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…..

UUUUUGHHH!!!! Why does it have to be so hard?!

I totally feel like a whiny little toddler right now. A toddler that hasn’t had a nap. A toddler that is pissed because I have a shadow. A toddler that does not understand what homework is or why it is so important to sit down and write. I don’t care that I enjoy writing, I don’t wanna! I don’t care that it is therapeutic for me, I don’t wanna! I don’t care that I’m awesome at it, I don’t wanna! I don’t even care that I have a million (And 9) fabulous stories that I really want to get down on paper, I don’t wanna!!!!!! I wanna curl up in my blankie, suck on a cuppy full of juice (okay wine) and NOT write.

Writers block sucks.

*slowly rocks beating head against desk* I have so many funny things floating through my head and cant. *thunk* Get. *thunk* Them. *thunk* Out. *thunk**thunk**thunk* Is it possible to serve your thoughts with an eviction notice? Can I add to the order that they must exit in an organized fashion? How do I even put into a paragraph the fact the District Attorney should really re-word his opening statement? (Who uses the phrase “I’m going to touch on a few things” or “let me know if I didn’t touch something” for a first degree sexual assault case?? Bad form dude) Or about teaching my amazingly sarcastic son to drive? (oh! Look! A kitty!)

Story telling comes natural to me (usually) but it’s like I can’t separate anything out of the big knot of yarn that is swirling in my skull. The more I tug at it the worse it gets. Of course when I lay down and try to sleep at night all the thoughts come swirling around me like the final fight scene in “Ghost”. I feel like that weird kid that always messes up the joke. I’m bursting at the seams with punch lines but can’t lay out the hook.

Maybe I need to be drinking more, or maybe cleaning less, or not so slammed at work that I can’t even think. If you need me, I will be throwing a full out temper tantrum to the beat of “Summertime Sadness” about the fact that August-Specific Depression is a real thing. And is apparently also responsible writers block.

It was worth a life sentence

I am pretty much addicted to memories on Facebook. Any time I start to think I’m a boring old lady I get a reminder of how much fun I’ve had in my life. Hopefully my kids still love me someday when I’m telling their children all the wild things grandma used to do. One of my really good ones came up the other day and I got a nice chuckle as I had to explain it to my newest coworker.

My bosses husband manages a golf course so she is always having to do extra stuff after work involving the green. She was signed up to tee off with some gals at the other course in town. She was commenting that it had been a long day and she really wished she didn’t have to go (nothing against the group, we are just going through computer upgrade HELL right now and everyone is going home exhausted) I had to giggle and tell her

“Just sign up under my name, then they won’t let you golf since I’m banned for life”

“I should! Are you listed under your maiden name?”

“Yeah, just say ‘hi im rya. Im supposed to be meeting some people here’ and they will ask you to leave! Problem solved!

“I wish it would work but they have gotten all new management in the last few years so I don’t think they know you have been kicked out”

“Well that sucks”

This is where the explaining came into play. My coworker was given the condensed version but I feel it needs a deeper explanation. Many years ago I was hanging out with some friends at a charity golf event. Don’t ask me what charity it was because I have no clue and I don’t think they did either. It was a great excuse to day drink dressed like oompa loompas while hot rodding golf carts. The charity part just made it guilt free. We were not wasteful people so we didn’t let that opportunity slip by. At some point during our charity drinking the guys were licking mustard off some other dudes nipple and I busted my lip open trying to catch my straw. Good times!

Even in a heavily intoxicated state I still try to remember my manners and have zero tolerance for rude people. Sitting at the table we ended up at around midnight was a really nice and funny old man, but there was also his son that was getting meaner by the drink. This young punk was snapping his fingers and making snide comments to the waitress. This poor gal had had a long day and it was late enough that only her and the bartender were left for servers.  It didn’t matter if she was helping other customers. It didn’t matter that there were people ahead of him. He was *shoutslastname* and this lazy B-word needs to learn who comes first!

That made my eye twitch….I tried to take a deep breath but right then the lady came to the table apologizing for taking so long. This arrogant prick interrupted the woman to inform her what a fat and lazy and stupid B-word she was to keep a *lastname* waiting. At this point I was coming out of my chair. My friend put a hand on my arm in an attempt to keep me calm. I sternly told the boy that he needed to watch his mouth and have respect for a lady.


I didn’t say anything else to him. Some people only learn one way. I calmly punched him full force straight in the face and sent him rolling backwards in his chair. This also sent the table flying from his legs hitting it. The punk came up swinging but at that point there were plenty of people standing to hold him back. I got told that since I was the only person to throw a swing they had to kick me out for fighting. They weren’t going to call the cops but I has banned from there for life. I was fine with that.

The kids dad made a show of escorting me to the door but the whole time he was telling me how happy he was that someone did that. His boy was a spoiled brat and needed a good ass whooping but his mama wouldn’t let him do it. I held in the giggle until I was out of the building and told him “glad I could help” as he held the limo door for me.

The next morning I woke up to over a dozen messages about it, my friends hand had a paper towel and duct tape pressure dressing on it (that looked vaguely like my work) and my right foot smelled like crab legs…….  Aaaaah the joys of youth! *sigh*

Please say that was a sneeze?!

Another crazy Madysin story!

We were all hanging out at the lake the other night when the lemonade drinking turned into laughing about “the good ol’ days.” Being the group of people we are that became open mic night for most embarrassing/horrible stories. Madysin, being the quirky person she is, came with a list of rules. They are not the normal rules you would expect when looking at a cute innocent looking girl. One of those rules was “No Jaeger” we aren’t saying that she couldn’t drink it, we are saying NO ONE within a 3 mile radius was allowed to drink it around her. She was very strict about this rule, with good reason…

Years ago when she was “in her prime” (looking at her now you would never believe she is out of her prime but it’s her story) she had a regular customer that was madly in LLLLLLLLLLLUUV with her. He was super sweet and funny but the kind of guy that had a hard time getting a girlfriend. He was a geek and a little overweight but had a personality of solid gold. (She is pretty sure that she is the reason his future children will never have a college fund.) Payday was party day in his world, and party was her specialty! He would make it rain until the ATM was a pile of ashes from the friction burn.

On that particular night he had gotten a promotion with a large bonus. Celebration consisted of Patron (instead of Jose) alternating with Jaeger, and topped with the Champagne Room on private reserve for the whole evening. He gave the DJ a stack of cash and had her play only his favorite songs. He was living it up! She was about 3 hours into proving mid-20’s ladies have the stamina of Olympic athletes when the moment began to unfold. The stars were not in the proper alignment for her. She was backing up on it like a belly dancer on ecstasy when she heard him sneeze. That same instant she noticed her totally exposed back was damp. She turned around to chew him out for not covering his mouth while sneezing when she realized what was happening.

That was not a sneeze.

Her horrified expression was mirrored in his face as he was rushing to cover his mouth to keep the rest of the Tequila/Jaeger from hitting her again. He stood up so fast it pushed her into a wall! He ran from the room throwing all the money in his pockets on the floor. The whole time trying to apologize between gags and gurgles. When he made it to the front door he broke the entrance rope instead of opening it.

She grabbed what clothes she had to cover up (if dance outfits were sold by the square foot it would be worth about 73 cents) and rushed in 7 inch platforms to the bathroom! She was in such shock that she didn’t even think to lock the door. This was the most disgusting moment of her life. In the mirror she could see the mess covering her entire back from hairline to dripping off her butt cheeks. Within seconds the DJ was coming through the door.

“Are you okay?! What happened?! OH MY GOD!!! IS THAT WHAT I THINK IT IS?!?!?!””


“Oh dear! Let me help you!”

The DJ wet down some paper towels and started wiping off her back. Mady screamed

“USE SOAP!!!!!!”

It was very obvious that the DJ was trying not to laugh but luckily managed to contain it. Big surprise, no one protested when she stated she was going home to shower and not coming back that night. Possibly the next night too. The guy did send her a dozen roses and a very heartfelt apology letter the following week.

The bad part was that night started a curse. Every party she went to after that, be it work or for fun, if there was a guy drinking Jaeger he would end up vomiting ON HER!!!!

dude at a house party – puked on her butt trying to get cuddly

groomsman at a bachelor party – laughed so hard he threw up as she happened to walk by

ex-husband’s 21st birthday – duh, he drank too much but she had to drive him home

new year’s eve party – random guy hwarfed in her shoe

there are plenty more examples but no need to beat a sick horse. That night was the origin of Rule 17: NO JAEGER NEAR MADYSIN!!!!!!!

we need to address the elephant in the room (or the skunk in the car)

My brain will never be able to fully wrap around “legal recreational marijuana”. I spent too
much of my adolescents trying to hide the fact I was on drugs to be okay with open use. Living
directly north of Denver has made my brain hurt. Is it wrong? Is it okay? What do I tell my kids?
They still have the D.A.R.E. program in school but 4 hours south is the 4:20 Festival! Being a
parent is hard….Especially on Friday, April 20 th .
Combine this tidbit with the weird fact that I love the smell of skunks. I have since I was a little
kid. I was insanely happy when they changed rubber cement to smell like skunks to get kids to
quit huffing it. If we were driving by one I would get crazy excited and stick my head out the
window to sniff the air. I still do that to this day. My kids would watch me get happy and excited
so they would point out the smell in case I hadn’t noticed it yet. Aren’t they just so sweet 
trying to make mommy happy.
Right after Recreational Use became legal in Colorado, we started the joke “it smells like we
crossed the state line” whenever we would travel south to visit Denver. It was always an inside
joke between my husband and I until we were going to visit the new nephew. (SQUEE!!!! I LOVE
BABIES!!!!) The girls kept commenting about all the skunk smells that were happening. We
would just giggle and say we smelled it too. It was often enough that they stopped getting
excited and started getting confused. Very seriously one of them asked us “Have there always
been this many skunks in Denver?” My husband is the king of sarcasm and was able to pop back
right away “Nope. They migrate in on April 20 th ” I busted out laughing way harder than I
probably should. (I may have had a contact high from all the shops we were driving past.) I
turned around in my seat and told the girls we needed to address the skunk in the car.
I have never seen more conflicted faces. You would swear it was the moment they got told
Santa Claus isn’t real, or that mom is really the Tooth Fairy, or that goblins don’t steal their
Halloween chocolate (that’s really Dad, I don’t even like chocolate). Pot is a drug, and drugs are
bad. EVERYONE has told them that their whole life. As soon as they cross an invisible state line
it becomes illegal again. Soooooo….it’s bad there but not here????? How can it only be bad in
some places???? Next thing I know I’m comparing marijuana to MacDonald’s and Tequila. Not a
conversation I ever expected to have with my little girls. I also never thought I would have to
talk to them about NOT eating laundry soap but here we are, God Bless America.
I’m a good parent so I of course snapped a definite “NO!” when they asked if that meant they
could try it too. Not even when they turn 18. Drugs lead to pregnancy and horrible body odor.
It was their turn to laugh at me….