I AM KHALEESI.

Found this gem in my Reddit account.

It's old.

But still funny.

You guys wanna hear some really funny stuff? Earlier I posted about problem clients and having gallbladder pain.

I had been texting boyfriend all day asking about his gallbladder removal experience because hey, sometimes you need a friend, amiright? He's older, experienced with...aging...I figured he could at least talk me through it.

And it was bad. It friggin hurt. Boyfriend was on standby... Literally. Waiting for me to be done to whisk me off to the ER. I was doubled over. It was rough.

I finished three of the five -- it was originally four -- clients (the color one tried to haggle a la 'my mom is the manager at Sally's ::rotflmao::) and rescheduled the remaining two for tomorrow. Immediately collapsed. In pain. Felt like an alien trying to claw it's way out of my guts in between my ribs. Like giving birth to a dragon, if you will.

After ten minutes of me just lying there, clutching my (abundant) stomach, boyfriend demands an er visit. So we go.

Taken back immediately and did the whole 'no, I'm not pregnant, pee in a cup, get arm stabbed by tortuous phlebotomist who was overtired from sex and visiting a brother locked up in atl the night before' routine. Dr. comes in, touches my belly while I wince, and giggles and says, "I hope you like sur-ger-yyyy!!"

Now I am afraid. I am sweating. Hard. Get a series of xrays. Return to bed. Clutch belly. Whine about aliens and dragons. Get a shot of Demerol. GET EXCITED ABOUT GIVING BIRTH TO A DRAGON BECAUSE I AM KHALEESI, MOTHER OF DRAGONS.

Nurse comes in. I'm still pretty messed up... And says, "We have your official diagnosis. And it's gonna be OK. I promise." Hands boyfriend three prescriptions. I ask, "Wait...what? THERE ARE DRAGONS IN HERE THAT NEED TO BE BORN!" "Indeed," she said.

"You've been diagnosed as FOS."

I am CONFUSED. "FOS?"

"Full Of Shit." Deadpan. I GOT TOLD I WAS FULL OF SHIT.

TL/DR: I am beyond constipated (thanks holidays and not having time to poop) and now my boyfriend will have endless poop jokes to make for all eternity. And will always make sure I took my Miralax.

Happy Holidays!

K

Tinder Dates and Epic Failures

I decided to download Tinder.

    I know. I KNOW. I know. Trust me, I know.

But it was (basically) for shits and giggles, so why the fuck not? I'm grown-ish. So I downloaded the app. I was sick to death of reading about this treacherous app, the horrible dates, the awful dick pics, and not being able to see for myself. Ya'll know me, I'm curious.

The first five minutes I had the app I had secured my first Tinder Date! What was the Big Fucking Deal everyone was whining about? I had no clue. I really didn't.

So I agreed to an afternoon of kayaking with a really nice looking older-ish guy, Kayak Guy. Kayak Guy was in his 40's (definitely in my wheelhouse) and was really really respectful. Not at all what I had been led to expect. So I agreed to a date. Kayaking is pretty innocent, amiright?

NO. NO IT IS NOT.

Kayak Guy picks me up at my place ( I KNOW, I should have told him to meet me somewhere public. Shit guys, my bad.) He picks me up in a Jeep CJ5 -- I LOVED HIS JEEP. I'm pretty sure that's why I even talked to him in the first place. That Jeep was dope as fuck. Kayak Guy picked me up and drove me over to his place to pick up the kayaks. He seemed pretty normal (as far as internet dates go, anyway). We talked about life, kids, jobs, and Jeeps. Normal shit. He seemed pretty comfortable, I was pretty comfortable, it was working! I was thinking, "THE FUCK, GUYS?! TINDER PEOPLE ARE NORMAL."

We talked about our shared love of craft beer and decided to make a pit stop at the local beer snob store. Discovered we both loved the same beers and we admittedly went a little nuts at the store, buying a case and a half of beer. Yep. A case and a half.

We head to his place. His house was HUGE. Legit, HUGE. He had kids, but not 100% of the time. His house was very....impressive. And pretty intimidating, because, you know, I live with my mom. By choice. Yeah.

So we are chilling at the house and pre-gaming a few beers. I make friends with his cute ass little dog, Dog, and I ask if Dog can come with us. (he was really fucking cute) We load up.

He's already got the kayaks ready, and he's told me that he's an Engineer with the Government. (I was scared. THE GOVERNMENT) so I totally trusted his tie-downs and the like. He even offered for me to drive his Jeep! Of course I turned it down because WHAT IF I LOOKED STUPID AND FUCKED UP SWITCHING THE GEARS? I cannot have that! Nope. So he tossed me the keys to his GOVERNMENT ISSUED TRUCK -- which had the kayaks in the back -- and we were on our way.

Sort of.

While I was backing out of his driveway I accidentally ran over his neighbor's STONE MAILBOX. Made of STONE.
BIG. ASS. STONE.
On top of destroying his neighbor's big fucking mailbox, I ram the mailbox so hard with one of the kayaks that it SHATTERS the back glass in his government issued truck.

OH MY FUCK. FUCK MY LIFE. WHAT THE FUCK DID I JUST DO?

Thankfully, he hops out of the Jeep laughing, so I start laughing too. The neighbor comes out, and he's laughing as well. I was completely embarassed. I have never, in my life, managed to destroy not only a person's property, but THE GOVERNMENT'S PROPERTY AND THEIR NEIGHBOR'S PROPERTY TOO.

All I could think about was, "This is exactly why I downloaded Tinder. I knew it was gonna be weird. I know how awkward I am. Just be cool."

Kayak Guy and The Neighbor decide on when/where they are going to fix the mailbox and we are on our way kayaking.

The actual kayaking part was FUN. I would LOVE to do this again! I made a complete ass out of myself by falling out of the kayak several times, and I STILL, nearly three months later, have bruises from it, but I very much enjoyed myself.

SOMEONE TAKE ME KAYAKING

I PROMISE I WON'T BASH YOUR VEHICLE OR YOUR NEIGHBOR'S MAILBOX. PROBABLY.

So far, so *meh* for the Tinder Dates.

K

The Big Little Mermaid

When I was a kid my Dad would take us on fancy ass vacations to make up for all the time he never spent with us. We didn't know they were fucking fancy vacations because we grew up like that. We had no concept of money. We just knew the nannies travelled with us and we went to all sorts of badass places.

One particular Summer trip our family went to Destin, FL....I think. Maybe it was Miami. I can't remember. I was 11 years old, chubby as hell, weird gangly, jacked up teeth, big ass Coke bottom glasses....I looked a hot mess. I was totally interested in boys but they were not interested in me. And I understood. Didn't even really blame them because, well, I wouldn't wanna kiss 11 year old me either.

But this one particular vacation, I met a boy. Elliott. There were several pools in the resort we were staying at but I had a favorite. It was the night time pool area, the one where you have a couple pools indoors that are heated + a hot tub....that was my SPOT. All the hot chicks were all sunburned and inside or out at a bar or something so I had it all to myself.

The night before my family was set to leave, I was taking my nightly swim. Then this boy came up to me while I was still in the pool. He asked if I minded if he went swimming in the pool too. He looked to be probably my age and he looked nerdy as fuck. Which meant kissable in my eyes. (heh...still does) So Elliott hops in the water and starts swimming around, introducing himself, talking about school, etc. His parents have stationed themselves at the far end of the swimming pool, so we had privacy.

He asks me about my school, and I explain about my former science teacher, Mrs. Dishman. We picked on her at school because she wasn't a traditionally beautiful woman. And she was kind of mean. But it was probably because the students hated her. We would call her 'Mrs. Dish Pan Booger Flicker', and looking back on it, we could have done better. We could have been more creative.

Anyway, I tell Elliott about the nickname and the kid laughs so hard he starts sucking water into his throat and lungs, choking like hell. I laughed, I thought he was playing.

He was not.

Elliott choked so hard on the water from my simple story that his parents had to dive into the pool, drag his now limp body to the cement and commence CPR. After about a minute he rolled over and puked into the pool. He had eaten shrimp, obviously. He was completely white and had blue lips and black hair and I thought, "I can't believe I would have kissed that guy. He just puked everywhere. Gross."

I had no concern for his well being, just that he had barfed and it was disgusting.

This is why I worry about my child growing up.

This. Is. Why. I. Worry.

So, there's this girl....

Agoraphobia.

Agoraphobia.

Agoraphobia.

Agoraphobia.

I feel like if I say it enough times it might not be an actual word that actually applies to me.

Except it does. 

For the people that know me IRL, I know you're looking all weird right now, faces all screwed up like "Dafuq is she even talking about?" But it's true. It's horribly true. Except maybe it isn't.

I don't have a legitimate fear of leaving my home. At all. As long as I have someone with me. I do not like to leave my home alone, not even to put gas i am n my car. I will often wait for my Peanut to get off the bus to go out and handle stupid little tasks like that because I won't have to be by myself. 

I'm not afraid to be alone. In fact, I spend the majority of my time quite alone. Except when I'm working, which is kind of always....but you know how you can still be very alone, even in a room full of people? Yeah. I do that. 

I don't have panic attacks over leaving my house. I have some basic anxiety but it's pretty mild. I just find myself unable to just get out. 

The therapist -- who is awesome, may I just say -- says it may be agoraphobia. I don't totally get it. I mean, yes, I don't like to leave my home alone. Some of the best times in my life have been had while riding in cars with other people. One of my most favorite activities is a lazy Sunday drive to nowhere with loud music and windows down. (yes, I am a basic bitch. Thank you for noticing)

I'm just not uber-positive I have a full blown case of agoraphobia. Maybe it's just laziness, or depression. It could be both. 

I have been super fucking proactive about my mental state lately though. I went on a bender one night after my birthday and got just white girl wasted, and while I'm not proud of it, I feel it is necessary to bring it up and keep bringing it up so as to serve as a reminder to not be that douchecanoe. I am taking my medication every day. I am scheduling biweekly appointments with a therapist. I think that I am prepared to learn some new methods of dealing with being a bipolar person.  And PTSD. Because that shit is strong, ya'll. I seriously don't know how I functioned for so long in such a crazy and emotionally and physically painful marriage and survive. But I did and I came out of it kind of fucked up. And now I'm doing something about it. 

I'm scared, though. I'm afraid it isn't quite enough. I'm afraid of walking down this road and not gaining any useful insight, or not learning anything. I am terrified of people judging me, which is exactly why I just make all my blog posts public. No need or ability to lie about where I am in life, who I am, what's going on with me. No hiding. This is kind of a part of my own personal therapy plan. If it's entertaining, well, fuck yeah. That rocks. I fucking hope it is, I've got some damn funny stories. 

There's some really sad shit too, though. I'll address it all. But for the most part, this is like.....and version of eJournal. One that my therapist can access because I suck at taking notes on myself, so, yeah. Here ya go miss Therapist Lady. You're fucking welcome.