Stress Magnet.

Have I mentioned that I'm a little stressed???

I wish I knew how to repel stress. It seems that when I'm already stressed, I attract even more stress. I overreact, I freak out about stupid stuff, I get highly emotional - you've all witnessed this on my blog. It might be partially because when I'm stressed I can't sleep, then I try to take a Xannie and sleep it all off, and then I get groggy and forget to do things and get mad at myself. It's a vicious cycle.

The worst part is that I don't even necessarily limit myself to my own stress. I absorb other people's stress and react to it as if it were mine.

Buffy's been really stressed out recently. She calls me several mornings a week on her way to work to vent. Really, I don't mind because she talks so much and for so long that all I have to do is occasionally say "uh-huh". I don't have to actually think or process anything she says, which is great because she usually calls at the most stressful time of my morning; when I'm making lunches and getting the boys dressed and ready for school. I just have to listen. I can do that. The woman needs to vent. We all need that.

One day she called to say she was seriously considering leaving Biff, her husband of two years, the father of her 8-month old daughter Perfect Baby, and who has also legally adopted Princeton. She didn't get into specifically why, other than to say that he was stupid and insensitive and didn't support her.

She also mentioned that Biff was abused as a child and to this day Biff does not believe that what he endured (and again, I don't know exactly what it was, nor do I want to know) qualifies as abuse. How fucked up is that?

Another time she mentioned that she was spending about $1300 a month in child care (which is more than she makes at her part-time job), that they would be unable to pay their mortgage, and that she fears Princeton is resentful because he used to get an allowance and have more of the things he wanted back when they lived in Washington State and didn't have to worry about money.

And she fears that he would internalize the resentment rather than say anything, because the reason they moved across the country was for him to attend a particular school associated with their religion. It's true, knowing him, he's not the sort of kid to complain. I can see why she'd be concerned about that. But I should mention that she recently grounded him for leaving too many lights on in the house. I'd resent that shit too, personally, but you know me, I never judge.

BAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! God, I'm fuckin funny. Anyway...

It's hard to listen to, and not just because I can never get a fucking word in edgewise, but mostly because it makes me feel guilty for having such an awesome husband. I feel for her, truly. And the bonus? The feeling that my life sucks just a bit less than somebody else's. That's healthy, isn't it; appreciating how good you have it?

Last night, when I was in the midst of the mildly stressful process of making the desserts I was planning to take to the Thanksgiving Dinner at Chez Inlaw, my phone rang. It was Buffy. Hysterical. Not funny hysterical, scary crazy hysterical.

(sniff) Sarah???

Yeah...?

I have a huge, huge favor to ask of you. And if you can't do it, it's okay, but if you could...

Ok, what is it? What do you need? Please don't say money.

She tearfully told me about how a situation she had mentioned to me before on a few occasions had escalated to the point where she couldn't take it anymore. At the day care where she'd been taking her baby, there was a particular mother who just seemed to have it out for her. She would, literally every day, intentionally block the door to the classroom as Buffy was either entering or exiting.

Teachers had witnessed it, and had admitted to Buffy that they'd seen it too. She had tried to be polite to the woman and say, "Um, 'scuse me" only to have her pretend not to hear. Buffy, just like every other parent dropping their kid off at day care, had to get to work, and this woman standing in her way every single day was inconvenient, annoying, and just mean.

Buffy had never done anything to this woman and couldn't understand why she would be singled out and treated this way, every day, in front of teachers and other parents. She'd gone to the teachers hoping that someone would speak to the woman, and she was told to either just ignore it or try to minimize the contact she had with her. So Buffy went out of her way to go in a half-hour earlier than she normally did just to keep the peace. She shouldn't have had to do that, but she did, and she hoped that would be the end of it.

But it didn't stop. And when she went to the director, explaining that she had done everything she could do to stay out of the woman's way, even rearranging her entire family's schedule to accomodate her leaving the house a half-hour earlier, the teachers turned on her and said that they had only seen it happen once. Again, she was basically told that she was the one who was making all of this a problem.

So she went to the owner to tell her that today would be Perfect Baby's last day at this day care. And the owner told her that she had heard about how she leaves Perfect Baby home with Princeton (who is almost 12), and she was so appalled by her poor parenting skills she had an obligation to call CPS to report Child Endangerment and Neglect, and she emphasized that she should, but she wouldn't because she thought she'd cut Buffy a break. How considerate.

Buffy was so upset she could hardly speak:


Sarah, why is it that even if I'm perfectly justified in doing so, nobody wants me to cause a scene? I've done everything right, I don't know what I ever did to warrant the way this total stranger treats me, and I'm the bad person because I spoke up and SAID something. What, am I supposed to just keep my mouth shut and let someone treat me like crap just so everyone can get along?

Oh, Mother of CHRIST, how I relate to lowering one's standards of how one expects to be treated for the sake of maintaining peace between the parties involved. You don't even know how much of my life I spend biting my fucking tongue so as to not rock the proverbial boat. That's what my blog is for. And trust me, I actually bite my tongue occasionally on here too, believe it or not.

Ok, so what do you need me to do?

Could you please, please, PLEASE go to the day care and pick up Perfect Baby's things?

Right, right now?

Before they close at 6.

Uuuhh... yeah, yeah, that's fine.

I just can't go back there...

Seriously, I totally understand. Do you want me to bring it over after?

Could you??

Sure, I'll bring it by, no problem.


So I went there, leaving my own 11 1/2 year old daughter in charge of her younger siblings, texted R to let him know I had to help Buffy out of a crisis and I didn't know when I'd be home (but that I'd make the cheesecake and pie when I got back), drove about a mile down the road to the day care, picked up a huge trash bag full of Perfect Baby's stuff, and took it over to Buffy's. And Buffy was an absolute wreck.

She was upset that they hadn't sent home Perfect Baby's artwork. I'd have been a little upset about that too.

She was extremely apologetic for her state and she said over and over again how much she appreciated that I'd do this for her. I told her I was honored by the fact that she knew she could call me in a situation like that and I would help. I sincerely meant that. And she hugged me and cried even harder.

She's pulling Perfect Baby out of this day care that they can't afford and putting her into a more expensive one. And I'm not going to Second-Hand Stress about that because somehow, when someone's making a conscious choice that seems completely stupid to me, they gotta live with that. I don't. When someone's a victim and shit's beyond their control, then you get my sympathy and I'll absorb your stress for you.

So I went home and told R the whole story while I made the pumpkin cheesecake and chocolate truffle pie, and the fact that I had been stressing about my impending showdown with FIL made me feel like a bit of an asshole. I only have to deal with FIL for a few hours. Buffy's shit is more of a lifestyle choice, and that's on her. It's sad.

The effect was that I actually stressed out about my own shit less. So maybe there is some sense in listening to other people's drama. That's probably why y'all read my profanity-laced tirades, isn't it? So your lives seem a little bit better?

Glad I could help. :)



Oh, hey - anybody local want to go see Jon Hamm on the big ass IMAX with me?

The C-Word, The H-Word, and stuff that Sucks.

Really, what I'm pissed about has nothing to do with my support of President Elect Obama at all. And I was never even what you'd even call a Supporter, for fuck's sake. It's not like I made phone calls or canvassed neighborhoods. I didn't even have a sticker on the van or a sign in the yard or anything.

It's the fact that this man asked someone OTHER THAN MYSELF something about me which I would have preferred to keep private, then he went and shared what he'd learned about me - characterizing it as Rather Disturbing information - with other family members in a manner that clearly portrayed me as a crazed infidel. How totally high school.

It wouldn't have mattered what the actual information he repeated was. I hate the idea that he was talking about me at all, let alone the fact that what he was saying was not exactly complimentary. I hate the thought of him even speaking my name. It's not like he ever asks ME anything about ME.

Aaaaaaanyway, good stuff happened over the weekend too, so here ya go:

Saturday morning we got up and returned to Swamp Thing's street to pick up the bags full of canned goods for the Scouting For Food project. I didn't run into Swamp Thing, thankfully, so I got to enjoy the positive spirit of the event. The St. Louis area Boy Scouts gathered 2.2 million cans of food which will be distributed to local food pantries. I think that's so cool, especially having been on the receiving end of the generousity of food pantries not so long ago.

Saturday evening all five of us were invited to go to Buffy and Princeton's for - get this - a party she was having for the group of Obama supporters she'd worked with on the campaign. I wasn't really in the mood to hang with Buffy. I like her and everything, truly, it's just, I don't know.

You know how with some people you have to drink just enough to make them tolerable and yet you don't want to drink so much that you go spilling information that you don't really mean to spill? I was kinda nervous about that. But it turned out okay - I told Beebie she could have a friend over to spend the night, which kinda gave us an out after a couple of hours.

We picked Beeb's friend Lola up and the two of them were chatting in the back of the van. Here's Lola:

"And ohmygosh Beebie, the other day [insert long convoluted story about the intricate relationships between about twelve different queen bees and wannabes and the boys that they have crushes on], and ohmygosh, I almost said... The C Word!!"

And I'm thinking, which one?

I kinda guessed, based on the fact that no part of her convoluted story referenced either male or female genitalia, that she probably meant Crap, which is the least offensive C-word in my extensive 4-letter word lexicon (with which you are all affectionately familiar, you cocksuckin cunts).

Still Lola:

"And yesterday in my Math class, the teacher actually said The H Word! And then a whole bunch of people started talking about The H Word and what it's like and stuff..."

H word? What H word? Head? Lola's mom has told me she's heard about oral sex parties going on with junior high students. I seriously hoped that was not what Lola was talking about. Because... just... ick.

"You know, the H word! The one Ron says in Harry Potter?"

Tito got it instantly. "You mean BLOODY HELL???!!"

I'm stunned that other parents let their kids hang out with mine. It's kind of amazing that my kids have any friends at all.

So Lola stayed over Saturday night and the Sunday Morning breakfast plan was to make cinnamon rolls from the Auntie Anne's kit we bought from the Boy Scout fundraiser. The whole process took over two hours, and when they were all done, I couldn't even eat three bites, they were so sickeningly sweet it was disgusting.

That afternoon R took me shopping for what is going to be my Christmas Present. Here's a hint - It sucks. It's the suckiest gift anyone's ever given me.

It's a DYSON DC14!!! R bought it for me with his commission money. I fucking LOVE it! I can't believe how much I enjoy vacuuming. And the best part is dumping out the gunk with a press of a button. It's just awesome. It's without question my favorite vacuum I've ever used.

For the knitters, it's kinda like when you've always used the crappy circs from Michael's and not even realized they were crappy - then you get a hold of the Addi Turbos and it's like the heavens open up and your life as a knitter changes forever.

I'm having a hard time wrapping my mind around the fact that I now own a four hundred dollar vacuum. I really don't think of myself as that kind of person. But dude, I LOVE this thing. If the house caught fire, I'd run inside to save it. After the kids were out, of course.

It's not the one with the ball, but this one's more powerful. Better suckage, ya know. And it's all about the supreme suckage.

Speaking of Supreme Suckage, as you probably either remember or assumed, I have to go out to Chez Inlaw tomorrow. I have to tell you honestly, I'm dreading it more than I've ever dreaded going out there before. And regular blogreaders and FIL-followers know that's quite a significant thing for me to say.

I know he's going to say something shitty to me. I absolutely know it, and R agrees. I'm so unbelievably stressed out right now, a full 24 hours in advance, and it's only going to get worse until it's over. Stay tuned.

At least I can look forward to Friday - I get to play with KOFA's little girl in the afternoon, and then R and I are going to Other Kevin's for a soiree in the evening.

It'll be a Kev-intensive day. :)

OH. EM. EFF. GEE.

Fucking LIVID. LIVID BEYOND LIVID.

Plenty of good stuff happened this weekend, I assure you, and I'll tell you about the good stuff too, but before I do, I simply must vent a bit. Grab a hold of something, because if it's not bolted to the floor, it may just blow away under the force of my wrath.

Last night, R called his sister, Mrs. Lexus, to get some Christmas gift ideas for her two sons who have everything in the world - including their own Lexuses (Lexi?) sitting in their garage just waiting for them to turn sixteen. And at some point in R's conversation with her, Mrs. Lexus told R something that really, REALLY pissed me off.

Remember the time FIL asked R how I would be voting? I don't fault R, entirely, FIL's just not a person to whom you could say, "With all due respect, that's really none of your fucking business." R did what he had to do. He should have just said he didn't know, but he wasn't thinking. I forgive R. Really.

Well, apparently, after R called in for the Weekly check-in call to Chez Inlaw, Mrs. Lexus called in next. And here is the transcript as I imagine it to have happened:

(Ring Ring)

"Hello?"

"Hi, Dad!"

"Hello, Chris."

"How is everything?"

"Well, I have some... rather disturbing news."

"Oh my God, Dad, is everything okay?!!???"

"It seems that SARAH is... an OBAMA SUPPORTER."


So not only does the fucker extract information about me via his son, he then decides that it's perfectly all right for him to discuss it disparagingly with other family members without my knowledge or consent.

I have made the conscious choice to not discuss my political views with him or with anyone. I believe that I have the right to keep my opinions to myself if I want to (others may choose differently and that's fine), and that's how I would have wanted it, but NO, the fucking bastard has to not only know everything about everyone, but also has the duty to report my private opinions to whomever he wants to, pointing out that said private opinions are, of course, ignorant and wrong. And then, of course, as you may recall, came the incessant flood of Anti-Obama emails intended to bring me in to the Flock.

Apparently I have no right to think whatever the FUCK I want to think. And that means it's perfectly acceptable for him to make me out to other members of the family to be an uninformed, unintelligent, idiot jackass because I don't think the way he does. ALL of this smacktalk went on behind my back, without giving me an opportunity to defend myself, which I shouldn't even have to fucking DO at all - last I checked, this is AMERICA, for fuck's sake. Fuck ME.

When R told me the story of how Mrs. Lexus heard from FIL that my political leanings qualified as Rather Disturbing News, I swear I thought he was kidding. And as soon as I realized he wasn't, I was absolutely fucking ENRAGED. How dare FIL, first of all, ask my husband something about me that's not his fucking business in the fucking first place, THEN go and talk shit about me to his daughter and God knows who else? At least I can hope that the other family members can easily see what a total dick move that is for him to talk shit about me like that behind my back. Reeeeal fuckin mature.

It's not YOUR fuckin business, FIL, and it's not anybody else's fuckin business either, so for you to go bashing me and my brazen audacity for dissenting from the family's views is TOTAL FUCKING BULLSHIT and so fucking help me, if you say WORD FUCKING ONE to me about the way I voted or am planning to vote on anything, EVER, I will unleash the hellfire shitstorm that I up to now I have somehow, only through Divine Intervention, managed to hold back.

You will NOT treat me that disrespectfully ever, EVER, again. NEVER.

I got so fired up about this after R told me about it, I ranted out loud (as opposed to At Him) until after he'd fallen asleep. He told me I don't ever have to go out there again. What, I'm going to sit at home by myself on holidays? R said, "Well, you liked being home alone on Mother's Day..." Um, duh, I was SICK and I slept the whole time you were gone. Yeah, I liked it a whole lot, actually, until I found out that FIL didn't believe I was truly sick.

For me to refuse to go out there is like me saying "Ok, then, if you don't respect my views, then that's fine. I will just assume that I'm not welcome in your home, and I just won't attend any more family events." And that's not the message I want to send to him.

The message I intend to send to him is this.

Look, Assfuck, your son married me, so whether you like it or not (and trust me, I don't like it any more than you do), I am a part of your Family. And your views may differ from mine. And you don't have to respect my views if you don't want to, but you WILL respect ME, and my right to have whatever opinion I want to. Oh, and please respect my right to a little fucking PRIVACY, thankyouverymuch, pass the fucking asparagus.

A new, hopefully recurring, feature on Behold My Brilliance...

OVERHEARD AT WAL-MART.

I've decided to listen in on people's conversations at Wal-Mart. So be careful what you say out loud the next time you're there.


The scene:

I'm in the Boys clothing section, getting socks for Pie and Tito. And a man who looks like he could be Ron Jeremy's dad in a cowboy hat coughs loudly and says to the woman beside him,

HUSKEH? Damn, woman, yer boys ain't Huskeh. All four of 'em put together ain't one Huskeh. Ya got dem first two, Gage and Jesse, and they's real close together, too...

Shoot, y'all's satellite musta bin broke that year.

Laughs until he starts coughing again.


Curtain.

It's been a week? Sorry.

Here's how you know your life sucks.


Your life sucks when the best thing that's happened all week is that your prescription drug provider is now using a smaller generic version of your anti-depressant medication so you no longer have to choke down the giant yellow horse pills every day to keep yourself from killing people. I literally cheered Awesome!! out loud. And then I realized how completely pathetic it was that I was so excited about that.

You know the feeling that you've been busy as hell but you haven't really DONE anything? I spent most of Friday driving Rip's gorgeous son Skater to and from his class and to get his car fixed so he could pass safety inspection and he could stop getting ticketed for his expired plates. Let me clarify that I am SO not complaining about driving the boy around.

Rip's son Skater is beeeeeeeyootiful. He and his friends made a skateboarding video (which he's selling, ladies) in which he appears shirtless. His Abs are fuckin AMAZING, and he lets me touch them as payment for my shuttle services (I'm thinkin I totally get the better end of that deal). Seriously, if I wasn't both married to R and a good friend of Rip's, I'd be ALL OVER that boy. Hey, he's twenty! Roowwwwwwwlll..

The chronology of the day was that as soon as I got Pie on the bus in the morning, I went and got Skater and took him to his class, then I came back home, put Tito on his bus and went back and got Skater and brought him home to Rip's. I had one hour that I didn't have to spend in the car and was hoping to take a nap, but then I remembered that Pie needed to wear his Boy Scout uniform the next day, so I wound up spending that hour sewing patches on Pie's shirt.

Tito had a birthday party at 4 - which I thought was kinda crappy because, hello, not all kids get out of school at 3. Mine get out at 3:47 and the party was a good 20 minutes away. If I'd let them ride the bus home like usual, we wouldn't have left until 4:15, so I had this great plan to get in the Parent Pickup line so we could leave right away and be minimally late.

Pie forgot I was picking them up and got on the bus anyway. I should have thought about it more before I made this genius plan. Pie could have just gone home on the bus anyway because Beebie was home, but I thought keeping the boys together would make everything simpler. By the time they got Pie off the bus, it pretty much negated my whole attempt at maximum efficiency.

So I got there at about 4:45. It's not that I got lost, exactly, it's that I went to the wrong place. Plus I got lost on the way to the wrong place because I turned the map upside down, but that's beside the point. Anyway, the party was supposed to end at 6, and I needed to pick him up and get him home right at 6 so I could turn back around and head to KOFA's work party at the bowling alley (I almost typed blowing alley, which would have been a WAY different kind of party).

It didn't make sense for me to drive all the way home and back, so Pie and I got Chik Fil A and killed time until 6, and then I took the boys home and headed out to hang with KOFA. And I turned the wrong way going there too. The irony, of course, is that I had no problem whatsoever driving home after I'd been drinking for two solid hours.

Saturday morning all five Karmas went to the Boy Scout's Scouting for Food thing, where they put the bags on the doors one week and people fill the bags with non-perishables then the next week the Boy Scouts come back and pick them up and load them into a huge truck to be distributed to local food pantries. It's a really cool thing, so if you got a bag on your door last weekend, don't forget to fill it and put it outside early Saturday morning.

We got there and got our random assignment of what street to put the bags on. RANDOM, ok? Got that? RANDOM.

There are dozens of streets in the area our Pack was covering.
We got Swamp Thing's street. Unbelievable.

I stayed in the van with Beeb listening to Bon Jovi, and at one point a red minivan that looked like the Swampmobile came toward us.

I went into a quiet panic, whispering,

Oh SHIT, Beeb. Shit. Shit. Shit. Oh God, NO. Mutherfugginfuck...

Beeb was laughing her ass off, reminiscent of the Lubaba hysterics, as the van passed Swamp Thing's driveway and headed right for us. It was the dude who organized the pack asking how we were doing and if there was anything we needed.

Nope, nope, we're fine, thanks. Just a little tiny heart attack when I thought you were my archnemesis coming for my soul, but apart from that, perfect.

We were almost done, maybe two houses left, and as I bent over to my sunglasses out of the glovebox of the Odyssexy, I looked up and saw Swamp Thing's van - and I'm POSITIVE it was hers - which had somehow passed, miraculously when I wasn't looking.

I don't know how she didn't see me parked there. My van is easily identifiable by the Luckenbach, Texas sticker on the back window. And the boys were putting a bag on a house which was on top of a hill so she didn't see Pie either. Crazy.

Seriously, the planets aligned in my favor. I hope they align again when we go back to pick shit up this Saturday. Moving on -

MORE BOOB NEWS.

It's been a little while since my last boob update, so here's the latest Boob News. This morning I got a call from my OB's office, reviewing the results of my follow-up Mammogram last week.

Well, Dr. Walsh says it looks like it's probably benign...

Hang on, what?? PROBABLY? This Girl doesn't handle the word Probably very well. Probably's not the same as IS.

She says she wants you to be absolutely sure you go back in six months... (She's saying that because I went like two and a half years between annuals once.)

Great, I get to freak out until May.

And keep doing your self-exams...

Ok, look. I'm a Double D. I've got a lot of surface area goin' on, and my worst fear is that there'll be something horrible buried deep down and I won't be able to feel it.

If you'd like, we can give you the name of a Breast Specialist so you can get another opinion...

Specialist??? Do I NEED a Specialist? Am I okay or am I not okay??? Fuckin TELL ME!!

Um, way to fuck with my head! Why didn't they send me to the Breast Specialist for the follow up in the first place? They had actually told me that they were going to do a sonogram rather than the Boobsquisher 3000, and they said that the Boobsquisher results made it look like the sonogram wasn't necessary. They sent me home thinking I didn't have anything to worry about. Why didn't they do all they had to do to find out as much as possible the last time I was there with my boobs already whipped out?

I mean, it's not that I mind whipping them out, I'll whip 'em out anytime. I'm just saying, for the sake of my convenience, why didn't they go more indepth if the best they could tell me was Probably Benign? So yeah, that's how my day started out.

Later that afternoon, old boyfriend Rick called me for a Boob Update, and first, while I'm thinking about it, let me just say how much I love the fact that y'all are so tuned into my boobs. Really, it's sweet. Anyway, I told him about the phone call I'd gotten from the OB. And while I was still on the phone with him, I opened the mail. I had received the following letter from the Department of Radiology:

Dear Mammography Patient:

Evaluation of your mammogram reveals one or more findings, which we believe are probably benign (not cancer).

We recommend follow-up:

Left mammogram in six months . This exam does need to be scheduled. [Call us and make an appointment, blah blah blah]

Mammography does not detect all breast problems and does not replace a regular physical exam by your physician. Theses (sic) two methods together have been shown to be the most effective means for detection for early breast cancer.

Remember that you should not ignore a breast lump or possible change in your breasts, even if your mammogram is normal. If you feel an abnormality in your breast or a change in your breast examination, contact your physician.

We also encourage you to use regular breast self-examination. If you wish information on the technique, call [our office]. We look forward to serving you in the future.


Don't you love it when in trying to tell you not to worry they have to also add, in order to cover their own asses, that they might possibly be wrong? Great. So I got that goin' for me.

And you know what makes me feel better when I'm freaking out? Ridin Dirty.



I also spilled beer in my closet last night. Trust me, you don't want to know.

Suffice it to say, it's been a Fucked Up Week.

Keeping Y'all Abreast...

Two posts in one day??? Yup. Scroll down and read my earlier post if you haven't already.

Lymph nodes, they said. Lefty's gonna get another checkup in six months, but apart from that, we're good. They even showed me the x-ray film, and there, right in the middle, amidst the cloudy collection of veins and ducts and whatnot, there was my nipple ring - standing proud, defiant and beautiful.

Yes, yes, I know I was worried about nothing, but I would so much rather worry and find out it was nothing that to get horrible news that I'm not mentally prepared for.

Rip was such a trooper. I can't say enough good about the man. He didn't grumble at my conservative driving style, my complete ineptitude at navigating a parking garage, or my uncanny ability to pick the absolute farthest point from where we need to go when I choose where to park. Rip is a great guy.

He's witnessed me in purely social situations up to now (drinking beer and/or throwing darts, mainly), and I'm a fun drunk, but very few get to experience my Real Life Neurotic Self up close and personal, in real time, along for the ride, as it happens, watching the shit I'm gonna write about going down before their very eyes. It's like the Amusement Park Ride version of my blog.

And after accompanying me to my mammogram, Rip and I sat back with a beer. Now THAT is how you treat a lady, my friends.

Good times.

More Boob Talk.

Yes, today's my follow-up mammogram. Did you remember? I'd pretty much forgotten about it until yeseterday morning, and then I started worrying a little. And now, I'm worrying a lot. I'm carrying it in my neck and my shoulders and my jaw. I have the worst headache in recent memory. My hands are shaking.

In my brain I know there's probably nothing to be nervous about. They told me that they're really just "making sure it's nothing".

But let me remind you what happened the last time I went for what I thought was "nothing": A routine follow-up ultrasound (this mammo's actually a sonogram), that lasted four hours and culminated with the perinatalogist telling me I Didn't Have To Have This Baby Who Might Not Survive Anyway. It was by far the most surreal, almost out-of-body experience I've ever had, and it was the beginning of what became the most heart-wrenching six months of my life, to date.

The words Don't Worry do not work on This Girl. Because once you've gotten the shock of your life when you thought you were going in for Nothing, Nothing is ever Nothing ever again. I can't think of anything as Nothing. Tell me there's nothing to worry about? Fuck you, I'll think of Something to worry about. If there's even the slightest possibility that Nothing could be Something, and there always is, I'm going to focus and stew and allow myself to be consumed by my thoughts. I just don't want to be blindsided like I was that other time, because that really fuckin sucked.

To this day R wishes he had been there with me for that nightmare. I know he would have been if he could have - and he got there as soon as he could, in what I refer to as his Knight In Shining Armor moment - but I talked him out of it because I'd had a follow-up ultrasound before with Beebie and it turned out to actually be nothing. I went in thinking I'd be in and out in twenty minutes and they'd tell me everything was perfect. How could I have known anything was that wrong with Pie?

So I try to prepare myself mentally for Worst Case Scenarios until they get funny. Kinda like how I was pissed about the whole Lubaba thing and the more pissed off I got, the funnier the story got? Eventually my thoughts become so ridiculous they're laughable, and eventually I crack myself and R up with them. For example, what if there's a power outage while my boob's in the machine? I'll give you a minute to get that visual out of your head.

I combat everything dark with humor (read my entire blog if you don't believe me). Why does it surprise people to hear that so many comedians battle depression? I can kinda look danger in the eye, once I've made myself laugh about it first. Of course, it's not always appropriate, but when has that ever stopped me from anything?

For example, how hilarious would it be for me to need a mastectomy after I just dropped $200 on those kickass new bras I've been talking about for a month now? Funny, right? Rememember how comically ironic I thought it was when my parents' dog died in the car on the way home after dropping $60 at the groomer's? That's the kind of sick sense of humor I have. And you bitches love me, dontcha? Yeeeeeaah, ya do.

You'll be glad to know that I'm not going to this Mammogram thing alone. Rip has graciously offered to go with me so I'll have someone I can actually say the words "Dude, I'm so totally freaked out right know..." to out loud instead of just hearing it on a constant loop through my head. He's not going in the Nekkid Boobie Frankenstein Switch Room or anything, but he'll be there when I get done, and that's so cool. Thanks, man.

I'm wearing black eyeliner and non-waterproof mascara. If they give me something to cry about, I'm going Balls The Fuck OUT.

And P.S. - I'm packing a flask.

Anniversary Weekend.

Thank you all for your anniversary greetings! Our actual anniversary was Saturday, but R took Friday off so we could hang out for a couple of hours sans Apes. It's a bit of a Karma tradition to go to Hoods builders' surplus warehouse,


Fast Eddie's,


and Ted Drewes.


Later we went to Aldi to pick up a few staples and we saw this deliciously garish gold jaquard comforter set. We figured it would look sexy with the red satin sheets we got from Sportsman's Guide, so we picked it up - it included a king-size comforter, two shams, a gold dust ruffle and three accent pillows, all for $49.99. Awesome. We'll take it.

We took it home, stripped the bed and took out the new comforter set only to find that there was no dust ruffle. GAH! The gold dust ruffle was totally the best part! So we took it back, only to run into Reverend Aldi and The Aldis. At Aldi. Aldigirl was wearing a Bedazzled jean jacket. Double GAH!!!

By this time R and I didn't want to put the old sheets back on the bed, so we went to Garden Ridge and found a tastefully tacky set that we liked even better than the Aldi one - and it was ten dollars cheaper! We bought two additional king pillows to put in the shams, and now our bed looks all kickass pimped out.



And the funny part? As we were puting the new set on the bed, I looked on the floor and found... the dust ruffle from the Aldi set. So I had to schlep back there for the third time in twelve hours and explain that we'd bought the set and returned it because we thought there wasn't a dust ruffle, then we found said dust ruffle, so now you can put it in the bag with the comforter that we returned. No, no, we still don't want it, just thought we'd put the dust ruffle back. Sorry for the dust ruffle kerfuffle.

Saturday morning, our actual anniversary, before we took the dust ruffle back, R and I went to the least romantic place I can think of -


the DMV.

We had to renew our plates and R needed to renew his driver's license. Didn't take too long, for a Saturday. And I got to witness some interesting fashion choices.



That's a leopard poncho, turquoise stirrup pants, and argyle socks.

Later, Beeb and I went to yet another baby shower for yet another of R's cousins. I forgot to mention that I'd be going to yet another baby shower. Normally that's the kind of thing that I let you look forward to, but between Obama and Lubaba, I've had a lot of shit on my mind recently.

I like R's cousins and the rest of his family (minus FIL) just fine; it's just that they never have any fuckin liquor at these things and it pisses me off. There was some hope, however, that there might be liquor this time because last time the shower was at a non-family member's house. This time it was at Aunt Drama's. Jackpot.

Or at least, I thought it was at Aunt Drama's until I showed up right on time and didn't see any cars out front. Then I realized it was at Aunt Huggy's. There still might be liquor at Aunt Huggy's, since Aunt Drama's going to be there. And after driving twenty minutes out of my way due to my own stupidity, I could really use a fuckin Mimosa or something harder.

Got there, explained the honest reason for my tardiness ("Oh, Sarah, that's why we love you!" - oh good, at least I'm a loveable dumbass...), and tried to surreptitiously find out if there was a bar. I spotted a few open wine bottles and although I'm not a big wine drinker, if it was all there was (and it appeared to be all there was), I'd take it and everybody would soon see Why Sarah Should Not Have Wine.

Fuckin Sparkling Grape Juice. This family sucks.

I need a flask. With the word CLASSY engraved on it.

How totally White Trash is it to smuggle a flask into a baby shower? And how sad is it that I'm sooooo not above it?

I had both Vicodin and Xanax in my purse in the event of an emergency, but I really enjoy the process of getting drunk, you know? It's way more social than taking a pill and waiting for it to kick in. I don't like to drink alone (ok, I do have my own private happy hour when I'm making dinner, sometimes, but I prefer to drink with others who are also drinking), but pharmaceuticals are more appropriate when I just want to be left the fuck alone.

Anyway, I dragged Beebie with me so I would have someone I could talk to and I wouldn't be forced into awkward polite conversation with Mrs. Aldi. Plus, I figured that she brought Aldigirl last time, so she'd probably bring her again for the free food.



I was also kinda hoping Aldigirl would be there because Beebie looked SO beautiful and grown up and I wanted her to showcase her superior maturity, but alas, Aldigirl did not attend.

And neither did my favorite of R's cousins, Catty Nita. Nor did Carol The Boob Starer, which I must say was a major disappointment because I was looking forward to watching her face light up from the radiance of my Chitties. I even wore the perfect sweater for it. So it seemed that Beeb and I would have to endure the afternoon without any comic diversion.

And then it was time to open the gifts.

She reached for ours first. I'd lost the invitation (which is why I went to Drama's instead of Huggy's) and didn't know R's cousin's husband's name so I couldn't look up her registry, so I put together a cute pink and purple canvas bin full of the kinds of baby things you can never have too much of - diapers, wipes and the like.

Imagine you're a new mommy-to-be, at your baby shower, giddily anticipating all the wonderful, beautifully wrapped gifts that your friends and family members have thoughtfully chosen for you and the precious baby girl you're carrying, and the very first thing you unwrap is THIS:


Butt Paste.

If only I could have reached into my bra, whipped out my Classy flask, unscrewed the top and said, "That's right, bitches, I'm FAMILY!!" and taken a big sloppy swig of Wild Turkey as they all sat gobsmacked.

Just adding my own signature brand of tasteless style.

Mah-wahge. Mah-wahge is whah bwings us togethaaaah, toodaaaay.

“True Love”
Judith Viorst

It is true love because
I put on eyeliner and a concerto and make pungent observations about the great issues of the day
Even when there's no one here but him,
And because
I do not resent watching the Green Bay Packer
Even though I am philosophically opposed to football,
And because
When he is late for dinner and I know he must be either having an affair or lying dead in the middle of the street,
I always hope he's dead.

It's true love because
If he said quit drinking martinis but I kept drinking them and the next morning I couldn't get out of bed,
He wouldn't tell me he told me,
And because
He is willing to wear unironed undershorts
Out of respect for the fact that I am philosophically opposed to ironing,
And because
If his mother was drowning and I was drowning and he had to choose one of us to save,
He says he'd save me.

It's true love because
When he went to San Francisco on business while I had to stay home with the painters and the exterminator and the baby who was getting the chicken pox,
He understood why I hated him,
And because
When I said that playing the stock market was juvenile and irresponsible and then the stock I wouldn't let him buy went up twenty-six points,
I understood why he hated me,
And because
Despite cigarette cough, tooth decay, acid indigestion, dandruff, and other features of married life that tend to dampen the fires of passion,
We still feel something
We can call
True love.



Happy Anniversary to my wonderful husband who's seen me at my best and at my worst; who always encourages me to be who I am, neurotic quirks and all, and loves me anyway.

Who lobs pickles onto my plate, tricks me into revealing that I know more about Star Wars (and other geeky stuff) than I care to admit, and who knows what I mean when I say the grey paint is too Maroon-ey.

Ah Ya Yooooo.

Time to negate FIL's vote! Woo hoo!!!

R got up at 5:30 to go vote at 6. The wait was an hour long. I went at about 9:30, got right in and was done in about five minutes. Got my free Krispy Kreme afterwards, too.

So get this - I'm in the little booth filling in the bubbles with the black pen (is that the equivalent of a #3 pencil, I wonder?) and my cell phone rings. It's my gyno's office.

It seems they actually were passing my films around the lab. They want more pics of Lefty.

Should I be flattered?

I have to go back on the 13th. That's plenty of time for me to stew about it and ruminate on all the worst case scenarios and whatnot. Cuz that's what I do. Y'all know me.

I mean, what if that Frankenstein switch is reserved for the second visit? What the fuck is that thing about??

At least I know I don't have to take out my TittyBling.

Happy Almost Election Day!

I'm usually pretty good about getting pictures for you all to marvel at the crazy shit I see every day, right? This is one of those rare occasions where I DIDN'T manage to get a pic, and I'm totally pissed at myself because this pic would greatly enhance the story I'm gonna tell ya really quick:

Ok, I'm in the Odyssexy behind some car at a red light (I didn't catch the model of the car but it was sedan-sized) that had what looked like a page torn from a magazine with a picture of John McCain and Sarah Palin on it, taped to the inside of the back window. Not even neatly - jagged edge on one side, not centered well, and you can't see who the pic is of unless you're right up behind it like I was.

I can understand if you don't want to be permanently associated with a candidate just in case shit doesn't go well for him, or if you don't want to mess up your car by actually affixing a sticker to your bumper and just taping in the back window instead, but dude, a magazine picture?

That's just - I hate to use the word Ghetto, but I really think it applies in this situation.


And the reason why I wasn't able to get the pic? I was on hold with my Gyno's office waiting for my lab results. Isn't THAT the best feeling in the world - sweating it out for ten minutes? Anyway, I got a clean bill of health for the pap and the ultrasound. Still waiting on my mammogram results.

I kinda like imagining that the guys in the lab are still passing my boob x-rays around. Dude, check out the nipple rings on this pair! YOWZA!