He-man in 2016. Ooooh, sounds weird.

Hey you guys!  Forgive the incoherence of this entry. But, you guys, you guys, this should be fun.  I have consumed enough champagne for this to be fun.  Why?  I’ll tell you why–and I’m pretty sure this will be a bad idea in the a.m.–because I am going to live blog He-Man.

The Big Man and I have decided to binge watch He-Man on this last night of 2015.  It just seemed appropriate.

I feel like Beastman drinks a lot of PBR.  Like, a LOT.

Does the Sorceress channel Jennifer Tilly? Or is it the  other way around?

Ram-man.  Tee-hee. Sorry, I will never be mature enough to handle that.

Why does this bird-lady have such big breasts?  And not the delicious fried kind.

All the villains on this show speak in the third person at some point. CREEEPY.  Vida doesn’t like  it.

Panthor is better than Battlecat.  There.  I said it.  We shall not speak of Cringer. I hate that cat’s guts. I KNOW it’s the same cat.  Shut up.

pan
YEEEAAHHH!!

 

He-man’s…vest, question mark?

Does that big-bo0bed bird have a navel?  Do birds have navels?  (I actually googled this.  They do not.)

No one sells He-man’s fur speedo-moccasin combo. Just that I’d menion that in case someone wants to get on it.

The Big Man just mentioned Quaaludes.  I’m….I’m not going down that road.

Ram-Man…hee-hee, again.

I might be Evil-Lyn.  Which is good, since I’ve mentioned dating Skeletor.

I don’t care for Man-at-Arms.  There, I said it.

I know Prince Adam is grown, but I feel like someone should have called CPS on Prince Adam’s parents a long time ago.  Like, they can’t even recognize their own kid in a metal vest and moccasins.  Quaaludes?

He-Man’s tan.  Orange is the new Eternia, amirite?

I just interrupted typing this to make sure my husband didn’t put Russell Brand on the TeeVee.  NO RUSSELL BRAND.  I don’t find him offensive, just unfunny.  (The Destroyer just asked, “Dad, what’s Russell Brand?  To which the Big Man replied, “Nothing you want to deal with.”)

I feel like Tila eats a lot of corn.  Without butter and salt. And not in popped form. Who does that?

I’m going to get a fur underwear-moccasin boot-combo IF IT KILLS ME.

And on that note, good night everybody and see you in 2016!  Which for me is in like, 3 hours of a champagne induced haze.  (Champagne so bad it’s actually Cham-pag-in.  Thanks, Zap Branningan.)

Excuses, excuses.

Hey, you guys!  How’ve you been? Good!  Well, enough about you, let’s talk about me.

So the pie thing shockingly well.  I didn’t burn the house down, and the pie was not only edible, it was good.  Take that, um…cooking, I guess?  Anyway, other than that, I haven’t really been up to much.  Unlike everyone else I know.

I mean, so many of the people around me have been running around like chickens with their heads cut off.  (I have never seen that phrase in print before, it’s kind of gross, huh?)   I’ve avoided the pressure because of one thing:  I’m really good at making excuses.  Like, really good.  So good, in fact, that I’m going to share my list with you.

  1.  “I had Taco Bell today.”  This is a good one, because no one will question you after that, for a couple of reasons:  1)  They absolutely DO NOT want to hear what happened after that, and 2) every person in America and probably Germany has a Taco Bell story. (My husband has a Taco Bell legend.)  They already know what’s up.  However, you can only use this one once every few weeks, otherwise people will think you’re either a masochist or just plain stupid
  2. “Not unless you want to help me move.”  It’s surprising how well this one works, considering people don’t generally move that often.  It’s one of those things that people don’t even want to risk walking into.  I personally used this one three weekends in a row a while back, and it worked every.  Single.  Time.  Even though I haven’t moved in eight years.
  3. “I don’t have a babysitter.”  This one has a limited life span, since once your oldest hits the teen years it becomes assumed that you have a built in baby-sitter.  I have the great fortune of having the Destroyer as my oldest, and everyone know that ain’t nobody trying to leave him in a house alone with, well, furniture and dishes and windows and such. However, if your kids fall in the 1-7 age range, you’re golden.  Especially if you have more than two. It also helps if you happen to have the spawn of the Devil himself.  Or if your daughter may be a sociopath.

    sto
    Seriously, no one wanted to baby sit. Ever.
  4. “I’m broke.”  Cause nobody wants to pay for you.  Or maybe it’s just me-no one wants to pay for me.  Not even for the sheer pleasure of my presence.  Just kidding, I have like, three friends, and one of them is married to me and he has no choice but to pay.  I also have no job.
  5. “I don’t feel like it.”  Okay, so be careful with this one. It’s a classic, but keep this in mind:  This one is for the professional lazybones ONLY.  You have to be soooo lazy that you’re not even up to inventing a legitimate excuse.  Or, in my case, so lazy that you probably have a real reason for your inability to do something and you’re not even up to sharing THAT.  Also, the “I don’t feel like it” requires real conviction–you must not be talked into feeling like it.  It doesn’t matter what “it” is, you have already professed your feelings or lack thereof and THAT IS THE END.  FINITO.  The “I don’t feel like it” must be resistant to tears, begging, anger, and bribery.  That’s right, you don’t even feel like taking something you want to do something you don’t.  THAT, my friends, is excusery (not a word? It is now) at it’s finest.

There you go.  You are very welcome, because I have saved you from drudgery and irritation.  Did I miss any?

Kid Sensation: Living dangerously

Hey, you guys!  I’m sitting procrastinating because I’m supposed to go bake a pie and I have NEVER baked a pie.  The only reason I’m doing this is because my husband happened to mention that he had never had sweet potato pie.  My initial reaction was, “Of course not.  You’ve always had pecan because you’re melanin deficient. ”  Ignorant, I know.  But since I live where I live, most of the white families I’ve met do pecan, most of the Black families, sweet potato.  Tomato, tomahto.

But then two things happened.  One, I realized that, blonde though my hubby may be, he’s been married to a Black woman with a Black family for almost twelve years.  Two, my son also said he never had tasted said pie.  Conclusion:  I am a failure.

So I wildly overreacted which ended with a declaration that I’m going to make this pie.  I’m sure hilarity will ensue that I will be compelled to tell ya’ll about later.

Anyhoo, I don’t know why I decided to spill those particular beans.  I meant to tell you about how Kid Sensation cheated death.  And, no not at the hands of Wondergirl.  No.  This time he took on the Big Man.

So we’ve all been cooped up here for the last few couple days together.  Kid Sensation has been in front of a screen for the entire time.  Like, only stopping for meals and potty breaks.  Which would be fine if he was in college or building an online empire.  However, he’s just looking up cartoon theme songs and offbeat British animation.  (I don’t know.)

I know, I know–we’re terrible parents.  I’m not gonna front though.  It beats listening to him and Wondergirl fighting non-freaking-stop. I mean, it’s like living with Captain America and, well, Wondergirl.   The other night, I didn’t hear anything for like, ten minutes and I was all, “Finally.”  But then I realized that it was ten p.m. and they had just fallen asleep. Mid-fight.

ddbw
All day, every day.

 

Yesterday, the Big Man figured that ol’ K.S. needed to get some fresh air.  We live in the Pacific Northwest and it’s not raining. AKA:  Get your butt outside.

Kid Sensation ignores the first missive, choosing the dangerous path of ignoring his dad.  But this, you guys, this is not where things went left.

The Big Man repeats himself.  He hates repeating himself even more than I do.  Still, not in quite in Fatality country–just cruising the border.  Not until Kid Sensation says, and I quote:  “Okay, Okay.  Be calm.”

I know you know what I’m talking about here.  When you have repeatedly issued an order to your child and they want to act like you’re crazy and that your craziness isn’t their fault, it’s maddening.  No, maddening isn’t right.  It’s infuriating.

The Big Man turns beet-red.  I know this description is overused, but he really was the exact shade of supermarket beets. All I heard was, “GET IN HERE!  NOW!”  It was so loud that at first I thought the Apocalypse had begun and I was going to be called into account for my bogus pie claims.

I immediately remove myself  from the room.  I am not trying to give eyewitness testimony.  I remove myself from the room, and immediately begin fabricating plausible reasons for Kid Sensation’s disappearance. “Okay, we’re poor, so boarding school is out.  Living with Grandma?  No, she lives half a mile from here.  Think, Vida, think!”

Next thing I know, I’m witnessing the single most tearful shoe putting on ever.  He even managed to have one lonely tear stop mid-cheek on both sides of his face. It was so, so, pitiful, you guys.  But he brought it on himself.

I still don’t know which particular boom was lowered that day.  I’m a coward, so I’m afraid to ask.  I’m just glad Kid Sensation is alive and well. And fighting with Wondergirl as we speak.

More undateables. Again, not me so stop looking at me.

So um, I was thinking about posting guys who are actually dateable, as opposed to the people I deem undateable.  However, undateable is much, MUCH more fun. Also, I am aware that two out of three of my kids will be undateable.  I’m trying not to tell Mama Prime because I really want Wondergirl and Omega to make us rich get together. (BTW, Wondergirl fully expects to start her own salon and be able to hire her own janitors immediately.  She was looking at me pointedly when she said this.  I guess it depends on how much she pays.  It better be in organs when I’m old and decrepit cause I figure I can use her organs more than she can. Evil people don’t actually use their hearts, since their blood is actually ice and oil and just slides through their veins.)

Prince Harry:  I don’t know, but it seems like he would try to embarrass you at all the palace functions.  Like, he would know you didn’t know anything about the cheese course, but would sit there while you asked for cheddar like an idiot.  Knowing that all they had was Camembert and Brie.  And then laugh and point with his grandma.

Darkseid:  You would forever have in inferiority complex with this guy.  And he’s clearly self-absorbed.   Because he is constantly talking about how he is the one to bring order to the universe and how he should rule the universe. He would never, ever ask about your day. And he would insist on regaling you with his universe-domination schemes.  Even though Superman shuts him down each and every time. He’s like that guy at work who swears he knows how he would change procedure, but management rips up his suggestion emails after printing them out for the sole purpose of passing them around and laughing uproariously at them.  It’s like, “Listen, homebiscuit, all I want to know is if you liked Wu-Tang in high school. We can talk about universal domination after the third date.”

Also, I'm not trying to be racist here, but being death gray is kind of a turn-off.
Also, I’m not trying to be racist here, but being death gray is kind of a turn-off.

Jeff Goldblum:  Not that I think he’s a bad dude.  It just seems like if he opened his eyes at night it would be like the cartoons where you can see the whites and pupils in the dark. Freee-kee.

Mariah Carey:  Listen, she’s beautiful and ultra-talented.  But all of her clothes are too tight. ALL of them. She is definitely Spanxed to death.  Do you know how I treat people after I have had Spanx on for too long?  Like Portlanders treat everyone else: condescending and cranky. And I only wear them on special occasions.  Pretty sure that’s how Mariah is all the time.  Plus, Nick Cannon is her ex.  So there’s that.

Carmen Electra:  Cause she used to be the business.  Have you ever dated anyone who used to be the business? They.  Are.  The.  Worst.  They always want to remind you of those days when they were the business–and you barely cared then.  Now they’re just boring.

Ken:  Blank groin area = dealbreaker.

I miss anyone?

Another Random Post.

Time for more random stuff from my brain! Yay! I said YAY.

Has there ever been the alterna-Flinstones? Like has there ever been the hot guy/ fat chick sitcom? Because, on the real Wilma Flintstone, Alice Kramden, Carrie Heffernan could have done waaaaay better.   Confession: I think Kevin James is kinda hot. But it works against the formula because I’m also fat. So we’d be another Mike and Molly.

Why do all the shows when someone gets a house/cash/gifts/cash happen to everyone else? Where is the application for these shows? Why don’t I know about it? Is it a conspiracy to keep me poor? I think it is. But then, I’m pretty sure life is a conspiracy to keep me poor.

Why does Naomi Campbell still look better than me? Aside from the fact that she probably diets, exercises, and great genes. Oh, and a stylists. Not the point. The point is, I thought time was supposed to be the great equalizer. You lied, Time. YOU. LIED.

There’s this fly on the windowsill.  I need to go kill—never mind it’s a wasp.  Carry on, wasp, I clearly interrupted whatever you had going on with the window and I apologize.

I walk at the track to lose weight. (Not to be confused with “walking the track” which means prostitution. In which case I’d like to think that I’d have more money. ) Today a more athletic chick ran past me and told me “Good Job!” I guess I’m at the white belt level of fitness and the track is clearly her dojo, she figured I needed her encouragement so that I wouldn’t give up and pass out on the track. I showed her though. I waited until I got to Gretchen to pass out.

The wasp is still there.

courtesy marvelheroes.com
I wish it had been this Wasp.

I know the entire Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles song. All of them. And I sang them with Kid Sensation in Fred Meyer. Quietly. I’m not a complete jerk.

I have convinced myself to get a fatkini. It’s. About. To Go. DOWN.

We are so football starved in this house, we are watching the Madden Demo Game. It’s Cowboys vs. Seahawks. And we are here commenting on it. I actually said, “Oh, so they just gon’ let Romo walk in the end zone?” Out loud. Pathetic.

I don’t know. I was feeling random today. Kick me some of your randomness. You know, if you’re feeling random, too.

OH WAIT!!! I forgot to tell you guys!  I was buying wine and I got carded.  (I’m pretty sure it’s mandatory.) Here’s how the conversation went:

Cashier Lady: “You have such pretty skin.”

Me:  “Thanks.”

CL:  “Black Women are so lucky.  You’re lucky you’re Black.”

Me:  *mumbles something and rushes out before ending up on the news*

So, you guys, did I handle this right?  Supermom would have totally had some kind of extremely nuanced shade and tossed it out there like a wiffle ball.  But, I’m no Supermom.  Yet.

There she goes again.

I know, I know, another Wondergirl post.  But you have to admit, she’s pretty entertaining.  I’ll even throw in some bonus Kid Sensation and The Destroyer.

Actual conversation on their way to school:

Big Man:  Wondergirl, are you supposed to be chewing gum?

WG: (Smack, Smack) Nope.

Big Man:  Aren’t you going to get in trouble?

WG:   Probably. (Smack). It doesn’t matter, Principal Conners is soft.

Soft?!?!? SOFT?!?  How are you ten and calling someone soft like you’re The Rock?  Like, I’m fully expecting her to continue that statement with, “You wanna cross the Wondergirl? Well, the Wondergirl says this…”

The week she was on steroids and became a ten-year-old rage monster (I told you guys it was going to be great):

Kid Sensation was flying his paper airplane in her vicinity.  Yeah, I know.  I’m not sure how he thought it wasn’t going to end badly, or if he was willing to risk it unaware of just how badly it was going to end.  This is how–and you guys, just, you guys.  Wondergirl, who was curled up in the recliner trying to suck her thumb despite her swollen face, was trying to watch TV.  Besides the steroids, she was also going through thumb withdrawal.  No bueno.  So then Kid Sensation comes through with this airplane. Wondergirl is tracking the plane with her eyes.  It passes in front of her face twice.  Somehow the barometric pressure in the room drops, so I know it’s about to go down.  Third time–and I swear on my Batman T-Shirt–her feet shoot from underneath her and she grabs the airplane out of the air with one hand simultaneously.  She crushes  poor Kid Sensation’s airplane while staring him down, then balls the airplane up and slams it into the garbage.  Then she went back to the chair, curled back up, and continued her attempt to suck her thumb.  It happened so fast, if the Big Man hadn’t asked me if I had just seen what he did, I would have thought I imagined it.

You guys, I'm pretty sure this is what happened.
You guys, I’m pretty sure this is what happened.

She blew  up at The Destroyer so hard you guys he just put his hands up and walked away.  He was trying to tell her that dinner was ready.

Wondergirl was in her room ranting for no reason.  Well, maybe there was a reason, but I was scared so I didn’t go in. Or even knock. There might be a body in there, but all I smell is Bath and Body Works Sweet Pea lotion so I think I’ll leave it alone for now.

Oh, and Kid Sensation tried to get himself killed.  The other day he threw himself face down on the couch, then lifts his head, coughs, and says, “Oh, I think it’s Dad’s bottom.”  He then lowered himself down to floor and immediately put his own head down.  He already knew.

Oh, oh, and I have to take timeout to be that parent who brags about something her kid did like other people really care and aren’t just politely nodding and thinking about how to escape.

So the Destroyer runs track, and he ain’t half bad.  He runs the 400 and the 4 x 100, and he throws discus.  So last week, he’s running the third leg of the 4 x 100 and his teammate steps on his shoe during the handoff.  The Destroyer trips, falls, and his shoe comes off.  He rolls over, pops up, and finishes his leg and handoff. WITH. ONE. SHOE.  I thought that was kinda cool.

Anyway, how have you guys been?

I have a feeling…

So I have all kinds of weird quirks. But you already know this, because you’re a faithful reader of this blog. Well, you could at least fake it. That’s better.

Anyway, back to my weird quirks. One of them is that certain things make random parts of my body feel weird. Like touching velvet makes my teeth hurt. I don’t know why. Here are some more. Fascinating, I know.

Random fake hair. I used to see this a lot when I worked downtown, usually on Monday morning. People get in fights over the weekend and sometimes weave gets snatched out. I understand why it happens, but it still makes me feel funny.

Body part that feels funny: Stomach.

The guy down the street who brings his parrots out for a walk. I know parrots are supposed to be great pets and good company. Maybe his parrots need fresh air, I don’t know how parrot parenting (say that five times fast) works. But when you drive down the street and you see some parrots stone-cold chilling in the cut, it looks weird. Also, his windows are covered with aluminum foil.

Body part that feels funny: Eyes.

Peach fuzz. Peach fuzz feels funky. I can eat a peach that has been sliced and skinned, but I can’t take a bite out of a peach. I also like peaches in Bellini form.

Body part that feels funny: Tongue.

The Destroyer’s bedroom. Okay, so I’m totally a slacker mom when it comes to making my kids clean their rooms. Also, if I made them do it, then I’d have to clean my room, and I’m not really feeling that. But his room tends to be way gross. WAY. The times that I have to go in there and get stuff I have to put on shoes and a jacket (my homemade HAZMAT suit). It perpetually smells like Takis and boogers.

This is what ordinary humans who try to go in there become.  I have been exposed for years, so I'm immune.
This is what ordinary humans who try to go in there become. I have been exposed for years, so I’m immune.

A few months ago I ventured in there to get a towel for laundry and I thought I saw something move in the corner, but I’m not sure because I just screamed and ran out. I believe the towel is still there.

Body part that feels funny: Feet.

Tiny shorts in the little girls section. So I’m shopping with Wondergirl and we’re looking for stuff to transition to spring—t shirts, capris, etc. She holds up a pair of shorts and I told her that I only buy her underwear in packs. She laughed at me and said, “No, mom, I need shorts.” I told her she had better go find some then. “I like these shorts.” My brain still wasn’t making the connection between what was in her hands and shorts. My understanding was that shorts were garments that were meant to be worn outdoors. Apparently, my version of shorts is prehistoric. So Wondergirl doesn’t have any shorts.

Body part that feels funny: Chest. Head. Gut.

I don’t know. Am I the only one that gets these? Please share. Except for you, Big Man. I’d rather you didn’t.

Time, that’s what happened.

Hey you guys. You guys, I have been so sick, and I still am a little bit. But I feel good enough to run my mouth today, so here we go.

The weather here has been pretty nice the last few days, just a little chilly. (Somewhere in the Midwest someone is flipping me the bird right now. ) So since it isn’t raining, I make my kids bundle up and then kick them outside until they have mild hypothermia. Parenting, ladies and gentlemen!

Anyhoo, I was watching them play and it reminded me of things I used to be able to do effortlessly. “Oh, here she goes with her lists,” I can hear you thinking. Well, it was kind of rude for you to think that, but I’m going to present my list to you anyway.

1) Running. No, not jogging or running for exercise—which I don’t do—but an all-out-full-bore-sprint for no reason other than to run. The Destroyer runs everywhere. Everywhere. Full speed. And he’s got nowhere to be; I have no idea why he’s running. But if I wanted to sprint somewhere (you guys, I just stopped and busted up laughing after typing that, tears and all) I would really have to get ready to do it. First, I’d have to put on my sports bra that’s made of titanium alloy. Then I would have to psyche myself up. Then I would have to stretch. After that, I would have to talk myself out of going back in the house to lay down. Oh, and I’d have to make sure there was no one around within a ten mile radius. Okay, and your mark, get set, go! I did it! Now, I’m just going to lay face down in this grass twenty feet from my house…

2) Jumping. Every one of my kids likes to jump down the stairs. Like five of them at a time. I guess their femurs shooting up through their kneecaps and the ensuing patella ricochet isn’t a concern for them. It is for me though, so if I ever have to jump down from somewhere, first I get my feet as close to the ground as humanly possible. Then I point my toes as hard as I can in order to get even closer to the ground. Then I use my arms to launch myself to wherever it was I was stupid enough to have to jump to get to. I try really hard to make sure that my ankles and knees are bent when I land so that I don’t collapse into a heap of two immediately broken ankles. Jumping down one stair is not for me.

3) Pull-ups. The Destroyer was doing pull-ups for fun. I haven’t done pull-ups in years. Just kidding! I’ve only ever done one pull-up in my life, and I’m pretty sure I was drunk.

4) Falling. The Destroyer was playing basketball with one of his friends in front of the house. On the street. And he dove for the ball. He fell, of course, but then popped right back up and continued dribbling. I remember doing that all the time. Just popping with a skinned knee or something and going on about my business. People, I am so for real when I say that, now, to me, falling down is devastating. It always happens in slow motion, I can never stop myself, and it seems like it’s always really loud. Like a couple of weeks ago, I fell after misjudging a stair—in my own house, a stair that I have gone down only a million times—and when I landed it sounded something like PLAP! It was horrible. I had to lay there in a pile of embarrassed Mom for a minute so I could recover. Was anything hurt? Well, my feelings. And my pride. I have no dignity left, so that wasn’t an issue.

Like this.  Except nobody cared so I just had to lay on the floor.
Like this. Except nobody cared so I just had to lay on the floor.

So, while I’m sure every last one of you is in better shape than I am, (I’m obviously a walking disaster) what are somethings you used to be able to do easily? By the way, if you say pull-ups, I’m going to call you a liar.

Why can’t I be Bruce Wayne?

Okay, so I you read my blog on a regular basis (and I know you do, because it’s just that entertaining) then you know that I love me some superheroes. Marvel, DC, Justice League, Avengers, all of it. I’ve already done a post about which super powers I would like to have.  Now I’m going to do this one about which superheroes the people in my life actually are.  I mean, if you think about it, we all have people in our lives that have traits of certain mutants or aliens.  Like, my sister Birdie and I have mutual acquaintance that would be Rogue because she sucks the life out of everyone.  Like that.

Of course, I would be Batman. Wait–The Destroyer has just informed me that I am not Batman.  He is insane.

“Of course I’m Batman.  I’m fabulous all day and then I lurk around all night fighting dirt and crime.  Mostly dirt. Also, I always wear black.” Not sure if Batman wears black because it’s slimming, but whatever.

“Yeah, but Batman carries out his threats.”

“Not the point, look, I’m trying to type here–”

“You’re actually the Punisher.  You just go around busting up everyone’s fun.”

What?  I thought I was fun, not the fun-buster.

“No, it’s just that being the fun-buster is fun for you. That’s why you smile when you do it.”  (Note:  This is not why.  I just have this weird quirk where I smile when I’m angry.  Don’t ask me why, I wish I looked fierce and scary and intimidating.)

“You shut up and let me be Batman before I punch the air out of your lungs.”

He laughed, said “Punisher” and went to eat all the food out of the refrigerator.

I have previously called the Big Man my own personal Hulk.  But now that I think about it, that’s not quite right.  He has no Bruce Banner side to him;  he always just walks around being huge and intense.  He’s the Juggernaut. Like this:

He does that several times a day.

Wondergirl is Captain America.  She doesn’t make the rules, but she sure will enforce them.  With violence.  Sweet, sweet, justified violence.

The Destroyer.  He’s Beast.  No, he’s not blue, and he’s not even really hairy yet.  But he does run around on all fours (not joking)  and can physically do some pretty amazing crap. He’s also pretty smart when he feels like it.

Kid Sensation.  I almost put Kid Sensation down as Iron Man, because of how good he is with technology. But Iron Man talks too much.  So I gave him Cyborg.  I would ask him what he thinks of that, but he won’t say anything, anyway–he’s on the computer trying to buy something behind my back.  Haha, Kid, there’s no money in that account.  There’s no money in any account.  Joke’s on–well, all of us, I guess.

Birdie is Storm.  She’s usually the voice of reason, until she gets mad.  Then it’s lightening bolts and tornadoes for everyone.

Yay!  Family dinner!
Yay! Family dinner!

Ah yes, Supermom.  No, she is not Superman, she is Darkseid.  I’m dead serious.

What about the folks you know?  Who are you?

Random Surgery Thoughts.

So I had minor surgery this weekend, and one thing I noticed was that I waited around a lot. And when you wait around a lot you get a lot of—wait for it—random thoughts! I kept track of mine, and I think you’ll notice when they started giving me drugs.

Oooh, I like her haircut! At first, you just people watch a lot to pass the time.

Who is this gown for? Because, I mean, how is something simultaneously too big and too small?

Well, my booty out is your problem. I actually said this out loud to the nurse when she told me to go to the bathroom. She tried to be all sweet about it, like “I’ll tie this up so you’re not all exposed”. Nope. Lady, you gave me this booty-out gown, now deal. She actually that this was funny. I was serious.

I’m trying to read, now shut your face. So in ambulatory surgery, you’re separated by curtains. You can hear everything the people around you are saying. Everything. I was nice and polite, reading my book and everything. The lady next to me, however, was not as considerate. She, apparently, was having a colonoscopy, and for some reason needed to recount in detail how her insides were cleaned out. Also, I guess, she decided that instead of staying home near a toilet, she was going to go about her daily activities wearing an adult diaper. No one needs to say Depends that many times in one sentence. No one. She needed to shut her face, is what I’m saying.

Ha ha. Good luck, skinny. Another nurse tells me she’s moving me to the OR, where she’s going to move me from one gurney to the other. She may have weighed 100 pounds. Maybe. Y’all know I stone cold kick it in the 2 Bills club.

Huh. I guess she’s pretty strong. She was strong.

I’m not nervous. You’re nervous. Okay, this is where they gave me something to relax. I admit, I’m not a belligerent drunk, but I am a belligerent high.

Um. You’re burning out my insides, you ninny. The anesthesiologist asks me if I want to be all the way asleep. He didn’t know that I have three kids and this is the only sleep I’ll have gotten since 2002. Also, they’re burning my insides out, so there’s that. Oh, and I would never call anyone a ninny unless I was under the influence. I mean, ninny?

Hey, I’m not dead. After I woke up. Was I expecting to die? I don’t know.

I thought you said this wasn’t going to hurt. Why does this hurt? You said… I never finished this thought. I don’t know if I fell asleep or died for a couple of minutes. I think I fell asleep.

You’ll know him. He’ll be the biggest one in the room. When the doctor asked me if I wanted her to talk to my husband. I never really know if he’s the biggest one in the room, but 98 percent of the time, he is. And he was this time, too.

This guy.  In a hoodie.  And sweatpants.
This guy. In a hoodie. And sweatpants.

Who’s this wheelchair for? It seems they also do whale surgery here, because I my entire family could have fit in the wheelchair they brought for me.

Oh no, he’s gonna die! The male nurse commented on Wondergirl’s hair, and then proceeded to touch it. Fortunately for him, I was too high to form a coherent sentence and the Big Man didn’t see it happen. Otherwise, there would have been nurse-colored smears all over the clinic.

That’s about it, you guys. I am home recuperating and thinking random thoughts in my room. Have you had random procedure thoughts? Please share!