It hurts.
I have many stories, including my roommate and her family’s fondness to use the word “pussy” while I lay next to her in shock.
I’m still in too much pain and too groggy to do much but say a quick hello. I got home late on Thursday after getting my calcium and magnesium levels stable and today I get to shower. I’m very, very excited, because I am one stanky bitch.
Thanks for all the happy thoughts.
Hi, your friendly neighborhood Kaiser reporting on the Queen and her lack of body parts. Not only can I hold over her head the fact that I’ve been published in GQ and she hasn’t, I can also boast that I, in fact, have more vital organs than she does.
Here’s what was learned today:
Don’t say “Put it in her butt!” when the nurse has to check your wife’s temperature for a second time because the first try didn’t work.
Don’t say “This happens every time we try heroin.” to the nurse when she’s trying to find one of your wife’s veins to take blood.Don’t say “Except for when I pass out.” to the nurse when she deadpans “It must be fun and laughs AALLLLLLLL the time at your house.” to your wife.
Saying these things will actually make your wife LESS comfortable. Not more. But Less.
Here is what was NOT learned:
Kaiser = Idiot.
But enough about me.
The Queen is doing as well as one could expect for a person who’s thyroid is currently residing in a jar. She was in rough shape afterwards, but there were no complications, nothing unexpected. Not sure when she’s coming home, but it’ll probably be tomorrow evening. Nana said the kids were great all day. I’m not sure what else I’m supposed to report, so I’ll shut up now. Twelve hours too late…
Laundry is done. Bills are paid. Dinners are frozen. Loose ends are tied.
It’s time for me to check into UCLA Medical Center.
Please conduct a virtual wake for my thyroid in my absence.
If anyone wants to guest post for me, that would be super swell too. I’m also accepting gifts.
Email me at queenofspainblog@yahoo.com
In the event I die, I’d like you all to start claiming my things now. Who wants the pool boy?
Don’t forget me while I’m gone.
I caught my son on the crapper with his father’s Playboy.
Sure, it was upside down. Sure, he’s only 3 1/2-years old.
But I’ll be damned if he didn’t get all embarrassed and throw it to the ground.
When I asked him, laughing, what he was doing he said, “Nothing,” with a shit-eating grin on his face.
The magazine may have been upside down, but it was clearly not the monthly interview portion of the rag.
I don’t care in the slightest that he’s looking at naked women. I don’t care that he’s curious and thinks its funny to see boobs. BUT, if we hide those magazines do we implant the idea that what he did was wrong? If we don’t hide them, will he be playing doctor with the girls at preschool a little too soon?
Do you hide your Playboy? Do you leave it out? Do you keep it under the sink counter and if the kids look, they look?
I don’t want to give the impression there is anything wrong with nudity or exploring your sexuality or getting that tingly feeling down below.
I also don’t want to raise a perv.
**crossposted at the Huffington Post***
I got the kids ready for bed early tonight.
I had my laptop ready to do a running diary of everything the President said.
Four whole seconds into the State of the Union and I am reduced to tears of joy by President George W. Bush.
Yeah, I’m surprised too.
I’ve followed the politics, the history, the races, the implications…but it really didn’t hit me until Bush just said it:
Madame Speaker.
With my daughter by my side, tears began to flow and all of the nonsense of this past election and of the one around the corner took a backseat.
Madame Speaker.
This moment just transcended beyond catchphrases like “feminist” and “glass ceiling.”
Madame Speaker.
With my daughter by my side, I just had one of those moments I will never forget for as long as I live.
I cried like a girl.
A damn proud girl.
Madame Speaker.
Raise your hand if you have to go to a pampered chef/tupperwear/naughty lingerie/home accent/wrought iron sconce I don’t need/and/or/candle party in the next few weeks.
I’m done. I’m not going. I’m not buying the crap to help you out or to stick in my guest bathroom.
I’m not going for the food or the free drinks or the mingling with other women I only know from seeing them at some school function last winter.
I’m not going to throw a party so you can get the extra large hurricane vase and I can get a 20-percent discount.
I’m not going to ask the same people I ask every single time to come. And I’m not going to go to their parties because they’ve run out of new people at work to invite.
I’m not going to feel obligated to buy something cheap so you can get your discount. I’m not going to make people I know feel obligated to buy something from me because I bought at their last party.
I’m not going to be tricked into thinking I need 2 dozen plum scented votive candles. I’m not going to buy yet another measuring cup that can’t seem to measure the solids or the liquids correctly after the first dishwasher safe cycle.
I’m not going to feel bad, either.
Stop the madness.
Come over to DotMoms today and say “hi!”
When you are done, get your SecondLife up and running because we’re having virtual cosmo’s on the beach!
I created a spot where we can all hang out and chat, laugh, and spend some time together online. We can use my beach property as a spot for us bloggers to connect in real time, and not just in the comments of our posts! It can be our own chat and meeting area and everyone is welcome.
If Second Life is confusing you, just get going and IM “Queen Tureaud” and I’ll send you a teleport to my place. Then I can help you fix your hair and get you clothes and stuff.
Come to Rancho VonMotorhead where the beer is cold and the neighbors have hookers and the Queen finally got her dog!
