Rob here, posting for our favourite girl, who is currently “busy”.
By busy of course, I mean pooping.
It’s been a strange and horrible adventure, with an interesting journey to Shoppers for suppositories, errrr, Medical Devices, Chips & Dip, with a bunch of prunes finally clearing the way.
Expect a victory post from my sweetie later on, when she’s not beating a path to the toilet quite as often.
… and counting. It hasn’t happened yet.
Spooky.
I promise, I’m going to see my doctor. I’ve done all the natural stuff, prune juice, so much water, extra fiber, etc etc etc and ain’t nothin movin. Even tried some stuff we bought from the pharmacy. So to the doctor we shall go. But not right now. Because it’s 8:21 at night. Right now I am playing a video game (yes, I’m 28) and waiting patiently for Medium to come on.
(No, not the poop 
Oh lord, I have to stop fixating on that. Okay. I’ve stopped. No more. Now on to the best subject ever: You guys!)
How often have I said that the people who read this blog are the coolest people ever? Hm. Well, I probably haven’t said it all that often, because well, when do you have the opportunity to slip that into conversation? “Hey, mom, did you know that the people who read my blog? The blog you don’t even know exists? Well, those people are the coolest people ever!”
Not only do you read my crazy mental meanderings and not judge me (or, if you do, well, you don’t tell me about it, which is just hunky dory with me), not only do you put up with endless posts about poop and actually offer help on that, not only do you actually seem to enjoy my hairlessness, but you’re all pretty damn spiffy writers yourselves. I love reading your blogs (well, those I know about *coughifyou’rereadingthisandIdonthaveyoulinkedyouaresupposedtoletmeknowsothatIcanlinkyoucough*) and I feel (okay, this is weirdly mushy and perhaps strangely geeky? I don’t know) kind of like we’re all buddies, you know? I mean, I wouldn’t just show up unannounced at your door at 3 am and expect you to let me crash on your couch (yes, this has actually happened. And I actually let the person stay. Of course at 7 am I was like “You’ve gotta go now. I’m leaving for work. You don’t gotta go home, but you can’t stay here”), but yeah. You’re my friends! Whether you like it or not!
Sigh.
On the same vein… A few weeks ago when I was having a mental breakdown about not having any money and not being able to pay bills and all that stuff (insurance STILL hasn’t kicked in, the arses… I don’t suppose it would make them go any faster if I went to their offices and started begging for spare change?) a couple of you were nice beyond my wildest dreams. I never imagined that people I’ve never even seen in real life would do nice things for strangers like moi. One such person requested that s/he be left unnamed, so… Unnamed Person, thank you. Another person didn’t request that she be left unnamed, but didn’t request that she not be left unnamed, so uhm… Thank you, Heidi! There, if you want me to take your name down, you have to tell me.
And Calla? Thank YOU!!! I got a wonderful little package from Amazon today– a CD that I’ve been dying to have, but we haven’t been able to afford extras in… eh, forever, let’s say. So, thank you Calla, because having a little something new in your life is just a really nice treat. Yeah, can you tell I’m totally into retail therapy?
I want to thank everyone for your kind suggestions — please rest assured that I am drinking tons of water, eating so much bran it’s insane (well, okay. I already had Bran Buds in the house because weirdly I think they taste good, so I just started eating more of them), and have put in a call to my dr’s office although there are no appointments available today so hopefully by the time I can have an appointment with her this whole thing will be over with. My mother, child of the 50s that she is, wants me to go out and buy some castor oil. Which leads me to a question.
What is castor oil made from? Is it made from beavers? Because the french word for beaver (the animal, you preeeverts) is “castor”. I’m not sure I want to ingest squeezed rodent juice.
Know what? I know that this is a subject that is not befitting gentlemanly conversation, and most of you could probably not care less about my Bathroom Issues, but this is starting to be ridiculous. Of course I don’t want to gross people out so be warned that AFTER THE MORE LINK DISCUSSION ABOUT MY BOTTOM SYSTEM WILL BE THERE IN PLAIN SIGHT FOR YOU TO SEE AND READ AND KNOW AND IF YOU WANT TO CLICK ON THAT THEN YOU HAVE TAKEN ON THE RESPONSIBILITY OF KNOWING ABOUT MY BATHROOM ISSUES AND YOU MAY NOT BLAME ME OR SAY “OH GROSS, HOW COULD YOU TALK ABOUT THAT?!”. Because I warned you!
So I’m watching some Quality Daytime Television when a commercial comes on for one of those LA Weightloss Slimfast whatever whatever Eat Chocolate All Day And Lose Weight diets. Fine, whatever. Pictures of a fat person, then the same person in a bikini with, oh-so-believably, no stretch marks, full make-up, and an amazing tan. Par for the course. “I lost 98 pounds in just one week!”-type exclamations. We’re not supposed to notice the “Results are not typical. Please consult your physician” disclaimer in tiiiiiny print at the bottom of the page. Okay okay. That’s not what I set out to grouse about. Here’s the main reason for this post:
One lady says “I was a size 18… and now I’m a SIZE 4!!!!”
Okay, good for you.
“When I was that fat, I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t even play with my kids”.
Uhm, I’ve been a size 18, and have been fully capable of playing with kids and… well, whatever. Not my point.
Video of the lady running around with a 4 year old and an 8 year old.
“My kids used to think I was yucky. Now I can do so many things with my kids that I never could before. And the best part? The kids think Mommy’s sexy now!”
Wait a second. Back that up. THE KIDS. THINK MOMMY’S SEXY NOW. Those were her exact words. Scripted? I don’t know. Maybe, maybe not. But who thought that would be a good marketing ploy?
“Hey, want your four-year-old and eight-year old to think you’re SEXY? Yeah, there’s nothing at all wrong with that! Eat our brownies! You’ll lose weight! AND THE FRUIT OF YOUR LOINS WILL THINK YOU’RE SEXUALLY ATTRACTIVE!”
First of all, if the best part of your day is when a FOUR YEAR OLD tells you you’re sexy? Then you’ve got other issues aside from your weight.
Secondly, why do a four-year-old and an eight-year-old even know the word sexy? Call me a prude, no seriously go ahead, but when I was eight, “sexy” wasn’t in my vocabulary. And if I heard it, I certainly didn’t know what it meant. If I had, I would have been mortified to use it.
Third- why teach your child that thin = sexy (good) and fat = yucky (not good)? For the love of God. Sure, teach your children to eat well and exercise, but appearance is not everything. *pounds head on wall*
Okay, maybe I’m just having a bit of an issue with this commercial. I own that, I accept it. But um…
…ew!
I’m feeling MUCH BETTER now. The barfing and other bodily ‘splosions are finished. The headache? Gone-o. I’m still feeling a little… weird? Weak? Well not really WEAK, just… weird. I don’t know. Anyway whatever I’m feeling right now, it’s better than I felt yesterday and WAY better than I felt the day before. So ha.
And no, I’m not pregnant, young lady.
Anyway. Right now I’m listening to DNTO (CBC radio RULES!!!!) and a few minutes ago, when I was in the kitchen preparing my oatmeal (I love oatmeal. Oh lord. For the past week, two weeks, I’ve been like “Oatmeal is my life!” Breakfast and lunch? Oatmeal. Supper? Whatever), they played Groove is in the Heart by Deee-Lite.
I must apologize to Judd Nelson and Emilio Estevez for having to witness the subsequent full-on dancing and ass-shaking that went on there. The song came out when I was 13, and was like, the hugest hit on Open House Party with John Garabedian. Hmmm, I found a website for it. I hadn’t heard that show in years!
Anyway, I danced. The skinny piggies were Not Amused and in fact went and hid in their houses. Then came out, because hey, I was in the kitchen, maybe I was getting them something to eat.
Also? ALSO? CBC RADIO RULES!
I adore Blue Rodeo. Like, True Love. And right now the CBC is playing sets from their 20th birthday party concert. Later on Sarah Harmer is going to be on (I frantically emailed Jessica a freaky stalkeresque email saying “Hurry up! Listen to the CBC! Sarah Harmer!!!”
Insert segue here
Something I don’t understand is how come really good Cdn. bands like BR and the Hip and the Be Good Tanyas haven’t really made any headway into the US, when crappy Alanis “Too Hot” Morissette has. Not that I… well, I kind of like having them as our little secret. They should still make tons more money, that’s all. And also, they should come and perform at my house.
None of that is too much to ask for.
Don’t read this if barfing bothers you.
So for the past couple of weeks, I have been having very strange dreams. Most of them have involved our impending nuptials, but not all. Still though, here’s a quick run-through.
Dream the First: Somehow it had gotten to be a week before our wedding day and Rob and I had made absolutely no preparations. We hadn’t sent out invitations or anything. Neither of us had clothing, a dress, a tux, nothing. We had no location chosen, no food prepared. However we HAD to get married on that day.
Fast forward (you know how dreams go) to the day BEFORE the wedding and my mother has sewn me a gorgeous wedding dress– only it’s black. I try to get her to make me a white one (because she did manage to make this black one in 13 minutes) and she started yelling at me (which my mother never does) “DO YOU THINK I’M MADE OF CLOTH?!!!”. So I put on the black wedding dress. Then I had to run down a dirt road to go find Rob, who for some reason was getting dressed in a trailer — and my dress got all this dirt all over it. Whatever. Next thing I know we’re in the middle of the woods, jumping over ponds and frogs and things, trying to get to the spot where we’re supposed to get married. And there are like, 4000 people there waiting to see. Then I woke up.
Dream the Second: We invited people to come to our wedding, but we didn’t tell them where it was. So we got married in a hotel restaurant and there were people there we didn’t know, like, hotel guests, who were complaining that we were disturbing their peace because we were wearing clothes that were too fancy for them. I gave them the finger (one of them was my grade 9 math teacher) and then woke up.
Dream the Third: In this dream there was nothing at all about weddings. Basically it was just me and Christian Slater, hanging around talking about Emilio Estevez and Judd Nelson and whether Rob and I should give them middle names. Then in the dream I tripped over something and fell over. I woke up, and found that I had fallen out of bed and was trapped between the bed and the wall. Rob was fast asleep and hadn’t noticed the crash, but I started whining at him and he helped me get back in bed. I have never ever fallen out of bed in my life.
Dream the Fourth: Normal wedding, everything’s beautiful. Only Martin Mull is one of my bridesmaids and at the reception I dance with my mother and we keep spinning around and around and around until I’m soooooo dizzy.
Also I dreamt that my brother’s new baby (who is due in August 2005) was there. One month old (which makes no sense since we’re getting married in Aug. ’06… but whatever), and was already capable of speaking and had all his teeth. So I asked him what his name was and he said his name was Taylor Hayden Hockeypuck M******. Then my sister found a baby out behind my parents’ chicken coop (very strange– when my family moved into that house, there was a chicken coop there. We never kept chickens and tore that thing down like, 8 years ago) and gave it to Rob and I as a wedding present. This baby was a girl and was a normal baby.
I don’t really want any dream analysis here, and I realize those were pretty boring dreams, come to think of it. I just wanted to get the boob post off the top of the page because it looks like people don’t exactly approve of it and I’m kind of whatevery about it right now anyway.
I’ve been trying to call my doctor to make an appointment. For like, FOREVER. Well, since 11:45. It’s 1:00 now. I get put on hold. For half an hour. Then I call again twelve seconds later and the machine picks up saying that it’s lunch hour and no one will be answering the phone. So my thought is… did they put me on hold, then leave me there and go for lunch? Weird, weird, weird.
Okay that’s all.
To those of you who’re contemplating duct taping their boobs together (dude. Have you seen the picture?!) even after I warned you not to because it HURTS: apparently you are supposed to stick the duct tape to a towel first before sticking it to yourself. Just so that you don’t cause yourself permanent skin damage. Good to know.