Dear Tuesday, why?!?!

Oh I just love Tuesdays (she said sarcastically). I have no idea why people hate Mondays. On Monday you're all rested up with super exciting stories from your weekend to tell your coworkers; Tuesday is the day you realize the weekend is still four long, miserable days away… Lame.

 

Today is no different. Let me start off by saying that at 5:00 this morning, the temperature outside was a balmy 2 degrees with a wind chill factor of -9. Brr.  The boyfriend is out of town this week so all of the dog responsibilities fall on me, and of course it’s like the coldest week of the year. I really don’t mind taking the dog out, he’s half mine. I just prefer the front half as opposed to the rear. So my day starts with taking the dog out, slipping and sliding up and down and up and down the ice covered hill while he spends 10 minutes finding the perfect place to drop a steaming load.

 

After that little arctic jaunt, I go to hop in the shower and there’s an eight-legger in the shower!!!  I am so terrified of these things that the S-word gives me the heebie-jeebies. I literally feel like the S-word works just like Beetlejuice, say it 3 times and *poof* you find yourself face to face with an eight-legged monstrosity! It’s the middle of frikkin winter, I haven’t seen one of them in months and one just happens to show up when I’m all alone and vulnerable…? Um, I think it’s safe to say they’re messing with me. This particular specimen looks big enough to drag me back to its colony and sacrifice me to the gods! Ok, maybe I’m slightly exaggerating. Anyway, I really have no choice but to cowboy-up and kill it, and I figure that if I use the boyfriend’s size 17 Jordans this will put more distance between the smasher (me) and the smashee (the 8-legger). WRONG!! This (probably scientifically engineered) creature avoids being smashed and scuttles down the grooves in the sole of the shoe towards me!! This obviously evokes an ear piercing scream and interpretive dance from me as I attempt to dislodge him by smacking the shoe against the toilet hoping I can just flush him and be done with it. No luck. He's pulled a Houdini! And I'm sure his only thoughts now are "SEND A BATTLE CRY TO THE OTHERS AND KILL THE BLONDE!" WTF am I supposed to do now?! There is no way in H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks I can get in the shower until I find and destroy him! So, I spend five terror filled minutes looking for him until I finally find him and I smash him. I smash him dead.

 

Then, I get to work and my very first phone call (literally 2 minutes after I walk in the door) is from a Crazy McCrazypants. This lovely gentleman informs me that if I don’t let him speak to the Chief of Police right now, he’s going to find me and I’m going to regret it. That’s the short version of our conversation. The long version involves a whole slew of creative threats and multitudes of expletives. Aren’t people lovely? I knew I should have called in sick today. 

 

Stay tuned for more adventures of Murphy’s Law personified.

Ah, we meet again.

One of my New Year’s Resolutions is to write more, so here goes. I actually typed this up a couple weeks ago, but I’ve been a slacker about posting it. Here’s what’s been going on since the last time I wrote. I got a job (yay!), I had a relatively routine surgery that cost me 10 days in ICU, and I got fatter (like 30lbs fatter).

 

The job. It’s a government job, so the money is shitty and so are the benefits, but hey I’d pretty much have to rape and murder someone on my desk with my boss watching to get fired. So there’s that. But there’s also the fact that I genuinely like everyone that I work with/for, everyone is pretty laid back and (most of the time) my job doesn’t suck.

 

The surgery. I had Grave’s Disease, which basically is just an overactive/enlarged thyroid gland. Well I scheduled my surgery for September the 13^th, which was a Friday… maybe I should have taken that as an omen. I go in on Friday morning and wake up Saturday night with a bunch of tubes coming out of me like literally everywhere: Feeding tube, breathing tubes, IV, catheter, heart monitor, etc. Long story short, I had an epic Thyroid Storm while they were operating and thus led to my 10-day ICU vacation. Here are some super fun activities to do in the ICU: Involuntarily pee into a bag, get pneumonia, take some super awesome pain meds that make you think there are kittens crawling all over you, lose a bunch of muscle mass & have to have physical therapy, poop in plain view of the nurses’ station, have 18 pillows on your bed like you’re Princess Jasmine, wear a hospital gown when you only own thongs, wash your hands 57 times a day (because hospitals are very icky), eat super yummy hospital food until someone that loves you brings you food that was meant for actual human consumption and watch a lot of Bravo TV.

 

The fat. With all the muscle mass I lost in the hospital (and the gigantic thyroid they removed), I actually left there about 10-15lbs lighter than when I was admitted! Yes! But then it all went downhill. Underactive thyroid is a bitch! I thought overactive thyroid was bad, but I’ll take being hot and hungry all the time over freezing my arse off and gaining weight just looking at celery any day! Seriously, if they could just put my thyroid back in that would be super-d-duper! This is where things go downhill. A couple weeks after my surgery, my body starts to realize that it no longer has a thyroid. What does this mean for me? Loads of super fun things like arthritic feeling joints, being cold ALWAYS, muscle cramps like a mother, extreme exhaustion and just loads of awesome times. I’m not sure if anyone knows this or not, but if you have a below normal metabolism (aka post thyroidectomy metabolism), you don’t workout and you eat like an emotional blue whale you’re gonna get fat. Like real fat. Like Professor Klump fat. Also, if you don’t own a scale, that first doctor’s visit after about a month or so is gonna be a HUGE shocker.

 

So, that’s about all that’s been going on recently. Stay tuned for more adventures of Murphy’s Law personified…