I can still use my middle finger

Posted on February 20, 2012 by

Well, my year of freak medical maladies continues.  Last night while attempting to shove a cardboard box into the outdoor trash bin, I sprained my left thumb.  My thumb! On my left hand! The one I write with.  I didn’t even know it was possible to sprain your thumb.  That is until it actually happened and I almost passed out by the trash bin after screaming loud enough to wake up the whole neighborhood.

The Southerner wrapped my hand in this make-shift bandage (ie. old pair of pantyhose) and tried to refrain from laughing at me.  Just a few days ago, he made the comment “if I were an insurance company and saw your name on the list of potential insurees, I would run like hell.” At which point I scoffed and reminded him that I only go to the doctor for two reasons: 1. I need birth control and they will not renew your prescription unless you go for an annual visit.  2.  I learn that there is a possibility that I might have crotch cancer (Which, by the way, I don’t. Yay!).

For all other medical emergencies, I have him.  Duh.  He didn’t go to medical school for nothing, right?

Not being able to use the thumb on my dominant hand is trying my patience at the moment.  It turns out that your thumb is a really important part of making your whole hand work.  Who would have known! It’s only what makes us human after all.

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Wedding planning

Posted on February 15, 2012 by

We  decided to get married in Montana.  We decided to only invite family and a very few handful of friends. More importantly, I decided to grow my bangs out.  These decisions took HOURS.  Hours of my life that I could’ve used to finish watching the 4th season of Sons of Anarchy.  Instead, I’ve only made it to episode 5.

The worst part is I’m the biggest culprit.  I eat, breathe, and sleep wedding with the intermittent thought thrown in there for good measure about the five graduate courses I’m currently taking. The Southerner can’t get a word in without me asking him what he would think if I handmade our invitations so they looked like airline tickets (FAIL).  Yeah, let’s send the guests an invitation that reminds them of how much it’s actually costing to attend the wedding.

When I was little, I never dreamed of being a bride.  I didn’t play with frilly dolls or envision white-picket fences. I was busy kicking Hordak’s ass in my She-ra Princess of Power castle.  And let’s just get this out there since my mother takes every opportunity to remind me of it: Hello, my name is Queen Savage and I’ve been married before.  I already have a very decent set of silverware and plates, or at least half a set of plates and silverware.  Wouldn’t that be funny? If instead of registering (which I DO NOT want to do despite massive pressure on all fronts), I just asked people if they could perhaps replace the half of the silverware I lost in my first marriage?  I think that would be a fucking riot. But airline ticket invitations once seemed like a great idea too.

This is the disclaimer part of this post where I explain how happy and full of very loving feelings I am about marrying the Southerner. That sometimes on my way to school I get this weird wet feeling in my left eye because I’ve been daydreaming about walking down an aisle toward the Southerner.That the Southerner has been AMAZING throughout this whole process and I am quite pleased about becoming his old lady.  It’s just the planning I’m bitching about.

It feels like wedding planning is a test that you have to pass in order to get married.  Are you really good at offending people and/or making fake happy noises as you open the hundredth set of champagne flutes you’ve received over the course of the last two hours? You pass!  Do you know how to fit 30 guests into a ranch that only houses 20? DOUBLE-PASS! You are a wedding dominatrix! Your name will live on in the annals of Martha Stewart history from this day forward! WAY-TO-GO!

For right now, I’m focusing on the fun stuff: researching huckleberry cupcake recipes, making Brother J my man of honor, thinking of all the people the Southerner and I love being in one place for one weekend, and that weird wet substance in my left eye.

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Gasparilla

Posted on February 3, 2012 by

I think this picture about sums up last weekend’s Gasparilla festival in Tampa.

The Southerner and I woke up at 7am last Saturday, put on our best pirate costumes, and boarded the Starlight cruise in St. Pete.  The Starlight is a riverboat cruise from St. Pete to Tampa that includes breakfast, lunch and dinner, while giving you an awesome view of all the Gasparilla festivities.  Mainly, you get to be a part of the amazing flotilla into Channelside, Tampa.

We quickly learned that we were the youngest members of the Starlight crew by about 30 years, but that didn’t mean that we weren’t ready to play a mean game of Bingo on our way into Tampa!  Actually, we sucked at Bingo.  Who the hell knew there were so many variations? And it’s a little hard to keeps tabs on your numbers when you’re seeing double from those three mimosas you had at 8am.  Not to mention that given the mean age of your boat members, breakfast was a bran muffin that’s already sent you to the bathroom several times.  Hello, Starlight, I ALREADY go to the bathroom several times a day.  I didn’t really need any extra incentive.

Speaking of our elderly population and their interesting proclivities.  The closer we got to Tampa, the more some of the women in surrounding boats began to take their tops off.  And the more excited some of my elderly male shipmates began to get.  One skeezer in particular began to shout “Take it off!” “Show me your titties!” “Take it all off!”  IN FRONT OF HIS WIFE.  Over and over again.  And over again.  I actually took video but I feel that it would be unfair to post it.  Unfair to his wife, who honestly didn’t seem to mind.  Maybe, she thought she might get laid that night.  I hear pirate sex can get kind of kinky.  I, for one, could not stop asking the Southerner to show me his booty.

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A few of my favorite things

Posted on January 26, 2012 by

I received several gifts for Christmas that I absolutely loved.  These gifts comprised items that I would put in the “I’ve never seen this before but it’s been missing my entire life” category.  Here are a few of them:

1.  Pole dancer alarm clock.  Now, when my alarm goes off in the mornings it happens to sexy stripper music, flashing lights, and a rotating disco ball.  If you don’t have one of these, you don’t know what you’re missing.  Thank you, Southerner.

2.  Nike neon/gray trainers. Before Brother J gave me these shoes, I would not have been caught dead wearing sneakers outside of the gym.  Now, I hope I’m buried in them.

3.  Praying Mantis Kit.  Another item I can cross of my life list.

2011-12-23 14.51.45.jpg

4.  My engagement ring.  It’s a black diamond set in a band that the Southerner designed himself.  I absolutely love it. I especially love when someone notices it, yanks my hand forward with an “Oh my God, where did you get that!” and I get to tell them our story.

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Weekend in Sarasota

Posted on January 23, 2012 by

We revived our failed New Year’s plan this weekend and visited Sarasota, Florida.  We stayed at the Indigo Hotel (walking distance to downtown) in this lovely room:

The Southerner and I both agreed that the hotel was very nice, but extremely overpriced.  If we visited Sarasota again, we would stay elsewhere. Although, let me just tell you that given the fact that I was pretty much sick all weekend, that bed tray was almost worth the nightly cost.  So was the Whole Foods within walking distance of the hotel.  I find that cherry-cheese danishes and lattes in bed make me feel better a whole lot faster.

During the day, I wandered in a feverish haze around downtown Sarasota, familiarizing myself with the local shops. By night, the Southerner and I ate several delicious pizzas and listened to great live music at the Gator Club.  We weren’t entirely sold on Sarasota, but we enjoyed our weekend.  Especially the live music at the Gator Club.  The morning after we went there, I woke up to several text messages I’d drunkenly sent myself with the band’s playlist so that I’d remember them for wedding planning.  See, sometimes drunk texting is a good idea.

My absolute favorite part of the whole trip: stumbling into this boy-band during the Saturday morning farmer’s market on Main Street.  Their instruments were entirely made out of “found objects,” and my fourteen-year-old inner-child was totally crushing on their inventiveness and dreamy hipster looks.

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Men, avert your eyes

Posted on January 23, 2012 by

2012 appears to be the year of medical maladies.  This morning, I had to have a procedure called a colposcopy.  My gyno recommended the colposcopy after my annual visit a few weeks ago yielded abnormal pap smear results.  A friend of mine likened getting a colposcopy to having your throat pinched through YOUR VAGINA.  Yay! So, for the past few weeks I’ve been living in fear for my vagina and in fear of the big C.  At least my New Year’s resolution to quit smoking got a hell of a lot easier.

For women who have to get a colposcopy and want to know what it’s like: it’s uncomfortable and makes you continually curse the fact that you were born a woman and this is your plight.  Your gyno inserts a metal telescope into your crotch and looks around in there for what seems like a really long time.  In my case, the doc also decided she needed to take a couple of biopsies around the cervix-area.  These did not hurt at all.  However, the doc demonstrated considerable surprise that I did not seem to be in any pain, so I guess it might be painful for other women.  Then, I also needed an endocervical biopsy (because I’m extra fucking special) which was like having someone rake the leaves inside your vagina.

Overall, the colposcopy is uncomfortable but not especially painful.  If you have to have one and your scared, feel free to contact me with questions.  I highly recommend going to McDonald’s for a Big Mac immediately following your visit.  It will make you and your vagina feel much better.

Results in on Friday.  Please think good thoughts for me.

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2012, so far you’re the pits

Posted on January 18, 2012 by

As in, literally, the Southerner and I have rashes under our armpits and other nefarious places right now.

The Southerner went out of town last week and returned this Sunday with a small pimple-like bump under his left pit.  I kept asking him if he wanted me to pop it, thinking that this might get him to stop making those weird whiny noises men make when they don’t feel well, but for some reason he refused.

Monday morning, I awoke with a feeling of extreme discomfort under my left pit and a tiny pimple-like bump.  The Southerner now had a bump under each arm in addition to a rash on his cute Southern bootie.  As he described the rash to me over the phone and I told him about my armpit, I noticed that my ankles were starting to feel funny, almost itchy.  Hello, rash city.

As an afterthought, I called my dad and warned him to be on the lookout for butt rashes and pimply armpits since he was the last person in contact with us.  Only to get a call from Dad a little while later. He too had a rash under his armpits! WTF!

The Southerner spent hours looking up our symptoms on Web MD, rattling off a list of diseases that we might have like cat-scratch fever and mononucleosis.  Given that the Southerner is a doctor, this seemed really funny to me.  Doctors drive themselves crazy-paranoid looking up shit on Web MD too! I have to admit though that later on when he insisted on taking my temperature, I was totally turned on. Of course you can take my temperature, Doctor, and while you’re at it would you mind taking a look at this rash on my butt ?

After a visit to Urgent Care, we still don’t know what we have, but it’s definitely not mono. At least, now I can stop accusing the Southerner of making out with monkeys while he was out of town.  Because everyone knows that’s how you get mono, right?

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