I would make an excellent cartoon
I’ll confess that I’m disappointed; this morning’s doctor’s appointment didn’t yield the acres of comedic material for which I’d hoped. Let’s blame this on my HMO. They are not, strictly speaking, responsible, but I blame them for so many other things, why not this as well? So yes, the HMO is not only responsible for the continued struggle to fill my prescriptions in spite of their sacred formulary (read: cheap medications they’ll consider covering), but somehow they took the funny right out of the exam room today.
Those bastards.
Oh, wait. There was that one thing.
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Things you need to know
In the interest of full disclosure, there are some things which I believe need to be pointed out to you fine folks. I would hate for there to be any confusion about important issues.
At the time of this posting, I have raised $2,525 for the upcoming Susan G. Komen 3-Day in August–over half of my goal. This includes, I believe, an anonymous donation of $1,000. I am awed and humbled by everyone’s generosity. Special thanks to other walkers who’ve shared their stories in comments or emails; to say that today has been inspiring would be a gross understatement.
Julie takes issue with my post and has asked for a correction. Sadly, I must accede. It’s true. I fibbed. When I said that “I (gently) made fun of her very 80’s hairdo” I was hiding the truth. I mocked her mercilessly, for years. But now that she has cancer I just like to pretend I’m always nice to her. Sue me.
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We interrupt our regularly scheduled narcissism…
… to bring you something completely different.
I’d like to introduce y’all to my friend Julie. I’ve known Julie for… hmmm. About 9 years, I’d say. We met on an infertility support board before there were resources like that on every internet street corner, like there are now. Back then, there weren’t a lot of places like that to hang out. We were a small, fairly tight-knit group, and although I joke about my friends inside the shiny box, Julie has truly become one of my dearest friends over the years. Friendships born in times of adversity are all the sweeter when life gets better, and that much stronger when times get tough again.
Julie’s son is just a few months younger than Chickadee, and has an affinity for vacuuming in the nude. (I know this because I’ve seen pictures.) Somewhere on Julie’s harddrive is a picture of the time Chickadee unrolled the entire roll of toilet paper while she was sitting on the pot, and then while she struggled to decide what to do with that enormous wad of paper, her butt fell in the toilet. (That’s a good blackmail picture, too.)
This summer Julie was diagnosed with breast cancer, and I’m still angry.
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GAH
My cable and internet went out yesterday around lunch and just came back on, the children rewarded me for taking them ice skating with 103 degree fever (Monkey) and a whole bucket o’ attitude (Chickadee), after a couple of days of improvement it appears that whatever infection lurks in my hapless boob is raging again (as if it’s not bad enough to be a “hapless” boob in the first place) and I couldn’t miss church today because I had to sing a solo and I feared the choir director would skin me and eat my liver if I didn’t show up, but six phone calls later my only option was to yank my ex out of a tournament to come sit with Feverboy while I went and sang my solo (badly and under the influence of lots of advil), plus there is no food in the house and it’s not like I can get to the store.
*gasping for breath*
And how’s YOUR Sunday going?
Insanity Diaries
Like most hip and happening people my age, I like to cut loose after a long week by eating kettle corn in bed while watching TLC. On Friday night. In my jammies. What? That’s not what you do? You do so. Admit it.
Anyway, we all know that I enjoy What Not To Wear. What you might not know is that I’ve recently started watching Ice Diaries as well, because it’s on directly after.
[For a while, Miami Ink followed WNTW and that was a far superior arrangement. What is there not to like about tattoos? Done by and for weird and fascinating people? Nothing! That show totally appeals to my inner rebel! You know, the same rebel who eats popcorn in bed all willy nilly!]
Ice Diaries follows 4 Olympic figure skating hopefuls, and after watching a few episodes, I really feel enlightened. And horrified. But mostly confused.
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We may have to withhold pop-tarts
I had a conference with Monkey’s kindergarten teacher this morning. You have to understand that EVERYONE loves Monkey. You can’t NOT love Monkey, because he is generally a very happy kid and he’s got this smile that lights up a room and he’s got that joy joy joy joy down in his TOES (which is even deeper than his heart) and aside from the fact that I happen to be his mother, I’m telling you that EVERYONE LOVES HIM.
[You know I’m not being biased, because I will also happily tell you that while many people enjoy Chickadee, many others find her to be prickly and weird. Personally, I enjoy her BECAUSE she’s prickly and weird, but that’s not the point. The point is that I have never heard anything but gushing praise for my gorgeous, social son.]
So you can probably imagine that I was a bit taken aback when his teacher told me that lately? Monkey has been a real pain in the ass.
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Eavesdropping for fun torture and profit
I ran here and there today in spite of a haunting case of deja vu wherein I felt “a little odd” and thought to take my temperature just for kicks. Oh! 101! Nice! Thank goodness for the antibiotics! Not only are they eating away the tender lining of my digestive tract, but they’re also doing that whole “release all the toxins and make you feel worse before you feel better” thing. Super.
[Yes, Mom, I’m eating yogurt and taking acidopholus. It’s very soothing as it leaks through the holes in my stomach and intestines and comes to gentle, strawberry-flavored rest on my pancreas and liver. It’s ulcery delicious!]
Anyway, blah blah blah boob blah blah sick blah blah blah. Now, let us never speak of it again. Until the next time.
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It’s winter out there but toasty in here
Today at Casa Mir: Thrills! Chills! Fever! Hot, aching, undeniably and painfully infected boobage! And the whole time, me sitting here saying to my body, “Um, HELLO, did you not think this would’ve been a useful stance to take YESTERDAY, so that it would’ve been clear to EVERYONE that I had an infection? No? It made more sense to start with this crap AFTER I’d started antibiotics and should be feeling BETTER?”
So, um, still waiting to feel better. In fact, I cannot admit how early this entry was written due to my need to get to bed early after a strenuous day of napping, so I’ll just set it to publish later. I most certainly did NOT go to bed at 8:30. Nope.
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Topless
Phew.
I’m feeling much better today. Well, I’m feeling crappy and humiliated, but MUCH BETTER.
You know that saying about how when God closes a door, he opens a window? Well it’s often like that in my life. Except more like, when one tragedy is averted, crushing embarrassment often steps in to take its place. Gosh, it’s good to be me. Or not. But it’s really the only life I know, so what the hell.
Oh, did you want more information? I’m SO HAPPY you asked! Far be it from me to withhold details! Which, you know, might be a useful skill to develop if I want to limit some of these situations where I feel like a total idiot, but what would be the good in that?
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Look over there! Something shiny!
I’ve fallen, and I can’t get up.
I’m trapped inside my BRAIN. Let me tell you, it’s a horrifying place to be. It is VERY crowded in here, and noisy. In the event of cabin depressurization or a water landing or a plain ol’ crash there are no oxygen masks, flotation devices, or big inflatable slides. There’s only… ummm… well, you could try grabbing onto one or another of the misfiring neurons and hope that it doesn’t land you in the great black abyss, I suppose. Good luck with that.
Now, usually, I can pluck something out of here and point it to my fingers and they do a little dance with the keyboard and VOILA, a little something for you to read. The problem today is that nothing that seems within reach is anything that deserves to see the light of day. Stupid brain.
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