Thanks to Fiona and Flipp-ay I had the greatest night at the Improv and they know what I mean and why I owe it all to them.
Todd Glass, man. I’m kind of in love with him. I think you should all go to his website, email him and tell him how much I love him and maybe, just MAYBE if you do that? He’ll kiss me on the cheek and let me take a picture of him whilst hugging him tightly.
Oh, wait. Nevermind. HE ALREADY DID THAT.
HAAAAA. Man, that was a good one.
No comedian has ever made me laugh the way He does. He’s so spastic and random and SQUISHY and I just want to hug him and take a picture with him. Oh WAIT.
I DID!
Haaaa. But seriously folks.
Know who else was there? DO YOU? Gary Gulman, that’s who. Man, is he hot. Hot and hilarious. And man, I am tempted to make everything a joke because I just got back from A COMEDY CLUB! I seriously hear applause after every line I write that I think is funny and it’s cracking me up.
And that aint the “Sex on the stage” talking either. That’s ALL me.
But seriously, folks. Gary Gulman.
The chick in the picture was funny. Too bad for her I only fall in love with a.k.a “stalk” male comedians so, I can’t remember her name. She’s cute though, isn’t she? I didn’t even notice til just now. Weird.
I’m going to mosey (MOSEY!) on down to my bed now, but before I do, I want to thank everyone for the emails asking about Gabby. She’s doing much better, the x-rays came out clear (and, for the “record” when I saw her little heart in the x-ray? I cried. It was beautiful. ) and we’re managing the symptoms with steriods and albuterol. It’s awesome that you care.
Thank you and GOOD NIGHT!
p.s. there’s a very good chance this post will be deleted and re-written in the morning. VERY GOOD chance.
Things that give me gray hairs, for $50 please
I’m just about ready to take the kids to go shopping for school clothes.
I’m looking forward to it because shopping with my boys is always GREAT FUN! I can’t wait to see how much greater it’s going to be with a sick, cranky, ‘roid raging baby thrown into the mix!
I imagine now that they’re older and not as spastic as they used to be, it shouldn’t be as stressful as it used to be. I mean, I’m sure they’ll fight and argue with me about how “they aint getting that shirt because it’s STUPID” and “Why don’t I let them make their OWN decisions” and “OVERALLS ARE FOR BABIES, MOM!” But, I can’t imagine there will be any kissing of the plastic vaginas.
Just call me Little Miss Effecient or not so little, if you know what I’m saying, and I think you do.
Last week, I took “using my time wisely” to an entirely new level because last week, I actually clipped my coupons while taking a dump.
The funny thing? It didn’t even feel weird. It felt completely normal and I found myself somewhat proud, even. In fact? I kind of felt like “Woman of The Year”.
Hey, when you stay home all day long with THREE KIDS, you have to find pride in the “little accomplishments”, even if those “accomplishments” involve scissors and your ass.
(p.s. G is doing better. Still sick, but at least she can breath now.)
And the winner for overuse of the word “pissed” in a post goes to….
I’m angry as hell right this minute. Oh and? I’m pissed off. AND? I’m scared.
My daughter is still sick. Still having trouble breathing.
I had to take her to the ER again on Saturday night. They gave her an inhaler, which helped ease my fears a little, but that’s it. An inhaler and no answers.
I tried to get her into her doctor today. Oh, what do you know? He’s out all week. The doctor that I’ve loved so much for the past 14 years suddenly thinks he never has to come to work anymore. So they give me doctors who don’t know what the fuck they are doing. You see, I had taken G in on Friday and the ho bag doctor (who has misdiagnosed my children before) was all “Oh, she’s not wheezing! She just has a virus. Here’s some cough syrup!” I know she was wrong, and I left pissed off. Sure enough, 4 am the next day, I had to call 911 because my daughter was in distress and Tony was in the ER with her getting breathing treatments and steroids.
I was going to write about how my daughter got “steriod rage” and how hilarious it was because she was biting me and growling like a beast, but you know what? Three nights of absolutely no sleep because your daughter can’t breathe and you’re afraid she might die and suddenly, it’s not funny anymore.
I’ve always loved Kaiser. When we left for a short time to try Health Net, I was pissed and I wanted it back. We got it back. And now? I fucking hate it. My doctor is never there, the doctors they give me are medically retarded, the doctors in the ER treat me like I’m some asshole mother who doesn’t know shit about shit (“Do you KNOW what wheezing sounds like, ma’am“)
I feel bad for the receptionist who answered my call this morning because she got a whole lot of me in her ear. I know it’s not HER fault, but, man, I’m pissed and frustrated and scared and sad and FREAKED OUT.
I’m on my way to take her to a pedictrician in about 30 minutes. I can gaurantee you there will be some crying and possibly some cussing and MAYBE some ushering out of the office in handcuffs.
This has been the Weekend From Hell, well, except for the part where I got to meet Mindy, (I’ll write about THAT when I have time and I can think straight.) I can only hope it gets better from here, because I don’t know if I can take much more.
She’s my everything….
Another night of absolutely no sleep, but this time, it’s not because of my anxiety.
My daughter is having a hard time breathing. I called an ER nurse to ask for advice, she asked me questions, then listened to G over the phone. I was advised to call 911. I wasn’t panicked much, until the nurse said “911” to me. Then? I freaked. I called, they came, did some tests on her, said she looked ok, wasn’t in distress, but that she did need to be seen at a hospital for a breathing treatment. They offered to take her, but I opted to have Tony take her. Kaiser WILL charge me if it’s not life threatening. Tony left to take her to the ER about an hour ago. I feel better now that I know she’ll get the care she needs, but I’m worried and wishing I had taken her so I would know if she’s ok right this minute. I know she WILL be, but watching your little baby struggle to take breaths is the most unnerving, upsetting, terrifying experience.
Now, if only Tony would call and let me know what’s going on…
*update* Gabby’s home, safe and sound and ABLE TO BREATH. She was given a breathing treatment and a liquid form of steriods to open the lungs. Thank you for your well wishes.
Late night cheese.
I wonder what it feels like for my daughter to be in the arms of a man who loves her the way that man loves her.
Does she have any idea how deeply her father loves her? Does she know that she’s the one responsible for the never ending smile on his face? Can she feel the love and care in the large, strong, aged hands that hold her ever so close?
Perhaps she has no clue just yet. But I do. I know. I feel the love. I see the smile. I understand how deeply he cares. And it touches me. It makes me weep. It makes me proud and confident because I have no doubts that little girl is going to be a secure, loving, strong woman because of the man who holds her close.
She will never want for anything. . Love will never be in short supply, but will overflow in every aspect of her life. When she falls, he will be there in an instant to pick her up, wipe away the tears and help her to stand on her own again.
When I look at that picture, tears fill my eyes and yet, at the same time, pride feels my heart because I realize that I am blessed beyond measure, for my little girl has her daddy’s heart in the palm of her hand and what a beautiful heart it is, what a precious little hand that holds it and how lucky they both are.
And… AND? If I hear one more skinny girl complain about “how fat she is and like, omg, how her size 5 jeans are like so tight on her” someone is going to get sliced in half.
I’ve added yet another photo to the The Shrinking Woman set on Flickr.
I should shutup about my weight already, but it’s such a huge part of my life and what I’m dealing with right now, that I can’t. Having this public forum to write about it, to post pictures of it and yes, to get encouragement and feedback about it has been insturmental in keeping me from giving up.
And trust me, I want to give up. Especially after last night.
Last night, I was “re-measured” at the gym and it wasn’t good. She took away the three and a half inches I was originally told I lost, because it was only showing as 3 inches and then, she decided that she was only going to give me ONE INCH. She says I have a “natural curve” (see :”spare tire“) and it’s hard to get an accurate measurement. Talk about a let down. And talk about wanting to say “fuck it all to hell I’m eating a cinnabon and refuse to spend another fucking minute at the stupid, worthless gym!”
In the past? When I was “skinny” and when I would lose lots of weight in short amounts of time? I would do it the unhealthy way. I’d take buttloads of diet pills. I’d starve myself. I’d take boxes of laxatives. I’d do whatever it took to get skinny.
I don’t want to do that this time because I don’t want to die at 40. I want to be thin and attractive, but, at the same time, I don’t want to die or get sick trying to achieve that goal.
However, after a year of trying, I’m getting pissed off to the point of wanting to just stop. I’m crying as I type this, that’s how pissed off I am. I look at the pictures and I know that it definitely is coming off, but IT’S TAKING SO DAMN LONG AND I DON’T THINK I CAN KEEP DOING THIS ANYMORE.
I won’t give up. I refuse to give up, but I WANT TO. I’m sick of being the fat girl. I’m sick of being ashamed. I’m sick of my thighs rub together. I’m sick of a roll of fat jiggling up and down when I walk. I’m sick of telling my husband “HELL NO I won’t take a shower with you because I’m so embarrassed and so ugly and I’ll cry the whole time because of how ugly my body is and HOW DO YOU NOT THROW UP WHEN YOU LOOK AT ME?”
And? I’m sick of working my ass off and seeing such SLOW results.
I’m pissed off today and not feeling very positive about this whole weight loss journey.
Y’s choice
I finally was able to upload and organize the pictures from G’s birthday party.
I am a little upset about the quality of the pictures. I wasn’t able to get good shots because I was too busy hosting the party and making sure everyone was happy and fed well. If I wasn’t so over protective of and completely in love with my camera, I would have asked someone else to take pictures for me. The only time I was really able to take pictures was when she was eating her cake and opening presents, that’s why there’s 89 of those. The Wanna Be Professional Photographer in me is slighty pissed about it (Can you tell? It’s 10 minutes later and I’m still talking about it!) but I’ll get over it by the time her next birthday rolls around. Hopefully.
My doctor appointment went better than I had imagined it in my mind. He didn’t laugh, but then again, I didn’t use the term “I’m dying.” Instead, I explained, yet again, how I can’t sleep at night because of the racing heart and feelings of not being able to breath. He said that all of the tests he did last time came back totally normal. So normal, infact, that he used the word “Excellent!”
That can only mean one thing.
I’m crazy.
He believes that I am having panic attacks at night. The symptoms are “classic” and I am “prone to anxiety attacks”. So. He prescribed Paxil, asked me to take it and see if the symptoms go away . He also ordered a “treadmill test” to reassure me that my heart is TOTALLY NORMAL AND EXCELLENT! And? Perhaps? Maybe? He’s going to order a sleep study to rule out sleep apnea.
Here’s the struggle I have now.
I don’t want to take the Paxil. I’ve been off of anti depressants for a few years now. I don’t want to go back on. I don’t want the extra weight. I don’t want the feeling of having to rely on them but most importantly? I am NOT ready to wean Gabby.
Yes, internet, I still breastfeed my one year old. Not that often, pretty much just at night and in the morning, but I’m not ready to give that up yet. I feel like that would be incredibly selfish of me to do that to her.
I realize I need my sleep and that I have to be well in order to care for my children properly, but I can’t seem to bring myself to take that away from her. I get all emotional just thinking about it.
Perhaps I have some issues I need to deal with when it comes to letting go of the breastfeeding. Wait, ME? Have ISSUES? No way! But I can tell you this, the thought of stopping RIGHT NOW so I can take paxil? Makes me feel very sad.
I have no idea what I am going to do, but I hate hate HATE that I have to choose between a pill and my daughters needs.
Am I being overly dramatic about this? Probably. I’m sure she’d be fine if I weaned her, and I’m sure this is MY issue, the finality of it all kills me.
So what’s a woman to do?
I have no idea. I can function without sleep, I’ve been doing it for months now. I’m not so sure I could deal with a screaming little girl who wants The Boob and can’t have it. I don’t think I’m ready to deal with that just yet.
sigh…
What FORTY looks like.
Today, the man I married when I was only NINETEEN years old, turned 40.
Forty.
FOR-TAY.
I still remember when he had hair on the upper part of his head and when we used to “do it” like, 5 times a day (seriously. Five.)
I also remember when he had glasses as big as God.
(p.s. this is the best line ever uttered at a family gathering in regards to the above picture… “Appearing, one night only at the Improv, Antonio the magician. Watch him burn an entire ant hill in less than 10 minutes with his glasses.”)
Here we are, almost 15 years later. He’s balding, I’m fat. How the time flies. It’s crazy. I can’t believe I’m married to a FORTY YEAR OLD MAN and that we have a ONE YEAR OLD BABY GIRL. Just call him Frank Gifford. HA! HA! HA! That was a good one.
Happy Birthday, Fukktonie!! My birthday wish for you is that you stop with the driveby farts that smell like death and disease and that you outlive me because I can not even imagine living in this world without you in it. (But seriously, stop with the farts.)
Because life is so damn hard when someone has to wipe your ass FOR you.
This is what I’m busy dealing with and the reason why I can not compose a decent post.
The girl had gone completely MOODY on me.
She has a vagina, so it was BOUND to happen, but GOOD GOD, baby girl. It’s just lunch, no need for all of the drama!
Funniest part is one minute she’s pissed, the next, she’s hugging and kissing me, telling me “I wah wah” (I love in in “Gabby”.) One minutes she’s cuddling with her lambie, the next she’s biting it and growling at it.
GROWLING! My daughter growls!
Oh, the drama! I can’t even stand it. And I can’t even begin to imagine what is in store in the coming years, especially the years in which SHE GETS HER PERIOD AND CRIES ABOUT EVERYTHING AND ANYTHING AND SLAMS DOORS AND THREATENS TO NEVER EAT AGAIN BECAUSE SHE HATES ME FOR BEING SUCH A HORRIBLE MOTHER!
It’s a good thing that girl is so damn cute and that it’s almost impossible to get mad at her because of her dimples and the fact that she is ONE YEAR OLD AND ONLY HAS TWO TEETH! I mean, I’d be tempted to throw her out back with Willie and Asshole dog were it not for her incredible cuteness. THE MOODY IS TOO MUCH TO DEAL WITH, PEOPLE.