Who needs that silly blood pressure thing anyways?

During my last physical I mentioned I was due for a colonoscopy. I was blessed with a talented colon; it possesses the innate ability to grow potentially precancerous polyps at an age where I shouldn’t even be remotely thinking about them. (I’m not THAT old!) So lucky me has to have this procedure every 5 years or so to have them removed.

So my spiffy new doctor sends me to a spiffy new gastroenterologist. It came up in conversation that I only take half the “prep”. Prep being all the shit they make you take the day before the procedure to ensure your colon is sparkly clean enough to eat off of. Wha?? He tells me they have newer gentler stuff and that I should take the whole thing.

Fast forward to day before procedure. The two packets of stuff I had to take during the say made me agree with him wholeheartedly, hey this wasn’t so bad at all. It even tasted better than that other shit that I’m sure was some sort of mixture of trucker cab mattress squeezings and nuclear waste along with the obligatory hint of lemon. So far so good except that my first foray into the bathroom yielded a horrible discovery…MY TOILET IS SUDDENLY AND INEXPLICABLY BROKEN. Are you kidding me?! Now of ALL times!? I jimmy it, to make it kinda work cuz at this point I am NOT having anyone over.

Before bed I had to take two tablets of something, although at this point I KNOW I got nothing left in me but I trusted this new doc about taking it all. About 5am I’m forced to bound from my bed for more purging fun….aka some INCREDIBLY INTENSE purging fun. Problem is there is nothing left in me and I wonder at what point when there’s nothing left does your body start purging vital organs? And then my body starts to feel REALLY inexplicably fucked up. My temp suddenly spikes and I instantly start pouring sweat. I don't know what to do cuz I can in no way get up to get the phone and call like maybe 911. Besides my place is kinda messy and do I want paramedics over? Imminent death vs guys seeing my messy apartment…hmmmm. Finally I am able to venture out. I get up but my legs feel like pliable rubber. I stumble and then promptly faint.

Each time I woke up I tried to get to the phone, but my body would do the “no we are laying down again RIGHT NOW” thing. My legs stayed in rubber mode, my head swam, I was cared shitless…pardon the pun. It took me about two and a half hours and a visually entertaining combination of staggering, fainting, crawling, stubborn determination (because I refuse to die from laxatives, I just REFUSE! I survived a wolf, I can survive shitting) and fervently praying but I finally made it to the phone! Ha ha victory! Fuck you, you can’t keep a good girl down! I call the clinic where I will be having the procedure. Relief flows over me when someone answers and I know that surely they will send a team over right away to tend to my dying personage. I tell her what’s happening to me and she says to me in a sing song happy cheery voice that it's just a reaction to the prep, don’t worry. Wtf? I repeat – I keep fainting! "Oh yeah it’s just your blood pressure dropping that can happen don't worry, just drink lots of water." Dumbfounded doesn’t even begin to describe what I was feeling at that point.

In the end I survived the purging, dangerously low blood pressure, slight concussion, dehydration and the vast disappointment of only getting some lame ass sedative that was no fun at all instead of the highly anticipated shot of Demerol. Fuckers…

I am in a quiet room

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.

I am in a thousand winds that blow,
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain,
I am the fields of ripening grain.

I am in the morning hush,
I am in the graceful rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight,
I am the starshine of the night.

I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room.
I am in the birds that sing,
I am in each lovely thing.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there. I do not die

by Mary Frye


Still miss ya mom, even though I know you're around and even with that thwap on the head....it might take a few more for me to get it as dense as I am...lol

What happens when you mix two Canadians, the US of A and a Newfie GPS?

So my partner in crime from my Europe adventure came out to visit me a couple weeks ago. Rather than hanging out here like we always do we decided to rent a car and head on down to Seattle for a little USA fun.

Now being rather impressed with the GPS that my cousin had brought with him on the Provence leg of our previous trip, (other than that one time it had us driving through some farmer's crop) I asked Trish to bring the GPS that her husband had bought her for Christmas. (-shrugs helplessly here- I know…). So anyways I pick her up at the airport and then we were off!

After making it to the border we spent the time waiting in line by setting the GPS up. There were a few different voices to choose from and we choose the male, Richard. Now why we didn’t pick a female is beyond me. My head was going towards a sexy male voice when I should have remembered the golden rule of trips…men and directions are like oil and water.

Add to that the time on the GPS was a half hour ahead of what it should be. A half an hour!!? It doesn’t take a genius to realize that we are dealing with some sort of Newfie made device. You can’t fool us! And in typical Newfie style we were sure Richard drank heavily. If he didn’t at that point he was sure gonna start after dealing with us. Ohhh yeah you do NOT want to go against what Richard says. As you take a right instead of the instructed left you could almost hear the annoyance in his voice as he repeated turn left, turn left, over and over again….and then begin to sputter directions in a vain attempt to get us back to where HE thought we should be going. (but hey we HAD to get off the road and eat at some point!) In the end I think he pretty much gave up. You could almost here him sigh in defeat as we blatantly defied his directions! In the end he got his little revenge by having us drive about in a shopping mall parking lot for a while before getting us back onto the highway.

But the revenge wasn’t over yet! Oh not by a long shot. After lunch we decided to kiss and make up with Richard and smartly put the address of our hotel in the GPS, deciding to just TRY and trust him from this point on. I was leery at the way he was taking us to the hotel after getting off the I5 but I pushed aside my doubts and followed Richards’s confidently spoken directions. That is until we ended up at a Shell gas station wherein he triumphantly announced that we had reached our destination!

Uuummm….not so much. We looked about thinking the hotel HAD to at LEAST be close by. Nope, couldn’t see it. I decide to drive around a bit and see if another “approach” would get us to our hotel. The second attempt ended just like the first, with Richard announcing once again that we had arrived at our destination, the Shell gas station!

With Richard now gagged and bound in the backseat of the car, we followed the street numbers aided by the map and found the hotel OURSELVES.

Ha! Take that Richard!

(I never did ask what Trish did with the GPS when she got back home. I'm wondering if "talking out your asshole" has taken on a whole new meaning in her household)

Adventures in Dating Part Seven/Happy Canada Day

Thought I would combine something Canadian-ish with something reflecting my adventures in dating. (Only some of you will get how this really applies...lol)

We interupt this regularly scheduled program....

cuz I need a fuckin' break. I am off to Seattle to have a much needed rest and have some fun. There won't be any Charring Cross or Yorkshire, but hey, it's "away" and not at work. I'll leave you with the ultimate of vacation music videos....ahhh yes....hope it's this good....

Adventures in Dating Part Six

I recently began seeing a new doctor. I had begun to get the very distinct feeling that I was wearing out my welcome with the old one. Not my fault of course…-insert shifty eyes and a slight clearing of the throat here-! It’s certainly not that I LIKE going to the doctor. Weird shit just happens to me and those that know me are nodding their heads in collective agreement as we speak.You just don’t make up shit like almost losing an eye due to a Pilates band mishap, hiking+low lying branches=more eye mishaps, or having my new $100 Calvin Klein bra (the only one in the entire store that is my size because apparently I am some sort of freak) give me a lump the size of a large olive on my boob convincing me I had an advance stage of breast cancer, leaving me with mere hours to live. But come on, at least she wasn’t around for the whole “wolf thinking me tasty” experience or the “attack of the perverted/in the top ten of most painful stings/I’m gonna start stinging like there’s no tomorrow only AFTER making my way the inside of your pants” wasp attack. And let’s face it, my time could be better spent doing other things like staring blankly at my computer screen rather than waiting in her office for at LEAST an hour and a half every single time for her perpetually behind ass to work it’s way up to my turn.

Plus the woman had absolutely no sense of humour whatsoever and believe me with the shit I go to her for there’s a whole wealth of things to snicker about. Like the time I finally caved and went on the antidepressants. Well excuse me for freaking out but no one thought to inform me of the possibility of a “certain” little side effect. And no, not so little….least in my opinion. I didn’t have much in my life at the time but at least I had that…HAD being the operative word here. Upon discovery I immediately raced over to her office demanding to be seen right away due to the horrific side effect the medication SHE put me on was causing. She came into the room with her usual look of “here we go again” on her face.

Me looking panicked: I can’t have an orgasm

Her with evil taunting gleam in her eye disguised as feigned interest if that makes sense: With a partner or by yourself?

(yeah thanks for that…just had to throw that in…LIKE IT MAKES A DIFFERENCE???)

Me screaming said above statement in my head: By myself

Her: Is it that you can’t or that it takes a really long time?

Me with quirked poignant brow: Well how long does it take? I only have two hands…

Nothing. I got nothing and I have to say that as those words left my mouth even I found it funny. But seriously wtf? Like depression isn’t bad enough the supposed “cure” takes away even that last bit of pleasure you get out of life? Someone somewhere has a really f*cked up sense of humour….

(btw, apologies to immediate family members for previous posting…TMI….I know I know….)

So anyways I have a new doctor and like all new doctor she’s got that keener thing going on like there’s no tomorrow. I was due for a complete physical and she sent me for the works and I do mean ‘the works”. One thing she was concerned about was the history of cancer in my family and so suggested that perhaps I might be a candidate for that genetic testing stuff. She did warn me however that I should get some life insurance in place first, because if I tested positive I would have a hard time getting it after that fact. Ignorant of purchasing any kind of insurance I decided to consult my dad, former insurance guy extraordinaire.

Now I’ll just say here that mom and dad raised two very independent daughters, perhaps to a fault. Neither of us has ever married, but hey, we refused to ‘settle”, preferring to be single than put up with guy shit. Although we DO still yet hold out hope for that Mr. Right, that guy with whom we can put up with on a daily basis. I suppose as the years go by in only makes sense that the hope of others slowly dwindles away…..though it’s bad when even your own father no longer holds out much hope…

So I phone dad and explain the situation, asking his advice on buying life insurance. His response?

Dad, voice chalk full of sage advice: What do you need life insurance for? You don’t have kids and you’re not married…

Thanks for the vote of confidence dad!

I think he’s been reading my blog…..

Adventures in Dating Part five

For many years I worked in bars and pubs. I actually miss the job, the hours were awesome, it was usually a fun atmosphere and the money….oh I miss the money! Anyways there was never a lack of guys asking me out. I’d like to say it was the awesomeness that is me but a lot of times it’s cuz you’re the only chick in the bar talking to them. Despite the fact that the only thing you’re saying to them is “do you wannanother?” men being men will still consider this communication from the female species and take it as meaning “she must want me”. I never dated anyone from the pub except for two exceptions. My ex whom I was with for about ten years and “Mr. Completely lacking balls, integrity and caring for anyone’s feelings other than his own I work in the movie industry and so I am great”.

It was after I stopped waitressing that I caved in and accepted a date from a guy who’d been trying for years to get me to go out with him. What the heck I thought, what harm could it do?

I met him at the pub and we immediately left to catch a cab to the Thai restaurant to which he was taking me. As we approached the cab I thought I saw, out of the corner of my eye, him stagger slightly. I dismissed it as just seeing things and got in the cab. By the time we got to the restaurant it was apparent that he had started the party ahead of me…much like “Mr. Coke will make me sober” guy. Wtf? Again? Is the prospect of going on a date with me so daunting that men feel they need to overly fortify themselves with liquor? I’d say maybe it was so terrible that they needed to numb themselves but hey they asked ME out!

I should have left right then and there but it wasn't unitl we were sat at our table and he had ordered a bottle of wine, that it became clear just how drunk he was. Thinking someone needed to take one for the team, the team being me and me being the only player on it, I took it upon myself to drink as much as the wine as possible because there was NO WAY IN HELL he should have been drinking anymore. The F word left his lips at the rapid pace of one per 7.67 seconds and not subtly either. (okay yeah yeah I’m no angel when it comes to the spoken language but come on, a least I don’t spout off in the middle of a nice place on a date) I was more than dreadfully aware of the people around us giving us those “looks”. I wanted to either have the ground swallow me up or leap across the table and ram my knife into his jugular... ANYTHING just to get this experience over with. At the time I guess I was just too…nice?...or too…something?…..to just get up and leave which is what I should have done….with said knife stuck in said jugular. But hey, hindsight is 20/20 right?

As we “enjoyed” our meal, with me doing my best at keeping the wine away from him by chugging it like a pirate on shore leave, it was clear that he was raised in some sort of sect where the use of utensils is frowned upon. He was obviously not very experienced in the handling of any of them. Soon the table around his plate was littered with more food that I would bet he managed to get into his foul mouth. Probably the longest meal I ever endured, but blessed be it was eventually over. He set his plate aside with a satisfying sigh, then proceeded to brush the table scraps into a small pile in front of him. He then placed one hand just underneath the table as the other brushed this pile onto it. I then expected him to put said pile on his plate but nooooooooooo. He brought said pile to his lips, tilted his head back and knocked ‘er all back into his open gaping mouth. I could only sit there and stare in disbelief, wondering how the hell I was going to describe this to anyone because there was just no way anyone outside of his sect was going to believe this!

It ended, thank god, it ended, leaving this yet one more reason for me to fold and walk away from the table in this, the dating game.