Holy Mackerel

Mr. Handsome, while brushing his teeth: You know, I keep forgetting. Me: What? Mr. Handsome: I keep forgetting...brush teeth first, THEN have a crap.

Amidst all the crap that was last week, the worst thing that happened finally happened: our first, and oldest, pet passed away. You know how sometimes you just know that something really bad is about to happen? Or how sometimes you just know that someone (or something) is going to die shortly? Well, I had that feeling about Furry, our guinea pig. The six months or so, she was moving a little slower, sleeping a little more, and losing a bit of weight. We started giving her more food by hand because we thought that perhaps Mo, our 2-year-old guinea pig from hell, was stealing all the food (because she does). I'd sit with Furry and she'd nibble on pieces of cucumber (from the middle part out) or green pepper, as pleased as a pig can be. Although she never really gained back any weight, she seemed fine otherwise. Totally happy, eating, drinking, curious, doing all the normal piggy things. But all along, I watched her, because something told me her time was coming. It wasn't...

Like it's not bad enough that I struggle daily to keep up with my mammoth studies of anatomical drawings of men's gargantuan genitalia, but now the final exams are looming, I still can't lift a 200-pound person in a chair up two flights of stairs, and my arthritis has flared up to an entirely new level of agony and utter torment. That is probably one of the worst parts of having arthritis: the routine unpredictability of it. For weeks, nay months, I can feel pretty damn good. I am never without pain (that would be waaay too much to ask for, of course), but then, almost overnight, I will wake up and feel nothing but. Last night, I took codeine and some Tylenol so that I could actually fall asleep and maybe get a few hours without the gnawing of my joints waking me up (or keeping me up), but even that was apparently too much to ask for. This strange thing happens now and again when I take codeine, and the fact that I never know when it's going to happen makes my life ...

Note to Mr. Handsome: Read this post at your own risk. Don't blame me if you fall over in a dead syncopic episode due to extreme prudishness. I've finally figured out a way to totally gross out Mr. Handsome, and make him pray for freedom from the chains of marriage.  You may think that an odd statement regarding one's spousal unit, but then, you obviously just don't know enough about Mr. Handsome's and my relationship, for our relationship is entirely based on one-uppance. And that is why it's worked for so many years. Either that, or we're insane, which is probably very true as well. Every week at school, we have a class called Medical Terminology, whereby we have to study some body system, learn the spelling and meaning of all the words, and then spew them out during the weekly test. So much fun. Seriously. Especially when said system for the week is the male reproductive system, in all its infinite glory. The other evening, I sat down to go over the...

If it wasn't bad enough that I had a wee eyeball issue last week, as well as a major toothache that is still rearing its ugly head with pain, I came home today to dog crap on our living room carpet. Five nicely-shaped nuggets of the canine variety, more specifically, poodle-like. Oh, yeah. And no one saw it until I came home. Strange coincidence.  Guess who picked up the chocolate bananas? Yup. While I wore my paramedic uniform, no less. That's how brave a medic I am. In addition to the rather large Tootsie rolls on the carpet, this week also brings a megaload of tests. I had one today to make up for the one I missed last week because of my stupid eyeball. I have one tomorrow that should be fine, and is supposed to be written, although the teacher's definition of "written" isn't written at all. More like fill in the blanks and match some words and definitions. Wednesday brings us a test on the male reproductive system, and we all know what that means. Lot...

That does it. As if it wasn't enough that two of my teeth decided to give me grief the other day...Now I have to go to the hospital to get my eyeballs checked out because I think I may have another retinal detachment happening, which wouldn't be a good thing, in case you were wondering. Looks like the Cloud of Doom has decided to sit right on top of me and give me just a little more grief. Yeah, sure. Bring it on. I love grief. And doom. And then the dog vomited. And peed. On our living room carpet. Again. Now all I need is a couple of Jehovah's Witnesses coming to my door with pamphlets on how I too can be saved...