Nov 14

SHIT, PISS, FUCK, DAMN! shitmotherfuckerfuckshit.

I had THE funniest post ever ready to go put up tonight.

My friend Heather, sent me an email about an event that happened with her son that damn near made me piss my pants. (here I go laughing about it even now)  She described it so well, that I thought I’d be a post whore and use it for an entry.  She gave me the greenlight and I was all set to dig it out of my email and cut and paste when…I realized that:

I DELETED THE FUCKING EMAIL!  And my trash bin is now empty!  And the story was so damn funny.  And God KNOWS we need some funny around here about now.  (and don’t you hate people who break the laws of grammer and continuously use the word “And” to begin a sentence?)

So if anyone knows how to easily retrieve deleted messages out of Yahoo, that have already left the trash bin, please feel free to let me know.

Also, speaking of email; is anyone having trouble composing messages with Yahoo mail in Firefox?  Dude.  I’m about to cut somebody.  I have to close my Firefox window and go back to (*gasp*) Internet Explorer.  And it bugs me (see there it was again).

Bugs me to the point of wanting to boil up that Prozac and shoot it up my arm again.  (no, I never actually did that, the “again” mention was referring to the desire, not the actual action)

(what the fuck is up with me writing in all parentheses?)

(it’s pretty damn annoying)

(like that time I kept starting my sentences with “and”)

Nov 10

I answered the ringing phone today at work to Dusty’s mother on the other end:



“I just HAVE to tell somebody…I’m going to be a grandmother, Amanda’s pregnant.”

“Oh my GOD!” I exclaimed and then congratulated her.

I had to rush off the phone because I had a line full of customers but promised to call her back later.

Five minutes later the phone rang and it was Amanda. “Manda Grace” as we call her.


“First of all, thank you for your sweet message on My Space last meant so much to me.”

“Aw honey, you’re welcome.”

“I wanted you to be one of the first to know…I’m pregnant!”

“OH MY GOD! Congratulations!” I feigned ignorance, she was just so sweet and excited, I couldn’t ruin it for her.

I also found myself tearing up, my voice cracking.

A couple of weeks ago, Amanda was diagnosed with the same disease I have. She feared that she would face a long battle with infertility and various other reproductive ailments like I did. She’s been so stressed out lately. I’ve tried to comfort her. I’ve been reasurring her that I’m just an extreme case, that lots of women get pregnant with my disease all the time. I don’t think she really believed me until the test came back positive.
Amanda is Dusty’s sister. She feels like my own sister. In fact, his entire family, at least here in our village, feels like my family. His mother like my own, his auntie, like my own, his sister, like my own. Just like Dusty feels like a brother to me. When she told me she was pregnant, it felt like my own sister telling me she was having a baby.
She promised to make me an honorary auntie. Dusty then called me and demanded that I make him an uncle too.

“I don’t want you and Howard to leave your house this weekend, Chrissy, make that boy knock you up.”

“Um okay Dusty, whatever you say.” Because it’s just that easy.

Susie, Dusty’s auntie came down to the store, hugged me and asked me if it made me feel bad that Amanda was pregnant, I told her that it didn’t.

Years ago? Sure. But now? No. My perspective has changed. Amanda is proving science wrong in a sense. She gives hope to women in my situation all the time. And I really mean it. But I seriously need to stop with the gloom and doom bullshit that I spew. I mean, I hate it when other women do it to me. There I go, being a walking contradiction again.
As far as making Dusty an uncle; Howard, of course is up for the challenge. If you come looking for me, I’ll be the exhausted looking woman being chased by her husband.

Thank you Dusty, you’re a gem. You bastard.

Nov 9

For as long as Howard and I’ve been married, we’ve always been big fans of “60 Minutes”.  It’s a show we get excited about watching.  No matter where we’ve lived and what time it came on, we knew we had to stop what we were doing so we could sit down and watch it.

I was stunned this morning when I heard that Ed Bradley passed away.  We have cable in the store and frequently flip between the local radio station and CNN.  I kept it CNN all day today.  At times, when there were no customers in the store, I’d just stop working and look up at the television and though I know it sounds a bit dramatic, I choked up.  A lot.

If I had just one word to describe Ed Bradley…it would probably be “disarming”.  I loved to watch his interviews.  He had a way of putting people at ease.  He was the epitome of unbiased journalism.  His cool and calm demeanor made him easy to watch.  It certainly kept me captivated for many many years.  He always struck me as the type of guy, you could sit down and have a beer with.  The type of guy you could trust with a secret.  He also knew how to draw honest answers out of people.  That’s my own humble opinion, anyway.

I’m aching for his family because I know what it’s like to lose someone you love to cancer.  The disease claimed another amazingly lived life and it pisses me off.  It pisses me off on so many levels.  We can bookmark 250,000 tax payer dollars for a damn teacup museum but we can’t gather enough money for more research to find a cure for cancer.  The thought of it makes me sick.  Really, truly, sick.

I hate that he felt he had to suffer in silence too.  I can understand his reasoning though.  My pawpaw was the same way.  He didn’t want to seem anything less than a tower of strength.  The thought of Ed’s selflessness makes me tear up even now.

I, along with the rest of the world, am sad that he’s gone.  65 years is just way too young to die.  My Sunday nights won’t ever be the same.  We’ll miss you Ed.  Rest in happiness, love, and peace wherever you are.

Nov 8
What American accent do you have?

Your Result: The South

That’s a Southern accent you’ve got there. You may love it, you may hate it, you may swear you don’t have it, but whatever the case, we can hear it.

The Midland
The West
The Northeast
The Inland North
North Central
What American accent do you have?
Take More Quizzes
Nov 6

Last week, I finally shook the sickness.  It was weird.  I took two Aleve and like an hour later, my pain went away.  No more jaw pain, no more throat pain, no more ear pain.

I was euphoric.  I really was.  Oh my God, I felt like I could run a marathon.  I went to bed giddy.  For the most part I’m feeling like myself again.

And here comes the “but” of the whole post.

The only thing that’s been lingering lately is nausea.  Well not just nausea.  My stomach actually feels like it’s twisting in half.  Picture taking a long balloon and twisting it to shape it into some sort of animal.  That is exactly how my stomach pain is.  Then I get that sweet dread in my mouth and I’m running for the bathroom to gag.  (sorry folks I know that’s tmi)  It happens in an instant, without warning.  Just today, I was standing in the post office mailing off some things for work and I had to throw my money at the clerk and make my way out the door before I hurled all over the poor woman.

Sipping cold black tea seems to help.  Chewing Pepto Bismal tablets only makes me feel worse.  As far as food goes, I can only handle small meals.  I get full after about three or four bites.  I’ve lost 7 pounds in a week and a half.  I had three episodes of it today.

And in case you were wondering, I actually paid 20 bucks for a pregnancy test off the shelf today.  It was negative.  Just like I knew it would be.  But you know I have to be feeling pretty awful to even entertain the thought that maybe I could be.  So in case you missed it, let me repeat that: I AM NOT PREGNANT.

But something is definitely wrong.  Probably another ailment that will require yet another surgery.

I’d like a new body now please.  Are you listening God?

Nov 4

The big community Halloween party was tonight. Yes, I know. It is November 3rd. Nonetheless, the party was tonight.

The phone rings and I answer it. It is, of course, my brother from another mother, also known as my “other husband”, Dusty.

“What are you doing, Christina?” (he has taken to calling me this lately)

“Trying on my costume and getting pissed because it is way too big, I look like I’m wearing a muu muu.”

“Well come over here to mom’s house and get ready with us and we’ll see what we can do.”

*yelling in the background* “Come on over Chrissy!” from his mom, aunt, and sister.

“Do you have any white makeup that I can use?”

“Yes, but you have to come over and get it.”

“Fine, I’ll come over but I’m hungry and I’m going to eat first.”

“Okay, see you then.”

I hang up the phone and get ready to go pick up our steak dinners. Howard asks:

“Who was that?”


“What’s he up to?”

“Well after dinner, I’m going to go over and get ready for the party with him and the rest of the girls.”


“Do you realize what you just said?”


“You just called Dusty a girl.”

“He is a girl to me.”

Dusty did not think it was as funny when I relayed it to him, while we were applying our white face paint in the mirror side by side (he went as a dead doctor, I went as a dead bride).
“You’re such a bitch, Chrissy”

“Shut up or I’ll tell everybody what big pores you have.”

“Oh God, I do have big pores, don’t I?”

“And you wonder why I call you my girlfriend”

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