AND TURN THAT MUSIC DOWN YOUNG MAN!

A couple years back when I had my wisdom teeth removed, although I was totally out of my gourd, I was conscious throughout the entire process. When the surgery was over, I distinctly remember the look on the doctor’s face. He looked worn, he wiped his brow, took a deep breath and just sat back in awe of all he had accomplished. In my mouth. (That’s what he said). He looked tired and a bit surprised.

I went home and nearly died for 4 days before I had to go back to work. The right side of my face swelled up to the size of a grapefruit. I didn’t eat anything but mashed potatoes and mac and cheese from KFC for a month because I could barely fit a spoon in my mouth, much less chew. About 2 weeks after the surgery, I returned to the doctor who was extremely pleased to see me and the results. He was thrilled that I was ok.

BECAUSE! When I left his office the day of the surgery, he wasn’t overly confident of the whole affair.

It just so happened that I had a huge nerve wrapped all around the roots of my wisdom tooth.

He had to break up the tooth and gingerly pick out the pieces, praying that he didn’t sever the nerve. He was a bit freaked out after the surgery, hoping that he hadn’t damaged my face. To his credit, he didn’t.

I have been having problems off and on since my days in New Mexico. When Not Craig and I were working our butts off trying to run 5 miles non-stop (a goal which has never ever happened), I injured myself.

The pain would go away, but it would return if I started working out again, or if I crossed my legs, or if I fell asleep on my right side or if it was Tuesday.

It just kept reoccurring.

Not Craig has been telling me to go to the doctor since it started. I hate doctors. I hate waiting, I hate explaining my problem and I hate having to recall when my last period was even though I am there for a sore throat because, ahem, those 2 areas are NOT related.

Recently, I have been walking the dog twice a day, averaging about a mile and a half each walk. I would alternate running with walking in order to try to wear the dog out. Which is another post in itself because, hello, his breed herds sheep all day long, how is one human going to possibly provide a challenge to him.

When I woke up on Thursday, the old pain was back. It was mild, but it was there. I persisted and walked Colt that morning, but bowed out on the evening walk. Friday, I woke up and walked Colt with pain, lots o’ pain. Friday during the day, I went to the doctor. Finally, after a year and a half. I hurt.

The doctor took about 2 minutes of listening to me, rubbing my butt (which I am not so sure was as much a diagnostic tool as a girl-on-girl feel up) and diagnosed me.

Piriformis. My muscle is intertwined with my sciatic nerve. 10% of the population have this particular set up.

Seriously, it is otherwise known as Deep Buttock Syndrome. Ya’ll I wish I was just making this up. Fo Realz. Insert all the jokes you wish, Not Craig and I could use some new ones.

And plus? This condition is chronic. I can try to prevent it or minimize it, but I am officially diagnosed with a chronic condition of old lady-dom. I also can now be all crotchy and complain how my sciatica is killing me.

Point being, I have two nerve issues that are rare in the general populace.

Does anyone know of any other weird nerve issues where the nerves aren’t where they should be? I assume all my nerves are misplaced at this point and would like to have something specific to freak out about.

House Guests

(Men - proceed at your own risk.)

In my Saturday post, I wrote, “Where is my crown?”

I meant where is the crown I deserve for being a super cheap-ass furniture finding mo-fo.

The crown that goes on your head because you are the shiz-nit.

Somewhere, in some really evil parallel universe, a gnome read that blog post.

That gnome, apparently had dental issues. I wanted to know where my princess-y crown was. The location of my dental crown was not in question.

There was no reason for that parallel universe gnome to up-seat my crown. Yet he did.

Hours after writing that fateful sentence, enjoying a piece of chewing gum, my crown dethroned itself. That evil gnome ruined the crown’s self-esteem causing it to fling itself out of its secure post.

Today I spent 4 hours at the dentist with my mouth stretched wider than a cheerleader on prom night.

With a wedge of cotton in my mouth to stop some bleeding, I begged for a potty break halfway through the torture.

And really…. It’s Monday. My head is being drilled. Was that anytime for my Aunt to stop by for a visit?

Stubbornness or Insanity?

Is it stubbornness or insanity that caused me to drag a mattress up 2 flights of stairs. All by my lonesome. The day that a cold, delivered by the sweet kisses of a baby, kicked my ass.

I could have called friends for help. My landlord offered to help me move things if I needed help. I have neighbors that I could have called on. Hell, I could have hired someone to do it for me. I could have done many different things than do it all by myself.

I look back at it as insanity.

But it felt damn good to stand there, after I pulled that damn thing for 20 minutes up 24 individual stairs, raise both hands, flip off the mattress and declare, "You Are My Bitch".



Yes, I said that. To my mattress.

Confession.

I kinda had an agreement with myself over some of the things I would and would not do on this here bloggy thing. And I am gonna break one right now. Because it’s my blog, I can do what I wanna do.

First off, let me confess a few things:

1. I love Real World.

2. I don’t really care for Road Rules, but when they have the Real World Road Rules Challenges. I am all over that.

3. I love crappy talk shows. When I am at home during the day, give me some Maury Povich. I LOVED Ricky Lake back in the day. Oprah, Dr. Phil, Sally and her big red glasses. Love it!!

4. I read Superficial. I don’t care for TMZ or that jackass Perez Hilton, but celebrity gossip, yea, give it to me, baby, uh huh, uh huh.

Shame!

And to think…I was a Gold Cord in high school, 5^th in my class. I have a 4.0 in my yet to be completed college studies. I am Ms. Smarty Pants if I do say so myself.

I rarely watch TV, outside of the aforementioned Shows of Shame. If I do, it is usually CNN, Headline News (Hi, Glenn Beck! I heart you, too!!) or CNBC. Heroes, Criminal Minds and CSI are the only series that I watch. And I learn stuff on those. Like how to fly, be a serial killer and a forensic pathologist, so that is all learning, folks.

I read voraciously. I LOVE reading Supreme Court opinions.

Another thing I like to do?

This stupid crap.

You Belong in 1956

You're fun loving, romantic, and more than a little innocent. See you at the drive in!

What Year Do You Belong In?

But damned if I am not June Cleaver, bitches.

I Have A Date for the Fourth!!

I have kinda mentioned that I have a thing for redheaded singers, and I haven't even mentioned one. One that got me through the very rough time in eighth grade when Eric broke up with me. And no one wanted me. No one! I was single, at 13! A sure sign that I was gonna be a crazy cat lady when I grew up....but I was comforted that another carrot top was suffering as well:



Oh, Tiffany. Thank you for all that you gave me. I will be waiting for you at the casino....I hope you can handle our fashion here.




P.S. I Had to add this song...Check it out, she has some awesome dance moves in her long wedding dress. And the synthesizers! And HEY was that video taken at the bar down the street from my house? Sure looks like it!