My First Mammogram. (Long Post, But TOTALLY Worth It)

Aaahh, nothing like waking up on the morning of a day you know you'll never forget.

A sense of hyper-alertness comes over me. Like I want to pay extra close attention and remember every single detail so that I'll be able to write about it afterwards for y'all's edification. Because that's what I do.

Last night before I went to bed, I texted as many of my friends as I could imagine might possibly know another pierced woman who had a mammogram to ask if they knew the Official Pierced Nipple Policy for mammograms. I almost accidentally asked my mom if she knew the answer when I called her last night to wish her a Happy Birthday.

It's hilarious. I mean, I am absolutely certain that she knows about my piercings thanks to Cousin Keek, but Mom's never asked me about them directly and it's soooo totally entertaining to watch her sneak little peeks while trying to act like she doesn't know. She took me bra shopping, for cryin out loud. How covert.

Anyway, the overwhelming consensus among my texted friends (which most admitted was based more on logical assumptions than experience), is that I will have to take them out. I am FREAKING, people.

One of the reasons I love my curved barbells is because whenever I see them I remember that I (albeit temporarily) overcame my fear of pain and needles and did something nobody (including myself) ever thought I'd do. I love that they're under my clothes, making me feel secretly hardcore, perhaps even dangerous. In reality, as you know, I'm a total pussy - squeamish, and easily icked out. I'm not someone you'd expect to have pierced nipples. And yet, I do. Surprise!

I like to think they represent my Inner Badass. Whenever I think I can't handle something, I whip out my nips and remind myself of the time when R and I, over dinner at Sam's Steakhouse, were trying to think of something a bit outrageous to do after dinner. I can't remember which of us brought up getting my nipples pierced, but I'm pretty sure it was me. Up to the last possible second, he thought I'd chicken out. HA!! He didn't think I'd ever actually go to Goldenlands, place my breasts in the hands of another woman and allow her to stick me with a needle in a rather sensitive place - twice - BUT I DID.

(Ok, I don't literally whip out my nips whenever I face a challenge, but maybe I should - just to baffle my opponent! Take that!! And that!!! Feel my wrath!!!!)

Since I got them four years ago, I've never taken them out. Theoretically, they're removable; I could probably get them out. But I don't think I could put them back in. I just don't think I can do it. I get queasy when I snag one of them on a loofah in the shower. Not only can I not stand the sight of blood or even the thought of the possibility of the sight of blood, I hate the actual word Blood. The only word I hate more than Blood is Pus. Ugh.

Mucus is another word that's totally icky, but I love the word Phlegm. It's one of my favorite words in the whole English language, truly. Such an interesting combination of letters uniting to create the actual sound one makes when attempting to expel phlegm from one's throat. But I digress.

I didn't watch when the girl pierced them. In order for me to get the rings out and put them back in would require me to actually look at the holes, and I just can't. And I'm not sure I could let someone else do it either. R'd be too afraid of hurting me. It's not even the pain, really, I'd sooner just get them pierced again, but it's the idea of it. I don't even know how to explain what I mean any better than that.

I asked R if I could get them redone if I couldn't get them back in, but then what? Get them redone every year, right after my annual mammogram? Yeah, that makes sense.

So right now it's 7:15 in the am, and I'm trying to decide if I want to just take them out at home and get it over with in a place where I can cry or throw up privately (if necessary), or chance it and leave them in, hoping they'll tell me they could work around them. Fuck.

I don't know what to do. What if I take them out and I get there and they tell me "Oh, you didn't have to do that, silly!!" I'd feel like such a jackass. Back later.


8:45 am Fashion Choices.

Should I go for the hippie bohemian crunchy granola Birkenstock chick with pierced nipples look -



Or the hardcore, Yeah, I got pierced nipples - you wanna fuckin MAKE me take 'em out, asshole?? look -


Such decisions. Guys don't have to think about what they wear to a prostate exam.

I'm supposed to be there, with a full bladder, in four and a half hours. I know you're all thinking I should just call and find out if I have to take them out or not, right? Now, come on...that's not very sporting and it wouldn't make for a very interesting blog entry, would it? Plus, I want you all to feel my angst.

Are ya feelin' it, bitches????

That's it, I'm going with the hard core shirt. Back later.

10:01 am

Still have the rings in. I think that's the route I'm going to go - cling to the hope that just maybe I won't have to take them out. Maybe I'll pull a Charlton Heston:

Sure, you can have my barbells... when you pry them from my cold, dead nipples!!

Nah, never mind. That's creepy.

Meanwhile, my Nipple Ring Anxiety is affecting my brain. I went to go change my contacts (y'know, in case I cry or something) and for some reason I couldn't get my left eye to see right. Shit. I just ordered new contacts in the old prescription. I need to go back and get them checked again. There go the days of buying one box of contacts for both eyes to share.

And then I realized I hadn't taken the old one out.

I'm losin' it, y'all. I seriously need to get out of the house.
Back later.


11:20 am

I just spent twenty bucks on Halloween candy. And I just realized I forgot to put deodorant on. I did manage to remember to put the trash out, though, so that's something. And I remembered everything I went to Target to get, I think. Yeah, I did.

Gotta get my mind focused on other things.

Here's a little pre-pubescent humor I meant to share with you. Say it out loud.



I believe the sequel is called "Diary of a Sperm", and it's about a whale.

Totally getting down to the wire, y'all. Fuck. FUCK.

Ok, I was gonna publish this as one big post when it was all over, but I think I'll post this now and let y'all read it and sit in suspense until I get back, and then I'll tell you whether they made me take out my nipple rings or not.

Believe me, I'll be thinking of you all, THE WHOLE TIME. Later.


************* PART TWO *******************

Ok, I forgot to tell you all the part about how I had to get an Ultrasound first. Nothing major, I just think I have a cyst or something, so I wanted to get it checked out and I figured I might as well do Cooter and Hooters at the same time just like yesterday.

I hate it when they tell you you have to come in with a full bladder. I have a belly pooch and I'm rather sensitive about it, and one time, more than 26 pounds ago, I had a tech lament out loud that she couldn't see anything because my bladder wasn't full enough and there was Too Much Tissue in the way. Yeah, you don't have to be a medical professional to know what that means. And I'd rather not hear that ever again, so when they say Full Bladder, I go Maximum Capacity. I push my limits.

And as you know, I was big time stressed about the whole day, what with the nipple rings and whatnot. So what sucks more than being stressed out and having to pee really bad? Trying to find a fucking parking space when you're stressed out and having to pee really bad.

And what sucks worse than that? Finally finding a parking place and going inside, only to find out that you're in the WRONG fucking building. FanTASTic.

So, running cross-legged, I got to where I needed to be, filled out my paperwork and waited. And waited. And tried to read. And thought I'd die. And waited.

And took a pic of the Turn Off Your Phone sign.



And my socks.



Thirty minutes I waited, in total agony. Ow. Then the tech called my name, and I said, out loud, I have to pee SO BAD. And she chuckled politely as she walked me to a room. And the second she put the thing on my belly she literally gasped and said,

HOLY COW!

God, don't you LOVE that? Cuz where does my mind instantly go? Right back to the time I went in for an ultrasound thinking I wasn't pregnant at all but rather suffering from some bizarre medical abnormality, and the tech told me I wasn't just pregnant, but FIVE MONTHS along.

Yeah, shit happens to This Girl, so please don't take one look at me and whisper words of horror. I'm way ahead of you, sister, freaking out before you even tell me there's a reason to.

Holy cow, what? What's wrong? It's a tumor, isn't it? I knew it.

You DO have a full bladder!!

Yeah, pretty sure I mentioned that...

So I unbuttoned and laid back, and I saw that they have these peaceful serene nature photos up on the ceiling, presumably so you have something to focus on and you can relax and zen out while they press on your uterus. And one of the pictures was a waterfall. SO not what I needed to see. I politely pointed out that they really shouldn't have a waterfall picture when patients are laying on the tables with full bladders.

They finished up and I finally got to go pee. And in the bathroom was this lovely picture.



It's fibroids, but doesn't it look like a Cooter with teeth?
This is my what my WHAT THE FUCK?? face looks like.



So to continue, I hate that they don't just tell you what's wrong with you right then and there. You know they know, and more that that, you know that They know that YOU DON'T know. They're sitting right looking at it, not saying a word. I hate that. Just tell me. Or, if you legally can't because you're the tech and not the Doctor, at least give me a fuckin clue.

Oh, and the worst part is when they ask you a bunch of follow-up questions. They've seen what's going on. They know what the answers to my questions should be, based on what they've seen. I always feel like they're trying to catch me in a lie or something.

So, are you on any birth control?
Um, no, my husband's had a vasectomy.

And the look on their faces just says
Hmmmmm.... innnnnnteresting...

So from there I went to:

THE MAMMOGRAM!!!



And I still hadn't asked anyone if I'd have to take my rings out. At that point, I figured I'd get into the room and if they said something I'd play dumb, like, "Oh yeah, I've had those things so long I forgot they were there! Tee hee!!" That was my entire plan. Cuz I'm a criminal mastermind, you know.

So they took my information (which would have been the PERFECT time to find out the Pierced Nipple Policy, so I could gracefully back out if I decided my nipple rings were more important to me than finding out if there's anything wrong with my boobs, but the chick was kind of abrasive and I had a feeling that she'd roll her eyes in disgusted disbelief that I'd even ask such a stupid question), handed me a robe and led me to a locker room, where I saw this sign in one of the stalls.



It says, Happiness is like a Potato Salad - when shared by others, it's a Picnic.

My reaction was twofold: First, what about getting your boobs squished resembles either Happiness or a Picnic? And Second, Funny, you could almost say the same thing about V.D. Almost.

But I put on my sexy blue gown (which I totally snagged, because I thought it brought out the color of my eyes - oh, and I also snagged a Probe Sheath from the ultrasound room because I thought they were funny)...


This is the face of a CRIMINAL MASTERMIND, bitches!

...went through this door...



and saw THIS. The BoobSquisher 3000.



MaryJo was going to be handling my boobs today. She was really nice. I was hoping for a nice person, because now was the moment of truth. She asked me if I had any questions. I said, very timidly,

"Um, yeah, I have, um, Nipple Piercings... AmIgonnahavetotakethemoutpleasepleasepleasesayno?"

I begged her, close to tears, explaining that despite the fact that I had pierced nipples, I was actually a total wimp and I'd never ever get them back in and I'd been stressing about it since yesterday.

She left the room to go check. And I was left in the room with a fucking Frankenstein switch on the wall, in case you missed it in the above pic.



Fuck. I'm gonna throw up.

She came back and gave me the verdict. Y'all ready??



I




did





NOT





have to take them out. They just bent them outward (or upward, I guess) so they really didn't interfere at all. AWESOME!

Thank GOD, because the only way to handle this whole boob-squishing drama is to relax, and fuck if I could have relaxed if I had to think about getting them back in.

MaryJo was an absolute sweetheart. She was patient and she didn't get mad when I giggled, and you know I get these giggle fits at the most inappropriate times. She asked when I got the piercings, and why (a question that does not offend me in the slightest), and I told the whole story about how R and I talked about it after dinner and just went and did it, totally spur of the moment.

And after she took a total of four pictures, she told me she'd see me next year.

So overall First Mammogram Experience, not bad at all!! And I got to leave with my TittyBling intact!

And P.S. - Renee, I'm really glad Kev asked you about the Nipple Ring question because you were the ONLY one who said I might not have to, and that was the hope I held onto the entire day. :)

Cooters and Hooters -PK's trip to the Gyno

And here's how to make your Gyno's day - if you don't have time for a pedicure, wear cool socks. Good God, I'm pasty. I could have been Elizabethan Royalty. Ah, well.

We've talked about how I'd rather go to the Gyno than the Dentist, right? It's not like I'm thrilled to go get scraped out or anything, but it's just way less drama and fewer needles are involved.

En route to my appointment today, there was no traffic on the road. I found a parking place right away. I got an elevator right away too, waited maybe five minutes to update my paperwork then five more to get into a room.


Heh, I love taking pics of Turn Off Your Cell Phone signs. Makes me feel like such a badass.

Ok, I'm always a bit reluctant to stand on any scale just cuz I'm a fluffy chick, and I was ok with the number that came up, and then the nurse pointed out that I had lost 26 pounds since a year ago!!! I knew I was down a couple of sizes, but that was just awesome.

Up to now, I thought that the best thing about going to the dentist was that you don't have to step on a scale. Perhaps I'd like it better if every scale experience was as uplifting as today's!

And remember how I spent 4 hours at the dentist? I was out of the Gyno's office in less than 40 minutes. I didn't even have time to knit, like I did last time.



Funny thing - I still haven't finished that project.

So I've got a routine Mammogram scheduled for tomorrow. I've never had one before. I guarantee you it'll be blogworthy, as is pretty much anything relating to my boobs.

Shit, are they gonna make me take out my nipple rings? I'll never be able to get them back in... fuckeleven.

WELCOME TO PEVELY!

Where even the roadkill drinks shitty beer!

Looks posed, doesn't it? I swear to God it's not. Even funnier than this pic is the pic I didn't take - the one of R crouching down on the side of the road to get close enough the Redneck Roadkill to read the words Milwaukee's Best.

That R is so dedicated.

Oh, before I forget, I should mention that today Tito received a Thank You postcard from Johnathon and Lubaba. Note the lack of punctuation. It's not even a sentence.



I'm pretty sure I've said this before - generic Thank You postcards are for pussies. Sit your ass down and, at the very least, write a three-sentence NOTE thanking me for coming to your party, naming the specific gift I gave you and telling me how much you like it.

I ran out and picked that gift up in five minutes because your bitch ass amended your son's birthday party to include your little Lubaba and neglected to make it clear, and I nearly gave myself a fucking aneurysm just so YOU wouldn't have to explain to a crying 3-year-old why her brother got a gift and she didn't. THANK ME, you twat.

I'm thinking that The Tale of Lubaba is going to be one for the ages. (In case you missed it, here's a link. Scroll down to G.) Anytime I'm totally beyond pissed off, those Fuckeleven moments(if ya know what I'm sayin), my battle cry shall forevermore be -

LUBABAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!

Kinda like Xena's Attack Whoop.

It would probably embody the Don't You Even THINK of Fuckin With Me Warrior Princess Spirit if I were six feet tall and clad in leather. The leather, I could swing, but unfortunately, I'll never be six feet tall.

Anyway, speaking of intimidating costumes, last weekend was the annual Pevely Flea Market Halloween Costume Contest, which you may remember is a cherished Karma family Halloween tradition.

There are actually two things I love most about Halloween. The first is how for an entire month the unsightly cobwebs on my front porch are dismissed as Rather Realistic Decorations. And the second is walking around the Pevely Flea Market and trying to figure out who's in costume and who normally dresses like a NASCAR driver every Sunday.

The last two years, we've taken two of the costume prizes. This year's Team Karma entry:



Pie was Indiana Jones, Tito was Luke Skywalker (robe hand-made by R and me), and Beebie was a Christmas Tree complete with ornaments and actual working lights. Oh, and a topper on her head.

Apparently we didn't get the memo that this year's theme was Slutty Corpses. I was tempted to ask one little girl if she was supposed to be JonBenet, but I thought that might be in poor taste. See? I DO have a filter.

Pie's Indiana Jones costume won for his age group, as did some little skank dressed as store-bought Pocahontas with really ridiculous faux-Indian face paint and fucking FLIP-FLOPS.


Oh, and check out the lady behind Poke-a-whore's-ass. The one carrying a little girl with pigtails who's wearing an Elvis costume. For a second I thought the woman was Tonya Harding.

Tito's age group's winners were a store-bought Pirate costume and a store-bought Cinderella. None of my kids were in the 8-9 group, thank God, because I would have strangled the mother of this little She-Devil slut:



Her mom was a total Stage Mother. See her right in the front?



R captured the moment when her little angel won.



Way to go, Sweetheart! You're the biggest slut of all!



Then came the 10-11 year olds. Look how pretty my Beebie looks. Not a bit of makeup. Natural beauty.



Beebie got HOSED. The winners were, on her right, a winged werewolf (um, huh??) and, on her left, a kinda clever costume of a person with their head in a cage or something. Beeb was bummed, and so was I. My children's costumes were a million times cuter and I worked my ASS off on Beebie's. It took me hours to stitch all that shit on her dress.

***************************

EDIT: By the way, since I posted this morning, a regular BMB reader told me I sounded bitter about the whole Pevely thing and that calling the little girls sluts and whores was completely uncalled for.

Maybe, but do you know for a fact that they're NOT whores?

I'm kidding.

Lighten the Fuck UP. It was a joke, people. Ok, I'm sorry if I offended anyone; that was certainly not my intent. But it was meant to be so ridiculously over-the-top that any bitterness would come across as comical. Typical PK, I thought.

You're familiar with my sense of humor, aren't you? I make fun of people. And, far more frequently, I make fun of myself. Some people think I'm funny, some people don't. You may have noticed that little X up in the right-hand corner of your screen...

**************************

But that's not what I wanted to write about today.

Today's my Cooter Rootin'. Wish me luck.

How to get along with me, should you want to.

Once Again, a Quiz Nails Me.

Your result for Are You a Jackie or a Marilyn? Or Someone Else? Mad Men-era Female Icon Quiz...

You Are a Marilyn!

You are a Marilyn -- "I am affectionate and skeptical."

Marilyns are responsible, trustworthy, and value loyalty to family, friends, groups, and causes. Their personalities range broadly from reserved and timid to outspoken and confrontative.

How to Get Along with Me

• * Be direct and clear


• * Listen to me carefully


• * Don't judge me for my anxiety


• * Work things through with me


• * Reassure me that everything is OK between us


• * Laugh and make jokes with me


• * Gently push me toward new experiences


• * Try not to overreact to my overreacting.

What I Like About Being a Marilyn

• * being committed and faithful to family and friends


• * being responsible and hardworking


• * being compassionate toward others


• * having intellect and wit


• * being a nonconformist


• * confronting danger bravely


• * being direct and assertive

What's Hard About Being a Marilyn

• * the constant push and pull involved in trying to make up my mind


• * procrastinating because of fear of failure; having little confidence in myself


• * fearing being abandoned or taken advantage of


• * exhausting myself by worrying and scanning for danger


• * wishing I had a rule book at work so I could do everything right


• * being too critical of myself when I haven't lived up to my expectations

Marilyns as Children Often

• * are friendly, likable, and dependable, and/or sarcastic, bossy, and stubborn


• * are anxious and hypervigilant; anticipate danger


• * form a team of "us against them" with a best friend or parent


• * look to groups or authorities to protect them and/or question authority and rebel


• * are neglected or abused, come from unpredictable or alcoholic families, and/or take on the fearfulness of an overly anxious parent

Marilyns as Parents

• * are often loving, nurturing, and have a strong sense of duty


• * are sometimes reluctant to give their children independence


• * worry more than most that their children will get hurt


• * sometimes have trouble saying no and setting boundaries

Take Are You a Jackie or a Marilyn? Or Someone Else? Mad Men-era Female Icon Quiz at HelloQuizzy

Ok, here's my favorite part of all that:

How to Get Along with Me

• * Be direct and clear

Yes.


• * Listen to me carefully

YES.


• * Don't judge me for my anxiety

You don't have to fix it, you don't even have to understand it, just don't make me feel like a pussy if I cry or worry or freak out when you don't see any reason to.


• * Work things through with me

I like having a say in the solution.


• * Reassure me that everything is OK between us

I know this part drains people, but if I mean something to you, I want to feel it, and I want to know that you're not going anywhere.


• * Laugh and make jokes with me

That's easy. And fun. I'm a hoot.


• * Gently push me toward new experiences

I like to do stuff but I want to feel safe when I'm doing it.


• * Try not to overreact to my overreacting.

I do this ALL the time. I actually think it has a lot to do with my upbringing and my history of relationships with people who don't speak the same Love Language as mine. I want you to react too, so I feel like you understand and care. Don't get mad at me if I'm trying to tell you that you're short on communicating your affection (friendly or otherwise) to me.


And this was insightful too:

What's Hard About Being a Marilyn



• * the constant push and pull involved in trying to make up my mind

I'm extremely indecisive. I think. Or maybe not.


• * procrastinating because of fear of failure; having little confidence in myself

Yes. An emphatic YES.


• * fearing being abandoned or taken advantage of

The latter, really.


• * exhausting myself by worrying and scanning for danger

I'm constantly doing this, not only for myself, but for the people I care about.


• * wishing I had a rule book at work so I could do everything right

That is SO completely me.


• * being too critical of myself when I haven't lived up to my expectations

And so's that.

Trillian, who is my hero in countless ways, recently blogged about her experience with SAD - Seasonal Affective Disorder.

Right there with ya, sistah. I fucking hate this time of year. I'm so paralyzed by all the shit I need to do, I can't do anything. Pressures, obligations, etc., and just everyday shit like this shit that went down yesterday (copy/pasted from another blog I write - which isn't a secret, it's just more introspective/depressing and far less entertaining than this one) affects me far worse than usual.

I got off to a bad start before 8am this morning, and by 9 all I wanted to do was curl up and cry. I walked into the living room (where I found Halloween candy wrappers strewn about) and saw two Wii remotes on the floor, missing their battery covers. Missing battery covers drive me CRAZY. How hard is it to keep the back on whatever it is that requires batteries? Presumably, it's right there in your hand when you take it off; just snap it back on! I want to threaten not to replace the remote if they can't find it, but the reality is that I will give right in and buy new ones.

Next, I had to make Pie's school lunch, and while I was unloading and reloading the dishwasher so as to have a clean knife with which to make his peanut butter sandwich, I discovered that apparently someone spilled milk on the kitchen counter and didn't clean it up, leaving a loaf of bread and a baking pan stuck to the counter. When I peeled them off, the smell of old milk nearly knocked me out. It wasn't even so much that somebody didn't clean up after himself. I'm used to that, and I'll clean it up if I know about it. But something about uncovering an unexpected mess (particularly if I uncover it while cleaning up after everyone else) just infuriates me.

Next, Pie went outside to wait for the school bus only to come right back in and inform me that he was freezing. So I had to find my sons' winter coats, which required me to open the coat closet in the hall which hasn't been opened since approximately February. The kids are short and unable to reach the hangers, so they've stuffed their coats into the bottom of the closet. Great. I pulled everything out of the closet and was still only able to find a coat for one of the boys. At this point my skull was about to split in two.


I sent Tito to the basement to look for his coat, which, miraculously, he found. He came back up to wait outside for the bus with his brother and me, and after a minute or so, I saw him take his glasses off. I asked him to hand them to me so I could clean them, and when he did, I realized that the tiny screw had fallen out and one of the lenses was missing.

I started out calm. Honey, did it fall out just now? I dunno... Did it fall out inside or outside? I dunno... Did it happen TODAY? I don't remember... I just wanted to shake him. WHO ELSE WOULD KNOW??? How do you not notice when you can see one minute, and the next, you can't?? I don't have the time, the energy, or the money to deal with this. I just don't.

Eventually, he found the lens on the living room floor. I can't believe I didn't step on it while I was looking for the stupid battery cover. And get this - when I told thim to get his shoes on because we need to go to WalMart to get his glasses fixed, the child had the outright nerve to ask, "Can we look at the toys??"

I'll make a deal with you, son... We'll skip the toys AND we'll skip the sharp objects. Fair enough?

So I've reached maximum emotional capacity. Not because of just this, per se, but cumulative additional stuff that's not worth mentioning. And I never just keep to my own drama; I take on other people's too. Two of my closest friends are dealing with extremely intense emotional situations, and I'm trying to "be there" for them, which sometimes just involves them dumping a whole lot of emotionally-charged information on me as part of their catharsis. I'm happy to be that for someone I care about, when it's what they need from me, but I want someone to be that for me too when I need it. Like today.

Today, I just want to purge it all. I want to think of the saddest things I can possibly think of and make myself cry. And I want be held while I cry it all out until I can't cry anymore. That's the only thing I can think of that will make me feel better.


See, this blog's way more fun. Anyway, what I was going to say was that shit like all that totally affects me more during this time of year.

So today I did two things:

1) I bought myself one of those fancy schmancy full-spectrum lights like many folks suggested to Trillian, and that she herself recommended to me.

And 2) I swallowed my pride and sent the following email to the librarian (not the Dragon Lady)

"Hello again, it's Penny Karma, your Tuesday afternoon volunteer. Last week I honestly forgot to come in, but I wanted to let you know that I don't think I'm going to be able to continue with this commitment. Quite honestly, I have some major depression issues (that I don't really like to talk about, so I appreciate your discretion) that increase exponentially this time of the year. I'm taking medication and getting help, but some days I just can't make myself leave the house. Believe me, I feel absolutely terrible about backing out on you, but I hope you can understand. I'm extremely sorry."

I HATED writing that email. I know I said I'd stick it out for your entertainment because you don't even know I love entertaining you bitches. But on my Mental Health Days (when it's only 9am and I'm already wanting it to hurry up and be tomorrow already), I just can't have any expectations put on me other than to breathe and not kill myself or anyone else. And I think those days would be horrifically incompatable with The Dragon Lady.

As much as I'd love to throw myself at her on the days that I least want to be fucked with, I figured the only possible outcome on a day like that would be a bloody duel in front of a bunch of 3rd graders. And in the event that I lost, this blog would not continue. And you'd miss me, right?

See, I kinda did it for you, my vast readership.

And for the 3rd graders who'd be scarred for life after seeing me reach into the Dragon Lady's mouth, rip out her spine and beat her with it; splattering the Junie B. Jones books with her innards.

Yeah, y'all would miss me. :)

And in my first act as President -

I will immediately outlaw all children's shows that encourage a crescendo of screaming from their target deomgraphic - PRESCHOOL CHILDREN WHO SCREAM TOO MUCH ANYWAY.



"Say 'BACKPACK!' Say 'BACKPACK!!!'"

"BACKPACK!!!"

LOUDER!!!!!!!!!

"BAAAAAAAAAAAACKPAAAAAAAAAAAACK!!!"

I call her Puta the Explorer. Whore.



And Buffy backed out on the Hockey Game because her baby was sick, but she gave me the two tickets and I got to take RIP!!! I love attending sporting events with fellow sports fans, and hockey is my favorite. And Rip is so fun anyway! We had a blast, and the Blues won big!

A Fat Chick Compliment Follow-Up

Recently I received a Fat Chick Compliment (scroll down to F), and I shared it with all of you. And although I told this person I'd drop it, fuck that. I feel obligated to inform you of a bit of Fat Chick Vindication.

The same person had a health insurance physical this week, and lamented to me how depressing it was to find out their actual weight.

And my response?

But you have such a cute face!


Felt fucking fantastic.


And NOW I'll drop it.

In Other News...

I took The Apes to see High School Musical 3 today, since they had the day off from school (and since I already had a headache from the incessant emails I've been getting from my Inlaws).

I have been so distracted by the Religious Right, I've neglected to inform you -

My beloved, most beautiful, JON HAMM IS HOSTING SNL tomorrow night.

And I'll be missing it because I'm going to the hockey game with Buffy. Yes, you read that right.

Oh, and the Pevely Flea Market Halloween Costume Contest - which the Karma kids have dominated for the last two years - is Sunday afternoon. I don't know which I'm more excited about.

God. Please. Make it STOP.

R won't let me ask them to stop sending us (read: ME) this crap. Wouldn't wanna rock the boat or anything. (I'm sorry, who started rocking it??)

Of course I just said I wouldn't give my Inlaws' emails any more airtime on my blog, but this one was just pathetic. I'll spare you from the email's entirety. Here are some highlights.

It starts out with Dear Mr. Obama,

You lied here, you lied there, blah blah blah...

There. That's really all the background you need. Continue:


During your campaign, you said: 'typical white person.' 'they cling to their guns and religion.' 'they will say that I am black.' You played the race card. You tried to label any criticism about you as racist. You divide America.

You claim that you will reduce taxes for 95% of America, but you forgot to tell America that those reductions are after you remove the Bush tax reductions. You have requested close to $1 Billion in earmarks and several million for Acorn. Your social programs will cost America $1 Trillion per year and you claim that a reduction in military spending ($100 billion for Iraq) can pay for it. While your economic plan of adding 30% to the size of our federal government is of concern, the greater concern is that you are deceiving America.

Mr. Obama, you have done nothing to stop the actions of the teachers union and college professors in the USA. They eliminated religion from our history. They teach pro gay agendas and discuss sex with students as young as first grade. They bring their personal politics into the classrooms. They disparage conservatives. They brainwash our children. They are in it for themselves ... not America. Are you reluctant to condemn their actions because teachers/professors and the NEA contribute 25% of all money donated to Democrats and none to Republicans? You are deceiving America.

Oh Mr. Obama, Teddy Roosevelt said about a hundred years ago that we Americans should first look at the character of our leaders before anything else.

Your character looks horrible. While you make good speeches, motivating speeches, your character does not match your rhetoric. You talk the talk but do not walk the walk.

1. You lied to America. You lied many times. You distorted facts. You parsed your answers like a lawyer.

2. You distorted the record of John McCain in your words and in your advertisements.

3. You had associations with some very bad people for your personal political gains and then lied about those associations.

4. You divide America about race and about class.

Now let me compare your record of lies, distortions, race bating, and associations to John McCain: War hero. Annapolis graduate with 'Country first.' Operational leadership experience like all 43 previously elected presidents of the USA as a Navy Officer for 22 years. 26 years in the Senate. Straight talk. Maverick. 54% of the time participated on bills with Democrats. Never asked for an earmark. The only blemish on his record is his part in the Keating 5 debacle about 25 years ago.

Mr. Obama, at Harvard Law School, you learned that the end does not justify the means. You learned that perjury, false witness, dishonesty, distortion of truth are never tolerated. Yet, your dishonesty is overwhelming. Your dishonesty is tremendously greater than the dishonesty that caused the impeachment and disbarment of Bill Clinton. Your dishonesty is tremendously greater than the dishonesty of Scooter Libby. You should be ashamed.

Mr. Obama, it is time for us Americans to put aside our differences on political issues and vote against you because of your dishonest character. It is time for all of us Americans to put aside our political issues and vote for America first. It is time for America to vote for honesty.


(NOTE FROM PK: Here's where I must interject - READ THIS PART)


Any people who vote for you after understanding that you are dishonest should be ashamed of themselves for making their personal political issues more important than character. Would these same people vote for the anti-Christ if the anti-Christ promised them riches? Would they make a golden calf while Moses was up the mountain? Would they hire someone for a job if that someone lied in an interview? ... of course not.

So why do some of these people justify their votes for you even though they know you are dishonest? Why do they excuse your dishonesty? Because some of these people are frightened about the future, the economy, and their financial security ... and you are preying on their fears with empty promises ... and because some (especially our young people) are consumed by your wonderful style and promises for 'change' like the Germans who voted for Adolf Hitler in 1932. The greed/envy by Germans in 1932 kept them from recognizing Hitler for who he was. They loved his style. Greed and envy are keeping many Americans from recognizing you ... your style has camouflaged your dishonesty ... but many of us see you for who you really are ... and we will not stop exposing who you are every day, forever if it is necessary.


(NOTE #2 FROM PK: Here's the other part I love.)


Mr. Obama, you are dishonest. Anyone who votes for you is enabling dishonesty.

Mr. Obama, America cannot trust that you will put America first in your decisions about the future.

Mr. Obama, John McCain does not have as much money as your campaign to refute all of your false statements. And for whatever reasons, the mainstream media will not give adequate coverage or research about your lies, distortions, word parsing, bad associations, race bating, lack of operational leadership experience, and general dishonest character.

The media is diverting our attention to your relationships and ignoring the fact that you lied about those relationships. The fact that you lied is much more important than the relationships themselves ... just like with Bill Clinton and Richard Nixon ... Monica Lewinski and Watergate were not nearly as bad as the fact that those gentlemen lied about the events ... false witness ... perjury ... your relationships and bad judgments are bad on their own ... but your lies are even worse.

Therefore, by copy of this memo, all who read this memo are asked to send it to everyone else in America before it is too late. We need to do the job that the media will not do. We need to expose your dishonesty so that every person in America understands who you really are before election day.

Mr. Obama, in a democracy, we get what we deserve. And God help America if we deserve you.

Michael Master
McLean, Virginia


Let me be HONEST with YOU, Michael - most douchebags like you honestly believe they have more Character than most people. Comparing Barack Obama to Adolf Hitler AND to the AntiChrist? Dude, you're a regular fuckin bastion of personal integrity.

And the shit just keeps on flowing.

It's like political propaganda diarrhea. Which is really pretty much what it all is anyway, right?

If you're tuning in to my blog for the first time, let me just say that this is SOOOO not a political blog. It's quite the opposite, really. I'm just bitching about my In-Laws. Stay tuned - I do it a LOT.

Since R alerted them to my political leanings, I have received about ten bullshit pro-McCain emails from my In-Laws. They were fun to make fun of at first, and I reserve the right to post them if for some reason they're particularly funny to me, but right now I'm just fucking pissed off at their brazen effrontery.

I want to say something along the lines of, "Wow, MIL and FIL, thank you so much for showing me that everything I believed was wrong! I might have accidentally embraced the spirit of democracy and voted according to my own conscience!!!" But I just don't want to invite the dialogue, you know?

WHY don't they get that the more bullshit they send me, the LESS I'm inclined to change my mind? It's like the idiots who blow up the abortion clinics and call themselves Pro-Life. Whatever.


Anyway, if you're new to my blog, scroll down a few posts. Any that have pictures of my knockers - or, what did Cary call them? Jubblies? - in them are worth at least a perusal.

A Semi-amusing Follow-Up.

Remember all that "Obama is the Devil" shit my inlaws emailed me Monday morning? Today I got this from them:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
From a friend:

I have suspected some problems with Snopes for some time now, but I have only caught them in half-truths. If there is any subjectivity they do an immediate full left rudder.

Truth or fiction.com is the better source for verification, in my opinion.

I have recently discovered that Snopes.com is owned by a flaming liberal and this man is in the tank for Obama. There are many things they have listed on their site as a hoax and yet you can go to Youtube yourself and find the video of Obama actually saying these things. So you see, you cannot and should not trust Snopes.com....ever for anything that remotely resembles truth! I don't even trust them to tell me if email chains are hoaxes anymore.

A few conservative speakers on Myspace told me about snopes.com a few months ago and I took it upon myself to do a little research to find out if it was true. Well, I found out for myself that it is true. This website is backing Obama and is covering up for him. They will say anything that makes him look bad is a hoax and they also tell lies on the other side about McCain and Palin.

Anyway just FYI please don't use Snopes.com anymore for fact checking and make your friends aware of their political leanings as well. Many people still think Snopes.com is neutral and they can be trusted as factual. We need to make sure everyone is aware that that is a hoax in itself.


Ok. So do you want us to believe Snopes or not? Remember my favorite bullshit email of the four they sent me? It was the SNOPES article about how Michelle Obama intends use her husband's position to enslave the White Man to as payback for years of oppression? The article contained in the email isn't on Snopes at all; here's what shows up when you search Snopes for Michelle Obama Senior Thesis.

Yeah, I think it's crap that Princeton restricted it, if it's true that they did (and who knows?), but Snopes tried to put the whole thing in context, and it's Oooooh, see?? They try to shift the focus off of her secret agenda! Snopes can't be trusted! It's a massive left-wing conspiracy! God help us all!!

Could it be that your guy really is a douchebag?