Mourning, Moving, Sick & Tired

And that about sums me up.

We have been packing and organizing and running all over creation and falling into bed at midnight or later. (Later because I am addicted to Farm Town on Facebook. That shit is worse than crack y'all. Not that I would know what crack is actually like. But I've heard shit. Seriously.)

The living room wall in the new house looks like a paint store puked on it. We have settled on the colors for all the bedrooms and the baths, but can't pick a color we like for the rest of the house. We had picked out this lovely sage, but once that shit went up on the wall it looked like margarita lime. Eww. I know I am ghetto fabulous and all, but even I have limits.

So back to the paint store where the guys behind the counter are laughing at us because we have bought about 2 gallons so far in those little paint sample sizes. The floor guy just looked at us with pity and handed us a number to a color guy that could hook us up. We may actually have to use him.

Then in the mess of all this, I get to the house yesterday and it's all over the news that Michael Jackson died. I dropped to the couch and started weeping like a baby. I am a fan. A BIG ONE. Have been all my life. Even to the point that when Feisty heard the news the first thought she had was, "All that memorabilia Persnick has will be worth tons, now."

I loved that wacko freak. I did. He may have been an evil little troll in some people's eyes, but I had a crush on him since he was black and normal. I even liked him when he went white and weird. Sue me.

I called my sister and was crying and you know what her loving and supporting reaction was to my very obvious sorrow?

The bitch laughed at me.

And then swore she would never let me live it down. That's love, peeps.

My story about MJ was that I was at Epcot once when I was a teen and we were watching the Illuminations. I noticed a Double Decker bus had pulled up behind us. Then up at the top of the bus, I saw....HIM. He was there to watch the show too. I looked up in awe and my mom turned around to see what I was staring at. I said, "Mom, that's Michael Jackson!!!"

At that utterance a Disney employee that was standing guard at the bottom of the bus almost reached out to slap me. She raised her hand then lowered it and asked me to hush and move along. I guess she thought I was going to cause a scene and start a mob. I just stood there and stared at him while he watched the show. As it was ending and he got up to leave, I said, "Michael!! I love you!!"

And HE spoke to me. "Hi! Thank you!" Those words were directed right at me. MICHAEL JACKSON SPOKE TO ME!

I melted into a puddle of teenage goo and started freaking and weeping and jumping up and down like a....well...like a teenage Michael Jackson fan.

And then I wouldn't shut up about it for the next hour. At one point my mom threatened me with death if I didn't shut my trap. And then? I fell asleep in the car before we left the parking lot of Epcot.

I could never make it out of the parking lot as a kid. I can barely do it now as an adult. They should just let us set up a cot and camp. That would be great.

So I am in mourning. I am really going to miss the guy. He had such great potential to make a phenomenal comeback. I honestly have been having crying jags on and off since yesterday.

So go ahead and laugh now, Older Sister.

Still coughing up a lung every now and then. And probably working myself way too hard. Don't even get me started on the problems I have had this week with the bus company that was SUPPOSED to be transporting my child to and from summer school. That is a post in the making and I haven't quite finished it to the angered eloquence that it truly deserves.

Gotta run, there is a granite yard out there somewhere waiting for me to adopt some lonely slab.

Hope y'all have a fabulous Friday.

Oh yeah...and RIP Farah and Ed.

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***Update on the news that is me...I failed my Pulmonary Function Test with flying colors today which proves 2 things.

#1. I can't breathe deeply without breaking down into a coughing fit that leaves me peeing my pants and/or passing out. (You should have seen the look on the tech's face when I fell out of the booth, yeah the test is done in a phone booth...don't ask. She lunged to catch me as I was going down and right before I passed out I saw the look of terror on her face as the realization hit her she was trying to catch the full weight of me and there was no way she wasn't going down with me. Ah...fun times.

#2. That little man named Dinesh that is my new doc is going to freak out a little when he sees those results. He wasn't sure how to handle me in the first place, and had no plausible excuse for what was going on with me so he just pulled the term Cardiac Asthma out of his ass to make himself look all smart and shit. Feisty was with me at the time and it took all the restraint we had not to call BULLSHITE on him when the term uttered out of his little mouth. Cardiac asthma was his sellf-important way to diagnose me with congestive heart failure which we knew I already had because all the rest of the docs had already diagnosed that. But I'm sure in his little world he felt he had done a great job and impressed the sheep that he thought I was.

I still don't feel great, but I am still breathing on my own and at this moment upright, so I guess in the grand scheme of things...it's all good!

Move your hair.

My daughter has this thing lately where she is getting very huggy. I know it is mostly because I have been practically bedridden and she is scared, but she is coming to me and asking for a hug about every 15 minutes. The only problem? My hair.

I used to have shorter hair. (My mom doesn't understand "just a little off the ends". Don't believe me? Ask Older Sister. She has the same problem with the woman.) I usually like having my hair long because I just think it looks better on me. (Plus there were just waaay, waaay too many hair experiments from my school days...) So I have been letting it grow out from the last hack job my mom did. It was chin length...now it is mid back. It hangs down over my shoulders and rests on my chest. She will hug my midsection or even my thighs if my hair is hanging over my shoulders.

"Mommy? Move your hair."

I'll pull it back behind my shoulders and she just tackles me.

I don't know why she won't hug me with my hair hanging...but she doesn't want the stuff to touch her in any way. Such a persnickety kid.

*****

Update on the health: I am going to the pulmonologist* tomorrow. Let's hope I just have heart failure or pneumonia and not Cancer, emphysema, COPD or TB. Not that heart failure is a good thing...but I have traveled that road before and I know where I left all the bread crumbs if ya catch my drift. Because I have to drive myself to the doc tomorrow, I was trying to prolong taking my narcotic cough syrup as long as possible to see how long I could go without it before the coughing fit overcame me. I was all stoked about doing well with out it until a massive coughing attack hit me. It turned out I was only an hour past my timed dose. During this coughing attack I was trying to make my homemade mac 'n cheese. Needless to say...I coughed till I passed out. SPLAT! Fat woman meets kitchen floor. I wasn't out long, but when I got up, Punk was standing over me with dirty panties and needed my help. (Lesson you are never too young to learn? Never trust a fart.) I had to dash off to the bathroom to help her clean up and then quickly wash my hands before dashing back to the kitchen to try to save the mac 'n cheese. It turned out really thick...not usually the way it turns out. I thinned it with a little milk, but by the time I tried to eat it, my throat was tore up from all the coughing. So I didn't even get to enjoy my own cooking. I have since taken my meds...

Ladadadada....feeling groooooovy.....

I am off to lay back down now. It has taken me over an hour just to type this little post. It never takes me that long. I could type out War & Peace in 20 minutes. (Not really. Maybe. Possibly not.)

Fingers crossed that I am not dying of consumption, folks. And that this new doc has the gonads to treat me and not wank out by telling me to just go to the ER. My other new doc has just had the bejeezus scared out of him by my internal fuckedupedness. He wanked out and just told me to go to the ER instead of giving me a stronger inhaler. I let everyone know how it goes tomorrow. Hopefully I won't cough myself off of an overpass while I am driving.




*I'll be damned if blogger spell check had no fucking clue what a pulmonologist was. That's a bad sign, isn't it?

What's Up Wednesday

Sorry I have been so absent from the blogginess lately, but I haven't been feeling so hot. Most likely (according to the new hunky doctor that I saw today) I am going through another session of pneumonia or heart failure or both. Thankfully he joins me in the opinion that hospital visits suck and is trying to aggressively treat me in the comfort of my own home. (With the solemn promise that I will get my ass to the ER toot-sweet if I become worse on the meds or start hallucinating...whichever comes first.)

Add to all that loveliness that this has been going on for almost 4 weeks and I went to Disney last week for a couple of days to have a good time with my best friend and daughter. I actually started feeling better the few days I was down in Orlando. The day I got back? It was like crashing through a brick wall. The breathing became almost impossible and the coughing started in full force. Now I feel like I have had the shit kicked out of me from all the coughing and puking. Muscles hurt that I didn't even know I had. I have had a low grade fever of at least a month, which spikes when I cough, puke, move, breathe....you get the idea.

So not having the best of WUW's. Only good news? FCBMom's house (finally) is officially owned by the FCB as of today. Free and clear. Now we just have to wait for the redneck trash that is FCBSis and her drunk husband to pack up all their shit and move to their "brand new" trailer in the sticks. Those two not high on my list of people I can tolerate right now. Being sick makes it worse. Every time FCBSis and The Drunkwad open their mouths I want to take a flame thrower to them.

So that is what is going on in my little world. Just trying to breathe from one moment to the next. How has your week or Wednesday been?

Put down the Google and step away slowly...

I have been checking to see what people Googled to get to my blog and the results made me chuckle. I'll share because I care...well that, and it amazes me how many people seem to be allergic to clothes.

25 ways to improve your health. That one gets clicked on more that the rest.

Ticker snarky. Sounds like the name of a band.

Ticker cough. Sounds dreadful. Maybe you should go see a doctor.

"Am I in a coma." I swear someone not only Googled that, but followed it to my blog.

Cranky bastard. I guess I am not the only one plagued with one of those.

"I think I am allergic to clothes." Yeah, me too.

Persnickety. That gets Googled a lot. Then people come here. Yay! Traffic! Don't forget to leave a tip on your way out! (And by tip I mean check out the ads all over the sides of the blog. If only for the giggle factor at what they offer based on what I write.)

And the number one all time winner of the WTFness award...

"I think I have a boil on my ticker and what should I do." First of all, I don't even want to know what YOUR ticker is and how in the hell you have a boil on it. Second, I think you and the allergic to clothes people and the coma patient all need to get to a DOCTOR! STAT!

Proof that there are people in this world that are sicker than I am. In more ways than one.

Now I am just waiting on someone to Google "poop a condo." Cuz you just KNOW someone is going to...hehehe.