There but for the grace of geography...

I saw a Dateline NBC program tonight about children born with disabilities in a country where defective children are considered unmentionable trash. Children that grow into adults all the while never leaving a crib.

I hugged my daughter tightly and thanked our lucky stars that we live in a country where even though she is considered by many to be less that ideal or normal, she is not swept under the rug of embarrassment. Her medical care, and mine for that matter, mean that we get to live relatively normal lives.

Even if she were more severely disabled, I wouldn't love her any less. I am truly thankful that I live in a country where I had the CHOICE of whether to have her...or not. The choice to keep her and raise her.

A lot of people are getting really political all over the place lately with the upcoming elections and conventions and running mate selections. They are blogging about it on a regular basis. Everyone has their opinions. I have mine. They are CHOOSING to share. I am choosing not to. For many reasons.

Just wanted to share what I saw tonight. Just wanted to pass along my feeling of gratitude at living in a free country. Just wanted to acknowledge that though my daughter may be disabled, she is perfect to me.

It's a bird, it's a plane, it's HIVE Girl!

My daughter has discovered her new hidden talent. She can break herself out into a rash/hives at a whim. For example, on Sunday night I sent her to bed with the silly notion that she was going to go to school the next day. Within a tantrum and an hour, she was covered head to toe in a angry red rash. Gee. That's different. Off to the ER we go! She was looked over by the doctor, and we, the parents, were patted condescendingly on the head while he ordered a dose of Benadryl large enough to sedate and elephant. It then took 2 parents and a nurse to hold her down while another nurse administered the medication while my daughter fought and hissed like a trapped cat. (In case you didn't catch that, she hates to take medication.) We gathered ourselves and left the hospital all the while the little girl was chirping about wanting McDonalds (at 2am) so we went to the one down the road from the ER and within the time it takes to order and get to the window, the meds kicked in and she passed out. Eh...leftover nuggets heat well.

So Monday, which due to Tropical Storm Fay, was the second first day, was a wash as far as getting to school. No big deal. She can go Tuesday. (BWAHAHAHA)

Since my lovely child has odd sleeping habits, she went to bed on Monday night with no problems and no fight, only to wake up at 2AM with the notion that it was time to be bright eyed and bushy-tailed and torture the sleepy mommy with the pestering insistence that it was time to watch SpongeBob. Because I didn't comply in my half awake state, she decided to play with the buttons on the alarm clock. Joy.

We woke up late enough in the morning to miss the bus, so I packed her up and drove her to school. She pulled the usual song and dance on me of protesting with all of her little bodily might. Complete tantrum and breakdown about how she didn't want to go to school. Some anonymous woman walked up to my child and addressed her by name, the gave me a puzzled look and asked who I was. (Thoughts of smart-assed comments about having kidnapped her, having second thoughts, and now I am giving her back, crossed my mind but this lady didn't look like she would be able to mentally process that well.) She AND I proceeded to drag my child into the school where a third teacher jumped into the fray to take over my spot trying to wrestle the wild animal into the classroom. I turned and left, thoughts of a sausage egg McMuffin dancing in my head. I was just about to squawk into the box when my phone rang. Since my cell NEVER rings, I knew there was trouble. It was FCB. He wanted to place his order for breakfast, oh and by the way, the school called and your daughter has been kicked to the nurse for having WELTS on her arms.

HERE WE GO AGAIN!

So I drove back to school. Walked right into the school (love the security there) and to the nurse's office. The same nurse that last year gave me so much grief with her calls to get confidential medical information from my child's doctor to her "abuse concerns" over a sticker placed on my child's arm. I see Punk laying on the little clinic bed...all cozy with her arms folded over her body, and an oddly smug look on her face as if to say, "I could get used to this skipping school thing." I gently reminded (while biting my tongue) the nurse that my child had sensitive skin and was born with out skin in the first place, plus she had pulled the hive thing on us a couple days ago. The nurse looked at me and plain as day stated that with the new school year all issues have to be readdressed. Plus she said she was concerned because my daughter had large red welts on her arms. I looked at her and I said, "Oh yeah? Where? I don't see them."

She got up from her desk and came around to look at my daughter, and sure enough, no redness. No welts. No rash. Talented little Punk, no? The nurse stammered about how they were there, and she was just doing what the teacher told her. I said that the teacher should have know better since the teacher was the one that caused the welts in the first place. I then collected my daughter and left. Mumbling under my breath the entire time. Off to McD's.

Upon returning home, eating breakfast and calling the pediatrician, I had to pack it all up again and take my kid to the doctor at "sick time" while she is completely healthy. This meant that whatever nasty little bugs the other rug rats that were there had, I would sure be symptomatic by tomorrow. (Having a shitty immune system sucks when you have a small child.) The doctor looked her over and asked me why I had brought her. I reminded him of all the wonderful skin and school issues of last year and he rolled his eye while he wrote a note and a script. Then he asked me if we could do a little experiment on my child. Sure. Whatever. He said, "I'm going to let you do this so she will let me touch her afterwards." Heh. He then directed me to pinch her arm, scratch her arm, rub her arm, used the little hammer to rub her arm, and put some soap, and some hand sanitizer on her arm. She wasn't happy. But sure enough...welts and red marks as well as the beginning of hives.

The official diagnosis is Contact Dermatitis. Basically meaning a reaction to anything or everything that contacts her skin. This is going to be such a fun school year. Yeah. Right.

So on the way home from the doc, I bought Benadryl, and took the medication and the documentation back to the school nurse. Walked right into the school at midday. Great security there. Signed a form and left the goods. Now I have the blessing to send my child to school again. Yay. (Can ya feel all the love I have for this school at this point?)

So tomorrow is another day. Let's hope we have dispensed with all the drama right from the start this time. I am even giving the bus another shot this year in an attempt to save gas. Let's hope they don't lose her again this year.

Now if you will excuse me I am going to go knock on wood by banging my head on my desk.

Warning Label

Had an "inspired" idea for warning labels on condom wrappers and boxes. Sure to cure any teenager (or anyone else for that matter) from procreating.

Warning: Breakage of this product will cause you to have to clean poop out of your tub for many years to come due to unpottytrained child. Better double bag it for ultimate protection.


I foresee condom makers raking in the sales on that one.

Still alive...though thoroughly exhausted.

I'm all Fay'd out. Being sick during a hurricane is doubly exhausting. I couldn't sleep not only for the worry of the storm, but the inability to breathe. Breathing is overrated. Damn-it-all that it is necessary to live.

All this abnormal weather has brought out the craziness in people. Seriously. Thankfully I no longer have a job in customer service and I don't envy the people that do. (FCB) I am a member of a couple of discussion boards and it seems like the more rain we got, the more wacky people got. Who cares that the entire state is in distress, let's discuss such topics as toilet paper and french fries.

FCB came home from work and proclaimed his joy at it not being a full moon as well, or else he would have had to crawl through the phone and strangle the life out of the idiots that were assaulting him all evening with stupidity.

Not that this post really had a direction when I started, I was just typing to say a few things and let everyone know I was still breathing and not making carpet angels. But as I was typing this I was watching the news. It seems that there is a little controversy going on here in North Florida.

Congresswoman Corrine Brown got the luxury of having her house sandbagged during the height of the storm by city workers and state prisoners. She claimed she had to make several calls before she got any action on her problem. It seems she finally called the right number. That being the number to the Mayor's right hand man, Adam Hollingsworth, chief of staff for Mayor John Peyton. He immediately made a judgement call for "a single woman who lives in her own house" because he thought she sounded panicky.

BULLSHIT!!!

I am appalled. Outraged. Pissed. That's just fucked up right there. Want to know why? My 61 year old mother had to purchase, fill, and sandbag her own home in order to save it from flooding.

She is in a low lying area that is prone to flooding. I couldn't help her because I am not healthy enough, and she wouldn't have let me anyway. My sister who is on bed rest with this pregnancy couldn't help and isn't even really speaking to either of us anymore, but that is a completely different rant. Where the hell were the city workers and state prisoners to come to my mother's rescue?

I am so livid at the fact that this stupid blowhard of a politician used her position to get a completely unnecessary service provided to her at the height of a pretty bad storm where others were just left helpless and in ruins. Shame on her. She should be strung up by her nasty-assed weave and fake gaudy fingernails and be forced to endure a severe beating by sandbags. Or at the very least, she needs to be kicked out of office. She is such a disgrace to Jacksonville and Florida for that matter, and it is time she be held responsible. As far as paying for the services rendered to her? She said that IF she gets a bill she will pay for services rendered. Yeah, right.

And with that, I am wiped out. Too much excitement for me and a pretty bad coughing fit have left me drained. I'm sure I will post more on this, because I like to hold a grudge that way. But in the mean time, know that is it still pouring here, and flooding, and hopefully, my mom's house won't float away.

Here she comes!

We are on track to be bitch slapped by Hurricane Fay tomorrow. Wish I felt better so I could do up a tribute party like any good hurricane deserves. Grilling, kegs, several bottles of wine, friends and fun. At this rate I will be lucky if I can keep breathing for the next 3 days.

Ah...makes me long for the good ole' days of the "Blow me, Floyd" hurricane party. Good times...good times.

Now where the fuck did I put that bottle of Arbor Mist and my kite?

Laughing til I hurt, oh wait, I already hurt...

I was trying to catch up on my blog reading through my extremely ill state, and constantly watering eyes, and I stumbled upon this blog. I read the whole thing. I laughed til I coughed til I puked. (I don't feel good.) Enjoy!

I'm sick...again.

I feel like I did in January. It hit me hard and fast. I feel like I am struggling to breathe through a wet sponge. All this and I have my first Lap-Band consultation tomorrow. Yay. Not the first impression I wanted to make on a new doctor.

A conversation snippet between Feisty and I.

Me: Breathing is overrated. Who the hell needs lungs, anyway.

Feisty: Yeah, cause turning blue and dropping to the floor to make carpet angels is just so much more fun!


Meanwhile today, I overheard my daughter reading herself a book. It went as follows: "Once upon a time there was Spongebob that was sad cuz he had the suds. (For those who don't follow, it is like the flu for sponges.) She has a doc'or named Packick that makes her better and gives her sprinkly cookies. The end." (We are still trying to teach her the difference between her and him.)

My daughter also managed to bobnap my new pink toy not once, but three times from three separate hiding places. She had it on full vibrate while walking around the house and blessing everything with a "bippity, pippity, boo" with her new "shiny, maggick wond!"

She also decided to use it to stir her "potion" of orange anti-bacterial soap and water in FCB's water glass in his bathroom. Bonus is, while I haven't had the chance to use the toy yet, at least someone is running it through a battery of tests. Plus I can giggle uncontrollably while watching FCB drink out of the cup, while he asks repeatedly what is so funny. Ah...good times.

There is good in this world.

So there was an update today on Boobs, Injuries & Dr. Pepper. You can all go back to Red Robin now. I bet all those people in comments that put out some nasty hexes and curses are backpedaling like crazy trying to find someway to undo all the bad Juju they put out there.

Still think there are some mighty scary people out there. Makes me want to strap on my lucky bra and dance around a candle or something. Glad I don't work for Red Robin.

Beware!

I was reading an update tonight from one of my favorite bloggers. Word to the wise, don't ever make any of those people (blogger or commenters) angry. Some of them are skeerrry vicious! I would boycott Red Robin, but there aren't any in my town to boycott. Guess I will just have to jump on the mob's bandwagon as they go forth to spread plague and pestilence to the guilty.

Hell hath no fury like a mother scorned.

Safely out of reach.

Having a small child in the house, I have done my part to child-proof by putting the items that are dangerous and/or not intended for the child high up or out of reach. This would include the M&M's. My kid loves them. Can sniff them out like she is a bloodhound on a trail. As she has grown older, I have had to elevate my out of reach hiding places. They have ranged from table and counter tops to on top of the microwave to kitchen cabinets and the top of the fridge. As she got older, she learned to climb. Even the refrigerator wasn't safe because she would use a kitchen chair to reach the counter to climb on to, then to get to the top of the fridge by standing on the toaster. (I was awed and amazed as I watched her ingenuity in figuring this out one day.)

My last refuge was the top of the bookshelf in the entertainment center. It is high, and practically unreachable by anyone not over 5 feet tall. That was where I chose to stash the half bag of M&M's that she was given as a treat last week for good behavior, and subsequently got taken them taken away for screwing it all by back sassing me. I know she didn't see me put them up there, because she was throwing a tantrum too hard to pay attention. Well, today she got the munchies. Sniffed out the fact that there was chocolate somewhere in the house, and devised a way to access the candy. She hauled her Little Tykes chair over to the bookshelf, stood on tippy toes, and managed to grab the M&M's.

Two things made this possible. Her inherent sneakiness, and her recent growth spurt. She then had the gumption to put the chair back to hide the evidence, but slipped when she brought me the empty package to tell me it was all empty and she wanted more. I was stunned. I asked her where she got them and she showed me. I asked her how and she pulled the chair back out, stood on it, and demonstrated. Clever little ticker-tot, that one. I just hope she doesn't figure out that the princess slide in the living room is even taller and has the added benefit of a ladder. I'm off to find a new hiding place...

Morning Breath

I awoke this afternoon to my daughter standing over my head, while I was napping on the recliner, and she was covering her nose and mouth. I asked her what was wrong and she said, "stinky."

I sat up, and what should come tumbling off my lap from where my daughter put it? Three toothbrushes and a bar of soap.

Uh yeah...I get it. I have bad morning...or in this case, afternoon breath.

She is so thoughtful to bring me supplies. Little smart ass.



(There were also 2 granola bars, a loaf of bread and a box of cereal beside me on the couch. Ya know, cause taking care of my hygiene makes HER work up an appetite.)

I just waste time for your benefit.

This is for all my Christian and even non-Christian friends out there. Cause y'all know you wouldn't have been LOLsaved without my help. No matter what your religious vibe is, this shit is hilarious!! Can't wait to reread...should be more interesting this time...

Wow! A new reader!

I have noticed the increased traffic to my blog lately, while simultaneously noticing that no one has anything to say. My comment section is severely lacking...I did, however, get a new commenter on my whoa is toe blog. Cool. As far as my regulars go, you know I love y'all more 'n mah luggage, and I get all giddy when I see new comments from you guys. Call me a comment whore, but that insecure little doubting voice in my head makes me think that I have truly broken my funny when I get so much traffic and so little feedback. FEED ME SEYMORE! Seriously. I feed off the humor (among other things) (get your heads out of the gutter, Meuse and Feisty) in other people. I have enough sarcastic smart ass comments to keep the best of cynics rolling for hours. There is only so much LOLcats I can post before the cuteness police comes in and beats me over the head and drags me out of my sanity kicking and screaming.

Post a comment. Anything. Even if it is just a Howdy. I see you guys wiping your feet and coming on into my little corner of blogland. Stay a while. Read a bit. I have had my funny moments. Leave a comment if you agree, or hell...even if you don't agree. I promise to keep the kinky toys in the drawer and not beat you guys with them in order for you to feed my sense of humor. Thanks.

The Birth Of A New BOB.

Therapeutic Laughter. I still have the giggles. I have had them since 11:30pm. It's 1:30am. The giggles have all been caused by the long awaited arrival of my new man toys. I say man toys because some are shaped to resemble men, and one is designed to be used by one. (It was a free gift. Wait...this gets better...)

I open my packages with a giddy sense of adventure. The first package very obviously was my new G-Vibe. I knew this because it was bright pink and packed into a white bubble wrap envelope. You could see right through it. My mail person must have such an interesting opinion of me now. I open and reach in for my invoice to make sure I got what I ordered and for the right price, and while scanning it I notice a nice little stamp in the corner that said "Inspected and Packed by No. 3." Well all right! I feel better knowing my personal items have been fondled by No. 3! I saw the G-Vibe, but reached past it for the pale flesh colored tube looking thing. This was my free gift? I ordered two items that were clearly intended to be used for a woman and I got a free gift designed for a man. Oh well. I figured I could give it to my male roommate. He might could get some use out of it. I took it to the kitchen where he was heating up his dinner and I showed it to him. I told him it was even his color!

"Oh look! Bonus nubbies on the inside! Even I don't come with bonus nubbies! And hey! It also has an easy hand grip! I don't have handy hand grips, either! It really is better than a woman! It won't even talk back to you!" I told him.

He replied, "Yeah, it probably won't do the dishes or vacuuming either. Hey...just like you! Must be just like a real woman!" (He's an ass sometimes.)

Personally, I have never met a woman with nubbies. As far as I know, anatomically, the vajayjay ain't built that way. This sleeve thingy even has a simulated clitoris. Not really sure what the purpose of that is, but it is there. I guess nothing says lovin' like a jellified nasty new plastic smelling artificial pun-tang. Woo. Hoo.


Then I did something that every child with a Chinese finger trap has done. I got stuck. I instant messaged Feisty with my pinkies while both index fingers were getting nubbed. I was giggling hysterically by this time. I told her, "uh oh...I think I have a Chinese finger trap incident on mah hands...I can't get it off...and I haven't even gotten off."

She couldn't resist, and even though it was now well past midnight she called to be privy to the complete giggly meltdown I was having. I talked to her while I took pictures for you folks. She said she had been having a bad day and I was definitely making it better. I had been drinking Bacardi Mojitos. I was having a great (albeit alcoholically and sex toy lubricated) evening.

When I finally got the sleeve off my fingers, it made the weirdest sucking thwock sound. (Strangely, I just can't stop playing with it. My hands smell odd. Like factory new plastic.) I then grabbed the G-Vibe. It had a hair in it.

My factory sealed, inspected and packed by No. 3, had a short dark hair in it. Bet your ass I am going to clean that bad boy at least twice before using it.

I grabbed the package that had the wallbanger in it. Opened it up and pulled out the mangled box.

Got sidetracked by the idiot clause.

Then pulled out the new jellied, suction cupped, vibrating, waterproof, and plastic wrapped for my safety, toy. Took me a few tries to get it to stick to a wall. (It is a wallbanger, after all.)

It was at this point I noticed the dog. The little animal shape that is supposed to be the clit stimulator is in the shape of a dog humping the vibrator. I lost it completely at that point. My giggles turned to guffaws turned to snorts. All I could think at this point was, "Wow! It's the birth of a new BOB! Where is my great disco ball in the sky and the three wise Motown singers that sound like Marvin Gaye singing 'Let's get it on' while bearing more free gifts...or lube."

I checked the mangled wallbanger box and it didn't have any instruction manual or warranty or anything. I guess I am on my own when it comes to figuring out how to make it work. I hope it's user friendly. I figure if the dildo isn't therapeutic enough it came with enough bubble wrap to keep me out of therapy awhile, anyway.

Oh Woe is Toe!

Like a blind dog, if you move something around in my house my daughter is sure to trip over it, fall over it or run smack into it. She has all her routes in the house hardwired in her brain, and woe betide that something gets rearranged, she is an accident waiting to happen. As was the case this morning when the carpet cleaner was left in a new corner of the kitchen. A corner, it seems, that my daughter is quite fond of utilizing. She tripped over the edge of the carpet cleaner not once but three times. On the last toe stubbing incident, she happened to notice that I was watching her. Cue the dramatics.

First, this limber little creature (and for all her clumsiness I was impressed) stood on one foot and proceeded to pull the injured toe up to her mouth and started sucking on it. Then she started in with the Oscar winning lament about needing a doctor.

"I need a doctor," she said, "I need a band-aid, I need a cookie..."

So of course, I replied, "the doctor is only giving out shots today. So if you want a shot we will jump right on over to the doctor's office and get you one of those."

Her counter offer, "OK Mommy, we can go get cookies from the store after the shot."

I feel sorry for her high school debate team. They won't stand a chance against her.