I’m baaaaack.
Sort of.
Kind of.
Did you enjoy the guest posters as much as I did? I hope so. I throughly enjoy the writers that I asked to keep you entertained while I was "healing." (I had also asked Rich who may or may not make my mouth water with love and he said yes, but then he got sick and couldn't do it.)
Thanks for treating them so well.
Now, let me give you a few updates so that I feel like I can start writing again without having to talk about These Things EVER AGAIN.
I still do not know what is wrong with My Neck/Back/Arm as no one has called to tell me the results of the MRI.
Everyone says “It’s a good thing that they haven’t called! It means it’s nothing serious! If it was something serious, someone would have called you by now!”
And I guess that’s supposed to make me feel better, and in a way it does, but—it doesn’t make my neck hurt any less or make it possible for me to do things like “laugh” or “fart” or “cough” or “sneeze” without feeling excruciating pain.
Man, how I wish for the days when farting was a great way to annoy my children and embarrass them in public. Now, when I feel that gas welling up within, I cringe and brace myself for the pain I know I’ll feel when I have to push that mother out.
Farting is NOT funny anymore and that is sad.
Do you know what else is sad?
That my dog could have DIED last week, but because he has a good mommy and daddy who acted quickly on his behalf, he is not dead.
You see, he ate a box of rat poison.
He had been in the garage for about 15 minutes and when Ethan took him out, I noticed a box of rat poison on the ground. It had been torn open and there were just a few pellets left inside. I ran inside and called my dad to ask if he had left a box of rat poison lying on the garage floor, or if it was an empty box that he had thrown away.
It was a full box. (That he completely forgot was lying on the ground when he asked Ethan to put Bandit in the garage while the gardeners mowed the backyard.) And now, it was an empty box, because my pig of a dog ate it.
I called Tony who was 15 minutes from home.
“Bandit ate dog poison! Hurry! We have to take him to the vet RIGHT AWAY!”
He got home, put Bandit in the back of his car and drove to the nearest animal hospital.
They took him in right away, induced vomiting and WHOOMP! There it was. Rat poison.
They told Tony we saved his life because if we had waited, it would have got into his system and he would have bled to death internally.
Lucky dog.
Thanks for saving my life, Pa.
Let’s play a game. I’m going to tell you a number. Then, I want you to guess what that number represents.
Ready?
Seven thousand.
Did you guess “How much it’s going to cost to fix the TV that your son accidentally broke?”
Because that would be correct!
But, let’s not talk about that, because I don’t want to throw up again. (And no, they have not asked us to pay up, but we found out that’s how much it’s going to cost and OH THE GUILT.)
In other less traumatic (but only slightly less traumatic) news
This weekend I did something that I haven’t done in years.
I bought a pair of jeans.
And I feel compelled to tell you that they are indeed a size 18.
And, because that’s not bad enough, I also feel compelled to tell you that I bought them at Kohls--And they are of The Daisy Fuentes variety
When I held them up in the store and my eyes beheld just how W-I-D-E the ass spread of denim was, I couldn’t help but scream on the inside.
“My ass is not that wide! IT IS NOT THAT WIDE!”
But, I put those jeans on, and my ass is that wide.
Lucky Jeans.
You know that game that people play at baby showers, where they guess how many squares of toilet paper=the size of the pregnant woman’s belly?
I think we should play that with My Ass at BlogHer.
The winner gets an autographed can of Bean Dip!
But seriously, folks.
I’m actually proud of myself for buying the jeans.
You can’t hide your ass in jeans and my MAIN GOAL in dressing myself is hiding my ass. Buying these jeans was a huge step for me. In wearing these jeans, I’m making a statement.
“Hi! I’m fat and yet, I’m putting it all out there for you to stare at, to be in awe of, because I’m really fucking tired of trying to hide it and cover it up.”
Large and in charge, bitches.
I'm heading out to Old Navy as soon as Tony gets home from work and I'm not sure what I'm going to do with my new found Plus Sized Confidence. Maybe I'll do something really CERAAAAZY, like, buy me a sleeveless top.
The last thing that I think you really need to know is that My Period is still hiding.
However, an additional THREE pregnancy tests (for a grand total of 6!) say that I am not pregnant. Everyone's all "it's stress! It's the medication!" But I'm all "Oh my GOD, I have two months worth of bleeding all up in my Women Parts! AAAAHHHHH!"
Luckily, they can get me in to see a GYNO at the end of August! So, I have an entire month to google "POSSIBLE REASONS FOR A MISSED PERIOD."
Lucky everyone in my life.
Crap that is so much money for that tv!! Is it made of gold? My husband got a brand-new 50" plasma for like $2000 (maybe more, can't remember)- though I can't remember how big you said theirs was. It's awesome that they haven't asked you to replace it though, I hope they don't! Just make them a nice tray of cupcakes and call it even. ;)