Step Away From The Twat Zone Oh Crispy Fried Ponytail!

I took my blood test this week to see if I had gestational diabetes this time around and little did I know I was about to walk into an episode of Intervention.

It started out normal enough, I waited for the receptionist to hand me my 'tasty' glucose beverage. For those who haven't had the sheer pleasure of downing one of these liquid dreams, it's akin to drinking a Slurpee after it has sat inside a car in 100 degree weather. Truly a happy joy joy experience.

I got the orange flavored drink and was informed by the receptionist that I only had ten minutes to drink it; however, I downed that sucker in less than a minute. I gave her the empty bottle and she side-eyed me like I had dumped it down the drain. (Believe me, I was tempted). My apologies Ms. Receptionist, I didn't realize I had to put it in a wine glass, swish it around, inhale it and ponder if it's a light medium or full bodied glucose syrup. Why the hell would I take my time drinking that liquid sugar shit? *Dumb twat.

*please note this is a pregnant lady writing this blog post and while I may indeed project thoughts of death and carnage upon those who annoy me, I do so with a sweet sweet smile on my face for I am still yet a lady indeed. (stop laughing)

Afterwards, I had to let the orange syrup sit in my stomach for an hour before they drew my blood. Thankfully I found a recent copy of People and spent the hour wondering if Heidi Montag purposely spent thousands of dollars to look like a transsexual blow up doll.

Finally, a crazy looking chick popped her head out the door, called my name and looked around even though I was the ONLY ONE in the lobby. I stood up and acknowledged that yes indeedy, I'm the patient you're looking for, NOT that brown swivel chair you're eyeballing.

Something about this girl appeared 'off' to me and it wasn't because her hair was fried crispy blond and put up in a high, dry ponytail so her roots could take center stage, it was because even after I walked up to go in, she stood at the doorway and blocked my path. It seemed to me like she really WAS waiting for the brown swivel chair to follow her into the patient rooms. So finally I said, 'Yes, I'm ready to go." just to get her attention.

She looked at me, blinked, waited a few seconds and finally let me through the door.

Wierd. I secretly prayed that my regular nurse was back in the examination room and this was just some kind of greeter girl that walks the patients in. Crispy fried ponytail led me to the back room hesitantly, as if she didn't know where she was going and told me to have a seat. I peeked out from the corner of my eye and saw that she was gathering up the needles and pulling out my file. My regular nurse was nowhere to be found. Crap.

I was still holding out hope that my first impression of her was just me being harsh; however, within ten seconds of returning to the examination room, I was fully convinced this chick was under the influence of some extra strength, Lindsey Lohan brand type of Vicodin.

First, she asked me which arm 'they' usually draw blood from. (I assume by 'they" she meant the doctor, but with the way this chick was functioning, 'they' could have been secret agent Ninjas). Seeing as the examination table was against the wall and she couldn't even get to my left arm, I wondered why this question was necessary as I am fully equipped with blood filled veins on both arms. I told her the last time 'they' drew blood, it was from my left but I didn't mind if she took blood from my right arm.

She sat there and blinked at me for what seemed like an eternity. I was beginning to wonder if somehow my voice was on a west coast feed and her ears were on a east coast feed because it appeared as if there was a two minute delay from when I spoke to her and when she finally got what I was saying enough to respond.

HOly shartfucks batman! This woman in a half coma was going to prick me with a needle?? My palms immediately became fountains as she came at me with a needle. I looked away as she tapped my arm and stood there drooling, trying to find a vein. When she finally did find one, not surprisingly, she missed it. She blurted out a slurry 'oops, sorry,' fiddled the needle around and found what she was looking for. I gritted my teeth and fought the urge to beat her over the head with the gynecologist's specula.

After about five minutes but what seemed like hours, she managed to get my blood and actually put a band aid on my arm without falling asleep. She even tried to make light conversation with me but with the west coast/east coast delay going on in her head, it was the most painful conversation I've ever had to endure.

Wasted as Fuck Nurse: "Soooo...where are you going after thish?"
Me: "Oh I'm just going to pick up my daughter from school."

2 minute delay...she blinks really slowly.

Wasted as Fuck Nurse: (finally processes in what I'm saying) "Ooooh. Yeah...yeah...I remember those days..."

WTF? I was willing to bet my imaginary left testicle that the nurse didn't even remember her own name. I still don't know if that nurse was high, sleepy or just slow, but I was so anxious to get out of there I almost forgot to schedule my next appointment - an important one since this is the appointment I get to find out the sex of the baby. Whoo!

If for some reason the doctor is out next month and I see Ms. Crispy fried ponytail nurse wobbling towards my crotch, I'm grabbing the dildo cam and doing it myself.

Finger Pricks With Fries. Oh and Happy New Year!!

Well whaddya know? It's 2010! And before I go on, let me start this post off with how I wrapped up my 2009:


That's right! I met Miss Diva herself, the D-Listed Queen Kathy Griffin. She was making her rounds with her book signing and lucky me - she happened to be signing books in San Diego! True to her D-List self, she parked in public parking and walked down the street to the bookstore like a normal person, flanked by her two assistants. I knew I was a lunatic, because I knew both of her assistants by their first names and I was doing the Wayne's World I'm not worthy bow as she passed. She was cool and bowed right back at me! Not only did she sign my book but Kathy blessed and wished for me to have a healthy baby who would learn how to curse as soon as possible.

I love her.

After that was basically a whirlwind of family, food, presents and yes, even more food. My family being as cool as they are bought the pregnant lady her cravings, one of which was Pho' soup and the other being fruit - specifically mango slices sprinkled with chili lime salt. Here I am caught in the act but still claiming innocence while my mouth was full of said mango slices:

And now here we are, 2010! No resolutions because I'm pregnant! That's right. I'm using the "I'm pregnant" card for EVERYTHING. See how my hair is all frizzy in that picture above? It's because I'm pregnant. I don't have the patience to blow dry properly. House not spic and span? Well you gotta give me some slack, I'm pregnant! Is she drinking ranch straight from the bottle? Hello. Bun in the oven! Leave me alone. Did she just club that person from behind and steal his Subway sandwich? Well I'm hungry AND pregnant! I needed it more than he did. Did she curb her big truck on the sidewalk again and mowed down an elderly person on a senior scooter? Well.. she's pregnant....and Asian! Booya! Double whammy excuse on my bad driving skills!

It's not that I can't drive, I just can't drive giant trucks too well. It doesn't help that Viking hubby thinks disturbingly short girls (ahem) jumping out of monster trucks is cute. I wonder how he's going to feel a couple months from now when an oompa loompa is screaming at him to lift her up into the truck?

AFTER the baby - this body of mine, which has been quite temperamental weight wise ever since the munchkin was born, are going to have a long discussion about how having a giant ass that's as wide as I am tall is not cute. But we'll cross that fat ass bridge when we get to it.

Speaking of ass, look at the kadonkadonk I'm sporting at only 14 weeks....


Apparently I'm 14 weeks in the front and in my third trimester in the back! That shit's starting to look like a bookshelf.

Interestingly enough, from my last doctor's appointment, I actually lost a pound. It's not like I'm not eating. I am but it's s odd, I'm STARVING one minute, eat two bites of whatever it is that I was craving and I'm full. I don't know what that's about because last time, I was a black hole when it came to eating. I would have eaten a throw pillow if you put enough Tabasco sauce on it. I'm also taking an early blood sugar test in about a week since I had gestational diabetes last time. I'm hoping I don't have it this time around. Pricking your finger every five minutes is not fun. Oh and pregnant women on a diet of no starch, no sugar, no anything except mung beans and dirt- yeah, not too much fun either. So cross your fingers that I don't have GD and this pregnancy is finger prick free.

Hmm, Finger prick. I feel like there's a joke there somewhere but I'm at a loss as to what it would be. (Rosie O'Donnell comes to mind for some reason. Ew.)

But Lay off yo. (pregnant card to be used in...5...4...3...2....) I'm PREGNANT! Don't expect me to be clever on top of everything or I'll eat what's most precious to you with a side of french fries.

ooh Fries!

Yuletide Log.

And not the kind that you'd want to put into the fire either, believe me.This preggo constipation is a sick readiness program that God has concocted to train us pregnant woman to push no matter what. PUSH even when it seems like the object you are pushing has clearly settled in with the remote and doesn't plan on going anywhere.

If that's the case, if this really is a training program - I'm training HARD.
Pun is horribly intended.

Yes I'm talking about my poo. AGAIN. For regular readers, I'm sure this is no surprise, (<--- do not click on that link unless you love me very much and promise to love me even after you read it!) to others who happen to stumble onto this by accident, my apologies but you know you're going to keep reading. Black, white, yellow, old, young, short, tall, curved or straight, the whole world can relate to poo. Especially the kind of poo that has you sitting on the pot for two hours trying to pass what feels like a dry, misshaped foot.

I wonder, how the hell am I going to get this out? Clearly pushing, hysterically crying and praying isn't working. There has to be another way. Hmm, maybe if I put my leg this way and hold onto the sink like this and sing Daydream Believer by The Monkees. Ridiculous, but I try it. I try it because I'm desperate. I try it because I'm starting to get a toilet ring around the ass.

Things start to get a little frantic at about hour two. Horror stories about that chick that got stuck in the toilet for two years start to creep into my head. I can almost feel my skin embracing my dire situation and start growing around the toilet. No!!

I really don't now how I get through these ordeals. I think I pass out from exhaustion and somehow my personal Christmas presents manage to make it down the chimney because I'm still here, spinchter still intact - but just barely. Pass me the Prep-H.

I truly do apologize that I choose my blog as my main venue to rant about the yuletide logs coming out of the bunghole but it's not like I can do it anywhere else you understand? When someone asks me, oh hey girl, how's that pregnancy going? Sure I can talk about my fatigue and the nausea (that seems to be passing thank goodness) but even my socially inept self knows that when someone asks me how my pregnancy is going, they do not want to know about my rock hard droppings.

I'm sure you didn't want to either and yet here you are with horrible visuals in your head - you really are a dear dear friend. I'll release you from the clutches of disgusting thoughts and experiences now.

Go.

Take that hot shower and keep at it until all of what has been discussed here is gone.

I love you.

Grand Opening of Club Uterus!

Wow it's been more than a month since I've posted anything. I would say that's a record but more often than not I'm ignore this blog more than I paying attention to it. So really, I'm just being consistent.

So first things first, for once, I have a very legitimate excuse for not blogging and mostly that's because more than two months ago I peed on a little stick and it told me that Club Uterus was open and ready for business. In fact, just this week, I got a little peek at our new client at Club Uterus.


That's right. I have a little bean rocking out in there waiting to make his debut on July 4th! Whoot! Whoot!

Actually the baby looks more like Mr. Peanut, just give it a top hat, a cane and an eye spectacle thingy?

Bam-o Mr. Peanut:


and lots of things are happening at Club Uterus. Since it opened, the place has been rockin' with activity so much that I've been feeling nice and queasy almost every day. Thank goodness there hasn't been any deliveries from the regurgitation station and I hope it stays that way until this thing passes. I've been tired and sluggish after about 10:00 a.m - I've attempted to write many blog posts since the day I found out but I think I ended up falling asleep and drooling on myself before I even started typing. In fact, the other day I think I slept the entire time I was washing dishes. As for the outgoing deliveries via my ass, sometimes I think I'm passing a semi truck through a doggy door and the after affects? Let's just say that it feels like I've been sodomized by a Clydesdale.

The nausea and the extreme fatigue is all new to me because when I was preggers with the munchkin, I felt sick once and I was only really tired a handful of times. Unfortunately, the constipation part I'm quite familiar with.

Yeah it gets a little graphic up here at Club Uterus but we're super excited about adding on to our team. The crazy thing is two of my best friends, with whom I've been friends with since the 2nd and 3rd grade, are pregnant too, we're within weeks of each other. So it looks like Club Uterus is a franchise.

So I hope you don't mind if this blog starts becoming my weekly log of all the happenings at the Club. The good, the bad, the gross, the cravings (I want to put Tabasco sauce on EVERYTHING right now) and the constipation.

If anything this will give me an excuse to not ignore this poor blog for so long. It thinks its gotten fat and I'm doing another blog on the side.