Happy Friday!

TGIF and All That Jazz...

It's been a busy Friday for me which is honestly saying something.  Since my surgery just four weeks past, I've been on a graduating scale of inactivity.  The "no lifting anything over 5lbs" restriction really can put a crimp in your style.. lemme tell you!  Not to mention, after having three surgeries in just about a year on top of some other invasive tests, I'm pretty damned pooped.   I talked to my doctor about it this week and he said that is to be expected with this many procedures.. My body SHOULD be downright exhausted!

So where did that leave me today?!?  Let's see..

Senor Grumpy Pants and I had to head down to campus to resolve the mystery of the scholarship that's never been applied.  The school sets up a system and deadline to pay tuition.  Then, they say you're sooooo amazing, we're going to give you this awesome scholarship because we know you've been busting your tail (thank you kindly!) and once you register we'll apply it.  So I registered a month ago and the tuition came due yesterday.  The scholarship is there on my account.

They can see it.  It's not invisible.  It's not a mystery scholarship all invisible like that I imagined receiving to help me endure another fucking semester of twenty-something year old classmates.  I actually received this shit and they know it.  They just haven't decided which ONE of my classes they're going to apply it to..

Ummm.. pick one?!?  Because see, here's the deal.. in their perfect system they've devised.. you can't pay your tuition, set up an installment plan, do JACK DOODLEY FUCKING SQUAT TO PAY SHIT.. without dragging your happy ass down there to stand in line to discuss this loveliness with the cashier.

With Senor Grumpy Pants.  Am I repeating myself?

O.o

Soooo.. he got up at 0630 because today was his big day at work.  He didn't wake me up.  I don't know what he thought was going to happen when it came time to go to the school.  

So Senor and I leave..

Oh, did I mention that his battery was dead - TWICE?!?

We were at the school bright and early when they opened.  It sucks being at a school standing in fucking line waiting for stupid shit knowing you could be in pajamas at home having coffee.  It really fucking sucks.

He left.  I left.  Romantic, eh?  (That's his Canadian rubbing off on me.)

I got home.. I cleaned because I am a domestic goddesssssssssss.  Let's be clear.. I can clean on such a limited scale right now that I'm like one of those murky unknown goddesses that archaeologists find out about after digging up some rock.  Not a cool rock in an pyramid that will end up in a museum.. some scrubby rock that looks like a farmer hit it with his plow more than it has a goddess carving on it.

I can slide a dust mop though!  Lord I hate a dusty fucking floor..

After the floor was free of debris and the dogs ran for their lives from the microfiber floor demon, my girlfriend's asked me to lunch.  What kind of goddess would I be if I denied my peeps?!?  I shall provide!!!! It was so good seeing them.. but you know, they complain about a lot of stuff.  I adore them.  But they complain about things they do actually have the power to change.. and they never do anything about it.  An hour of that is a lot for me..

On my way home.. picked up a birthday card for my favorite cousin and mailed it.. and came home to rest.. cuz well.. you guessed it.. I'm pooped.

I will say this.. resting on this sofa as much as I have has not caused me to appreciate it at all.

Hello from Yoda

Well hello stranger! :)

It's been some time since I've posted. I've missed you.

I've spent the last few hours reading and re-reading some of the posts from this blog as well as a private online journal I kept. It's funny tracing my personal journey through those words. I can feel the ebb and flow of my life in those posts.

Where am I today? On the surface, newly married but in theory the same as before. You know the problem with theories though? They're always waiting for the next super genius, pencil pusher to come along with their amazing statistical analysis to explain to you why they weren't really wrong to believe as they did before but why they must actually change the way they think now. I try to tell the Hubby/M-type/not-sure-what-he-is-or-i-am-now that this really means they're wrong but he swiftly corrects me that right and wrong couldn't possibly apply to scientists because they're smart and constantly evolving their technology and that they're only a "little" wrong.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen.. those are crickets you're hearing.

I wonder if I were a little wrong back in the olden days if I could have avoided getting my ass beat.
I wonder if I were a little wrong if I could avoid speeding tickets? Well, yes.. I could.. but he couldn't..LOL I do think that's the thing that proves the fucking rule.

Anyhow, I digress.

I feel like I need to reorient myself to this as it's been so long since I've posted. I was introduced to this life in 1999. I've had a lot of fun and lot of various injuries mostly because I'm not graceful... and because I'm wayyyyy too willing to try shit. In fact, at one point, I was considered his "enabler". Those other bitches just didn't get it that I was trying to liven things up a little... pfft!

I just did the math - that's 15 years for me.. oy vey.

So, I met a man who I ended up marrying. He's flavored like me. We should be compatible this way and that. Here's the rub.. Real life is creeping in. How do you make that shit work?!? I've had 3 surgeries in about a year. That's been a royal pain - literally and figuratively.

He is looking at me differently now. Like I'm frail. That pisses me off. It makes me angry.

15 years - I've seen so much. I feel like a yoda for slaves minus the green twat and hairy ears. I miss the feelings I had in some of those posts.

Maybe it's time to evaluate yoda's place in the universe.

Mr. Man-O-Gram

So..

Yes..

I'm 40.. at least the doctor is convinced I am. He wouldn't give me anymore HRT without having a mammogram. Tell me that's not some fucking conspiracy. And whoooooooo would go to jail for the atrocities that would surely be committed when the estrogen ran out?!?

Me. Not him. What a fucking bastard.

So.. In order to save the whole wide world without having to wear spandex or a stupid fucking cape tied to my neck, I scheduled the fucking mammogram (and this goofy blood test he wanted done).

I did it today. Now.. this isn't my first. I had my first mammogram six months after the assault. They were checking for damage lingering from the fucker. I thought that maybe it wasn't so bad because they knew I was only 30-something and why it was necessary. I thought they were being fucking nice to me.

I thought wrong. I got no special treatment that day. No gentle, caring treatment to help mend me after the trauma. Nope ladies and gentleman.. I was just another boob in the chute.

How do I know this thing?!? Because, today, it was exactly the same thing. No big pain.. no big problem.. just a little squishy squishy. The hardest part of the fucking thing was balancing on one leg, holding my breath on one crutch while they shot my tit.

Frankly speaking, Gregoryk squishes my boobs a fuck of a lot harder than any bitch with two glass plates ever could. He's a walking fucking manual mammogram. A fucking man-o-gram.

He left a hand print on it the other night that I thought for sure was going to look like a hand turkey on the tata today. It is kind of weird, by the by, having a 60 year old woman pick up your boob and position it like she were settling a cake on a plate.

I got done pretty quickly with the breast smashing and then on to the bloodwork. I think bitches should not be allowed to draw blood when they're distracted by someone's crutches. I have never.. ever.. in all my fucking life seen blood settling like it did in my arm.. and I have to tell you, that after four kids and all the bazillion surgeries I've had.. I know what its like to get a needle in the arm.

If I wasn't so busy trying not to faint, I would have cracked her in the shin with my crutch.

I think I'm going to start calling him Mr. Mammogram.. or Man-o-gram.

Maybe I'll get another exam for my efforts.