Tuesday, July 21, 2009

TMI Tuesdays ~ Sweet Mammories

Introducing TMI Tuesdays.  Inspired by Mjenks ~ This One's For You Oh Mighty Crown of Thistles.

One thing that I have no problem admitting is that I've had a little after-market work done.  I don't mind admitting it, trust me people know and it's not like I'm trying to pass anything off as home grown or original ownership.  Plus, I just don't give a crap if anyone knows ~ I'm not showing them off or letting people get a free feel of them, but I don't care if they know. 

In fact the year that the twins first arrived, I was in a master's program.  The twins were "delivered" over Christmas break ~ Merry Christmas to me.  The kicker was that I would have
 to tell my instructors that I had "had a little work done" and would not be fully recouperated until at least two weeks into the new school year.  Nothing like telling a couple of pudgy, not-gettin-any collage professors that you just got a new pair of turbo twins to cause a few "awkward"  moments.  In theory, the professors can't touch them, look at them, or even think about them because they are professors and aren't supposed look at student's chest.  In reality, it causes more than a few sneaky glances south of the collar bone and some really interesting faculty meetings.

At first I wasn't going to tell anyone at all.  Then I found out the recovery would take a whileand I was going to need help with things, not to mention still be on-boarding the 
nice little muscle relaxers that come with the new equipment.  It wasn't like I was going to back to school and someone would look at me and say "Oh, did you get your hair cut?  You look different."  No sh*t Sherlock, I now have knockers where once the cupboard was bare.  Cause guys may not notice a new hair cut for weeks, but bring in the boobs and they spot them right away every time.  So being up front about it cut down on the amount of class gossip and whispered questions.

Well, I was not about to have the twins delivered by  just any man. So I asked around for some referrals.  I got a few names and a few invites by girls to "feel" their work.  Yeah, it gets a little creepy when women you barely know start flashing you their tatas and invite you 
to grope on them like a freshman in high school.  Maybe not for you guys, but for me ~ yeah, creepy.  However one name kept cropping up: Dr. M.

Now before their was Dr. McDreamy, there was Dr. M ~ the original McDreamy.  Not only was he highly recommended for his surgical skills, he was recommended for is, ahhhhhh, ahhhhhh, scenic offices. Yeah, that's the ticket. 

 A few consultations later and wham! I'm in post-op. Where I was begrudgingly dragging my drug induced comatose ass back into reality.  Dr. M walks in to check on me and give me the post surgical update.  After a few minutes of his cajoling me to wake up and talk to him, I finally mustered the strength to lift my head and look at my chest.  OH-SWEET-MARY-MOTHER-OF-GAWD!! look at these babies!!  They are HUGE! 
 They were especially large from the angle I was looking down at them.  They were BIG.  Mount Everest Huge.  If I could have lifted my hands, I would have felt myself up right then and there.  Instead I put my head down, look Dr. M straight in the eyes, and with a smirk whispered "sweet!"   Then passed out. 

P.s. Blogger has crappy formatting!!

Sunday, July 12, 2009

Goodbye Buddy

Friday July 10th at 12:45 p.m., Mr. Bud E. Phat went to wait for me at the Rainbow Bridge*.  

After two months of battling with medical problems, my Buddy could fight no more.  After careful consultation with his personal vet, we decided that his quality of life would not improve and it would be best to let him "retire".  I cradled him in my arms.  Whispered "I love you" and looked him in the eyes, so that the last things he would see and hear in this world was his mom's love.  I told him I would come for him one day and to wait for me at the Bridge with Baby Kitty and Turbo (my cats who have gone ahead of him).  He lay peacefully in my arms as we said our goodbyes.  Me giving him paw-kisses.  He giving me, with the last of his strength, one final head-butt goodbye.  I cried at the sight of his life leaving; fading those beautiful green eyes as they closed in death.  My heart was screaming "Don't go! Stay with me forever", but I knew that he was no longer in pain and I had done the right thing.  

I'm sorry this is not a better written goodbye, for Buddy really deserves one, but right now the grief is too raw.  Each corner of my house holds some memory of our life together.  A feather toy here, a cat hair covered pet bed there.  The luggage he would lounge on as if he too had been a frequent flier.  The corner of the bath tub where he would sit in silent demand until you turned on the water for him to drink.  His spirit fills every nook and cranny. 

Elsa is missing her big brother.  She meows for him as she searches throughout the house.  She goes to his favorite spots and looking to see if he is there.  She doesn't understand why there is now only one food bowl on the floor.  Often she will sit by the window, looking at Buddy's favorite patio perch, as if she is expecting him to return at any moment.  One day I may get her another brother or sister, but for now we will have to take comfort in each other and the knowledge that one day we will all be together again.

Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.

When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge.  There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together.  There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.

All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor; those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by.  The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.

They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. His bright eyes are intent; His eager body quivers. Suddenly he begins to run from the group, flying over the green grass, his legs carrying him faster and faster.

You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.

Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together....

Monday, July 6, 2009

Daddy's Little Girl

Not so long ago (cause Ms. Tastrophie is NOT that old) in a land far, far away.  Where flying monkeys and ugly green witches were mean to stylish girls dressed in the latest farm fashions with fabulous shoes, lived a sweet innocent little girl.  On this particular moon lit night our petite heroine was very tired.  She had been on a long journey (a car ride aimed at getting her to shut up and go to sleep) and was very tired (the trick worked).  Now her Knight in Shinning Armor (AKA Dad) was carrying her into the house for her beauty sleep (trust me, she slept A LOT as a kid).  

The night was cool and clear.  The crickets chirping in the breeze.  The weather brimming with the lightness of spring.  The moon full of future promises.  Clearly the fates were whispering of something to come as they looked down upon our Knight and his maiden fair.  Because it was was on that night that his lovely little girl would utter the words that would change his life forever.  

With eyes full of slumber, she looked high into the sky at the bright shining moon and then at her Knight.  She smiled her sweetest and most sincere smile then pointed her small cherub finger up into the night.  She asked, in the simplest of little girl voices, "Daddy, will you give me the moon?"  It was at that very moment that our Knight in Shinning Armor knew, in his heart of hearts, that his life was never going to be the same.  His little girl was


Sunday, July 5, 2009

Things That Go GRRRRRR In The Night

This is a little diversion from my usual posting type, but this was too weird and I want to see if anyone else has had this type of experience.  Basically when it comes to scary things, I am a chicken.  I don't do slasher flicks or anything that is an American remake of a Japanese horror film because those are scarier than all get out to me.  The Ring (which I watched with ALL the lights on and only because I was forced) frightened me so much I almost threw out my t.v.

So, knowing my chicken of all things horror/super natural/slasher, I don't tend to have bad dreams.  Occasionally the sad ones or ones where I am naked and have to take the final in my Logics class.  But not ones that freak me out or scare me.  

Last night I was having a bit of difficulty sleeping.  Side note about me: I am a true insomniac.  I want 8 hours of sleep ~ believe me~ but on my own will only get about 3 to 4.  I had done all my pre-sleep rituals: lavender, reading (for fun and boring academic stuff), cuddling with Elsa & Bud E. but nothing was working. Finally around 3 a.m. I start to nod off.  Somewhere between being awake and fully asleep I think this happened.

I was lying on my side with a pillow covering my face (the apartment lights up the parking lot like the airport runway).  When I feel a hand on my side and hear a low guttural growling.  Here's the kicker, I FULLY FELT this hand and how it pressed against my side.  It wasn't a light touch, but more of a keep you in place type touch.  The growling type sound was almost demonic ~ and I don't believe in that stuff, so believe me when I say it was pretty scary.  My first thought was OH MY GOD someone is in my house!  How the hell am I going to get out of this?  Then I tried to figure out if I was really awake or if I was dreaming.  I make myself move my right hand.  It moved.  I open my eyes under the pillow.  They opened and I saw some light. And I am fully aware that I can still hear this grrrrrrrr throaty noise beside me.  

My heart was pounding and my entire body had moved into Fight or Flight mode.  After what left like forever, it stopped.  Just completely stopped.  No hand holding me down, not ggrrrrrrr sound.  Nothing.  When I finally mustered enough courage to throw the pillow off my face and confront whoever was in my house, there was nothing/no one there.  But wait, it gets even stranger.  Ever been away and had someone in your house?  That feeling you have when you come back and you KNOW someone has been there?  Things may not be out of place and nothing is missing, but you can SENCE it?   That's how it felt in my bedroom.  I was completely freaked out and then I saw my bedroom door... it was shut.

I don't close my bedroom door ~ ever!  It's a thing with me that I want it open, don't know why.  But it was closed.  Not just the cats knocked it and it swung slightly shut.  It was CLOSED as in the door completely flush in the frame.  History of where I live: There is none!  I am the first occupant in this apartment. It was brand new when I moved in.  So there isn't any freaky built on a ancient burial ground, someone got murdered, old woman eaten by her cats, type history going on here.  So why the door was shut I don't know.  I am sure there is some logical explanation for this, but I can't think of one or why I would have arbitrarily decided to shut it.  

So I wonder, has anyone else had a dream that seemed SO REAL that when they woke up they had trouble distinguishing between the dream and reality?  This thing is kind of weirding me out. Especially since I do not believe in anything that goes "bump" in the night.  Was this just a very vivid dream or am I losing it?  (Oh, wait don't answer that one.)

Saturday, July 4, 2009

No, I was Drunk Yesterday...

Today, I am hung over.  That level of hang over that is not completely world ending, but annoying enough to keep you from getting anything done but relocating your butt to the couch.  The one where you wake up wondering why you slept with a sweater in your mouth and who the hell moved the sun directly into your room right above your eyes.  You're not dead yet, but somewhere around questioning God's sanity for letting you live.  For the under 30 set, this is nothing.  You still have the ability to bound back after a night out with the same rapid reflexes as a cat falling out of a tree.  For those of us a little farther from the thirty line, recovery and reflexes are slower.  (We also tend to fall out of higher trees.)  Somehow in my semi-dazed & confused state, I remembered a friend had sent me this Handy Hang Over Rating Scale.  I am suffering somewhere between two and three stars.  I'm going to try to re-hydrate; you read

*This hangover rating scale has been passed around for years. 

One Star Hangover:
No pain. No real feeling of illness. Your sleep last night was a mere disco nap, which has given you a whole lot of misplaced energy. Be glad that you are able to function relatively well. However, you are still parched. You can drink 10 sodas and still feel this way. You are craving a steak bomb and a side of gravy fries.

Two Star Hangover:
No pain, but something is definitely amiss. You may look okay but you have the mental capacity of a staple gun. The coffee you are chugging is only exacerbating your rumbling gut, which is craving a rootie tootie fresh and fruity pancake breakfast from IHOP. There is some definite havoc being wreaked upon your bowels.

Three Star Hangover:
Slight headache. Stomach feels crappy. You are definitely not productive. Anytime a guy walks by you gag because his cologne reminds you of the random gin shots you did with your alcoholic friends after the bouncer 86'd you at 1:45 a.m. Life would be better right now if you were in your bed with a dozen donuts and a meatball hero watching the E! fashion awards. You've had 4 cups of coffee, a gallon of water, 3 Snapples and a liter of diet coke, yet you haven't peed once.

Four Star Hangover:
Life sucks. Your head is throbbing. You can't speak too quickly or else you might puke. Your boss has already lambasted you for being late and has given you a lecture for reeking of booze. You wore nice clothes, but that can't hide the fact that you missed an oh-so crucial spot shaving, (girls, it looks like you put your make-up on while riding the bumper cars.) Your eyes look like one big vein and your hair style makes you look like a reject from the class picture of Grover Cleveland HS, class of '84.

Five Star Hangover:
AKA "Dante's 4th Circle of Hell."
You have a second heartbeat in your head, which is actually annoying the employee who sits in the next cube. Vodka vapor is seeping out of every pore and making you dizzy. You still have toothpaste crust in the corners of your mouth from brushing your teeth in an attempt to get the remnants of the shit fairy out. Your body has lost the ability to generate saliva, so your tongue is suffocating you. Death seems pretty good right now. You definitely don't remember who you were with, where you were, what you drank and why there is a stranger still sleeping in your bed at your otherwise empty house.

Six Star Hangover:
Otherwise known as the "Infinite Nut smacker"
You wake up on your bathroom floor. For about 2 seconds you look at the ceiling, wondering if the cool refreshing feeling on your cheek is the bathroom tile. It is amazing how your roommate was as drunk as you, but somehow managed to get up before you. You try to lift your head. Not an option. Then you inadvertently turn your head too quickly and smell the funk of 13 packs of cigarettes in your hair. Suddenly you realize you were smoking, but not ultra lights... some jackass handed you Marlboro reds, and you smoked them like it was your second full time job. You look in the mirror only to see remnants of the stamp "Ready to Rock" faintly atop your forehead... the stamp on the back of your hand that has magically appeared on your forehead by alcoholic osmosis. You have to be to work in t-minus 14 minutes and 32 seconds and the only thing you can think of wearing is your "hello kitty" pajamas and your slippers.

*I am not the author of this hang over scale from this point down.