lot lighter now.
I just got my over-sized Miniature Pinscher, Rainbow (aka the Maxi Pin) a Thunder Shirt. Being skeptical, I kept all the packaging and the receipt because I really didn’t think it would work. If it’s on an infomercial late at night, it can’t work, right?
I put that bitch on him and went to get my keys, walked outside the front door, closed it and used the clicker to make my car honk. Normally, the little shit gets all frantic and starts barking if I even appear to be leaving the house. (Applying perfume is the worst, since dogs have a strong sense of smell. He knows that I’m leaving because if I am staying home, I don’t really care whether or not I am stinky.)
Not a sound. Total silence. He did run to the door, though.
Since then, I’ve done it a few more times. Every time, he doesn’t bark. I am going to send those Thunder Shirt People a cookie bouquet and pledge my first-born to them.
I think 17 times is overkill, though. It works, bitch. Just leave it alone already.
I’m doing quite well, actually. Excellent planning on my part – if I “need” a cigarette, I do a shot. Which is why I can’t remember most of yesterday.
(Kidding, kidding, I remember. And I have photos AND a DVD of the whole thing as a back-up plan. Obviously, NO, I did not jump. The helicopter was enclosed.)
I do have this childish need for validation from the non-BF about the whole quitting-smoking-thing. It took me seven times asking him yesterday, “Aren’t you proud of me???” before he finally answered with a sigh, “Yes, I am proud of you.”
I’m just smiling all Chesire-catty-like, about to say, “Good, now buy me a baby goat,” and he says, “But you’ll cave tonight.”
That was a challenge. Don’t tell me I can’t do something because it just makes me want to prove you wrong. Especially, YOU, non-BF.
“It really wasn’t a challenge,” says the non-BF, who needs to stop fucking READING OVER MY SHOULDER! “I’m just going on your track record.”
What is he thinking, pushing that shit while I’m in the worst day of withdrawal???
How do I know Day Three is the worst? I’ve quit at least 19 times already. Here are the stats:
- Made it six months – 2 times
- Made it one – three days – 17 times or so, I lost count
Okay, so those 17 times or so do not count. I’m totally going with “third time’s the charm” on this attempt.
And I really, really need to end this post because all this stupid cigarette smack talk is making me want to go hunt some down. Cigarettes, not people. Just wanted to clarify that.
I can do it, I can do it.
(But really, people, who the hell quits smoking on VACATION?)