Yes, I really said that

Every once in a while, I’ll tell my sister a story and her response is “Did you really say that?”  The answer has always been yes. I guess she asks because whatever I said seems like a completely ridiculous thing to say to another person.

But. I maintain that I live in some kind of bizarro world where people often say things to me that are completely out of order, but act like it is the most normal thing in the world to say to another person:

So Tuesday, I had to go run errands. I have a dress which I LOVE, but is ridiculously unflattering. It makes my boobs look HUGE (okay, yeah…I have huge boobs, but even bigger than normal) and its unflattering tummy-wise. Why did I go out in it? Because I don’t care. It’s comfy, and it was first thing I saw.

ANYWAYS, I ran into my sister-in-law. Who ended up needing a ride, so I dropped her at my FIL’s house. And her aunt was there.

An aunt, who, I would like to add, has known me for enough years to know that I am in NO WAY planning to have any other kids.

Aunt: Oh look at you. What is *THIS*?

And then you guys? SHE RUBS MY BELLY.

Okay. Now I’m going to interject to say TWO THINGS:

  1. Every woman should know NOT to assume another woman is pregnant.
  2. Just because you are older than I am (60ish to my 30ish), doesn’t NOT mean that I’m just going to stand there and let you insult me.

Me: Yeah, that’s fat. [And then I rubbed her belly RIGHT BACK.]

Just like that. Only smaller.


I actually think that was an appropriate response to that sort of question. I sort of feel like if you feel like it’s okay to say these kinds of things to me, I’m allowed to respond in kind. No?

How sick is sick?

Blah blah blah, surgery



The funny thing is, when I first got my disability information for surgery I was like, ” THE FUCK they mean a whole month? What exactly are they doing that I’m going to be off for that amount of time?!”  I started envisioning frankenboob with tubes and such, and me lying in bed in horrible agony because why else would I have so much time off to heal?

And then I had surgery. Which, you know… was surgery. The first day, @laprimera hand delivered these babies from @emmiej and @undomesticdiva. Which I …and The Man, enjoyed. I even tweeted about them. High on Vicodin, because I HAD SURGERY GUYS. I’m not a machine.

But then I felt weird because I had surgery. I am SUPPOSED to be in agonizing pain, right?  Too hurt to do anything but pop pills and sleep. Too broken to send daily (okay, every other day) emails for Black History Month? Which, I also send to my manager, WHO KNOWS THAT I’M OUT FOR A MONTH.


I’m in pain, don’t get me wrong. But not it’s debilitating. I am capable tweeting and tumbling my heart out. I can have visitors; I can still walk around.

I’m in purgatory: Too sick to really do anything, but too well to sit around on my ass all day. It sucks. Because I want to do more, but I can’t really. Or at least I can’t without being in pain.

I had a doctor’s appointment today. That I went to alone, like a big girl. I drove myself, and reported back to The Man because he had to work. And then I had to go to class because I can sit in the back of the class and zone out just as well as I can sit and stare into space at home.

Yes, in case you were interested, I’m in some pain. NO, I’m pretty sure it’s not gonna kill me. Though to be honest, I wouldn’t mind some ice on it and some tylenol. But I’ll be home in hour. And when I get there I will pop a pain pill and settle into bed for a nap.

And until then, I’m going to assume that whoever thought a month was how long it was going to take me to feel like myself knew what the fuck they were doing, and stop feeling guilty for the things that I *do* feel well enough to do.

Hopefully this will include Jack Daniels soon enough.


My (not so lumpy) lady lumps

Okay, really.

This is pretty much THE LAST POST about my boobs. It’s really just an update, for all the people who may have been “WELL? DID YOU HAVE SURGERY OR NOT?!”

I did.

Easy peasy. Done in outpatient surgery. Sent home with a bucket of Vicodin and an ice pack.

I’ve got a month off to recuperate. And catch up on my homework. And TV shows that I’ve been DVR’ing, but not watching. And do things during the day that I’d normally have to take time off to do. That, of course, will be after I feel better, but before I have to return to work. I’m hoping that this will work out to be at least 2 weeks.

In the meantime, The Man has been making sure I take my meds, feeding me and checking in on me from time to time. And of course, providing sympathy when required:

Me: This newest scar is not pretty at all.

The Man: I think it gives you character.

Me: Really..?

Him: Yeah. You can just tell people you got stabbed in the tit in a bar fight.

Yeah, that’s my man y’all. He always knows just what to say to make me feel better.



The one where I take more pictures…

The last time I did the picture challenge, I didn’t finish. But I had a lot of fun trying.

This month, Miss and Megan and their love of all things Friends brought this particular photo challenge. So I’m trying again. And with all of my free time, this should be easy right?

I guess we’ll see.

Day 1

I don’t ever drink coffee drinks at home. BUT. This coffee mug with my friends doing headstands on it? Is my favorite coffee mug ever.

Wanna join? Follow the hashtag #FRIENDSpc and add your pics to the Flickr pool.