Friday, March 30, 2012
Now that I have been blogging for almost a full year, Sky King is pretty much used to his antics being fodder for me and my adoring fans. Each time something remarkable, embarrassing or funny happens, he says, "You're totally blogging this, huh?". To which I go, "No! I mean, yes." I used to have to repeat his stories over and over (which is actually not bad, because they keep getting better), but now all I need to do is type them up for all the world to enjoy. You're welcome, world.
Today, I get to tell you about part 1 of the Great Taco Adventure of 2012. Which turned into the Great TaCoMa of 2012.
A bit of background:
Sky King loves Mexican food. As in, "leave-me-for-a-70-year-old-lady-that-speaks-no-English" LOVES. Every time I see a squat little abeula with orthopedic shoes, I swear Sky King begins to drool. Which makes me want to kick those bitches' asses. But I digress.
So, we just got back from a mid-week cruise to Ensenada. Which to Sky King meant, "Let's find the best Mexican food in Mexico". After I shopped for crap I didn't need and picked up souvenirs for the kids (another weird story), it was time for the Taco Test.
We had eaten lunch at Papas and Beer, an Ensenada staple. Which sucks at lunchtime (Apparently this is not unusual--the heyday for this place has long since expired). Unless you like drinks that are watered down. Then, Papas and Beer is the shit-you can rehydrate with their margaritas. So the only option is beer, or shots. And since my days of dancing on tables is over, Papas and Beer was a bit of a bust.
It was okay, as far as food goes. But Sky King wanted Mexican. Mexican. I mean, the nachos were made by Mexicans, but that was about it. It was the equivalent of Mexicans making your sushi--that inauthentic. Sky King sat in the corner, muttering things like, "this is total bullshit" and, "I bet those guys aren't even Mexican", and "they call those nachos?!?!?". It was sad. I was thirsty and needed uncontaminated water to take my pills, so I chugged a few margaritas while Sky King threw back some shitty Coronas. "They don't even have Negro Modelo, this place sucks" I think is what he carved into the bathroom stall wall.
This entire culinary catastrophe left Sky King sad--as in, sit-with-arms-folded,-pouting-because-he-looked-forward-to-the-tacos-for-months sad. He did not get his taco fix.
We wandered down the street, looking for redemption. We haggled for a shark jaw for Princess (what she asked for, I swear) and searched in vain for some strange gum for Monkey Boy (NOT chiclets, which we could have gotten for $1 per pound). This was NOT shaping up to be a good day for Sky King.
Then, we spied a bunch of people having fun at an outside cantina. There was a girl doing a beer bong on the patio, with the pourer working from the second floor. This place might be okay.
We succumbed to some better margaritas and some excellent made-on-the-spot guacamole, but Sky King's taco cravings were achieving def-con 37. After enduring his emphatic anti-tourist-y hellhole overly-dramatic sighs, I sent him down the road with a $5 bill to a street taco stand. (Yes, a street vendor, in Mexico. No, he didn't die-this man has a stomach made of kryptonite.) He came back with three dollar tacos and a big grin. :::cue snarf, gobble, shovel:::
After this, we were all too full and too drunk to comprehend more food. We schlepped down the street, with Sky King leading the way, still grumbing things like, "this is NOT over, stupid Ensenada" and "I didn't come all this way for tourist shit". I did not realize how very serious he was, until we got back to the ship.
We flagged down a cab to take us back to our home, as my Dad had had an unfortunate incident with an overly tall step. And some tequila. And a couple errant chairs. And a poor unsuspecting family that felt bad for the older gentleman that couldn't seem to navigate walking well. Little did they know, we had gotten my dad trashed. It didn't help that pretty much every store had a "buy-a-cheap-piece-of-shit-and-get-a-shot-of-tequila-complete-with-a-community-glass, and my dad was more than willing to take my shots for me. And my Mom's.
This led to a trip to the ship medic. Bernie Kopell patched him up with a large bandage (okay, 3) and a healthy dose of antibiotic ointment. Then it was Nap City for the parents. Getting shitty with the kids takes a lot out of you, ya know?
We went back to the ship to chill for a bit. Then, Sky King's taco level got dangerously low. He proposed a Taco Adventure. I agreed, as I knew it would give him immeasurable joy, and I'm all about being super awesome like that.
We got onto the shuttle that takes Gringos to SuckerTown. But instead of falling for that trap, we said, "take us to where the people that live here eat". He looked at us like, "great---a couple stupid tourists that think they know Mexican food. My job keeps getting better." But then, something in Sky King's eyes told this guy he meant business. Mexican food is serious business to Sky King. So he chose to relent, and he drove far far away from the safety of tourists, policia, and English-speaking witnesses. We pulled up to a pink stucco lean-to. Cerrado. Shit.
To be continued...
But then I started catching up on all the blogs I follow-there were tales of debilitating illness, mental health issues, and not being able to pay the bills. So instead of whining about my stupid problems, I'm going to tell you the things I am thankful for today:
1. I'm thankful I am employed, and have insurance that will cover some of my treatment for my health problems
2. I'm thankful for my sad little Facebook life, where each click finds me reading something inspiring when I'm feeling shitty, or laughing my ass off at a funny musing of a friend. Some people mock Facebook and all it entails (including my husband) but I LOVE it. LOVE. It gives me happiness, joy, info, and funny shit to laugh at. I don't care if you judge me.
3. I love the new app, Draw Something. It's like Pictionary. My name is Aimeerw if you want to be amazed by my lack of creative prowess.
4. I'm thankful all my family and friends support me, even though I seem to be always sick, I piss and moan about it a lot, and I forget everything. EVERYTHING-birthdays, appointments, parties. It's just not there anymore.
5. I'm especially thankful for Sky King-my loyal sidekick, partner, and bestie. He makes things bearable, he's taken over my job for me, and he hardly ever gives me the "pity" look when I cry about my health.
6. I'm glad my rash is clearing up (a reaction to one antibiotic) and my reaction to the new antibiotic makes me slightly nauseous, which may help my stuffing-yummy-goodness-into-my-face problem.
7. I'm thankful I have readers of my blog that listen, gripe, complain, commiserate, and sympathize along with me.
Wow. Nothing like other people's problems to put yours into perspective. Thank you, Other Bloggers.
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Princess, as you may have already surmised from her various exploits like climbing into a crane game, and being over-exuberantly truthy, can be quite a character. The other day, however? She topped herself-which you think would be close to impossible.
Right on the heals of an "Incident Report" for asking people to spell "I Cup" during morning circle, she proved her ever-expanding brain, by creating a new word.
I imagine this word will soon be creeping into the lexicon of the American people complete with a reference in Urban Dictionary. (Urban Dictionary? Call me. I can help with the definition.) I'm seriously considering trademarking the word, so that we can begin her
Before I share, you must know the word, "Shart". This is a word that every 12-year-old boy must know, in order to successfully complete puberty. It is a combination of "shit" + "fart", explaining what happens when you try to excrete a small amount of intestinal gas, only to find out that what you thought was the urge to pass gas is actually a surprise poop. Sharting typically results in the changing of your undies. Someone else once described it to Sky King as "a failure of the shit/fart separator valve". I'm sure The Oatmeal is currently working on a graphic as we speak...
Princess knows this word. Primarily because she lives with a 12-year-old boy, who relishes teaching her inappropriate things. Not only does Princess know this word, but she uses it correctly. We are so proud.
We are driving down the road, and Princess is in
Princess: I'm hilarious today.
Princess: Hey, Mom. I made up a word. Wanna hear it? :::giggle, snicker:::
Me: :::sigh::: Of course.
Princess: "Shabart". It's when you shart, burp and fart, all at the same time. You know, like, "Eeew, I think brother just shabarted. He should check his underwears."
Me, to Sky King: I'm thinking another "Incident Note" is in our near future...
Friday, March 23, 2012
But, as an Early Childhood person, and in honor of the late Theodore Geisel, I will do it this time in the style of Dr. Seuss.
I've got aches in my arms,
Aches in my each leg,
Aches in my joints,
And I'm wanting to beg:
Nasty pains, will you please go, now?
Whether I eat fatty or lean
and yummy crap in between,
my body just won't stop spreading.
It's biggering and biggering
And I'm kinda figuring
I need to avoid food with breading.
Globulous blubber, will you please go, now?
So I gave up the gluten,
the scrumptulous dairy,
the fatty, the sugary, the merry.
I don't drink caffeine,
all my meats are quite lean,
and I lost the numbers of Ben, and Jerry.
Awful diet restrictions, will you please go, now?
Still, my arms are growing,
my belly is showing,
my skin is a blotchy red mess.
I'm itchy and nauseous,
And even though I am cautious,
I'm squeezed into a size 14 dress.
Crummy side effects, will you please go, now?
I pay through the nose
for more pills than a junky,
And insurance hardly covers a bit.
My bills are a-piling,
and my time is spent whiling
away reading outdated shit.
Skyrocketing healthcare costs, will you please go, now?
I've got rashes and blisters,
belly aches resembling twisters,
and my hair keeps thinning and graying.
My fingers are big as knees,
My cankles, big as trees,
and my energy is wholeheartedly dismaying.
Fucking Lyme Disease, will you please go, NOW?
Thank you for your patience-I'm on a much-needed break away with my wonderful husband. I appreciate your patience with my rants and guest posts this week. Cross your fingers that I was able to enjoy some serious hot-tubbing this week!
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
So here it is, complete with all her own words. Don't judge her by the content or the errors, she comes from bad stock.
today is my bd and i want to make it really special by making it all with my family we saw the lorax it was soooooo funny and we ate candy popcorn and i drank an icee and after we ate redrobin i ate macaroni and cheese with a side of broccoli after i ate a group of cooker's sang me a song then some lady came over with a tray of drink's and a man behind here and bumped into here and the drink's fall on my mom and then my stupid bother spilled blue cheese all over mom and i said this is not you'r day so i went home watched tv and went to bed. so there you have it my big day.
(Here is a picture she is particularly proud of:)
Now, she would like to tell you some things she is incredibly proud of:
dear mom i can lick my elbow. and i can turn my foot around oh' and my hand. i can sing really good and i am an amazing artist. and i can eat 3 scoop's of icecream.
Enjoy your day!
Monday, March 19, 2012
The other day when she was coloring on her birthday on my favorite table with Sharpies (No, you can't kill a child on their birthday, I checked), she made this:
Yep, that's a TARDIS, from Dr. Who.
I guess she was more into the show when I Netflix'd it than I thought.
It also kept me from choking her for trashing my table.
Sunday, March 18, 2012
Do you remember The Spoon Theory, by Christine Miserandino? The one that describes how people with invisible illnesses (fibromyalgia, chronic fatigue, PTSD, Chronic Lyme, lupus, etc.) have a limited number of "stores of energy" with which to live life? If not, go check it out. I'll wait.
Took you long enough.
Anyways---something about that story really resonated with me, when I was struggling with my diagnoses and had a hard time describing it to people. I was ahead of the game, by knowing that many people could not relate. All they knew was that a person with superhuman energy was all of a sudden a couch lump. I couldn't even describe it myself. But Christine helped me, and I shared it with others. I'd like to think that I helped "The Spoon Theory" go viral. I don't know if it has, and it certainly would not have been my influence, but like I said, I'd like to think so. In the same way I'd like to have a pet monkey--super awesome, but more of a fantastical fantasy rather than something seated in some semblance of reality.
Where was I?
Oh, spoons. I like spoons. And not just because of their obvious connection to ice cream, although that helps.
Spoons to me represent the ever-changing reality of my health-spoons are a tangible reminder that my life has flip turned upside down (thank you, Fresh Prince) and that each day brings a new set of challenges. I can say, "damn, spoons all gone. What's on Lifetime?" or "look! I found an extra spoon! Let's hit the buffet!" or even, "I better save some spoons for the her wedding this weekend, so I can stay up later than the ring bearer".
Because I am so creative and funny, I have inside jokes. Even some inside jokes with myself-I'm that awesome. For instance, some mornings I wake up and I'm all, "shit. Out of spoons already? How can that be? I better put my superhero spoon ring on..." and then I smile at me. And all day long when I feel like I'm about to drop, I look down at my spoon ring and I smile. I still drop, but I and me share a moment.
Many friends have begun to understand my "thing" with spoons--they have seen my Pinterest Board, "Spoons that are Bad-Ass", and they "get" my obsession with all things spoon.
So when some friends came by for Princess' party and brought a gift, I was dumbfounded-they had helped me move, offered to take Princess off my hands during parts of the move, put together horrifically strange IKEA contraptions for my children to sleep on, AND had left before the requisite pizza-and-beer payday. Truly amazing friends.
Then they go and bring this:
They made it. They didn't find it at some strange spoon crafts expo. They made it. For me. :::tear, sniffle:::
Here is the detail of the top, which they inscribed with a quote:
"May you be blessed today with all you need! May there always be extra! May you never run out!"
I hung it had Sky King hang it immediately, and it makes the most beautiful sounds.
I can send you their info if you need better friends. PM me.
Thursday, March 15, 2012
I won another blog award!
I got it from one of my favorite bloggy pals, WG from It's MY Mind!. He bestowed it upon me, in an effort to allow me to ride his coattails to bloggy stardom. One of my favorite posts of his is one of his most recent. I love this post because it A) discusses purse shopping, and #2) does the extraordinary public service of encouraging your chick/girlfriend/wife/baby mama to buy a new bag. I will go a step further, and remind you all to make sure you get a pair of coordinating boots.
The rules of this award is that I have to give props to the giver (easy peasy, thanks WG!) and I have to tell you 10 random things about me. And I have to then give the award to 6 other deserving blogs.
Here's my 10 random things:
1. As a child, I went to 7 different schools before college.
2. I went to 4 different colleges, and it took me 5 and a half years to finish my degree. But, I use that degree every day.
3. I was a vegetarian from the age of 16 to 22-and I worked in 2 different butcher shops during that time, which helped to remind me. And I can quarter a mean chicken. I've forgotten how gross meat is, especially bacon. Mmmmm, bacon.
4. I am a recovering control freak. I'm on step 3, "Stop signing up for shit, you moron".
5. I'm left-handed. But I cut with my right hand because there were two lefties in Kindergarten but only one pair of lefty scissors, and that bitch was fast.
6. I have only engaged in one fist-fight in my life. (Not including a bar scuffle that was more talk on my end, than fighting). It was 4th grade, and that jerk had it coming. I cried more than he did.
7. I tried to play the flute, but my arms were too short. Not "T-rex" short, but still.
8. I used to be such a slob, I cleaned under my bed with a rake. I'm not much better now, I just married someone that's neater than me.
9. I love to read, and remember the first book I read start to finish in one day, "Ribsy" by Beverly Cleary
10. I never played sports, except a partial season of softball, which I had to quit because my grades sucked.
Okay. That sounded more like a list of confessions, rather than 10 random facts.
Now, the final task-I have some blogs that I think are amazingly creative and wonderful, all for different reasons.
1. Eggton---Eggton combines crazy stories, an even crazier dog, and amazing recipes. Somehow, it works amazingly well, and her photos make you want to lick the screen.
2. Flourish in Progress---Elizabeth is a badass homette that writes about her lack of decorum, her year of not shopping, and how to be a cute petite thug on a budget. She makes me smile, and is more creative with the f-word than I could even hope to be---yet I still try. Practice makes perfect?
3. Snarky in the Suburbs---If you judge a blog by its name, it's obvious why I love this one. If it's not obvious, check her out to find out amazing ways to get back at annoying society types, without acquiring a felony.
4. Oh Noa. ---Want to be the best spouse? Noa will guide the way. Want to see a perfect model of an apology to yourself? Noa has you covered. Hilarity ensues, I promise.
5. Mommy Wants Vodka--Aunt Becky wrote the user manual to mixing pain killers with liquor---I mean that in the best possible way. She is my hero--I mean that in the worst possible way.
6. "Jen" e sais quoi--Jen taught me to be a better parent through horrifyingly inappropriate cartoons, and references to rap. See what I mean, here.
Those lists took about as much energy as I have. Fortunately, I plan to drink later, so I may get caught up on my goings-on. And, I may piss and moan about my life, even though there are plenty of people out there that are worse off than me. It's not my fault they can't write worth a shit. (Sorry, a little passive aggression does a body good, no?)
Her name is Lynn, and she has a blog, All Fooked Up. She has been spreading some bloggy love around by sharing other blogs she thinks are funny with her readers.
Today, she is sharing me (but not in a wife-swapping way). You can find her blog here.
Feel free to hang around and read her. She's pretty damned funny, and horrifically inappropriate-I know you will LOVE her. And if you haven't read my post about cleaning behind the fridge (or not cleaning behind the fridge), you can do that over there, too.
Happy Thursday-I'm out with Princess, celebrating her 8th Birthday!
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Not much is happening anyways, except I am paying dearly for the energy I expended yesterday for Princess' birthday party. (And I can't wait to dish on all the crazy gifts she got, including one that needs a magnifying glass to be used, and one that is horrifyingly racist. Thank you, Blip Toys, for perpetuating inaccurate race depictions.)
Health-wise, I'm herxing which is giving me an itchy blistery rash and tingling in my extremities. (Thanks to Julie at julieslymediseasefight.blogspot.com who mentioned the blisters on her blog as a herx reaction, and Sky King for throwing the idea into the mix. NO thanks to Monkey Boy who heard, "Herpe-ing" when I said "herxing". You giggle like a little girl, brat.)
The good news is, herxing means I have a bunch of germies dying off, and leaving me the hell alone.
I'm about to call it a night, I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow. Ahhhh, 6 hours in a car with half a dozen teens=Mommy bliss.
Pray for me. Or them.
Saturday, March 10, 2012
A few months go by. Every time we are out and about, he says, "where to?" and I say, "the nearest piercing place" and he drives to sushi, which makes me forget about the piercing, until the sake wears off.
Then on Valentine's Day, we had to leave the house quickly because the pest guy I finally relented to and the blinds guy and the lawn guy were all there, making relaxation after a big move futile. So we escaped, and didn't know where to go.
Sky King said, "Well?".
I said, "I want a nose ring."
"Seriously??? I mean, you really really want one, you're not saying this to annoy me?"
"Yes, I really really want one. That's why for the past 10 months I keep telling you to take me to get one."
"Oh. Okay, for Valentine's Day, I will get you a nose ring."
Which of course, he owed me, historically.
and then I had the look on my face any kid does when they have thrown an epic tantrum and the parent finally says, "FINE! We will go to Barfer King for the new movie-tie-in plastic toys!! You happy????". I was happy. Content, relaxed. Getting my way.
Fast forward 3 weeks, and I'm rockin' it. I've been accused of being a Hipster, which I took as a huge compliment, because usually I'm accused of much worse. I have even been told by a certain doubting husband that it's "kinda hot". Not that he needs any coaxing to play grab-ass as I walk up the stairs each night, but still. It's nice to know he wants to play grab-ass, not feels obligated because I'm ahead of him on our very steep stairs.
Then, I got a runny nose.
Somewhere along the way, I gingerly wiped, being careful not to disturb the aqua post in my nose.
About an hour or so later, I noticed there was no post. Anywhere. I even checked in the mirror, in case I accidentally lost feeling in my fingertips but didn't know it yet. Gone.
I scoured the house, pulled all the tissues out thinking it might have fallen in there. Nothing. But I didn't want to go through the piercing again, and so I went into the jewelry box, looking for a piercing stud.
I found one, and tried to put it in. Unfortunately, it had begun healing, so I had to be a little more persistent than I would have liked. I finally got it in, removed it, bent the end so it would stay until the next day, and re-inserted it.
The post wasn't long enough, and I was going to bed so I had to secure it. A tiny band-aid did the trick. It also tickled Sky King's funny bone. So much so, he was compelled to upload this photo to Facebook (that thing he NEVER uses. Unless he wants to mock me.)
and because the world must feel indebted to Sky King for something, I had to go all night and all the next morning like this. Because tattoo people don't get up til noon.
Finally, I found a piercing supply place, where everyone accepted me as the freak I am. They all understood. And I bought a replacement-lime green.
3 hours later, I found the original ring, sitting on the table next to the couch. Now I had two, plus a make-shift 3rd.
At least now, I'm a prepared Hipster.
Friday, March 9, 2012
Mine is stuff I want to do when I get well.
1. Get my Master's (so I can teach at the Community College)
2. Become a Love and Logic Parenting Trainer
3. Travel (to places where I can withstand walking long distances, and eating what I wish without suffering)
4. Play sports with my family
Suspiciously absent is "clean my house".
It's amazing what I used to take for granted.
I suppose the important part is the "when" I get well. See? Therapy works. Thank goodness for good insurance. I would be an emotional bitter wreck without it.
What should you do, before you lose the chance? Or, what do you regret not doing when you had the chance?
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
I upped my doxycycline last Monday (That sounds incredibly dirty. Which is why I keep saying it.) and all was going fine until Wednesday, when I found my limits on "antibiotics on a partially empty stomach". I found that limit again Friday, Saturday, and again today.
Dr. G recommended another pro-biotic at bedtime, so my tummy has time to heal. Because the tummy aches? Not awesome. For ladies? It feels like that first-trimester-green-behind-the-gills-but-not-bad-enough-to-vomit-and-get-to-feeling-good feeling. For the menfolk? It feels like you grew a uterus and the ability to create life, and have morning sickness.
So it's breakfast, pills 1 hour later, then pro-biotics 2 hours after that. Happy tummy til dinner, then lather rinse repeat. so I only feel incapable of eating/moving/not grimacing maybe 3, 4 hours a day. Come to think of it, that might be just what I need, after feening for sugar like a crack-whore in a pay-by-the-hour flop-house, sweating through the detox on rented sheets. It's not like I can't skip a meal. Or 45. So it's rice, bananas, and other mild foods. G'bye, decaf with soy hazelnut creamer. It wasn't much, but it was all I had. I guess a nice therapeutic dose of wine is out, too. G'bye, glorious liquid antioxidants.
In other news, the smell from Princess' feet is peeling the paint. WTF? She's not even 8. And she keeps trying to trick me into smelling them, then she dissolves into a fit of giggles. It must have been the fumes that muddled my mind, deceiving me into the idea of a slumber party for 8. Eight. EIGHT!!!
Meanwhile, the freakin' hot tub is still a plumbing nightmare, and my patience for stairs is waning.
Next week, it's off to Ashland with Monkey Boy and his middle school for the Shakespeare festival (did I mention I love my kids' school? 3 days watching plays in Oregon? Beats the hell out of a field trip to the town historical society.)
Sky King continues to devote most of his waking hours to keeping me from whining, which has turned into a full-time job. For both of us.
A drama queen's work is never done. :::sigh:::
I really know how to have a good time, as evidenced by my nightstand. I can keep up with any 80 year old I know.
And humidifiers are the newest thing to keep things interesting in the bedroom-or hydrated. One of those.
Nothing says, "Give it to me, big fella" like a nightstand full of drugs.
Maybe if one of them was Rohypnol?
I was going to show you the drawer full of heating pads and my ergonomic pillow, but I thought that might be too forward.
What do you do that happens to get you laid, despite yourself?
Saturday, March 3, 2012
I was told he's always running late. Waaaaay late. Because he spends more than 15 minutes with his patients. I decided to give him a try.
I was brought back to the exam room after an hour and 20 minute wait. Which worked out, because i hadn't caught up on the 2010 issues of Family Circle.
First thing I noticed is his nurse used to be in pediatrics, and I loved her there. A step in the right direction.
Then, he came in, looked over my records, including all the test results I had brought, and talked to me about what was going on.
I explained I needed to transfer care because Dr. Lyme wasn't handling my pain meds, or my Cymbalta. We also talked about sleep meds, and he was shocked I was given Mirtazapine for sleep when I have a history of trying to lose weight.
He went over all my test results, and wanted to do some more. Fine by me-giving blood doesn't bother me in the least.
He seemed fine with my treatment with Dr. Lyme, didn't question it. When he saw I was taking 5000IU of vitamin D, he said, "well clearly that's the amount you need, because it raised your levels to a normal range. And with your health problems, we really need to shoot for ideal ranges, rather than bare minimums". I could have kissed him!
So many doctors follow the RDA guidelines for vitamins. But the RDA was created to help reduce death by malnutrition. So it was refreshing to meet someone that has obviously taken an interest in learning all he could about nutrition beyond the minimum requirements.
The last thing he said to me was, "It's been a rough couple years, hasn't it?" If I wasn't so hopped up on anti-depressants, I might have gotten teary. It was so validating to have a doctor, who is usually constricted by insurance company protocols, to acknowledge what it might be like to be me. He didn't doubt me, question whether I was exaggerating, nothing. And the best part?
If he turns out to not be able to help me much, I already have another doctor in line to make my primary!
I feel like I'm turning a corner!
Friday, March 2, 2012
It made sense, and he said I was welcome to take a dose upon waking, to see what he means by, "feeling sick". I, for once, said, "Ya know, I'm going to take your word on that one." See? you CAN teach an old dog new tricks.
I started the new dosing Monday night. No problems, except some that I'm too ladylike to mention. Not really, but I will save that juicy detail for another post. :::snicker::: I said, "juicy". Haha.
Then today, I had to run an unexpected errand in the morning. I left home without my drugs. I had eaten at 8, and needed to take my pills around 9:30. So, I took them as soon as I got home, about 10:15. Unfortunately, I was already getting hungry (I'm used to eating 6 small meals per day. And by "6 small meals", I mean, "breakfast, a snack of fruit, lunch, some sort of snack I shouldn't have that I eat too much of, dinner, and some sort of dessert that I ALSO should not eat". Shut up.)
I shoveled all my pills in, in three increments, followed by a shit ton of water, which is roughly a large tumbler, normally used for Mojitos. Then I went about my chores, still trying to get settled in the new place. Laundry to cycle, stuff to move to new places, things to put on the stairs for the kids to take up later (I'm no sucker. And I'm chubby.)
I decided I had let the pills enjoy free tummy reign, so it was into the kitchen for some super fab corn-crab-shrimp chowder my parents had made the night before (and bestowed upon us once for dinner and a container for lunch today---thanks, folks!). My mouth was watering and I was so hungry I felt shaky and overly hot. Definitely chow time!
As I was eating my soup, I had to remove my sweatshirt because I was getting too hot. Then, as I brought the 4th spoonful to my lips, I realized I didn't feel well.
I knew this is what Dr. Lyme meant, so I set the soup down. Sky King came over and was concerned. When he saw I wasn't foaming at the mouth or spewing blood, he knew I was okay. He also took this as a sign to finish my soup.
He brought over a banana and a tangerine. I ate a tangerine section carefully. The look on my face made Sky King remove the food, and come back with a bowl.
I assured him I wasn't going to be sick, that I just had to wait for the ickys to pass.
I was wrong. (Sky King, note that on the calendar.)
I was forcibly separated from my soup. Several times. I finally made it to the toilet, to finish up.
The shittiest part? I had to keep checking to make sure there were no whole pills that I would have to re-take.
And now my throat hurts from retching. And corn-shrimp-crab soup sounds awful.
Throat Coat tea and a How It's Made marathon for this Lyme-y.
You will see that the assignment is to "Write a story. Tell how the snail gave out her valentine cards. Use some of the words below."
There is picture of a snail and a butterfly. They seem to be gazing lovingly into one another's eyes. There are five lines in which to write a story. I'm sure most children submitted something like, "The slow snail and butterfly were forest friends, and gave a puppy and a bunny valentines. Everyone was glad. The bunny wanted to hurry to open hers."
Or, they went all, "some of the words" and left off the second sentence. That would have been my style. And certainly Monkey Boy's. There is no such thing as "extra effort" in his world. I can appreciate that sentiment.
Princess? Nope. She saw the entire back side of the paper and saw nothing but opportunity.
And she seemed to correctly infer the amorous looks in the eyes of the two main characters. These forest creatures were feeling frisky. So here is her story (I have corrected the spelling because she writes phonetically, despite her consistent 100% on spelling tests).
Hanna the snail was slow.
(Wait a minute. What does she mean, "slow"? Does Hanna have special needs? Because if so, this story just got even more twisted. First the sex, now the obvious inclusion of some sort of deviant "special needs fetish behavior".)
She was on her way to deliver Valentine cards. She went in the forest and she met Bunny.
"Hey, Hanna!" she said. "What are you doing?"
"I am giving Valentine cards. Here's yours."
"Thank you, Hanna. You are so kind. May I come with you?"
"Why, sure." said Hanna.
Bunny was so glad.
Hanna accidentally went without Bunny.
"Hurry" said Hanna.
"Coming" said Bunny.
(I'm keeping my mouth shut. Maybe it will turn around.)
...and on they went. On the way they met Butterfly. "Hi" said Butterfly. "Where are you going?"
"We are going to deliver Valentine cards. Here is yours."
"Thank you. Say, can I come with you?"
"Yes you can."
So on they went. On the way they met Puppy.
"Well, howdy, y'all" said Puppy.
"Oh nothing", said Hanna.
"I know you are doing something" said Puppy.
"Now all you get your Valentines."
"My pants fell down."
"So did mine."
(Wow. This is where it goes south. And coincidentally, this is where the teacher encourages her the most, as evidenced by the photo:
Then, it gets even worse.)
"Let's have a party."
"No wait, a Valentines party."
(See? They are all naked, wanting to have a naked party. But they are concerned that if they admit they are having a naked party they might have to face their shallow sad lives of depravity. So they have a party under the guise of Valentine's Day. St. Valentine would be shocked.)
and they all lived happily ever after.
Wait. It's not the end.
"aaaaaaaaaaaaa" they all said.
(She even remembered that, even during an orgy, it's important for each participant to..ahem...have an "ending". Just sick.)
Wow. The subversive pornography. Absolute smut. My husband was shocked, and blames me and my disturbed mind. For me,I was sad that her spelling was so poor, and that the puppy was depicted as an ignorant hick. So, pervy, AND racist.