The Fireworks of My Former Gallbladder

          

Anyone who is anybody doesn't have a gallbladder. They are an organ that has no real use, so why have one anyway? I have lived without mine for a year and a half and let me tell you: it's awesome. I have leftover pain meds, cool scars, sweet memories, and now poop on the regular. I remember a time back in Grad School I hadn't had a regular poop in two months. I attributed that to stress and marriage. Turns out it was because I had not jumped on the most popular American surgery bandwagon. All I needed was a doctor to slice me with lasers. That's right! They do it with lasers! If you still have your gallbladder let's just say I won't be inviting you to any parties. 

I had many gallstone attacks before I landed in the hospital. I thought the attacks were caused by gas. I had one when I was pregnant and I thought I was in labor. Turns out I just ate way too much ice cream. Here is footage of me eating the ice cream that crushed my soul: 

https://www.instagram.com/p/s_CscbP7vcQVb5WzWb6dS1n1IZe4G7WFWUpKc0/

It was New Years Eve. I was a new mother, my c-section was healed, I got to jacuzzi with my husband, I was at my friend's posh house, and things were swinging. My friends cooked a meal of steak, lobster ravioli, and wine that cost $100 (my friend's husband was proud of that fact.) I even took a picture of said dinner: 

                  

Yeah, shit was decadent and on the fatty side of life. Looking at these pictures now makes me wanna hurl and later that night I did. 

In the middle of the night I couldn't get comfortable because I was in the worst pain of my life, yes even more painful than childbirth because I had an epidural. (My birthing advice: DO ALL THE DRUGS THEY ARE WILLING TO GIVE YOU. ) It was quiet in my friend's cold blue room and the white linens were not comforting me. My husband was sound asleep; even the baby who was 6 weeks old was asleep. In my misery I soon became nauseated and had the urge to vomit. Only, I could hardly move because of the intense pain. The only thought running through my head was "WHITE LINENS". I mean, my friend's house is nice. Real nice. Also, her worst nightmare is vomit. She is grossed out by it. She can't even to bring herself to vomit because she is so grossed out by it. I always wonder what it was like for her when she barfed. Did she cry? Did she puke more because she was disgusted? Did she pause to remark about how grossed out she was? I will never really know. I am like that with other people's boogers but that is another blog. Also I love to vomit. I vomit a lot. I used to vomit after a night of drinking and I never got hangovers. But, I was not enjoying this vomit session. Side note: I don't vomit on purpose. Just in case you were worried I have some sort of disorder.

In order to save the linens I made the genius decision and reached for a nearby towel, that was used in the jacuzzi, placed it on my chest, and then made an oval barrier with my arms to act as the Great Wall of China to avoid the vomit from entering white linen territory. Ready, aim...I vomited for what seemed to be a year, all of the decadence that came out of my mouth was easily worth $300. 

The baby and the husband woke up to the sound of me puking. My husband panicked as I tried to instruct him on how to transport the vomit and save the linens. He helped me up with the vomit secured by my arm wall as we gingerly separated the towel from the arm wall and dumped them into another pile of towel leftover from our jacuzzi excursion. We had done it! We saved the linens!! But, my husband never had to do chores as a child, and fecklessly emptied the bile covered towels into my friends washing machine.  By the time they made that discovery and had to hose the towels out on their driveway we were long gone to the E.R. Happy New Years Day 2015.

So, there I was the first day of the New Year in the E.R. with a freaked out husband and infant.  The  E.R.'s are riddled with diseases. It's no place for a fucking baby. I had gallstones. Gross. And it's not because I am fat. Gallstones are genetic. Don't know who has em' in my gene pool but when I find out who that person is I am going to spit over my shoulder and give them the evil eye. They had to keep me over night and do tests. Bye baby. Bye husband. Bye 2014.

Have you ever had an MRI? The only reference I have to an MRI is from The Sopranos, the greatest television show of all time. MRI's are terrifying. They strap you down on a table and inject you in a small oval. As you lay there you are face to face with white walls. The lab technician behind glass speaks to you inside the oval, "If you move during the examination, we will have to start all over again. And you will have to stay in longer." A thing buzzes and you don't move. You are still and hold your breath. I am usually not claustrophobic but I was in that small oval thinking they might find something and tell me that I was gonna die. I usually don't care about dying but I had been through a hard labor recently, was on very little sleep because of the infant, had a non adjusted husband and a non adjusted cat. Shit was hitting the fan but NOT the linens!

My short foreign friend was my breast milk currier.

Eventually I was out of the E.R. and in my own private room where I enjoyed a mini vacation to ring in the New Year! It was an amazing way to spend the holiday! A vacation away from my non adjusted husband and restless infant?! What did I do?  I binged watched Friends, slept, pumped milk, was pampered by nurses, showered without interruption, took semi naked selfies of myself, chatted on the phone, and eventually after 24 hours I was allowed to eat again. They gave me jello. I ate the shit out of it. I stayed in there for four days. It was sort of magic. I would return and part with my gallbladder in about two months. Gallbladders are so passe anyways.

During the time I was still harboring my dieseased gallbladder, I wasn't allowed to eat much, for fear of another attack. My go-to meal was white rice, avocado, and Sriracha mayonnaise. I was skinny. Skinnier than I have been in a long time. Skinny from breastfeeding. Skinny from being ill. My clothes were loose and I was cocky. My mom kept telling me, "Keep it up, now you know what it takes to be thin."  I knew that if I were able to really eat again. I would eat again and again and again because YOLO. I don't have what it takes to be thin. 

Up until the fetus came out of me I had never really had many health problems, but babies fuck your shit up. Your body isn't the same and you aren't young anymore. I don't care if you have a baby at fourteen. Even a fourteen year old mother has something haggard about her body after carrying a baby.        

Being in the maternity ward is heaven compared to the slaughter house that is outpatient surgery. I waited to be prepped for my surgery in the waiting room with my infant and dizzy husband for two hours. We were all one edge. Once I got let into the ward they prepped me without so much as a "good luck" or a "pat you on the back." I was drugged and rolled to the room where they lasered my gallbladder out of me. 

As I was coming to I yelled out in pain. My vision and thoughts were fuzzy but I remember the intern who was wheeling me around, "Is this normal?" and the RN replied, "This is not normal." How comforting.  I awoke in my non-private room surrounded by other victims and snapped and Instaed this sexy shot:

                                                    I really have never looked hotter, right?

Life without a gallbladder is really the best thing that has ever happened to me.  I love being in the non gallbladder club. If you have a gallbladder in you, you might as well take it out, and live your life. Stop holding yourself back from success. It's a useless organ.

Nasty Gigi Gives Birth

Preggo me at Portos

My baby, Huckleberry, has turned a half a year, it's about time that I write about the chaos that was his birth.

I worked up until my due date because I am an idiot. He was due on a Tuesday and my last day was on a Friday. But, he ended up being ten days late, so for a time you could find me laying on the couch binge watching, eating, playing video games, and sleeping. It was fantastic. But, my doc said they needed to get the baby out so they scheduled an induction. My mom flew in a day before my induction. The morning I picked her up I took her to this cuban bakery called Portos. Delicious.

We got a lot done that day, we bought a rug, we found an amazing thrift store near my house, we had sushi while sitting in the blaring hot sun, and we watched a movie. All in all a good last day of freedom.

My mom thinks this picture is funny

In the late afternoon I was on the phone with my friend when a gush of water came flowing out. At first I shrugged it off, "It's probably pee."  I walked into my bedroom when, "Goosh!" more came out. I informed my friend, "I have to see if this is pee or not." She laughed and we hung up.

I'm holding on for dear life.

My husband and mother were sitting in the living room when I yelled from my bedroom. I stared at the brown liquid on my white tiled floor, "Do you know what's going on?!" They both assumed that I was still on the phone with my friend. I opened the door, with my long skirt up to my thighs. They both jumped up and then the contractions started.

I'm huge. I had no idea.

Before we headed to the ER my husband had to make a quick run to Target. Yes, in all of his neurotic episodes he had to make sure he had all the materials for his sub for the following day (he's a teacher). If you had walked into Target that night you would have seen me bent over in pain. Sorry not sorry.
When we got to the intake room the contractions were getting crazy. Apparently that brown pee was a sign that the baby was in distress, so they had to hook me up to a machine, so I couldn't get up and walk around. I had gone to all these hippie dippy birthing classes, learned all these exercises, and I couldn't do any of them. I couldn't even use the flipping birthing ball. My husband bought two. Instead I became nauseous and I vomited sushi all over my mother. Sorry mommy. Blame the nurses. They couldn't provide me with a barf bag quick enough the entire time I was there.

Me getting the epidural. Not fun.

The only thing that brought me comfort through the contractions was this relaxation exercise about a red triangle. "Imagine a blank slate. Draw a red triangle. Fill it in. Breathe. Erase it..." I'm paraphrasing but it was semi ridiculous. I made my husband and mother recite it like 1000x. It helped because for some reason I was having contractions back to back. It was like being kicked in the stomach and vagina over and over again. I have never been in a knife fight, but I assume that labor is a lot like a knife fight minus the stabbings. I was trying to hold off on the drugs to avoid a c-section, but I couldn't do it. I looked at my mother, who was against me doing drugs, with painful eyes. She said, "Do you need the drugs?" I nodded uh-huh and she raced out into the hallway. It was our Terms of Endearment moment. 

After that it was easy street.  My mother, husband and I took naps through the night while the night staff monitored the baby. His heartbeat was slowing down, because he was in distress, so my husband and mother were worried. I wasn't because I felt like I was floating on a cloud of marshmallows.

Once early morning hit my friend came equipped with Mcdonalds which I couldn't have. All I was allowed was ice chips. I kept dreaming of apple juice. So weird. I was all ripe and ready for pushing and everyone thought that the baby would poke his head out by the afternoon. Once I started pushing I did manage to push out some poop. It happens. My mother said I was doing what she called the "Nacho Libre" which I didn't get until recently. I was trying to be nice during all of this, and as you all know I am a funny guy, but I did yell at my mother for making jokes during labor. I remember saying, "This isn't funny and it's not a time for jokes." She retorted,
"It's good to have a little levity." Stop. Seriously, Mom.
I also yelled at my husband for rubbing my legs with his long ass fingernails. I asked him nicely a couple of times but the forth or fifth time I definitely called him an idiot.

So, I was pushing and pushing and he wasn't coming and his heartbeat was dropping so they decided to get out the vacuum suction cups thingys. When they brought these out a whole swarm of people filed into the room. It was like a crowd of baby hipsters rushing the stage at Coachella except the stage was my vagina. So they were holding my legs, giving me encouragement, and attaching the suction cup to the baby's head. The doctor told me they would try three times and if they couldn't get him out they would have to do  a c-section. It popped once. It popped...this time when it popped I felt this rush of something and then SPLAT, all of the people viewing my vagina became covered in my blood. They weren't wearing masks. One of the nurses got some in her eye. I was unaware that this was happening at the time. My mother told me the blood went all the way up to the wall. And then it popped a third time and this black nurse spoke up, " Ya'll need to stop she's had too much. I know I'm stepping out of my boundaries, but ya'll need to stop now." That was when I was informed I would be having a c-section.

I cried. My husband almost fainted. I was immediately put on a stretcher so they could shave my pubic hair. I made jokes like, "Wow! spa treatment and I don't have to pay for this? Could you give me a Brazilian?" I always attack fear with humor. But I was scared. Mostly because at a dinner party I hosted my husband's friend told me that at her c-section she could actually feel her guts out on the table. I was trying not to think of that. The nurse was having a hard time getting all the hair because I don't really trim down there. I know this because when I was taken to the operating room the doctors questioned the nurses if they had even shaved and they made them shave it again. What service!

So, they gave me more drugs. And when I say more I mean the good stuff. They gave me what I refer to as the Michael Jackson drug: propofol. I can't believe he took that on the regular. It made me feel like nothing. My husband came in looking all crazy and horrified. I started shaking because of the drugs. So, they gave me more. While I was waiting for the second dose to kick in I heard the anesthesiologists talking about how they were going to go clubbing after work. And then I passed out only to wake up the sounds of a baby cry and my husband's wide eyes of hysteria as tears fell from my eyes. I wasn't crying because I heard my baby, although maybe that was part of it, I was also crying because the ordeal was over.
I don't remember kissing my baby because of all the drugs I was given, but I sort of do. Anyway it turned out to be a nice photo of Huckleberry and I and then I passed out.

I woke up as I was being rolled into the room where my mom, husband, and friend were. They were gazing at the baby. When I saw them I yelled, "He looks just like me!"  My mom told me that his legs were wrapped around the umbilical cord and that's why he wasn't coming out. She decided that his nickname would be Bungee because of this. They immediately had me feed him, let my friend hold him, and then gave me these large pads because apparently I was going to bleed for awhile. I took a shot of the giant pad because I am Nasty Gigi and texted it to my best friend in Oakland to announce that my son had been born.

Nasty Gigi for Life

Bye Bye Braces: an ode

May the 4th of 2015 is the saddest day that has ever been, for today I bid farewell to the finest festoon I have ever seen. 

Goodbye sweet braces, my grill, my bae. I can't believe you will be gone in less than a day.

We have been through sexy moments. We have been through traumas. We have shared laughs. You were there for me when I became a mama. 

You helped me eat my first Dodger Dog. With you, I've jumped over hurdles. You were my plus one at weddings. You helped me breeze though an epidural. 

I love you braces. I'll miss your blisters, I'll miss you being the topic of awkward conversations, and the cat calls we've received by black misters.   

But, mostly I'll miss feeling special because of you. You heightened my personality. With you as my side man my witticism was rarely blue.

It's only been two years, but it feels like five. Although, I have been wondering what it's like to bite into a burrito without food sticking to my teeth. Maybe that will make me feel more alive?

You are a part of me and without me you don't exist. It will be hard to say goodbye to you, for you will be dearly missed. 

It's Cinco De Mayo tomorrow so let's pour the tequila. It's a mere coincidence that tomorrow you will find me at my local taqueria.

                            

.

Gigi Pee Pee

Me at the "false alarm"

My husband likes this picture of himself.

I stopped working the day before my due date because I am a powerhouse.  I was a week overdue so, I sat on my couch and waited for my baby to arrive, which was kind of boring. People kept texting me. "Have you had the baby yet?" My thought was, "Bitch, when the baby happens you'll know. I promise."

I woke up one of those boring mornings, climbed out of bed, and some liquid fell out of me. It was brown. Was this labor? I called my husband, sent him into a panic, he came home from work and we went to the ER. After a couple of hours and tests the labor and delivery department told me that I was in fact, not in labor, and that I had in fact peed on myself.

Pee and me have a history. When I was in kindergarten I was called Pee Pee by a kid named Nacho. I hated being called Pee Pee especially because I was being teased by a kid named Nacho. The only insult I could come up with was, "You want some cheese with your Nachos?" This did not phase him.

Another time with me and pee was when I was playing Sardines with my after-school program when I was about six? I was the one hiding and people had to find me. I had to pee but was unwilling to give up where I was in order to urinate, so I rationalized that if I peed with my pants on that the fabric would collect the pee and I would empty it out after I was found. So, I peed. The fabric did absorb the pee, but it didn't work in the way I had expected.

When I was eight I lived in a neighborhood that had a lot of kids my own age within blocks of each other. We would play until we were called in for dinner. I am not sure why I had decided not to go home to relieve myself but I remember running home about to explode. I turned the corner of my driveway, jumped over the flower bed, went to turn the knob of my front door, and found it locked. My front door was made of glass, so I could see inside. I did not see my mother. I did the pee pee dance and started to bang on the glass. BANG BANG BANG BANG! I saw my mother turn the corner of the hallway. When she saw me she rushed to open the door. I was so relieved that I peed on myself.

My mother woke up once to me banging around the hallway in the middle of the night. She got up as the banging stopped and found me in the piano room, pants dropped, and about to pee in the piano bench. She stopped me. I didn't pee.

I went to college in New York and would come home twice a year: Christmas and Summer. It was very hard to come home during the winters because I would fly TWA and their hub was Chicago, so I would occasionally miss my connecting flight due to inclement weather. I missed a flight and there were no more flights going to my parents location. So, I got a flight to Las Vegas that connected to San Francisco. SF is a 2.5 hour drive from my parents house, but I had no money and couldn't afford a hotel. When I arrived at the Vegas terminal all I had was the change in my pocket. It sucks when you have no money and slot machines outline the terminal. This is back when there were smoking sections in terminals and when I was a smoker. I decided to purchase the largest soda at McDonald's with the change I had in my pocket. I sat in the smoking section of their terminal, read The Great Gatsby (which would change my life) and smoked the last of my Parliament 100's. I was enraptured by the book as I finished my large soda. I couldn't stop turning the pages. I decided to call my mother to let her know how amazing The Great Gatsby is. I used a pay phone because at the time you could afford to be against cell phones. It was my last quarter. As I was on the phone with my mother I started to get the urge to pee. The entire soda I consumed was knocking on my bladder's door. I kept talking to my mother until my bladder slowly made it's way to answering my urine's incessant knocking. I didn't want to hang up because it was my last quarter. It didn't occur to me that I could call back collect. I hung up the phone and dashed to the restroom. As soon as I opened the stall I was relived when I glimpsed the toilet and I peed all over my jeans.
I had no extra clothes. It takes a long time for jeans to dry. I tried to dry them with the air dryer, paper towels, the whole shebang, but they were still wet. I gave up at went back into the terminal. I finished my last cigarette and let the rest of the The Great Gatsby soothe me as my jeans dried. I still had a long journey to go in my soiled jeans. I feel very sorry to whomever sat next to me on the flight and even more sorry for my step father who had to pick me up smelling the way I smelled. I wish that I hadn't wasted my change on that soda.

But, the mother of all of my pee stories was when I went to visit my BFF in Oakland. He and his boyfriend had just bought a new home. I was their first house guest. We danced, we drank, we sang, we drank, and I passed out on their couch. When I woke up I was alone in their living room and my pants were undone. I went to their downstairs bathroom to pee and then ventured up to my actual room and fell asleep. When my BFF woke up he walked into his new pristine kitchen and found the stove open, one of his linen drawers open, and a pool of water on the floor. He thought nothing of it. He started to clean the water off the floor and noticed that the white paper towels were absorbing a yellow liquid and then noticed that linen drawer was damp. He immediately woke me up laughing hysterically, "Did you pee in my new kitchen?" I gave him a blank stare. I had no idea what he was talking about. We determined that in my sleep I had thought the linen drawer was the toilet, and that I must have held onto the stove for support as I peed in it. His revenge was that he texted and called all of his friends poking fun at what I had done. It had been years since I had been Gigi Pee Pee, but I couldn't blame my BFF for calling me Pee Pee in the years following my peeing in the kitchen incident.

After all, I have always been Gigi Pee Pee.

Do you love it? I love it? I'm having a baby at Ross

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I get compliments about my attire all the time and I always tell the person complimenting me that I got it at Ross. In the 90's some genius came up with the add campaign,

"Do you love it?"

"I love it."

"I got it at Ross!"

To this day whenever I get a compliment from a Ross purchase I hear that simple jingle in my head. I am not the kind of person who is proud at paying a shit ton of money for an item of clothing. I am proud to pay a little amount for a one of a kind item. Ross is one step up from finding a gem at a thrift store. When you find something at Ross there are no duplicate items like in most department stores, so it feels special and unique.  Here's an example of the genius campaign slogan. This one is for Father's Day.

                                    

 

My mother is a bargain shopper. We always skip to the back of the store to check the clearance rack. Why pay full price one week to have an item go on sale the next? We both share a love for Ross.

 

We were in Camarillo, California visiting family and I was nine weeks pregnant. This was the weekend that I would tell my parents. I was planning to lead with some joke and show them my sonogram. But that half ass plan flew out the window when my mother decided to take me clothes shopping at Ross. As I was looking for clothing I thought about what kind I could get that would accommodate my growing size but I could also wear after the pregnancy. So, I gathered up some random clothes to try on and headed to the dressing room with my mother.

 

My mother and I follow the same trying on routine we have performed since I can remember: if we find something we like we ask the other one to give it a look see. My mother was changing across the hall from my dressing room. I found a striped toga thingy that I thought would be appropriate for before/after pregnancy. I asked my mother to give it a look see, we both opened our doors, she gave it a nod, and I gave an hers a oh-no! and in unison we shut our doors and began trying on our next items. But, I needed my mother's advice, so I decided to coyly ask her questions while looking at myself in the mirror at the toga, "Do you think that toga will look good on me if I get fatter?"

"Fatter?"

"Yeah, you know, if I gain weight?"

"You can't afford to get any fatter. What do you mean fatter?"

"You know...fatter?"

"What do you mean? Like Alden and Allie fat?" Alden and Allie are my cousins. Allie was fat because Allie was pregnant.

"Sort of."

"What!" The high shrill of my mother's 'what' probably alarmed all of the Ross customers inside the women's dressing room, yet she continued, "What?!"

In unison again we opened our doors, but this time I was still in the toga and my mother had no clothing on to show me. There she stood: in her mismatched bra and panties, wide-eyed, almost drooling. "You're kidding me?"

"Mom!" I looked around the dressing room hallway.

"You're kidding me!"

"Nope."

"Oh, that's so cool." My mother then proceeded to walk across the hall into my dressing room. She hugged me and kept repeating, "That's so cool." She didn't bother to shut the door, so I closed it for her. There's a certain point when you're hugging your almost naked mother that you want to release. It was a little awkward especially because I'm the kind of person that is not so wild about sentiment when it comes to all things girly like: hope chests, weddings, and babies. I remembered this as my mom kept saying, "That's so cool." Was it cool? I know now that the answer is yes, but then, I was a little overwhelmed by the pregnancy. I mean, I am not Money Bags Malone. In order to have my mother quit the embrace I politely asked her,

"Mom, do you want to wear some clothes on your way back?"

"Nah." My mother sauntered into the dressing room hallway in her undergarments a new woman, a future grandmother.She bought me all my clothes that day. I get compliments on them. Every girl should tell their mom they're pregnant while clothes shopping, because your mom can't help herself. And why put her out and make her buy you stuff at Nordys? My advice: tell her at Ross.



Stuck in Misery, Missouri.

Hello Holiday Traveler!!!

This is NASTY GIGI reporting from Kansas City, Missouri aka Misery! I am on another adventure due to being clumsy, dumb, and a true adventurer! I decided that after being with family for the holidays I needed to further torture myself with being on standby at the airport for the rest of my life. (I want to emphasize that I am drunk while writing this blog, so please be a little forgiving of any grammar errors or any context issues you might have with this entry.) 

After a lengthy Thanksgiving in Nashville, TN (one of the greatest American cities in the world) my Southern husband and I were dropped off my my in laws who wonderfully hurried us out the door and dropped us off at the airport. They even made us coffee in thermoses and fed us yogurt on the way. This was a wonderful gesture.

The only problem that came was when my Southern husband arrived at the Southwest check in. We cut the line.

 "Ooh! You cut the line" said the charismatic Southwest employee as he helped us with out check-in. "Ooh! You cut the line!" Please imagine as you are reading this a wonderful, gentile, Southern accent. Read it again if you must, because, "Ooh! You cut the line!" is now a dagger in my heart as I sit in write this blog, because then he said, "Your flight is gone."

      "What?"

       "It left at 7:15am. It's 8:06 am."

       "Shut the fuck up!" I said this as I looked at my Southern husband, my eyebrows up and my mouth open.

       "I can't believe I did this." He put his hand to his forehead. He closed his eyes and the stress wrinkles in his forehead started to become taunt.

       "I can't believe you did this to us!"

The man behind the kiosk didn't really know what to do, and looking at him, I began to realize that our frustration was making it difficult for him to do his job. So, I decided to take a deep breath and ask, "What can we do?" 

         He graciously helped us with a plan and we went on our merry way, although I was not merry, nor was my Southern husband. We went back in forth with whens whys and hows. I definitely made my stance known, and he definitely made his, and boy was there a lot of cursing. I felt bad about doing this in the South because it's not proper. Where I come from no one cares, but I could tell that the people around me were just as uncomfortable as we were. But that didn't stop me from cursing. NOTHING CAN STOP ME FROM CURSING! I also had eaten hot fried chicken the day before and had just had coffee so I needed to get through the line quickly.

         When we got to the gate of the next flight we didn't get on it. There were so many standby passengers ahead and behind us. But, I was smart, during the wait for the plane we would never catch I went to the kiosk for the next flight and put our names in there. We made that flight. It was a flight from Nashville to Kansas City to Los Angeles. The Southwest worker named Johanna warned me that we might get kicked off the flight in Kansas City, but stay on until we were. When she handed me the boarding passes I breathed a sigh of relief. We were getting on this flight. Both of us.

         I texted my best friend telling him to pray or hope or whatever and he texted me back, "It's Done." When we arrived in Kansas City I hoped as the people deplaned and hoped as they boarded. My Southern husband and I had found prime seating on the flight to Los Angeles. It was the kind of flight that if you are going to the next destination you don't have to deplane, you can stay on if you want." But, as the people were boarded a flight attendant with bleached blond hair announced our names and said one of us had to get off. Of course my Southern husband was in the bathroom because of the spicy hot fried chicken.

Ribs in Misery

       "We'll both get off!" 

The flight attendant stopped boarding so he could kick us off as my Southern husband made his way from the bathroom. I was angry at him for taking a poop as we exited the plane in humiliation.

We made out way to the kiosk in Missouri aka Misery and found out that one of us could get back on the plane.

       "You go!' I exclaimed, "I can get another flight. You go!'

       "I don't want to leave you!" He said.

If you have ever been holiday traveling and you're on standby you know that it's easier to travel solo than in a pair. I yelled at him, "Go!" He was reluctant, we exchanged eyes, but he went. I was sad to see him go. But I knew that he would never survive a layover. He is like Peeta and I am Katinss. You always have to protect Peeta.
The girl at the kiosk, she had an elegant name that I don't remember, got me on a flight. It was a five hour wait, but it was guaranteed.

      So, I write this in misery. Drunk. In Missouri. Misery could be worse. If you look to the right you will notice that they have authentic BBQ in Misery and beer. This makes the wait superb, I guess.

peeta (husband)

katniss (me)

Bats in Space: The Tale of The Faceless Lady with Pale Blue Eyes.

Bats in Space!!!!!

It's almost Halloween and so much has happened in the last several months for me, Nasty Gigi, and my mouth transformation. I got bottom braces, Backy got a front bracket, I can't bite down or close my mouth completely, and learned that you shouldn't eat nacho cheese and chips at a redneck wedding when you have braces.

Bottom braces are the worst. They cut up my mouth, and give me marks that will stay with me for life. I lost Toothy (my baby tooth) in some rubble in my house. I'm pretty sure I threw him away, and I'm fairly certain that he is reaping his vengeance. Before our break-up he convinced me to make him into a necklace that I would wear in his memory. "This way, I'll always be close to your heart." It's a good thing I lost him. Do any of you remember the media frenzy when Angelina Jolie wore a vial with Billy Bob Thorton's blood around her neck?

I lost Toothy, so that Backy wouldn't be scared off and move to the front. That's really the objective anyway, right? The transformation in my mouth is startling (see end of blog). I used to come back from the orthodontist and think, "This dude doesn't know what he's doing." But he does. He also loves to inflict pain and confusion. It's part of his/her job.

The orthodontist has many assistants who aide him. The first assistant I had wasn't into the torture tip. His name is Roger.  He was the one who installed my wires, brackets, and mouth ramp seen to the right. He also lives in my building. He is my neighbor. We have a bond. I love him because he tries to talk to me during appointments when the only responses I can give him are muffled retorts. But, he understands me.

What are those blue things you ask? They are there so I can't bite down completely in order for Backy to jump the bottom row. It's a process that we call at the Orthospaceship "jumping the tooth". This also means that I can't eat quesadillas in public without looking like a dog fighting with its chew toy.

Roger has been with me from the beginning. It wasn't until I broke the Orthodontic cardinal rule: DO NOT EAT CHIPS, that the head orthodontist took me away from Roger and threw me over to the FACELESS LADY with PALE BLUE EYES.

I ate the chips while I was attending a redneck wedding. The wedding of Tony and Kelly: two gracious and fun loving people. They got married in Norco, aka "Horsetown" at a church with a Western themed stage.

The colors were red, white, and blue, the men wore cowboy hats, and the reception was at a trailer park. It was a beautiful wedding with great barbecue, beer coozies, and hooting and hollering. I don't know how any wedding can top this one.

sans left bite ramp

After drinking a $2 beer at the bar inside the trailer park, I went over to the reception to find Croc-pots on every table filled with nacho cheese. I hadn't eaten yet, because the wedding was at noon, so despite what Roger had instructed me to do, I ate chips. They were delicious. They were a mistake. The chips were so crunchy that I didn't seem to notice that I ate one of my blue bite ramps. Perhaps it was the Bud-Light that clouded my vision, or perhaps those blue ramps are delicious!

Despite the beer, It didn't take long for me to notice, that my mouth was the hot mess at the wedding. When I told my  hypochondriac husband he spun over his iPhone to see if eating that blue stuff would result in my demise. He wanted to rush to the hospital and take me away from the redneck spectacle. Men with long hair and long beards were chanting during the mother of the bride's speech!
"No way Jose!" I declared, "why would any doctor put something toxic in any one's mouth? Get off your iPhone!" But he didn't listen and disappeared into the sea of trailers with his iPhone pressed against his eyeballs. It wasn't until the barbecue was served that he resurfaced. The man loves food more than me or technology.

Roger is behind me as I gaze at my rubber band.

After the wedding, I made an appointment to see my Orthodontist,  and that's when I met THE FACELESS WOMAN with PALE BLUE EYES. She also has a thick accent, which can creep you out when you can't really see her face. Up until this point going to get my braces was a lark. A game. But this time, she inflicted the pain. She replaced the blue ramp as instructed, but moved on to replacing a wire. This wasn't a part of the plan! "Do you want to 'jump the tooth' or not?" She glared at me. In my head I chanted my mantra,
"Bring Backy to the front...bring Backy to the front..." But as she put in the wire she pushed on Backy. We looked for something to squeeze as we called out in pain.
"I'm sorry sweetie," was all she could say as I pulled away from her to try to avoid the pain I felt in my mouth. But she kept pushing and held my head, "don't move away from me!"

I swear I could hear a cackle from hell. Toothy was seeking his revenge.

welcome Coach to the team!

After she was done I breathed a sigh of relief and looked over at Roger. "I'm going to complain," I thought. "I'm going to get Roger back." And as I was about to get up THE FACELESS WOMAN with PALE BLUE EYES touched my shoulder.
"The doctor has instructed me to show you how to install the rubber band." I screamed.

So, now Backy has a friend! A rubber band I call Coach. It's quite an ordeal to get Coach out onto the field, but when he comes out, he definitely gets Backy to feel the burn.

Shit my mouth hurts.

       MY MOUTH TRANSFORMATION