Dirty Girl

I've been sidelined by a cold, Reader. Some sort of sniffling/stuffy-headed disease. Not the flu. 

It came on quite suddenly. One minute I was fine, and about an hour later I was so stuffed up I could barely breath.  

So I bought some OTC (it sounds exotic when I use initials like that, huh?) meds (again, with my hipster shorthand, I am so kul, yo), and started the battle. 

Now, bear with me for this sidebar. But lately - I'm talking in the past six months or so - I've been focused on the amount of OTC meds I take, and have been trying to whittle down luxury usage because I want to be kind to my liver. 

I don't know why I've suddenly taken an interest in my liver. I think it has a pretty hard and unglamerous job, just filtering out toxins and stuff, and even repairing itself when we fuck it all up and don't treat it nicely. Now, I haven't been out-and-out abusive to Liver, but you know, when shit hurts I usually don't hesitate to take an Aleve and let's just admit it, I have a semi-dependency on nighttime pain relievers and I just really love the coma-like sleep they induce. It's resplendent. 

Except that lately I worry and don't take anything and instead lie in bed with my artheritis pound-pound-pounding with every heartbeat, and that sucks so I get out of bed and then have to weigh the consquences of taking something too late to be able to get up for work, and so I break them into some sort of little nub to get a little relief, but not a coma-sleep. Your welcome, Liver. 

I can't remember why this train veered off track. What was I talking about??  Ah, my cold. So anyway. 

This stupid cold wasn't getting any better, and in fact each day I was getting just a tich worse. To the point that I could hear my chest/nose whistling and rattling while I was trying to sleep, and even a full dose of nighttime bliss pills couldn't help me sleep through it. 

It was tough nights around Chez Bang Bang.  And then my ear started hurting. 

So yesterday I caved, took a sick day and went to the minute clinic at the local drugstore. I hate an earache almost as much as I hate a sore throat. Maybe more. 

I had a once-over by the nurse practitioner, and it was really quite an easy experience.  She checked out my obviously-infected ear and proclaimed, "You've got a lot - a LOT - of dried waxy buildup in there, which is why it hurts." The pressure from the sinus infection thing was pound-pound-pounding on the ear, and it couldn't get out because of my filthy, dried, waxy buildup. 

I clean my ears, Reader!!  Every day, as a matter of fact. I cottonswab those motherfuckers as soon as I get out of the shower.  I know, I know - we all know - don't put a cottonswab in your ear. But that's what their sole intent is - to be put in an ear!! So obviously, I've just been packing that wax down instead of cleaning it out and now it is a hotmess.

I was told to use Debrox for 5 to 7 days and then if it doesn't dislodge I have to go in and have it yanked out. 

WTF, Reader. I just get more and more disgusting in all sorts of little hidden nooks and crannies. 

Upon picking up my supplies from the drugstore - which included a prescription antibiotic (I apologize, Liver), some Ibuprofin (again, Liver, it's doctor's orders, not mine!), some Mucinix (but not the stuff that dries you out, apparently that's bad and you need the stuff that thins, not dries - and that's just another gross part of me), and my earwax dissolver kit - I relayed my diagnosis to My Mister. 

As I was putting all my supplies up on the counter to purchase, I had an empty plastic bottle from some Sobe water I had enjoyed while waiting for my appointment. I paid for it, and then pondered keeping the now-empty bottle for, "Later." 

My Mister's responded, "Who are you becoming, a nasty wax-filled-ears hoarder who hangs onto empty plastic bottles??" 

Yes, apparently yes. I've become a nasty-wax-earred hoarder who collects empty plastic bottles.  Would you like my autograph now, or after I turn up on a t.v. show?

When Too Much Sex is Too Much Sex

Well, I think I've finally gone and done it. I've read too many 50-Shades-of-Twilight-type sex books and  I'm bored by all the throbbing members, undulating bosoms, writhing and moaning and never-ending sexcapades that, for reals, could never happen that often while holding down a job where you own not only your own mega-rich corporation, but apartment buildings and gyms and basically Gothem City, all before the age of 30. 

Unless maybe you are Batman. 

The downfall came when I downloaded Bared To You by Sylvia Day. 

I'm just. Bored. Yep, bored by all the sex with no storyline. 

The characters are maybe a tinch less annoying than 50 Shades of Grey, not by much. They fuck and then fight and then fuck and then fight and there's just so much nonsense fighting because that's the only way the author apparently can paint a scenario to lead to more fucking. 

I guess I am an old-fashioned gal. I need a little story with my sex. 

Punctuation Explanation.

We passed by a Jesus Board in front of a church tonight with a message that caused us pause.

"Never put a question mark where God has put a period."

Me: "So I guess what that's saying is, don't put a question mark in your vagina."

Him: "True, yes, that could be what they're saying."

Then we drove in silence for a while, both lost in our own thoughts. Me, pondering why God would think I'd want a question mark in my vagina, although there have been a few questionable things in there during the years, I'm not sure what form a question mark would take, unless it was wooden or something, like those big initial letters people sometimes hang on their walls and then post pictures of to Pinterest, to demonstrate their craftiness. 

Him: "Maybe what the message is saying is, "When things end, don't question why, just accept it." 

Me: "Hm. That could be it, I see how you could get that."

Him: "Or, don't put a question mark in your vagina. That might hurt. Or get stuck."

Same Ship, Different Day

I was here.

And now we're home.  

Time flies when you're having fun. For reals. 

It actually felt like we were gone a looooong time, but it only took a few hours back home and opening up my work laptop and doing work, to make it all come crashing back. 

It was a very nice & relaxing time. I read two books which gave me restless sleep. Damn you, Gillian Flynn and your fucked up brain transferred to paper.

The cats went haywire while we were gone. The baby beat up everyone while we were gone. But he's so damn cute! I just don't really want to raise a bully so we're going to have to take some sort of spraying him with a squirt bottle action when he goes after the others. As My Mister put it, 'He pounced them like a lion attacks a gazelle!"  We think he was showboating a bit for us.  

Heard Around The House

I send My Mister a picture of my work To-Do list as he often muses on what can possibly keep me so busy at Tiny Town that it's not uncommon for me to have a lunch of instant oatmeal. At 4:30 in the afternoon. 

We have a meeting every Tuesday where the projects are doled out and prioritized. This weeks list had 28 items on it. That doesn't count the "normal" shit we do each week, this is 28 additional items to cram into the workweek. 

His response: "Holy Sheet!"
My reply: "It's Ridiculist." 

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I had an extra early work morning on Wednesday as I had a vendor in from Chicago to go over VIS (very important shit) beginning at 8:30 a.m. 

The night before I lamented, "I have to go to bed! I have to get up at Zero Dark Early tomorrow!" 

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Speaking to my Mister about the perks we're (not quite) getting on upcoming vacation, I told him it was because he was a V.O.P.

When he asked what that was, I replied, "Very Ordinary Person."


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I have to pack tonight. It's now 10:20. Contrary to the claims on my resume, I'm not always a self-starter. 

Keep Sealed For Freshness

You know what no one ever says? 
"Boy, my ~insert anything here~ is really improving with age." 

My vision is getting bad. I officially need reading glasses, for my iPhone and computer if I'm not on Zoom In mode. 

People who boast that their anything gets better with age? Liars. 

I've thought long and hard about what I could say that's better, and the only thing that's better is stuff you can pay to make better - for instance, my hair is a little better, because I can afford better hair care. But other than that? It's all downhill. 

Eyes. Tits. Teeth. Stretchability. Quickness. Sleep. 

Yep. Even sleep betrays you as you get older. 21-year-olds don't have insomnia. They call that a perfectly good reason to stay out dancing. 

Do you have anything that got better with age, Reader? Share. I mean your own shit, not like "I have a better house" stuff. 

How Dry I Am

Holy Dryness, Batman! I don't know why it is that Every. Fucking. Winter. I'm SURPRISED at how dry it gets in the house. I mean, I'll begin to take note with a, "Boy, the cats are sparking when I pull them across the blanket" but I just sort of note it in passing and then my brain flits on to the next thing, like what Honey Boo Boo's up to. Then I notice my nipples are dry and chafed and I'm sporting a bloody snorkel-tube. And then there's the final clue when even a large caking of Blistex on my lips doesn't keep 'em moist, and I find myself dry-mouthed and gasping for water around 2 a.m. 

That night was last night. 

And I just painted a very sexy picture for you, huh? You're welcome. 

Now you know why My Mister finds me so irresistible. It's the slick lips and chafed nips. And I really lure him in as I'm digging blood boogers out of my nose all night long. BECAUSE I HAVE TO, READER, NOT BECAUSE I WANT TO. I enjoy BREATHING and they're blocking my passageway.  

My burny-burny nasal spray can't even get through. 

Tonight I said, "I guess I'd better go get the humidifier out of the basement." Because we own a solution to the problem, but are too lazy to go and get it until situations are dire around here, wherein "dire" equates to really sparky cats and cracked nipples and gasps for a cool cool drop of water in the middle of the night. 

It took all of three minutes to set it up. It's plugged in right now spewing blessed moisture into the air. 

Why, oh why must it come to all this before we take action? Am I passive/aggressive against myself, Reader?? 

I don't know, but I'm I'm excited to have a moist mouth tonight.