I'm a little restless and bored. Which is never good; I find things to pierce and tattoo when that happens. I have a strange feeling my latest modification may be common knowledge at work. Which would be thanks to my distracted texting with my dear co-worker/friend who hasn't been able to keep a secret in the 7 years I've known her. Especially if she's been drinking.
What pervo manager decided that the best layout in my local Fred Meyer should have the Easter candy directly across from the prophylactics? I was in the throes of a Peeps jones and was waylaid by the condom/woman arousal lubes right across from the sugary goodness. Mainly, it was the Trojan "Vibrating fingertip plus condom" package. See what happens when you don't have sex unless it's with a Battery Operated Boyfriend? There is a cornucopia of unknown treasures being invented out there.
Watching Women's Bobsledding to see Bree Schaaf...and Bob Costa (?) or the other guy (Jim Something or other) keep pronouncing her name "Shafe." It's bugging the crap out of me. Perhaps I should loosen the sphincter a little. But I know if her Auntie Lynn heard it, it would drive her nuts too.
Still feeling the same after the "Show-up-to-work-and-get-admitted-into-the-ED" extravagaza. Bill the Wonder Doc is still in absentia to me. Everyone else has seen him but I'm either off the floor, not working, being secluded in Outer Darkness (also known as the induction clinic), or writhing around on an ED gurney. One might get the feeling he was ditching me, if one were prone to paranoid delusions. My follow-up with his nurse practitioner was interesting to say the least:
She: "What do you think it is?"
Me: "No idea." (Aren't you supposed to tell me?)
She: "Well, what would you like to do about it?"
Me: *crickets* "What do you suggest?"
She "We could just wait it out or you could get a GI consult."
Me: "Since I would rather be in labor than go through that again, let's go for the consult."
But she was kind enough to refill my meds until June-ish (w00t!) and the ED gave me a new jar of Percocet. Although the anti-spasmodic might be my favorite drug right now. I'm afraid to stop taking it. Even if my mouth feels like a cracked, dried out creek bed and I could care less where my next meal is coming from...very few spasms; so I'll just keep it up thank you very much.
I get to see Michael the Extrememely Gay Hairdresser tomorrow. Woohoo! I look ghetto fabulous with my roots showing. Speaking of obnoxioux things, had a baby daddy (It's okay, that what his baby mamma called him to his face, so I'm golden) tell the patient in a very public induction clinic (three beds, three curtains, all acoustic, all the time) that she did this herself and he didn't want it to happen, but she did it herself. I couldn't help thinking, "Well I doubt she ripped the condom off your package, forced it into her body, and forced you to inseminate her. So, I'm thinking you might have had a small part in this whole party." With his waistband down to his mid thighs and a coat and hat emblazoned with Marines that no Marine I know of would have been caught dead in. After he made her cry he left and was not seen again. Which surprises me not.
I feel the need for some Patsy Cline
Did you know Willie Nelson wrote "Crazy?" And that Patsy was reluctant to record it because she said she couldn't sing it the way Willie wrote it, so she did it her own way? Lucky for us. And Willie, really.