I set up a Facebook thingy back in March and really didn’t pay any attention to it. I just didn’t get the whole Facebook Movement. I was happy to sit here with my blog and blog. Which as you all know now caused me to have a nervous breakdown. Well, maybe not the blog as a stand alone, but it was part of it. I couldn’t possibly put myself out there any further than I was already doing and I didn’t like the idea that someone was writing on my “wall”.

It made me feel like I needed to get my Mr. Clean thingy and wash my walls. Or, I mean, tell The Housekeeper to get on it.

And then I started receiving rounds of drinks and pieces of flair and then I received a piece of Louis Vuitton. And you know that sparked my interest. But I still didn’t get it. I mean I Kissed A Girl Friend sent me a piece of Louis luggage, but not really? I was getting fucked. Where was my flair and my cosmo and my Louis? I thought Fed Ex would be delivering these items post haste.

But no.

Facebook just makes you think it’s there. So I have to lick my screen to enjoy the drinks – if only they made screens that tasted. I’d even lick the Louis.

So I’m really not taking this Facebook thing that serious until the end of last week when my best friend from when I was 14 found me. And my face fell off.

I received an email saying Friend From Years Ago has sent you a Friend Request, do you want to be her friend? I shoved the keyboard and looked around the house. It felt like someone had stuck a big foot in my front door and wouldn’t let me shut it. I. Had. Been. Found. Discovered no less. And she had married my ex-boyfriend. If I really want to get in touch with the past this was killing two birds with one phone. And you know how I hate the phone.

Now there’s talk of lunch and dinner and reunions and families meeting and ex-boyfriends with new wives shopping at my store next time they’re in town. And before I knew it I had 19 friends. That’s a lot considering my face fell off.

I feel like my trip to Denmark (leave this Saturday WooT!) has been a great excuse not to get together. Somehow my brain is working like this:

1. This will give me 10 days to lose 100 pounds!
2. This will give me 10 days to remember how to apply blush properly;
3. This gives me 10 days to remember my limit on alcohol when I’m nervous;
4. 10 days to make my hands and feet look like I’ve been taking good care of them;
5. This gives me 10 days to come up with a life – a really good one, too, maybe one where I fight crime.

The other night one of the ex-boyfriends called me. We talked for a good hour; or I should say, he talked for a good hour. That’s when I remember he was always a phone whore and that’s eventually the reason for our split.

He called again last night and got the answering machine.

I’m all for reunions and such, but I’m on medication! And The Psychiatrist thinks I need boundaries.

I need more Facebook drinks to lick.

Oh, so I forgot to share with you one of my favorite moments from the 4th of July this year! Sit back and enjoy as we terrorize The Boy:

We truly are white. trash. And I swear that’s not me laughing. Really. I swear.

Hello world! I’m baaaack, at least I think I’m back.

The good news? My esophagus surgery has put me on the exact same diet as someone that has had lap-band surgery, so I’ve lost 14 pounds!

The bad news? It looks like I’ve been in a knife fight and have a slight heroine addiction.

I really should include pictures, you know – because what have I not shown you at this point? But I’m too lazy to take them and then upload them and such. So, you’ll have to take my word for it. Knife fight. Heroine addiction. –14 pounds.

I’m practically Amy Winehouse.

We leave for Denmark in a week or so. I’m totally dreading the flight! I’m not sure what I’m going to do about eating during the flight (I’m still on a thick liquid’y diet.)

If anyone has had lap-band surgery or the same esophagus surgery please email some eating ideas. I’m tired of protein shakes and applesauce!

Now do the hokey pokey and turn yourselves around - cuz that’s what it’s all about! Shout!

The Girl was not biten by the spider.

However, on Saturday I started throwing up uncontrollably. Foreigner rushed me over to the closest Doc In A Box. We figured I had food poisoning and they’d give me something to control the vomiting. But, with a quick change of events, my blood count was something like 17,000.

I was then rushed, by ambulance no less, to the nearest hospital.

I had appendicitis. Appendawho? Yeah. That’s what I thought, too.

Thanks to my dehydration no one could get an IV in. So I was poked: 18 TIMES. 4 of the sticks were efforts to put in a PICC line. One of the nurses even tried my foot. Then they started talking about going in on my neck. With that talk, I got up and started getting dressed to leave. I’d rather go home and die than have a needle stuck in my neck-are-you-fucking-kidding-me?

I also have a hernia in my esophagus that they are going to repair. When? Oh. Today at 4pm.

While I’ve been enjoying my Vicodin induced new personality, I’m missing half the damn summer. And now, I only have a couple of weeks to recover before we go to Denmark!

So, miss me! I’ll post when I can finally feel my arms again.

Today I redid the window display at work. It’s very Abercrombie & Fitch minus the naked. I blew a huge picture up of The Girl’s head, printed it in black and white and spray glued it down to something thick.

It looks badass.

However, while I was at The Little Shop of Couture My Foreigner phoned to inform me that The Girl quite possibly was bitten by a black widow spider. And you could hear in the background much havoc and russling about. Like everyone in the house was running around being chased by spiders.

So, first thing first, why does The Girl think she was bitten? (trying to focus the group). The Girl always thinks something is occurring. So me rushing her to the emergency room because she “thought” she was bitten by a black widow spider would be a totally normal Tuesday afternoon around here.

The Foreigner has no answers. I told him to google all about it and if he still believes she was bitten to call me back.

A few minutes later he phoned back, the first thing google told him was to calm down, so there was much less havoc in the background. He said the symptoms, the main one being in 2 hours there would be much pain in the muscles. So, I said, “Cool, I’ve got 2 hours then.”

Panicked (obviously not trusting google at all), he sent her through the shower with some antibacterial soap we had from when I had one of my surgeries. By the time I got home she was alone (Foreigner had a meeting about a job!! WOOHOO!), getting water out of the fridge insisting the soap made all the difference in the world.

But I knew, cuz I still have some country in me…we would need that spider if she had really been bitten. So, I ask her to show me where it was in the pool. It was in the grotto. Damn that Foreigner for wanting to like Hugh Hefner with his tiny grotto!

Fully clothed, I slunk under the water into the grotto with a plastic sandwich bag. It was definitely a black widow spider, with a ginormous egg sac. Bitch.

Armed with my plastic sandwich bag, I caught me a spider. Came in and googled, confirmed it. But the girl never saw this inch long solid black spider on her chest at all. So the spider could be confirmed, but not the bite.

The fact that I’m a badass could also be confirmed today. I jumped in the pool, fully clothed and caught me a black widow. The Foreigner googled. I win.

Have you heard the song “I Kissed A Girl”?

Some of the lyrics:

I kissed a girl and I liked it
The taste of her cherry chapstick
I kissed a girl just to try it
I hope my boyfriend don’t mind it
It felt so wrong
It felt so right
Don’t mean I’m in love tonight
I kissed a girl and I liked it
I liked it!

Is it wrong that it makes me think of one of my friends? Every. Single. Time. I. Hear. It.

Is that really so wrong? None of my friends are lesbians – not that there’s anything wrong with that, I just don’t have any. There’s just something about this song that…well, my dear readers, gets me to thinking about one of my girl friends after we’ve had a few too many shots.

*sigh*

I absolutely don’t think past the kiss, and I’m pretty sure after a few college experiments that I wouldn’t like it. But there’s something about this song that reminds me of one of my current friends.

Now you know. I’m a closet-kiss-only-after-a-ton-of-shots-cherry-chapstick-lesbian.

And now you want to know who, right?

No! I will not tell! Just think it’s you.

We all know “that” guy in high school. You know – the one that all the girls talked about in the locker room. The Guy That Did Something Stupid When You’re Making Out. Our guy was Stephen, and he was a hummer.

He dated a lot of girls in high school. After every single date, he would then be talked about in the locker room.

Out of pure concern for The Boy and his new dating habits I told him the story of Stephen, the hummer.

One evening I found myself at his parent’s house. We were sitting on the couch, watching a Freddy Krueger movie, when suddenly he moved my hair with his tongue, put his lips on my ear – solidly – and hummed. No, wait, better description: He motor boated my eardrum. There are so many reasons not to do that. But none of us could tell him that it was more disturbing than a turn on. So we all sat with our right ears wet and motor boated. Hopefully he knows better now. But he was all the talk in the locker room and not the kind of talk you want talked about you in the girls locker room.

So I had to tell The Boy not to motor boat girl’s ears.

Then it got me thinking about all the annoying stuff guys did in an attempt to turn us on? Or, maybe, do something off the wall so they would be memorable? And even though all the book on sex say to tell your man what’s good and not good, you really don’t get to that point until you’re in your mid 30’s. Then you have the confidence to say, “Dude, the flicking of your penis does not cause me tiny orgasms like you think it does.” (Hopefully his wife has told him about this now.)

Guys make a lot of mistakes when it comes to pushing our buttons. An overzealous teenage boy can squeeze too hard on a boob, or motor boat your ear until it’s numb. But none of us want to hurt the stupid guy that’s doing it. And I would bet that all guy’s did something they look back on now as stupid-and-oh-my-Gawd-why-didn’t-anyone-tell-me?!

I still get numb just thinking about Stephen. At least I know the boy won’t be talked about for motor boating.

I awarded The Real Housewives of Collin County for their clear ass whooping of an entire forum, and a clear voice on this one anonymous guy! It made me laugh start to finish. But anything that starts with “suck my vapid dick” gets my attention. Go - read - have fun!

For the rest of the list of winners go to Suburban Turmoil or Kimberly’s place, Petroville.

The Girl and I are volunteering quite a bit at our local hospital information desk this summer. Number one reason: To win an award. Anything less would just be pathetic uhloooosers. I’d love to say it’s because working the information desk makes a difference in people’s lives and it’s rewarding and fulfilling, but we just want the hours.

That being said, we’ve never had a shift where something/mostly someone didn’t freak us out.

Most recently we had an old fella come up to the desk and say:

“You need to report this to facilities. Your hospital has 4 large spotlights that stay on 24/7.”

Me, in my blue smock, obviously a volunteer, thinking – dude…what the fuck? Do I look like I have power here? Does this ginormous hospital not think those 4 spotlights through?

He continues…”You’re wasting at LEAST $8000 to $8500 in electric bills per month.”

Wow! He really does think I have some power to change this. He stands, waiting for me to make the call to facilities.

Obviously I’m not going to call facilities and look like the ass that reported 4 spotlights, so instead I call The Grand Leader of Volunteers at the hospital. Upon hearing the news she immediately burst into laughter. Leaving me hoping the elderly gentleman was deaf and couldn’t hear her.

Then there’s the zoot suit wearing 14 year old boy. With the silver tie and matching silver shoes.

And always the patient dragging her IV outside with her in her hospital grade gown that’s headed outside for a smoke.

Volunteering at the hospital isn’t all fun and flower deliveries. Oh no. You are sitting on the front line of the hospital and you have to deal with people that don’t understand that a blue smock = no power.

Have I mentioned we got another English Bulldog? She’s so adorable, but she’s only 8 weeks old. Do you know what this means?

This means one person from this family has to constantly be looking at the dog’s ass. Is it shitting, is it not. Is the circling just to get comfortable, or is it to pop a squat. Constantly. I think my kids will fondly look back on this summer as The Summer of The Dog’s Ass. And it’s not even a matter of “if” it’s just a matter of “when” – because she is going to shit and pee and make general merriment of both. No matter how many eyes I put in charge of her ass. We can’t even put her in our bed at this point because she always, never fails, pisses on our bed.

This would generally cause me great distress, but I’m medicated and I realize things can get clean again. But My Foreigner, oh he is under great distress. He can barely complete anything. He doesn’t trust the kid’s eyes. He hasn’t let go. Which is probably a good thing that one of us is so distressed that one of us is actually paying attention. To the dog’s ass.

I think he’d really like to yell at me and inform me that this whole dog extravaganza was my idea. But he doesn’t. He’d probably really like for me to step up to the plate and help. But he doesn’t mention it.

I’m not fond of watching a dog’s ass. I like them better once someone else has figured all that out.

But she is so cute. I give her treats a lot.

Which cause her to shit.

And pandemonium to strike within the eyes that were supposed to be watching the dog’s ass.