You Again?!?!

"You again?!?!" the very large doctorman/young Santa said as he strolled through the doors of Exam Room 3.

"Yup. Me again," I tried to smile but doing so made the right side of my face howl in pain. So I grimaced at him oh-so-attractively.

"Another sinus infection?!?! " he said. I was wondering if he spoke in non-question mark/exclamation points to other patients or if I was just lucky.

"Yup," I replied wittily. (<--- Sarcasm. Right there. SAR-CAS-MMM).

"This is getting to be an every three month thing. Are you sure it's a sinus infection?" he asked me, the patient. I stared at him for a second and then smiled/grimaced again.

"No, not really. I don't feel sick at all. I'm just swollen from my nose to my cheek. It's hard to see really, 'cuz of my chub-" I paused here as I realized I either just insulted his poofiness or - referred to my face as a happily erect penis - "but you can see my glasses leave a crater in my face. I thought it was just a mondo zit!" I finished up the embarrassing statement with what I thought was a very astute observation about my knowledge of medical terms. I mean, "Mondo Zit" has to be in some medical book somewhere. Maybe "Facial Deformities for Dummies"?

"Well, let's see..." He then probed my ears, throat and - ew- nose. "I could do this all day and still go to dinner!" he exclaimed proudly.

"Yeah," I agreed. "I get pooped on once a week and it still doesn't curb my appetite." I silently willed myself to shut up. A lot.

I smiled/grimaced again.

"I think you either have the beginning of a sinus infection or you have a skin infection..." he went on to describe various gross things that could be happening within my sinus cavity to cause the swelling on my face. "I'll write you a prescription for something that should take care of just about everything it could be..." he said.

"Thanks," I said jumping off the table as fast as a fat girl possibly can and grabbing my mom purse.

"You're welcome!"

"And I guess I'll see you in three weeks!" I joked as I scurried down the hall, grimacing, smiling, and clutching my purse. I could hear him chuckling as he strode down the hall to the next room. I can now rest assured that I would be a topic of conversation at someone's dinner table tonight.

I called Harry as soon as I got outside the doors. "Well - I either have a sinus infection or a skin infection or maybe even something like an infected hair..." I said.

I paused, waiting for him to say "Oh sweetie! I am so sorry! I will take care of you and the baby when I get home and you can just relax oh and by the way I am so sorry I complained all day on Sunday and Monday and left still complaining about my sore throat when you were obviously struggling with an infection that has left you lame and swollen up like the before picture of a bee sting victim. I am soo soo sorry. Sorry. I am. So. Sorry."

But what did I get?

"Ewwwww!" he exclaimed.

So I've decided to start Halloween early in order to cover my deformity. I will be the girl in the Toyota Sienna minivan wearing the Gorilla mask and beating my husband with an over-stuffed banana.

Thank you.

Covert the Coven; A sappy post about my buds.

My three best girls and I are a Coven. No, we don't practice any "Dark Arts" nor have we ever blinded a newt for a spell or two - but since we figured out that our Astrological signs aligned with the four elements of earth, wind, fire and water we thought it was too funny not to dub ourselves something all-powerful and mythical - like a Coven.

So what does my Coven do for fun? We consume vast quantities of Mexican food and often hit local thrift stores for party supplies.

Yes.

We are THAT exciting.

I'm not going to lie - it was nice to just be Holly tonight and not have to be a mom. And I love my friends. They make me feel like it's not only okay to be a complete dork but it's actually encouraged. We make fun of each other like with this conversation:

Me: "Okay, so post-baby I guess I can go and be the DD - but I don't think I can do it alone. Wouldn't that be hard?"

Tiffany: "No, you just have to take care of a drunk horde!"

Summer: "Well you used to take care of me! I was like a drunk horde!"

Me: "No, sis, she said 'HORDE'...

Summer: "Yeah, Hor-oh, I hate you."

And then we all laugh outrageously and start to eat more cheese. It all works. It gels.

And this:

Stacey: (looking down and admiring the four-inch Kate Spade heels on her pretty feet) "I'm like six feet tall in these!"

Me: "Ohhh - come here!" I go in for a hug to see how much shorter I am now).

Both: "You're/I'm like at boob height!"

As Stacey pulled away tonight she stuck her shiny haired head out of the minivan and said, "Can you believe we've been friends for 20 years?"

"I know," I said and smiled.

"I mean, I guess I could make some new friends but that's so much work and I have you girls!" she said and then drove away to scrape her Marshall University-lovin' hubby off of her friend's floor.

My closest friends have been there for me since birth/elementary school/ middle school. I love these women and am amazed every day at how much they have accomplished. One deals daily with a very sweet but temperamental autistic daughter, one lives the life of a homebound gypsy who has to be very careful what she eats due to a severe allergy, one lives the life of a working mom while balancing her health on a very slippery platter. And then there's me - and I just count myself lucky to be a part of their worlds.

Lovies to the Covies!

My Opinion is AWESOME! -UPDATED!!!

Okay, maybe I'm overstating the value of my opinion, BUT I have been volunteering my free time to read and review books over at www.thepenmuse.net and I am having a blast doing it! I have, so far, reviewed a book and a short story - both you can read at the link above.

It's nice to be doing something with my free time besides, ya know, mom stuff...

:)

UPDATE:

I seem to have left off the rather important links so hover yonder mouse over the links below and, if BLOGGER was nice, you should be transported to two short little reviews that I wrote for Pen Muse. :)

http://thepenmuse.net/?p=3680 - Link To "Ghost Patrol"

http://thepenmuse.net/?p=3682 - Link to "Kafe Castro"

Toe Tag Sold Separately

"Are you a little nervous, sweetie?" my doctor asked, stethoscope pressed firmly into my giving skin. "Because your heartbeat is racing..."

"Well considering I thought I'd walk in here and you'd hand me my toe tag and give me a fast pass to the County Morgue - uh - yeah. I am." I heard myself say.

She laughed and continued her poking and prodding of my fleshy flesh and, like the preteen I am (not), I tried hard not to convey just how ticklish I am and instead focused on how I inadvertently matched my polka dot undies and bra to the half gown and drape I was provided which was a gorgeous shade of pepto-bismol pink.

"Okay - you can get dressed!"she said and ran out of the room as fast as her little five-foot-nothing frame could carry her.

Later, after dressing she asked me about what medications I was on.

"Well, nothing, really. I was on 'Seasonique' but it made me - bad. It was- bad. Evil. The Devil's Birth Control." I said, waving my arms in the air for emphasis. Then, realizing how insane I must look, dropped them back into my lap on top of my iPad (never leave home without it!).

"Okay... writing THAT down..." she made a few notations and then, the inevitable, "Let's see how you did on your blood work..."

"Terrible. Awful. Failed with flying colors of Awesomeless. Which way is the morgue, again?" were all things I was ready to say. But I kept my mouth shut - for once - and only slightly worried the strain of such an impossible feat would give me just the slightest of an aneurism.

"Well, your A1C shows that you're pre-diabetic, but we can get that under control..." And I fell outta my chair, mentally speaking.

"Seriously?PRE-Diabetic???" I interrupted the Doctor who I'm sure had nothing else to do but to sit and talk to a chubby girl who was questioning whether or not she had "The Sugars."

"Uh - yeah. You're not there - yet. But your cholesterol - okay, girl, you're at 233."

"That's bad, right? Like 'dead in three weeks' bad - or just kinda bad?"

"Like 'you're gonna have to watch it,' bad. But I think you can fix it. You're a smart girl."

Now, don't get me wrong - but in my experience the phrase "You're a smart girl" is usually preceded by the following:

1. An unmitigated, unrequested, unwanted, and undesired increase in work load.

2. A slight at one's intelligence based on the non-getting of a witty joke. As in "You're a smart girl. You'll figure it out."

3. A not so fun way of making sure you'll prove yourself capable and "smart" so that you will not disappoint the person in a position of authority (i.e. Mom, Doctor, Dentist, Butcher, etc.).

So with that I was sent on my way with a handful of prescriptions and then did what any girl would do - I shopped.

I bought "Missoni for Target" headbands, socks, a scarf and --- fittingly enough --- nuts.

And as I depart on this wacky journey of carb-counting and chol. watching - I can only hope that I am, in fact, a "Smart Girl" who can handle this added impediment of ickiness to her daily routine and who will not, I hope, end up face-down in a plate of homemade deep-fried Brie, a wilted Toe Tag clutched in her tiny, chubby, greasy hands...

To be continued... :)

Doc AcK!

Tomorrow I go to the Doctor for my first post-op baby check-up. Yes - the baby I had almost 18 months ago, why do you ask? :)

While pregnant I was diagnosed with Gestational Diabetes and I pretended to look shocked as I was told that my sugar was dangerously out of whack. It was an emotion not easy to fake as I was so tired all the time I was virtually drooling onto the Informational Packet and Epipen-like needles in front of me. I woke up a bit when I was told to start sticking myself like a misinformed Voodoo doll.

But I digress.

I managed to actually lose weight while pregnant. My baby was born a healthy 8 pounds and was 21.5 inches to boot. And I was down almost six dress sizes.

And then came the Depression.

Oh wow.

That was a DOOZY. I was planning my escape to Tijauana on $20 when I finally asked for "help."

So I was prescribed Prozac. For those of you who have met me, read a thing or two about me or by me you know that I pride myself on being able to turn a phrase and can sketch a completely dead-on imitation of most anything on the planet - so imagine my surprise when I could barely string together a sentence or draw a straight line. I would stare into space for hours at a time.

Prozac had made me less of a flight risk to my new family but, unfortunately, managed to shut off my brain -- including that part that said "Woah - another cookie? Really?" So I gained back all my pre-baby weight. And then some.

And then maybe a little bit more.

It wasn't until a few weeks ago that I finally broke down and called my general doc and said "Hey - I'm a freakin' mess - can I go have some tests run and then you can yell at me about how I'm all unhealthy and stuff?" Okay - so I'm paraphrasing - but you get the idea.

So tomorrow I am going to voluntarily go and get yelled at.

It's like that show but this version would be: "Scared Straight - Fat Girls."

Just thinking about it makes me wanna throw up.

Or down a tray of freshly baked cookies.

Oh -wait -what's that over there on the stove??? hee hee .

Ugh.

A Buck and a Bunny

I decided to go out on a limb and stick my old Superhero Novella in for a Superhero Anthology.

It was rejected.

I read the email on my Sunday - my birthday.

I knew it wasn't dashing enough to make the cut, but it was cute, it was clever, and it was funny and a wee bit sexy at times (well - not really but if the author can't stifle giggles during copulation her characters ain't gonna be able to either).

So I stuck "Super Bunny" (a Superhero Novella!) on Amazon - I wanted to do it for free but the site wouldn't let me - or I couldn't figure out how.

If you have a $1 and want to take a chance - go for it.

If it doesn't inspire a chuckle - I will pay you back.

:)