Queen Mediocretia of Suburbia

Donald Sterling

What size is Donald Sterling's penis based on his comments?

"You're supposed to be this delicate white or delicate Latina girl."
Implied: too fragile for a Magic Johnson sized penis.
4 inches erect

"Just don't be seen with him publicly." (implied: these men must be bigger than me, fine, but I don't want the world to know how small my penis is in relation.
2 inches erect

It's so telling that he feels the photos need to go off Instagram. Especially the photo where his girlfriends head comes up to magic Johnson's armpit.

Tiny dick. What's fun to watch is Don Lemon at CNN not saying this out loud.

Stress

Work stress (15 hours before our flight) I had one hour of my work day to go when I heard that a program I wrote was failing. I wrote a nasty ham handed fix and got out of there in an hour. Home stress (10 hours before our flight) I wrote out two bills, both due while we were to be on vacation. Since I had stopped the mail, I needed to drive to the mailbox outside the grocery store. Leaving the house during the packing process is fraught, so I was very careful. I kept all the contents of my purse in the house. I drove barefoot so I wouldn't misplace my shoes. All I had on me was my drivers license: and even then I had taped a note to the suitcase reading "DRIVERS LICENSE IS IN POCKET OF BLUE SHIRT." When I got to the store and held up the envelope to put it in the slot and saw I had sealed the envelope with no address on the outside, I stayed calm. I bored a hole in the envelope to extract the bill with the address. All had to do was find a pen. Five minutes later when I stomped back into the house screaming "HOW IS THERE NO PEN ANYWHERE IN YOU CAR," Gary asked, "Why didn't you just buy a pen at the grocery?" Well, I had no money, because moving the money would mean misplacing the money. Relative stress (9 hours before flight) Dave called to let me know he was withdrawing another 10% of the capital in the investment mom left him. I was stressed, until I realized Dave's "retirement account" differs from mine in that he'll never have to buy food with it. I don't think disability income cuts off when you turn 65. Does it? TSA stress (2 hours before flight) I was randomly selected to have my hands checked for explosive residue. Evidently, we no longer take off our shoes, but they check our hands now. Dallas Ft. Worth airport stress This is a two stop journey, and between flights one and two American Airlines changed the gate fifteen minutes before boarding. Or it might have been one minute before boarding, which is when I noticed it. We made to the new gate with minutes to spare. Yesterday I told Friend #2 that since our lives are so relaxing, we go on vacation to get stressed. I'm ready for some relaxation now. I still have one plane flight and an hour plus drive. Megabus is sounding good right now. UPDATE: You may be seeing multiple copies of this since type pads remote posting feature seems to be wonky, still. But, we are here, it is grand, and swarming with elk.

Damn!

D and C Report

Monday night I was visited by the Menstrual Cramps of My Youth. I tried to soldier through, but then I realized I have a friend I didn't have at age 11, a Mr. Jack Daniels. I took a shot, and even held it for thirty seconds before I projectile vomited it into the sink. I might have tried it again, but I hit the midnight no-food-or-drink pre D&C cutoff.

The hospital called the next morning to see if I'd like to come in early, and we cleaned up and piled in the car.

I admit, I was driving, I was rushing, but that had nothing to do with running the red light.

As Gary explained to the officer, "We're on the way to the hospital."
"Oh, Gary, stop. That has nothing to do with it." I gave the officer my ID and insurance. "When I looked at the light, it was a yellow flashing arrow, and then the other guy couldn't decide who went next, so I did, and my husband tells me the light had turned red."
"Why are you going to the hospital?"
"Oh, I'm not a doctor, just a patient."
"So why are you going?"
"Just ... for ... a procedure." I'm getting the crazy scraped out of me, officer, thank you for asking.

He let me off with a warning, and we still got to there in a reasonable time.

The big rush to come in early was to ensure I didn't get shunted for an emergency surgery my doctor had.  Everyone was in quite the rush. I had all four professionals in my room while they all did their jobs simultaneously. The Cuddly Nurse put on my socks, while the Vital Stat nurse took my blood pressure three times, while the Anesthesia Nurse misunderstood every word I said, and the Anesthesiologist himself countered every argument I had about Versed. (And to my surprise, I've been saying it wrong. He says VERsed, not VerSED. Or he may have just corrected me to put me in my place.) We argued about it for twenty minutes while people stuck in tubes and checked armbands and essentially, it was clear I was getting Versed today even if I killed myself immediately after. ("Oh, suicidal depression could be caused by a lot of different things," chirped the Anesthesia Nurse.) The only thing the Anesthesiologist said that swayed my opinion was that a gastroenterologist administered the drugs before, and supposedly it changes qualities in his golden hands.

So he said, "I'll give you something to make you a leeettle sleepy -"
"What exactly will that be?"
"Propofol and Versed."
At least he looked me in the eye to see me glare at him.
"And what is this going into my IV right now?"
"That's the Versed," Cuddly Nurse said.
So let it be on your head, I thought, but didn't say.

Immediately after that they hustled Gary away.

And immediately after that Gary was back again and I was drinking apple juice. I don't remember a damn thing. And, more important, I felt perfectly happy. Part of me hopes I was verbally violent to the anesthesia team and there's a recording of it somewhere that some future HIPAA ruling will make available to me.
Gary says the doctor said they found nothing. No cancer, no polyps, no cysts. He did a "gentle scraping" (just to tickle me, I guess). Cuddly Nurse had photos I was not allowed to take home. Pink and perfect, except one ovary opening was a little messier than the other, and there was some white stuff they took a picture of.

So what have we learned?

• "Talk to your anesthesiologist" means "Good luck talking to your anesthesiologist."
• There is an inverse relationship between how your uterus feels and how it looks.
• I am not allergic to Versed, but I may be allergic to Jack Daniels.

I Wish There Was a Scratch Test

"No Versed," I said to the nurse at the doctors office.
"I don't know if they use that drug for a D&C, but I'll make a note of that in your chart. Be sure to tell your anesthesiologist."

A few hours later, I was speaking with the pre registration woman at the hospital.
"No Versed," I said.
"I'll make a note of that in your chart. Be sure to tell your anesthesiologist."

A few minutes later, I was speaking with he pre registration woman at the women's health clinic where they'll do the D&C. She was explaining that they'd use Propofol.
"Oh, good. I like Propofol."
"Plus Versed and Fentanyl."
"No Versed."
"Be sure to tell your anesthesiologist."

Seriously? What will he do? Will he make a note in my chart?

It has been twenty years, and I still cry when I think about the time the doctor turned into a giant sheep. I can always successfully convince them that I can't take the Versed, it's just a hassle. Everyone believes me when I say I'm allergic to penicillin. I think this time I'm going to focus on how I woke up to nurses yelling at me to breathe.

We shall see.

The Cure

I took to my bed Sunday. Something was off. I was tired, tearful, and cranky. Plus, I had no appetite. I'd asked Gary to start making more vegetables, and to Gary that means "I want to eat nothing but vegetables from now on."

Over the weekend I had a veggie-heavy homemade lo mein, then a salad with a dusting of feta, so when Gary suggested he make green beans and asparagus for dinner I just sighed and rolled over in my bed, clutching my belly.

He then brought me a tiny chocolate bunny and I ate it in one bite.

Even so, I didn't figure out what was wrong with me until I headed to the grocery store, ostensibly to BUY MORE DAMN TAMPONS, and I considered what I might buy to perk up my appetite. Soup? Meh.* Pizza? Nothing appealed. And then ... Pretzels? Cheetos? Cheese Corn WITH SALT AND CHOCOLATE! That's what's wrong! I had not adjusted to Period Eating.

I couldn't find Pretzel Flipz, my go-to menstrual snack, but I did scrape together enough chocolate and sodium to make me feel like living again.

* Incidentally, the first time I said "meh" out loud, Gary said, "What, are you Jewish now?" We then had a lively debate over the origin of the new Internet term "meh." He insists it has Jewish roots.

Pending

Not much has been happening. Things are pending.

Pending good:

I won tickets to the ballgame again, this time in the company box. Free food. Free ballgame. I like my company. Gary's migraine is threatening him again, but he beatt it back with Baileys and a nap.

The Grand Canyon and Vegas are in a few short weeks. I can pee standing up using my new toy, though I haven't used it in public yet.  I need more practice with the thing. I have to lower my pants at least a little to get it in place. It feels a little like taking your bra off without taking off your shirt. Technically you aren't exposed, but you can't escape the feeling that you are anyway, because every woman alive can tell what you're up to.

I just got a copy of a new book, Divergent. I've decided I'll only read one Pulitzer book a year. Frankly, the last two I read: A Visit From the Goon Squad and Olive Kitteridge used the related-short-story format and I felt cheated. While it didn't expand my heart, Gone Girl was far more enjoyable than either, and far faaaaaaaar more enjoyable than The Road, another plotless Pulitzer-winner.

Pending bad:

Well, the lady troubles are back and it looks like it's a D and C for me in the next few weeks. 

My daffodils and tulips (I am proud as if I'd sprouted them out of vagina) - are beginning to die.

A work deadline is going to hit hours before we head out on vacation. 

The good greatly exceeds the bad, and that's always fun. I have enough fun to last me till mid-May.

Further Humiliation at the Hands Of Gary

Gary continues to prepare himself for the most far-fetched wilderness disasters. At first he just prepped for possible doomsdays (we get lost, we get blisters, snakes bite us) to impossible doomsdays. 

This last web-binge netted him:

A firestarter! Look Ellen, a firestarter!

 

... because you always need to be prepared to start a fire in the Grand Canyon? A signal fire? When we get lost? Because we'll somehow be alone in one of the most popular national landmarks?

A "Sanitation Trowel" - because you have to be prepared to dig a hole and poop in it. 

I could have gotten all huffy about this. I could have said "I'll never use that," only then I remembered the Eggs Benedict Albuquerque Episode, and while I don't know if I'd have used a trowel to bury ... the ... the ... processed Eggs Benedict, I probably should be ready. 

But then he bought something we had to use to hermetically seal up our used toilet paper so it can be toted back to the hotel. No. That gets buried. He can take his home with him but mine gets buried. 

Then while I was insisting that none of this will EVER be used, when he proudly showed off his last purchase ...

A Feminine Urinary Deflector! Look!

"You really expect me to use this? You. Expect me. To put this thing in my pants, tuck it in zip up, then when I feel the need, whip it out, stand by a tree and pee?"

"Not at first, you'll have to practice a few times."

"Really? I'm not doing it." He screams if there's a chance he might glimpse me on the toilet. He keeps yelling at me to lock the door. (I know. So unsafe.)

"But you migt have to, and we need to be prepared."

That was an hour ago. I now want to pee standing up just so I can pee on Gary.

I Am In a Mood.

- I woke and found that OBGYN office called to ask me to change my appointment time from 3:30 to 12:30. This is the appointment to see what was wrong with the reproductive system.
- I called the OBGYN and left a message that the change was fine and I'd be there at 12:30.
- I was concerned they might not have gotten the message, so I left early and got there at 12:10.
- Of course they had no idea, and the doctor juuuuust left - but he'd be back in an hour, could I wait?
- I waited. I waited while hail pounded on my car in the parking lot.
- At 1:30 they put me in an exam room.
- At 2:00 I threw down the magazine I was reading and stomped out to the nurses' station. "Look, I'm just going to write this off as a wash. I rescheduled because he moved his afternoon appointments, and it is now afternoon."
- Nurse went off to find the doctor, and hustled me back in the exam room. I did not sit down.
- Doctor walked in. I said, "So, cyst, watchful waiting, am I right?" (The thought bubble over my head said, "CAN I GO NOW?")
- Doctor said, essentially, yes. Sit down.
- This stupid cyst is two centimeters small. Two centimeters. I have been blaming it for my swollen belly and it appears I have just attained a new level of fat.
- For some reason I have to have another ultrasound in three months. I'm cool with a two centimeter cyst. I don't need to get pictures of it.
- Then I went back to work and had to stay late to get a project done.
- Then I came home and had to explain to Gary how to react to me when I have had a bad day. "OH POOR THING YOU'VE HAD A BAD DAY THAT SOUNDS AWFUL." The man is sixty! Who doesn't know the drill at sixty?

Gah. Nasty day.

In Which Spunky Labia, International Toe Porn Superstar, Dons a Toe Burka and Other Miscellany

Toe Burka

In the continuing effort to purchase All The Stuff, Gary ordered me a new hiking aid: toe gels. Gels? What showed up is not the least bit gelatinous. It's just a nylon pouch to hide your toes. I don't get it.

Vegas Baby Vegas
Soooo .. Now the vacation has expanded to include one extra night in the Grand Canyon (at the El Tovar - fellow procrastinators, I carry your flag), zero nights in Sedona, and instead we added six nights in Vegas. It'll be the Nature vs Artifice Face-off.

Massive Time Savings Realized
About nine years ago a show came on the air, and the premise was that a guy is explaining to his children how he met their mother. I have seen only one episode: the one featuring a cameo by Steven Page (formerleadsingerofbarenakedladies). Instead, I have waited patiently for the series finale, and I know How The Mother Was Met and I didn't have to spend ninety hours watching the show. And, I cried at the end just as much as anyone who cared. I feel VERY smug.