I Can't Believe I Want A Pair of Pajama Jeans

I'm not feeling all that well - my immune system is obviously compromised because I'm finding myself watching perplexing shows like "The Real Housewives of Atlanta."  I'm obviously very ill.

As I stared helplessly at the TV, this commercial comes on about Pajama Jeans.  Perhaps its my sickness or my boredom, but I think I want to order a pair. 

I fit ALL the criteria:

Do you love stylish, sexy jeans?  YES I DO.
Do you love soft, comfy pajamas?  YES I DO.

There is even a secret DORMA-SOFT lining. 
A. SECRET.LINING  !!

The commercial said that you can even SLEEP in these jeans.  I LOVE TO SLEEP.  And, sometimes if I've had too much to drink, I have been known to fall asleep in my jeans... so these seem like the perfect jean for me.

And, the fact that the jeans that I'm wearing right now are cutting off the circulation to the lower half of my body...this makes the comfy PAJAMA JEANS even more appealing.

Oh, curses to you Pajama Jeans~ CURSES!  Even though I want to be comfy and stylish in a pair of jeans that is full of secret ingredients, I am conflicted about buying something that I can wear to go out to dinner then fall asleep in.  Its a slippery slope....

The commercial says "You can wear them everyday!"  GOD, what if I DO wear them everyday?  Then I'm sleeping in my pajamas and wearing them to the grocery store, and work, then sleeping again.  Before you know it, its like I'm a homeless lady- yet a comfy,stylish homeless lady.

Perhaps I will wait to order them tomrrow...

How A Suppository Changed My Life Forever

As a child, I had random ideas of what I thought I should be when I grew up.  At one point I wanted to be a radio disc jockey, then a veterinarian, then a court reporter, then an x-ray technician.  I thought long and hard about being in the medical industry, maybe even a nurse.  I was quite sure I had super-awesome caregiver skills. 

My sophomore year of college I had a boyfriend (who shall remain unnamed for the sake of this story.)  Actually, I am still friends with this boyfriend, and I take every opportunity to re-tell this story whenever we are together with a group of college friends.  This always makes him very angry.  Ok, unnamed boyfriend – If you’re reading this now – I’m sorry.  Don’t break up with me again. 

In between the fall and spring semesters, he became very sick.  Both his parents worked, so I drove 4 hours to his house to take care of him.  How hard could this be, right?  This would just further prove to me that I would be the greatest nurse ever.

When I arrived, I evaluated his symptoms: high-fever, vomiting, swollen glands, lethargic.  We made a doctor appointment and I confidently threw my sick patient in the car, and we headed off.  The doctor told us that he suspected mononucleosis, and prescribed some kind of hard-to-pronounce medication to ease the symptoms.  I explained to the doctor that because of his swollen glands, my patient couldn’t possibly swallow a pill.  He nodded, he understood.

We headed straight to the pharmacy and I picked up the prescription, then drove my pitiful patient back to the house where I had planned to admire my caregiver skills further.  But first, let’s administer our first dose of medication, shall we? 

I pulled out the package and opened the first “pill.”  The boyfriend’s eyes grew big:

Sick Boyfriend:  There is NO way I can swallow that.

Awesome Me:     This is a suppository. It goes up your butt.

Sick Boyfriend:  That will not be happening.

I watched him moan and vomit for hours.  My caregiver skills were being tested; because, quite frankly at this point I wasn’t feeling as caregiver-ish as I had a few hours earlier.  He needed to shove-in that suppository because I was sick of his sickness.  He repeatedly refused.

Later, I was in the kitchen, and he was walking through – towards the bathroom.  The suppository was sitting on the counter, my patient was coming into close range – NOW WAS MY CHANCE. 

In one quick ninja-like move, I swiped the suppository, whipped down his boxer shorts and SHAZAM!  The mission was complete. 

His fever was so high, that the suppository dissolved immediately upon entrance, but he still screamed like a little girl being chased on a playground by the school-yard bully. 

I washed my hands over 837 times, but I still felt the horror of what happened.  I prayed that God would deliver me from this awfulness. I was a conflicted caregiver.  I felt disgusted by sickness and felt an overwhelming urge to leave to go shopping or something fun and happy.  I was sick of vomit and suppositories. Suddenly, I saw bright white lights – 10 times brighter than the hottest white sun.  God sent me a sign:

Don’t underestimate the power of a suppository to change the direction of your life.

Why Burritos Are Not An Acceptable Form Of Payment

Once upon a time... there was a very hungry boy who desperately wanted a big burrito. He summoned the fairest girl in the land, who was stupid enough to blindly follow directions.

BOY:  Can you go to the Mexican grocery store and get me something?

GIRL:  Sure, I was hoping to randomly go to the Mexican grocery store today.

BOY:  Follow my instructions. Enter the store, take a left at the enormous cans of frijoles, then go straight back. You will see a big Mexican standing by a grill.  He doesn't speak English. Shout "BIG BURRITO" while holding up one finger.

GIRL:  That sounds awesome. I was hoping to order a burrito from a real Mexican today.

BOY:  Hurry I'm hungry.

So, the girl does as she is told. She made it out of the store with the $6.99 burrito in a to-go container, feeling happy that she has followed the instructions. Eager to please the boy, she drives recklessly back from the store to give him the beloved burrito.

Proudly, she presents him the burrito, along with the receipt.  She briefly paused, waiting for the boy to pay her, yet she sadly walked away empty handed.

The birds and the mice sang her a song, sewed her a dress, and sprinkled fairy-dust around her... but nothing took the place of the $6.99 she spent on the beloved Mexican burrito.

The suddenly, the door opened.  A bright light filled the room.  The boy had entered.  Surely he was bringing her the $6.99.

BOY:  Here is $2.50 and the remainder of my burrito that I couldn't finish.

GIRL:  WHAT?

BOY:  I'm full.  That was a big burrito.  I think $2.50 and 1/3 of the burrito makes us even.

Moral of the story: 

Burritos are not an acceptable form of payment. 

Not even in Mexico.

A Documentary of Random Strange Things At My Mom and Dad's House

I wouldn't even call this entry a "blog".. its pretty much a documentary of things that I noticed at my mom and dad's house when I was visiting a few weeks ago: (if you click on any of the pictures, it opens them up bigger.. if you feel you need to examine more closely...)


#1 - Elmo christmas stocking with another Elmo  - picture speaks for itself.  It looks like little Elmo is being completely violated

#2 -Completely bizarre Nativity scene.  First, the *ANGEL* that apparently was hanging at one point.. obviously is no longer hanging.  So she's laying spread-eagle on the edge of the scene.  Then, its more than apparent that all those people are way more interested in looking at the shepard-dude holding the lamb.  They are all looking at that damn lamb.  6.8 pound Baby Jesus is sittin' all in his swaddling clothes saying:

"HEY, look over here.. its me! I'm baby Jesus! Look at ME.  Stop looking at that stupid lamb.  I could snap my fingers and that little lamb would be DEAD because I can do cool shit like that."  

Ok, I don't think that's what baby jesus would say, but this whole Nativity scene seems a little "off" to me.  And, there is a small picture of a nativity scene  infront of the shepard dude.  Its like my mom needed a picture to remember what the scene was supposed to look like, yet she still failed to deliver.  (FYI, I didn't touch anything, this is how I found it.)




#3 - This toy was staring at me when I was peeing in the main guest bathroom.  I don't even know what that thing really is, and why is he sitting on the edge of the tub, eye level with people's crotch, right infront of the toilet?  Disconcerting.

#4 - My mother's mailbox.  This mailbox was mentioned in a previous blog (My Mother Opposes Everything)...   I have a regular white mailbox, with a little red flag.  That's it.  This mailbox has clearly been violated.  And you see on the left side that they had the house numbers in red, however, they put a clip over it... so it makes perfect sense to then put numbers on the right side.. because it wouldn't make a lick of sense to just move the clip.  And I don't think you can put your house number too many times on your mailbox. Or put too many clips on there, or bumper stickers, or names.  Lots of names.  Perfectly normal. (This is also proving to you DOUBTERS that my mom's mailbox IS, in fact, NOT RIGHT.) 

#5 - My mother has too many ladles (numbered in red.. and I think there is one missing).  How many things could you possibly ladle at the exact same time?  What makes you buy another ladle?  Are you walking throught the kitchen utensil aisle at WalMart and you pass by the ladles, and you say, "Hey, I only have 3 ladles!  I think I shall purchase another ladle!"   Really?  But, dear GOD!  How many spatchulas does one woman need?. HOW many things to you need to spatchula at the same time.  There are SIX spatchulas labeled in green.  And to top it off.. THREE wooden spoons (numbered in blue).  Its just a lot of utensils. 

#6 - There is a gianormous pile of books on a dresser in the hallway outside of the bathroom.  And they are partially covering up the "wall of pictures of ME."  Rude.

#7 - My mother has framed her highschool prom picture and it sits on the dresser in my parent's bedroom.  The guy in the picture is NOT my dad.  Then, to make things "even", she has a picture of my dad with his high-school girlfriend (taken at a high school reunion.)  This seems perfectly normal to them.

#8 - My mother obviously has a fear of running out of salt and pepper.  There are probably 20 different salt and pepper shakers randomly distributed throughout the kitchen.  Here is a picture of some on the table.  I feel particularily *sad* for the snowman salt shaker.  He is without his partner.  I think the other salt/pepper shakers are mocking him.

#9 - If I'm at my parent's house for more than 20 minutes, something bad happens to my mind, and everyone starts looking funny and I get an overwhelming craving for burritos, xanax, and bourbon.  Here is a picture of my sister and my 2 neices.. Yes, this is what happens if you spend too much time there. 

There, I'm done.  This concludes our walking tour of  "A Documentary of Random Strange Things At My Mom and Dad's House."  Thanks for stopping by.  Tell your friends or my next blog will be about your momma.

The Secret To Surviving A Colonoscopy

I had a colonoscopy before it was the “IN-THING” to do.  Now it seems like everyone my age is getting one and then they tell two friends, and then they tell two friends, and so on and so on, and before you know it, every *rectum* in the universe has been violated in the name of health. 

My personal opinion is that we are just creating smarter polyps.  They are mocking us.  They’ve learned how to hide when they see the garden hose coming their way – scurrying like bugs from the Orkin man.  My personal opinion of polyps is not in any way related to this story.

I went to Mexico when I was 21-years-old and somehow contracted some dreaded Mexican disease (No, it was not related to tequila).  As a result, I lost a gianormous amount of weight, and gained other unpleasant side effects that I will just leave up to your imagination.  I had no health insurance, but my Aunt Pat worked for a group of doctors and one of them apparently went to school for years and years to learn how to stick a garden hose up my ass. 

*The Doctor on Star Trek had virtually no training to look at Spock's ass.   Look at the horror on everyone's faces...*

For all of you who have had this experience, you know the day of the procedure is not a pleasant one.  After 439 enemas and drinking a liquid that was surely eating the lining of my esophagus, I was as clean as a chickenbone on an anthill.  Because I was getting a FREE colonoscopy, I had the LAST appointment of the day.. so I was cleaned-out, hungry, and nervous.

Yes, I was VERY nervous, because, quite frankly, I am a believer that my body part scheduled to be violated should be reserved for *out-going* only.  That's just ME. You may feel differently - It's all good.

 I was cleansing myself at my great-aunt Flora’s house because for some reason I thought it would be an awesome idea to let a 103 year old woman drive me to my death. 

She saw my anxiety, and explained that she had a “cure” for my nerves.  She left the room, went into her closet, and pulled out a purple velvet bag with her crooked, old fingers.  I think I heard angels softly singing as she slowly she removed the magical cure, and poured me a shot of Crown Royal. 

OK.  Weird.  I’m not sure I’m allowed to have alcohol before this procedure; however she assured me that everyone drinks heavily before medical procedures.  WHO KNEW?  After about 8 shots of Crown Royal, and no food, I felt confident that I could give myself my own colonoscopy. 

I show up in the waiting room and saw the remnants of very very very old people.  Wrinkled, unattractive old people.  They stared at me.  They whispered.  I think they thought I was in the wrong place. I may have appeared to be a bar-wench, temporarily lost.  I stumbled over to an empty chair and picked up an AARP magazine.  In my state of drunkenness,  I was on the verge of tears looking at my own bleak future sitting in a waiting room with old people… waiting to be violated.

YAY!  It’s finally my turn.  As I lay on the table, stripped down to my bare soul, I took the garden hose like you would expect a drunk, 21-year-old would. 

Slurring my words, I turned my head towards the doctor and enthusiastically announced:

“I BET thizzz izzz probabbably the NICEST ASS you’ve seen   ALLLLLL day.”  

I'm not sure if he was amused, but he knew it was true.  I’m sure that Blanche and Gertrude’s asses weren’t even in the same league as MY 21-year-old ass.

Good news is that he didn’t find anything up there.. not even a side-ways stuck taco (I ate a lot of Mexican food).  And afterwards, I did feel magically healed.  I strongly believe my cure could be directly attributed to that delightful Crown Royal my great-aunt gave me.  That’s when I learned a valuable life lesson:

  Crown Royal CAN be your friend.