Lozenges: Day One

Subtitled: OHMYGAWDSHOOTMEKILLMENOWOHTHEPAINTHEPAINMAKEITSTOPMAKEITSTOP!!!

Also Subtitled: I suffer so maybe you don’t have to

To be honest, although I’ve smoked for... a long time, I actually tried to quit a year ago using that FABulous Chantix pill thing. Hubby used Chantix and didn’t experience any of the following side effects:

murdering people on a whim
vivid dreams that actually turn into reality as you murder people on a whim
bend over doubled into a U from the horrible stomach pain
uncontrollably diarrhea
room clearing gas

Ok, those really aren’t the side effects, here are the REAL side effects:
* Nausea (30%)
* Sleep problems (trouble sleeping, changes in dreaming)
* Constipation
* Gas
* Vomiting

Ok, and there is that class action lawsuit about people killing other people or committing suicide or driving off the side of a road and wiping out a small school of children, but you know how those class action suits are.

Hubby didn’t have any of these, and he hasn’t smoked in a year (except once or twice when it was take a puff or punch someone in the face).

I, on the other hand, experienced only the horrible gastro-intestinal fun festive side effects, to such a point that co-workers that had begged me to quit smoking were actually buying me smokes and asking me to stop the Chantix. Constipation was not the issue, quite the opposite, more like uncontrollable... well, I’m sure you get the picture.

Granted, I didn’t take all of the pills that I should have, and I did manage to be smoke free for about three months, then lapsed. I should have gone back on Chantix, but hey, I was having too much fun not crapping my pants.

So, here we are a year later. Once I did start smoking again I totally did cut WAY down... not WAY down like I use to tell my doctor WAY down when I didn’t cut down, but seriously WAY down than what I use to smoke.

Day 1 of the Commit lozenges.

As usual, I get in the truck to drive to work sucking on the very tasty Cappuccino lozenge. Its almost as if you are in Willy Wonka’s factory and are actually drinking a cappuccino... if cappuccino came in pill form and tasted like ass. What to do with my hands. Normally I’m holding a smoke, so I felt a bit at a loss as to what to do with my right hand... other than hold the steering wheel at the 2pm position. Hey, I’ll drive and play mahjong on my phone. Ok, I didn’t, and I also didn’t text while I drove either, because I’m pretty sure that’s against the law.... right.

The instructions say “don’t drink or eat anything 15 minutes before popping a lozenge, or while lozenge is in your mouth, let it dissolve in your mouth, moving it from side to side occasionally, and minimize swallowing. Lozenge will dissolve in about 30 minutes”

There are several issues with this:
1.) It took an hour for my first one to dissolve, which meant I was at work and I was still sucking on the stupid thing.
2.) don’t eat and drink 15 minutes prior? That TOTALLY freaking messes with my whole morning coffee routine!
3.) minimize swallowing? How many times does the average person swallow so I can “minimize” it and frankly anything that tells you not to do something, you immediately become hyper-aware and that’s all you want to do.

I totally spit out the thing the moment I got in my office so I could drink my coffee. Two hours later when it was time for another, I had to stop drinking my coffee and wait 15 minutes... this is damned inconvenient I tell you. Totally screws with your whole ebb and flow of the day. By lozenge #2 I was ready to cut my losses and try the patch again, or even the gum (although I heard that with the gum you aren’t even suppose to chew the gum... THAT’S NOT GUM), or even call my doctor and ask for another Chantix RX.

Lozenge #2 was the Cherry flavor, if you call Cherry a fruity acid burning sensation on your cheek and gums that tastes like ass. Its around this time that I developed the hiccups from hell. Once again, it takes over an hour for the stupid thing to dissolve and I’m wondering if I have some sort of salivary issue. There’s also the whole timing thing again with the eating and drinking, and also if I’m suppose to pop one every 1-2 hours, does that 1-2 hours start when I pop it in my mouth, or after the stupid thing dissolves? I was having more stress dealing with these burning questions (as well as the acid burning sensation in my cheek) than wanting a smoke. After 45 minutes of the thing festering in my mouth (no doubt rotting my teeth in the process) I spit it out.

As I gazed at lozenge #3, I yearned for the days of doubled over stomach pains and diarrhea. I mean at least I was losing some weight on Chantix, and frankly my new office IS closer to a bathroom and all. There is also the patch thing, which was fun as long as you liked having your skin bubble up and ooze when you took off the patches. Frankly, if I was suppose to suck one of these things every 2 hours for 6 weeks, that actually meant that I had a 1 hour timeframe between lozenges to eat or drink and would virtually waste away to nothing or worse, since it was seriously curtailing my coffee and latte drinkability time. Had about 3 rounds of painful hiccups during and after that one.

By lozenge 4 I was so sick of cherry flavored ass that I almost picked up the phone and called my doctor to beg for chantix prescription... but since I shelled out $40 for these gawd-awful acid ass tasting things... I stopped myself.

Lozenge #5 on the way home from work was one of the cappuccino ones and I totally spit it out as I drove after only about 20 minutes. I’m pretty much convinced that there’s nothing in these things to help you stop smoking, its just that its so vile and nasty tasting, rotting your teeth horrible that its like aversion training.

Lozenge #6 before dinner, and I’m almost getting use to the vile film it leaves in your mouth during and after it finally freaking melts. I have the distinct feeling that I look like those people that chew tobacco and will probably end up with mouth cancer or something now.

Lozenge #7 after I ate and frankly I almost went to bed early just so I wouldn’t have to suck on this horrible concoction of ground coffee faux creamer tasting cappuccino monstrosity that has now given me horrible gas... how odd. Is there nothing that WON’T give me horrible gas? Thanks for the gas genes dad! Honestly, I had the gas BEFORE I ate fajitas.

So, that’s day one. I’m 2 lozenges behind the recommended 9 per day thing, but there is totally nothing in this world that would compel me to stay up any later than I have to JUST to suck 2 more of these things.

I’m going to seriously contemplate calling my doctor tomorrow and asking for a chantix prescription. I can’t have these stupid lozenges disrupting the only thing in my life that makes me somewhat happy (coffee and latte) and frankly if I have to, we’ll put one of those rear view mirror deodorizer things in my pants if I need to if it means unlimited amounts of coffee and not sucking cherry ass any more. Besides, Chantix is covered under my medical plan and frankly if I’m paying a zillion dollars a month for health care, I’m going to suck everything I can from my plan.

Urine Test for Unemployment Benefits

I saw a lovely heated discussion about the pros and cons of requiring people who collect unemployment to submit to a urine test.

In a nutshell: people collecting unemployment should be work-ready, therefore if they’re stoned out of their gourds, not very work-ready. Cons are, apparently it is unconstitutional (illegal search).

If its unconstitutional, then why are companies allowed to require it of their employees as a condition of employment? Someone crashes a train into a bus, tests positive for dope and immediately there’s that whole knee jerk reaction that requires all train operators to pee in a bottle. That’s all fine and dandy, but what if an unemployed crack addict applies to drive a train? Of course they won’t get the job the moment they pee for the company, so that’s a waste of taxpayer time to send a crack addict to a train driver job. I think it would actually be beneficial to test them, that way the unemployment agency can at least steer them toward a job they would be accepted in... if there are jobs that crack addicts are qualified to have... perhaps a member of congress.

I’m on the fence about it actually. I can see the pros and cons of both sides, but really, the person they had opposing it during this discussion was a total moron. His argument was that children would suffer because their drug using parents wouldn’t be able to get unemployment money. Um, seriously? I think not getting unemployment benefits is the LAST problem a child has if their parent(s) are doped up. I’m guessing regardless of where the money comes from, kid will starve because parent is off spending said money on more drugs, and neglecting said kid.

Another “solution” by this chucklehead was to spend the money that would be used for drug testing on more subsidized drug treatment centers. Once again, seriously? You now want me to pay to help drug addicts? I did not make them snort, cook, inject, or smoke drugs, THEY decided to do that, so they should take responsibility and get themselves clean.

Once again, everyone wants a free ride and not take responsibility for their own actions. We’re doomed as a country unless people stop this whole “Give me” generational thinking. The country owes you NOTHING, the country gives you NOTHING, you have the right to pursue happiness, its not simply GIVEN to you and there’s nothing that says you’ll even get happiness, so put your hand down and go make something of yourself other than cooking meth in your bath tub.

Birthday Party Time Part 2 of who knows

Ok, so when we last left my wonderful adventures, I had scored some Sephora “product”, a latte, and was driving to the Thrift store for some unbridled shopping... when my phone rang. It was loving hubby, who suggested that I delay my thrift store whoring to come eat lunch with him and a coworker. Food? Sure thing, so I modified my route and met them at the ever wonderful, always friendly, tasty good lots of food for a reasonable price Red Parrot Asian Bistro in beautiful thrown up in a weekend Arundel Preserves (which use to be a forest but now its a forest of condominiums).


I had the VERY tasty stir fried beef and a green tea, very tasty and filling... almost too filling as after I ate I felt as though I could simply curl up on the floor and nap, but I had things to do.... so I got one of these to help boost my spirits.

Nodding in and out of sleep on 295 south, I ventured back to the thrift store.

Now, I just want to say that I am sensitive to the fact that some people actually rely on thrift stores to put clothes on their backs or else they’d walk around nude, so I didn’t go in carting a latte with a Sephora bag swinging from my wrist while I twittered my activities on my iPhone. I mean come on, I could have been mistaken for an AIG executive and beaten to death, so I left all of that in the car.


It must have been the tasty food, but once I got there I really wasn’t in the mood to dig through aisle upon aisle of clothes, so I did a quick once through and grabbed a few things: some shirts a nice light jacket thing, and a dress, all for less than $20 and decided that perhaps running home for a nap would be in order. Of course as I drove out of the parking lot I realized that I barely had any gas left, which meant stopped at a gas station... big sigh.

I don’t like any of the gas stations on “that side of town”, but it was either that or push the RAV home, so I stopped at a BP station... where apparently the pump didn’t speak the same language as my Amex and kept telling me to see the attendant. FINE, so glad we have all of this technology. I mean REALLY I’m so use to NOT having to speak to anyone when I get gas I barely know what to say to the guy once I get in there. “The pump told me to see you”, which on hindsight makes it sound like I held a conversation with it (well, I did curse at it so I guess that counts.) Guy behind bullet proof glass apologizes and tells me to try it again. I do, says “See Attendant” SONOFA... I just want GAS how hard is this?

Go in again with the WTF look, and he apologizes again and says he’ll just do it from the register. Fine, whatever, I mean I’m all out of breath from walking the 10 feet from pump to building and all, I don’t think I can take another round trip. “How much do you want to put in it?” Um... I want it filled up. “Yes, but how much does that cost?” Well, how the frick am I suppose to know that? This is a credit society, we don’t look at totals, we just charge and charge until someone rips our cards up or bails us out, so I don’t fricken know how much my gas tank takes or what the cost of gas is even!!!! “SEVEN DOLLARS!!!” I shrieked. He looked at me like that wasn’t going to be enough, and I refrained from screeching “well its gonna be enough to get me to a station where their shit works”, but he was being nice and I didn’t want to make him feel bad that his station sucked.

Got my 7 bucks worth of gas (FYI: half of a tank), and toodled over to Target for some face soap... because all I have is moisturizing soap and if I’m going to use a moisturizer, I can’t be throwing all sorts of moisture on my face or else I’d be able to grow mushrooms on my forehead.

After that, I did toodle home, but didn’t get a chance to nap because it was then time for the ritualistic friday mall crawl with hubby. We went, we latte’d, we walked, and I found this book.

I’m pretty sure its a children’s book about poop.

We came home, Loki helped with laundry, and then I pretty much went to bed.

And thus ends my exciting birthday.

BTW: I did try the Sephora stuff, and I really like it, and my face hasn’t sprouted mushrooms yet.

Birthday Party Time Part 1 of many

So yes, a few gazillion years ago I was born on the first day of spring... during a blizzard. That pretty much was a foretelling of my life right there I suppose. For years and years I was told that I was named after a soap opera character, because they felt I wouldn’t take it well to learn that I was actually named after my dad’s first dog... frankly it came as a huge relief, because who wants to be named after a soap opera character?

But I digress, yesterday it was my birthday and a regular day off, so what better way to spend it than a day of pampering and shopping. Well, sorta.

Thanks to the economy, and despite the pleas for people to go rack up more credit card debt to “stimulate” the economy, I’m on a budget (poor) so I had two objectives in mind for that day:

1.) go buy some tinted moisturizing sunblock face stuff that was recommended by Bossy
2.) Check out the thrift store
3.) get latte

I really didn’t need to list #3, as that is a daily essential vitamin in my diet (along with Vitamin E, which I’ve been pretty good about taking along with my Zyrtec and I haven’t grown a horn out of my head, although I think I could accessorize a horn really cool.

Soooo, off I go at 10am on only 2 cups of coffee to the mall about 18 miles away. If only people would have known my condition, they would have stayed off the interstate.

First stop (of course)




Armed with a venti latte and a clearer head, I walked through the mall, checked out the puppy mill store (they had a husky, bastards... see ya in the shelter in 6 months when their unassuming purchaser who had no clue about northern breeds realizes its not a “snow dog” and dumps it), and found myself in front of the Sephora store.

As anyone that knows me, my going into a Sephora store with the intent to purchase anything is akin to a sign of the apocalypse, since I don’t wear makeup, never had. As I mentioned above, Bossy told me to go get that amazing product, so I had to. Ok, not really, but as I get older, I appear to be getting more and more blotchy, as a redhead the sun does stupid things to my skin (like creates more freckles) and I had given up all hope long ago that if I had a whole bunch of freckles, they would eventually merge and make me look really tan. So, sun block, moisturizer, and tint... pretty much what I need I think.

I walk into the virtually empty store and was immediately attacked by a helpful sales associate or “color specialist”. I knew this would happen and before I was thrown into a chair and made into a Kabuki theater actor, I whipped out the print out of the amazing moisturizer and said “I want this”.

I thought being prepared with the actual product page would save me from questioning or a hard sales push, but I was wrong. We got to the “product” and she asked “How does your T zone feel?” Um, I just met you, you really aren’t my type, plus I’m married and how dare you ask me something that private in a virtually empty store... ok, I didn’t say that, I actually said “What’s a T zone?” Apparently that’s the face area on your forehead and down your nose. I had no clue. “Is your T zone dry or oily?” She said “oily” as if leprosy was more desirable than having an oily T zone and I immediately recoiled and stammered that my T zone was perfectly normal, even though I could probably lube a car with my face. I’m lying to complete strangers about my oily T zone, what have I become?

Then she asked “what is your skin type?” and named off a bunch of seasons and feelings. I’m thinking to myself at this point “um, you are the ”color specialist“ I’m sure you had to graduate from color school or something, why can’t you just look at me and pronounce me a specific season? ”I don’t know“ I sputtered. I truly felt that she just wanted to torture me. They should send the Guantanamo prisoners to Sephora, they’d crack in 10 minutes.

Apparently, after sizing me up, she pronounced me a ”sand“, which is better than a ”compost“ or perhaps even a ”bark“ or something, who knows, but she proceeded to take a little sponge and a little q-tip thing and squirted a miniscule bit of ”product“ on the sponge, dabbed the Q-tip on it and rub it on my face and officially pronounced me a ”sand“. WHOOT!

”Do you have any sponges?“ Once again with the personal stuff, no I had my tubes tied so there’s no need for... oh, you mean to apply the stuff to my face... um, I don’t have any. She then told me that I would need a brush. Um... ok, then get me a brush. I balked at the silicone something or other setting something and managed to flee the store with generally what I had planned on getting and using... except for the brush, which I’m still not sure about, but its a really cool brush and I could always use it to baste a turkey with or something.

Next stop, thrift store, me with my Sephora bag, a latte, and yes, a small cheek part of my skin concealed with the rest of my face still blotchy.

I’ll save that for tomorrow, as I hate really long blog posts.

Vitamins

So, I was at the grocery store the other day and actually remembered to go to the vitamin section and look for some vitamin E (per my doctor to help get rid of the tiny boob clusters, and in case you missed that wonder post, here it is).

I am always amazed at the amount of vitamins being sold in stores and wonder if people actually take all of that crap, but hey, whatever, the doctor said take it, so whatever. Thankfully they’re all in alphabetical order, so I put my latte down in the handy drink holder provided by Safeway on their shopping carts (thank you Safeway for that convenience), and searched for the E and found it.

Lucky for me, there was a buy one get one free offer going on. Knowing that I will most likely forget about 95% of the time to take my vitamin E, I figured I would get something else that I would forget to take and looked at all of the choices I had. No, I don’t need prostate supplements, and since I do eat Activia for the pooping thing I figured a digestive supplement would land me in the toilet for the rest of my life, I saw a bottle simply marked “Stress”. Hey, there’s a novel idea, if I can get all of my stress from a bottle of pills, then maybe I wouldn’t need any external stress from co-workers, friends, or the fact that the government is gleefully spending my money even before I earn it. I nabbed that sucker.

Here it is a day later and yes, the bottles are sitting on my little bathroom ledge thing near my toothbrush with the safety seals still keeping the bottle safe because I have a conundrum that maybe you all can help me out with.

Can you mix E and stress with zyrtec in the mornings? Is there something horrible with that? I can’t take it at night because I chew a handful of tums before bed on the advice of another doctor who said that if I didn’t, as I grow older my bones will just crumble to dust and my limbs will fall off. I know that you can’t take most anything with tums because it will generally just clump around whatever you took and you won’t absorb it into your system or something like that. So, that leaves just mornings to take it, but what will it do with the Zyrtec because I really need that to keep my eyes from watering like a firehose which makes me look even more demented during work meetings (and now that I think of it I was also going to look for eye drops that would actually DRY out your eyes because, seriously, its like Niagara falls eyes even with the Zyrtec, but it does help a bit). Then there’s the whole stuffed up nose that unstuffs at the most inopportune times (like client meetings) where I’m forced to sit with kleenex stuffed up my nose and nobody takes me very seriously looking like that (ok, who am I kidding, nobody takes me seriously anyway, but I like to think that if I didn’t have watery eyes and kleenex up my nose they would).

Ok, after that whole ramble its very clear that regardless of what happens if I take everything in the morning, I’m still going to be a total mess anyway, so maybe some sort of interaction with the E and Stress and Zyrtec will make me normal... or so out of it I won’t care anymore.

Thanks for your assistance.

Mall Watching

Ok, so I’m sitting outside the mall Starbucks sipping my Vitamin E-less Iced Venti 2 pump mocha and waiting for hubby to get off work so we could walk through the mall and comment about how people aren’t buying anything as we weave our way through the halls avoiding millions of people dragging 600 lb shopping bags around.

Sitting next to me were two women talking rather loudly about cults. I’m not sure whether they are pro cult or anti cult, but it seemed to be a strange topic of conversation at a mall Starbucks. One of the talkers had a small Saks 5th Avenue bag around her wrist and was making expansive hand gestures with it, as if to call attention to the fact that she shopped at Saks, bought something at Saks, and would probably leave the Starbucks to go return whatever over priced piece of crap she got at Saks.

I came to the realization that Starbucks (at least the mall Starbucks) have THE most uncomfortable chairs in the history of chairs. Its as if they were specially made to look chic and cool, but designed to make sitting in them not only painful, but downright torturous. Its like they want you to sit there for a whole 1 minute before running away and seeking chiropractor assistance to make room for more caffeine fiends (who no doubt also have cysts and don’t take Vitamin E).

Across from Starbucks (are you counting how many times I write “Starbucks”?) is the Victoria Secret shop. Through careful study I’ve found that husbands will run for the store dragging their wives (or significant others) into the store. If women are alone, they stroll in as though they’ve lost their balance and Oh look! I’m inside Victoria’s Secret, I’ll just walk around and not pick up that flimsy thing that looks great on the anorexic plastic torso but will make me look like an overstuffed sausage. I was momentarily yanked out of a peaceful zen moment by the screaming of a small child and looked up to see a woman trying to drag her young daughter into the store. Children are born with the knowledge that underwear is suppose to be comfortable and comforting and should not consist of one strand of barbed wire that imbeds itself up your ass and must be removed with surgical tools.

To the woman with the patent leather bowling bag-like purse, one streak of fake purple in over dyed black hair tied back with a gigantic fake daisy... get some better friends that will tell you that you look like Ruth Gordon in “Harold and Maude” and then have them explain to you just how tragic that is so you don’t end up like that character.

I think that malls don’t use overhead music to their advantage. Playing monks chanting or piano music merely lulls the shoppers into a glazed over zombie-like state and is not conducive to shopping. They should play the end theme to Benny Hill or something peppy to get them buying crap they not only don’t need, but have no idea why they bought it in the first place before chasing down a large bussomed woman sporting a nurse’s uniform.

Are those ghastly knee high sport socks with the rings at the top back... and why, or is one person still back in the 70’s?

Wearing 14 mismatched layers of clothes does not automatically make you look bohemian or “earthy”, just pathetic and crazy, perhaps even homeless and in need of security people driving Segways to herd you out of the mall.

I certainly hope that Ugg boots are out of fashion this year. To those who wear them in the summer... what kind of stink does that create when you take them off?

I close with two dreams I had the other day:

1.) Despite going to at least 4 different restrooms, they are all malfunctioning in some horrid way (This is a reoccurring dream I have for some reason)

2.) I am the photographer on the wing of a jet while two men and a woman walk on the wings (as the jet is zooming and doing all sorts of acrobatic things) and they do fancy tricks like handstands and junk. (This one is new and frankly I have no freakin clue what this means)

My Friday

The one bad thing about not working on Fridays (and yes, I’ll just sit here and wait until you stop cursing me out for bitching about only working 4 days a week and now complaining about it) is that I tend to schedule all manner of doctor appointments, housing repair and other crap I can’t do during the week on my official day off.

Warning, you are about to read about my mammogram. If you actually know me and won’t be able to look me in the face without laughing, or staring at my chest, leave now.

So, of course, friday I was back at the Mammogram place because I got a very nice letter from them saying they wanted to look at something closer. Frankly, after the last squishing I have no idea how they could look at something closer without totally flattening things that aren’t meant to be flattened, but whatever, gotta get these things checked out.

I happen to like the place I go to, because it resembles a very quiet spa atmosphere, low lights, comfy chairs, magazines that aren’t 10 years old. They even have a very convenient step-by-step pictorial about how you’re suppose to put on the very comfy “shirts” specifically for easy slapping out of whatever needs to be filmed. The only problem was that I was either severely undercaffinated or the sick, twisted idiot that sewed the little color coded tie thingies was fucking with me. No amount of matching little tie strings made that thing tie right, so I totally went on instinct (especially when the nurse asked if I needed some assistance... oh yeah, there’s a bright moment in my life, having someone tie up my stupid mammo shirt for me), and fled the dressing room with it wrapped semi-securely totally expecting it to fling open the moment I sat down.

While I waited I played mah jong on my iPhone and if anyone sat next to me, I’d turn to them and say convincingly “Oh my, that’s a really cool shirt! Where did you get it?” This typically left me with a two chair buffer, which was fine with me because hey... before these things you aren’t suppose to use deodorant and who wants to sit near someone like that.

Finally get called and saunter into the cold room of large machines. The technician apparently learned her craft at the Guantanamo Bay interrogation school for mammographers because as she’s squishing me with hard plastic plates she’s all:

Squisher: Are those Doc Martins? I love Doc Martins, where did you get them?

Me: MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLL

Squisher: Recently? Can you tell me how much you spent?

Me: A month aGOOOOOOOOOOOOO... ON SAAAAAALLLLLEEEEEEEEE

I was expecting her to ask me if it was safe, and if you don’t get that reference... go here, rent it, you’ll never go back to a dentist, you’ll just let your teeth rot in your mouth and fall out.

Ok, so I go back and sit down while someone reads the “film” only to be told after 20 minutes that I needed to have an ultrasound, because they needed a clearer picture. Oh, but the ultrasound people are at lunch, so come back at 1pm. First of all, why didn’t they just do a freakin ultrasound to begin with and just get it over with because they knew EXACTLY what they needed to look at again (sick bastards just love to squish), and secondly... I’M GOING TO RANGE AT 1PM, SO BITE ME!!! ok, I didn’t say that, I actually said that I have a previous engagement, which made me sound more like I was going to tea with a visiting queen and not shooting a deadly weapon at paper targets, which might have made them a bit... apprehensive about squishing me again, so maybe that’s what I should have said. Ok, then come back at 3pm. Heaving sigh, FINE!

Off to the range for some 9mm therapy, then run back home to drop off range bag, race to the stupid radiology place, grabbing one of those hearty Lunchable things to eat while I drove and plopped myself back in the stupid shirt thing for a 45 minute freakin wait.

During my wait I got to experience Ms. I Can’t Stand To Wait. She came in, argued about what order her procedures would be, argued about the smock, argued about the temperature of the room, and finally screeched that she “just can’t stand to wait” when she was told that Ultra Sound was backed up. I smirked because I came in before Ms. ICSTW so I’d be going before her. My smirk was short-lived because Ms. ICSTW sat, squirmed, moaned, groaned, bitched and made all sorts of noises to let everyone within a 20 mile radius know that she was “uncomfortable”. I wanted to stand up and scream ‘JUST FREAKIN TAKE HER IN NOW SO WE DON’T HAVE TO LISTEN TO HER ANYMORE“... but that would have just rewarded her for being a bitch, so I merely laughed loudly when they called me back before her.

Small dark room, bed, lots of equipment and lube... the only thing missing was that Bow Chika Bow Bow music and some stirrups. The technician used enough goop to lube up a menopausal elephant, punched buttons, frowned, made some clucking noises, and generally made me feel like I had a conjoined twin growing in the left boob, or worse. She jotted some things down on some paper and left the room after handing me a towel... but no cigarette.

Moments later a doctor came in and announced that I had tiny cyst clusters. Duh, you mean the same tiny cyst clusters I’ve had for every year, but I have to come back for multiple squishing and gooping? You don’t say! Doctor continued by saying that I could get rid of them by cutting down on caffeine. After she gave me some oxygen because I was laughing so hard I nearly retched, she also suggested taking Vitamin E because that helps get rid of them sometime. Of course I heard ”instead of cutting down on Starbucks, take Vitamin E“ so I agreed that I would drive right to the store after I got my venti latte and get some of that. She also suggested I come back in 6 months for a recheck... yeah, let me whip out my iPhone and make that appointment right now... not.

Frankly, I’m very cysty anyway. Two in the wrist (who I’ve named Oliver), and one in another un-named area (who my friend [who shall remain nameless, so I’ll call her Icky] named Larry), and now these, who I feel compelled to name... any suggestions?

Tomorrow: My observations of mall people as I sat sipping my Iced venti 2 pump mocha without vitamin E while I waited on hubby to get off work.

I'm 7 and hoping the schools are closed

Let me put my teeth in, hitch up my bathrobe and tell you young whipper snappers how it was when I was a kid and we went to school during blizzards. None of this pansy ass school closed because of 1 flake crap, ooooooooh noooooo, we walked to school in snow up to our noses, chipped out frozen toes out of equally frozen boots and walked to our next class on blue frozen nubs of ankles.

Blizzard of ‘76, yep, we had like 2 whole days of school off and that’s only because nobody could find the school, it was completely covered in snow. Some asshat actually found the door, dug a tunnel and next thing you know, we’re chipping our frozen blue noses off and crawling to class on frozen blue knee nubs.

Fast forward a gazillion years and I land in Maryland. Here, someone with dandruff shakes their head and schools are immediately cancelled for a week and martial law is declared. People drive 95 mph to the grocery store to buy milk, bread, toilet paper, eggs, and rotisserie chickens (for some stupid reason), then on the way back they crash into each other causing massive road blocks of twisted metal and carcasses... then no snow.

Both hubby and my workplaces have snow phone numbers. Ok, his actually has a blog, which makes his snow “number” a tad bit cooler than mine. Each have their own color coded thing to tell you what to do... except they are different colors, and mean different things.

So, like green is open, get your butt in right now, don’t wanna hear any whining.

Yellow (for my peoples) is a delay of some kind, typically 2 hours... which means now instead of people trickling in at their normal times, everyone crams through the gates at the same time, making life... fun. Hubby’s secondary one is Blue, and they get to use their discretion about coming in or not... after you ask your daddy (supervisor).

Red is the common: OHMYGAWD DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT COMING IN ITS HORRIBLE code.

So, here we sit, hitting redial (or refresh) waiting for that nice code red to come up. Come on red, puhleeeeze red. I’m also refreshing weather.com and watching the map in motion and reading while giggling how we’re suppose to get up to 10 inches (a veritable blizzard for these parts... the whole state will be closed for a month, even if the snow melts the next day).