Category Archives: Personal

Aug 22 17 comments
Blog, LOL, Personal

The Good News Is…

Well, the good news is I don’t cancer.  The less-good news is I still don’t know what the frig is going on with me, although now that the colon cancer thing is off the table, I’m far less concerned. 

Honestly, I have very little faith in doctors. Most of the times that I really needed their help (beyond a cold or sinus thing or whatever), they didn’t help at all and you know what they do when they can’t figure out what’s wrong with you? They tell you you’re depressed (which naturally reminds me of the depressed vagina episode on Sex and the City) because if they can’t figure it out in two 10 minute office visits and a panel of routine labs, then it MUST be in your head. Well, should THAT happen again, the joke will be on them because I’ll be all I’M ALREADY ON THE HAPPY PILLS, DUMBASSES!

So yeah, I successfully attended and completed Asscam09 and I have to tell you that while I was worried on many fronts (and mentally composing my last will and testament and goodbye letters to my kids) I need not have worried about the actual mechanics of having a camera put my ass (or people pointing and laughing at my cellulite) because once the guy put the Propofol in my IV, I seriously cared about nothing more than going to sleep, which I did in about a nanosecond.

I hesitate to say this but I can see why Michael Jackson was demanding the stuff to help him sleep. It’s pleasant and because it’s not a narcotic, you have no shakes or nausea or itching or other sucktastic side effects. They finished the asscam, they woke me up and I was in the car and on my way home within 20 minutes, feeling totally normal. What’s crazy is that it took 3 hours of waiting and prepping and waiting for a ten minute procedure. Seriously, this place was an Asscam MILL. It’s all they do and there were a TON of people in the waiting room.

Speaking of the waiting room, I made the mistake of not bringing my phone and some nineteen year old kid was hogging the ONLY decent magazine, a three month old copy of Rolling Stone. He must have known I wanted it (I was staring at it HARD, psychically willing it to fly from his hands into mine) because he picked up another magazine and KEPT the Rolling Stone on his lap….totally taunting me.  I was about to walk over and grab it and run away with it when they finally called me into the back.  Note to self: NEVER willingly leave your phone at home ever again. You missed a golden opportunity to tweet some really great laxative jokes…

Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that when you turn 50 and have to go for a routine asscam, it’s not that bad. Just make sure they give you the Michael Jackson drug and NOT the crappy el cheapo grande nitrous. And bring your own magazine.

I the interest of being consistent (and possibly developing a reputation for only writing about poop and ass-related things), I’m over at Aiming Low today with a funnier, albeit somewhat grosser story about something that happened to me last week. Come by and visit. We’re a lot of fun!

Aug 11 38 comments
Blog, Commentary, Incessant Whining, Jackassery

Thanks for Nothing, Big Corporate Robber Barons

Okay, I finally got up the nerve to make the appointment for Asscam 09 (tomorrow & I’m terrified) only to find out that since it’s a diagnostic asscam instead of a screening asscam, it’s going to cost me a $300 copay because, inexplicably, it’s considered an outpatient SURGERY.

Seriously?

The woman from the insurance company says it’s because they invade your body. Well, if that’s the case, those transvaginal ultrasounds they give you when you’re pregnant should be considered surgery, too. I’m sorry but I consider having a big old phallic-shaped device poking me in my lady bits to also be pretty damned invasive (and not nearly as *fun* as it sounds).

My complaint in a nutshell? We have the VERY BEST plan offered by my husband’s employer and we pay a small fortune the equivalent of our mortgage payment for it every month and they won’t cover a freaking colonoscopy 100%?

Frankly, that alone is reason for me to reconsider having it done, although I’m sure that’s EXACTLY what my insurance company is hoping for because if I don’t get it done, then they won’t have to pay for ANYTHING. I guess it’s never occurred to them that an asscam is a hell of a lot cheaper than treatment for advanced colon cancer or some other horrid potential diagnosis down the road. To hell with all that fancy, highfalutin’ logical thinking…

Health care reform of some kind CANNOT come soon enough, IMO.

—

If you have kids and have ever posted a pic of them on your blog or on Flickr, you should really read this post because…well, because I said so. And because really, who wants pix of their kids labeled with porn tags by a search engine?

Jul 31 40 comments
Blog, Incessant Whining, Personal

Got the Scary Asscam Baby Denial Blues

I got my period today. I guess that’s good. Last month, after a little mistake right around ovulation time, I was worried that I might be pregnant because I am nothing if not fertile. Like I always get knocked up on the first try fertile. How I didn’t become a teen pregnancy statistic is a complete mystery to me…

Anyway, I was all afraid I was pregnant, particularly because I had THE STOMACH ACHE. This is a particular kind of stomach pain that I only ever got when I was pregnant. It always feels like something is gnawing at me from the inside— 24 hours a days for the first 13 weeks.

Well, I had that and it only made me more afraid that I was pregnant. And the pooping. Or lack thereof. That’s always a hallmark of my pregnancies and I invariably end up eating like six boxes of raisin bran a month. And the belly. I LOOKED three months pregnant, which after you’ve had a couple kids, can happen in the first six weeks or so.

But then my period came and I was relieved. Sort of.  And I went on with my life. The stomach aches continued, as did the other anomalies that I would normally attribute to being with child and finally it became unbearable. I was wearing my drawstring buffet pants every damn day and eating Rolaids and Tums like they were candy and the other thing? Even bowls and bowls of raisin bran didn’t help. And yet, I was definitely NOT pregnant.

So I went to a gastroenterologist and after asking me a bunch of questions, he suggests I lay off the Rolaids and Tums and have a colonoscopy so they can see what’s going on. Did he just say he WANTS TO STICK A CAMERA UP MY ASS?

I’m like “Really?  Is that actually necessary?” which of course, he says yes. But don’t worry, he says, you’ll be asleep.

Translation: YOU’LL NEVER EVEN KNOW I PUT A CAMERA UP YOUR ASS

Except I would know.

And a ton of people will see my cellulite while I’m sleeping. With a camera up my ass. So undignified.

Did I mention I’m really vain?

So this was like three weeks ago. I put off Asscam 09 because BlogHer was coming up and frankly, if there was any bad news (that would be cancer, said Dr. Asscam), I would know right after the procedure and I didn’t want to go to Chicago with bad news on my mind. I’m selfish like that.

Also, I have to drink a WHOLE BOTTLE of Miralax the day before. Do I really need to elaborate on this?

Well, Blogher is now over and I still haven’t made the appointment. I’m scared. I know it’s selfish to keep putting it off because you know, I have kids and stuff but I just. Can’t. Do. It. I can’t make the call. I’ve tried.

Talk some sense into me.

I also got a mole biopsied a couple weeks ago. I never heard back from the dermatologist so I’m assuming there’s nothing to be concerned about. But really…two cancer things in one month? Can anyone blame me for being in total denial mode?

So the other night, we’re watching WEEDS. Don’t know if you watch it or not but Nancy had her baby, right? And it’s making all those newborn baby grimaces—and then it smiles. And I start tearing up.

A part of me really wants another baby. All the fear and hoping I wasn’t pregnant was a kneejerk reaction, I think. We have two kids already and no room or money for a third. It’s a bad idea. But my heart and hormones don’t care about that. They want what they want. And my husband doesn’t want what he doesn’t want. He has zero interest in having more children. And frankly, another child would probably take us to the brink of insanity. Neither of us handles stress very gracefully. And P, my youngest, still needs me even though he announced the other day that he “wants a bunch of babies.”  And N is growing up faster than I can even make sense of. Having another baby would take my attention away from them and that would kill me.

And yet, despite all of that,  I still can’t think about the fact that I will most likely never again hold another baby of my own—not without getting all sad. Because I just want what I want. And what I want is to be a mom one more time. Even if it’s the stupidest idea I’ve ever had. And inconvenient. And selfish.

I keep hoping this is all hormonally-driven. Or some kind of phase. I can’t imagine feeling this way for the rest of my life anymore than I can imagine starting all over with a newborn. Maybe if I leave post-it notes all over the place with phrases like “sleep deprivation!” “cracked nipples!” “colic!” and “episiotomy!” I’ll get over it faster…

And I still can’t imagine willingly attending Asscam 09.

*sigh*

Jul 09 46 comments
Blog, Commentary, Family & Parenting, Personal

Lost: Suddenly, Free-Range Parenting Seems Really Stupid

This 4th of July, we decided to go to the beach to watch fireworks. This particular beach has a lot of activity going on every evening and on Independence Day, even more so.

After letting the kids play on the playground for a while, we made our way down to the water. Though the sun was beginning to set, there were tons of people everywhere.

My kids were playing in the water and digging in the sand with my husband while I stood at the waters edge and took photos. It was when I heard a frantic young girl’s voice that I turned my attention behind me.

“Have you seen a little girl in a green bathing suit? We can’t find my sister.”

The girl was speaking to some other people nearby. I walked up and asked her how old her sister was (six), where they last saw her (about 20 yards up from the water) and how long since they’d seen her (15 minutes).

Her mother came up to me and gave me some more details. I promised to keep my eyes open and that’s pretty much all I did. I couldn’t relax and just carry on as if a little girl wasn’t missing. From time to time, I’d find myself walking back over to the mother to see if there was any news.

I couldn’t believe the beach police patrol was just driving down the beach visually scanning the area. I thought they should let everyone know they were looking for a child and use a megaphone or something to get the word out. At another point there were police officers just sort of wandering around on the beach, like stray ants that had lost their way. If it was my kid that was missing, I don’t think I would have been satisfied with such a half-assed attempt to find them. I mean really, it would have been laughable were it not such a dire situation. Get the whole story »

Jun 29 61 comments
Blog, Character Flaws, Family & Parenting, Jackassery

Mean Girls Suck

Mean girls suck, too...

Mean girls suck, too...

Every summer my daughter goes to day camp. She absolutely loves it and looks forward to it all year long.

This year, the camp has started having theme days which are kind of like spirit days at school. Recently, the theme was superheroes and princesses and N was pretty psyched about it.

As princess and superhero day approached, however, I began to have doubts about the merits of this particular theme. For one thing, my daughter is going in to third grade—most of her old princess dress-up clothes don’t even fit anymore.

I pointed out to her that most princess dress-up clothes are made for younger kids and a lot of girls probably won’t participate because they’ve outgrown their princess dresses. I even went so far as to suggest she dress as a superhero instead,

“We could make a really cool costume out of stuff we already have!”

I was met with a look that fell somewhere between abject horror and unwavering determination to tune out her obviously insane mother.

It became clear that my daughter fully intended to ignore me and my sensible advice so I backed off.

The next day, she came skipping out of her room with a frilly light green Tinkerbell princess dress (yes, I know Tinkerbell isn’t a princess but Disney apparently does not). While she looked adorable in her almost too small dress, a bad feeling settled in the pit of my stomach as I hugged and kissed her goodbye.

N is a sweet, sociable, happy-go-lucky girl who gets along with pretty much everyone but when she came home from camp that day, she didn’t seem like herself. She was lying on the couch watching TV, looking pretty sad and dejected.

I sat down and asked her if everything was alright.

After some gentle prodding, she told me that she was the ONLY girl in her group (besides her counselor) to dress up and that when she arrived, the other girls pointed and laughed at her.

One perpetually mean girl looked at her and sneered  loudly “Isn’t Tinkerbell for babies?”

“And what did you say?”

She replied softly “I said no”

I wanted to annihilate those girls for hurting my baby, for crushing her spirit like that without a second thought.

I proceeded to do try and undo some of the damage.

“Tinkerbell is NOT for babies. You know that, right? They make clothes for grown women with Tinkerbell on them. Not Cinderella, not Sleeping Beauty. TINKERBELL.”

“And you are NOT a baby. You’re actually older than a lot of those girls.”

The thing is, my daughter may be several months older but she is very innocent and unjaded and perhaps a bit sheltered.

Unlike a lot of girls her age, she still likes fairies and princesses and mermaids…exactly the way an eight year old girl should be, IMHO.

Don’t get me wrong—she’s NOT the victim of a plot to keep her artificially immature or anything. She’s just been exposed to different things and really,  in some ways, she’s more sophisticated than her peers—she’s able to talk to adults about a wide range of topics and she has an understanding of the world that a lot of kids her age don’t possess. While they’re obsessing over Hannah Montana and High School Musical, she’s watching British science fiction (The Sarah Jane Adventures) and NOVA and Dinosapiens, reading chapter books at a 5th grade level and pursuing her numerous artistic interests.

But at heart, she’s still very much a little girl and I love that about her.

That night, I told my husband what she told me, how much it hurt me to see her like that. We both voiced the same sad thoughts…

She’ll probably never fully put herself out there like that again. Sad.

Something that she loved to do will always be tarnished by the memory of this day.

A little piece of childhood innocence was lost today…

The next day she told me that the mean girl who said “Isn’t Tinkerbell for babies?” plays Elmo games on Sesamestreet.com in the computer lab.

Pot? Meet Kettle.

I told her to call the girl out publicly for playing Elmo games.

I know on some level that was bad. I know two wrongs don’t make a right. I know turn the other cheek blah, blah, blah…

But this girl is always so mean and until she gets put in her place, she’s not going to stop. I know this from experience—and really, it’s BASIC human nature.

For the record, I’ve never been mean to anyone unprovoked. It’s not who I am. But if you mess with me past a certain point, you’ll get it back in kind.

That said, if I have to choose between some 8 year old mean girl and my daughter,  I’m choosing my daughter—I won’t fight her battles but I WILL teach her to stand up for herself.

And I make NO apologies…

I’m sure at least a few of you are DYING to tell me how wrong I am. Just keep it civil, please.

Jun 18 15 comments
Blog, Family & Parenting, Incessant Whining

Grandma Came. And Left.

Well…my baby is now officially four years old. He keeps saying he’s five (but I hope that never happens. I want him to stay just like he is forever *sniff*)

And wonder of wonders…I managed, somehow, to get my house clean and almost all the laundry washed and folded (but not all put away because apparently, when ALL our clothes are clean, we have too damn much to fit it our drawers. The solution? Don’t do laundry as often! Wait…no…I mean CLEAN OUT our drawers and put the stuff we no longer wear in the yard sale pile(s).

Anyway, my stepmother came, as promised, but didn’t even spend the night. Part of me was relieved because, honestly, I don’t enjoy house guests all that much, but the other part of me was kind of mad. We don’t see you for over two years and you can’t spend one damn night?

I was also irritated because I put a LOT of time and energy into cleaning the bedrooms since she would, presumably, be sleeping in one of them. Of course I’m happy that the rooms are now clean but if you only knew how much pressure I put on myself to get all this stuff done…only to find it was actually unnecessary. I even bought vodka (not the cheap stuff either) and organic orange juice for her. Hmmph.

The party was small and thankfully so because when you have two four year olds, two eight year olds and one very loud and curious (read: into effing EVERYTHING) two year old running around in a small house, all sugared up from cake, bickering over toys and balloons, hootin and hollerin’ and generally causing serious mayhem… Well, suffice it to say, any more kids might have made my head explode, as well as the heads of every adult in attendance (my husband, two other parents and two grandmothers).

The cake was awesome, if I do say so (homemade with some help from Bettty Crocker, with truly homemade chocolate icing), the food was okay (pasta, breadsticks and pizza from Pizza Hut because we are KLASSY) and the whole thing lasted about two and a half hours (just long enough).

When it was over and the kids went to bed, I promptly plopped my ass on the couch, with full intentions of watching True Blood but instead fell asleep for nine solid hours. Staying up til 4:30am the night before, cleaning (and writing for The Green Mom Review) just about killed me yesterday so I was totally okay with sleeping contentedly on the couch all night. I was, however, very grouchy this morning and pretty much snarled at everyone until I had coffee.

Shortly thereafter I had a little jungle adventure when I had to look for my cat. He’s a formerly feral kitten who kind of adopted my male cat, and thus our family, too. We got him fixed and now he’s this small, chubby, sweet little thing with a big old overbite.

Anyway, I noticed the night before last that I hadn’t seen him in over 24 hours. I had a feeling he was next door in this insane rainforest of a backyard. The girl is a renter and is never  EVER home so I put on jeans, sneakers and a long sleeved shirt (it’s like 90 degrees and 100% humidity, mind you) and climbed the wooden fence. As suspected, he was back there but he didn’t look right.

I climbed and scooted and crawled around and under all kinds of crazy stuff to get to him and he kept scuttling away. Spider webs of mammoth proportions were everywhere and about a thousand mosquitoes were swarming around my face (apparently they’re attracted to carbon dioxide) and the little bastard wouldn’t let me get closer than about 2 feet. I even tried to bribe him with food but he scuttled away and over the back fence. I KNOW he’s sick or something but I can’t help him if I can’t catch his wily ass.

The bright side? The house is wicked clean for the first time in ages and we won’t be here tomorrow to mess it up. WIN.

Jun 15 33 comments
Blog, Character Flaws, Domestic Bliss, Incessant Whining

Oh Crap! Grandma’s Coming!

One might have thought, from the title, that this was one of those wacky, sitcom-esque “Oh no! My mom’s on her way. Hide the porn/bong/vice of your choice!” kind of posts. Heh. If only…

The real story is that my stepmom will be here in TWO days. She just called me up out of the clear blue and told me she was coming for my son’s birthday on Wednesday. I’m glad she’s coming because she hasn’t seen my kids in two years. TWO YEARS!

I’m not glad, however, that I only have two days notice to prepare—that just isn’t enough. You see, my house has become something of a craphole in the past year. There. I said it. And I have way too much crapholey-ness to address and no time to do it:

• my carport only needs an old sofa, or perhaps a bench seat from a long-gone car, to make it truly white trash—it’s crammed with bikes, scooters, a spaghetti pot (WTH?), leaves, spider webs, a rusty old wagon, empty chalk containers, old jump ropes, a couple traffic cones and numerous pairs of dirty, outgrown fake Crocs that I keep saying I’m going to clean and give to Goodwill but probably never will

• the status of my backyard is what used to be a “work-in-progress” (soon to be downgraded to “abandoned-project” status) and it looks like complete crap.

• 98% of my grass died over our cold, dry winter and thanks to the recent weeks of torrential rain, bajillions of monster-sized weeds have taken up residence EVERYWHERE, even in the cracks of my driveway

• Earlier in the week, in a feeble attempt to address the clutter, I started going through stuff and getting ready for a yard sale. I have stacks and containers of yard sale shit everywhere

• I have about 15 loads of laundry to do to get the giant piles out of the bedrooms and hallway

• my sofa slipcovers are profoundly filthy. I tend to resist washing them because they’re the biggest pain in the ass to put back on but now I have to…

• The dustbunnies on my baseboards and in the corners probably have teeth

• every door, doorframe, glass door and mirror in this house needs a good wipe down thanks to sticky, dirty little hands that must. touch. everything.

• my kids…they make messes faster than I could ever hope to clean them up and getting them to do it? Puh…don’t make me laugh. The drama, the crying… They win every time.

• the clutter. OMFG…the clutter.

When did everything get so out of control? Ugh…I don’t know. I just know I have more work than I can possibly get done and two birthday parties to get ready for (one for school and one for home) And? I haven’t gotten birthday presents yet, either. How did I let everything get away from me to this degree? Where do I even start?

I’m not kidding about any of this.  I swore we’d never be those people who had kids and then became filthmongers and yet here we are, mired in it.  I’m truly overwhelmed and disgusted with myself and I can feel the anxiety building. Thank God for Xanax…

All I really want to do is take a nap.

Someone please tell me I’m not alone. Lie to me if you have to.

————-

So what happened? Read the follow-up here