Category Archives for "Health"
Remember me almost exactly two months ago, to the day?
I was the one whose windshield was the recipient of a pebble fart from a passing snowplow, causing it to crack like a plumber’s fanny and I didn’t have glass coverage on my auto policy? And I wound up adding glass coverage for a measly $9 a year but not before I had to pay out the nose for a brand new windshield, which I did by yanking a snot-covered check for $200 out of my left nostril and handing it over to the filthiest, scuzziest garage in western New York because they wouldn’t take credit cards? The same garage from which I almost contracted emphysema because it stuck its tobacco-infested tongue down my throat and french kissed my esophagus without my permission, five minutes before the rest of me was accosted by not one, not two but three drunkards, all while my fallopian tubes almost froze together?
Any of that ring a bell?
I-390 North is a raging, pebble-strewn, assy douche noodle with a shitty sense of humor. And acid reflux.
Later today, I’ll be having my almost brand new, $200 windshield replaced.
After that, I have my yearly appointment to have my boobs squished flat in an x-ray machine.
Guess which one of these appointments I’ll find immensely more enjoyable?
Directions: Examine the photos carefully, read their descriptions and then answer the question below to the best of your ability
Along with healthy portions of fresh fruits, raw vegetables, grilled chicken, ground turkey, protein fortified pasta and low fat peanut butter, the above photos show what Andy eats and drinks every week to maintain her weight. In addition, she still runs two miles a day several days a week, despite Jack Frost getting drunk on power and heaving his guts up all over western New York for months on end.
Andy has been in the throes of maintenance since she reached goal weight nine months ago at which time she stopped taking up the entire eastern hemisphere of a photo and saw her feet without use of a mirror for the first time since her uterus was a virgin. She has discovered that one throe lasts an eternity plus twenty minutes and while daunted by the task ahead of her, she is determined to persevere and remain a size six and not give in to the temptation to drive to Wegmans and lick their bakery department until it sparkles or sues her for sexual harassment.
It is a struggle every single day to remain focused on her goal and not lose her shit when Valentine’s Day rolls around on ganache-infused, chocolate covered wheels.
Andy has recently gained four pounds.
Along with frozen pizzas, fourteen inch cholesterol-laden subs, Bill Gray’s, McDonalds and enough chocolate chip cookies to make Cookie Monster beg for mercy and become a vegan, the above photos show what Nate eats and drinks every week in an attempt to lose the extra twenty pounds he’s carrying around so that he can win the Biggest Loser competition at work. His exercise regimen consists of talking about exercise, making sure the couch doesn’t run away and playing ONE TWO THREE FOUR, I DECLARE A THUMB WAR with the remote.
Nate has recently lost two pounds.
Based on the above photos, where do you think Nate’s genitalia will wind up?
I’m still down in North Carolina but only for another day or so. The weather is gorgeous, everyone I meet is outrageously nice and I basically want to pack up Nate, the kids and Oliver and run away from home and move down here. I love everything about this place except the traffic lights. I know that life down here runs at a slower pace but yesterday, I think I could have gestated a small human while waiting to make a left turn. Even with my shitty, enlarged uterus.
I meant that my shitty, enlarged uterus could have gestated a small human being period, not that I could have used it to make a left turn. My shitty, enlarged uterus has no sense of direction and wouldn’t know its left from its right. If it were allowed to navigate, I’d be typing this from the South Pole and crying because hello? WHERE THE HELL IS SANTA AND WHY HASN’T BE BROUGHT ME A GPS FOR CHRIST’S SAKE?
Just a few updates:
Once again, thank you so much for all your kind thoughts and positive energy during the last week or so. You guys made a huge difference for my family and I am so grateful.
I should be home later this week. If no one hears from me in a couple of days, please check the laundry room and send help.
And a gas mask.
I’d like to thank all of you for your comments and emails this week. I wish I could thank each of your personally for bringing a smile to my face but there aren’t enough hours in the day and this in and of itself is a huge testament to how supportive the Internet can be. Your thoughts and words of encouragement have been the highlights of what has essentially been a festival of shit this week.
And all of you spammers who sent me Viagra coupons and offers to enlarge my penis and rock my girlfriend’s world? You guys have got to learn how to use spell check. I’m not going to take you seriously if you can’t spell the word “orgasm” correctly. And if I had a girlfriend, I’d bet she’d feel the same way because I only hook up with really smart people. The first thirty years of my life notwithstanding.
My dad is hanging in there. I won’t bother giving a play by play of the roller coaster we’ve ridden this week but suffice it to say that carotid artery surgery, hematomas, strokes, aspirating on vomit, pneumonia and ventilators suck big, fat, staph-infected orangutan balls.
As of last night, he was coming off of sedation. He blinked on command and moved his hand and both his feet which was very encouraging. We hope he can come off the ventilator today so that they can start conducting a neurological exam to determine the extent of the damage from the stroke. I suggested to the doctors that they ask my dad a simple question like Is it true that if F(X) is an antiderivative of f(x) and c is any constant, then F(x) + c is also an antiderivative of f(x)? They could assess his analytical prowess and help my sixteen year old with her homework at the same time. It would be a win/win! They suggested we start with something like “Is your name Peter?”
Way to set the bar low, guys.
My brother Tino is down here with me. So all you single ladies living in North Carolina, here’s your chance! And no worries of my mother hovering in the background, yelling FOR GOD’S SAKE, JUST MARRY ONE OF THEM ALREADY as she’s got a lot on her mind these days and can’t plan a wedding at the moment.
Some highlights of this past week:
Before I leave, one word of advice. Please, please, please, for the love of white garlic pizza, tell someone where your original wills and powers of attorney are hidden. It may come as a surprise but it is entirely possible for a person to experience the whole spectrum of human emotion 582 times in one morning, leading her to seriously consider having a bank drill through a safety deposit box to the tune of $150 even though she knows nothing is in there but at least it’s doing something other than standing in an office and yelling to no one in particular JESUS CHRIST IN BIRKENSTOCKS, WHERE THE HELL ARE THEY?
This was my bladder on Monday morning.
It was saying HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY! I LOVE YOU!
This was my bladder two hours later, after bacteria crawled up my bahoodle doodle and threw up all over my urinary tract system.
It was saying FUCK YOU AND YOUR WONDERFUL DAY. I HATE YOU.
I felt uncomfortable and bloated, as if I was eleven months pregnant. One good sneeze and I think I could have given birth to my uterus right there in my kitchen.
Worst of all, it burned like a futhermucker to pee.
Good thing I only had to do that every minute or so.
I wasn’t too happy to discover that I had run out of my trusty old antibiotic, Cipro.
I called my urologist to get a refill and was told that in order to get a new prescription, I had to come into the office and give them a sample via a catheter because this is the method they prefer when you are the owner of a schizophrenic bladder.
I wasn’t happy. Why an office visit? Why couldn’t they just renew my prescription over the phone? I mean, if I hadn’t let my prescription run out, I’d still have enough Cipro refills to last me at least another five infections or a small scale Anthrax terrorist attack. So, what the hell, you big meanies?
But they have to make money off me somehow, don’t they?
So I paid a $40.00 co-pay for the privilege of placing my legs in stirrups, assuming the position and having tubing shoved through my urethra up to my bladder.
I was sad.
Who knew I’d ever miss peeing in a cup?
Not me, that’s who.
But in the end, I got my Cipro which makes me nauseous and sluggish, like I’ve drunk seven too many beers.
I’m always debating on which is worse … the symptoms of a bladder infection or the side effects of the antibiotics.
It’s kind of like a “which came first, the chicken or the egg” scenario.
Or maybe not. It’s hard to make sense when you feel like you’re going to heave up dinner from last week.
I also got some more Phenazopyridine, which is a fancy name for a pill that makes me pee neon orange.
I think you can see it from space.
The neon orange pee, not the pill.
((waving HI to the space shuttle astronauts))
To sum it up, this week has been total suckage so far and all I’ve wanted to do is lay on the couch and fondly remember the good old days, when I felt somewhat human.