Selling Out

Get ready for a rambling ride, because this has no clear focus, just a bunch of thoughts. 


First, blogspot changed the formatting here and I no likey. I know, I know - change is hard and uncomfortable. But I don't realize the benefit of this one. It's just confusing and making me not know how to format things. 


Now I've got that complaint out of the way. 


Next. My cat Twinkle Toes has been in the cat hospital since the day I got back from vacation. My regular reader knows about this already, so I won't bore you with a recap, other than I'm Officially Complaining (via this vessel of communication) that I am unhappy, irritated, emotional and upset about the situation. Not to mention broke, because let's be honest, 8 days in a cat hospital, a surgery (that yielded nothing), a slew of medicines (that seem to be working on his jaundice) and now he can't pee and we don't know why and it's just getting more expensive by the day to make a cat pee.  So. I'm broke and a cry-baby mess. 


I've basically stopped with the basics in self-care. I don't think I've fully washed my hair since last Monday. I've spot-washed it - it's my cheater's method of fake-cleaning, that includes washing the area around the face and bangs - but I've looked better, let's be honest. 


So what's a girl to do? Why, drink Crema de Tequila 1921 model, and sit in my pajamas - in a pair of new pajama pants, which by the way Kenny has informed me gives a giant camel toe effect - and blog and think about cleaning up stuff.  So I'll sit here and drink a little. 


My big plans to pay off the cat are to start gathering up some stuff and putting it on Ebay to sell. I've got plenty of stuff. I'm in the beginning stages of gathering, and so far I've identified the following:


A few Coach purses
A Coach wallet 
A Coach watch
(do you see a name-brand theme here? - maybe I should package it all up and sell 'em together  - hmmm) 
A Movado black & gold watch - I'm looking for the box. I think I've got that somewhere. It was worn only a couple times. I'm ready to sell it. 
And some other random crap. 


That should net me a couple hundred bucks. Maybe. Or a giant bunch of headache. I think I have some Tiffany jewelry to put up for sale, too. I was on a buying spree at some point, and really don't need any of that stuff anymore. Time to clean house! 


I've got a bunch of bottled up blog posts just waiting to break free, but they're going to have to happen when I'm not quite so stressed and a little more creative. Oh, but the stories! Will definitely be worth the anticipation. Have I ever let you down? Reader, your loud guffaw is just borderline rude. But I'll forgive it. 

Burning Love

Mexico hates me.  More specifically, the Mexican Sun hates me.  While I was busy looking at this:

The Mexican Sun was busy doing this:

That is a really weird angle of my body part.   The splotchyness travelled up my leg a good bit, to my knee. 


Despite the heavy and frequent application of SPF 50 and a liberal application of SPF-SOME-HIGH-NUMBER of Zinc to my parts that are super-susceptible to burny-burny sunrays.  


I apparently missed a couple spots.  And was rewarded with a giant helping of Take That! From the Mexican Sun. 


My nose is scabby and gross, too, and I had it schmeared with the white zinc. My hands are lumpy and bumpy, too, and itchy aging right before my eyes. 


There just doesn't seem to be enough to block that sun from my fragile and delicate Irish Rose skin. 
Oh, I sat under a thatched tiki roof for a good part of the day, too. This penetrated during my few short stints in the pretty pretty waters. 


I thought I had it this time, Reader. That SPF that I purchased? It went on the skin and stuck like a force field. I glistened with the spray and cracked when I moved.  


I was safe in Haiti (Labadee). Barely a tint of color after broiling un-unbrelled on that beach. I had this, I was sure. Made it through Grand Caymen and Jamaica unscathed. But then Cozumel, the last stop. Oh, Cozumel, you treat me so badly. I think we may have to break up. 


And this time my towel decided to stay for the tequila and pretty senoritas, and no, it didn't turn up in my gym shoe. 
I left Cozumel a parting gift. And it left me with potential skin cancer. Sort of rude, really. And here all along I was worried about the cartels kidnapping my irresistible self for a hefty ransom. They'd be sadly disappointed that we could only pay them in cats. 

Shortie

Hello, Reader! I've been busy cruisin' and sight-seein' and eatin' and drinkin' and laughin' and  a bunch of other "in'" words. Including sunburnin' . That Mexican Sun is unforgivin'. I'm splotchy. Despite my best efforts.

Ah well.

Today is our last day of vacation. We visited Labadee (Haiti), Jamaica (where JOanne climbed Dunns River Falls and I watched her do it because I've already been-ther-done-that), Grand Cayman (where it poured rain our heads and towels and everything else we were carrying), and finally Cozumel (where it burned me right through my SPF50).

I was going to spend some time writing but the computer keys are touchy and so this is it. SSL (sorry so lame).

Be home tomorrow, kissing cats and kenny . And regalling you with my trip highlights. Lucky you ~ smile.

Not Just for Fun & Games. Apparently.

This past Easter was a day of learning, Reader. Learning about Life and Scary Things.

I spent Easter Sunday enjoying an early supper with My Mister's family while he was at work. It was just the girls. And I learned things. Things about vaginas. At the Easter dinner table. And it scared me.

I learned about pessaries. And I didn't like what I was hearing one bit.

"How did this conversation come about?", you may wonder. The beloved grandmother was having a little trouble sitting. She seemed to be in some pain. I, concerned of course, inquired, "Why whatever is troubling you, Beloved Grandmother??" and she replied, "Oh, it's just my pessary, it's not in a good position."

I think my eyes popped out of my head a little and I asked what part of the body exactly is the pessary. More body parts I've never heard of before, which wouldn't surprise me too much as I have only in the last year learned about the psoas muscle, as a possible link to my back troubles. So I figured the pessary was probably connected to the psoas, and from Beloved Grandmother's expression, sometimes it could get a little out of place and cause discomfort.

How wrong I was.

The ladies at the table let me in on the Secrets of the Sisterhood. And those secrets? Suck, Reader. Apparently our lady parts can just fall right out of our vaginas. And a pessary is a thing that can be inserted to keep your body parts in your body. Imagine that. One of the ladies actually went to her car and got me an article about the pessary and the problems of falling-out body parts, it's apparently so common she just had an article about it in her car. Just hanging around. That's how common this problem is, and here I was just la-la-la-ing through my life, never worrying about my internal organs falling out of my vagina hole.

Oh, I miss my innocence.

One Lady of the Sisterhood informed me that one day she looked down and saw her bladder just coming right out of her vagina hole. Just sticking out. She had to try and smoosh it back in there, and then we talked about the surgery that ladies can have to fix up their hoo-ha's and avoid the need for the pessary altogether.

I confidently said, "I don't think I'll have any of those problems, I've never had kids so really my organs should stay where they are."

Nay nay, Reader. Not so. As the article gently pointed out, the old insides can decide to get a breath of fresh air just because they are exactly that - old insides. Age can make your bladder and other parts wanna climb down through the Looking Glass and get a peek into the great outdoors. Maybe they want to go camping.

Reader. If I look down there and see something organ-like coming out of my vagina, I am going to Freak.The.Fuck.Out. Just so you know. In case you hear the screams.

So now I'm worried. I've been doing a lot of kegel exercises, getting that vagina floor tightened up (as the article suggested). And hope that love lifts things up where they belong, like the song says. Because who knows what tomorrow brings. One day your bladder is sitting up where it belongs, the next thing you know it's waving at you from between your legs.

And that was my Easter lesson. And now it is yours.

You're welcome. And I'm sorry.

A Good Start

This is going to surprise a few of you who think you know me as a Garth Brooks/Elvis-lovin' geektoid. Well, I am all that. But I also like Guns n Roses. And Saturday night I said YES to a GnR Tribute Band called November Rain, playing at the House of Blues.

Kenny insisted I was going to rue the day I said yes. I wasn't exactly rueing, but perhaps it wasn't really my thing. I realized that maybe it wasn't my thing when, instead of really jammin' to the metal, I was looking at the House of Blues logo and making up my own names for it, for instance, Blouse of Hues, Louse of Hugs, etc. You get the idea.

Then Kenny bought me a beer. A beer as big as my head. In a can.

And before too long I was enjoying myself a little bit more.

So while I didn't rue the Yes - I did have great company at the event in the form of Mr. & Miss Hoff - I would have been more jammable if it were in fact a Brooks/Elvis combo. And a head-sized beer would have still fit right in.

Blame it on Mexico

Reader, you're in luck! Today - April Fool's - is Your Lucky Day. Why? Well, my camera that went to Mexico and decided to stay there for the tequila and pretty senoritas? Actually came home instead! Jokes on you!

There was a very good chance it could have gone undetected for several months - possibly even years. Ol' Mr. Camera picked quite the hiding place - nestled down in my gym shoe. It was merely by happenstance that I found it as quickly as I did; I had decided to do a little yard work last weekend and was suiting up for that fun-filled activity.

So all my thinking the hotel workers a bunch of thieving no-goods, who wouldn't return my camera when I called and told me, "No, no camera here Senora"?

Well.

It's a good thing I didn't start an international incident or I would have had a little egg on my face. A shame-faced egg-face. I'm always the first to blame the hotel workers when my shit comes up missing. Why not, right? And only one time - ONCE - did Lupe screw me, and stole some shit I purchased whilst in Las Vegas. But hey, steal from me once, and I blame hotel workers for life. That's my motto.

And ironically, my first job was as a "housekeeper" at Holiday Inn. Where I never stole anything found in a room (except for porn, and I'm pretty sure they weren't coming back looking for that, it had served it's purpose). I remember my biggest turn-in was an expensive looking camera. They called for it and I had turned it in and the lady was crying tears of relief -they had just returned from their honeymoon and had all their photos (wedding, too) on it, so see, I was an Honest Abe and expect the same.

But now I'm off on a tangent that has really no relation here as I didn't even leave my camera behind, but blamed the hotel staff anyway. As my daddy says, "ya point the finger at someone, and there's always three pointing back at'cha." So fingers point to me on this one. And my camera, for hiding.

And the photo where it all began? The picture I just had to take before we left? Of our last room service breakfast? Well, it's really quite fittingly lame. Behold. The Last Day Breakfast Photo:

But now? You can see some of these!

Here's how we spent our days - doing a lot of this:

And then in the early afternoon, we'd move to here:

The important part to note about the picture below is to pay attention to the drunk guy in the next bed over. Dude was snockered, and climbing up onto his lady and dry humping her on the bed.

I told Dawn, "I"m going to get a picture of this!" and I really thought I was using my indoor voice even though we were outdoors, but maybe he just heard us laughing at him and turned around and said, "Are you trying to take a picture of me?" and I was all, "Dude, don't be so self-focused, why would I want a picture of you dry-humping (I do! I do!), I'm taking a picture of my friend." And then I had to act like I was doing that, and his dry-humpee got up just in case and there he is in the background sprawled out.

So my lesson learned for next time: Be quieter about my photo stalking intentions and take a movie instead for Youtube. Damn it, lesson learned too late again.

He doesn't look drunk at all, does he?

And at night we'd gussy up a little bit and do some fiesta-ing:

And then 4 nights were gone in a flash and it was time to come back home.

The end.