Posts Tagged ‘pain’

So I’m Facebook chatting with my friends, who shall be named Esmerelda and Lorelai. I was hopped up on cold meds, and everything I typed seemed hilarious to me. I thought I’d share.

Esmerelda: So my son is staying at a friend’s house tonight. Got scratched by their dog. Friend’s mom’s all freaked out. He has scratches on his leg and the mom locked the dog up. Completely overreacting.

Lorelai: My stepson stayed with a friend when he was 16 and a dog bit him in the face.

Me: I got stabbed once at a friend’s house. Her mom passed out after doing the whole 8 ball, and my mom was kinda mad.

Esmerelda: I’m sorry, DAFUQ? Are you high right now?

Me: Lol, no, just being me.

Esmerelda: Break that shit down for me.

Me: Um, I was totally lying.

Esmerelda: You’re an ASSHOLE.

Me: ME?? What? It was a GOOD story!

Esmerelda: But you’re still an asshole. Assholes can spin a great yarn.

Me: Ok, I might be a little high.

Lorelai: So I’m going to take my family to the Four Seasons Orlando next Christmas.

Esmerelda: That’s a bold goal!

Me: (thinking Lorelai was taking parents and extended family) How much of the family? Just the ones you like?

Lorelai: Just my husband and daughter.

Esmerelda: It’s the Four Seasons! That’s exPENsive!

Me: Oh, I took “bold goal” as meaning a lot of family, not mo’ money.

Esmerelda: Nope, get with the program. The Four Seasons is a lot of money, you should know that!

Me: (googling what holds memories) I forgot. Well, I WAS stabbed in my temporal lobe, but I don’t like to talk about it.

Esmerelda: You can hear, no you weren’t.

Me: (hurries and Googles what lobe): Duh, it was the MEDIAL temporal lobe.

Esmerelda: Dick, temporal lobe = hearing.

Did I mention she’s a nurse?

Me: Medial temporal = memories. I’m a bit fuzzy about things since the stabbing, and the subsequent surgeries.

Esmerelda: That’s IN the brain!

Me: Yes, I know, but it was just with a toothpick.

Esmerelda: You can’t be stabbed there without reaching the outer temporal lobe.

Me: That’s because my friend was an alien, they have technology you cannot imagine.

Esmerelda: Through your nose? Sideways?

Me: I know, right? It really hurt.

Esmerelda: You’re so stupid.

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I’m tired of being sick.

One thing after another since like August…

Sinus, maybe¬†pneumonia, probably flu (but we’re not sure take this medicine anyway), lumps on my neck, ear aches, sore throat…

And that was just over my anniversary getaway weekend.

I’m so desperate I ordered stuff I consider “crunchy” like peppermint and oregano oil to take.

Thank You Amazon Prime!

Maybe my mean old (now dead) grandma was right, and I should try tying a dirty sock around my throat.

I was thinking today, for no reason really, what would happen if my husband met someone else…I think the conversation would go like this:

Husband: Uh, I’ve met someone.

Me: Oh? Male or female?

Husband: (sputtering) Female, of course, why?

Me: Um, (looks him up and down) no reason…

(See, now I’ve got him all flustered, the ass)

Husband: Well, I did, and I’m leaving.

Me: Ok, does she know that you never change the toilet paper roll or put your dishes away?

Husband: Well, uh…

Me: Oh, does she know how you belch like Godzilla trying to break the sound barrier?

Husband: Well, no.

Me: Oh! Does she know how you snore like a fucking grizzly bear with sleep apnea AND asthma?

Husband: Well, I haven’t exactly slept…

Me: Oooh, here’s a good one, does she know how you like to leave skid marks in your underwear AND the toilet?

Husband: Well…

Me: Shut up, I’m on a roll. How about how you pick your toenails, and then clip them at the dinner table? Or how you like to take off your stinky socks and throw them in other people’s face? Or that you only brush your teeth a few times a week, and you like to fart a lot?

Husband: sinking into the floor

Me: …and scratch your ass in public, and eat with your mouth wide open, and snort really loud, and drool…Does she know that about you?

Husband: (deflated and defeated) No, no she doesn’t…I’m so sorry, I’ve treated you terribly. Can we just forget this whole thing?

Me: (packing) Fuck no, you’re kind of shitty, thanks for reminding me! Have fun with the new girl.

Runs for the hills…¬†(after taking all his credit cards and cash from his wallet as he sits there sobbing).

I think too much.

I understand the importance of sleep, and the fact that my husband needs more than young children. I let him sleep in on weekends, make sure the kids don’t run in and wake him up (unless I’m pissed at him), and give him some time to rest.

I sneak around the room like a cat. I make no sound. I see in the dark. I am one with the void.

Do you think I get the same courtesy?

HELL to the NO.

For some reason my husband can’t manage to keep the kids out of the bedroom when I’m trying to sleep. “Sorry, baby, they just demanded to see you.”

Dude, you are a grown ass man, you can keep preschoolers away for Christ’s sake.

This morning he needed to get up by 5:30 am. I usually make him breakfast and pack his lunch, partly¬†because I like to feel needed, but mostly so he doesn’t spend money getting breakfast AND lunch at a drive through.

He told me to go ahead and stay in bed. I snicker to myself because while, SURE, I can STAY in bed, SLEEPING is not something I will be doing.

So he goes into the bathroom (10 feet away) to shower and while I’m lying there willing myself to go back to sleep he:

1. Drops 587 things

2. Slams the toilet seat down 8.5 times

3. Drops 15 things in the shower

4. Opens the door as wide as possible with all the lights on when he’s done (shining like a fricken lighthouse in my face) AND LEAVES the DOOR OPEN

5. Sits on the bed and rolls his ass around like Goldilocks finding just the right spot just to put on his socks

6. Puts on said¬†socks, sloooowwwly, like he’s putting on a burlesque show

7. Leaves, with lights still on in the bathroom, but not before bumping into the bed 2 times

8. Makes a really loud 17 course gourmet microwave dinner in the kitchen

9. Comes in to kiss me goodbye, and wonders why I’m not sleeping

10. Slams door shut to garage (20 feet away)

He’s lucky he’s cute.

 

 

 

 

Grandma pinches your ear. Hard.

“Ow, Grandma, that kinda hurt.”

Grandma: THAT DIDN’T HURT! SEE?

Proceeds to pinch ear harder this time around to prove the first one didn’t hurt, NEARLY as bad.

“Yeah, that still hurts, Grandma!”

Grandma: WIMP!

———————–

You’re minding your own business while sitting on a stool.

Grandma comes along behind you and smacks your butt really hard.

“Ow, Grandma! That hurt!”

Grandma: That was a love tap! IT DIDN’T HURT! SEE?

Proceeds to smack your butt 117 times harder.

You fall off the stool clutching your behind while whimpering.

Grandma: WUSS!

————————-

20 years later, Grandma can’t walk so good and uses a walker with wheels and a seat.

She comes up behind you while you’re making stuffing for Thanksgiving.

Her way.

(It’s always so gross).

She rams her walker into the back of your legs, not once, not twice, but 5 times.

She finally fractures your tibia the long way around and you grasp the counter in pain.

“JESUS GOD, GRANDMA, WHY? WHY DO YOU HAVE TO CAUSE ME PAIN?”

(My dad, the son-in-law, looks at me with understanding, along with my mother who is biting her tongue so hard there’s a bloodpool on the floor.)

Grandma: DAMMIT KID, YOU ARE THE BIGGEST PUSSY ON THE PLAN-….voice stops abruptly, she has a heart attack and dies right there.

Ok, that’s not how it ends…it ends with you lying on the floor in a fetal position while Grandma repeatedly runs you over¬†going in forward AND reverse.

AND IT HURTS!