Saturday, January 28, 2012

Shoot Me - I'm The One

In every wedding party, there's The One.

That girl.

You know who I'm talking about.

When everyone is lined up for pictures, there's always one girl that makes people cluck under their breath. "What a shame that poor girl has to wear that..."

Fuck my life.

And did I mention it's my brother's wedding? So these pictures will haunt me for years to come. They'll be displayed on the wall proudly in my parents' home and bound into scrapbooks for us to flip through every...goddamn...year...


Did I mention it's a Hindu wedding? Which means we get to wear stunning handmade outfits flown in from India. Our limbs will be covered in henna tattoos, and we'll be dripping in colorful jewelry. It's a dress-up dream come true.

Except that the stunning handmade outfits?


And I am, without question, the The One.

My future sister-in-law is gorgeous and tiny and brown - and she has gorgeous, tiny friends to match. I am plain and fat and white.

If you can't reach me these next three months, I'll be straddling the pot guzzling ExLax and speed. I plan to surface only for celery or phone calls offering free liposuction.

The only thing scarier than my current bod? My current bod...bedazzled.

Sunday, January 22, 2012

Lessons from the Litter Box

In 2009, my anxiety was at an all-time high. I was stuck in a shitty job working for a guy who was proving to be bipolar and shady. I was barfing daily from stress and looking for ways to cope so I began going to meditation classes.

In theory the classes were brilliant. A group of people looking to better their own meditation practices through group sitting and nonjudgmental discussion. Except I'm not nonjudgmental so I spent most of my time judging the others in my head and trying not to giggle out loud - especially over the one dude who always wore pants so tight his business was on display when he sat, zen-like, upon his cushion.

Lately I've been working with a new zen master, though - the cat. She's truly the most relaxed being I know and she's far less creepy than the gnome-y guy who led the meditation workshops. Here are the lessons I've been learning at her wise, wise feet.

 - Sleep on important decisions

 - Never pass up an opportunity to cuddle

- Always keep one eye open when someone is cooking

- Don't overcommit yourself

- Sleep on trivial decisions

 - Lick your own ass - nobody else will do it for you

 - It's OK to eat butter off the counter if you don't get caught in the act

 - Sleep between decisions

 - Kiss wholeheartedly, even if you have tuna breath

 - Save your hisses - they're most effective when used sparingly

 - Two are warmer than one

- Trick people into a second breakfast whenever possible

And perhaps the wisest lesson one can learn from a cat:

 - The most effective management tactic is the illusion of submission

Thursday, January 19, 2012

Table for Two

Know what my favorite food is?

The kind someone else makes when I'm going on six weeks of being sick.

Mark called me at work to tell me he was going to take care of dinner. I was overjoyed at the news yet skeptical of the outcome. I love my husband dearly but he's never been mistaken for an Iron Chef. He's typically limited to one-pan meals, as multitasking isn't his best trait either.

When we were first dating he tried to seduce me with his Famous Chicken. Famous, I guess, for the copious amounts of stale oregano used to encrust it. I was head over heels, though, so I chewed and smiled.

And took over the bulk of the cooking duties.

Determined not to boss his ass around the kitchen disrupt his mojo, I stepped aside and refrained from expressing judgment over his methodology. I did inquire as to what was smoking, but mostly because it was really cold outside and if he set the house on fire we'd have had to go out there.

I now humbly apologize to you all for mocking - and possibly doubting - him. As the smoke cleared, he presented me with an omelette smothered in sauteed onions, shrooms and peppers, with steak and cheese tucked inside.

It tasted like love.

(Actually, it tasted like snot, but everything does right now, so I can't pin that one on him.)

Sunday, January 15, 2012

Ah, Sweet Nothings...

My husband is a Romeo, ladies. You haven't been wooed until you've been seduced by this guy. Just to rub your noses in the fact that he's all mine, I'm going to taunt you with a smattering of our most tender moments these past few weeks.

Emergency room, waiting for results of chest x-rays. I am laying on hospital bed in a sweaty pile of  pee-soaked clothes and retching. Husband is growing bored, notices hospital bed contains built in scale. Pushes button.

Husband exclaims loudly "Hey! You lied! You weigh way more than you told that nurse!"


The first night I attempted to get up and cook dinner after the trip to the ER. Feeling like ass, not wanting to cook at all. Still wanting to be coddled. Getting ready to ladle food into serving dishes.

Husband says thoughtfully "You shouldn't bother with serving dishes, honey - it just means more dishes for you to do."


Our house. He's recently discovered I used to box and is rolling with amusement. I never technically fought anyone (since I was doing it as a workout) but he delights in this fact. The other day he leapt up and did a Rocky-esque warm-up dance.

Husband roars "And, she is...the heavyweight champion of Eden Prairie!"


But then...just as I'm ready to kill him...he cracks me UP.


Discussing how lucky our fictitious kids are to have four grandparents who would love them and dote on them, to which Mark argues that my dad would not touch a baby. My dad is most noted for his ever-present iPod touch, cell phone and laptop computer and is known to email us...from the other room.

Mark offers a suggestion. "We'll just tell him a baby is like an iPad with arms and legs - it's interactive!"

I dissolve in giggles. "But no shaking it to reboot an application!"

Thursday, January 5, 2012

It's Dangerous Without a Rubber

You don't want to sleep with me without a rubber.

Set of sheets, that is.

Big ups to my husband for sitting with me in the ER last night while I coughed violently.

And gagged loudly.

And sweat profusely.

And puked twice.

And peed my pants. REPEATEDLY.

In his defense, he was probably expecting a wife who is potty-trained*. But I did have the foresight to sleep on the living room rug - I figured it's easier to replace than the couch or the bed in the event of a flash flood.

Either I have the shittiest immune system this side of AIDS patients, or turning 35 simply means it's time for diapers - because this isn't the first time I've had to sleep on the rug. I had a bladder infection a couple of months ago that probably nearly sent Mark racing to the annullment store - I'm sure they have one of those by now, no?

But now that I have a nebulizer, a fistful of antibiotics, some narcotic cough syrup and an inhaler, I'm finding I can breathe freely for minutes at a times.

Dear 2012,

Suck it.

That is all.


*I do need to note that although he didn't mock me (too badly) or call me Polly Pisspants, he did make me sit on several layers of plastic on the way home from the hospital. Apparently true love does not transcend the preservation of heated leather seats.

Wednesday, January 4, 2012

I'm a Pussy

Everyone has heard what a difference a positive attitude makes during a recovery.

Stories abound of people who push forth with determination and faith. Paralyzed people who become yoga instructors. Cancer patients who speed their upbeat way to remission. People who conquer true disabilities in a way that seems - well - effortless.

I am not those people.

I finally gave in and went to a doctor, who informed me I have walking pneumonia. The only walking I'm aware of right now is the elephant that seems to be walking on my chest.

Yesterday I had the shakes and dropped all my antibiotic pills on the rug next to the cat's litter box. I cried.

The day before that I coughed until I retched on myself and peed my pants. I cried.

This morning I woke up trembling, sweaty and choking on my own breath. I wanted to cry again, but it seemed like too much work.

Speaking of work, I have a massive complex about staying home sick when I need to. I must suffer delusions of grandeur that the world will end if I'm out for a few days unexpectedly. Or perhaps - worse -  the fear that nobody will even notice that I'm gone, confirming the suspicion that I am company fat that ought to be trimmed.

What I want right now is someone to rub my back and coddle me.

What I need right now is, I suppose, a bitch slap of reality upside the head. This is nothing that some super antibiotics and steroids shouldn't fix and a week from now I'll probably feel just lovely. So, until then, please feel free to leave comments telling me what a pussy I am and how you know people with real problems.

And now? I'm going to go snivel to the cat - because she doesn't care that I'm the pussy around here.

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