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!!

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.

*THE RAINBOW BRIDGE
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....

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

HIGH MAINTENANCE

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.)

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.

A Tooth Story

I am in pain!  Really.  Not just the over-acting, can-I-get-an-Academy-Award attention seeking crap that I usually pull.  We are talking severe shooting pain right through my gum and into my cheek.  I was driving home and realized that I had this nagging something stuck in between my favorite-root-canal back tooth and it's sidekick.  Being the multi-tasker, really bad ADD driver that I am, I tried to extract the annoying thing.  When BAM! The crown fell off taking my low-pain-threshold through the roof!  I'm screaming, driving, holding this crown in one hand and trying to get a better look at the grossest tooth ever in the rear view mirror.  I think the guy in the car next to me thought I was having a seizure or something, because he made a spit second decision to move two lanes over and turn right at the next intersection.  Anyway, back to my pain.

Somewhere between being totally grossed out by this whole thing and my attention-whore screaming, I figured out that I should probably call my dentist.  Who, BTW, is the Marque de Sade that gave me this lovely defective dental damage in the first place.  Bastard isn't open on Sundays.  Doesn't he know that his handy work only has a two year shelf life and he should be at my beck and call when it all falls to sh*t?  I leave a message, find my way home through the blinding pain and try to find ANYTHING in my medicine cabinet that is stronger than Tylenol. 

Side note:  I really need to clean out my medicine box.  I have a bin that I keep under my sink for all the random/left over medications I collect though out the year(s).  You know, that half filled bottle of Penicillin you got from that little rusty nail you stepped on five years ago and decided you didn't really need to follow the "Take Until Empty" directions on the bottle.  Or the almost empty bottle of cough syrup that you stopped taking when the coughing stopped (or you figured you were getting a little too involved with the codeine and decided to end the relationship before things got too dependent).  Yeah, I have an entire box filled with those little wonders.  The only thing I DON'T have in that box is any type of  pain killer.  I have every antibiotic ever made and several half -used packets of birth control pills (which confused the hell out of me since A: haven't had "any" in over a year and B: changed "methods" years ago ~ oh sorry, TMI).  But nothing stronger than 600 mg of motrin.  Which doesn't do a damn thing for me personally.  

Back to story.  So Dentist de Sade finally calls me back.  He tells me to "push the crown back on, but be sure to take it off before you go to bed so you won't choke on it during the night".

WHAT!?!?!  Then he proceeds to tell me that since this is a crown covering a root canal and there isn't any bleeding, it can wait until tomorrow.  OK, I was a little reassured that I was not going to have a whole Tommy Knockers episode and calmed down a bit.  

Then he proceeds to tell me that my tooth should not hurt since it was a root canal and there aren't any nerve endings to feel any pain. OHHHHHHH MY A$$ THIS SUCKER DOESN'T HURT!!!   I don't know what nitrous tank he's been sniffing from, but MY tooth hurts.  It hurts all the way into my jaw and up the right side of my cheek.  I think it has a pulse of it's own and I know I can see it throbbing when I look in the mirror.  (Ms. Tastrophie does pain just about as well as she does camping in the great outdoors with no running water.  Ain't gonna happen.)  I attempt to correct Monsieur Dentist that I am indeed in pain and what is he going to do about it?  I cry.  I whine (which in 9 out of 10 cases works).  I beg.  My dentist must have gone to the Dr. Mengele school of dentistry and steadfastly refused to give in or believe my cries of pain.

After he said no, I took myself back to the bathroom and the medicine box.  This time I frantically dumped the bin onto the bathroom floor.... and there it was!  A small bottle with one lone pill inside and the beautiful word "Darvocet" on the outside.  I swear I felt like I had just unearthed the Holy Grail.  Now all I can say is Thank You to those wonderful people who made this little white pill and that I'm off to go chase a White Rabbit...

Happy Papa's Day

The Greatest American Hero

When I was a child, you would hold me on your lap and let me eat small pieces of raw turnips you had sliced with your pocket knife.

When I was a little girl, you taught me that ice cream tastes the best when it comes from a brick carton and has been sliced into a bowl.  Always Neapolitan and always sliced from the short end.

When I was young girl, you would take me for a ride in the truck while telling me stories of your life, your friends, the war, and how you met my Gammie.  Those rides would become my shelter in the storm that was my parent's divorce.  You, my rock to cling to when the emotional waters crashed over me.  Your stories would become family lore for me to tell and retell.  Entrusted in my heart to carry for the next generation.

When I was gawky and uncoordinated, you let me stand on your toes as we danced at the VFW.  The King of the USOs held court to his devoted princess.  I learned to love the 40's, Buggy-Woogy-Bugle Boys and a larger than life Grandfather who had been a lover and a fighter; just not at the same time.

When I got too big for my britches, you let me know you could knock the taste buds right out of my mouth.  Then you would show me just how much you loved me by holding your thumb to your last knuckle when I asked.

When I was hurt and cried, you always had a handkerchief.  Your gruff side would become all blustered and you would bristle at whatever was upsetting me.  Your bark was always worse than your bite.  But you would always hold me and love me until everything was alright again.

When I went into the Marines, I should have listen to you.  Once again you proved to know what was best for me.  It was the only letter you ever wrote me and I read it so many times that the ink wore off and the paper fell apart.  I am so sorry I failed, but I know you loved me in spite of myself.

When I became a woman and life became busy, you waited for me.  You waited for me to call, to visit, to write more letters.  I should have visited more.  I should have written often, called more.  Told you ever day that I love you and that you are my Papa. Eventually, your life became full of waiting as well.  Waiting to live. Waiting to die.  Your mind not knowing what it was waiting for. If it was the life of today or a memory of things long past.  

This is our first Father's Day without you here.  It's been hard.  I love you Papa.  I miss you.  I can't seem to go on without you, but each day I grow a little stronger.  And each day brings me one day closer to when I can be with you again.  Until then, I'll Be Seeing You

WTF With Dick and Jane

File Under: Shit You Just Can't Make Up

Very few things in Life will leave Ms. Tastrophie speechless.  This is one of those few things. 

BTW, I'm all for more power in the "adult fun" department, but attaching a saber saw blade to my favorite BOB??!!  Oh hell to the no, just get some 9 volt batteries if you want to up your fun.  Don't go all Tool Time Taylor on the poor Rabbit.  Ok, you all just read on and feel free to be as dumbfounded as I am.

WHAT THE HELL WAS THIS WOMAN THINKING!!

Maryland State Police airlifted the 27-year-old woman to Prince George's County Hospital Center early Sunday morning after she was injured in an incident involving a sex toy attached to a saber saw blade, TheBayNet.com first reported.

The man who called 911 about the incident admitted attaching the sex toy to the saw and then using the high-powered, homemade device on his partner, according to the St. Mary's County Sheriff's Office.

The saw cut through the plastic toy and wounded the woman, according to TheBayNet.com. The injuries were severe enough for medevac, but the woman was released from the hospital Monday and is recovering from her unusual injuries.

Investigators talked to the woman, who told them she suffered the injuries during a consensual act and that she and her partner were trying something new and no crime was committed, the sheriff's office said.

ABC ~ Yes, It's All About Me

In an attempt to make sure I blog about once every other day or so, I give you this:  a semi-autobiographical ABC list of me.  I know, it's not too earth shattering, but now you know.

A - Age: 40

B - Bed size: Queen 

C - Chore you hate:  Cleaning ~ irony here: I am a neat freak.

D - Dog's name:  Lord Montgale the 7th  (basset hound found at the intersection of Montgale Street and 7th Ave.)

E - Essential start your day item:  Bitching as I walk to the bathroom

F - Favorite color: pink

G - Gold or Silver: silver or white gold

H - Height: 5'3"

I - Instruments you play(ed):  Clarinet for about 5 days.  I hit another 5th grader over the head with mine and was told that group sports/activities probably were not a good thing for me.

J - Job title:  TEACHER

K - Kid(s):  anywhere from 5 to 65 depending on enrollment at the time.  None of my own that I know of.

M - Mom's name:  Lynne

N - Nicknames:  Not even going there.

O - Overnight hospital stay other than birth:  Several.  I am accident prone to say the least.

P - Pet Peeve:  people who don't know how to turn across traffic via the median.  You go to the side that has YOUR oncoming traffic!!! 

Q - Quote from a movie:   TONS and I use them in my daily life.  Just a few:

Get away from her, you BITCH!!

Come, D'Artagna, we are saving the king

We are going to need a bigger boat.

What we have here is a failure to communicate.

R - Right or left handed:  Right

S - Siblings:   Sister and half-sister

T - Time you wake up:   Between 5:30 and 6:30 depending

U- Underwear:  None of your damn business

V - Vegetable you dislike:   haven't met one yet

W - Ways you drink your coffee:  SUGAR!!!  CREAM!!! MILK!!! some coffee

X-rays you've had:  Head to toe at various points in my life ~ again with the accident prone issue.

Y - Yummy food you make: Does Weight Watcher's Frozen count??  If not, cupcakes via the cake mix box.

Z - Zoo favorite :  Sea World (does that count?) 

Dumb & Dumber, Part Deaux

File Another One Under 

More Shit You Will Never See A Woman Do...

Some people in life never learn.  And some people in life just should not be let alone to their own devices.  Thus we have the continued tales of Dumb and Dumber...  Note: this tale was told to Ms. Tastrophie and as she did not see it ~ can not vouch for it's validity.  Although based on the stupid sh*t she has seen these two do... she doesn't doubt that it happened.

Dumb & Dumber are residents in my apartment complex and from what I can gather from various sources, their time here might be short ~ especially after their latest & greatest drug induced debacle.  A past Saturday, Dumber was nursing his war wounds back at the scene of the great football vs. nose battle.  Again he was accompanied by his trusted side kick: Dumb.  This time since Dumber is on pain killers for his broken nose, they decide to opt out of drinking.  Instead they decided to smoke pot.  At the pool.  In public.  For everyone to see and smell.  

After a time, the Baked Lays twins got the munchies.  Our pool has two sets of grill for the residents and they can be used at any time on a first come first serve basis.  The Dumb-ass twins get some grillin' food and go to use the grill.  Some where between the cooking and all the smoking, Dumb decides to add a little kung fu fighting.

Now in between boggartin' the dubitch and being as fast as lightning, the dynamic duo managed to actually KNOCK OVER the top portion of the grill.  A little background info on the grill.  The grill component sits atop a pole through which the gas is fed via a pipeline.  If you removed the top/grill part, the pole and pipeline are still vertical.  And gas continues to flow.  Does anyone see how knocking the top portion off would not be the best option at a family pool late in the day on a Saturday?  Apparently not Dumb and Dumber because that's where they found themselves.  

Then as if being higher than Santa's Workshop on the map and engaging in property damage were not enough, the Fabulous Baked Boys try to LIGHT THEIR FARTS ON FIRE using the gas from the grill.  Much to their lack of understanding about the primal use of fire and methane, this experiment did not ignite.  At this point I will defer to the Great Chem Gods: Mjenks and Chemgeek on all things methane and combustion.  (Please see these two great combustion gurus for all your "blowing sh*t up" needs.)

Thanks to the good thinking on other pool goers part, the police were called, the gas turned off and Dumb & Dumber got to take a nice trip downtown.  although the way I hear it, they were not able to sit in the paddy wagon as their butt-patty melts were too singed.  Again ladies, these guys are out there and available.  I know we all will be just waiting in line for them to make bail.