"Say ahhhhhhh........"

My poor darling Daddio has been complaining about...well, about everything.

Everything from a sore finger to a racing heartbeat.

My crazy advice...?

"It's time for your physical dude"....

You would have thought I asked him to put his index finger into the garbage disposal (while running) had you seen the look of pure terror that remark brought to his handsome face.

"I don't need nooo doc-ter"

"There is nuttin wrong with me"

"I just went for a physical"

(Actually, It's been a couple of years, dear ...)

Now don't be a hater (and write me silly emails about how I should let my husband be a grown up and all...it ain't gonna happen) when I tell you that I had to call and make the appointment for him.

Once I jumped that hurdle and made the call Daddio had every excuse in the book why he couldn't make it.

Like a good tennis match, we back and forth-ed it (for days) until I won....(tee-hee).

And he agreed to go.

The morning of the appointment Daddio was in (not so) rare form.

"What are you going to tell him is wrong with you...?" I gently coached.

"Nuttin.." Daddio replied, "I'm not telling him a damn thing, if he is a good doctor, he can figure it out".

"He can guess what is wrong with me..."

"COME ON!!!" I say, starting to feel like I need to meet my boy in the waiting room... "you gotta give him SOMETHING to work with".

"Nah" said Daddio "it's on him to figure this out"

Ohhh brother...

(Maybe you could say hot or cold as he nears your symptoms and issues...? just a thought.)

While eating his Corn Flakes, Daddio continued to express his feelings of unadulterated panic...

"Plan on me coming home and finding a quiet corner" Daddio said

"Where I can suck my thumb and go to my happy place"..

"After a half hour in the cell with BIG BUBBA...I'm gonna be in some serious pain"...

I finally figured out he was talking about his prostrate exam.

I wanted sooo much to compare his exam to the duck billed gyno tear apart or the boob in a cold steel vice squeeze we women have to endure...

I could have gone the childbirth route too...but I do have a heart..and so I patted his back and told him I'd clean out one of the corners and toss him an afghan and a Jimmy Beam/ Diet Pepsi when he came back from the war from his appointment.

He called on the way home.

"They want to hospitalize me immediately" Daddio said

My breath caught in my throat, and my heart pounded...

He came clean a second later and said he was "fine" and on his way home.

He sounded good... real good.

"How did IT go?" I asked, referring to the internal probe.

Well, somehow he managed to dodge that bullet...he has to go back for THAT and some fasting blood work in two weeks..

Which gives him some time to locate a petite female doctor with fingers the size of shoestring french fries.

To be continued......

Hello...? Hello, is anyone there..???

If you're reading this I appreciate that you've come back... nothing like checking in on a blog you (may) read (daily or a couple of times a week) and seeing nothing new..arrgh!

I hate that.

I'm sorry I did THAT to YOU...

We good?

Alrighty then...lets move on.

It has been onehellofa week ten days..

Last week I had a rogue mole chopped off... into the tender skin above my knee cap the sawbones plunged a 6 inch (yes, yes it was, okay..maybe it wasn't) needle filled with some kind of numbing medicine. The nurse hovered over the surgery site, pliers in hand as the doctor carved underneath the gigantic (obviously) diseased mass with (what felt like) a machete.

Not so carefully,  the doctor sawed the many tentacles that anchored the mole in place... once he freed a good sized portion of the hideous creature, the nurse held it up by the pliers and the doctor severed the blood supply.

Then the monster blob was dropped into a specimen container and shipped to a nearby lab for an evaluation. 

"It doesn't look good" the doctor said (he didn't actually say that, but he looked like he was going to).

I also had blood taken.... something I do every three months to make sure some meds I take aren't hurting my kidneys.

I should have been surprised (but I wasn't) when the nurse called a couple of days later and said "doc wants to see you" and "he can talk to you when he removes the stitches"... (it was a long week people)

For kicks my sister Susan (the one who doesn't read this blog) came with me to the appointment.. (well, I called her nearly hysterical with worry what else could she do but agree to accompany me...?)

We waited for almost an hour and a half in a jam packed waiting room and when we were finally called in Susan looked a tad shell shocked when I stepped toward the scale and started stripping.

In her arms she held my clothes, my shoes, my purse (I'd stuffed my lucky coin in my butt crack) while I stepped around the corner to be weighed.

"I never saw anyone get buck naked to get weighed...?" Susan observed.

"WOW" I said ( VERY loudly) to the nurse "110, AS USUAL".

"Ohhh my gawd YOU are soooo full of shit" I heard a voice from around the corner whisper.

"I WEIGH one hundred eleven" the voice continued.

In the room Susan nerves got the best of her, causing her to do odd things, like pocket a pair of gloves.

She said next she was going to steal the blood pressure cuff....

When she jumped up and started opening the cupboard drawers I had to draw the line...

(She doesn't read this blog, so I can accuse her of anything...tee-hee)

(Okay, so in all fairness, she opened the cupboard door to free a cord that was stuck inside..."it was bugging me" she said.)

While we waited she tried to get my mind off things by talking about how I couldn't weigh 110 pounds...but I wouldn't budge.

"Yes I DO..."

"No YOU DON'T"

"I DO"

"YOU DON'T"

"I DO SO"

"I HEARD YOU AND YOU DON'T"....

I was just about to slug her when the door opened and the dr walked in.

"You're mole..." he said, "was a..... then continued with a big long word that I didn't understand.

"What does THAT mean?" I asked, beginning to panic.

"I don't want to say IT in front of your sister..." doctor said.

Well it wasn't some kind of vaginal wart...it was a mole on my kneecap.

"You can go ahead and say IT" I said... feeling suddenly courageous. 

He said the big word again and then he explained.

"Your mole was a funny skin growth that old people get... like REALLY OLD PEOPLE"

Susan didn't hear the rest... "Kind of unusual in people your age"...

She was cackling wayyyyy too loud and pounding her hand on the arm of the chair  

I swear to god one of these days I'm gonna shank that hootch. 

*Note.... I am not making fun of skin cancer or people who receive sad and devastating news at dr appointments... I'm making fun of oddballs like myself who nearly go nuts worrying about moles (about the size of a pencil eraser) and everything other little ache and pain that they think is going to result in a terminal diagnosis...living life as a raging hypochondriac sucks..

Thank you for your visit...please come again.

xoxo

GET IN MY BELLY................

I know, yes deep in my heart I know, that everything happens for a reason...

For example....

I took a lot of pictures, enough pictures to wallpaper every studio apartment in New York of my children, when they were babies.

And people there WAS a reason for this...

I keep these adorable baby pictures out where I can see them and be reminded of the small people my now big people once were.

Pictures such as these are an insurance policy of sorts.

Bear: "Mom, I want to buy a truck"

Mom: "You can't afford the gas"

Bear: "A truck won't eat as much gas as The White Dragon"

Mom: "It will be worse, trust me"

Bear bought a truck.

Bear: "Mom, this truck really takes a lot of gas"

Mom: "Really?"

Bear: "I shouldn't have gotten a truck"

Bear: (looking serious) "Why didn't you or Dad warn me"

Mom: (an inaudible whisper) "Lord Jesus grant me strength and a good strong jaw"

Seeing as this kind of crap is EXACTLY why animals eat their young...

And exactly why my child should thank his lucky stars that all things happen for a reason...

"Smile kid" one day you're gonna be happy that mommy has all these pictures".

GET IN MY BELLY YOU DUMB KID!!!!

Have a delightful Thursday... xoxo

Ruff.....

I had to write a post about the full moon this past weekend.

And all the crazies the bubbled to the surface because of it.

The largest moon in 19 years, the damn thing was so big they named it The SUPERMOON.

Did you see it? It was spectacular.... really it was.

Did you notice anything else this past weekend?

Like maybe that the whole world had temporarily gone totally nuts..

SUPERMOON came complete with SUPERMADNESS...

Yes it did...

Kroger's seemed unusually annoying, it was overrun with irritable agitated inpatients waiting in line behind slow poke check writers in the 15 items or less aisle.

The bimbo behind me sucked up my personal space while we waited in line.

So much so she had me feeling a bit like the front bug...




When I finally shook her off I was accosted in the exit way by a couple of three foot tall hardcore saleswomen...who wouldn't let up no matter what I said.

"Would you like to buy some Girl Scout cookies?" they asked..

"No thanks" I answer politely "I already bought some".

(Honestly I did buy some...from my great niece who threatened Daddio with her fist when he looked like he may only buy one or two boxes...)

(seriously, the kid is so freakin cute she could sell Daddio anything)

"Well you can buy more and freeze em" they counter.

"No thanks, our refrigerator is broken and currently we are using a cooler..so no, they wouldn't fit" I fib...

"They keep in the pantry for weeks" they say.

"ummm, no thanks. I'm on a diet".... I lie.

"I'm gluten free"...

"I'm a recovering chocoholic"..

" No can do... stomach issues" ...

"I gave them up for Lent"...

"I only have a debit card"....

No digo el inglés....

When I growl and bare my fangs they finally let me pass, empty handed.

A man who is "of sound mind" is one who keeps the inner madman under lock and key.  ~Paul Valéry, Mauvaises pensées et autres, 1942

Come on admit it...you too barked at the moon...the SUPERMOON, didn't you?

A love like no other....

This post is a themed writing project challenge taken from Jenny Matlock over at off on my tangent. Jenny says we can use UP to 100 words to tell a story. It can be fact or fiction. Jenny posts a few words, a prompt that we work from. This weeks prompt is in bold italics.

The curtain parted, marking the official start to the most embarrassing hour of Morgan Clark’s young life.

The event leading up to this moment began about a week before when her annoying brother remarked “I think its time for an over the shoulder boulder holder for the former President of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee” loud enough for their mother to overhear.

Their mother-daughter bonding trip to the JCPenny bra fitter was pure torture.

BUT her brother’s trip to the ER probably trumped that….

The IcyHot she’d rubbed into his Mini Marble Holder had caused quite a (hilarious) stir.

Paybacks are a "b".

Perfect...

So a dear friend of mine told me a story.

In the story was a little girl that was less than fuc*ing perfect.

In all the best little girl things she fell short.

A butterfly trapped in a dusty brown cocoon.

There were moments as she grew that she felt like more than perfect.

Times and moments she climbed huge mountains.

And danced on the moon.

And fiercely and bravely fought battles much larger and greater than she.

There were times she was fuc*ing perfect.

Lots and lots and lots and lots of times she was perfect, fuc*ing perfect.

But then something happens, out of the blue, something happens that takes her back to the times she was less than fuc*ing perfect.

And an old, many layered scab rubs off...

SHE IS less than... fuc*ing perfect....

less than fuc*ing perfect

she is less than...

less than

NO!

You are nothing short of fuc*ing perfect to me.


Pretty, pretty please
Don’t you ever, ever feel
Like your less than
Fuc*in’ perfect

Pretty, pretty please
If you ever, ever feel
Like your nothing

You’re fuc*in’ perfect to me ~ Pink

Slippery (even) when (not) wet...

At least one night of our weekend I've dubbed "date-night".

Date night can be many things...but it's usually "kick the kids out, I want to eat, drink, be merry and watch some really foul mouthed comedians on TV."

(all those years of Daddio playing heavy metal music has his hearing a bit compromised so he/we normally listen to those filthy dirty cussin comedians on BLAST)

Date night can also include other things, which I won't go into graphic detail about since a kid or two of mine regularly reads this blog...

This past weekend's date night was but a mere memory (it was about 10pm Saturday night) when Googie called.

We started talking furniture.

Furniture for her and Trouble's new home.

Right away Googie expressed her disdain for leather furniture..." I hate it" she said "all you do is slip and slide all over it".

Thinking about the lovely brown leather couch in our basement and all the times I sat on it to watch television had me agreeing with her.

"Well" I said "you could always lay a blanket or an afghan on it first, that way you wouldn't slide off".

"Or, I guess you could be naked on it, you wouldn't shift around on it if you were naked"

"OhhhhMyGawd" Googie screamed "how do you know that!!??"

"Muuuuuther..how do know that? You talk like a woman with experience"

"OhhhMyGawd, you and dad didn't!!!!!?????"

Reading her mind, I knew she was picturing that brown leather couch in our basement, the one she and Trouble (try to) sit on many nights each week...

"OhhhMyGawd" Googie yelled into the phone "I gotta go".

Googie and Trouble have been spending lots of time at his house...where they have a regular couch.

While searching for a picture of a leather couch I stumbled upon this one...

Rendezvous Sofa

• Collection: Ernest Hemingway
• HS1608 11

Sorry Googie, I just couldn't resist ;-)