Another post about ta-ta's

Holy crap, I’m so sick of reading/hearing about politics I can’t see straight! That being said…

I think I’d like to talk about breasts for a moment. I, like every other woman on the planet am hyper critical of myself. I’m 5’5” and weigh a buck thirty, I’d really like to weigh a buck twenty. My nails are flimsy, I’d like them to be hard as, uh…, nails. My ass is dangerously close to being “smushy“, I’d like to bounce a quarter off of it. I’m a solid B cup, I’d like to have boobs that have their own zip code. But here’s the thing, I’m lazy. I could go to the gym that I’m currently paying a monthly membership to and drop the 10 pounds, take vitamins to make my nails stronger, do leg lifts to make my ass less borderline smushy and/or have surgery to make my boobs the size of New Jersey. But that would take effort on my part. More effort than I’m willing to dedicate. Although I see Quasimodo staring back at me if I peer into the mirror for too long; all in all, at first glance and a distance I’m not a bad looking chick. Not to mention, what I lack in looks I certainly make up for in personality. In person I’m funny. Really funny.

But anyway, back to boobies. As mentioned and on a few occasions pictured here on Surreptitious Psychosis, I’m a B cup. There’s nothing spectacular about them, they‘re not “ubber fabulous”. It’s just your everyday average, run of the mill, B cup rack. So about a month ago I’m listening to the radio and I hear a commercial for a “breast enhancing” OTC (that’s “over the counter”) that “increases your bust size by at least two cups sizes!” Something that takes virtually no effort on my part? Now that’s for me! Where do I sign up!? So of course I called and said “Yes, I heard your commercial and I’d like to super size my rack please!” A month has passed and I honestly can’t say the enhancer didn’t work. D seems to think they appear “fuller”. But lets face it, he’s a guy so all he’s really thinking is “Boobage!” I can’t really tell. Women naturally fluctuate by almost half a cup size in extreme cases during each month based on ovulation cycle, diet, water weight etc. Unlike a lot of men, we don’t whip out a measuring stick at every given chance. Also, contrary to popular male belief we don’t stand naked in front of a mirror staring at them and touching them at every given opportunity (sorry to burst the silicone filled bubble, guys). We check thoroughly once a month for lumps, bumps or changes (at least the smart among us do) and basically leave well enough alone.

Hell, I read a study that said 80% of all women in the US are wearing the wrong bra size! Just goes to show how “in touch” most of us really are. I guarantee you they’re not wearing bras that are too big. Our collective wreaked self esteem ensures that we’re wearing smaller bras because we really do believe our racks are smaller than they actually are/should be. Thanks for nothing to the ginornous boobied asswads at Cosmo! I take great comfort in knowing that when I’m 65 I’ll still have firm breasts perched upon my upper chest. When you’re 65 you’ll be sporting the “yeah, they were huge and fabulous when I was 25 but now they just look like an old nut sack” look.

So yeah, they seem a bit “enhanced” and yeah my braziers seem to be a bit more snug but that could be because I ate a piece of chocolate cake last week or I’m retaining more water than usual because of the “hotter than Hades” Florida heat or any number of other factors. I can tell you this, I sure as hell won’t be scheduling breast reduction surgery anytime soon because of this “miracle enhancer”. Then again I’m not going to say it didn’t do anything at all. The girls and I bonded during this experience. Now I can say, my breasts aren’t just guinea pigs for experimenting non FDA approved drugs on, they’re friends.

It’s not a tumor and

No, I’m not a leper, it’s a zit. Thanks for asking, asshat!

UHG!!! I have a zit. Satan apparently impregnated my right cheek with an unholy spawn from hell the size of a 6 month old baby when I wasn‘t looking. It’s driving me absolutely freaking bonkers! I’ve tried ichthomol ointment, warm compresses and squeezing the ever loving Christ out of it. My efforts have only pissed it off and made it take up a stronger hold on my red, puffy and inflamed face. I’ve entertained the idea that maybe it’s not a zit. Remember the ol’ spider eggs story? It‘s been told a hundred different ways but they all have the same ending- they hatch. Here’s the way I heard it.

The short, short version in comma form…Girl wakes up with a small “zit” on her cheek, she is told to leave it alone as picking at it will only make it worse, “zit” grows itchy and somewhat painful, a few days pass, the “zit” is now huge and terribly uncomfortable (much like my current situation), mother suggests daughter take a hot bath and apply a compress, upon submerging in bath and within moments of applying compress her cheek erupts disgorging (I so dig that word!) thousands of tiny spiders. Hence, it was never a “zit”, a spider had laid eggs in her face.

So now I’m sure you understand why I want to take a scalpel and a dash of C4 to my face right now.

Looks like the only time I post is when I’m sick

Here was how today was supposed to go….


5:00am- Get D off to work and go to sleep
10:00am- Get up
10:15am- Get dad up
10:30am- Get a shower
11:00am- Grab a snack
11:15am- Get ready for Kojak’s award ceremony
12:00pm- Boondoggle around
12:30pm- Start bitching at dad to get in the car
1:00pm- Leave for the award ceremony
1:20pm- Arrive at award ceremony
1:30pm- Watch Kojak get award
2:00pm- Get some lunch with dad and Kojak before his shift starts
3:00pm- Drop dad off
3:30pm- Head to Kojak’s house to straighten up and get some laundry done (while harassing his cats) before his tattoo guy comes over Tuesday
6:00pm- Come home
6:30pm- Decide what everyone wants for dinner
7:30pm- Get started on dinner
9:00pm- Feed everyone
10:00pm- Get started on chores around the house
1:30am- Check email and watch a movie
4:30am- Get ready for bed
5:00am- Sleep




Here’s how it has gone thus far…


4:10am- Post on my blog while listening my tummy serenade “Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap”
4:45am- Doze off feeling rather queasy
5:00am- D wakes me up as he’s getting ready for work. Feeling really queasy
6:00am- Sit bolt upright in bed. Bathroom, NOW!
6:15am- Lay back down, thank God it’s over
7:00am- Fall out of bed running for bathroom
7:15am- Lay back down, thank God it’s over
9:00am- Jump up and trip over cat running for bathroom
9:15am- Lay back down and pray to God that it’s over
10:00am- Tummy wakes me with odd noises
10:05am- More praying
10:10am- More praying
10:15am- Cat scratches the hell out of me when I jump up and run for the bathroom
10:30am- The cursing of the small bowel begins as prayers for it aren’t working
11:00am- Small bowel responds to said curses with a little curse of it’s own “Get to the bathroom, NOW!!!”
11:30am- Call Kojak
11:45am- Slam foot in cabinet while running to the bathroom
11:50am- Reset toe that is jammed up into my ankle
12:00pm- Kojak calls
12:15pm- It is decided that I will not be attending his award ceremony
12:30pm- Dad leaves alone for ceremony
12:45pm- Run from the living room to the bathroom destroying all in my way
12:50pm- Call D asking if he’s experiencing anything similar. Have to leave a voicemail
1:00pm- Kojak calls and I apologize for not attending. He says he’s had a similar tummy upset. I take comfort in knowing I’m not alone
1:30pm- Gingerly sip Boost
1:45pm- Decide to move into the bathroom as I’m sick of injuring myself running to it
2:00pm- Curse. A lot
2:20pm- Posting from my bathroom...

I felt like you should probably know this…

I’ve been busy. VERY busy. Kojak posts more about what’s going on in my world than I do- so if you want an update, go check out his blog. I’m still here, among the living dead, just busy. VERY busy.

So when I stumbled across the below I felt that I should share this information immediately. This crap is vital!

Top 10 Useless Body Parts
By The Science Channel

When you're sick you may feel that certain body parts are more trouble than they're worth. And in some cases, you'd be right. While the human body has evolved and adapted significantly since the caveman days, a few biological traces of our prehistoric ancestors still remain with us in the form of freeloading body parts we lug around with us, but have no use for. Take a gander at the top offenders!

10. Plica semilunaris
You may not know it, but you have a third eyelid. Pull open the two more noticeable eyelids and take a look -- it's located right in the corner by the tear duct. This small third eyelid is left over from what's known as a "nictitating membrane," which is still present in full form in some animals including chickens, lizards and sharks.

9. Body hair
No doubt we were once hairier. Up until about 3 million years ago, we were covered with body hair. But by the time Homo erectus arrived, the ability to sweat meant we could shed our woolly ways.

8. Sinuses
Doctors don't really know much about sinuses -- only that we have a lot of them. Possibilities for their function range from insulating our eyes to changing the pitch and tone of our voice.

7. Adenoids
Adenoids trap bacteria, but they're also prone to swelling and infection. Just ask any 7-year-old. Luckily, our adenoids shrink with age and are often removed, along with ...

6. Tonsils
Also prone to swelling and infection. If you still have them when you reach your 30's, it's almost an accomplishment.

5. Coccyx
More useful as a game-winning Scrabble word than as part of the anatomy, the coccyx or tailbone, is made up of several fused vertebrae left over from the olden days when we had tails.

4. Arrector pili
When we were hairier (see No. 9), the arrector pili made the hairs stand on end when we needed to appear bigger and scarier. Now, it just gives us goose bumps.

3. Wisdom teeth
Back in the day, when we ate mammoth meat off the bone and didn't floss afterward, our teeth tended to fall out. Therefore, when those reserve molars, aka "wisdom teeth," came in, they were welcomed. Nowadays, fluoride and dental plans have made them just a huge pain.

2. Appendix
Darwin claimed the appendix was useful for digestion during our early plant-eating years; it's dwindled down to little since we started eating more digestible foods.

1. Male nipples
Because, why?

I didn’t catch a cold, a cold caught me!

For me to catch a cold would nearly insinuate that I was actively hunting for one. Not the case. As much as I love feeling like crap: dry eyes, dizzy spells, horking up UFO‘s, shortness of breath, fever, bitchy attitude, chills, total body aches and wanting to cram an M-80 down my throat to break up the congestion- I was going to pass on this year’s cold and flu season. Apparently some jackass informed the pestilence that I’d be skipping the festivities and it came looking for me instead.

Surprisingly enough this doesn’t seem to be hitting me too bad (knock on wood...DO IT!!!!) as I don’t feel like something that crawled out of a construction site Port-A-Potty, yet. It got nasty for a few days but my preemptive strike in the form of vitamins, 200 hot showers a day, tons of fluids and being jacked up on Pseudoephedrine have kept my involvement with the plague minimal.

Now if you’ll all bow your heads in prayer:

Dear God,

You’ll be shocked to learn that I’m not begging to win the lottery, promising that I’ll never drink again if you’ll just help me make it through the morning or talking to you via the toilet as a conduit/medium. Nope, this time it’s important. I ask you Holy Father to spare me and my family from the misery and despair that is “Walking Pneumonia”. And should walking pneumonia come knocking at my door, I ask that you cast his uninvited, unwelcome, unwanted, unwarranted, unwholesome batootie back into the fiery depths of Hades in which he arose.

Amen.

And for my atheist friends in the audience (we don‘t discriminate ‘round these parts) or those of you that are looking to go preemptive too- below is the recipe and instructions for Vitamin C Tea. It’s not as good as praying to God (it is good in conjunction with, though) but as earthly remedies goes, it’s damn near divine. It works wonderfully as a preventative but will also shorten the duration of a cold if already infected. Rose gave it to me an age ago and I’ve sworn by it ever since! It is loaded with Vitamin C (as the name suggests) and tastes amazing. Most cold and flu seasons I enclose the following in “Get Well” baskets; I put together a ton of the dry ingredients, jar them up, add honey sticks, a huge mug, a tea infuser and instructions. Viola! It’s “feel better” in a cup!


Vitamin C Tea

2 parts Rose Hips

1 part each of:
Peppermint
Spearmint
Lemon Grass
Chamomile


Boil water, turn off the boil. Steep for a minimum of 5 minutes. Tea should have a pinkish-amber hue and smell like flowers. Honey is preferred to sugar for sweetening. Drink as often as needed.

Mental wards fucking ROCK!!!

However, the staff definitely leaves something to be desired.

I’ll be sure to tell you all about it asap.

Seriously.

I’m sick

“Yes Aza, that’s more than apparent”, shouts the peanut gallery!

Nooo, I’m actually physically ill. Sorta.

I haven’t felt worth a damn for three days now. Today it became impossible to ignore and or hide so I went to the doctor when I was supposed to go to work. She thinks I have a tummy virus, I think it’s just stress. After all, stress does tend to manifest in weird ways. So anyway, I’m not going to work and I feel guilty as hell. I feel guilty because I feel like I’m playing hooky. I’ve gone to work feeling so much worse than this; I have punched my 8 to 9 hours and had a smile on my face in the process when I should have been in the hospital. Not today, today I’m coddling myself when I should rock up and get my ass in gear. Doc said “You look like crap. Go home, go to bed and drink lots of fluids.” Is she basing her diagnosis on my appearance? If so, 6 days out of 7 I should be in the morgue. I always look like this. The only difference between today and any other day is a tummy ache, chills and my color is a little “off”. And this is what I will continue to do to myself all day. I’ll sit here telling myself what a huge asshole I am for “letting people down” or “pissing everyone off” until I get so discombobulated I get up, throw on some scrubs and go in- which will only make the duration of my stomach virus/stress last longer and make me hate the people I work for/with even more. I fucking hate that about myself.

Why can’t I just lay here, watch espn, sip ginger ale, relax, try to get my stomach in order and not give a shit?

101 reasons I am the coolest person that ever lived

1/ You can call me at 11pm on a Monday night and tell me that your wife (my coworker) is in the Navy E.R. and I will haul ass to get to her and in getting to her I will inconvenience a very close friend who happens to be a member of a local police dept. to get me on base (who I still can‘t thank enough!).

2/ I will drill your wife’s doctors with my limited medical knowledge to make certain she is top priority and well taken care of.

3/ I will hold her hair out of her face while she projectile vomits.

4/ I will work her shifts as well as my own.

5/ I will buy her really expensive flowers and make everyone at work chip in.

6/ I will show you my boobies if you’re having a bad day. Okay, so I’m kidding on that one! (or am I?)

7/ You can call me from North Carolina while I’m at work after you’ve had an appendectomy freaking the fuck out and ask me to go back to the fucking navy E.R. because your husband broke his leg and has no one in the city to help take care of him until a family friend can make it up from Orlando.

8/ I will throw out my fucking back by assisting the staff at said hospital in splinting your husbands leg.

9/ I will not look at your husbands package while said procedure is taking place.

10/ I will consult with your and his surgeons to make sure they know someone who knows what the hell is going on is keeping an eye on things.

11/ I will do all of the above while incredibly ill but you won‘t know it.

12/ I will punch you in the fucking head if you say one word about me smoking again because of all the stress I‘m under. Okay, so that one doesn’t make me cool.

13/ I will fix your husbands IV lines all 800 times the fucking alarm on the machine goes off.

14/ I will make sure that you and your spouse get only the best drugs during your respective stays at the hospital.

15/ I will do all of the above and more with a smile on my face and will not tell you how stressed I am, how sick I’ve been or cry in front of you.


This is going to be longwinded and boring so you might as well just skip it. I sure as hell wish I could have.

Okay so basically the story goes like this…Monday afternoon one of my coworkers (Military Wife- some of you may recall her from prior posts) calls me and asks if I’ll cover her shift- she feels really bad and wants to go home. Sure, no problem…I‘m here to help. Monday night around 11pm her husband calls and tells me she is in the Navy E.R. with severe abdominal pain. She sent him home earlier in the afternoon but asked him to call me so I could tell everyone at work she probably wouldn’t be coming in the next day. Something in my gut twists. I have a feeling the “abdominal pain” is a much larger problem than “Oh, I’m just crampy”. The fact that she’s on a morphine drip later confirms this. I asked him if I could get on base since she was there alone and he said probably not. I convey to a friend what’s going on and that I have to get on base. Said friend calms me the hell down, meets me at the base and is able to get me to her in the E.R. I sit with her, talk to her doctors, make sure they keep her drugged because she is in intense pain and try to keep an eye on things as they perform multiple tests to diagnose what‘s going on.

By 5:30 Tuesday morning it’s official she has and appendicitis and needs to go to surgery. I went outside, called her husband, told him to get back to the hospital so she can get prepped for surgery. At 6:30am I leave assuring her I’ll get everything squared away at work. Later that evening after her surgery I get into a minor fender bender (said law enforcement friend to the rescue AGAIN!) while on my way to take her flowers and food (because the universe not only wants to fuck with me but wants to fuck with my car too).

Wednesday she is released from the hospital and leaves town to go to North Carolina with her mom (a trip they’d planned months before). At this point I am smoking again so I decided to start the Chantix again which ends up making me deathly ill (I should have started at .05mg but I started at 1mg. Yes, I am a dumbass). That day I schedule a doctors appointment for Thursday at 11am since I’m sick as hell because of the Chantix. Still I want to take it because I want to quit smoking again and it works.

Thursday, I’m due at my doctors appointment at 11am and work by 1pm. So along comes Thursday afternoon. I’d taken promethazine the night before to stop puking my guts up so naturally I missed my fucking 11am appointment. They tell me they can get me in at 3, I tell them I’ll be at work, they tell me the soonest they can see me after is sometime next week. What the fuck ever! I am NOT going to be this sick for another 4 or 5 days. I went to work at 1 and saw that we were overstaffed. So I tell my Pharmacist that I’m going to take an extended lunch, drive across the fucking city during the start of rush hour to get to my doctors appointment. I get back at 4:30 feeling like crap with a hand full of scripts from my doc and am ready to get back to work, finish my day and go home. Could it have possibly been that easy? Hell no! Of course not, this is me were talking about here!

One of the kids I’m training shouts across the pharmacy “Aza, you’ve got a call on 101 and it doesn’t sound good!” I answered the phone and it was Military Wife in hysterics. I say “MW, calm down and tell me what’s going on.” She then proceeds to tell me she’s in excruciating pain from the appendectomy, she’s in North Carolina, she’s allergic to the pain meds and I have to go back to the Naval E.R. “RIGHT NOW!!!!” All I could muster for a response at that point was “Ummm, what?” she responds hysterically with “My husband broke his fucking leg and there’s no one to help him but you until I can get my friend from Orlando to come!”.

At this point my eyes were brimming as I looked over at my Rph and shook my head. I told her I’d take care of it and hung up. Sooooo, half an hour later (around 6:30ish) I’m pulling into the E.R. parking lot. I get in, get things dealt with, update MW and wait for the friend from Orlando to come. During my wait a nurse walks in and asks him one of the most retarded questions I’ve ever heard in my life- “So, how’s your pain level between 1 and 10, 10 being the worst pain you’ve ever experienced?” I sat there staring at her for a moment trying to digest what I’d just heard and whether or not I’d heard it correctly. Finally I said “Uh, both bones in his left leg are broken and at the break they splintered into 4 or 5 pieces. I’d have to say, and MW Husband please correct me if I’m wrong here, that his pain level is at about a ’Fuck This!‘. Does that sound about right MW Husband?” he nodded, she stomped out of the room to go get more meds.

10pm rolls around, my lower back and shoulders are killing me, I’ve assisted in splinting his leg, have dealt with his fucked up IV lines, yelled at a bunch of fucking incompetent people, am covered in plaster and am praying I can make it out of there without injuring anyone. The friend from Orlando finally walks in the room MW’s husband is set up in for the night. I explain to her everything that’s happening- what time he’s going in for surgery the next day blah, blah, blah, blah…..ad infinitum.

I come home totally emotionally exhausted and feeling completely numb. I’ve not slept more than a few hours in 4 days, I’m sick and I’ve been pulled in a thousand directions at once. So I lay in bed and stare at the ceiling, play around on my cell and try to get my brain to shut down. I don’t actually get to sleep until around 10:30am this morning because as tired as I was I just couldn’t shut down- then I’m back up by noon after being jarred awake by a storm of nightmares and I’m running again. His surgery didn’t go as well as planned and he now has a shit load of new hardware in his leg but at least he made it through and is in recovery.

My plans for tomorrow? I’m going to go to work, come home, try to exist in peace and maybe, just maybe go to the gym. Or kick the ever loving shit out of the first fucking person that looks at me wrong. I’m still undecided.

Ugh

I’d post something clever about friends going through appendectomies, smoking like a fiend, Navy hospitals and all of the goofy stuff going on in my world at the moment….However, I’m sick as a dog and have to go to hell work.

Yay! *barf*

“Milestones” and “That’s why it looks like that“…

Milestone #1- Eleven days ago…. I. Quit. Smoking.

Seriously.

This is HUGE!

Here’s why- I’ve smoked for nearly 20 years. Yes, you read that right. Nearly 20 years. Seriously, do the math. I’m 28, my mom was killed in the car accident when I was 11 and I started smoking a few years prior to her death. Everyone I’ve told that to gets the same sorry ass “That can’t be true” look on their face. Well screw you, it is. I smoked my first cigarette at 8 or 9- it was a way to cope.

I’ve attempted to quit twice before- both were failed attempts lasting only a day or less (I actually smoked while on the patch). What makes this attempt different is A/ It’s been 11 days! and B/ I’m using Chantix (a smoking cessation drug that just recently hit the market). I started taking it December 25th with a quit date of January 1st (you’re supposed to start taking the drug 7 days prior to your quit date). Of course D and I got into a giant fight Jan.1st (Milestone #2- which also happened to be our 9th year wedding anniversary) so the date got pushed up a few days…the 4th. So here I sit, 11 days into being a “non-smoker”. I can’t believe prior to my starting the habit in the first place that that’s the longest I’ve ever been a non-smoker.

Oh, and since I’ve not had a cigarette in 11 days I’d like to share a little secret I’ve learned while in public and at work; this secret is for all of you smokers out there (and yes, this applied to me 11 days ago). Ready? Here it is…You fucking stink!!! Seriously you smell bad, really bad!

And

That’s why it looks like that…

It just recently dawned on me after the untimely death of my 1 year and 1 month old laptop (burn in hell you piece of crap!) that my fonts don’t come through for everyone so my headers that were in “freehand591 bt” made it look like “SURREPTITIOUS PSYCHOSIS” instead of freehand591 bt. To fix the problem I put in a back up code that looks somewhat similar to freehand, hence the corsiva back up.

I have what in my what !?

The x-rays and results to the Upper GI are back.

Acid reflux- whatever. Who doesn’t have acid reflux?

However…


Arthritis in my left shoulder. 27 years old and I have arthritis taking up house in my left shoulder! Screw that! Being the proactive kinda gal I am- I’ve got physical therapy scheduled for the 16th and an appointment with a personal trainer at a local gym at 4:30 tomorrow.

Yep, you heard it here first- I’m going back to the gym. I’m thinking some strength training and toning would do me good. Certainly wouldn’t hurt to lessen the space my ass is currently taking up either. My main goal…a quiet place to do a little yoga. The last gym I went to was night club loud and when stretching or doing yoga poses provoked stares and whispered “I wonder if she can put her legs behind her head…Holy shit she can!” comments.

To my understanding this gym has great hours that may be able to provide a little peace and privacy. Here’s hoping. The major plus- I hear a lot of cops go there so at least I won’t have to worry about security when being in there at odd hours. Oh, and it’s located in the parking lot of a substation.

So in short, I intend on bidding my chunky ass farewell, and the arthritis can kiss it on the way out!

Hungry and even more anxious

Here I sit fasting, again. Tomorrow morning a phlebotomist is going to instill a pipeline into my right arm and drain me of my very life essence. I think I’m going to puke. Anyway.

Upper GI went well. As well as Upper GI’s go anyway.

AJ is fairing well. As well as can be expected anyway.

D and I aren’t getting along so well, right now anyway.

Anyway

Thirsty and anxious

I’ve not been to sleep because, well, I’m thirsty and anxious. I’m not sure what I’m more worried about- having to drink a bunch of nasty tasting crap (on an empty stomach) and have pictures taken of my guts or the results. I don't do well without my morning Sprite. Yes, the first thing I do when I get up everyday is drink an icy Sprite to settle my stomach. It works.

Actually, now that I think about it I’m not so much worried about the Upper GI as I am the bloodwork. Yep, I'm definitely more concerned with having to fast all over again and have 8 million vials of blood drawn tomorrow morning. I fucking hate needles! I fucking hate not having my Sprite!

Doctors and asshole video store managers

First, doctors…..

If my body is my temple, my temple mirrors one of those wigwam shit holes across the street.

I went to the doctor today. I went for a few reasons…

1/ My doctor and therapist are going to be kinda working together over the “panic attack” issues.
2/ My left shoulder is fucked up and much to my dismay ignoring the pain, burning and clicking noises it has been providing me for a few years now isn’t a remedy.
3/ My tummy hurts.

I was in a car accident 5 or so years back that royally screwed up my left shoulder (some uninsured asshole decided it‘d be a good idea to drive his car up underneath the bed of my truck. It was in the middle of a sunny Sunday afternoon, I was stopped allowing a squirrel to cross the road, he was fucking with his stereo.) On and off since then it has given me problems. In the last year those “problems” have been nonstop. I’m not a fan of prescription painkillers so I’ve been eating OTC meds like candy for months. Which leads me to my tummy. Either I’ve completely blown my stomach up with stress or it’s the 6 to 8 Doan's, Advil, Tylenol, Aleve or whatever else I can get my hands on that I’ve been eating daily so I can make it through work and to help me sleep. My tummy hurts and I’m all acid refluxie so to combat that I’ve been drinking tummy stuff like water for over a week now.

Doc says to me today “We need to figure out if your stomach issues are stress related or if you’ve screwed yourself up with OTC’s. So here’s what we’re gonna do…” At this point in the story I’d like to stop and clarify that “So here’s what we’re gonna do” actually translates into “So here’s what I’m gonna make you do…”

We, (which really means me) are going to have the following done…

Protonix QD for the tummy
Klonopin BID for the freak outs
Left shoulder x-ray
Extensive blood work (which will in the process rule out H-pylori)
Physical therapy
And (I’ve saved the best for last) an Upper GI

Yay.

See, I went to the doctor 8 or 9 months back over my shoulder and neck hurting. I had 45 to 50% mobility. She gave me some steroids to reduce the swelling and referred me to physical therapy.

The upside was the steroids worked- my shoulder stopped hurting and I regained the mobility in my arm and neck for awhile. The downside was…my penis disappeared and I was left with a giant set of nuts. Okay so you didn’t think it was funny but I did…and that’s what matters.

Anyway, during that period of time I had decided to start going to counseling again. I had two choices. A/ spend $40 once a week getting my head straight or B/ spend $40 three times a week in physical therapy getting my shoulder straight. I chose the mental therapy. Now I’m going to be stuck doing both. Unless, that is, I want to end up having to have surgery on my shoulder or my guts because of all of the aspirin I take to make my shoulder stop hurting.

Second, asshole video store managers….

D went to the video store last night to rent a movie. Clerk says “You have an $84 dollar late fee.” D says, “Uh, no I don’t.” Clerk says “Yeah, it’s for 50 First Dates, you never returned it.” D says “That was months ago; my wife bought that movie for her dad. BOUGHT. As in PAID FOR. Not rented.” Clerk says “No, we rented that movie to you. We didn’t sell it.” I’m going to stop here (because this shit goes on for an hour) and cut to my part in the process.

D called me, told me what was going on and that the manager would be there at midnight if I wanted to deal with him. I was three shades past livid. Why? Because this is the third THIRD, time these assholes have SOLD me a movie, then turned around and said it was rented.

I went up there at midnight raging pissed but still actively seeking resolution. Resolution went out the window when the manager asshole tried to convince me in extremely broken English that I was trying to rip him off for 6 fucking dollars (the movie was for SALE for 6.99, the idiot clerk charged me .99 as a rental….hence the giant fucking late fee). I explained that this was the third time this had happened, I fully intended on contacting the B.B.B. and would not under any circumstances pay an $84 dollar late fee that I did not owe. I also told him that one of two things was going on; either he was a fucking thief (since this has happened three times now) or he had incompetent employees that can’t tell the difference between a sale and a rental. I explained that I got a card in the mail months ago saying the movie was 8 days late. I called the number on the card and told the guy I BOUGHT the movie. He said he’d take care of the account and make sure it reflected the purchase.

So what did this dumbass decide to do? He started to yell at me. I asked him once “Will you please lower your voice and quit yelling at me?“ he kept yelling. I then told him “Stop raising your voice with me, I will NOT be spoken to like that.” he kept yelling. I responded with “Do you really want to get in a yelling match with me? I can assure you right now that you won’t win.” he kept yelling. So…..I started screaming at him at the top of my fucking lungs. The store emptied, the employees freaked. I told him he could close my account, eat the motherfucking DVD and shove the fucking late fee up his ass. I also told him if I got a bill in the mail I was going to take it directly to my attorney.

I left the DVD on the counter and stormed out with him yelling at me that I was a thief and a liar. I told D what had transpired and how ashamed of myself I was for showing my ass. As soon as I got to the part where Dickhole called me a thief and liar, D didn’t say another word. He got in the car and went back up there. Dickhole didn’t yell at D, he didn’t call him a thief and he didn’t call him a liar. D has a few slight advantages over me- he doesn’t raise his voice (he stays creepy calm with an expressionless face), he stands 6’4” and weighs in at 225. I guess Dickhole figured it’d be a bad idea to piss off a guy that big and that creepy calm. An hour later D comes home, DVD in hand and says “I’ll deal with it from here on out.”

He was on the phone with someone over it today on the drive to my doctors appointment. I’m not sure what’s going on with it but I do know this: screw Dickhole!…I’m not paying that idiot a dime for an imaginary late fee! If I owe him anything, it’s 6 dollars because his stupid employee rang me up wrong. It would really be in Dickhole’s best interest to take the six fucking dollars because D has made it clear that he has no intention of letting this go.

How To Survive A Pap-Smear

A day and an age ago during my first term in college I took an English composition class. We had to write five short and sweet papers: Process/Analysis, Contrast/Comparison, Cause/Effect and so on. All of mine were terribly written because well, lets be honest here- I'm not a writer. I specifically chose odd and macabre topics to write about based on a few facts: 1/ We had to read them aloud in class and 2/ The subject matter would make the actual material written more heard/experienced and less seen (people wouldn't pay as much attention to the fact I was/am a crappy writer) based on the fact that I'm a very animated story teller. Basically, you can hand me any shitty paper to read aloud and those listening will think it's brilliant. It's all in the presentation.

My Cause/Effect was titled "The Black Death". It was written in first person style about a young man who lived through the bubonic plague in Italy during the year 1347. It was harsh, overly descriptive and elicited just the response I was looking for. My Process/Analysis paper was titled "How To Survive A Pap-Smear" a paper I was particularly proud of (tho not nearly as much as "The Black Death"). Certainly not because it was well written (the freshmen in my class had no clue what "well written" meant) but because of its shock value (as unshocking and censored as I felt it was/is) visits to the GYN aren't often publicly addressed in a room full of strangers. So here I offer you a freshmen's view of how to survive a pap-smear.

Aza Whatever
Professor Whoever
ENC1101, Process/Analysis Rough Draft
8 December, A Long Time Ago

How To Survive A Pap-Smear

Yes, it's that time of year again. The notice you received in the mail that arrived or the message on your voice mail today has informed you in a matter-of-fact manner that you're due for an "annual". There it is, psychology at its best- they use that term to soften the blow. Instantly your stomach twists in response. "Annual". The word itself seems harmless but you know better and since you know better, "annual" conjures images of medieval torture chambers. With your stomach now violently protesting you pick up the phone to make the appointment. What are you met with? A cheery voice on the other end all too pleased to schedule you. So begins the five steps to surviving a pap-smear.

Step one: After making your appointment, resist the urge to call all of your girlfriends and female family members to complain. They've been there and most probably do not wish to have images of their last "annual" resurrected. This rule applies to men as well. Any attempts at explaining the process will not be met with sympathetic ears. You will almost certainly ensure an immediate dial tone in reply. They don't understand; they don't want to understand.

Step two: When the day of the appointment arrives, contemplating ways out of it is futile. However, feel free to allow yourself to go with the process of making up every excuse you can dream of not to go; oddly this tends to be therapeutic. Do not cancel your appointment! Like many things in life, this is a necessary evil. With uterine, ovarian and cervical cancer being a potential alternative it is imperative that you keep your appointment.

Step three: Once you've arrived at the doctor's office and have successfully pried yourself out of your car you're halfway there! Swallow the arising panic attack, calmly check in at the front desk, seat yourself and wait to be called. Daydreams of slapping the chipper receptionist with the latest issue of People magazine, believing every man in the waiting room knows exactly why you're there, considering if the chair you are seated in is heavy enough to break a window for a quick escape are all completely normal thoughts.

Step four: Once you are called DO NOT run for the nearest exit! Take a deep breath and follow the technician. She or he is simply going to take your skyrocketing blood pressure, racing heart rate, temperature and yes, your weight. Upon stepping off of the scale you may feel an urge to spontaneously vomit- this too is completely normal, more deep breathing usually helps this sensation pass. You will then be led into a small, odd smelling sterile room, asked to disrobe and don a giant roughly textured piece of paper with armholes in it. They refer to this garment as a "gown". If the office is particularly warm, this "gown" will stick to you like wet Charmin. This too is a regular occurrence (especially during summer months). You will then be left to carry out the given tasks while agonizing over what is now inevitable.

Step five: Expect to wait a minimum of 45 minutes for the doctor to arrive. It is important to understand that you are not the only patient he or she is seeing that day and he or she must have time between patients to boondoggle around the office and tell his or her peers about the last weirdo he or she just examined. When the doctor finally walks into your room fully expect him or her to engage you in pointless chit-chat. He or she may even attempt to "break the ice" by telling a stupid joke. At this point the worst is nigh- do not freak out! Within 15 minutes this will all be over and you will have survived. Please note that during your exam is it not recommended that you laugh, cough or sneeze- speculums are known projectiles.

Congratulations, you made it! Once dressed you may now begin to regain what is left of your dignity (this may take as long as a week). When you arrive home, please refer to step one. No one is interested in hearing about cold stirrups, projectile speculums or cotton swab cultures.

Mental health, or lack thereof

My primary MD doesn’t want to give me any more refills. She says she’s not ’qualified’ to deal with “mental health” issues. She’s carried me on refills for two years now. I explained “They’re just panic attacks (with a little depression, a hint of rage and a touch of psychotic behavior sprinkled atop for good measure), Doc. Nothing more, nothing less. Let’s not make a big issue out of the situation.” Nope, two years is apparently long enough.

So I made an appointment with yet another psychiatrist and yet another counselor. Yet another? Yes, yet another.

Notes to self…

~ You know you’re fucked up when your psychiatrist informs you in a letter that you’re not “invited” back to his office.

~ When you’re pissed off at your psychiatrist and they ask “What are you thinking?” LIE.

~ When asked to explain what a “Columbian Necktie” is. LIE.

~ Do not psychoanalyze your therapist until she begins to cry and tell you about her abusive parents.

~ Remember that your sense of humor is ‘off’. Most people in the mental health field do not think you’re funny, they think you need to be committed, need stronger drugs or both.

~ If you don’t like your therapist, do not continue to go and finally in the middle of your sixth session (after spending six co-pays) exclaim gleefully “Now I know why I hate you!” and then proceed to explain that the only reason you kept coming back after the first visit was to figure out why you hated them.

~ Just because your mother screwed the family counselor doesn’t mean you have a license to emotionally destroy every counselor you come in contact with.

~ When you’re threatened with Baker Act, smiling and with a shrug saying “I’ll get out sooner or later” probably isn’t a good idea. That’s called an “implied threat” and it‘s rather childish.

~ Seeking out and randomly touching on your therapists worst fears throughout your session, isn’t conducive to healing. It fucks with their head. It’s also considered in polite society to be ‘rude’.

~ Discussing the pros and cons of crunchy peanut butter for half an hour is a waste of $175.00

~ Deciding you’re going to hate your counselor (before you’ve even met the man) just because his name is ‘George’ and insisting on pronouncing his name in Spanish is just plain ridiculous.

These are just a few nuggets of wisdom I’ve learned while seeing therapists, counselors, psychologists and psychiatrists over the years.

‘Productivity’ is my word for the upcoming month. And we all know the Latin root of Productivity is ‘refill’.

Beam me up, snotty!

Alright, who’s the asshat that stuck my head in a blender while I was sleeping last night?

This weekend was supposed to be about catching up on my homework so I can take that stupid test Monday. Ha! This weekend has actually been about me lying in bed, watching The Godfather trilogy on AMC and rolling around in my own plague. Visions of shoving an M80 up my nose and lighting the fuse to relieve this head congestion comfort me. The pressure……My teeth feel like they’re trying to pull themselves free from my skull to escape my mouth. I want to scoop an eye out with a spoon, stick a garden hose in there and wash out all of the gunk. The straw breaking my back is, everything smells horrific! Maybe I should buy some Nasal Douche; desperate times call for desperate measures. *sigh* Then again, the idea of someone douching their nose freaks me out- regardless of how therapeutic some claim it to be.

Something’s gotta give.

Ever have one of those days where everything you eat turns to shit?

Today was one of those days in the Aza household. Well it started yesterday and continued into today and is in fact still happening right now. I think Monday night was one of the worst nights I’ve ever been though in my life. The fever, the coughing/hacking, the green putrid pus like shit coming out of my chest, the projectile vomiting…….the horror, the horror.

Yeah I know, you’re probably asking yourself the same thing I did “Who in the hell projectile vomits with a chest cold???” I guess it was a cross between two things, A/ I’d stressed my abdominal muscles so badly with violent coughing spells all evening and B/ At dinner when I’d cough I didn’t want to spit the shit out right there in the middle of the restaurant and couldn’t go running to the bathroom every 5 seconds so down it went. Ewwww, is right!

Here’s my play by play of Monday and Tuesday (the short version)….

11am: D and I went to the grocery store to put in an order for my dad’s cake. I felt fine.
12pm: D and I lay down for a nap, since he’s still on the overnight shifts. He’s got to get some rest before he goes back to work tonight after we take dad to dinner.
Between 12 and 4pm: I wake up a dozen or so times coughing and burning up- each time my chest feels a little “thicker” and more deeply congested.
4:30pm: I get up feeling like crap but have talked myself into believing it’s just from an un-restful sleep and maybe one cigarette too many. I wake D up to get a shower before we take dad to dinner.
4:45pm: I go pick up dad’s birthday cake and some over the counter medicine. My chest is starting to hurt like hell. I’m thinking there’s a good chance something is wrong.
6:30pm: We load up and head to St. Augustine for dinner. The trip is long and I’m in the back seat hacking the entire way.
Between 7:30pm and 9pm: They have dinner at the Santa Maria, I sit and watch trying not to ruin the evening by looking increasingly pathetic.
10:30pm: We get home. I firmly believe at this point that I have the plague.
11pm: D goes to work, I get in bed and screw around on the laptop. I know I'm sick, I pray it won't get worse.
1am: I officially feel like shit. I can not stop coughing and my temp is at 102 with no signs of coming down.
Between 1am and 3am: On and off I call D at work or he calls me. I am steady going downhill.
Between 3:15am and 4am: The projectile vomiting begins. All of the green chest shit I swallowed at dinner (and the one roll I forced myself to eat) is now down the drain. I am sitting in a heap in front of my bathroom cabinet praying for death.
4:30am: D takes a lunch break, comes home and brings me a ton of medicine to ease the cough and stop the vomiting. Oh, and Gatorade too.
Between 5am and 9am: I roll around in a fever, nausea and coughing fit induced delusion. It feels like one of those creepy 60’s acid tripping flashback scenes you see in the movies. During a few lucid moments I consider going to the hospital. I can’t hold down fluids and am dehydrating.
9:30am: I can’t stand it anymore. I call D and ask him to come home and take me to the doctor.
10:30am: D and I are sitting in an exam room telling my doctor everything that has transpired. We are both trying to understand how something this severe could have come on in four hours.
11:15am: I still can’t pee. The doctor wants to do a UA and I still can’t freaking pee. Every time they give me water it comes right back up.
11:45pm: D, the doctor and the nurse go into a huddle. The doctor says it’s “Acute Bronchitis knocking on pneumonia’s door” (whatever the hell that means) and thinks it might be a good idea to have me admitted due to the dehydration and fever. (I can think of much better reasons for having me "admitted".)
12:15pm: Someone comes up with the brilliant idea of sticking a needle in my ass cheek filled with phenergan to stop the vomiting. Because well, we all know how much Aza loves being stuck with needles, and when she goes home and back to bed, rolling around in fever and sickness just isn’t enough- her ass should hurt real bad too!
12:45pm: My ass hurts and Thank you God, I’ve peed and want to go home right now! The doctor tells D if the vomiting continues to take me to the E.R. post haste for fluids. Again, because we all know how much Aza fucking loves needles.
1:30pm: I am at my pharmacy filling the script for mega antibiotics and giving my doctors note explaining why I won’t be in today (or tomorrow according to the note).
Between 2pm and 5:30pm: I’m in bed, I feel terrible, the fever is at 101, and my ass hurts. D has taken my dad out to look at riding lawnmowers (that’s what he wanted for his birthday). D is in a nice way trying to keep himself and my dad out of my hair while I try to sleep off the phenergan and evil sickness.
Somewhere around 8pm: Green shit starts coming out of my head. The plague is now on the move from my lungs and stomach, to my sinuses. Fucking great.
Between 8pm and now: I’ve rested on and off, this fever still won’t break, my head feels like it’s going to explode making my ears pop and my ass still hurts. To top it off, I broke my dad’s only mercury thermometer sometime in the night.

So here I sit, back from shopping at an online store that sells mercury thermometers. On the upside, I do feel progress; I’m not coughing nearly as much. If I can get rid of the fever and the head congestion lets up a little I’ll probably go to work later this afternoon. Obviously going to class isn’t going to happen this morning. Yesterday while on the mower expedition D was kind enough to drop off a doctor’s note to my professor. Evidently Prof. W thinks I’m faking based on what D told to me. “He said he wasn’t expecting you in class anyway tomorrow for the test because you told him a few days ago you were working. I wanted to slap him, Aza. He was acting like this was all a big plan you hatched to get out of taking that test.” My response? Oh fucking well. If I were the vicious sort I’d go to school today and cough on his doorknob. “Enjoy the plague Prof. W.”

And then I cried

I am not a ‘crier’. You could cut my arm off and beat me with it; I doubt I’d shed a tear. I’m more likely to crawl in bed for a week, roll around in a pile of depression and pout before I’d cry. “Rock up” that’s my motto….until today. Today I bawled like a two year old.

The dentist called at 1 and asked if I could be there at 3 for my new permanent crowns. “YES, YES, YES!!!!!! See you at 3!” At 2:55 I'm signing in ready to get my permanents seated and sport my new grill.

You hear that sound? Sounds kinda like something straining? Yeah well, that’s the sound of the universe straining to take a giant dump on me.

After pulling off 3 of the temporaries and me handing the tech the other 3 that I pulled off myself (those were the ones I kept popping off) Dr. H walks in. I explained that even breathing cool air over the posts hurts like haydes soooooo, out comes the needle. Honestly, I really don’t mind the shots that much. I do mind however the fucking permanents the lab finally sent (after just over 3 weeks) NOT fucking fitting right!!!!

Long painful story short: They reseated my temporaries and sent me on my way. I got home and *wham* it hit me. I’m not sure if it was the fact that my permanents weren’t right, or the fact I’ve not eaten any real food in weeks now, or the fact that I missed class again this morning (and the MAJOR test I was supposed to take), or the bullshit that took place the other night, or a combination of all of the above, but I lost it. I called D and told him what had happened (which upset and worried him), gorged on applesauce, bit my numb upper lip twice, bawling my eyes out the whole time.

After I pulled myself together I called the dentist and asked him to write a note explaining to my professor that my TMJ has re-emerged and to please excuse me from class this morning. He said he would so that should at least get me out of hot water as far as class is concerned.

There it is; another week. I firmly believe this liquid/soft food diet is killing me.

All I want for Easter is my six front teeth

The lab is sticking it to me. My permanent crowns may (!!!!) be ready by the 31st. A lot of fucking good that does me- my dentist is closed on Friday’s.

Another week (and weekend) with the temporaries.
Another week (and weekend) of popping the damn things.
Another week (and weekend) of no solids.

The liquid diet continues (to grow very old). I’m so sick with life at the moment. I’d give my eye teeth (hardy-fuckin-har-har) for a Somoa.