Monday, November 30, 2009

No Poops Or Toilets In This Post. Well, Just A Few.

So, my daughter informed me that my last few posts were boring, and that I had to stop talking about my feces all the time. She's so picky. And judgmental.

Okay, so I'll stop. But, as I explained to Em, my blog is about me and my life, and if all that's really going on it at the time is centered around the toilet, what's a person to do?

But still, I'll try and refrain from mentioning my poops or the toilet at all in this post ... although I've now mentioned them four times already. Sorry.

I spent the better part of the weekend getting my brain and body ready for Christmas, because, as I'd said in a previous post, I have to take on ALL the Christmas prep responsibility this year because Mr. Handsome is working so hard. Whatever. He's just lucky I enjoy spending lots of money working so hard.

As part of my preparation, I spent the better part of an afternoon shopping for gifts. I couldn't believe my good fortune since in one stop, I'd found probably one-third of everything I have to get for family and friends. As most of you probably know, that just never happens. Yes, the rainbows and unicorns were shining out my butt that fine day.

I now have to tally up the expenses so that I can hand in a full and detailed financial report to Mr. Handsome.

Then, I spent Sunday running to the mall -- where it seems everyone and their mother also decided to visit -- in the feeble attempt to pick up some craft-type stuff with the kids because, well, they needed it. Is there ever any other reason? No, there is not.

And then, guys, I wrote all my Christmas cards! That's right! Every single one. This is probably a record for me. I'm calling Guinness today to let them know.

This week is going to be spent getting ready for our Disney trip, which is happening in nine days, guys! NINE.Days. That's one day more than eight, which is one more than seven, which is a week.

I'm going to spend a lot of time, methinks, looking for all my summerish clothing, and figuring out what NOT to bring to Florida. I'll also be spending loads of time this week trying to find all of Dee's clothing, because he tends to think that "putting things away" means stuffing them under his bed and behind his shelves.

I've also decided that if I don't find a sensible and cost-efficient swimsuit here, I'm just going to buy one in Florida. The prices will probably be better there, for one thing. And I won't have to end up taking one of the last suits on the rack (which is the case here at this time of the year), which also means that it will look anything but presentable on me. I'm not vain, but even I cannot handle wearing a swimsuit that makes me look like a cross between Dustin Hoffman and Tony Curtis.

And, while I fret and panic over all these miniscule details, Mr. Handsome is what? You'll never guess.

He's back to listening to Susan Boyle. Yes, that's right. I've lost him yet again to this:




Not only that, but he's spent the better part of the entire weekend watching chick flicks.

Please send help.

Friday, November 27, 2009

When The Poop Hits The Fan, I Go Shopping

My butt has a brain. And thoughts. And opinions, apparently.

Because ever since the doctor gave me the orders to get my poop tested, my butt has refused to give up the goods. It's been six days now, folks! SIX POOPLESS days, after eight tiring WEEKS of nothing BUT poop after poop after -- you guessed it -- poop.

There can be NO OTHER EXCUSE but that my badonkadonk has a mind all its own, and a sense of dignity to boot! When it gazed upon the three containers I am supposed to "fill" and return, it did an about-face and ran the other way. And although I can't say I haven't enjoyed the freedom and respite from constantly having to run to the toilet, I'm just trying to wrap my head around this whole thing.

How in heaven's name can I go from 20 and more dingleberries per day to none? Just like that?

And everyday, I think, 'OK, today's the day. Today, I will be disgusting and poop in little wee containers and bring them to the lab and be all embarrassed.'

But the day comes and goes, and nothing. Nada. Not even a wee plippet of poison. It figures that I would go from complaining bitterly about my extensive life in the bathroom to my lack thereof, all in the span of a week!

And so, instead, I go Christmas shopping!

I don't know about you, but I love Christmas. And I love getting ready for Christmas. Yes, it's a lot of work, but it's happy work. I change into Happy The Dwarf from Snow White. Humming Christmas tunes while I walk the aisles, a little smile on my face. Yes, people get irritated with me, glancing at me and scowling as I hum by them, but I don't care, because it's Christmas time!

Not sure how I'm managing this mood this year, what with the state of my intestinal tract, and the fact that we have yet to see any snow. Because snow is the ultimate mood inducer for the season, in case you're wondering. Without the snow, it's just not Christmas. Two years ago, it didn't snow until Christmas Eve, and I ended up biting all my nails down to the quick with worry. The winters have definitely warmed up here in the Ottawa area. Not anywhere near as cold as they used to be, or as long.

Which kind of works for me, because I'm not getting any younger, and I've always thought I'd like to retire to a warmer climate in my old age, somewhere like Arizona maybe, but at the rate the weather's going, we may be able to just stay here, which would work just as well for me. But, although I'm liking the warmer winters, I definitely still need some snow for things to feel right.

And now Gryphon, our ponderous poodle, is having stomach issues, so I must go tend to his clinginess. You can hear his stomach screeching all the way upstairs. And I've just had the best idea this side of the Ottawa River! With a little maneuvering, I'm thinking I can just get Gryphon to poop into my lab containers, and then the job will be done. It's going to be hard getting him to co-operate, because he's difficult that way, but I'll somehow manage.

Although, now that I think of it, doing that may cause my butt to go into overtime action once again since it will no longer feel the need to stop the production line, seeing as the containers will be filled, and all hell will once again break loose, just in time for our trip.

I can't win.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Lopsided Lactoids Don't Show Up On Passport Photos, Thank God

I have to buy a swimsuit, guys. And the only ones I've found so far are at least $100, which makes me convulse. And what makes my limbs flail about like they're attached to a marionette is this: I can't find one that kindly hides the fact that my chestuals are, shall we say, lopsided.

Okay, there you have it. I've said it. Okay?! Yes, my mammaries are not the same size. Slut, will you still sleep with me in New York City? I promise to keep my lactoids unexposed.

So, like I said, I need a swimsuit, because we're going to Florida in a few weeks, and although I'm sure everyone will be in the hotel pool more than a few times during our stay, I'm not so sure about myself, but I DO know I'll be in the hot tub with a plastic cup filled to the brim with cheap wine. So, I need a swimsuit. The good thing is, I probably won't much care what I look like (because of the cheap wine), so why spend $100-plus on a swimsuit, I ask you.

The problem is, I don't have much choice. The swimsuit I currently have is ripped, and it is also so very obvious that my kazongas are not equal, so honestly, what does a woman do? Go out and spend $100-plus on something she will wear only a few times, that's what.

The most awesome thing is, I already got my hair done, so that huge and most important job has been done. I got a trim and face highlights, and I look amazing. I was very careful to have my hair done this week, giving me the exact amount of time to allow my hair to "settle in", which is a term I use for haircuts, by which I mean said hair is no longer in that "freaking out of its brains" stage after the scissor action. You all know what I mean, right? You know how your hair doesn't know what to do when you first get it cut, and it waves where it never usually waves, or it's straight when usually it's always frizzy? Well, that's what I mean by settling in. My hair takes at least a week of freaking out before it settles in. Hence, the importance of having said hair done at this time, so that it's in perfect and proper form when we travel ,because the paparazzi will be out, guys.

Now, I just have to get through a few doctor appointments, and find our suitcases, pack the bags, and we're off. Oh, and find a walker for the dog, and get our passports, and find a make-up bag for myself that will hold my Drawer of Face, and get everything (including gifts for everyone) for Christmas, because there will nay be time for any gift shopping or holiday preparations once we return.

On a less stressful, more productive note, there may be a light at the end of the proverbial tunnel in regards to my most recent digestive issues. I've been to the doctor (thank you to everyone for their concern and suggestions), and am going for more tests.

The best thing is, I told the doctor we were going to Florida, and I had to be better by then, and he promised me I would be. He promised me, guys. And he didn't have his fingers crossed behind his back or anything, so I know I'll be 100 % by the time we leave, which is really soon.

You always have to look at the bright side of things, you know.

Monday, November 23, 2009

My Brain Has Exploded

Here I sit, brokenhearted. Paid a dime, only ... Wait! I sort of went off on a tangent there. What I MEANT to say was: Here I sit, brokenhearted, waiting for my intestines to stop cramping so that I can plan my day, seeing as I've spent the past three days prostrate on either the couch or an unmade bed, writhing in pain as I battle yet another migraine IN ADDITION to the continuing saga of the uncooperative abdominal cavity.

It's quite disconcerting, really, because you see, I have so much to do in the next couple of weeks that, when I think about it too much, I get all discombobulated (even more than usual) and I end up having a panic attack, which makes me have to lie down in the fetal position and suck my thumb while I watch The Duggars on 18 Kids and Counting over and over again.

It would really be enough to say that Christmas is just around the corner, and with that, all the stress. We here take the Christmas season very seriously. Let me just say that, without Christmas, our lives have no meaning. It's a grey, grey world out there without the promise of the Christmas season and all its glory. And for us, it's not about the gifts. It's about family and friends getting together, listening to jolly Christmas music, watching Christmas movies, and eating lots and lots of multi-orgasmic-creating food and baked goods. I also lovelovelove turning off all the lights, turning on the Christmas tree lights, and taking out my contact lenses and looking at the tree all blurry-like, because that just makes it that much more magical. Try it, you'll see what I mean. Better than drugs.

So, I haven't really even begun the Christmas shopping which, this year, is pretty much all my responsibility since I'm not working at the moment and Mr. Handsome is working more than any human should be able. I haven't even made my list of Christmas card people yet, and that in itself is making me shake with panic.

On top of all this -- yes, there's more! -- is that we're going to Disney World in December, and THERE IS SO MUCH TO DO THAT I HAD TO WRITE ALL OF THIS IN CAPS JUST SO THAT YOU UNDERSTAND THE FRIGHTENING MAGNITUDE OF IT ALL.

And, I still have to get my hair trimmed and highlighted so that I look all magnificent for Mickey.

Excuse me while I go put on some more antiperspirant and scrape my face off the floor.

And, of course, I'm pretty much in charge of getting the four of us ready for Disney World. Not that I'm complaining, but I guess I am, in a way. Sorry. It's just, when you have panic attacks at just the thought of having to go to the grocery store for some milk, having to plan a whole family trip AND Christmas kind of makes my entire brain go haywire, and all my synapses just kind of shut down, go KABLOOEY!, creating a Domino effect of sorts which, in turn, cause my guts to turn inside out, and henceforth and heretofore, my anus to tremble and, eventually, explode.

And our toilet is STILL broken.

I have to go lie down now.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

I Am Truly Blessed

If you've read my blog for a while, you'll know all too well I try to inject a little humour (yes, that's what it's supposed to be ... now you know you're supposed to laugh) into my posts, regardless of how mundane or solemn their topics might be.

Lately, however, I've been finding it kind of difficult to come up with the funnies. I can't explain it. These crazy and strange ideas usually just fly off the tip of my skull and onto the page without much effort at all, but recently, it's been a chore. A real chore.

It's very hard being funny. And I don't mean funny-looking, because I do that real well. Funny-sounding, I also get top marks for. Especially lately, with my toiletting dilemmas. By the way, our upstairs toilet broke yesterday morning. And yes, I seem to have broken it, although Mr. Handsome thought it was his doing until I opened my big mouth and corrected him. If only I could learn to keep my huge gob shut once in a while and allow the perfect image of me to live just a little longer in his mind. Mr. Handsome said the toilet handle thingy broke right off the other doodad inside (that's Plumber Speak). Just snapped. I'm sure it's most probably due to all my recent toilet usage over the past seven weeks. Explosive and uncontrollable diarrhea will do that to a person, and apparently to a toilet, too.

My only question is: When will our plumbing woes ever end?

So, getting back to what I was actually first talking about before I got into nasty toilet talk (which I seem to do an awful lot of lately, don't I?), I was saying it's hard trying to be funny at the best of times, but when you're not feeling particularly fun or funny, it's only that much more difficult.

I'm hoping, as I do for my seven weeks of Hershey squirts, that this too is only a small phase in this huge thing called Life. Because, really? I have nothing to NOT smile about these days: both my kids are happy and healthy; Mr. Handsome is my knight in shining armour; I have the best friends in the world; we're going to Disney World in less than three weeks; I'm going to New York City for the first time in my life next spring with my friend Slut and her crew; Christmas (my favourite time of the year) is just around the corner; I have a job, and possibly two; I am warm, clothed, and have as much (and more) food than I know what to do with. And, although I can't say I'm healthy, I'm certainly doing okay and could be so very much worse when I look at the big picture. I'm not in a hospital bed, hooked up to tubes, like my blogging friend and fellow cancer mom Anissa, a young mom who just had a massive stroke a couple of days ago and is struggling at the moment. Please send her your love.

I can't complain at all.

And so, although at the moment I may not be able to make people chortle with my crazy and off-the-wall sense of humour and lack of discretion, I will keep on keepin' on, and take it one day at a time, and remind myself of how very lucky I truly am.

And, I know that, in time, the humour and silliness will come back full throttle. Take this as fair warning.

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Gnawed Digits

It's hard to keep a blog going. God help me. I only do three posts a week, for god's sake. You'd think I'd be able to at least manage that. But nooooo, I can't. That's probably because I'm still on the toilet 20 times a day.

But, at the time of this writing, my explosive diarrheaic episodes seem to be waning. For the past two days, I'm down to about five explosions per day, which is a miracle of sorts, I'd have to say. Now, if I could only get the 15 nightly implosions that continue to barrage my insides as I try to sleep, I'd be one happy camper.

I'm not sure why I feel so stressed lately, but I know I am, because my fingertips are bloody. Apparently, I've adopted this relatively new habit of gnawing on them until all the skin is gone and all that's left is exposed, raw flesh. It even hurts to type, which, now that I think of it, may be why I've only been posting once a week.

I'm wondering if maybe it's because I'm a bit on the depressed side, and have not even the energy to get off my proverbial behind most days and write a little something, let alone brush my teeth. I have nothing to say, and I honestly don't want to burden anyone with my solemnity, so instead, I watch endless episodes of Brothers and Sisters and gnaw on my fingers.

Why are you sad, you ask? Why, you're going to Disney World in only a few weeks. You recently got a part-time job, and may soon be getting another job. Christmas is just around the corner! The best time of the year! You have a family that loves you, and a husband who adores you, your kids are both healthy and happy, and ...

The answer, of course, is, I don't know. I just am. And, while I'm at it, is it possible to feel sad and happy/satisfied at the same time? Because I can tell you that I feel like that a lot too. I won't blame you if you are now shaking your head and rolling your eyes and totally giving up on me.

There's no rhyme or reason to these feelings I have, it seems. They just are. I'm still thinking they're at least partially due to the hormones raging inside me, trying to figure out how to work this whole thing called peri-menopause. Because these feelings of sadness and anxiety are not the same as the sadness I've felt in the past. I can't really explain it. I just know it.

I will, however, try harder to keep up with my blog posts, because this blog saves me. I feel good when I write here, and it makes me feel better knowing that there are people out there who care, and who actually want to read me. So, to all of you, thank you so much.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some toes to gnaw.

Sunday, November 8, 2009

Dial "D" For Diarrhea And Disney!

It's been a week since I last posted anything about my amazingly exciting life, and for that, I apologize profusely. I've been so crazy busy, though, that I'm surprised I'm still thinking straight.

Okay, I lied. I haven't been busy at all. Not really, anyway. Unless, of course, you consider sitting on the toilet for 16 out of 24 hours every day busy, moaning as your insides are no longer inside. That awful noise you heard the other night that woke you out of your wonderfully deep sleep? Yeah, that was me. On the toilet.

I'm STILL sick, and I'm sick and tired of being sick...and tired. I finally got in to see my doctor, and told him I've had this stomach thing going on four weeks now, and isn't enough enough when it comes to diarrhea? And you know what? He agreed. There is, in fact, a stomach virus making the rounds in the nation's capital, but four weeks is still an awfully long time. He told me to take some Imodium to try and settle things down, and then, if things don't improve in a week's time, come back and see him. Well, they're not getting any better, folks. Story of my sad and sorry life. He also said if it doesn't get better, I have to get my Hershey Squirts examined. Oh, how I envy the technician that gets my sample.

And aren't you glad you visited my blog today?

Apart from having to be near a toilet 24/7, things have just been dandy for me. Our new dishwasher finally got installed, and I've already named it: Sparky. Because this dishwasher has saved my life and my nerves. There is nothing worse than having to listen to your children bicker every day because they have to wash the dishes by hand, unless you include having to re-wash the same dishes yourself because your children don't care to actually make sure the dishes are clean before putting them away. I love my new dishwasher. Let's hope it lasts longer than the last one.

The whole family also went to get their H1N1 shot on Saturday, and wasn't that more fun than a trip to Disney World (speaking of which, more on that in a minute). There's been a whole lot of kerfuffle here about the H1N1 shot, and the wait times, the line-ups, and we've been patiently waiting for the right time to go, seeing as three out of four of us have underlying conditions which make us part of the population who get their shot before "the regular folk". Yes, that means we're better than they are.

Anywearespecialhaha, everyone gets their shot without a flinch passing before their eyes, and then it's Dee's turn, and all hell breaks loose faster than you can say "what the hell?". He starts shaking and crying and says over and over that he doesn't want the shot, and I keep telling him he has no choice, and the tears are just streaming down his pudgy little cheeks, and I feel so sorry for the poor little guy because he's been through enough in his short life, and then, it's over and he wipes the snot off his face and pouts for the rest of the day. But he lived through it.

Mr. Handsome's mom came along with us, and boy, she attracts drama like a honeysuckle draws bees. Because soon after she got her shot, she reads the paper they give out talking about side effects and stuff, and all of a sudden she's not feeling so well -- kind of dizzy and hot -- so I go tell one of the many paramedics who were sitting around (and not one of them were hunky, goddammit), and they made her lie flat on the floor with her feet up on a chair in front of everyone in the room. And how embarrassing is that?! Very. Poor woman. After getting crapped on by the nurse there because momma hadn't had anything to eat, and having some orange juice to perk up her system a bit, we were on our way home again.

But the creme de la creme, guys, is this: we're going to Disney! We've been a few times now, but man, that place does something to us. Are we the only ones who feel this way about Disney World? We had no emotional anything toward this place before our first trip back in 2002, through Make-a-Wish. But let me tell you, that trip did it for us. Because ever since then, we've been Disney Crazy. Especially Mr. Handsome, of all people. If you knew Mr. Handsome like I know Mr. Handsome, you would understand. Mr. Handsome's "other" name is Dr. Spock, guys. Does that give you a clue?

Anyway, we're going to Disney, a very spur-of-the-moment, last-minute decision, based on nothing but our stress levels over the past half year or so. That, and the fact that we haven't had a real vacation in over four years. Not to mention hotel prices and airline costs are next to nothing right now, and we already have Disney passes from our last trip that we didn't use up. And the library job I interviewed for -- I got the job, and it doesn't start until sometime in 2010! All these facts pretty much made up our minds for us.

Now, as long as my tummy rumblings are cured before the trip, I'll be a happy camper. If not, I'm thinking Depends.

Monday, November 2, 2009

Hallowe'en Is Just A Reflection Of My Daily Life

I took great joy in watching two crows throw our garbage across our lawn last Thursday morning.

Because, as I watched one crow stand on our recycling bin and gingerly pick up one piece of paper after another, and throw it off the side of the box and onto the lawn, the only thing I could think of was my wonderful neighbour coming over as soon as she had a moment and picking up all our garbage so that our lawn would look presentable to her again. And that, my friends, made my day complete.

And then I wondered why the crow was doing that in the first place. The only thing I could think of was that this fine crow had, in fact, a great sense of humour. Subsequently, I wanted to meet this crow and take him out for a drink.

Mr. Handsome (who spent Thursday morning at home recuperating from his workshop, which went quite well) then ran out in his underwear and shouted obscenities at the crows, and my entertainment for the day ended. He's such a spoilsport.

Then I thought that perhaps these crows were there as a sort of omen, as crows are, if you didn't know. You know, trying to tell us something. What, I have no idea. But something for sure. Maybe that Hallowe'en was just around the corner? Maybe that we needed to tidy our front lawn? We'll never know.

My thoughts then fumbled over to my oral French test that I was scheduled to have Friday, for a government job for which I've been in the running for for the past 10 months or so. No, I am not exaggerating. These clerical positions take time to fill, don't you know. They can only choose the best of the best clerks to type forms and answer phones. Yes, I'm getting tired of it all.

So, although I'd been trying to practise my French as much as possible, and listening to French television (which is EXTREMELY strange and utterly borrrrring), I didn't feel ready for it, but I thought I'd be fine. They were, after all, simply trying to assess me. What's the worst they could do? Well, not offer me a job, I suppose.

The test went relatively well, and I should know in a few weeks what my score was. It was actually more stressful getting back to my car afterwards because it was pouring out, and I hadn't brought my umbrella with me, and I refused to get my hair wet because I was having a relatively good hair day, and those days are few and far between, so I grab them with gusto whenever they actually occur.

On a brighter note, Mr. Handsome and I took the gang to a haunted farm on Friday night, and for $19 a head, we could wander through a barn of fright, a field of screams, and a haunted hayride. Of course, Dee refused to participate in anything but the hayride, and that's only because he assumed the hayride was innocuous. HAH! The poor little child. We spent the better part of half an hour holding onto our seats as the tractor sped through dark and scary fields and forests, slowing down so that the odd ghoul and zombie could come at us. I think Dee's scarred for life.


Entering the Land of Never Return...

And then, of course, Halloween happened. This is the first year since Em was born that both Mr. Handsome and I could both stay at home and give out candy together! You could taste the excitement in our home as we looked forward to having a couple of hours of alone time, such as it is, if you can call it that. For some strange reason, we've had less and less kids coming to the door on Halloween the last few years. I was sure this year would be one of those years, mostly because of the H1N1 scare that's surrounding us, and I was right. Only about 15 kids came to the door, and most of them were too old to be trick or treating in the first place.

Em and Dee had fun going out together, which they haven't done together in a few years. This is probably Em's final year trick or treating, although she enjoys dressing up, and the candy (of course). Her costumes are always a hit.



And Dee, I'll never figure out. Because, although he shies away from anything that could even scare him a little bit, he always seems to choose the scariest costume to wear, replete with machetes and knives and lots of blood and gore.



Whatever happened to fairies and butterflies and pretty pink unicorns?



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