Well, I think Sammy Kershaw said it best when he said he wanted to talk about anything but “Politics, Religion, and her”. I don’t know who her is, but I promise not to talk to her, about her or with her as well as religion and politics. Whew!
The Dixie Chicks was an awesome concert. It was so much fun to just get out and go see some good live music with my pal. Julz and I did it up right with getting in to the new restaurant in town, the Cheesecake Factory. And you thought Omaha was too small for something that spectacular! Pishaw, we have a Krispy Kreme too, you know!
…Well, we’re movin on uupppp, to the East Side! (Heh heh)
I digress. I got some dish at Cheesecake Factory that was clearly mislabeled. It was called: EVELYN’S FAVORITE PASTA and described in the menu as:Penne Tossed with Broccoli, Oven_Dried Tomato, Roasted Eggplant, Peppers, Artichoke, Kalamata Olives, Basil, Garlic, Pine Nuts and Parmesan Cheese
What it SHOULD have been called is: Evelyn’s Favorite Pasta when she doesn’t want to talk to anyone, make new friends, or be the slightest bit attractive to Mr. Evelyn. The description should have been: Garlic with some pasta garnish.
Holy cow. Did you know that garlic can burn your tongue? Don’t get me wrong, I continued to eat it until the cheesecake came. I managed to somewhat taste the cheesecake. I kept telling Julz, “That’s a lot of garlic, but it’s good.” In hindsight, I should have sent the plate back, thereby instigating someone in the back spit in my food. But I’d rather have ingested someone else’s saliva than to eat that obscene amount of garlic again. It took one day, 7 toothbrushings, 4 cups of listerine rinses, and an hour on the treadmill to sweat the residue out but I think I am back to my own heavenly scent again. Whew.
So, once we hit the concert, you can imagine me trying to make pals with the other moms on either side of us who were there for the same reasons: Girls night out! HOLLA!
The next morning, this was the dialogue in bed:
Ricardo: How was the concert?
Me: Good. I had a meal at Cheesecake Factory with a lot of garlic. It kind of set the precedence for the rest of the night.
Ten Minutes later:
Ricardo: Man, you weren’t kidding about the garlic thing!
Fret not poor man who had to share a room with me with garlic oozing out of my pores. I brought Ricardo a nice big ol piece of Chocolate Peanut Butter Cookie Dough Cheese Cake. No garlic. But with the same intensity of flavor. I hear it was worth the trade of of having to sleep with me when I was at my peak of warding off vampires.
That’s how I roll.

…Praise the Lord, and pass the ammunition!

Okay, I’m not nuts. Well, fine. I am. But I was just quoting a Dixie Chicks song. It’s one of their older ones, but I loved it then, love it now. My online girlfriend, Julz and I are going to the Dixie Chicks concert tonight! Woohooo! Anyone suggesting in their mind that they are American Haters can just stop reading now. I’m surprised you read, really. Did I just say that out loud? Woopsie.
This is the Dixie Chicks’ tour after being ridiculously accused of hating America and soldiers and all that. When it all went down, in 2004, Natalie Maines said during a concert in Europe, “We’re ashamed the President of the United States is from Texas.” That’s it. That’s all she said, folks. Next thing you know, I’m watching the news with angry people at Dixie Chick CD Burning Gatherings full of hate for such evils she proclaimed. Radio stations banned playing their music. Does that comment really warrant a correlation that they are fans of bin laden? I mean puhlease. Watch that trailer I linked. I think you’ll get it. The rage was just ridiculous. Primarily, the rage and hatred and controversy is more stupid in hindsight than anything.
If you’re with the camp who says, celebrities shouldn’t get into politics. Uh, well, then I’m guessing you protest Shawshank Redemption or any George Clooney movie. You probably have always been disgusted by Madonna, Brad Pitt, Ben Affleck, Oprah, and you probably think Angelina Jolie is going to hell for saving all those orphans. You burn all their movies and cds as well.
Kanye West went on the air and said, “The President hates black people”
JOHN KERRY said, “Study hard….and if you don’t, you get stuck in Iraq.”
GreenDay released a song at election time called “American Idiot” for crying out loud.
So, “We’re ashamed the President of the United States is from Texas.” Is that worthy of death threats, cd burnings along, and banning them from radio?
If you’re from the camp who argues that they were riding a coattail with a song about patriotism with Traveling Soldier and then demeaned patriotism with Natalie’s comment. I ask you to review the lyrics. Because the song and the comment are consistent.
This is America, home of free enterprise, high crime, free speech and hypocrisy. Good times.
I’m not trying to get all political here. I just can’t wait to go see these girls. I don’t even like country music much, but I’ve always liked the Dixie Chicks. And now, more than ever. The biggest gig is that they stuck together in all of this. I think that’s cool. And their new cd is great. I can’t wait for a night out with Julz that includes a visit to the Cheesecake Factory. We will be two hot mammas rockin out. Can’t wait!
That’s how I roll, on the Sin Wagon.

I just rocked out the basketball court today. I’m going to call my retired college coach today and remind him I have one more year of NCAA eligibility. Okay, fine, it MAY have had something to do with my genius athelete of a husband and our frightening telepathic love for each other. It also could be that we out_heighted our petite opponents by a good 6_10 inches each.
We weren’t the ones who came up with this plan to play ball with short people. They chimed up that they wanted to take us on. I was leary that this could not enhance, shall we say, our couple’s marital relationships. I mean, we’re all fairly competitive people. And I suck. So, I lose the game for us, and Ricardo’s rep is on the line. And I very well could lose a game for us. I mean, Ricardo is a gifted athlete, and great basketball player, but I’m that bad. I rock at free throws though. That’s a moot point when you’re playing 2_on_2.
I also knew that guarding my fabulous new online girlfriend may warrant the giggles. It did. Ricardo didn’t seem to mind too much. Henri (pronounced “On_ree”) kept playing too. I think we were all wowed by each other’s game we showed we got. Each pleasantly surprised. And I got a pretty good work out. As noted, my abs hurt as much as my ass does from laughing so hard. So see, laughing is a good workout too.
After our awesome workout and WINNING, we went to pick up the kids from the children’s room at the gym. I said, “Max! Mommy’s a WINNER!” He replied, “I want Daddy. Where’s Daddy?” Sigh. Nothing like a slice of humble pie to go with overindulgent steak dinner we treated ourselves to after the BIG WIN. WINNER! WOOHOOO!
Thank God it’s too cold for tennis. This could be a winter full of Sunday Victory Workouts. I was happy that neither of the men suggested shirts vs. skins…
That’s how I roll.

1. Chocolate Pie Crust. I need to know who had the innovative vision. I need to send her a thank you card.
2. No Frills Turkey Dinner, $29.99, clearly this is a frill. Sigh. I love to cook, but there’s a few rules I adhere to when cooking:
Rule one, bulk meat, I’m no good at. Side dishes, I kick tail. Gigantore birds, not so much. Rule two, is there any other stuffing other than Stove Top? Don’t answer that. Yes, I’m aware there is, but I don’t like stuffing much, so I don’t make it. Not even that nasty oyster stuffing Paula Deen came up with.
Rule three, I don’t cook fish.
Rule Four, and very important, I don’t, okay fine, I cannot make gravy. I’ve tried, just can’t do it.
So, when I run across an ad that says, Turkey dinner with stuffing, mashed potatoes, stuffing, gravy and cranberry relish, I’m on it!
I called a pal today who had her inlaws in town. I could hear the sweat dripping from her head and her trying so hard to be patient with instructions with a hint of, “That’s fine fat ass, get out of my kitchen” in her voice. When I told her what I was up to and I’d sort of cheated and bought the turkey dinner precooked and just had to heat it up her response was a shriek, “YOU CAN DO THAT!?” Yes, you can. Liberate.
As someone who loves to cook, let me take this opportunity to explain. The purchase of a premade turkey dinner allowed me to enjoy my family, watch some parade (Because Dora The Explorer was in it, don’t you know?) and enjoy making a few side items without stressing out. We also have only one oven;this too can trigger emotional instability in the tightest of families. However, our option to buy simply guaranteed a nice, relaxing, fun family dinner that was stress free and financially realistic. We’ll be doing this again next year.
3. A beautiful kitchen!
4. Rolipa, who has now infected my home with the notion to stock up on tortillas as a vehicle for leftovers.
5. Parades, they are just fun! Look at how much fun this guy is having:
6. Immaterial matters of the heart like my kids, Ricardo, my family, his family, our family, and an online mom’s “dating” service.
7. Balls_ Paula Deen’s Sweet Potatoe Balls, for God’s sake, and I mean that, it’s the sake of GOD that there is a gigantic marshmallow in the middle of this pallatable creation of all things good and pure.
8. Time to heal wounds and friends who forgive. I’m guessing she’s forgiven me for the ass I was (I’m a whole different, more improved ass now), as she surrendered her recipe for the greatest Green beans EVER in the history of all the world. Ya’ll: Green Beans wrapped in bacon + garlic + brown sugar + butta = “I bet no Indian NOR Pilgrim thought that divine creation up.” It’s worthy of sainthood. Seriously.
9. Special friends and family I talked to today, most of which were scurrying to get the frikkin beautiful bounty they were so thankful for on the table and still managed to send out a HOLLA!
10. The one day out of the year when too much food is a necessity because, “Honey, we HAVE to have Thanksgiving dinner at home, we NEED leftovers.” It’s a sweet sentiment, even if its a lot of work. It’s work to cherish with the ones we love.
I love Thanksgiving because it means time spent in the kitchen, and that’s where all the fun happens. It’s making the meal together that makes the difference. Eating it is just bonus.

Today, I give thanks to family and friends who care enough about me to simply have me over to watch their cable and particularly,the food network so I can get my fix. Isn’t that what Thanksviging is all about? Getting together and merging what you have to give and share with others? Amen! I’ll bring the food, you provide the cable….
Ricardo and I took the kiddos to see his folks this past weekend. I’m fairly certain that the kids think the parade was organized and choreographed for them, and the other hundreds of attendees simply stumbled upon it, just in time.
The kids had a blast with Gramma and Bean_Bean, the parade, and some NASCAR on display at Lowes. We have a rule that when the kids are with their grandparents, they pretty much can get as spoiled as they want. This was taken to the extreme, when at 8a.m. on Saturday, Lucy had consumed 2 ice cream sandwiches and a cookie before I’d even gotten my first cup of coffee. Detox included a big dose of reality as we had to pull the car over twice on the way home and snacks on the way home included a protein drink and brocolli. “I want my Gramma/Granpa” was their victory cry. I bet you do, kiddos, I bet you do.
With all that said, I had a wonderful time talking about our feelings, nice visits and in depth discussions. I didn’t really bring much food….but I got cable.
But what I’m most thankful for is that they have cable, or digital, or maybe satellite. I don’t really know what it is, all I know is that it has the food network on, and I had no idea what I was missing. I know Ricardo’s parents love me because they turned it on Food Network, and allowed me to SLEEP IN FRONT of the tv so that I could get a nice fix. I’m still coming down from the high and have researched, followed the ten points of light of grocery shopping and am now fully prepared to make sweet potato balls. Pending on how they turn out, I will be citing Paula Deen on the giving thanks list this year at the table of bountiful greatness.
I’m guessing people really feel sorry for me that I don’t have cable. I went to hang out at Julz, the online girlfriend’s house yesterday. I would say I babysat, but really, I didn’t even have to change a diaper, so basically, I went over and hung out. Before she left, Julz cranks on the tv and says, “Channel 54 is all you!” She loves me. I feel so loved!
The cable thing really is funny. I don’t need it at my house. The kids are better off with out it, and so am I. Really, it was me who needed the time out from tv. So be it.
That’s how I roll.

Fine, that’s me in the leaves…
I woke up at 6:45, got a moment to myself to get downstairs before the kids woke up and got myself a cup of coffee. I was looking forward to turning on the tv to see the reports on TomKats nuptials. However, much to my dismay, I got the reports on how the war in Iraq isn’t good, not going the way anyone hoped. And is that really news? Why can’t we get the media to hone in on where is Colin Powell? It could be like that stupid Matt Lauer bit, “WHERE IN THE WORLD IS…COLIN POWELL!?” I just think it’s interesting to note how controlled the media really is on that point. That’s all I’m sayin on politics.
Lucy wakes up, Ricardo jumps in the shower, Max gets dressed. All is right with the world on Monday. I see on the local news that the yard work bag collectors’ last day to pick up is today. Super. At this point, I realize, this could be a direct plea to me to get my ass out there and pick up that gigantic pile of leaves I blew for the kids to play in a little over a MONTH AGO. Fine, I had a little fun jumping in the leaf pile, too. Sigh. It’s a pretty large pile that I’ve been meaning to pick up. So, I throw breakfast on the table and get out there and start picking up leaves. I’m now in a race to beat, not only the yard work collectors, but to beat the clock with Ricardo leaving for work, and getting the kids to school fully dressed and groomed. The challenge is on. I get two bags filled, and get in the house to get the kids dressed.
As I’m getting their hats and gloves in their backpacks, I see the memo from the preschool that’s on the floor in the foyer: Christmas Portraits will be taken Monday, please have your kid dressed accordingly. SUPER, I scan the kids, Lucy’s wearing purple to accomodate her cool new purple fuzzy hair thingy. Max is wearing his token Nebraska football jersey and sweatpants. I’m not changing their clothes because a) it’s not worth the fight, they are so excited to be wearing those items; and 2) I just ordered $150 worth of family portraits, including Christmas portraits. We’ll pass on the school version.
It’s now 8:05, time to get the minivan started and warmed up because I left it outside to get nice and frosted over. Get the car started, get inside to get the kids ready. Pour more coffee. I get the kids in the car, and all is right with the world, while I figure out how to race home and get the rest of the leaves up for pick up.
I get the kids to school, on time today, thank you. Just in time to realize I was supposed to bring in family pictures for their thanksgiving projects. I ask teacher, “Are they working on that today?” Uh, yes. Super, now I race home to get a 4X6 of our happy family. I get home, print off two copies, in B/W because it’ll look cool. OR because the printer is low on color ink. Refill the coffee cup and head back out. Drop the lovely family pictures off back at school and race back to the house to get the rest of the leaves up.
I win the race! It’s 10:21, all the leaves are picked up, the kids are at school with their assignments (i.e., MY assignment) and they’ll have their holiday school pictures done in mismatched non_holiday colors.
I was listening to a cd I made with fun girl power songs on it. Poigniantly, X’s & O’s by Trisha Yearwod came on. I rocked it out. If you don’t know it, download it. It’s an oldie but goodie.
I now must away to go burn off the rest of this serious caffeine high.
It’s how I roll.

Since the “Look, there’s a horsie” incident…I’ve traded cars with Ricardo. It’s for my own good, that I’ve put myself in a timeout from my beloved minivan. We are now cruising in the car that my son refers to as the sporty silver car, a GrandAm. We’re driving that while Ricardo, a noted professional driver, drives the minivan with the donut until the new wheel we had to order, gets here and gets on the car.
Pending our ever so reliable mail service, there’s a potential to drive to gramma’s house this weekend, all four of us, plus Farley the Wonder Dog, in the sporty silver car. This could be a family bonding experience, or a moment of adversity for us. Ricardo won’t know it, but I’m sure he’ll strike some kind of yoga pose and hold it for the 2 1/2 hour drive. All for the sake of seeing the best in_laws in the world and hitting a fun holiday parade. It’s been a while since I”ve been able to just sit and visit with my parents in law, so I think it’s worth it to share the back of the sporty silver car with the kids while the men_folk, Farley the Wonder Dog and Ricardo take the front. This could get interesting.
I’m a six footer, and Ricardo is 6′ 8″, the children AND the dog are large for their ages and breeds. So, I’m guessing we’ll spread joy and laughter to all who get the opportunity to see us pile in and out of the sporty silver car. Just like the clowns at a circus. Good times.
That’s how I’m rolling….

I really think the phrase “plumber butt” gives plumbers a bad name. I mean really. I think they should call it “weird guy at the parade butt”, or “angry guy in the tball stands butt”. But really, “plumber butt”? Maybe plumbers union should address this.
We went to library storytime last week. I managed to actually get jeans on that weren’t wrinkled from being wadded up in a basket after being washed and dried, I even got make up on and was looking like a fairly somewhat together mom. I took the kids and we went. They love story time. Some size 2 chick sat in front of me. I’m always admiring how cute and casually fashionable other moms are. Not so much for me. I just feel like I dress frumpy. But size 2 mom had these jeans on that were so cute. You know, those low riders. Clearly, she only has kids one at a time. The law of Nebraska prohibits women like me to wear low riders because of my very unique belly hang. It must be confined, never to hang over the jeans crease…ever.
I wear a 12. Fine, that’s my skinny jean. It used to be a 10. But that was pre_kid. When I can squeeze into a 12, lay on the couch and zip em up, life is good. So, I wear a 12 or 14 jean, depending on if I’m in the mood to breathe or not. So, when I see the size 2s, I hate the tramp just for a moment, and then admire how cute her jeans are and think, “there’s a jean I’ll never wear.” Personally, I hate this woman. And then, it happens. Size 2 sits down on the floor with her son and like a deer in the headlights her butt crack is there staring at me.
Before I go any further, let me remind you, that my kids are perfect little story time participators. So, I’ve got nothing to do but stare. And don’t get all high and mighty on me, she’s sitting right in front of me, and her butt crack is practically calling out to me, “Can you please tell my owner to help out here, there’s a draft.”
Now, in case you don’t have a real good visual. Butt crack, even on a size 2, ain’t perty. It’s disgusting. But to add burn to my eyes, she’s apparently wearing low rider or hip hugger thongs to go with the jeans. This confirms that I’m better than her because from top down of the horrendous visual, you’ve got boney spine, then butt crack, THEN thong, then more crack, THEN the jeans. Ewwww.
And, my kids were little angels at story time, her kid was okay, but not as good as mine. Jr. was running around while MY SWEET KIDS were sitting “criss cross applesauce the whole time”. So, there it is, I’m a better mom because I may be bigger, but I confine my butt crack, and deny the plumber’s crack. And my kids are awesome. I might have nasty jeans on, but they allow me to tend to my kids without scalding other peoples eyes. It’s my own little contribution to society.That’s all I’m sayin.
I feel better about me anyways.
That’s How I Roll.

Well, I am reminded of a time a couple of years ago when I was backing our suburban out of Ricardo’s brother’s driveway. I was ON the drive way, ON the pavement, and yet still managed to introduce the side of the suburban to the stub of an arm of the fire hydrant. I still argue that the fire hydrant is way too close, and the arm stub thing actually breaks the plane of the driveway.
Today, my credibility of that argument is destroyed. Well, it was my own credibility. Prior to yesterday, I was sold on the fact that it was the hydrant’s fault. The family humored me as they giggled under their breath. Today, I doubt my own credibility of the hydrant vs. suburban theory.
Yesterday, I took the kids to the park. Apparently, on our 7 minute drive, the temperature dropped 20 degrees and poppa winter blew up a sweet and bitter wind for us. So, after getting the kids in the car, getting them all fired up for the park, we get there, and we’re freezing out cheeks off. Both sets. So, I convince the kids to get back in the car and we’ll go play at the gym before their swim lesson. Lucy wasn’t really buying the hard sell. She was fussing a bit, and really, she had the right. I’d really fired them up for a great day at the park. So, while we’re pulling out, she’s progressively getting louder, tears are bigger, and now stinging her face from the 5 minute wind burn I’ve just instilled on her. I look up and see it. The finest distraction ever. At the park, up the hill right outside her window…HORSIES!
“Look Lucy, Horses! Aren’t they so big and pretty!?”
RUMBLE. BUMP. CRUNCH. BAM!
I’d idled slowly over the cement barrier that keeps people like me from running over joggers and other tricky objects as such. I ran over it, the tire popped, the wheel crunch and the CAR WAS NOW RESTING ON TOP OF THE BLOCK…I was “high centered.”
“Uh_Oh.” Is all I can muster, which really, I’m so maturing because I’m impressed that I didn’t choose this moment to educate my kids on their lack of vocabulary and introduce them to the world of explicatives and the creative art of using them. I get out of the car to assess the damage and the gorgeous tiny petite rustic looking ladies on the horses as well as the moms still stuck at the park 5 yards away are now all looking at me.
“You okay?”
“WE WERE JUST ADMIRING YOUR HORSES!”
So they came down to help me. Oh lawdy. All I can think of is that it’s too cold out, I haven’t changed a tire in years, and never unassisted. But this just looks like more of a problem. Rustic model lady gets off her pretty horse and offers to help me change the tire, citing that if we get aired up tire on it, it’ll pull the car right off that cement block. Refreshing, but I can’t find the spare tire. I KNOW there’s one here somewhere.
So, I call Ricardo at work. This ought to be a real hit of a phonecall. It’s his first day back from the rare disease episode. No answer. I beep him (direct connect). No answer. So, I call him on his cell. And he answers:
“Hey Baby, where’s the spare tire?”
“You have a flat?”
“Uh…..yeah.”
“It’s under the car. You gotta get the thing in between the front two seats and unscrew it……where are you?”
“At the park”
“I’ll just come down there and do it.”
Sigh. I hang up the phone and tell the rustic beauties, “Oh I’m in trouble. He’s going to see this and not be surprised that I did it, but a bit mift.”
Rustic beauty #1 then proves that she’s not only gorgeous, can change a flat tire if the spare is located, and can ride a horse, (which I can’t, but I’m not telling her that. And yes, I worked in marketing for a Horse Association, and if any of them are reading this, they know exactly what I’m talking about when I say I physically disgust horses to the point of which they just won’t allow me to ride them.) But now the woman helps me come up with an story to save my ass.
“You could just tell him that you had a blow out and the car pulled you to the left, on to the barrier.”
That would have been a great idea. But I was going about 15 mph. And Ricardo is a professional car wiz among other things.
I must have made it sound like I was going to get a REAL good beating over this one. Because the rustic beauties offered to stick around and explain the “story” and serve as witnesses. I assure them that indeed, it’s okay. Ricardo is sick and doesn’t need to be out in this weather, he doesn’t really need the stress nor the physical exercise of changing the tire.
Meanwhile, online girlfriend shows up and seriously, this chick needs a cape. She gets the kids, and takes them to her awesome minivan parked safely in the parking lot and they read audio books and watch movies. Ricardo shows up, “What the hell happened?”. And that right there shows you what a great guy he is, because none of these comments came out of his mouth, which, if my own father were still alive, would have been muttered with explicative creativity:
“What the shit did you do!?”
“Don’t you think you’ve met your effn quota on jacking cars up this decade!? I mean hell, what were you doing, watching horses gallop through the fields or something?”
and so on.
He did get a little concerned when he saw the wheel was busted. And he thought something might be protruding through the floorboard. It wasn’t, it was just that we were seeing the floorboard at a new, uh, angle now. He changed the tire, and went back to work. I think at this point, work was a safer, nicer, and much more relaxing place to be.
We drove home on the donut and Julz and I got the kids to our house for some “I’m sorry I ruined all y’alls trip to the park Hot Cocoa.” I whipped up a nice home cooked meal, and treaded lightly when Ricardo got home. I was worried he was mad, but really, he’s still recovering.
All is well now. Ego’s bruised. A.D.D. is a confirmed case. And a new wheel is ordered. There’s a lesson in here somewhere, I’m guessing it has something to do with the fact that horses really hate me. It’s God’s way of saying, “Don’t even look and admire them. They hate you.” But maybe I should watch the road. Who knows.
That’s How I Roll. Well, I’m not really rolling right now. Because I have a donut and rightfully don’t trust myself to drive on it. But when I get my ride back, watch out!

This is a farce of a picture. No one looks like this when being swabbed for strep. This is a picture of a BAD ACTOR/MODEL. I don’t care if he’s 7. He’s a terrible bad little actor/model.
After my misery with strep throat two weeks ago, now Ricardo is infected. I am now on a quest to figure all of this out. This is simply ridiculous. In the past year, including visitors, we’ve had TEN cases of strep throat in this house. Wait, if you include the dog, that’s ELEVEN!!! Anyone want to come over for dinner? I’m serving up some yummy Lasagna Toss with a side of rare disease. MMMMMMM!
I am now on a mission to figure out a way to fix this. My problem is, well, I’m not a doctor. And quite frankly, with the co_pays, the prescriptions, and the lab tests, the doctors don’t really care to stop it, they see a nice night on the town when they see us coming. Maybe I’ll just buy stock in Amoxicillin. When I was sick, I used all my energy to yell at the doctor about making me wait. If you’ve ever had strep throat, I don’t recommend you go out and get yourself some and try it. It’s the most miserable feeling ever. Pain, misery, fever, chills, and puss. You can smell and taste the sick. It’s so gross, but mostly just miserable. So, when I was sick with it, I didn’t have the capacity to ask the questions.
First of all, it’s been posed to me that we find out if there is a carrier in our family. And if so, find out who it is. But then what? Everyone, including the dog, has been treated for Streps A, B, and/or C in our house at some point within the year. So, can I line us all up at once, drop the drawers and each of us brave a nice penicillin shot in the ass? Do I need to clean my house or something? Do we need to take such extreme measures that I ditch all carpet and get my dream come true, all hardwood floors throughout the house? Do we need to put the dog down? TELL ME!
I really do have calls into just about every doctor I’ve visited, and/or offended at some point with all of these questions. I don’t want strep again, and I certainly don’t like watching the ones I love be in such pain. Ricardo is a big strong buck. But knock him down with a twist of Strep and the man makes Bambi look like one of those schitzo gym giants on a roid rage. He looks so feeble and miserable, all hunched over, trying to walk to the bathroom, all while asking for a bed pan. See? We need to stop the insanity! As a responsible contributor to society (translation: wacked out blogger) I promise to fill the mass audience in on what I discover, if there are any answers.
On the flip side of this. Ricardo might be the funniest drugged up person on the planet. It’s times like these that I’ve saved my codeine pills from surgery recovery. Once he felt the pain coming on, I happily surrendered my stash of codeine. A few hours later, I was greeted with a slurred happy man who wanted me to snuggle with him.
“That’s sweet that you want me and all, baby, but really, you’re breathing infectious germs. I’ll be sleeping on the couch tonight.”
He protested.
“Baby, you’re infected.”
To which he replied, “Don’t infect yourself, just respect yourself.”
After shameless laughter at him, he suggests that this indeed should be the new slogan for an HIV/AIDS campaign. And then cited that he comes up with his best ideas when under the influence of misery, pain, deliriousness, and drugs. Ahh, join the other “artists” my dear.
When Ricardo got his wisdom teeth out, he thoroughly embraced the drugs. First he hit on the she_man nurse who helped him out to the car. Then, he tried to make out with me in the car, citing, “C’mon baby, think of the memories we’ll make.”
But the best was when we pulled up to the drive_up pharmacy to get his medications for the wisdom teeth excursion. I turned from talking to the pharmacist to see Chris sit_dancing, with the best rendition of the sprinkler I’ve ever seen.
God Bless Him.
I hate to see him in pain, but it’s fairly entertaining.That’s me, finding a positive at someone else’s negative expense.
That’s how I roll.