Tuesday, May 20, 2014

Keeping Afloat

This past week I've been drowning in a tsunami of anxiety, and I feel like I'm just now getting my head far enough above the water to catch my breath.  There's just been a lot of shit going on, and I am not a girl who handles chaos well.  Or at all.  CHAOS IS NOT MY FRIEND.  Rather than unloading on everybody all the things that have STRESSED ME THE FUCK OUT, I decided to instead tell you the things that MADE ME FEEL THE FUCK BETTER.  Like:

1.  My new mug from Missy. 

Let me tell you folks, there isn't just a "chance" this is wine.  There is also a "chance" this is vodka and watermelon juice, tequila, or whatever-the-fuck-my-hands-grabbed-first-from-the-liquor-cabinet.  BUT NOBODY REALLY KNOWS, RIGHT?  BECAUSE IT'S IN A COFFEE MUG.  Everybody knows that you can't question someone drinking innocently out of a coffee mug (or a Tervis cup in church during a wedding, for the record).  That Missy, she's a genius.  Love her. 

2.  Drunk dancing with old men.  Specifically, B's 93-year-old Grandpa, Papa.
I would assume that Papa has mad dancing skills.  Unfortunately, I did not get to find out because his walker was in the way and B blocked me before I could fling it to the side and snatch Papa up and teach him how to twerk.  Apparently, twerking with Papa is frowned upon at family weddings (and most other events including, but not limited to, Easter and Christmas).

3.  Mimi, my Emotional Support Animal (certified and trained, obviously).
I know this look well.  It's the "feed me or I'm gonna cutta bitch" look.  I get this a lot.  SHE STILL MAKES ME HAPPY.  She's deaf, mostly blind, can no longer jump up on the furniture or climb steps well, she snores like a lumberjack, and she prefers to ignore me unless it's mealtime.  But I love her dearly.  I've always had a penchant for loving things that didn't love me back.

4.  Knowing that Belly has a clear career path.
It breaks my heart to say that I actually MISSED THIS GOING DOWN.  But, as the story goes, my daughter was on a porch full of drunk adults, hula hooping for money.  Like, people were THROWING CASH AT HER.  I swear to God this is true.  The kid came home with $20.  I can't wait to see what she can do on a pole in Vegas when she's 18.  I'm a proud mother.

5.  Seeing Lola engrossed in Game of Thrones.
Obviously, God created "special" dogs for "special" people.  Like this.  Lo's got her mind on the Iron Throne and the Iron Throne on her mind.  If I had the ability to relax to this extent, I would be set for life.

6.  This shit.
I know you're waiting on me to say something clever here, but I got nothing.  I got nothing but WHAT THE FUCK?

7.  'Cause 7's a good number.
Judging by Bell's hula hooping skills and Potamus's adoration of Bell, I suspect that Potamus may someday too earn her Benjamins in an under-the-table-with-no-taxes-taken-out sort of way.  Yeah, that's a sequin beret on her head.  Yeah, she has a stuffed toy named "Gangsta Bunny."  I'm not only a proud mother, I'm also a proud aunt.  My family rules.

Cheers to not drowning :)  Happy Tuesday.

Wednesday, May 7, 2014

Just Say No, or: The Lesson That Never Stuck With Me

Every now and then, people want to know if I'm dead.  Then I have to pop in and be all like, "No, I'm not dead.  I mean, I DID grate my thumb half off with the cheese grater when I was making chicken parmesan for dinner, but it wasn't even a near-fatal accident."  It would probably make more sense to mention that I've just had a lot of shit going on.  And when I have a lot of shit going on, I just don't blog much.  (I also don't blog much when I'm sad,usually, but I'm not sad right now, just incredibly busy.  Although if you were concerned that I'm sad and wanted to send me flowers, go right ahead!  I love flowers!  Ooh-- I've also been sick a lot, which keeps me from writing and is another great reason to send me  flowers!)  Because I'm busy, you've all been deprived of my awesomeness and, I suspect, are likely sitting by your computers waiting on a Google Alert to tell you that I've blogged and told you how we got off the side of the road in Siena and what happened for the remainder of the Italy trip back in October.

Yeah.  Sorry.  I'll get around to it soon enough.  Probably.

And I don't even know how Google Alerts work or what they do exactly, I just know that I hear celebrities say all the time in interviews that they have Google Alerts set on themselves, which makes me automatically assume that EVERYONE ELSE IN THE WORLD knows what Google Alerts are and how they work and whether or not I'm even imagining that they work the way I think they do and can alert you when I've blogged.  Shit.  I think I've given myself a stress headache trying to figure this out. 

On top of that, THIS  blog, detailing my non-death, will probably get, like, seven hits because I'm not FB-ing it, because I just kind of threw my hands in the air and gave up on FB one day a few weeks ago with the exception of yesterday when I was bored and hijacked B's phone (which still has FB on it) to tell my friend E how completely unacceptable it is to NOT like Trader Joe's.  Seriously.  WHO DOESN'T LIKE  TRADER JOE'S?  I'm all about supporting the non-conformist, but not liking Trader Joe's is just taking it too fucking far.

But on to my story.

Last week I had to see a doctor as a new patient, so I had all that ridiculous paperwork to fill out.  Seven pages of shit that nobody ever reads (except the insurance info-- you KNOW they read that), proven when the nurse asks you the SAME questions in the exam room that you've already answered on the paperwork, then writes it down only to be followed by the doctor coming in and asking you the SAME QUESTIONS AGAIN because he's too damn slack to read your chart first.  I KNOW YOU'RE BUSY, DOCTORS.  WE ALL ARE.  PULL YOUR SHIT TOGETHER AND READ YOUR DAMN CHARTS.  THAT'S YOUR JOB.  Anyway, I filled it out and eventually was taken to the exam room by a large, black woman who was probably in her mid-fifties.  She put the blood pressure cuff on me and popped a thermometer in my mouth.  Then this went down:

Nurse:  Do you smoke?

Me:  (Mumbling around the thermometer.)  No.

Nurse:  PUT THAT BACK IN YOUR MOUTH.  Have you EVER smoked?

Me:  Yeah.  (Thermometer beeps and she takes it out.)  But just pot.  Not like, cigarettes, or crack.  Or meth, either, now that I think about it.  Did you KNOW you can SNORT meth?  I learned that from watching "Breaking Bad."

Nurse:  (Completely ignoring me and writing something on my chart.)  WAIT A MINUTE.  (Nurse gets visibly agitated.)  Girl, it asks here if you've ever done illegal drugs and you checked YES.

Me:  THAT'S WHAT I JUST SAID.  Yeah.  I mean, I have.  I don't anymore, but I have, so I just told the truth.


Me:  Oh.  But that's a lie.  I figure the question is there for a reason.  What if I said no and then you guys gave me some kind of crazy meds that interfered with the drugs that might have at one time been in my system and I DIED?  WHAT ABOUT THAT?  Somebody told me once that some drugs leave residue in your spinal fluid.  Do you know if that's true?  WHAT IF THAT'S TRUE AND YOU GAVE ME SOMETHING AND IT INTERFERED WITH MY SPINAL FLUID AND I DIED?

Nurse:  Like what?  What would we give you?

Me:  I DON'T KNOW.  I'M NOT A PHARMACIST.  JESUS.  Do you want a list of all the drugs I've ever done?  I can name them off, but if you need the scientific names I may need to use Google.  Although, depending on how drug-educated the  doctor is, we may or may not be okay with the information I can provide.  I'm reasonably smart and have a decent memory.

Nurse:  Mmmh-hmmm.  (Stops writing.)  Are you doing drugs NOW?

Me:  NO.  I ALREADY SAID NO.   I haven't done drugs in years and then it was only experimental with friends and stuff.  I wasn't a junkie or anything.  It was practically two decades ago.

Nurse:  (Writing again.)  No.  We're just gonna change this answer from yes to no.

Me:  Why?  That seems dumb.  I'D BETTER NOT DIE.

Nurse:  (muttering to herself)  GIRL AIN'T GOT NO SENSE.

*In case you're curious, the doctor either didn't notice the answer had been changed-- which would have looked pretty damn suspicious to me if I was a doctor-- or he didn't care.  Maybe he was high.  He did, though, seem extremely nervous, which I like to attribute to the fact that the nurse may have tipped him off that I was crazy before he ever came into the exam room.