After months of dragging around with a bulged disk in my back, my left leg went numb. Per the chiropractor, it was time to go see a neurosurgeon because there was no exercise he could give me and no pill anyone could prescribe to fix what was going on. My disk had ruptured and was pinching off my spinal cord.

Great.

My mother, who kept asking if I was sure I needed to have surgery, was stricken mute when the neurosurgeon informed us that people with a rupture as large as mine usually don’t have bladder or bowel control. (more…)

Oh my Morgan Freeman!

Interwebz? Is that you?!

*hug*

How long has it been? Oh, who cares, you look fantastic! Have you lost weight?

Well, I don’t know what you’re doing but keep it up because damn!

Wait a minute, something’s different. Something… (more…)

My new stove (thank you Sears card) arrives on Saturday.

I had to replace the old one after the door fell off, which I’m fairly certain is because the guys painting the kitchen used it to pull the oven away from the wall.

Contractor FAIL!

Also, you have to set it 45 degrees higher than the recommended temperature, unless you want to wait 6 hours and have Mexican pizza for breakfast. (more…)

I’m not a car person.

I put gas in it and change the oil every 50,000 miles or so and it takes me where I need to go.

Everything else is witchcraft.

How many cylinders does my car have? I dunno. 37? Why does the radio work but not the air conditioner when the car’s turned off? It’s the ball bearings, isn’t it? What’s a hemi? A half-cup car bra? (more…)

Is is just me or does everyone have one month so jammed full of birthdays you end up broke and sick of cake by the end of it?

Welcome to September.

Actually, wave goodbye to it in the rearview mirror because it’s finally over, but not without my being talked into making cake balls…again. This time for my niece Ashley’s 14th birthday.

As you may have guessed, I’m not a planner. Cake ball inspiration never hits me until I’m staring at a bowl of melted candy and a half-empty box of food coloring, which ultimately makes the decision on what the finished product will look like. (more…)

Does it seem drafty in here to you?

I mean, on any given day you can hang meat up in this place but today seems overly Antarctic.

It’s colder and draftier and…bare…er.

Ah. It’s my dress. The only piece of clothing short enough to reveal the back of my knees when my ass hikes it up extra inch.

Or two.

Fantastic. (more…)

I feel like punching somebody in the giblets.

HARD.

Also, I feel like laughing hysterically at absolutely nothing, screaming at the next coworker to ask me ANYTHING, dancing in the back conference room to Katy Perry’s “Teenage Dream” which has been on a nonstop loop in my head since yesterday morning, mooning the next smoker I see in the kitchen, face planting into a chocolate, butter cream iced sheet cake the size of a kiddie pool and sobbing myself into a puddle…of Wild Turkey. (more…)

I love to fly.  I’d pick the window seat or maybe even the wing seats with the pop-out doors.  I mean, after all, those seats come with a noble duty and I’m noble and full of doodie.  I enjoy the experience enough, though, that I’ll sit pretty much wherever and feel super cool just for being in an airplane.

Last week, I was sent to the beautiful state of Oregon for my job, and it was awesome.  Oregon is full of scenery with mountains and hills lined with evergreens and snow-caps.  I flew in with a local resident who said that he could be from his home to a mountaintop within 2 hours.  Dude.  That’s fucking awesome.  Literally, I mean “awesome”. (more…)

Lately, I don’t feel mentally sharp.

Yesterday, I spent a good 30 seconds being very perturbed because the key fob to the car wouldn’t work…on the front door!

This morning I opened the door to leave and stopped before stepping outside. I couldn’t escape the feeling I’d forgotten something. Oh right, my SKIRT! (more…)

It’s official. I’ve been traded to Team Twitchy.

If I can make it through this week I will never again be asked to make a “ressie!” That’s “reservation” in I’m-a-hip-female-PITA-boss speak.

I won’t have to get her lunch at the dumpling place, where standing in line is like being in a steam bath that ends with someone named “The Dumpling Nazi” just waiting to tear you a new one if you so much as look at her wrong, every Wednesday and Friday because she’s too busy working (read: shopping for shoes and talking on the phone about her kids). (more…)