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There once was a girl rather dumb
who dressed like a pirate for fun
she’d enter the bar
all a sudden yell arrr
then swallow seamen with her rum
Don’t forget to visit, share, and comment on these following poets pages as well:
Sweepy Jean Explores the (Webby) World
Sulekha Rawat: Memoirs
memoirs of a homemaker
One Time Pad
Thoughts Of Beauty In The Stillness Of Dawn…
YouTube Tuesday, adopted from Josh at Its Tiger Time, is a day set aside for sharing your favorite video.
Feel free to join in each week and see how creative we bloggers can be. Each month, Josh will highlight a selected video and present the winner with the ‘YouTube Tuesday’ Award.
If you participate, remember to leave your YouTube Tuesday link at Its Tiger Time as well as all the blogs you visit.
So, I know this video is an advertisement for the Hub channel but, I love it. The kids were watching cartoons and I stopped what I was doing to watch this when it came on. I started laughing hysterically because that is so me at the end of the video. I go all crazy and off-topic with my singing just like Bulkhead does. LMAO! Hope you enjoy our last YouTube Tuesday before Christmas.
February 6th, 2011 to be precise; and getting the call that my 33-year-old sister is in the hospital with Stage IV Breast Cancer. Fast forward two days to February 8th, 2011 and another phone call, “Your sister is dead.” Those moments were the most horrific moments of my life… that is until October 8th, 2011 when I spotted a massive lump in my breast. The pain was unimaginable; my paranoia was out of control… all I wanted was the pain to go away and for the lump to recede. All I wanted was a mammogram/ultrasound to tell me the lump was not cancerous. I wanted an answer immediately; that is what Emergency Rooms are for, aren’t they?
It was October 9th before I actually saw a doctor, those of you by my side through this whole ordeal you remember that from my earlier post, Breast Cancer Awareness Month: There’s a Lump in my Breast. I spent all day in a hospital bed before actually seeing a breast specialist on the 10th. Starving and thirsty from fasting, just in case there was to be a surgery, paranoid and restless from waiting to be seen, tired, cranky, in pain and tears… It was a day like no other as it was also the day that would have been my grandmother’s 75th birthday if Stomach/Liver Cancer had not taken her from our family 10 years ago. Just another typical day in the life of an atypical girl.
Luckily, I was released and sent home with antibiotics for the “we think it’s an” infection that I was diagnosed with. My inner cynical bitch cried; “Bullshit! If it’s just an infection where the f@ck is the pus?” Don’t mind her she has driven doctors and nurses to an early grave for a good part of her miserable adult life.
I was released the same day I saw a breast specialist; still don’t know why she is special when all she did was grope the twins but, hey it’s whatever at this point. I went into hiding for over a week, because that is what I do when I am stressed. I make up bullshit reasons about why I can’t come to the door, the phone, the laptop, or my senses and well most of you believe it so thank you all for that. LOL Honestly, I was tired for a good part of the week; any time I am forced to take a prescription, my brain fights back by telling my body to hibernate. It’s perfectly normal…for me!
I managed to scrape my weak body out of bed on Tuesday for a Mammogram at the breast specialist’s office. And after two hours of erect nipples in a cold office building in nothing more than a hospital gown, I am still wondering why she is so special. Let me start off by saying my husband did his part by taking me to the appointment and sitting there patiently waiting for me to be done. I also have to give him credit for not being a man and going all ape-shit over a chick groping
my twins err I mean, his twins. Because Lord knows one comment about that and I would have pulled out a tire iron and dumped his bloody ass in the Mississippi faster than you can spell it.
NOTE: I, Jenni being of somewhat sound mind and not quite sound but close body, swear that I was framed if by some cruel joke of Zeus that my husband, Luis ends up in the Mississippi River. In the immortal words of Jake Blues played by John Belushi in Blues Brothers…“Honest… I ran out of gas. I… I had a flat tire. I didn’t have enough money for cab fare. My tux didn’t come back from the cleaners. An old friend came in from out-of-town. Someone stole my car. There was an earthquake. A terrible flood. Locusts! IT WASN’T MY FAULT, I SWEAR TO GOD!”
Anyway, I digress. So, at the doctor’s office I waited for my mammogram where they take X-Rayesque pictures of your boobs with a machine that is 1- cold as a meat locker at the North Pole 2- as comfortable as wringing out your hand in an old-fashioned wringer washer (which I have done by the way), and 3- not intended for any woman with a cup size over C. (Which I have been over since 4th grade) If I ever doubted that my gargantuan bust-line needed a reduction, watching the poor nurse juggle my boob with two hands reminded me that I am indeed due for a reduction STAT! If you have never had a mammogram consider yourself lucky and if you have and you thought it was no biggie… please grow bigger boobs and a painful firm lump before getting your next one, thank you.
The nurse took two standard pictures, one the straight forward kind and the second with the machine angled which I imagine with a woman with normal sized breasts is supposed to catch more of a side view. They do this on both breasts for a total of 4 pictures. It is uncomfortable, it is cold, and it is ridiculously hilarious/embarrassing to watch a nurse juggle a boob that is bigger than her whole entire head. I was asked to take a seat while the radiologist checked my “close-ups.” When the nurse came back she asked me to step up to the machine again because well, my boobs are special and need extra pictures. *Wink wink* After the last juggling session, she told me to sit in the waiting room and wait to get another ultrasound done. By this time, more than an hour had passed and another woman was waiting for her turn at the Boob Camera. By the way, I was the youngest woman in the doctor’s office and in the mammogram waiting room. That alone f@cks with your head!
“Ok Jennifer, we are ready for you.” The woman beside me stands up as I go to stand up. Oh flippin great wouldn’t you know it…we’re both Jennifer’s. Stupid 60’s and 70’s. The nurse apologized to me as I told her that I was there waiting on an ultrasound, she assured me that this didn’t usually happen because well seriously what are the chances that two women in the breast lab would be blessed with the same exact first name? As much as I wanted to tell her, “I am more important, bow down to me now peasant!” my sense of humor was missing in action, because I was freaking out about the length of time I had already spent in the clinic.
Before long I was back in the doctor’s office with my husband, awaiting the 5 words that could make or break my life! Fortunately for me my doctor doesn’t like 5 word sentences and told me I’m all clear. I was instructed to come back in 6 months or sooner depending on the breast lump, which they still believe to be an infection…I however, have come to know it as the illegal alien. Because of my family history with cancers I have to get yearly mammograms now, oh yippie how I look forward to the smashing and juggling of my bresteses!!!
So there you have it folks… I am not afflicted with Breast Cancer. I will be around a long time to talk shit and be a general pain in the ass. Yea me! I once again want to thank all of you who sent me prayers, thoughts, and well wishes during my schizophrenic meltdown into the abyss of paranoia and hypochondria. To those of you who wish to offer me a donation for this extremely comedic post just give me the word; I am a paypal account away. *Wink*
Now, it is your turn… self-examine, mammogram ‘em, don’t be a disappointment just make an appointment and always take care of those boobies!
Oh and don’t forget to get involved and support Breast Cancer Awareness, preferably all year not just this month.
Time stands still for no man!
Isn’t that the truth? It just keeps tick tick ticking away while some of us wish it would slow down just enough for us to at least take a breath or catch up if only for a day. I would be grateful if my brain would slow down enough to focus on a single thought but, alas like time my brain stands still for no one including myself.
I have spent many a moment thinking… what to write, what to do, when will I get it done, when will I see my time come, where the Hell do I go from here, is anybody listening, what, who , when , why, how???
Questions were made to be asked or is that answered? HA and you thought I couldn’t confuse you. As you may have figured out by now, my brain is a vast and tangled web of incoming and outgoing knowledge. If I could just have one moment; a single solitary second to focus on one thought, one question that needs to be answered; it would be this…
If a person wears one outfit a day, how on Earth does the laundry triplicate?
Not exactly the thought of a genius, I know but, still a very worthy question indeed. I have tried to figure it out, I have called the Psychic Hotline and talked to Madam Knowsitall and I cannot for the life of me get a straight answer.
I spent $5000 just to find out that I will be a celebrated person both in writing and in whatever cause I take on. I have found out that I was born to a highly intelligent and rich family but, due to the unbalance of smart vs dumb people, I was given to a family of lower lifeforms. I also was informed that the world will end in 2020 but, that I shouldn’t spread that information freely or an outbreak of gun-toting morons will shoot up all the people who are supposed to survive and be transported to a new planet. I even learned that my sharp wit and sarcastic venomous tongue will piss off several groups of people but,unfortunately nobody can tell me why my laundry pile looks like a tornado passed through and dropped off 5 states worth of laundry in my basement and living room.
I thought these people knew it all? I could have sworn that these upstanding citizens with exceptional fortune-telling abilities could tell me my heart’s most unanswered desire? Am I wrong to think that someone who charges $9.99 for the first minute is not trust-worthy?
And again the questions pile up and my mind is off to the races once more. I am positive that my query will go unanswered until my death but, just in case let me call another psychic network to be sure. Can someone lend me a couple thousand until payday?
H-E-L-P !!! *gurgle gurgle* Someone throw me a life jacket or one of those fancy fruit loop looking things or a sexy life guard. Oh yesss throw me a sexy lifeguard please; a male, I don’t play well with women. NO, don’t throw me a male lifeguard I am distracted enough.
I am drowning here. Doesn’t anyone see me drowning? Doesn’t anyone see my arms flailing, my gasps of air and water gargled screams? Can you hear me now? Anyone?? Hellooo. Somebody?? Bueller…
It’s been a long couple of weeks and as I sit here I can’t help but, feel like I am drowning and in need of rescue. There is a million things I need to get done and I don’t know if I am presently not motivated or if being sick last week drained the hell out of me but, whatever it is something just doesn’t feel right. I think I have become a wee bit touched in the head.
It was nothing for me to kick out a few articles in a day now; I just can’t seem to figure out what I want to say, what really needs to be said or do I even need to say it anymore. I do not doubt myself or anything like that; I am just completely unfocused about everything in my life right now. I have apparently gone crazy.
There’s laundry to do, dishes, cleaning, organizing… I want to get out of the house with the kids at some point this summer and go to the Zoo, Science Center and festivals. I have articles and poems sitting in draft form needing to be finished. I have three books I am suppose to be working on. I have over 100 blogs I follow that need to be read because God knows they aren’t waiting for me to catch up. I have groceries to buy, dinners to fix and a life to live… yet I can’t seem to get up and git-er-dun…so to speak.
Is this what 36 feels like? Is it just my age coming in to play and not my totally scattered brain? I have tried scheduling myself, goals, appointment books full of what to do’s and still nothing. How am I going to fix my loopy mind and settle down and work like I should be?
And they’re coming to take me away Ha Ha they’re coming to take me away ho ho he he ha ha
to the funny farm where life is beautiful all the time, and I’ll be happy to see those nice young men in their clean white coats and they’re coming to take me away ha ha
When I was about 13 years old we spent our usual court appointed three weeks during the summer at my mom’s house. Mom was working during the day so she decided to drop Jess, Rion and me off at her aunt’s house; good ol Aunt Janet, my grandmother’s younger sister.
I grew up around my aunt on and off during my life but, mostly it was when I was younger because we lived a couple of blocks away from her in Flint. When I got older my aunt became disabled and was in a wheelchair for many years from diabetes and her plethora of other medical conditions. Although she was fairly sick most of the time that I was ever around her, she never failed to crack us up when we visited. We would spend hours listening to her talk about her youth and all her comical adventures. Some of them seemed too funny to be true but, we never called her a liar because the stories were definitely side-splitting hilarious and we were just children so who were we to say they didn’t happen.
On one particular day we; Jess, Rion, Aunt Janet and I were all sitting in the kitchen at the table talking and eating ice cream. After awhile Aunt Janet tells us this one story that I will always remember for the rest of my life; here is what she said…
“When I was a girl I went out on a date with this nice Italian gangster, he picked me up and we went to his family’s restaurant for dinner; I had spaghetti. Time seemed to fly by while talking with him and his family. At one point the conversation became so intriguing that I forgot about my spaghetti, I was just winding and winding and winding it around my fork and when I lifted my fork to take a bite… there was no pasta on my plate, it was all on the fork!!! It was the size of a baseball.”
My siblings and I busted out laughing…my aunt knew how to tell a story and her facial expressions along with her hand gestures were downright entertaining. She had been twisting her hand like she was actually winding the spaghetti on the fork and her mouth dropped open as she lifted her hand to her face.
I am very fortunate to have spent quite a bit of time with my Aunt Janet before she passed away in 2001. Every time I eat spaghetti I recant the story she told us and laugh half way through dinner!! And don’t even get me started singing that parody song of On Top of Old Smokey. LOL
It’s been hot as Satan’s scrotum outside for over a week and even though I have the AC running I am sweaty my ass off…… inside the freaking house. That is just unfreakinnatural if you ask me.
Even after dark it’s still hot enough where the AC is working overtime. I dread my electric bill next month; it took us forever to start catching up on the gas bill from the furnace running all winter.
I am almost half tempted to buy a plastic pool and a sprinkler and set up a water park in the basement. I don’t think my landlord will mind.
Think of the fun the kids and I could have…. Swimming now, ice skating in winter.
Oh yea I can’t see a downside to this.
We could wear our clothes and I could throw in bubbles….wooooo haha instant washing of the clothes. Plus the floors would be spotless from the water and soap. I really think this could work.
I could put the pool at the bottom of the stairs and a slip n slide on the stairs….. weeeeeee splash.
Ok maybe…. this isn’t a good idea, with my luck I would break my neck on the way down. I might even make it to the pool and then knock myself out on the cement.
I have fallen down many stairs before and I don’t want to do that again. Broken toes and twisted ankles are not fun. Then there are always scrapes, bruises and potential concussions. I am bummed now…. Looks like I get to experience a bummer summer after all.
By the way kiddies don’t do this in your parent’s basement…..unless you ask them first that is.
Can somebody find me a contractor; I don’t want to lose my security deposit.
Note: This was written and published Nov. 24, 2010. I am editing the title so I’m hoping it doesn’t change the date but, who knows.
T’was the day of Thanksgiving and all through the house
the women were prepping and cursing their spouse.
Outside it was cold with lots of snowflakes
the turkey was chillin all ready to bake.
The hubbie’s all lazy sat fat on their ass
doing nothing but drinking beer from a glass.
They were screaming and whining about the tv
til one vile man started a game of fartsy.
The stench of bean dip now filled up the room
when all of a sudden there was a loud boom.
One idiot had said “hey let’s see if this works”
then they picked up a candle like adolescent jerks.
Big Fred bent over in front of the flame
then his pants caught on fire because of his aim.
The men started squealing like wee little pigs
trying to put out the fire by dancing a jig.
“Stop, drop and roll, you absurd little twit”
all of the men dropped til the fire had quit.
The women all standing looking in awe
started laughing hysterically at them all.
The men didn’t laugh they just got off the floor
walked back to the couch to check on the score.
The women returned to the kitchen to finish
which prompted their laughter to diminish.
Now people I warn you with candles don’t play
cuz nobody wants to be homeless on Thanksgiving day.
|Happy Thanksgiving everyone.|
E thug this, E thug that
how G can you be typing in a chat.
Clickity clack your fingers are flying
if you say you’re somebody you must be lying.
Making E threats, shooting blanks
does your army come with little plastic tanks?
The royalty of roasting, you must smoke crack
to think you do damage from a keyboard attack.
Ain’t nobody hurting except maybe your hand
chronic carpal tunnel hope you got an insurance plan.
You can’t win a war from a keyboard
but when it comes to spamming you get the award.
The net is so great it let’s you pretend
but, your life still sucks when your library time comes to an end.