Covid-19 How it has affected us as a whole

Turmeric infused toilet paper. Not even lying right now. I can’t make this up. While searching to see if bathroom tissue was available on Amazon yet we found this. Rest assured, we are good on toilet paper, we just like looking up weird things.


What in the world would give someone the idea to put turmeric on their TP?! Did they eat a buttload of curry and then think to themselves “I wish I could get this refreshing burn and horrid smell without being forced to ingest all that delish Thai food?”. Was it a bet gone horribly wrong (or right)? Did the person want to play a prank and a flock of hipsters jumped on the health food band wagon? Maybe there is research out there that states turmeric is better absorbed rectally. Never in my life did I think I would be wondering if my anus is deficient in turmeric.

I’m really hoping that there in fact no turmeric in said TP and they just did that to make sure the brave people still has access to clean bums. But that doesn’t make sense, brave people are already filling their hiking packs with pinecones before all the good ones are taken.

The description doesn’t help me figure out if this is a joke or not.


Layer: 3 layers

Leaves less lint behind

1 roll has about 170 leaves..

special picture design makes you feel delighted each time you use it.

Makes your bathroom a fun place to visit when your friends visit

Cute Christmas print makes you feel holiday atmosphere.

Septic-safe bath tissue

Compare with similar items

irresistibly soft toilet paper with a unique cushiony

Five elements: Natural wood pulp: Paper is hard and not easily broken because it uses raw wood pulp.

Flexible three layers: thick design, skin-friendly, high density, uniform, soft and comfortable.

Wet water is not easy to tear, and the tight fibers are placed horizontally, so it is easy to wipe off debris and protect the skin.

Fine breakpoints: Flatten breakpoints and easily break them without wasting. Medium: According to the habits of most people, it is not wasted.

Occasion: home, cafe, shop, restaurant,etc

Material: Paper

Package Content:

6/10 x Roll Paper

I don’t care if it is a grizzly bear with sandpaper because I only want 2 things; To be clean when I’m done and to not have it on my hands! (but I still intend to wash them. Because that’s what non-savages do)


Weird conversations we had at work today

My day job is a medical assistant in a doctor’s office. At night I play piano in a whore house. Well, I bartend at a titty bar so it’s very comparable. Except I don’t get to pick the music and my job is to make sure the customers don’t try to sleep with the dancers. I feel like I should explain this so that people understand that not every weird conversation is at the place you saw me working most recently. But either way, you can picture these conversations in any establishment of your choosing.

Monkey knuckle butt wiping – For some reason talking about this made the morning go really fast. One of the girls got her nails done for the first time in a while. She said her mom always criticizes her long nails, not matter how short she gets them. And always askes the same question that any girl with long nails cringes at “how do you wipe your butt with those?!” Really?! This is the question you ask?! Its like boring nailed people have the most horrific ideas on good hygiene. HOPEFULLY we wipe the same way as you. We grab waaay too much toilet tissue, then wad up/fold it to the desired size and then hold it with the fingertips or nail tips (depending on length) and get the job done. Repeat as many times it deems necessary. Dispose of said tissues and then wash our damn hands. How the hell do you wipe your ass Karen?! Is there a whole group of people that wad one square of paper in their palm and drag their hand through the backdoor mud pudding like a gorilla knuckle walking? Do they use their finger nails to scratch the itchy stuff out of the hard to reach places? Or maybe its more like a cat using the scratching post? Any way you look at it, I would assume a decent human being knows how to wipe their our butt WITHOUT making direct contact with feces. But I guess with the world wide toilet paper shortage I shouldn’t assume that “normal” people know the correct way to wipe. If anything, the nails make it cleaner. I can say with 1 ½ inch certainty that my fingers will not be coming into direct contact with poo today.

“don’t worry about today” – My boss has a bad habit of speaking in half sentences and staring creepily expecting you to already know what she was thinking about. Today she did it to a patient. She walked up behind me, informed the patient not to worry about today and then just stared expectantly. The poor person looked like that kid that was talking in the back of math class and didn’t hear the question that was asked by the teacher. After looking at me in confused panic I informed the patient not to worry about going back to work today, just go in for the next scheduled shift. And sorry about the confusion, my boss just does that all day long and we are used to it around here. Have a great day! Why, yes, we did proceed to make fun of her until she left the room. And for a little bit after that too.

Weird pauses – my coworker “this weekend I decided I needed to get rid of a bunch of old hair…………….. products that I don’t use anymore”. I had to stop her right there and point out that she reeeeaaallly needs to work on her uncomfortable breaks in conversations. This one was right up there with “drinking turns me into a horr………….able person”. She tried saying that she put the pause in on purpose of comedic effect. But I shot that down too, since she started doing it more often after I told her that “soooooooo” is not a sentence nor a punctuation mark. She had to admit I had a point.

I just want 2 fingers – same girl. She was explaining that she really wanted to grow out her side shave. Not that she wanted to get rid of the side shave, she just wanted it to take up less of her head. She totally figured summer would be the best time to grow out the fuzz. I pointed out the hottest and sweatiest time of the year is exactly when she would have her fuzz at the most annoying and unmanageable length. She scoffed and retorted with “my hair isn’t slow like yours” wow. I’ve never had someone call my hair retarded before. My hair is quite smart, thank you very much. She apologized for insulting the intelligence of my fabulous red hair. Then as a customer walked up she held up to dramatic fingers in the “I’m about to check your cervix” motion and blurted out “I just want 2 fingers!” I stared at her unblinking. I was trying my hardest not to laugh or make any obscene comments in front of a patient. After a few seconds she realized why I wasn’t saying anything and moved her 2 fingers to the side of her head. And then to the other side as well so it wouldn’t look like she was fingering her ear. “Are you planning to use gel?”

“I made some dumbass appointment” – this is exactly how a patient started a conversation when the front desk gal opened the window. Thankfully they weren’t offended when I doubled over laughing. Even more of a blessing was the fact the referrals gal knew they were talking about Diabetes Education and was able to give him directions to the right building

Not turning in aliens for probing when you enjoy it – Have you ever notice it is never a gay man that is on tv talking about being abducted by aliens? Do they purposely avoid gay men? Are gay men afraid to report it, assuming the media will blame the victim? Maybe one got abducted and begged for an anal probe so much that it made the aliens uncomfortable and now they will never do that again. Maybe those guys are still on the party ship having the time of their lives. They might be refusing to go home. Is there an underground group of people that are really into buttstuff so they take turns secretly waiting in a cornfield on the 3rd Wednesday of the month? Are all these TV abductees from aliens that are new to the scene and went to the wrong cornfield? I bet that alien will never ask for directions again.

Viruses should be named after serial killers instead of foods or things we enjoy. Instead of Corona and Lyme it should be Bundy and Dahmer! And the next new std should be called The Bobbit!

Being overly nice to rude people – I am so happy to reject you, have an awesome day!

8 lbs 7ozs

I have been majorly slacking again. Anyone close to me knows I have been going through some serious medical issues with a very close family member. Between the mix of stress and fear that I might give out identifying information on said person, I have purposely not written in a while. The last thing in the world I want to do is inadvertently hurt someone I care about by over sharing on a public media. But this is a conversation I feel needs to be shared.

Our two youngest girls are at that beautiful and terrifying “Junior High” age. The age that your body and thoughts change with the breeze. The age when most kids don’t know themselves well enough to defend who they are. The age that emotions are out of control. The age that kids are the meanest.

The girls are Irish twins, so they are in the same grade but oh so very different. The older one is just like her father; tall, lanky, athletic, preppy, total people person. The younger girl is more like me; short, stalky, weird, artistic, socially awkward.

The other morning on the drive to school the younger one was telling me about some issues she was having with other students. Others were constantly calling her a “Fag” or a “Dike” and she wanted to know what to identify as. I didn’t hesitate. “Water” was my answer. Of course she didn’t understand at first. She tried to explain what transgender meant, maybe thinking I didn’t know the term. I shook my head and began my explanation.

The human body is 70% water, which means the majority of a person is liquid. That makes a human being a fluid, and that is exactly what we all are. Water starts as rain, it falls to the ground, runs to the stream, diverts into a river, flows to the ocean, freezes to the icecaps, later thaws or evaporates and then starts the process again. Each form of water is very different and has a different label but it never stops being water. That means never stop being you. If you want short hair and men’s cargo pants, wear it. If you wake up one morning feeling girlie, wear a dress and paint your nails. There is nothing in the world that is constant so a person shouldn’t have to be either.

I don’t have one favorite food. I eat what I crave that day. I don’t have one favorite song. I listen to all types of music (somethings in the same playlist) I don’t have one favorite color. I see beauty in everything. I don’t read the same book over and over again (okay I do if it is a good one) I constantly expand my library. I refuse to be labeled. And above all, refuse to let anyone tell me I have to fit in to someone else’s pre-decided checkbox. My deepest wish is that she never feels like she has to conform to someone else’s label either.

Uncle Hunter weighed 156lb at time of death. After cremation his ashes weighed 8lbs 7ozs. That means less than 10% of his body was “solid”matter. The other 94.23% was in constant state of change and motion. So please, constantly change! Encourage others to change. Don’t ever think that you have to decide today WHO you will be the rest of your life. Love who you love. Think what you think. Do what makes you happy. Harm none and do what ye will.

Before leaving the truck, she smiled and said for the first time ever “it feels so weird to just be happy” She blew me a kiss and headed into the school with her head high and her back straight. My heart imploded at that moment. God, I love that girl so much. I hope someday she loves herself as much as I love her.

Better left unsaid

That roughly translates to “Yep, Rya just said that”

Anyone that has grown up in a medical household knows that there is no topic that is off limits. This does include subjects that would make most people gag on a normal basis, but there is nothing too taboo for the dinner conversation in this tribe! We have gone straight from Plumber Jokes to Explosive Mucus Diarrhea without so much as a “pass the peas” to allow transition.

Now that you have the disclaimer, let’s move on to my sons eighteenth birthday. We have a tradition of playing hooky on birthdays. I didn’t go to school on the day he was born and have never made him go since. We spend the day hanging out. This year was full of hiking, toad collecting and tattoos. Sounds fun doesn’t it?! Well, it was. Except for this one part. The part where I discovered the only thing on this planet that is a bigger obnoxious a-hole than grasshoppers, is Dru and his girlfriend when they decide to mess with someone.

While we were out hiking we were supposed to be bone collecting. (I love Halloween. We decorate with real bones. That was not an innuendo for anything) It was rather difficult to keep an eye out because we were being attacked by an overabundance of crawly creatures thanks to an unseasonably moist summer. Every step was resulting in a plague of grasshoppers scattering in all directions. These dang bugs were either really stupid or really brave because half of them were launching themselves straight at us like kamikaze pilots. I am pretty sure I have bug shaped bruises from head to toe. I have never felt empathy for the grill guard of a truck before. Dru was keeping count of how many times he was ball tapped by one.

We were pretty much over the bone collecting thanks to them and had about given up when Dru spotted a teenie-weenie-tiny-wittle bumpy toad! SQUEEEEEEEE! I LOVE BABIES!!! There had been a lot of wiggle sticks in the area (aka snakes)((angry wiggle sticks are rattle snakes)) so we decided to bring this baby home. The search was on to find a second one so he wouldn’t be lonely. I was intently scanning the ground when it happened. Godzilla came flying straight at my face! Not only did he come in like a wrecking ball, he did the full superhero landing in my right nostril! *gag*

Have you ever really looked at a grasshopper? Like really looked? Pixar was right to draw them as giant armored bastards that have spikes coming out everywhere. And those dagger like needle feet! Now imagine that armored, spiky, needle-y insect INSIDE YOUR NOSE. Not only is this thing inside of you but it is panicking as it is trying to get back out. Nothing I have ever watched, read, envisioned or nightmared could prepare me for the feeling of that insect first violating my nose hole and then having no care for collateral damage as he forced his way back out.

And those little craps were laughing at me! The evil smiles were in full bloom as they then began to verbalize how much worse it could be…. Dru and his girlfriend started comparing back and forth how horrible it would have been if the thing didn’t want to leave. Just hanging out in my skull rubbing his spiny legs together. What would it feel like if it tried crawling forward to get out instead of backing out? Those little needle feet dragging it through my sinuses, past my brain, and then down the back of my throat. Not only would he be cutting my cavities apart but he would also be COVERED in nasty, old, snot. That would make it a crawling blob of mucus that is cutting its way around. Which would be worse, if it went down the lungs or if it slimed its way out the mouth?????

I had to cover my ears and yell threats of bodily harm at that point. My overactive imagination could take no more. God I love those little buttfaces.

I was describing the situation in detail to my husband (who, I might add, was also laughing) as we were waiting for it to be our turn at the tattoo place. That’s when my son interrupted

“uh mom? Do you realize someone is trying to eat right behind you?!”

“Yeah, so?” “

“It doesn’t seem like a good idea to make the tattoo artist puke right before he starts working ON US. It just might break sterile field….and I personally don’t want a vomiting colored tattoo. I hear these things are permanent”

Apparently, the poor quiet kid had just taken his first bite as I was describing the feeling of the grasshopper inside of me. My kiddo looked up as the artist gave me a sideways glance and had a full-body convulsion. The guy kept quiet and swallowed like a champ.

Fast forward 2 weeks. I have been sick as hell with sinus headaches and basic flu symptoms since that day. I was once again using too much detail to describe to my coworkers the loogie I hocked this morning. It was nasty and tried to kill me. As I was choking trying to get it out, a rock came out of the right side of my sinuses. My coworker instantly shouted


I had somehow managed to push Grasszilla out of my mind until that moment. I didn’t really look at the rock. I totally should have analyzed it better.

Now I have to sit here and think what kind of rock was it?

Did I snort laugh and launch a popcorn kernel up my nose?

Was it really a piece of a grasshopper?!

Am I really kicking myself for NOT dissecting a loogie rock?

Did I have a ball of dirt hanging out from riding in the razor?

Was my husband getting tired of the Great Wall of Va-China and paid me a gross sleeping visit?

The world may never know……

(yes, I totally used the word moist)

I didn’t know your size

When I was 37 ½ weeks pregnant with my daughter, my father decided to go on a motorcycle road trip. And that was the last time we saw his left leg. Just kidding, only partially kidding. 23 hours into the trip he decided to take a detour that involved a rain storm, a chunk of mud, and the back end of a vehicle. I don’t remember all of the details because I had serious pregnancy brain going on. I do know that he ended up with a broken leg and an emergency surgery down in Utah. I wasn’t allowed to go down to see him since I could pop at any second. Something about stress can induce labor or some other medical excuse. (I was as big as a whale and on bed rest, I would have loved for labor to induce itself!)

My brother drove through the night and picked him up AMA to bring him to Gillette, where he could have family around to help. His leg was a mess when he made it here. The infection was so bad the skin was blistering off. It looked like the zombie apocalypse was starting in room 425 on a left lower appendage. It stunk very-much-bad as well. The stars were not pointing toward him maintaining a bipedal lifestyle.

One doctor tried really hard to convince him to go through 16 surgeries to possibly save the leg. He kicked the doctor out of the room and told him to send in “someone that isn’t a money hungry leech, and would actually answer his questions” The next doctor was rather blunt. He came in the room, introduced himself, sat down on my dad’s bed and then looked him dead in the eye “I think we need to cut your leg off.” And it was decided.

I came up with the crazy idea of throwing a going away party for the leg. I choose to handle all situations with a dark sense of humor. It makes life more interesting. (It also makes colossal shit-storms far more laughable.) I got balloons and streamers and a cake. I also got my dad a present. It was a bag of Right side only shoes and a left Barbie leg. What?! I saved the receipt so he could exchange it for one in his size…

Maybe I should have found a Ken leg instead? How do you tell what gender a left leg identifies as?

He called me a bitch. Not having tact is apparently a family trait. But he did laugh while he was saying it.


Okay go!


            My husband is a total sweetheart. I wouldn’t trade him for all the red skittles in the world. I could makes lists of all the things I love about him. In fact, I actually have. On rare occasions I bust out this list to remind myself why I can’t be mad at him. Even though he claims not to dream. And when he is not dreaming he does not talk in his sleep. He would never dream about lighting stuff on fire and be very loud and argumentative about it. When he is not sleep talking he does not shove all the pillows off the bed, including the ones I’m using. When I am not trying to stop him from not stealing the last pillow it may or may not turn into a full sleep fight. I’m even confusing myself now…..what was I talking about???

Oh yeah! So, the only time my hubby dreams is when he is super stressed out. I would cringe anytime I heard the word “loader” because this was the crappiest piece of crap in the whole crap heap at the Coalmine he worked at. Other crews would try to “fix” it and end up screwing it up worse that a wife with a new remote. They would have been better off following Ikea instructions then the manual they were supposedly trained in. He would spend days trying to undo whatever the last troglodyte had done so he could finally diagnose the original issue.

If you know anything about this man you would know that he would rather read an instruction manual than a novel. He is always searching for more knowledge. He is a perfectionist. Few things drive him crazier than a job half done. He will drive himself nuts if he can’t find a solution. He will drive himself all the way to nightmares.

That night we are about to discuss happened to be one of his “loader” nights. He had made it home late to begin with. (First sign right here) He grumbled all through dinner. (Strike 2, Dude is the mostest un-picky eater in existence) He apologized for being a grump, mumbled something about the “L” word, and excused himself to bed early. I knew I was in for a long night.

Between random cuss words and aggressive blanket stealing I was able to snag a few 30-45 minute power naps. I had managed to be deep in sleep when I felt an elbow connect dead on with my nose. It was my turn to burst out in curse words! I sat up and cradled my poor nose, making sure it wasn’t broken. Apparently this was a horrible distraction for the sleeping bear next to me because he let out a deep growl and snapped

“What’s your problem?!”

“Are you kidding me? You just hit me in the face!”

Another growl “Get over it!”

Oh heeeeeeeelllll no………. I cannot remember ever being in more shock. My hands burned to nail HIM in the face! My arms tensed holding back the overwhelming urge to throttle him right back. The electric current of anger rolled through my body, mixing with the utter confusion of how this normally kind man could be so mean, then sprinkled with a little bit of understanding and sympathy because it was so out of character for him. I started slowly counting backwards from 1 zillion to try to calm my redheaded arse down. I was going to win this battle of wills. And I did.

The next morning he left for work as he normally would. I asked him a few times throughout the day how he was feeling since he didn’t seem to sleep well last night. He was tired and his back was a little sore. (No duh! Really?!) I waited until he was off work and at a family BBQ to start cracking the Chris Brown jokes. I had already told his family about it so they were joining in the fun. The first question his mom had asked was if I had hit him back. (I got quite a few pats on the back for handling it as well as I did) The poor confused man finally had to ask what was going on. I joyfully told him about the night before. He just about fell out of his chair. If he hadn’t been a Brandenburg I’m sure he would’ve spit out his beer. He instantly wanted to know why I hadn’t hit him back! (Oh trust me buddy, I was close) I told him it was because I loved him.

We have made it a point to never go to sleep angry. We never make the other person sleep on the couch when upset. But we both know the word “loader” means someone is escaping the bed to go spend the night in safety 🙂

It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas!!!!

Get a puppy they said…it will be fun they said….. and by “they” I really mean “me”. I love my puppies. I love their squishy faces. I love their pudgy bodies. I love their big bully-doggy smiles. I love them! I love them! I love them! And that is where you will find me. Sitting in the corner, slowly rocking back and forth, rubbing my ears, chanting “I love my puppies. I love my puppies. I love my puppies……”

The bat-pigs normally cuddle with me in bed at night. Most nights the cuddling looks more like giant furry leeches are infesting my side of the bed. They love me, A LOT, as well. Codependent doesn’t even begin to describe it. They are right up there with “Where The Wild Things Are” we will eat you up we love you so! Last night was not so much.

The little buttfaces decided that lights out meant they should randomly bark at every mosquito fart in the back yard. No late night bark is complete without bounding off the bed and scampering across the hardwood floor with little puppy nails clicking that sound very much like spiders wearing tap shoes. *Shutter* That image totally makes it easy to sleep. Then they would come trotting happily back into the room chewing on something of mine. Some days I really wish they would chew up other peoples crap. I would have to wrestle whatever it was (makeup brush, hairbrush, underwear, marker, flipflop) out of bulldog vise grips and put their pouting butts back on the bed. They would aggressively snuggle for forgiveness but only for a few minutes before starting the process over again. They had done this for the 87th time when I finally had enough. Mean old mom got up and slammed the bedroom door shut. These poor doggies had never been forced to sleep outside of the room before so I can only blame myself for what happened.

When I got up the next morning I knew something was up. Travis had gotten out of bed and I heard him grumble a little bit. Grrreaaat. They must have gotten into something. (since I may or may not have procured both pets without consulting my husband first, I try not to ask him to clean up after them) I stepped out into the hallway and my pansy-butt-Biggie-Piggy flattened himself to the floor and gave me HUGE eyes. Well, whatever it was, must have been Allee Sioux because he would have ran from me if he had done something wrong. He stayed flattened to the floor as he watched me go down the stairs. Smart dog.

I can’t begin to describe the noise that came out of me at that moment. (Pterodactyl choking on a whoopy cushion might be close) I definitely can’t repeat it. My entire living room was dookie. We had spent 7 hours the weekend before on hands and knees scrubbing the cheap wax the previous owners had put down off of that hardwood floor. Where there should have been shining hardwood there was used cat litter as far as the eye could see. I turned to look back up the stairs at both my dogs. Biggie-Piggie was trying his hardest to sink into the carpet while at the same time pushing himself away from the happiest little ball of handicappable Frenchie this side of the Pecos. She was wiggling with excitement. “proud” doesn’t come close to the joy that little girl had. She smiled from ear to ear, showing off the chucks of clay wedged in all of her teeth. She licked her lips and pranced around, as if to say “Look what I found! It crunches when I lick now!” Another strange sound escaped me.

When Travis heard this one he playfully commented from the kitchen “did someone forget to close the window last night?” This snapped me back into reality. I rushed to grab cleaning supplies. There would be a toddler at my house any minute and this was not the kind of job I wanted 4-year-old “help” with. He came around the corner and his face dropped. Apparently he had thought the whitish piles he had seen in the dark living room were snow from an unclosed window. Normally I hate snow but I would have done anything to trade at that moment.

Miss Allee Sioux still can’t understand why we weren’t happy. She totally made us breakfast and it was her favorite. She loves kitty candy, and she gave us an entire living room full of it! It’s a damn good thing that pup is disabled or she would be in serious trouble. *insert grumpy face* It’s not like we are hosting 2 birthday parties, a bridal shower, high school graduation, senior sendoff and prom party in the next few weeks. That would TOTALLY have made this a stressful moment…..

Indiana Jones and the Temple of VaVoome!

I got to work today and apparently my cup over flow-eth with “No’s” Every question a coworker asked me, I snapped back “NO!”

Did you make coffee this morning …….NO!

Can someone wash the lobby plants today …..NO!

Can I ask you a question…..NO!

Not even a quick question……NO!!

I just want to make faxing releases easier …..NO!!!

Can you help me schedule this patient …..NO!

I was starting to laugh at myself because my instant reaction to EVERYTHING was negative. Normally I’m a much more optimistic person so I was trying to figure out where the heck this was coming from …..Coming from? …….Coming? ………HOLY CRUD BUNNIES I KNOW WHERE THE NO’S STARTED!!!!!

I was full giggling when I realized why I was acting like this. This was left over from last night! I had to share this one with the office.

We had a stressful afternoon the day before. Every single patient turned into something crazy or a depression check. By the time I left work I had a killer headache. This wasn’t just a line, I really did have a headache. When I got home I had to help my husband find his social security card that got misplaced when we moved this summer. I gave up after 2 hours and hopped in the shower. When I got out he was being super sweet, even was cool with me playing my book club book on speaker so I could dry my massive hair. (my hair is ridiculous) He snuggled up to me in the bed and started softly rubbing my back as he was falling asleep.

That’s when the “butt-rubbing” started. Oh haeeeellll no! Not tonight mister! I’m stupid tired, I have a massive headache, I’m stressed to the max. Normally I would just say wait until I’m asleep and move me to a neutral position. I don’t want to wake up with a crick in my neck. This had the girls laughing as well. They were way more worried about airway and breathing than I was. Meh, it’s similar to getting choked, you get that euphoria towards the end. Plus, He’s an EMT so I should be fine. I just don’t want to be miserable the next day. I’m a firm believer that if I go to sleep without sweat pants on then the lady-garden is open for business. You can’t leave the garden gate open and expect the bunnies to stay out. Have a good time!

But not this night. This night was going to be filled with restful sleep. I wanted there to be zero chance of a 2am Edgar Allen Poe reading “suddenly there was a rapping, of someone so gentle tapping, tapping at my chamber door…” QUOTE THE WIFEY NEVERMORE!!!!! Not only did I remove his hand from my butt. I grabbed a huge fluffy pillow and wedged it between my tush and his pelvis. Behold! The Great Wall of Vachina! Take that you crow! That’s right, I not only shot him down, I went full Trump!! I built a huge wall (with the pillows he bought) and was prepared to defend it. My NO game was solid. So solid it was still in place at work the next morning.

A few of my statements did generate some questions with the coworkers. Like, do I put on enormous granny panties and then triple layer them? We were rolling laughing now picturing me standing like a bouncer with my arms crossed and 7 pairs of underwear on, and a diaper. Let’s add a couple strips of duct tape for good measure! Granny panties, a diaper, a duct tape chastity belt, and a huge wall; if that doesn’t keep him out nothing will! Suddenly we all heard the Mission Impossible theme start playing (I love having coworkers as crazy as I am) it was followed up by Raiders of the Lost Ark, only instead of sand it was the sound of tape being pulled apart. Yeeeeeaaaah, my husband would totally take that much effort as a challenge instead of a show stopper. We could all see me waking up the next morning with the duct tape and force field in place…. But with a different color of tape. And probably a cute little thank you note, because he is sweet like that.

Howdy Stranger

I know, I suck, I totally disappeared for a while there. My bad. The last few month have kicked my butt. All this time I have been trying to deal with, well, everything, and discovered I have not been in fact “dealing” with anything. Seeing a counselor every other month was definitely not cutting it so I got myself scheduled with the gal my brother had been seeing before he died. Her opinion on the whole situation was very insightful. It was rather nice to have someone that could see both sides of everything that had gone on.

To clarify, by insightful I mean f-ing scary. The wind of relief that blew the one door shut managed to smash open another door I worked 3 decades to keep locked, chained, nailed, and bolted shut. I was suddenly remembering things that my psyche had put a shit-load of effort into NOT remembering. To fix this she suggested EMDR Therapy.

I had never heard of it but after some quick research I was cool with trying it. It was discovered by a chic hiking and thinking about her problems. She manage to put together that the shift in eye movement while scanning the trail engaged multiple parts of her brain and she was able to process the thoughts on more than just an emotional level. By the end of her hike she was in a much better place mentally. This sounded perfect to me since I love hiking and have noticed the same effect after long trips. I just assumed it was a combination of being in nature, ditching technology and the feeling of accomplishment from climbing a mountain. Little did I know my “trail therapy” was “real therapy”. I love when I get the extra credit on an assignment before even starting it.

It was not nearly as cool as I was hoping. I didn’t even get to bring my pack. Having someone calmly tell you to remember and describe traumatic shit that they base Lifetime movies after is not nearly as fun as backpacking through the wilderness. Bawling until you are a wet mess and your head wants to explode is not as sweet as feeding squirrels on a mountain top. Now let’s imagine the cleansing light of the universe pushing all the stress out your feet. Riiiiiiiiiiight………. How about I just tuck that cobra back in its basket in my tummy, my teddy bear was getting lonely. Why the hell did I volunteer to drag up painful stuff???? I’m seriously paying someone to make me feel this way??? No wonder I need counseling…..

Then we upped it to the next level. Time to sit in a dark room with little vibrators in my hands while talking about how there are hundreds of little flashes of pain and my brain flat refused to spend more than a few seconds on each. My body was tensing up on the left side, I felt like I was floating sideways. I was dizzy and nauseous and my throat was tight and I really had to pee. My bra was soaked since I couldn’t wipe my face while holding the vibrators. It would totally be my luck to electrocute myself during a therapy session. When it got too intense I floated out of the memory and my body felt like it suddenly stood up and shut down all thought. My eyes snapped open and I’m pretty sure you could see the glowing neon sign flashing “NOPE” with a very pleasant hum keeping in time. Big surprise right there, my brain being obstinate. Like I didn’t see that coming.

If anyone has ever told you hangovers in your 30’s suck, tell them to try EMDR. I needed a nap right away. My whole body felt like it had been beat with a metal pipe (yes, I do know what that feels like) My brain hurt. I would not describe it as a headache because it felt like somewhere deep inside my left lobe was twisting. I was told to keep a close eye for “abnormal crisis behavior” and to call if anything weird happened. When I asked what specifically to watch for I was told “I have no clue. It’s your brain. If you don’t know then how can I know?” Thanks. That is very reassuring.

It’s a good thing I have an amazing husband that is willing to sacrifice his own mental health (and biological need to fix everything) that was home to take care of me. He made sure I rested, took care of kids, cleaned the bathroom, brought me food, cleaned up the water my clumsy ass spilt on the laptop (with only a chuckle and no complaint), pet my hair, cuddled with me while listening to Lord of the Rings. He is so perfect. I hit the lottery finding this man. Let’s hope he can survive this crazy mental health journey with me.

Soooo here goes the next few month of Hiking Therapy! I’ll try to keep everyone updated as it goes. If I disappear again, make sure to harass me. The writing is very beneficial.

Is the universe fat-shaming me?!?!?!

I have decided, my next tattoo is going to be of nine black cats with red stamps through all but one of them. The series of bad luck lives on and once again I have hurt myself in a way that is slightly hilarious and horrible for my self-esteem. Let me break it down

It was a dark and stormy Tuesday night. My husband was on night shifts so I was alone in the ghost house with a zombie (11 year old girl with an iPhone totally counts) The skeletons were stacking pretty high in my bedroom closet so I decided it was time to move them up to the top shelf so I was no longer tripping over them. And by “skeletons” I really mean “pants” but if you know me, either is possible.

I was being very responsible and went to grab an actual step-stool instead of just stacking things and monkeying up like I normally would. I probably could have been slightly more responsible and not have grabbed the plastic one that the girls had cracked forever ago by jumping on it. Hind sight is 20/20. *insert awkward shrug* Meh.

I did not even manage to get one pair of jeans on that shelf. I put my right foot on it and shifted my weight to lift the other when I felt the “pop”. It’s funny how the world really does go into slow motion when you know something bad is about to happen but have no ability to stop it. I looked down right as I was placing my left foot on the edge of the stool. The same edge the “pop” had come from and now was letting out a sharp crack. I got to watch as that thing gave out and I crumpled down onto that plastic lettuce knife that materialized where the round corner had been.

I sat on the floor and that sweet little stool folded up like it was a kitten taking a nap. Just lying there like nothing happened, the smug thing appeared completely fine. It had done its job and was ready to be put away. My left leg on the other hand was telling a slightly different story. The really good cuts take a minute for your brain to recognize how bad they are. You tend to get a few seconds to analyze the gash before they fill with blood. I got enough time to look at my tendon; flex it, bend it, twist it a little. I thought “that’s so cool looking! Dang I’m lucky I didn’t hit an artery!” That was the Que. The thing started filling up with blood! I grabbed a clean black sock that was in my overnight bag on the floor of the closet. Using that, I held it shut as I hobbled to the master bathroom. I have never been more grateful for hardwood floors!!!!

At least I had paper towels and coban in there. I made the quickest pressure dressing ever and hopped to the laundry room to grab my emergency hiking kit. (Don’t ask me why it was in the laundry room, I have a squirrel brain but sometimes it comes in handy) Time to check if I’m still good at tying suture knots. I plopped down in my shower to find out the answer was “no”. Not sure if it was the years of not practicing, or the adrenaline making me shake, but the first 2 looked like a toddler tried making mommy a present. Yeeeeeaaaaaah, not hanging those ones on the fridge. Ewww, little globs of fat are popping out (definitely not putting those back in. I might have accidentally squeezed a few more out) Screw it! I’m going full Jack and Sally and just doing a continuous loop for the rest of it! Let’s throw a buttload of SteriStrips on there for good measure.

Sweet, all done and only took me half an hour and two dozen gagging moments. Anyone that has ever gotten to feel nylon pulled through an open wound knows why I was gagging. That is one of the most sickening feelings ever! Time to take some pictures and then go pick up the boy from rehearsals. Pat on the back for get through all of that without making my upstairs look like a murder scene or disturbing the mindless zombie that is prone to panic attacks.

Because I am female and have been lied to enough of my life I busted out a tape measure the next day at work. I now know, with 100% certainty, what 7 ½ inches looks like. I also know that is does hurt. A small part of me hopes it leaves a gnarly scar, then I can get ruler marks tattooed on it later on.

I did make sure my husband knew that this was completely his fault. The butthead was hoarding the step stool that had a high weight capacity. I don’t really think it matters that he weighs closer to 300 pounds than I do. OBVIOUSLY the stool that only hold 250 was not nearly enough for my butt. Talk about a self-esteem killer.

P.S. apparently we also need a new scale too, because this one lies…..