Pure Romance - Sexy Time at Mom's House

Have a "girl party" they said.  It'll be fun, they said. And, so, I scheduled a Pure Romance party.  The hostess said, "Just go in and invite everyone over 18 on your FB page.  You'll only get a small percentage that will attend."  Okay, I'm not doing that.  There are certain people I don't want to know about.  I mean, many of these people are work friends.  I can't be walking down the hall, pass them and think, I wonder if we ordered the same vibrator?  Awkward.  I mean, I share a lot of stuff with people via this blog and via the "circle of trust" at my desk each day, but I don't know about this.  I went down my list of FB friends.  This is complicated, because if I invite this person, then I should invite that person and this person probably wouldn't come anyway, so why invite them?  It's complicated.  I don't want to exclude anyone that I like and am comfortable with, but maybe I need to keep this party smaller.  And, I can't have it at my house, it's a shoebox.  I'll have to ask Mom if I can have it at her house.  That means Mom's friends mixed with my friends.  Hey, that actually could be entertaining, we could learn a lot! Anyway, finally sent my invites out and let the cards fall where they may.  Let's see if anyone even wants to come.

Okay, so as it turns out, quite a few people wanted to attend the party.  I had my Boot Bitches exclusive club represented, some friends I hadn't seen for a while, my sister had some friends, Mom had some friends, looks like it's a party!  The hostess, Lube Lady, arrived and brought in a case that looked just like Shark Bait's gun case.  I suspected what she had in there was artillery of a different kind.  She got all set up and the guests arrived one by one.  I offered them all an adult beverage and we assembled in the front room for our afternoon entertainment.

I was the hostess of the party, so I got the special chair and a sparkly bucket to fill with any product I saw that I was interested in. We started out with a shaving cream called "Coochy."  Well, let's just jump right in there and get to the heart of the matter.  I mean, who wants a va-jay jay with razor burn or ingrown hairs?  I mean, you can use it anywhere, apparently, but I passed on putting it in my bucket.  I can barely handle shaving my legs with a razor without bleeding out, let alone shaving my girl parts, I don't need those kind of problems. 

Next up was some pheromones. We all got a sample on our wrists.  I immediately expressed a concern that we were going to start dry humping each other, but I was assured it was a much more subtle scent, so likely, that would not happen.  I was skeptical.  We were all looking pretty good, after all.

We then moved on to some lubricants and I was amazed at what I was learning.  For example, I didn't know that the outside of my girl bits might be really excited and like a greased pig at the county fair, but the inner part might just be like, "meh, whatever" and not in the mood at all.  I mean, I thought the love canal was either invested or not invested, but it turns out that, yeah, in the inner sanctum it can just "check out" of the process.  Like, here comes Mr. Happy and it just says, "hey, ease up, dick head."  I guess you can get little abrasions up in there.  Ladies, lube is important.  That's what I learned.  And, you know what else I learned, it isn't just the Blue Hairs that experience desert conditions, it can happen to the young too, so all women, get lubed.  It's important.  Consider this your PSA on the subject.  Oh, AND, there are actually lubes you can wear every day to keep yourself "hydrated" and moist.  I was concerned we might spontaneously just fall into a splits position, but Lube Lady said, no worries.  One person asked if you just took a shower in the morning and then shot a syringe of that crap up there each day, but apparently, a little dab will do ya.  Huh. Who knew?

Then, it turns out they've got some products that make it a lot easier to take care of your man.  Like, when he comes over and wants you to "whistle," well, you don't have to miss The Bachelor.  You can just have him sit down next to you, put this special stuff on the Little General and half-ass it, wait, bad choice of words...um, I mean, you can just put little effort forth and he can get there.  We put this stuff on our arms and practiced stroking and blowing on our arms.  I don't really know if I believe in this product as my hand never orgasmed.  My fingers didn't even shoot out in ecstasy or anything.  I didn't put it in my wish bucket.

We continued on with important products, like the one you spray when your sheets need to be "freshened" or even your room.  Turns out, if you have hot sex, your room stinks.  I stopped the presentation.  "Wait, back up...there's a smell?  I think we are doing it wrong, I don't know what smell that is..."  Yeah, it's true they all said, if you have hot sex, it gets stinky.  I was informed that we may not actually be doing it wrong, and that because of the open floor plan of the house, the smell would not be strong.  To be sure we are doing it right, we need to go in the bathroom, do it, and do it up good, then leave the bathroom and go back in to smell it.  That's what they are talking about.  I guess we are gonna have to try this.  I mean, I need to know if we are doing it right.  This spray is also good for the wet spot on your sheets.  Yeah, turns out that most men start out with you on their side of the bed, but when they are ready to finish, somehow you are both on your side of the bed and, yep, you guessed it, wet spot.  I sat there nodding my head.  I was not alone.  I guess Shark Bait is just doing what genetics force him to do.  Spooge on my side of the bed.  I guess he can't help it, and great news! There is a spray for that.  Add that to the bucket!

Now it was time for a game.  A game that was a series of questions.  If you answered yes to the question, you had to move one seat to the right.  If your answer was no, you stayed there.  That meant that if the person next to you needed to move to your spot, they had to sit on your lap.  We all laughed as some people were three people deep in one spot.  Some people were a little more "freaky" and moved right along.  Some question examples: "Have you masterbated in the last 10 days?"  There was a lot of movement there.  "Have you ever had a one night stand?"  I was horrified to see my Mom take a step to the right.  What just happened? Whoa. "Have you ever faked an orgasm?" Ladies, ladies...don't ever fake it, that's not helping them learn.  No reward for not putting in the work, that's my motto.  Anyway, we learned a lot about each other.  My sister made it back to her original chair first.  No surprise there, that girl has some stories.  I need more stories. Seriously.

Alright, enough dancing around, time for the big show. It's time for the toys to come out.  I'm not going to elaborate a lot about this.  <-- what?  Of course I am.  She brings out this first one called Buzz.  Look how cute it is, it has a little bee on it and then the essential piece that allegedly will find our G-spot.  She asked for a raise of hands of who had found their G-spot.  I'm not even gonna lie, I don't think I know where mine is.  She passed Buzz around.  Now, Buzz has SEVEN speeds.  He is currently on number three in the settings.  I'm fairly certain my girl parts would not be able to survive whatever level seven had in store because level three had that bee in a freaking frenzy. Like, I need a safe word just holding it.  Huh. Maybe I need a Buzz in my life? That's what I thought until I met another G-spot finder named Wanda.  She was going to help me find my G-spot, for sure.  She seemed flexible and committed to getting all up in there.  Again, more speed settings than I could possibly need, but hey, she seems like a fun gal.  We all joked about these products as we passed them around and giggled like girls do.  Then, Lube Lady pulls out Mr. Dependable.  Biggest purple dildo I've ever seen.  I mean, I haven't seen a lot of purple dildo's...or dildo's of any color really, but this was BIG.  And, Mr. Dependable had a suction cup on him.  I could put him in the shower, on my mirror, on my window, on the washing machine, I can take that thing anywhere!  One thing I could definitely depend on, if I spent too much time with Mr. Dependable, I could depend on that fact that I could probably park a semi up in my love zone, you know what I mean?  Big. Purple. Dildo.  He did not go in the wish bucket.  Now if it would have been pink...different story...HA! just kidding.

The party continued with vibrating bullets and c-rings and then, shit got real.  Lube Lady brought out TOM.  Stop right there.  My father-in-law's name is Tom.  I was suddenly traumatized.  This thing looked like it was created by NASA.  It had a control station at the bottom, it was freaking huge and it turned, it twisted, it vibrated, it went up and then back down.  It was an amusement park for your vagina.  I just stared at it wondering if it would tickle my intestines.  I didn't think my love canal was that long and frankly, I was scared to find out.  We all passed it around with a little awe in our faces as we watched it go through it's routine. The biggest concern was accessing the control panel at the bottom.  If I am using this damn thing an I need to abort the mission, holy shit, people, I need someone at the helm, you know what I mean?  I need mission control to handle this situation. TOM was not going in my bucket.

Finally, after we had previewed the products in Lube Lady's kit, we all got a catalog to look at the other stuff available.  For me, this was the question and answer part of the show.  There was some stuff in there that made me look at the catalog like a dog looking at a TV.  I mean, I get what this part does, but why the dangly things that look like  midieval weaponry?  I guess it is all part of the process.  Look, I'm not a prude, but when it comes to ice cream, I like vanilla with chocolate on top...and sometimes assorted toppings.  Some of this stuff is definitely a mystery to me.  The fact that my friends were less mystified was comforting in one way, disturbing in another, but made me question what the hell is going on in my life?  Clearly, my sex jedi knight training is not complete.  Looks like this girl needs a light saber.

Anyway, we all had a really good time and we can't really talk about who is most likely to participate in butt play and who already owns the pink swing,  but I think we can all agree we all want me to order the pink strap on dildo so I can wear it on my head at Halloween and say, "I'm a unicorn!"  It's only $39.  I think that is reasonable.

That concludes this blog edition of Sexy Time at Cassondra's Mom's House.  Thank you for joining us...and if you'd like to order off of my party, I can hook you up with Lube Lady, she's fun and educational!  

Hit me up, girlfriend!

Best Cry of 2015 in Rush Hour Traffic

I can't say for sure, but today may be the last time I blog about my weight loss journey.  I don't know if there is much more to say after today.  

I had my two year post-op surgery appointment a couple of weeks ago with the surgeon, Dr. L.  He shared that he was not giving up on me and referred me to one of the other doctors, named Dr. C, that specializes in "medically supervised" weight loss programs.   Dr. C is also a patient.  He had the gastric sleeve procedure a few years back and he looks great.  It worked wonderfully for him.  I was also seeing my nutritionist today as well.  All this is just great except the timing was bad. We are in the height of shark week.  I say "we" because I never go through this alone.  I take victims down when necessary and other people throw chocolate at me in hopes I will not attack.  But, I digress.  What I'm saying is, as far as emotional stability days go, I didn't need my horoscope to tell me how this was all about to go down.

Regardless of mood, I was committed.  Committed to today, committed to the process, whatever that may be.  I promised myself, no crying today.  Dr. C walked in the room and asked me how I'd been.  Seems like an innocent enough question, and yet, the tear dam began filling behind the walls preparing for an apocalyptic release.  We talked about where I'd been the last two years and where I was now.  We talked about options.  One of those options is an additional surgery.  A surgery that likely would not  guarantee any further success.  He was pretty honest about it all.  I told him I didn't want another surgery and that I knew this was up to me and that I had to do it and that I had to work harder.  This is when shit got real.

Dr. C said he had looked over my history.  I had been working with this clinic since 2006.  First, with a lap band that did not net any real success in April of 2007 and then the removal of that and then doing the sleeve in December 2012.  He said, "I've looked at all of your recent lab results, you are really healthy.  Your cholesterol is low, your A1C is lower than my own and with the exception of a low vitamin D count, all your numbers are right where you need to be. We may have to accept that your body is never going to be where you want it to be."  First crack could be heard in the dam wall and we had a geyser start shooting water.  He went on to say that as hard as I had worked last year to get to my lowest weight with the working out and the eating and being on the Phentermine, that might be as low as my body could go.  That might be the resting place.  Not saying I can't get below that, but it is going to be a lot of hard work and it may not ever be anything I can maintain.  And, it isn't my fault.  I'm doing all that I can and I can't fight genetics.  The fact that my body gained weight back when I stopped exercising and let my guard down shows that my body has a different "resting point" than where I want it to be. He said he needed me to hear that, needed me to understand that.  He needed me to know that I am doing enough, no matter how much I think I'm not doing enough, I am.  I am doing more than a lot of people do and I can't beat myself up for this.  He told me what I have always known in my head and in my heart, I will never be thin. As I type this, that is the hardest thing I have ever had to hear. It hurts me to the core.  It is every Sam Smith and Adele song lyric magnified times 100. I cried in his office.  I cried all the way home.  I cry right now.  I cannot express how deeply it cuts.  There are no words.

I've always been a big girl and I have always fought it, but I thought that someday, if I worked hard enough, if I had surgery, that someday I could overcome this.  To have someone look at me and say, there may not be anything medically we can do to help you and you may have to accept being healthy with a bigger body was difficult.  He didn't say I couldn't be successful, but it is going to be very difficult and a lot of hard work.  I will have to stay on top of exercise all the time just to maintain the smallest of successes.  And, my body will likely convert whatever it can to muscle, so I will not see a lighter body.  He went on to say that it isn't fair how some people barely try and the surgery works for them and they get down so thin.  It just isn't fair, but that is what I am dealing with, this is the body I was given. He just kept reiterating that he needed me to hear that it wasn't my fault.  While it is true I own responsibility for my eating and exercise, how my body responds to that is not in my control.

All I could think during this is, "I was right, this is never going to happen for me.  I'm never going to have skin removal surgery, because I am never going to lose enough to merit it.  I'm never going to be able to wear shorts in the summer, I'm never going to be able to wear a bathing suit without shame.  I'm never going to be able to wear certain clothes that I want to wear.  I'm never going to be able to walk around proud of the body I'm in.  I've spent a lifetime fighting this body and I am never going to be able to stop fighting. Never.  I'm tired now, how am I going to continually do this?  I'm trying to  be supportive to all these people that are going through the same journey I am and they are all surpassing me.  I hate their success.  I hate it.  I don't hate them, but I hate their bodies for allowing them to realize their dreams.  It all sounds dramatic to whomever might be reading this, but this is my reality, if you haven't lived it, then I would not expect you to understand.  I say to the FIRST PERSON that says to me, "That's your problem, it's because you don't believe you can,"  I say to them FUCK YOU.  You don't know.  Don't you dare judge what you don't know.  I need one more thin person to tell me how it is like I need a hole in the head, so if you are that person, SAVE it.

As I drove home, rain pounded down on my windshield and I just cried.  I let it all out.  I audibly sobbed so hard that I put to shame every bachelorette that didn't get a rose at the last rose ceremony on The Bachelor.  It was the best Daytime Drama emmy award-winning cry you have ever seen.  I needed Adele's help and I popped her CD in the player.  Us fat girls were going to get through this together.  And, I wasn't crying because of shark week, I was crying for every moment in my life I felt like a failure, every moment I felt like a fat girl, every moment I felt not good enough, every moment a kid teased me at school, every moment I felt alone and unlovable, every pair of jeans that wouldn't fit, every time I felt like I couldn't do something because I was too heavy.  I cried for all of those things that I have spent a lifetime fighting to overcome and on this day, I felt defeated and my heart is broken. Having the words I feared most to be spoken to me rocked me to the core.

With all of that said, I don't blame the doctor for being honest. I appreciate him saying what he did.  He didn't say I couldn't do this, he was saying, I needed to come to terms with the cards I was dealt and then go from there.  I'm not giving up.  I need to re-lose the pounds I have gained back.  I need to get to the gym, which I have been.  I need to keep eating healthier stuff.  I'm going to do those things. I'm not a suicide case.  I'm just saying that today I hurt.  Today a lifetime of inner fears and insecurities became realized.  It was nice to hear someone say that I am doing enough and to not beat myself up, but at the same time, I have to accept that my before and after picture is going to be a very different story than what I want it to be.  And there are those out there that will say the doctor doesn't know what he is saying and that I just need to move more and eat less and that I am not healthy, I am fat.  I know those people are out there because I see their mean posts and bullying on social media every day.  I don't have any more energy to fight those people, and I won't.

When I arrived at the clinic today, there was someone in the waiting room that I know that also had the surgery and was there for follow-up appointments.  She had shared that she wanted to wear boots and cute dresses, but that she didn't have the confidence to do so yet.  I told her that she should do it when she was ready and that she should rely on family and friends that support her. And believe them when they tell her she is doing great and looks great.  I told her that is where I get my strength and confidence, my peeps.  My peeps that I am so lucky to have.  I told her that is where I pull my bravery from.  Even when I got my new boots that I coveted so much, I was still scared to wear them, but I said, "Fuck it, I'm gonna own it because my friends said I can."  And I did it and it felt great.  As I gave her this advice, I thought to myself, "I do really believe that."  I still mean that.  I love all my family and friends for always being that support system.  I just need everyone to understand,  I hear you, I love you, but I gotta get through this part and it's hard.  It was part of my journey to hear what I did today.  I just have to come to terms with what it means to me and what I do next.

Look, I am thankful for many things in my life.  I have a wonderful husband, a caring family, amazing friends, we have what we need, no less, no more, and I get to live somewhere that I get to keep my horses.  I have a good job, Shark Bait has a good job.  I get it.  I am thankful.  With all of that, it seems selfish to want more, but I do.  For my whole life, I've wanted this one thing.  This one unreachable thing. I get to be upset about it. I've earned the right.

If it were Therapy Thursday, the Rug Doctor might say, "Today totally sucks. Life isn't always going to suck. And, your feelings are valid."   And then, I would give her a $20 co pay and reschedule my next appointment.  Today isn't Therapy Thursday, but my feelings are valid.  I don't need a professional to sign off on that fact.

Goodnight.

P.S. I didn't write about shit today.  It's a win for Angry Pony.

Defcon 5: Pee Crisis at The Palace

I was looking at my blog history recently and realized that I have spent a lot of time talking about bodily functions and shit.  I don't think it is because I am fascinated by it, or because I'm drawn to it, but I seem to be surrounded by the fallout...a lot.  At work, everyone thinks it is hilarious to tell me all about the bathroom conditions and they assume that I think it is funny.  It isn't that I think it is funny as much as it is the fact that I can't believe what humans do in a public restroom. I've tried to educate the public and shame the offenders, but it is an uphill battle in a down the drain world.  As far as my own bodily drama, well sometimes that is just funny.

Today is another shining example of why I have to blog about shit.  I want to start off stating that I really am not in the mood for people this week.  Shark week is approaching (like the sharks are circling the boat) and I have had a monster headache for two days.  To say I didn't want to go to work today was an understatement. As I was arriving in the parking lot, my phone starts to blow up with messages.  Apparently, there was some sort of water main break, our server room was flooded and the water was turned off to the building.  This meant, no phone, no internet, and as God is my witness....we are not allowed to flush the mother trucking toilets.  We can use them, apparently, but we are not allowed to flush them and there is no way to wash our hands.

Now,let's just take a step back for a moment, shall we?  On ANY GIVEN DAY, it is likely that we are walking and living among those that do not flush the toilet or wash their hands.  And now, you are telling me, the rest of us are not allowed to either?  This just turned into defcon "you-gotta-be-shitting-me" five. 

I come walking down the stairs and a crowd has assembled.  After all, they can't do their jobs because all of our systems are down due to the server that is now swimming in Lake Icantpoo.  One of the gals that is ALWAYS telling me bathroom drama comes right up in my face saying, loudly, "Who's gonna flush all the toilets once the water is turned back on?! Is that going to be you since you are in charge of the bathrooms?! hahahahaha..."  I wasn't ready for this.  I felt my uterus lock and load, somebody was going to be verbally assaulted today.  I looked at her, totally pissed off (no pun intended) and said, "Just STOP.  Don't even start with me." I turned and tried to get to the alleged safety of my desk.

First of all, I am not "in charge" of the bathroom, bitches.  No where in my job description does it say anything about bathroom responsibilities.  My only mistake has been to report the animalistic behavior as it arises.  And, you know what? It isn't even fair to call it "animalistic" because you know why?  My dog doesn't finger paint his poop all over the wall.  He finds just the right spot, drops his turds in a nice campfire wood formation and walks away.  Sometimes he gives the ground a couple of back feet peel out marks and walks away.  No excessive use of toilet paper was encountered, no clogging of pipes.  Why do animals get a bad reputation?  Even when he lifts his leg to pee, he hits his target. No, these people aren't animalistic, I'll have to think of a different term.  At any rate, getting in my face first thing in the morning was this gal's first mistake, her second was getting in it about the frigging bathroom. I take a moment to fantasize about giving her a swirly in one of the unflushed toilets and then continue to my desk.

After getting to my desk and talking to New Boss, I have a better idea of what is going on.  They want me to go get water for everyone that is currently attempting to work in the building.  That's a lie, people aren't attempting to work, they are just successfully complaining.  "I have to pee, how am I supposed to pee?!"  Look, I don't see the logic, personally, in going to get water when these people clearly have water trapped in their body that already wants out.  And, all of those walking around with their coffee...I sure hope their coffee already did it's job at home, otherwise, we are going to have a bigger problem at hand.  Nonetheless, I do what I am told, and off I go with the help of one of our supervisors.  We return with 500 bottles of water and the crowd is now crankier than before I left and that was only about 20 minutes ago.  I inform the high priestess admin upstairs that we have returned with water.  She replies, "oh, should I cancel the Crystal Springs delivery then?"  We ordered water?  Then why in the fuck did I go to the store and lug in 500 freaking bottles that people are too scared to drink?!?  Again, my uterus twitched and I visibly shuddered.  Moving on...

I was instructed to take a couple cases of water downstairs to the new hire classroom.  No elevator? No problem, I'll just grab one of "my people" to help me lug it down there. Sigh.  Once down in the classroom, I tried to reassure them that although the elevator hasn't worked since they started on February 2nd and that we can't keep their training room cooled down and now this, that the building was NOT falling apart and to please "keep the faith."  They seemed skeptical.  I don't think they believed me.  I left, clearly my work here was done.

Back upstairs I go and spend more time waiting for the verdict.  The powers that be were trying to assess the damages and if we would be back up and running anytime soon.  Since the elevator shaft had approx 5-6 feet of water in it and we needed a big back hoe to come in to fix the water problem, it didn't seem likely.  AND, the bathrooms, ironically, were the least of our problems, our server room has to "dry out" so that we can get back on-line and take calls...but before it can dry out, we gotta get the water to stop coming in. Finally, they made the decision to close us down and send us home.  If people can't pee and can't take calls, not much left to do here.  I'll take a beautiful day off, thank you very much.  I would like to get paid to have the time off, however, I guess I'll take the time regardless.

As I pulled out of the parking lot, I saw the port-a-potty truck pulling in.  Oh yeah, shit just got real.  One of my friends reported that he doesn't use port-a-potties and he won't.  He won't even poop at work or in a public restroom, so no way is he going to use one.  You learn a lot about people in a "crisis." I think he just earned himself a blog name...Poop Nazi...he says where, he says when...you don't tell him where to poop and his body doesn't tell him either, he is the master of his bowels...maybe he should be Bowel Master (BM for short)  Hmmmm....  As Sassy Pants says, "If there is no Dave Matthews concert on site, I'm not going in a port-a-potty."  I mean, I get they are nasty, but hey, you sit in a stall where you see your neighbors feet and hear grunting or other weird things and suddenly a port-a-potty is out of the question?  We'll be lucky if the homeless population doesn't move in before we can use them anyway. I get it is primitive, after all, this is the Glass Palace, we have much higher expectations...

I will say this about today's "event," if this had been an actual emergency, my people would surely have lost their minds or perished.  You would have thought this was post-apocalyptic conditions.  Like, The Day After type shit.  I saw people near hysteria about going pee.  I get we all have to pee, but people, people, calm down. I get that this is inconvenient.  I get that it is gross, but the reality is, a water main broke.  This building is old. Shit happens (we prove that EVERYDAY).  Even new buildings have this type of stuff happen.  We are going to be okay.  There is no need to huddle in corners and wonder if tomorrow will ever come.  You are going to be able to leave this place, go across the street and pee in McDonald's bathroom.  And then, the rest of your day is going to be fine.  You will not perish here.  You will be able to poop again.  You will, I believe it in my heart.  Dear Lord, please do not bring a real disaster upon us for the sake of mankind in the call center.  Please.

Anyway, I'll keep you all updated if the saga escalates any further.  For the time being, we are all safe.  I don't know about anyone else, but I came home and peed, flushed and washed my hands with abandon.  Not because i had to, but because I could.  Damn right. 

Oh and if you haven't already checked in with your loved ones, do that now, it was a close call out there today...but we're okay.

Valentine's Day

Today is Valentine's Day otherwise known as Singles Awareness Day.  The day that Hallmark designated for anyone that doesn't have a significant other to feel bad about themselves and thusly they eat lots of ice cream and chocolate.  A day that anyone that is attached to someone else should expect romantic gestures or romance of some sort.  Dinner out, if you're lucky and maybe some cute underwear that lead to sex.  Hey, Hallmark, this isn't really how life works, FYI.  Not everyone is Mr. or Ms. Romantic.  Some people genuinely could give a flying frick about your made up, buy a card, some chocolate and maybe some diamonds holiday.  These could be the bitter words from a woman that didn't have a significant other until she was in her early 30's or it could just be that I think it's all bullshit.  It's a lot of pressure.  Pressure for me to expect alleged romance and pressure from me to put on my significant other for romance.  He doesn't need that pressure (I mean sometimes he needs a swift kick in the ass, but that's not what I mean here).  Anyway, the short and long of it is, I've come to expect little from this alleged holiday.

In an effort to prepare for Valentine's Day, I did nothing.  We don't usually make a big deal about it and the last couple of years, times have been a bit tight financially, so I asked Shark Bait to just not buy me anything.  I expected this year to be the same.  I woke up this morning and Shark Bait went and let the dogs outside and then came back upstairs to snuggle with me. He doesn't do that very often, kind of sweet. How romantic.  We came downstairs and he had gotten me a card and a box of chocolates and some specialty chocolate.  Also, he got me a necklace that he gave me last night that says, "I Love You More" on it, which is something we say to each other all the time.  It's an argument.  "I love you."  "Well, I love you more."  "No, I love YOU more."  "No I love you MORE."  And on it goes.  That is all pretty sweet.  I was touched and now I'm a dirtbag because I don't even have a card for him.

I decided to go in the kitchen and make us breakfast.  Shark Bait even comes in to help.  What?  Again, being super sweet.  Did he read a manual or something?  Did he go to some sort of website called "Valentine's Day for Dummies?"  And then he says, "I thought we'd go to lunch at that place  that we had our first date at."  Okay, that's it.  What is happening? I kept waiting for a unicorn to walk past the window or something.  WTF?

The reality is, we had some errands to run, so we decided to hold off on the romantic lunch until our "anniversary of our first date" which is coming up in a couple of months.  So, we headed up to Bellingham to get Shark Bait something suitable to wear for the wedding we are going to in a couple of weeks.  Last weekend we got my dress, now it was his turn for his duds.  Since he only owns Wranglers, he needed something nicer.  It is noteworthy to say, this is kind of where things took a turn for the worse.

We get up to the mall and I thought we would drop off my new necklace at the engraving store and have them put a message on the back of it.  I said to the greasy-haired girl with big boobs, "Can you engrave the back of this necklace with the surface being a little different on the back?"  "Oh, yes!" she says.  Great.  We leave it and head to Men's Wearhouse, also known as the place where you will need lube once Mr. Belvedere gets done with you.  We were an easy mark, I suppose.  Shark Bait is wearing his camo printed Romeo's, his Wranglers, his work t-shirt and a ball cap.  He's no city slicker.  Mr. Belvedere found us some pants that were on sale, $49.99.  Excellent.  And, it was buy one, get one.  He doesn't need two pairs of pants, he barely needs one, but whatever.  Of course, none of the pants were finished, so they would be custom hemmed for us.  Included in the price, or so I thought.  He needed a shirt, too.  Oh, good, those are buy one, get one.  The ties, buy one, get one.  It's like we are practically saving money.  Right?  My redneck goes in there and tries on the pants, comes out, yep, yep, that will work.  We make arrangements with Mr. Belvedere to come back in a half an hour to pick up hemmed pants, but first, let's ring up our purchase.  Now, I don't mind splurging a little bit.  After all, Shark Bait doesn't own any slacks.  That Mother Trucker, Mr. Belvedere, might have mentioned that the pair Shark Bait decided on were NOT on sale. He might have mentioned there was a charge to press both pairs of pants and to hem them.  I grabbed my chest like that old guy on Sandford & Son (if you've never seen that show, eff you, I,m sick of you young people).  Mr. Belvedere just smuggly looked at me.  I wanted Shark Bait to shoot him.  He was packing heat.  He always does at the mall to protect me from the crazy people that think it's okay to shoot the mall up, but today, I wanted him to be that crazy person.  Asshole, Mr. Belvedere.  Oh, I'm sorry, I thought Asshole was your first name....Asshole Belvedere.  I really did need lube at that moment.  Men's Wearhouse should have it by the register.

I no sooner leave the store of despair and start to breathe normally again when I get a call from Greasy BigBoobs letting me know she can't engrave on the back of my necklace because of the surface....the surface I specifically asked her about.  She wants to know if it is okay to put it on the front.  Um, no.  

We retrieve my necklace and then decide to go get lunch at good 'ol Olive Garden.  Mind you, this place has a standing history of causing my husband to go into a carb coma every time we go there, however, everyone thinks it's my favorite place to go, so I frequently get gift cards to there.  Right now, a gift card lunch is in the budget.  I do like the place, I just don't love it.  Shark Bait was actually on good behavior today (still) and did not order a heavy lunch.  At least he would be awake for a while.  Hooray!

We decide, since we are up in Bellingham to stop at a couple places, just for fun, that we don't normally go to.  One of them was Pier One.  Haven't been in there forever.  We walk in and start to browse and all the sudden, my stomach releases a battle cry from the intestinal area that leads me to believe we are in grave danger. ("What kind of danger? Grave danger, is there any other kind of danger?"  - A Few Good Men reference there for those of you wondering what the hell...)  Anyway, I quickly find Shark Bait,  "Um, my stomach just advised me all hell is about to break loose, I need a bathroom...."  Pier One doesn't have public restrooms, in case you were unaware.  I tried to walk it off and pretend that I was the captain of my bowels.  It became clear that at some point along the way, I had been demoted.  I circled back to Shark Bait, "I hate to do this, but we need to go, NOW."  We got outside and I said, "I'm pretty sure I'm going to shit my pants in the truck."  He said, "Hold on, Barnes & Noble is right here, they have a bathroom."  They shared the same parking lot, so we scooted over there and walked in the door.  Both of us came in like we were casing the joint.  Restrooms located, crisis averted.  

I took the handicapped stall because, at this point, I wasn't sure if I would need the handrail for safety or not.  As I'm in there, a woman and her kids come in.  They want in my stall.  As God is my witness, I don't care if that little girl craps her pants, I'm not giving up my stall.  I won't go in to detail, but suffice to say, I took care of what needed caring for.

I walk out and start browsing books and Shark Bait walks up.  There are two chairs there and we both grab a book and sit for a few moments, recovering from the crisis situation that had just been resolved.  Just then, a very large man pushing a very large woman in a wheel chair came by.  They were fighting.  Apparently, she had to go to the bathroom, BAD. I can appreciate that. He is slamming her all over in that wheel chair.  I mean, they are arguing loud and making a scene.  They finally find the door to the women's room and the guy can't figure out how to get the chair in there.  The woman is screaming at him to stop and he just keeps ramming that wheel chair into the door frame of the door, into the door, the wall and she is yelling, "Stop it! This isn't helping...this isn't working...stop!" He yells back, "I'm trying not to look inside there! I can't see what I'm doing!"  Okay, this is not funny, especially after what I just experienced, but I had to work as hard as I could not to laugh.  It was so ridiculous that it was comical.  She finally got the door open and got in there.  Several minutes later, she comes out and I hear her lecturing her angry chaperone, "Next time I tell you to stop doing something and it isn't working, you need to listen...are you hearing me?  Are you even listening to me?  I'm talking to you."  He was dead inside and over it, he just pushed her through the aisles and I could hear her going at him all the way through the store.  Again, I was dying inside a little.  I looked at Shark Bait, who was oblivious to the whole thing and I said, "You promise me, if I'm ever in a wheel chair, you don't try and shove me through the bathroom door like you're shoving a sock in an over-crowded sock drawer, you hear me?  Do not just slam me repeatedly into the door, okay?"  He agreed.

I stood there and continued to look at the books categorized as "Humor."  Who writes this stuff? I found a couple funny bits, but overall, what I saw happening in the wheel chair was far funnier than anything in those books.  Shark Bait had wandered off, so I was sitting there by myself.  A man comes up, "Is this chair taken?"  I said, "No, go right ahead."  He was excited, "Oh, that is awesome, let me go grab all my books!"  He returns with his stuff and a coffee/espresso, whatever, and sits down making all the noises that a human makes when they are settling in to a good spot and their body is happy about it.  Heavy sighs, content sighs, getting comfy.  Then, he starts loud slurping his coffee and going, "mmmmm......mmmmmmm...." Are you kidding me? I think he was setting up for a coffee orgasm. I stayed just a moment longer.  I didn't want to leave my spot by the restroom in case anything else exciting happened there or in case I needed it, but Mr. Slurpy was too much.

I left the area and found some books on becoming positive and finding my inner soul, blah, blah, blah..."Shark Bait, you ready? Can we go?"  I felt confident my bowels could make it home, so we left the safety of the book store.

All in all, a pretty eventful Valentine's Day.  But, it's not over,  I mean, I don't know what else will happen, but it was a good day thus far.  I don't care about the candy and the hoopla (likely the candy is what got my stomach pissed off), but it is something special that Hallmark doesn't have in a card when you can tell someone you love that you need a  bathroom right now because otherwise you are going to shit your pants.  THAT is what love is.  Forget romance, candy and 50 shades of flannel sheets, this is the kind of stuff that makes you close to someone.  I needed a bathroom and he found me one.  To all you prissy girls in high heels looking over the edge at the Space Needle tonight waiting to be proposed to, you have NOTHING on me.  I got the real deal.  Be jealous, you should be.

 
 

The Flu: Final Destination - The Great Shit Race of 2006

Have you ever seen the movie, Final Destination?  The premise, at least in the first one (there's like 4 or 5 sequels) is that a group of friends are taking a trip on a plane and one girl has a vision that the plane will crash and blow up.  She gets on and panics and so gets off, along with some of her friends.  Sure enough, the plane barely gets off the ground and then crashes and blows up.  She, and her friends, essentially cheated death.  The rest of the movie is about death seeking out each of them one by  one, in the most graphic ways.  After all, you can't cheat death.  The girl figures this out and so the movie goes, watching her attempt to stay alive.

What does this have to do with the flu, you ask?  I'm going to tell you, but I have to take a trip down memory lane.  It was December 2006.  Shark Bait and I were living together, sinfully, but at least we were recently engaged.  Anyway, I woke up one night, about midnight, with horrible stomach cramps.  I had been fine when I went to bed.  But as I raced to the bathroom down the hall, it became clear, something had disagreed with me.  After some time on the commode, I returned to the safety of my bed, a little out of breath, but relieved it was over.  Except it wasn't, not ten minutes later, the race was on.  I returned for another round of my intestines re-enacting a high velocity ride at Wild Waves.  There was sweating and heavy breathing, it was likely I wouldn't make it. However, as you may have guessed, I did.  I again returned to the safety of my bed.  Not five minutes later, I again returned to the bathroom.  This time the dry heaves, the panting, the sweating, the cramping the utter despair that I would never live to see another day consumed me.  It's possible I just shit out my intestines and my stomach was making camp in my throat.  I waited till the wave of terror ended and set up camp on the bathroom floor. I grabbed a towel for a pillow and another towel for my blanket and proceeded to lie there with the chills all night long.  I  took to the toilet as needed, but never strayed far, for fear I wouldn't make it back.  Me and the toilet, we were close that night.  A lot of religion was discussed that night.  A lot of praying.

At 4AM, Shark Bait's alarm clock went off.  Mind you, he was completely unaware his wife was riding the edge of feces and death at the same time all through the wee hours of the morning.  This has been a sore point for years, but I digress.  At any rate, he went to open the bathroom door and it clunked against my feet.  "Baby, what's wrong? What happened, why are you on the floor?"  I told him he was going to have to work around me, this was my home now.  He went and got me a comforter and I snuggled in to that bathroom rug that rested on top of cold linoleum floor. 

Shark Bait went to work and left me.  He called me a little later to remind me we had a guest coming to stay with us who wanted to do some Christmas shopping in our area.  It was too late for this person to turn back, they were well on their way.  Well, I'm gonna be in the bathroom, so they can entertain themselves, I guess.  

On a side note, I should mention, that this defining episode in history is when I knew Shark Bait and I would make it.  He went to the store to get me baby wipes for my butt.  He saw me sleeping on the floor next to the toilet and he got me butt wipes.  This was love.  We were going to have a great marriage.

Fast forward, our house guest, Loosey Loom, arrives.  That night, guess what the Loosey Loom came down with?  Same thing I had.  The race was on, and we only had one bathroom. We would forever call this horrifying time, The Great Shit Race of 2006.  Loosey Loom would take his turn in the bathroom, then I would run down the hall, butt clinched and praying.  I'd take my turn.  Shark Bait was there to take care of both of us.  At one point Loosey Loom, who was sleeping on a pull-out couch in the front room, had the wiener dogs on the bed licking puke out of his mustache.  He doesn't remember this, but I can't unsee it.  It happened.  

This illness was upon the house for two more days.  It was now Christmas Eve and Loosey Loom felt well-enough to make it home, felt confident he could make it, with plenty of stops along the way. 

A couple of days later, I had healed well-enough to travel and we headed over the mountains to visit Loosey Loom and the Mrs.  Shark Bait had been lucky enough to not catch this, yet.  We arrived at our destination and the power was out.  It looked like we'd have a quiet evening by candle-light.  As we sat there, the Mrs. seemed to be off her game.  We all agreed to call it a night and go to bed.

Not long after all of us went to bed, Shark Bait and I heard a little bit of commotion.  With no power, it was dead quiet.  Turns out the Mrs. had caught the horrible bug and had not been able to make it out of bed fast enough.  She had shit the bed and as if to add insult to injury, when she got  to the bathroom, she didn't know whether to sit and shit or turn and hurl.  She chose to turn and hurl, but as she did, shit shot out and sprayed the wall.  Her body was completely out of control.  She had zero capacity to control it.  You've seen the Exorcist?  Just insert shit into the scenario and you're there. Poor Mrs.  Shark Bait went in to assist her in changing the bed and getting things in order.  The power finally came back on and she was able to clean things up.  It was horrifying.  I knew how she felt as I had been there just a week before.  This epic flu, the worst flu I have ever had, stayed with the Mrs. for a couple more days.  We left a day or so later and headed home.

Shark Bait cared for three people during The Great Shit Race of 2006 and never got sick.  It was as if he had cheated the flu.

Let's fast forward to yesterday.  It was as if Final Destination was in full swing.   Shark Bait had apparently been up all night  running up and down the stairs having his own personal shit race, I had slept through it all (my turn to be oblivious).  When I got up to go to work, he got up as well and said he'd been up all night.  In truth, he didn't look good.  I got ready for work and was getting ready to leave.  He was sitting there so cute on the toilet, helpless, sickly, sweaty.  I said, "I love you, but I'm not touching you or kissing you. I'm not getting this."   I continued, "If you shit your pants while I'm at work today, I'm blogging about it." 

Shark Bait took a quick shower in hopes he would feel better.  I grabbed my pony lunch bag and was giving him one last good-bye when I heard all hell break loose in the bathroom.  And when I say "break loose" I do mean that everything, every cell, every particle in his body went ape-shit crazy and came out of his mouth at a velocity that rivaled a fire hose.  I didn't know what to do, I didn't want to hear this, but I couldn't just leave him like that.  I stepped outside the bathroom and closed my eyes tight.  I could still hear him.  I started to pace, the puking would not stop.  It was horrifying.  It seemed like forever and finally he stopped.  He staggered out of the bathroom and looked at me, "Aw damn, I got puke on my glasses."  That pretty much did it for me.  He was safe, I was out of there. I have never been so happy to go to work.  He spent a treacherous 24 hours, but lived to tell the tale.  Well, he didn't tell the tale as much as I did.  I really can't help myself, but as I laid in bed last night, next to my sweaty, gross husband, it just popped in my head, "he thought he beat it, he thought he escaped...just like in Final Destination."  

So, in light of my bedtime realization, I tell this story to you as a precautionary tale.  Don't fight it.  You can't.  You see a sick stranger, lick them.  Just do it, get it over with, get it out of the way, because when it comes for you, it's angry.  Fate gets pissed when you try and escape the inevitable.  I mean, I put Emergen-C in my protein shake every day and take my vitamins, but I already had this in epic 2006.  The circle is finally complete.  The last victim, the last "sacrifice" has paid the price.  

Dear flu of 2015, go in peace.