The one where I cry my way out of a copay.

So, I recently gave the dentist all of my money and now I'm suffering for it.

Ever since that evil bastard put my nice purdy permanent bridge thingy on, I've been unable to eat watermelon. Or ice cream. Or enjoy a cold beer. Or a glass of refreshing cold water.

You get the idea. I'm super sensitive to all things cold. Well, really...all things. Eating anything causes some pain. The cold stuff just causes the really bad pain where I'm sobbing as I try desperately to finish eating that one little piece of watermelon that is just so perfectly sweet.

Damn that dentist bastard!

The other kind of pain is not sob inducing. But, it does linger on and on with a constant throb and ache that just makes me really grumpy and mean to everyone. It also causes the occasional sob session. One can take only so much throbbing.

Giggity.

But not really, because...ouch.

So, I returned to the Bastard Dentist to find out what the hell is going on. The receptionist felt sorry for me and told me to come in at 3. Being the prompt little patient that I am, I was there at 2:50.

I'm such a suck up.

By 3:45, I was still in the waiting room. Being a suck up really doesn't pay off.
After reading all of the current news from 2001, I decided to spend my time focusing on my surroundings.

Here are some of the lovely things that went through my mind as I did that...

That's a cute purse. It would be cuter if you would stop fidgeting because you've been waiting for 7 minutes. I've been waiting for an hour. Fidget on that, you stupid fidget faced fidgeter.

God, this carpet is ugly.

Wow. Really? Nothing says manly like kelly green flip flops. I have to see the whole ensemble. (turning my gaze upward) Holy sh*t! It's a freakin pink shirt with kelly green stripes. HA! Omg. If MB ever...well, he would just never.

Also, Pink Boy, if your wife complains of being hot one more time, I'm throwing this fake tree at her. You know, if she took off 3 of her 7 layers of makeup, maybe she wouldn't be so hot.

Hey! The blue bruise on my toenail matches the blue in my flip flops! I wonder how awkward it would be if I took a picture of my toe right now?
That reminds me...never try to pick up an 80 pound bag of concrete mix ever again.

Heehee. That guy has a planner. I love his nerdy, nerdy ways. I want to pull out my planner so we can be planner buddies. Nerds unite!
I don't think he would know the secret handshake though.

Oh sh*t! Pink Boy and his Layer Faced Wife live in my neighborhood. Dammit. I wonder if I've ever flipped them off. No more eye contact with them. Just in case.

I've been here forever. Hey Bitcho Receptionist who told me to be here at 3: knock off $20 for every 5 minutes you make me sit here and I won't make a scene.

Hygienist lady (not a bitcho) pops her face into the waiting room. "GB Girl? You can come back now."

Oh thank the sweet lord of all things impatient!

Layer Faced Wife: "GB Girl? That's my name too! How unusual!"

Me: "Oh yeah. That hardly ever happens!"

Sh*t. Now we have to be friends.

Once I got back to the chair of doom, I told the Bastard Dentist and Non-Bitcho Hygienist that I'm in severe pain, especially when anything cold hits my purdy new teeth.

So, what does the Bastard Dentist do?

He proceeds to use something that feels like a tiny sander to 'adjust my bite' as he sprays cold, cold, cold water directly onto my purdy new teeth.

Perfect.

Tears are rolling down my cheeks as he continues to sand down my purdy new teeth and spray cold water right on my sensitive bite bitz.

Oh, I wish I could describe the agony to you, but I'm just not that talented. I can tell you that I wanted to rip that sander out of the Bastard Dentist's hand and sand his freakin eyes out!

But, as I am not blogging this from prison, I can assure you that I did not do that. I simply tried to maintain my composure as I escorted myself to the Bitcho Receptionist's desk to give them more of my money.

I was sobbing by the time I got there. So much so that Bitcho Receptionist commented that it looked like my tooth hurt even more now.

No sh*t!

You are perhaps the most perceptive person I have ever met!
At least she waived my copay. I mean, not forcing me to pay $10 for the pleasure of being tortured is the absolute least you could do. So...thanks?

Non-Bitcho Hygienist came out to check on me. Apparently I was causing a scene. I'm surprised they didn't call the Mobile Crisis Team (where I work) to come and do and intervention on me.

Non-Bitcho Hygienist told me to get a mouth guard because the Bastard Dentist thinks my pain is caused by grinding my teeth at night. I'm not convinced, but I'll try anything at this point. Hell, I'm three sob sessions away from taking a hammer to my purdy new teeth.

A mouth guard sounds lovely.

I'll let you know how that works out for me. MB may find it very attractive. He likes football.

So, do you have any dentist and/or mouth guard horror stories to share?
Do tell...

I feel like I should be wearing a tiara.

All of my efforts to be glamorous yesterday were in vain.

First of all, I didn't shower or put actual clothing on until 2:30pm. I'm pretty sure glamorous people wake up at the crack of dawn and apply outfits and make up and whatnot. They most likely don't spend their days in ratty pajamas watching Nightmare on Elm Street, the 2010 version, feeling sad because Freddy just isn't Freddy.

Anywhymesswithagoodthing, when I finally showered, it took me approximately 27 minutes to find an outfit that didn't make me feel like a fatso. Thank you, Thttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifOM.

Given that my body was disgusting me in every way imaginable, I decided to glam up my face a little. My hair was a lost cause already because it was too hot to blow dry it and the mousse was failing because of the humidity. Frizz fest!

So, I put a little make up on and decided to try out my Infallible lipstick. I bought it awhile ago while delusional enough to think that I could do my own wedding makeup. HA!

Anywho, I figured I'd give it a whirl. Let me tell you, it remained infallible after several kisses lavished on both Ron and the pup, a few unkind comments from Ron (why are you wearing lipstick, it makes you look tired, it looks weird) and several attempts by me to scour it off of my lips after said unkind comments. It truly lives up to it's name.
http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif
*ahem* If anyone from Loreal happens to be slumming it over here at the Bitz and wants to offer me a free wedding makeover, I'm totally in. You do hair, right?

So, off to the mall I went. I needed to take my fancy lips somewhere. I also needed to buy spanx. Not long ago, I purchased a bustier and some legging style spanx for under my wedding dress. After several neurotic trial runs in the privacy of my guest room, while MB is at work, I decided they may not be the best under things for my dress.

Don't get me wrong. I love them. Also, I suffered massive amounts of humiliation to get them. However, I started the question the suckage capabilities of the bustier. I have grown very accustomed to my bodysuit/slip spanx. They suck in everything and I feel sufficiently contained.

Plus, they have easy access in comparison to the legging style spanx. This is going to be important should I have to pee while wearing my dress. I'm pretty sure this is going to come up because it's an open bar. There's no way I can truly get my money's worth of booze and hold it. I'm not a superhero.

So, easy access spanx seemed like the way to go. Now, I own a strapless bra with the full bodysuit/slip spanx as option 1 and the bustier with legging style spanx as option 2. I am truly prepared for all possible fat containment scenarios. Maybe I am a superhero. Or just a girl scout who ate way too many of her cookies and now has to use her preparedness to hide the shame.

Whatever.

While spending way too long in the lingerie section, I was reminded of why I hate spending time in the lingerie section. It's fun at first. You see all these pretty bras...ooh pink...ooh lacy...ooh leopard print...ooh flowery. Then, you realize that these cute little numbers don't come in the DD sizes.

You start looking for the DD sizes and realize that you have left all of the prettiness behind. Ooh...beige. Meeeeeow. Yeah. See how that doesn't really work?

I did manage to find one section of fatso bras that were lacy and supportive and also BOGO half off. I grabbed a couple and got the heck out of there before I made a scene about the discrimination against big boobs and the decline of society. Thank you, TOM.

My day of glamour was not so glamorous after all. Also, blogger is telling me that it's 'glamor' instead of 'glamour'. Well, I think you are wrong and dictionary.com can back me up on that. Also, it's my post. So there.

Dictionary.com doesn't tell you how to spell a raspberry correctly. But, I'm totally raspberrying you, blogger editor.

When you stab someone with a toothbrush, is it bristle side first?

So, I basically let some of the most incompetent people in the world drill into my head today. But, it's cool because I survived. More importantly, they survived.

It all started when I went to the dentist yesterday for my annual cleaning, which was 2 years overdue, but whatever.

I haven't been to the dentist in awhile because the last time I went, they told me I had to have $3000 worth of dental work done. Considering that I am both broke and cheap, I wasn't able to have the work done.

$3000! That's some serious dough!

Anywho, since I'm getting hitched in 109 days, I figured I'd better put a little dough into my smile. Not the kind of dough I've already been putting into it either - chocolate chip, peanut butter, oatmeal raisin - because that wasn't really getting me camera ready.

So, I got scraped and flossed and glossed and all that jazz. The dentist comes in and says hi so I try to ask him what exactly he needs to do to fix my purdy smile. You know, because it's been 2 years and I've completely blocked out what that $3000 was supposed to be for.

I'd like to tell you that he just answered my questions and made me feel all confident in his abilities and whatnot. But, no. He cracked a couple lame jokes, evaded all of my questions and basically left me quivering in the corner, clutching my pretty new green toothbrush and crying for my mommy.

Really? This humorless dickhead is going to be drilling into my head? I don't think so. I can avoid my photographer for 5 hours. No problem.

Ugh.

The hygienist lady sends me out front where I'm introduced to the receptionist, who will henceforth be known as The Bitch Who Deserves a Toothbrush to the Eye (TBWDTE for short).

TBWDTE proceeds to ask me what I'm having done when I try to schedule my super expensive dental work.

Uh...yeah. I don't really know. I just know that your dentist can't tell jokes.

TBWDTE says...'well, let me see what you're talking about'.

Umm. Okay. Sure, I have no problem prying open my mouth for the entire office, waiting room and the impatient patient behind me also waiting to check out to see.

TBDWTE says what she thinks it is and I agree, because that sounds like what he said at one point. She quotes me a price of $685 and proceeds to tell me that I need to pay half of that just to schedule the appointment. Then, I have to pay all of it at the appointment, which can be tomorrow at 10:30.

Um. Er. Uh. $685? Um. Er. Yeah. I'm gonna have to call you tomorrow on that one. You know, because I don't have $700 to pull out of my ass right now and this patient behind me breathes any louder, I'm going to... Yeah. I'll just call in the morning. Thanks. Bye.

I end up scheduling the appointment after I do some maneuvering with the fundage. I also planned ahead and put a little extra in so I could pay half for my next big appointment because, oh yeah there's a lot of work to be done. A LOT!

So, when I go back today, the hygienist lady straps me in and says "So, what are you here for today?"

Are you freakin serious?! Um...yeah. I don't really know what he's doing, but I know I'm doing the left side today.

Hygienist lady seems confused and brings in the doc who says "Oh. You're back. Did you have questions about your appointment yesterday?"

Wtf? Did they bring back Candid Camera and am I in the pilot?Um...no. I'm here to have the left side done.

"Oh great. Let's get you numbed up."

Fantastic.

As I'm reading my National Geographic from 1997 and trying not to slobber all over myself as my lip gets number and number, TBWDTE comes in.

"Hi there. I just wanted to let you know that you aren't having a partial done. You're having a bridge done. That's going to be $1430. Mmmkay?"

Freakin Flosstastic! Are you sh*ttin me?!
That's way higher than what you told me yesterday.

"Yeah. I'm sorry about that."

Holy f*ck! Don't cry in front of TBWDTE. Don't cry in front of TBWDTE.
Umm. I guess I have no choice. You know, because I no longer have control of the left side of my face, you freakin psycho! Way to ask me that question after it's way too late! Dammit!

Back to important nature topics from 1997...in walks someone I assume is the boss of TBWDTE.

"Hi there. I understand there's been some confusion...

Stop right there. Are you going to ask me for more money? As I'm readying to throw the bib down and walk out.

After we got that little money thing worked out, the worst 3 1/2 hours of my life commenced. By 'worked out', I mean that they totally had me in a prone position with a half numb face and their greedy gloved hands into my very empty pockets, leaving me no choice but to submit.

Thanks dickheads. Get me some damn free floss. The good kind.

I'm a trooper though. I put on my Zune to drown out the homicidal thoughts raging through my brain. Also to drown out the drill, but that wasn't as loud as the murderous rage.

Hey. Wanna know the best part?!! Guess who's training to be a hygienist and got to practice on my face?

Yep. The Bitch Who Deserves a Toothbrush to the Eye!

Awesome!

Turns out? She's a weirdo and a total bitch!

She kept making comments like...
"What a great patient you are. So pretty too."
"Don't be mean to her, she's my girlfriend."
"Here. Have some vaseline for your lips. I knew you would like that."

Ick.

Way to take advantage of those who can't fight back.

When it was all over, I was ready to get the hell out of there. I go to leave and TBWDTE says "Thanks for being so awesome."

Yeah. Thanks for being so awkward. Now I want to stab you even more. You take care now. Thanks for the vaseline.

Now, I'm lounging at home. My lip has regained it's feeling and my mouth hurts like hell. But, at least I have a temporary aluminum crown for the next 4 weeks.

That's right. I gots me a mouthful of silver to flash around. I totally want to bedazzle it.

Also, I get to relive this whole experience, wallet raping included, in 4 weeks.

That damn photographer is getting so many close ups of my smile, he's going to want to stab me with...what do they use that's comparable to a toothbrush?

The one where I get to third base in a dressing room.

At least I think it was third base. I was never clear on the whole base thing. I never really liked soccer.

So, y'all know that I'm getting hitched. The big day is October 2, a mere 4 months away. I have done so much already and there is still a ton of stuff to do. Ugh.

One of the first things I was told to do was buy a dress. Apparently, you can't just show up to your own hitching in any old thing you like. You have to be all fancy and whatnot.

Whatever.

My idea of fancy is nice flip flops and the jeans that don't have a hole in the ass. As you can probably imagine, the thought of buying a dress was stressing me out just a little.

Then, I was told that before you buy the dress, you have to get all the under things that you'll be wearing to make the dress look good.

Hell, I was ten steps ahead on that one. Spanx are a part of 90% of my outfits. Wedding dress? You bet your ass I'm getting spanx for that!

So, off to the local lingerie shop I went.

I figured that would be my best option considering that I'm a little top heavy. They don't really stock the stuff for big boobs in the regular stores. They keep just enough on hand for appearance sake, but that's it.

I decided to get the good stuff for the girls. I am getting hitched, after all. That's a special occasion that deserves a little special treatment for the boobs.

Now, I have never been to a lingerie shop. I don't believe my fat ass should ever be in lingerie. I don't feel sexy enough for it. However, I heard that this particular place does bra sizing and whatnot and that's what I wanted.

I've never been truly sized. I was curious.

So, I walk in and I'm immediately greeted by this cute size 2 blonde. I tell her that I want wedding dress under armor and she tells me to follow her.

I figure she's taking me to the rack or something. Instead, she leads me to a dressing room and tells me to strip from the waist up, except for my bra.

Uh. Okay.

I do what I'm told. Then, Blondie pulls out her tape measure and starts to touch me. She measures me as I try to look into the mirror and pretend this isn't the most awkward experience of my day.

She finishes her measuring and then tells me to take my bra off and she's going to get me some things to try on.

Uh. Okay.

I'm left to stand half naked in the dressing room, holding up my boobs which are now unhinged and free to hang loose. Unfortunately, gravity is not kind to us big chested women. This becomes all too clear as I'm struggling to contain the girls while surrounded by mirrors.

Whoever designed these dressing rooms is a freakin sadist.

Walls of mirrors. No magazines. No pretty pictures on the walls. No elevator music. Just you and your fatness, flopping around behind the protection of a pink curtain which isn't even closed all the way.

One slight breeze and all the customers are going to be running from The Blob.

Holy sh*t. Is that really how low they hang now?

If I ever have a daughter, she's wearing a bra 24/7 from birth.

Wow. These jeans are super high waisted. Definitely not the right choice of outfit for such an event.

Maybe Blondie won't notice how frumpy they are.

I wonder if I have any chocolate in my purse. Or booze.

When Blondie returns, my self esteem has definitely started to take a downward turn. I'm feeling old, fat and very out of fashion.

I'm also angry at myself for not keeping booze in my purse. They do make those little bottles. Wtf is my excuse?

Blondie seems to be unaware of my discomfort. Maybe she thinks I normally sweat this much.

Awesome.

She immediately starts to dress me in bustiers. Because, that's exactly what is going to make me feel better about myself. A size 2 blonde wrangling my old lady boobs and all of my flab into sexy bustiers.

Omg. Marriage is hard.

Of course, the first couple don't fit so she has to leave me again to go get some more.

I'm feeling super awkward now so I do what any normal person would do. I pull out my blackberry and seek solace from my smartass friends. When Blondie comes back with more bustiers, I'm texting a friend to tell her that I'm half naked in a dressing room awaiting a size 2 blonde to return for more groping.

My friend's reply? "Dear Penthouse..."

Blondie seemed irritated by my texting.

What the hell else am I supposed to do? Just stare at my saggy boobs and my Mom jeans as I contemplate all of my flaws? I don't think you want to be dealing with the aftermath of that, Blondie. It won't be pretty. Distraction is required.

After several more gropings and near meltdowns, Blondie and I decided on a bustier and some spanx. I felt sufficiently sucked in and sexy in both items. I gotta give Blondie credit for that.

She knows her stuff. Or, stuffing, if you will. HA!

After I had made my decisions, she leaves me to get dressed. When I exit the dressing room, she is waiting for me at the register.

As I walk up, she says "Hi. How are you doing today?"

Seriously?!

Maybe I'm confused. Weren't you the woman who just felt me up behind that pink curtain? 'How am I doing today?' Sh*t. I'm feeling a little betrayed. Thank you.

I can understand some distancing. That's probably important in a job where you're groping fat chicks and their sweaty parts all day long. You have to maintain some boundaries or things might get weird.

But, seriously?!

Wtf!

Whatever. I paid for my under armor, hiked up my Mom jeans and got the heck out of there with what little dignity I could muster.

I was going to ask her where the nearest bakery was, but decided against it.

(Oh. In case you were wondering...36FF. Yeah. So, there's that.)

Why can't I just buy my $3 wind chimes without incident?

So, I'm in the Dollar Tree yesterday and once again, 'crazy' finds me.

I had been to Lowes and my Jeep was full of opened bags of mulch (they're half price, you know), bird feeders and flowers. Yard beautification was clearly my goal for the day.

Of course, I am on a budget and I still needed some of those hook thingys to hang my bird feeders on. So, I headed to the Dollar Tree. They are super cheap there. Not a dollar, which I think is illegal on some level. Definitely immoral.

Whatever. They were way cheaper than they were at Lowes.

So, I got my hook thingys along with a cute little hanging basket (that was a dollar) and a cool set of bamboo wind chimes (for 3 dollars...wtf?!). I'm sure the wind chimes are going to annoy the hell out of MB, but I like them.

Anyway, I'm at the checkout behind some lady who's buying a crapload of stuff and another lady who's buying 2 packs of Slim Jims.

Maybe she didn't know this was a Dollar Tree and not the mini mart on the corner. I didn't see any junkies hanging out front, peddling their wares. Huh.

So, out of nowhere, I get this whiff of booze.

When did they start selling booze at the Dollar Tree?! I'm all a-tingle for like five seconds. Even though it probably won't be a dollar. Lying bastards.

Then, the source of the whiff makes itself known.

Holy cow! It's a junkie! Maybe I am in the mini mart.

I glance over at the religious/animal/leftover Easter chotchkes just to reorient myself.

The whiff source approaches me and with the scent of alcohol wafting from his every pore, asks if he can cut in front of me and the Slim Jim Lady.

My first instinct is to say 'hell no', because I have yard beautification to attend to and can not be bothered by junkies who want to trample all over that.

However, I deferred to the Slim Jim Lady, since she was in front of me and all. Plus, I was kinda hoping she would have a better filter than I do.

So, Whiff Source is holding this delicate little purple box with flowers on it. I think he should have been holding his pants up so I didn't have to see his underwear, but that's a whole different issue.

Before Slim Jim Lady could even answer his request to cut in line, Whiff Source launches into his sob story. Which, in case you were wondering, we didn't ask for.

Apparently, if he didn't get this delicate little Dollar Tree box (which cost $2.50, I think) to the florist in the next 5 minutes, he was going to lose his girl. Then, he proceeded to tell us how he hoped he would have time to write a note to his girl because he didn't know how else he was going to get her back.

Oh. I don't know. Lay off the booze.

It's freakin 2:30 in the afternoon and you're drunk. It's not the fun kind of early happy hour, karaoke with cute boys and margaritas with cupcakes because it's an Early Happy Hour, Yay! kind of drunk.

This was more of an oh sh*t, I sold all of my girl's Vicodin and then got super drunk while snorting all of her bath salts (it's a real thing - google it) and now she's pissed off, in pain and stinky and she found that other girl's panties in my mouth when I passed out in the front lawn while I was supposed to be taking our love child to preschool and now I need to make a gesture of apology without having to accept any responsibility for my behavior or making any effort to get sober and grow the eff up and the Dollar Tree was the best option within walking distance because I also got my license suspended but my girl doesn't know that yet kind of drunk.

No happy margaritas here.

Of course, Slim Jim lady let him cut in front of us. I think she could sense the level of dysfunction from Whiff Source. The kind of dysfunction that can make someone go from 'excuse me, may I cut in front of you' to 'get the eff out of my way bitch before I cut you over this magical $2.50 relationship saving box' in seconds flat.

Slim Jim Lady and I shared an eye roll and continued on with our days.

I was very tempted to follow Whiff Source, just to see how this little drama all played out. However, I have a feeling that I already know. It's a drama I've seen end in the crisis unit way too many times.

If Whiff Source shows up in my unit this week, I'm going to suggest he run straight to the Dollar Tree and get some Slim Jims. Delicate boxes are nothing compared to sticks of meat.

Obviously, this guy knows nothing about relationships.

So, ladies...which would win you over? Slim Jims or chotchkes?

Do you think anyone would buy my jam?

The universe is just screwing around with me today.

When I went out to warm up my car today, the neighbor kid said hi to me. That's not all that unusual except that he went out of his way to say hi to me. He was running over to the cat hoarder's yard and yelled 'Hi GB Girl!' from across the street.

Odd.

No, he didn't actually say GB Girl. He used my real name. His family knows nothing of GB Girl, which is a good thing. I'd hate for them to learn of my feelings of ick towards their father in that way.

It would just be awkward. Almost as awkward as having their father tell me all his inner secrets while helping me fix my pipes.

Not a euphemism, by the way. Actual pipes.

So, that threw me off guard a little.

Then, I get in my Jeep, plug my zune in, set it to shuffle on my 'Rock Faves' and head to work.

I am greeted with a Lenny Kravitz song and Animal by Pearl Jam. The exact same combination of songs I have been greeted with for the past two days after setting my zune to shuffle on my 'Rock Faves'.

Some sort of sign? But, what could it mean?

Am I destined to be Always on the Run like some sort of Animal? Am I destined to meet someone named Lenny Pearl who will give me millions and change my life forever? Am I destined to invent some sort of Kravitz Jam that will earn me millions and change my life forever?

Endless possibilities.

What flavor would Kravitz be anyway? I would imagine something sultry and savory. With an edge.

Anyway, as I am driving to work, I experience two near miss accidents involving school buses. One bus cuts me off, forcing me to maneuver into the other lane at lightning speed or face death by yellow metal. The second bus swerves over, mere inches from my bumper as it makes a right hand turn.

Awesome. I'm glad that the children of our nation are in such safe hands.

I survive the commute and get to work, settling myself in at an empty desk. As I'm unpacking my breakfast, I notice an ant on my shirt.

Of course, I begin to feel an ant crawling on my boob, behind by knee, on my earlobe and in my armpit.

Great.

Trying to put the thought of ants in very private places out of my head, I check my email.

A friend has sent me an email message telling me to put the name of a fruit in my facebook status to indicate my relationship status and somehow raise money and awareness for cancer research.

I smack myself in the forehead in one of those moments of revelation because it's been plaguing me what the hell it meant when my niece posted 'blueberry' as her status. Now, I know it means 'single'.

For three days, I've been thinking she was pregnant. Other pregnant friends have been posting various fruits to indicate the size of their fetuses. You can see how her 'blueberry' post was concerning.

As I continue on with my emails, I discover a couple daily deals from Groupon and Living Social. One is for pole dancing classes and the other is for spider vein removal.

Seriously?

I'm the chic who just bought the coupon for 1/2 off the Indian buffet and $5 tickets for the local brewery tour. You really think I'm the kind of girl you want to see on the pole?

Especially if I have spider veins intertwined in my cellulite.

Thanks but no thanks.

To top off my morning of weirdness, I lost another follower. What the hell?! I don't even know how to unfollow someone. That's why all the peeps who have unfollowed me are still in my reader. It's like reliving the humiliation and angst all over again every time I open google.

(sigh)

To top it all off, I'm working with a coworker who doesn't eat. At all. She considers a bag of gummy bears to be a meal. So, I feel like a fat pig by eating my salad and orange in her presence.

I'm so done with today.

I don't know what to expect for tomorrow. Can it please involve cupcakes though? Or puppies. That would be nice.

Don't throw the guinea pig out with the bathwater. . .or something.

Hi peeps!

I've been away a few days, if you hadn't noticed.

Things are good. I've just been busy. Work has been busy and I've been out doing stuff most of the week.

I actually did something that I have to share with you all but I'm too tired to do it now. It will have to wait until tomorrow.

Sorry.

I'm trying to stay warm right now because it's freakin cold in here. Earlier, I decided to take a nice hot bubble bath but that didn't work out so well.

MB had taken a hot bath before I did, but I didn't think he had used ALL the hot water. Apparently he did.

(sigh)

My nice hot bubbly de-stressing soak turned into me just sitting in a lukewarm pool of my own filth for no good reason at all.

Not what I was going for.

I think I'm going to go get my snuggi and watch Hoarders while enveloped in it's pink fuzzy comfort.

Actually, I may not watch Hoarders. I'm 15 minutes in to this episode and I'm already yelling at the tv and pulling my hair out.

They're eating dinner in their car for crying out loud! It's the only space they have to eat!! What's for dinner?!?! It's pasta with mayonnaise and peas!!! This is too much for me.

I won't even mention the guinea pig on the bed. It will definitely send me into stroke mode.

I might need another lukewarm filth soak if I don't change the channel soon.

Later peeps.
Hope you are having a good weekend. ;)

The Siberian Princess and projectile poop.

Dear lady from the park today,

I would like to inform you that the park in our neighborhood is not a dog park. If it were a dog park, it would be perfectly acceptable to unleash your dog and allow him to run freely.

However, it is not. You may have noticed this by the fact that none of the other dogs in the park were off their leashes. Just yours.

When you see another dog, who is leashed, approaching your unleashed dog, you really should have the courtesy to leash your dog, even if it is only to allow the leashed dog to pass through without incident.

When you see the owner of said leashed dog, redirecting her dog away from your unleashed dog, who is running wild and being generally unruly, you should take heed of that. This indicates that you should leash your dog.

When you see that your dog is running away from you and over to said leashed dog, and is not responding to your calls to him, you should run after him. And leash him.

When you see that the owner of said leashed dog is trying to position herself between your unruly, unleashed dog who is now running directly towards said leashed dog at full speed, you should probably get your dog. And leash him.

It isn't personal. Not every dog likes to play. Not every dog likes to socialize.
Some dogs, like said leashed and very well behaved dog, happen to be deaf and therefore exist in their own little world. They are often oblivious to the presence of other dogs. When they finally see that another dog is barreling towards them, they are caught off guard and often respond with their teeth.

So, when you see that your dog is about to run directly into the teeth of another dog, you should definitely get your dog. And leash him.

It really isn't fair to make the leashed, very well behaved, deaf dog turn around and go home just because you don't know the rules of dog etiquette.

So, don't cop an attitude with me, lady. If it happens again, that little bag of poop I often have to carry around will be projectiled. I have excellent aim when I am angry. Just saying.

Sincerely yours,
The Siberian Princess' Poop Projectiling Mommy

If I only had a knife.

So, I got approximately 1 hour sleep last night. As you may be aware, I spent the night at work due to the weather and my inability to get home without dying in a snowbank somewhere.

My pup also spent the night with me because I couldn't leave her home alone for 16hours. It's inhumane.

I'll spare you the details, but I basically slept (tried to) in a crappy office chair, gave up due to back discomfort of doom, relocated to the apparently concrete floor, slept in a freezing cold room next to a farting pup, trying not to move at all for fear of awakening said farting pup and having to walk her in the snowpacolypse for the 700th time that night.

Restful.

When I left at 7am to return home and curl up in bed, I was greeted with the task of shoveling my driveway which was knee deep in snow with a lovely 2 foot pile of the plow truck's droppings in front.

If I could've just left my car parked in the middle of the street and gone to bed, I totally would have. Judgey neighbors and their self righteous know it all smirks prevented me from doing that.

So, I found myself trying to shovel through the 2 foot pile of snow sh*t in order to just get my freakin car out of the middle of the street. Once I accomplished that, I then had to shovel enough room for MB to park the jeep when he got home so the neighbors wouldn't be all judgey with him.

Grrrr.

Sleep deprivation and physical labor do not mix. Sleep deprivation and hunger do not mix. Sleep deprivation and back pain of doom do not mix. Sleep deprivation and lack of showering do not mix. Combine all of these things with social interaction and you get the perfect storm for a stabbing.

I'm pretty sure I yelled at my neighbor's kids the fourth time they asked if they could shovel for me. What I really wanted to do was collapse on the couch while they did all the work for me. However, I am unofficially feuding with them and therefore trying to keep my distance.

I also think I accidentally mocked my other neighbor for working in a grocery store. It's kinda okay because I don't like the cat hoarding bastard. It's kinda not okay because he was actually just making pleasant conversation with me for the first time in the 4 years we have been neighbors.

I redeemed myself with the kid because when he came knocking on my door while I was 'on break' and asked again if he could help, I gave in. Then I had to end my break and shovel with him or else it would've been child labor. Or something. I gave him $5.

Of course, that broke my unofficial feud and the accompanying distancing. He interpreted this as being able to jump my fence with his entire family and run through my yard later that afternoon. I think they were looking for their dog who had also jumped the fence. I don't really care.

Boundaries were crossed. I want my $5 back.

I also need to find a new grocery store or wear a disguise when I shop there now that I know the cat hoarder works there.

Sleep deprivation has pretty much ruined my life.

Awesome.

My nips don't lie and I'm ready for surgery.

The thermostat in here says it is 79 degrees. My nipples say otherwise.

So does the cold air I feel blowing out of the heating unit. I swear to all things pointing in opposite directions from my three layers of shirts, it is not freakin 79 degrees in here.

But, whatever.

I guess I'll just get pneumonia and die right here at my desk. Maybe the next shift will be kind enough to realign my nips before MB comes to view my body. I'd hate for that to be the last image he has of me.

I'd also hate for all but three of my coworkers to be doing anything that involves touching my nips. Maybe four.

That's a huge thing to do for someone.

It reminds me of something I was mulling over earlier.

I was watching The Canyon. It's a movie about newlyweds who decide to ride mules into the Grand Canyon (giggity?). All goes well until their guide is rendered...well, dead.

I was going to try and keep from ruining the movie, but I have to say he's dead. Otherwise, this post won't make any sense.

Anyway, this couple is now lost in the Grand Canyon, without their mules and the supplies that were on the mules. They are wandering around, trying to get out and decide to climb up the rocks.

If you really don't want to know what happens next, stop reading. You'll miss out though. Your choice.

So, two dehydrated, hungry, weak, non-climbers try to scale the side of a rock and get to the top of the cliff. Things happen and they fall. No one dies, but the hubby's leg is now wedged between two boulders. Seems that is how you land when you are dehydrated, hungry, weak and have no climbing skills.

The wifey now has to cut the hubby's leg off in order to save his life. Some stuff happens before they come to that drastic decision, but in the name of not spoiling the movie any further, I'm leaving that out.

It really is a good movie and I think you should watch it.

Anyway, it got me thinking about MB and I. If he and I were in the same situation, would I be able to cut off his leg?

The answer is yes.

In fact, I would do it right now. Just give me a reason. I'm ready.

I actually offered to amputate his foot not too long ago when he had a hangnail that was bothering him. That's how much I love him.

I'm not sure if I would be able to perform the emergency amputation without passing out multiple times though. I do have a little bit of an issue with blood. The kind of issue where I faint.

I'm still ready. MB might not be too happy about how long it would take and how painfully slow the process would be. I would imagine suffering through that much excrutiating pain while waiting for me to revive myself and finish the job would make him pretty angry. However, he would be trapped and therefore unable to do anything about it.

So, you're welcome in advance MB. How's that hangnail doing anyway?

Firm handshake or warm hug? Which one gets me hired?

I'm kinda low on inspiration today because my body is slowly being taken over by the plague.

My throat is burning and it feels like I swallowed cinnamon flavored steel wool. I also feel generally achy and grumpy and gross.

No one wants to hear about that. So, I decided to check out The Daily Post at Wordpress.com. They offer up daily topics that you can use if you are stuck or succombing to the plague or whatever.

Today's topic is: Share a story about a memorable job interview.

I happen to have a cute and completely humiliating story about just such an event. I promise there is no phlegm involved.

So, I was just out of college and working as a soda jerk in this little 50's drive in style restaurant at the beach. I was still living there with my parents and had been slinging milkshakes since I was 14. Given that I now had a bachelor's degree, it was time to find a 'real' job.

I was pretty much interviewing everywhere. I wanted to put my social work degree to use. Bad.

I had no idea what I wanted to do, but if anyone was hiring and it sounded vaguely like I was qualified, I applied.

The interview I most remember was for a program call Alcohol, Tobacco and Other Drugs or something. I don't even remember what the job was but I remember that it involved working with kids because that was part of the humiliation.

When I arrived to the interview, I sat downstairs and waited for them to come get me. I was prepping myself for the best damn interview I was ever going to give. Seriously. The stench of milkshake (sling enough of them and you'll know) on my clothes was getting really old.

Someone comes down the stairs to get me. I look up and see that it's none other than The Fiddler! Omg! I totally know this guy and could possibly even be related to him!

Let me explain. The Fiddler is the guy who coordinates and emcees and performs at the local Fiddlers Convention in my home town every year. It's the annual gathering of all things bluegrass and I heart it. The Fiddler is also from my Dad's hometown where I am related to 99% of the population who pretty much all play bluegrass. The Fiddler has had many a jam session with my cousins in my Dad's old log cabin in his hometown.

What luck!

I introduce myself. We catch up. What a small world. Blah blah blah.

I'm totally in.

Or not.

The interview goes pretty well. It's me versus The Fiddler, The Head Cheese of the program and a bunch of others who are less significant. I answer every question with perfection until it comes to one.

They ask me what I would do if a child wanted to give me a hug.

I froze.

I had no idea what to say. I've worked with kids. I've been around kids. I'm not a pedophile. Why the hell couldn't I come up with a coherent answer?

I continued to remain frozen.

After a very awkward silence, I finally started rambling about how I would discourage it because it's inappropriate. Then I started rambling about how I maybe wouldn't discourage it completely if it was really important to the child. Then I started rambling about God knows what, just trying to match the facial expressions of the interviewers in response to my ramblings.

Ugh. It was brutal.

I'm pretty sure they thought I was a pedophile after all that.

I tried to salvage the rest of the interview and left them with my best confident smile and firm handshake.

I knew I was doomed though. Who the hell is going to hire a weirdo pedophile to work with kids?

A week went by and I didn't hear from them. Surprisingly.

One day, while I am slinging milkshakes at the restaurant, my boss asks me to wait on this table that had just come in. I head over there and talk about the specials and whatnot and I froze.

Who has decided to grace my restaurant but The Head Cheese herself. The very woman I had humiliated myself to a week earlier.

Omg.

I made small talk and took their orders and then scurried along to whip up their milkshakes. Sweating the entire time and wishing I was anywhere but there.

As I go to serve the milkshakes to The Head Cheese and her group, I make the fatal error that definitely sealed my fate with her.

I spill the milkshake. All. over. her. lap.

Holy sh*t! Somebody kill me!

As if that wasn't bad enough, I started laughing.

You see, I tend to laugh uncontrollably when witnessing moments of such physical comedy.

As I'm desperately trying to wipe up the milkshake from my prospective employer's ice cream covered lap, I'm laughing right in her face.

After a few minutes of that, my boss rescued me and I went in the kitchen where I busted out into hysterical laughter at the complete farce that was my life.

Needless to say, I didn't get the job. I don't even think I got a tip.

Thinking back, I should've tried to hug her and then asked if it was appropriate or not.

What did I have to lose?

So, what was your worst job interview like?

True story: As I was getting one of the links for this post, an error box popped up that said "Children of positioned element are unclickable". I'm not kidding! I have no idea what the means but it's super appropriate, don't you think?

Nail guns, crappy rides and not so subtle hints.

I think my chiropractor is trying to tell me to lay off the cupcakes.

I went in for my check up this week so I could get cracked. She's got me coming in every six months at the moment because I'm doing pretty well.

I'm not walking at a 45 degree angle. That's good.

So, typically what happens is that she brings me in and has me lay down on a table like this one...

I lay flat, face down and with my face pushed into the cushions. She then uses some sort of instrument that sounds like a nail gun and nails my spine back into alignment.

In order to see where she needs to shoot me, she has me lift my right arm over my head, my left arm on my lower back, my right foot in and I shake it all about.

Or something.

The point is, I'm face down and she's nail gunning my spine.

It's medical science people.

Now, every time I have gone to see her in the past 4 years, that table has been stationary on the floor. This means that I climb my fat ass onto it and position myself face down.

Kinda reminds me of this blind date I once had where I did way too many shots and woke up in some sort of downward dog position before I even knew what yoga was and then...

Moving on...

During this most recent visit, things were a little different.

I walk in and prepare for the hauling of my ass onto the table. She stops me and proceeds to use the hydraulic lift button that I've never seen before to lift the table into an upright position.

Like so...

I'm a little confused.

Then, she tells me to 'climb on'.

Uh. Okay.

I lean myself up against the table and she proceeds to us the hydraulic lift to lower my fat ass to the ground.

Uh. Bitch.

I know I've had a few too many cupcakes lately but wtf! This is a bit much, don't you think?!

I go with it though.

It is kinda like a ride. Wheeee! Only much much slower and followed by a nail gun to the spine and the struggle to make small talk while your face is shoved into a mattress.

Meh. It's not the Tilt-a-whirl, but it'll do.

So, after the nail gunning is over, I go to get up from the table.

Nope.

She hits that freakin hydraulic lift button again and I'm slowly and awkwardly lifted up to a standing position.

I'm pretty sure I heard an announcement over the intercom: "Please do not attempt to stand up while the table is in motion. You are too fat and you will only cause harm to yourself and anyone in the 200 feet surrounding your blubbery mass. Wait until the table comes to a complete stop and for the love of not causing an earthquake, remain still!"

Yeah.

I think it's time to get my fat ass back on track. Or find a new less judgmental chiropractor.

I need your advice. The update.

Update:
So, after all the drama and the near stroke that I suffered due to the jealous rage coursing through my veins, MB tells me that he wasn't going to go anyway.
He says it happens to be on a day that he is scheduled for 24 hours at the firehouse so he had no intention of going.

He said it was funny to get me all riled up though.

I think MB may be intellectually challenged.

Seriously. Why else would he think it's a good idea to 'poke the bear'. The bear who is currently suffering a bout of pms hormonal psychosis like you wouldn't believe.

I may stab him in his sleep. Just because.

Thanks to all my comments ladies (and Jack)! I heart you all.
So, MB and I are looking to the interwebs to settle a dispute. I really think that's the mature way to handle it.

He informed me today that he has been invited to attend a charity event for his friend's rugby team. This particular female friend supposedly invited lots of other people to this event also.

I have no problem with charity. There are lots of causes I would gladly support if I had the means.

This chic's rugby team is not one of them.

Not that I have anything against her or rugby. I don't.

I just choose not to support the idea of MB hanging out with a team full of chicks at a strip club.

Did I mention that it was going to be at a strip club?

Yep.

This single female friend of MB's wants him to attend an event with her, her entire rugby team and a bunch of naked women.

Bachelor parties are one thing. This is totally different. This is just a random outing to Philly with a bunch of girls I don't even know.

I don't think so.

He thinks I'm being unreasonable.

I think he's insane.

Whenever you have to remove all sharp objects from my reach before you tell me about something, I think you know what my response is going to be.

Yep.

That would be a big fat no.

No way in hell.

No. No. No.

But, in the name of fairness, I agreed to present this little situation to my peeps and let them weigh in on it.

So, what do you think? Am I being unreasonable? What would your response be if your significant other had such an invite?

Be sure to cast your votes. MB and I will be tallying them to see who wins this argument.

On an unrelated note, have I told you all how much I love you guys? I do. I really do.

I suffer so that others may enjoy delicious baked goods. You're welcome.

Reasons that I do not like going to the grocery store:

1) Men with a list and a child and the inability to know what the hell they should be doing with either of them.
Wives - please tell them to move to the right and out of the flow of traffic while they orient themselves.
Thank you.

2) People who use themselves, their husbands and a friend to block the entire baking aisle for 30 minutes, preventing anyone else from getting what they need. Do you really think I won't keep throwing bags of chocolate chips at you until you let me get to the freakin brown sugar?!
I will do it.

3) For the love of delicious s'mores cookies, where is the marshmallow creme?!

4) People who cut their eyes at me when I pull out my cell phone while perusing the ice cream freezer.
Chill, lady (HA! Chill? We're in the ice cream aisle...nevermind)
This is an important call. MB wants a particular flavor and if it isn't there, a call must be made.
He has the right to choose his back up flavor.
Mind your own business or I will make this a very inappropriate and loud social call and I will follow you around while you shop and I chat to MB about his ingrown toenails!
Just try me, lady.

5) No macadamia nuts?! Seriously! Oh wait, someone hid a bag behind all the cashews. Sweet!

6) Seriously, where is the marshmallow creme?!

7) People who suddenly and inexplicably lose their sense of hearing once they enter the grocery store.
HEY YOU!
Yeah YOU! I said 'excuse me' seven times!
That means: Get the eff out of the way, jackass!

You know what? That one guy may have actually been deaf. He was doing a lot of hand gesturing.
Oops.

8) Omg! Are you really still hogging the baking aisle?! For the love of projectile chocolate chips, just get your effin ingredients and get the eff out of the way already!!

9) The little pang of guilt that creeps up on me when I take the last box of unsalted butter right out from under the disoriented dad.
Sorry buddy.
It's every shopper to themselves out here. I already had to fight for the last pack of cupcake wrappers. I'm not giving up this butter.
I don't care how much you cry about it.

10) Finally! Marshmallow cre.....dammit! It's marshmallow fluff.
Whatever.
Close enough.

And the icing on the cake of this little shopping adventure?

The doofy cashier guy, who was probably stoned, putting a bag of onions on top of my eggs and pie crust and then saying "That may not have been a good idea".

You think?!!!?!!!

Santa, please bring me a personal shopper.
You will be saving the lives of many.
I promise.

Nice weather we're having. Wanna be my personal therapist?

There has been a breach. A boundary breach.

So, I think you are all aware that I have some teensy weensy issues with a couple of my neighbors. Not sure what I'm talking about? Then, click on 'my neighbors are assholes' in my labels and you will get the idea.

Yeah.

We pretty much have one neighbor that we actually speak to on our block.
One.
We have unofficial feuds with everyone else for various reasons.

The one neighbor has a hundred cats that he doesn't take care of and then conveniently disowns when animal control shows up. He also did push ups at me. Menacingly.

The other guy has a kid who pees in my back yard and the inability to keep his freakin dog in the house or capture said dog once it escapes and has been running around the neighborhood for an hour.

The owner of the house being rented out next door said we were lazy because we haven't fixed up our house to his liking when in fact we are just poor and he is apparently a jackass who discriminates against the poor.

The one guy also has dog issues and allows his old dog to wander around unattended without concern for the fact that he is old and could easily get hit or hurt or anything.

I heart old dogs and I feel they should be treated properly. Proper treatment is to keep them inside, cozy and safe where they can be spoiled. It's the right thing to do.

The other people keep to themselves so we have no beef with them. Plus, they have a really old bloodhound who stands on the porch and tries to howl, but just can't anymore. It sounds kinda like a children's toy that's been stepped on a few too many times. I love that dog.

The one neighbor we actually talk to is the same neighbor who was kind enough to help me with my pipes (not a euphemism) that one day. Since that incident, he has been sending his kids over to get various items - cup of sugar (again, not a euphemism), stick of butter, cup of oil. Things like that.

Now, as a dessert addict, I can't help but put all of those ingredients together in my head and see the potential for cake. Have we been delivered a cake yet? No.

So, what the hell are they making? I have no idea. I just know that we keep getting random visits for random ingredients. This is in addition to the random visits from the youngest boy who wants to feed the fish.

I have no problem with him feeding the fish. However, I do have a problem with children ringing my doorbell all hours of the night and day asking if they can feed the fish.

It usually occurs when I am a)naked, b)in the shower and naked, c)dying my hair and naked with dye dripping onto my face, d) weighing in and therefore naked (duh), e)asleep, f)braless which is pretty much naked.

There is a lot of naked time in my household. Don't judge us. It's why we have blackout curtains on every window.

MB also gets annoyed because he experiences the fish feeding inquiries at random hours and while naked. MB is pretty much naked all the time though. There is no good time to pop in on MB. Just fyi.

Pop in visits are annoying, but tolerable. When you combine them with personal overshares, it becomes a package that I'm just not interested in.

I currently know way too much about my neighbor's mental health, substance abuse issues, relationship issues, family dramas and sexual traumas.

That's right. That's not a typo.

I will spare you the details, but let's just say that I can not look him in the eye anymore without getting some very graphic mental images.

Ick. Just ick.

Now, I didn't solicit any of this information. It was all shared during casual conversations in the yard.

Pulling weeds: "I've been sober for 9 days now. It's really hard to quit drinking."

Feeding the birds: "I'm off of work for a little while for depression."

Walking the dog: "My wife left me and took the kids."

Fixing the pipes (again...minds out of the gutter, please): "I was raped by my brother in law."

I can't make this sh*t up. It just happens and then I'm left standing there, looking for an excuse to run back inside and hide.

This week, the man has been stalking me for baked goods. I casually mentioned that I was going to bake some stuff for him and his family. Every day since that casual conversation, he has been right there in my face as soon as I set foot in the yard. "Where's my dessert?"

Seriously.

It kinda made me want to put rat poison in his banana bread.

I didn't. Don't worry. I just may have used a really unripe banana. Like the greenest banana I could find in the grocery store. I hear that makes people sick.

We'll find out, I'm sure.

If alcoholism and sexual trauma are acceptable topics for discussion, I would imagine that vomiting and diarrhea would be too.

So, the question is...moat full of snapping turtles or barbed wire fencing?
What do you think?

At least they weren't shopping in pajamas.

Sometimes my smart ideas turn out to be not so smart.

For example, my decision to go to the grocery store at 7:30pm on a Saturday night so as to avoid the mass of shoppers on a Sunday morning.

Seems pretty smart, right?

Not so smart.

It looks promising as I pull in and find that I can snag a prime parking spot right next to the grocery carts. Woohoo.

It looks even more promising as I enter the store and notice that the produce section is pleasantly empty. Yay!

I make my way through the seafood section and that's when things start to go sour.

There are 2 girls and a boy wrestling in the floor. That's right. Wrestling in the floor.

Where are the parents, you ask?

I wondered that myself.

Nowhere in sight.

I give the kids the evil eye as I step over the boy who is lying on the floor being mercilessly tickled by his sister.

Awesome.

As I make my way to the meats, things get worse.

I am searching for beef stew cubes when I see two ladies standing right where I need to be.

No problem. I'm patient.

I stand and wait for them to finish as their son is sitting on the meat case just beside them.

That's right. Sitting on the meat case.

He makes eye contact with me and can clearly see that I need to get where and the ladies who are not supervising him at all currently are.

What does he do?

He crosses his arms and scooches himself back further onto the meat case.

Wtf?!

Excuse me, chubster (I wouldn't have mentioned his weight if he wasn't such an asshole) can you kindly get your rude little fat ass off of the beef products?

Oh no. That would be too much like the right thing to do.

All bets are off at this point.

I push my way to the other side of the ladies and shove my way up to the beef cubes.

Oh, I'm sorry maam. Did I just elbow you to the face? Oops. I just assumed you wouldn't mind me shoving my way in here since you and your family clearly have no concept of proper grocery store etiquette.

Oh, your nose is bleeding? Maybe you should sit down next to your son and rest for a second. If it doesn't stop soon, I think the tissues are in aisle 12.

Bastards.

The rest of the trip is fairly uneventful aside from my random mutterings at those jackasses who would rather stare me down as I'm cornered against the canned peas than make any effort to move aside and let me pass.

Of course, when I get home, I find that my roaster chicken has leaked and my canvas bag is now soaked with chicken juice.

Salmonellalicious.

Then, I drop my canned peaches exactly 4 times before being able to get them safely to the counter and put them away.

I'm now in my pajamas and I honestly don't care what is leaking or dented or covered in chicken juice.

I should've just continued my day of napping on the couch with MB instead of try to accomplish anything.

Next time I'll know better.

How about you guys? Any interesting grocery store encounters to share?

High waders and personal overshares.

So, I've been sporting high waders all day today but not for fashion reasons.

My day started out like this: 'Oh dear. Why is there water on the kitchen floor again? I thought I cleaned that up last night. Where on earth could it be coming from?'

Just a little tip - if you start the day asking yourself that question or any similar question, just run to the nearest bar and don't look back.
Seriously.

I had cleaned up a wet kitchen floor last night, thinking it was from my dishwasher or something. When I awoke to find more water everywhere, I actually had to investigate and find out what was going on.

So, I called my Dad.

He said it could be the drip tray under the fridge.

Cool. Easy enough. Drip tray. Just pull it out, empty it and put it back under the drain.

No problem.

Except that I couldn't get the drip tray out because I couldn't get the water filter out and that is blocking the drip tray.

Minor snag.

I pulled the fridge out thinking I could get to the drip tray from the back instead.

That's when I notice the water spraying from some tube that connects to the back of my fridge.

Dammit.

I text MB.

He is teaching a class of firefighter recruits and is not really able to help.

I decide to try and fix the problem myself. It can't be that hard. I just have to find the duct tape.

Duct tape doesn't work because the leak is too strong.

Dammit.

Okay. What would my Dad do? He's like a hillbilly genius who can fix anything with anything.

Chewing gum? No.

Super glue? No.

I know! Why don't I cut the hose just above the leak and then reattach it to the other part? That is a super smart plan.

I cut the hose. Even more water sprays out all over my kitchen.

I try to reattach it but it doesn't fit into the little thingy like it's supposed to. I take the box cutter and the tweezers and try to make it fit by cutting the little thingy.

I end up stabbing myself in the thumb. Thank God for the duct tape or I would've bled all over my repair job.

Okay. My plan is not working. At all.

I make a trip to Lowe's to get a new hose. After shutting off the water to the hose so it doesn't keep spraying all over my kitchen.

I warn the pup to not touch a single thing while I am gone. This is futile because when I come back, whatever mystery items under the fridge that may or may not have been food were gone.

I guess they were food.

So, I've got the part I need and I get to work. I go downstairs where the pipes are and unhook the one valve so I can put the new valve on.

Big mistake.

Water gushing everywhere! Everywhere!

Holy sh*t!

I run next door and grab my neighbor. He is super nice and comes over to help me, not knowing that he is about to be soaked.

He's trying to fix the valve and getting drenched by gushing water while I am frantically trying to find the main water line shut off valve.

This includes me calling MB and telling him that I need to know how to shut the water off RIGHT NOW! He then repeats this out loud to his class of firefighter recruits who proceed to laugh hysterically.

That call doesn't end well.

After more frantic phone calls and about 20 minutes, I find the valve and shut the water off.

Of course, we are standing in ankle deep water in my basement now.

Awesome.

My soaking wet neighbor then proceeds to spend the day helping me fix the hose line because he is super nice.

Of course, the first hose line doesn't fit. The second one is missing a piece. The third one has the right piece but we drop it and lose it in the flood waters. The fourth one is the one.

I sneak in my house and attach it myself because I have a feeling that the piece we lost is not the piece we need. I feel like the rubber piece I told him to use in the first place is the piece we need.

However, he isn't going to listen to me after I was stupid enough to start this project without shutting off the main water line and then even stupider because I didn't know where the main shut off valve even was.

I see where he's coming from. That's why I didn't push the issue about the rubber piece.

I just covertly put the rubber piece in, attach the valve and turn the water on to find that I was right all along about the rubber piece.

Moving on...my day was spent running back and forth to the hardware store and then sloshing around in my basement while my nice neighbor overshared about his life as I watched him fix my hose thingy.

I would love to tell you about his overshare, but I just can't do it. Once someone subjects themselves to gushing water and commits to helping you fix said gushing water all day, you owe them their privacy.

Trust me, though. It's a doozy!

Anywaytoomuchinformation, my evening was spent sopping up water with a rented shop vac and crying because some of MB's very personal keepsakes had gotten broken during the catastrophe.

He said I was crying so I wouldn't be mad at him.

Whatever.

It's now almost 11pm. I've been in and out of the spider cubby. I've been sloshing around in yucky spidery water. I've been in and out of various hardware stores trying not to have a nervous breakdown. I've sopped up just about as much water as I can for the night.

It's time for me to shower away the wetness and stress of my day and crash on the couch until the clean up resumes tomorrow.

Oh joy.

So, how was your day?

Friday Flip Offs: Bacon doesn't always make things better.

Well hello peeps! Happy Friday the 13th.
Hope you have had a much more normal week than I have.
Let me tell you, the crisis unit has been hopping this week!
Oh boy.
My own sanity was hanging by a thread after this week.
Thank God for the lemon cake in the cafeteria.

Anyway, I am so ready for some flip offs.
Do you feel like flipping people off too? Go visit Gigi here, and play along.

So, let's get to it, shall we?

To the glucosamine chondroiton joint supplements that seem to have caused our Skye girl to feel so good, she is regressing to puppyhood and all of it's bad behaviors - FLIP OFF!
These little pictures show what I found when I came home tonight.


Yep. That's my purse and all of it's contents strewn across my living room floor. In case you were wondering, that is an entire pack of gum which was eaten by my lovely Siberian Princess.
I love the fact that she has much better mobility and less discomfort in her hip joints. But, can you please remind her that she is 10 years old now and should be way beyond these kinds of antics.
So, joint supplements, FLIP OFF (but also Thank You for making her feel better).

To my coworker who was mocking us because the snake that was in our office was apparently too small to even be worthy of repeated discussion - FLIP OFF!
First of all, it was a SNAKE. In the office. I don't care how small it was. It was still a SNAKE.
Aaaaaand, you weren't even there when it happened so you really have no right to judge. That deserves a double FLIP OFF!

To my other coworker who apparently thinks that I am mentally challenged in such a way that even with 14 years of experience I have absolutely no clue how to do my job forcing you to spend the morning instructing me what to do - FLIP OFF!
I could've done my job, your job and the maintenance man's job in the time that I wasted listening to you try and justify your existence.

To the chef at the pub around the corner who felt it was acceptable to serve overcooked asparagus in the bacon wrapped asparagus appetizer - FLIP OFF!
Ewwww. Just ewwww.

Wow. That feels like a really small amount of flipping off, but I still feel much, much better.
I can't wait to see who you are flipping off.
Since I'm struggling to stay awake now and can't even really be sure this is a coherent post, I better put that off until tomorrow.

Friday Flip Offs: exposed genitals edition.

Hi peeps!
How are you? Good I hope.
I'm a little stressed, thanks for asking. I'm sitting here in my pj's watching Criminal Minds, drinking Yuengling, eating popcorn and smelling poop.
Sounds like a fun Friday night, doesn't it?

I worked in the crisis unit tonight and it kicked my ass. I had a very depressed lady who couldn't stop crying. Then, I had a nursing home dump who just wanted them to let him go home for his birthday. Then, I had a pill popping punk kid who wanted us to tap into his opiate receptors or he was going to go off and must've forgotten that he had no underwear on as he writhed around in his chair, genitals exposed.

I heart my job.

Then, I come home to find that the pup couldn't hold it and pooped on the floor. That's always fun to clean up at midnight.

Given my current state of stress, what better way to vent than with Gigi's Friday Flip Offs. Yay! Go here to check out all of the flippers.

I was doing this on the regular for awhile but had gotten out of it due to my funk. Well, I'm back peeps! Get ready for some serious flippage!

Without further ado...

To whoever invented poop and/or barf - FLIP OFF!
Seriously. Why do I have to clean this stuff up. Ever.
I think there should be a 24 hour service that cleans this stuff up for you. Kinda like police but for poop and/or barf. Call them and they show up, mops in hand, ready to rid your life of the stink. They could even be called for smelly boy shoes, but only in cases of extreme stinky feet.
This is like the best idea ever. I'm going to be rich. I can feel it!
*This idea is patent pending.
Don't steal my thunder!

To the nurses who continue to think I should do their nurse jobs - FLIP OFF!
I am not a nurse. Say it with me: I. am. not. a. nurse.
Understood?

To all the insane drivers out there who apparently think it's okay to do any of the following:
-cut someone off at 89 mph.
-slow down to 45 mph on the interstate.
-merge without signaling.
-refuse to let me over.
-let your kids just walk around the car without seatbelts or car seats.
-put your high beams on at 6pm and then tailgate/blind me.
Yeah...FLIP OFF!

To the cat hoarding neighbor who expects me to believe that all her cats have been spayed/neutered - FLIP OFF!
I know an effin kitten when I see one, you stupid hoebag! That's an effin kitten! How the heck are there effin kittens when all your cats have been fixed?! Huh?!!
Just FLIP OFF already. I will find homes for your cats with or without your permission.

To the only liquor store on my way home with lights on - FLIP OFF!
If you close at 11:30, why are all your lights and your open sign still on at midnight?
You dirty, dirty tease!

To all the bugs on my front door who apparently don't realize that there are plenty of other porch lights in the neighborhood - FLIP OFF!
I may or may not have a stink bug in my hair. I may or may not also be just far enough into my Yuengling to not really care.

Omg I feel so much better.
Thank you, Gigi for hosting this little vent fest.
You rock!

Friday Flip Offs: These could of been better.

It's that time again. Time to give a nice hardy Flip Off to all those little annoyances that drove you to cupcakes this week. Go here to visit Gigi, the brains behind this operation, and check out all the other rants.



The Siberian Princess has no Flip Offs this week. She got to go hiking, had tasty Frosty Paws and essentially got spoiled all week. She really should have no complaints.

So, on to my Flip Offs.

To the neighbor kids who like to feed the fish and proceed to stalk me in order to ask if they can feed the fish - FLIP OFF!
Seriously. I barely pull in the driveway and you're there. I can't even go out my back door without hearing the dreaded "Hi. Can I feed the fish?"
OMG!!!
Give me a break.
I'm in my pajamas with no bra, unbrushed teeth and rat's nest hair. Hell, I'm not even awake. I'm only upright because the pup has to pee and she lacks the ability to let herself out.
Sheesh. The freakin fish can wait. Lay off already.

To the grocery store cashier who ripped my coupon as it was printing out with my receipt rendering it completely useless - FLIP OFF!
You owe me 40 cents the next time I buy cat food, which is never because I don't have a cat.
That's not the point, though.
Just give me my 40 cents and we'll call it a day.

Speaking of cats, to the cat hoarding neighbor across the street who thinks I just fell off the turnip truck - FLIP OFF!
I'm not an idiot, lady. You can claim to be finding homes for your cats until you are blue in the very weirdly made up face (freaky trailer park mascara), but I'm not buying it.
The only reason you are talking to me is because you just saw me almost run over two of your cats who were in my driveway and then possibly kick one of them also.
You can also claim that they are strays you just happened to feed all you want. I'm not buying that either.
There may have been a stray at one point. Thirteen cats later, not so much. You breed 'em, you bought 'em.
Also, it's midnight. Why the hell are you weeding your yard at midnight? And who is that guy doing push ups in the driveway? Oh right, it's your creepy husband.

Go here if you don't get the creepy husband push up reference. I'll wait.

All caught up? Gross, right?! I KNOW!

On an unrelated note...anyone want a cat? They are cute, adept at catching fish and able to survive by eating trash.

Moving on...

To the grammatically challenged everywhere who think it's okay to replace 'have' with 'of' as in 'should of', 'could of', 'would of' - FLIP OFF!
Also, DOUBLE FLIP OFF for making me question whether it was actually 'of' instead of 'have'. I even googled it because of my doubt. I've seen this error everywhere lately and it started to make me wonder.
Bastards.
I never should of, I mean should have (dammit) questioned myself.

To the homicidal patient who may not have been truly homicidal but just homeless with nowhere to go and who proceeded to scream at me for 20 minutes in the tiny, tiny exam room until I became homicidal myself - FLIP OFF!
Could you say "I'll kill the bitch" one more time? I don't quite get what you're going for. Also, could you repeat that part about putting the bitch's kids in a trunk? I'm trying to quote you accurately on the committment. Also, could you elaborate on what kind of trunk and exactly how you intend to get her kids in said trunk.
Just seems a little complicated.

To TOM who has decided to visit for 11 days and counting, making my life miserable and gross for longer than necessary - FLIP OFF!
Seriously. I'm fed up.
I'm actually looking forward to being violated by metal objects at the hands of the very abrupt Indian woman who is my obgyn. Maybe she'll actually figure out why I'm TOMing for so long without any of the TOM symptoms, other than the flow.
I'm not asking for cramps and bloating. I just might feel better knowing they were there and this really was all normal TOM stuff.
Arghhh.

Anypossiblymenopausalandthereforenolongerawoman, I think that's it for my Flip Offs this week.
Tune in tomorrow when I explain all the crazy behind this little picture:



Happy Friday!