Fear Not Dr. Dath...

So, just wanted to let everyone know I am alive, but haven't been feeling too hot since my last post. Don't worry, I don't think I'm dying or anything dramatic. Though I *do* have a flair for the dramatic.

Found myself in hospital emerg. last night.

I had the pleasure of pushing a button, waiting for #106 to be "served" (what is it, the damn deli counter?), then sitting beside a young fellow with psychiatric issues who discussed his passion for saving others uncertain of a) the Afterlife b) Jesus Christ and/or c) some computer game. He also discussed his passion for his sister, and indicated he wished her "resolve was not quite so strong" to the gentleman beside him.

I wish I was making this shit up.

His sister appeared, and she split her time between praising Jesus/finding his light and letting the sick, elderly people in the room know, insulting her mentally ill brother, and talking trash about the hospital staff and how she would like to sue them.

It was truly heartwarming. I love me a well-rounded Evangelist.

As I clutched two little teal-coloured plastic bedpans (in case of vomiting), I just hoped a spot would open up for me.

The crazy went on and on and on.

I thought to myself... let's be positive! Then the true me starting thinking about how much it all sucked and all the bad things associated with being there.

I summarized my thoughts, left to right, in a chart just for YOU!

At the end of the day? Some unpleasant findings, and a (supposed?) referral to another doctor next week.

His name? Dr. Death Dath.

I shit.you.not. Can't wait for that appointment. Should be great. I'll let you guys know (presuming I live through the appointment to tell).

p.s. I am asking for my health for Christmas. I wonder if the girl with the line to Jesus could have gotten me into direct contact with Santa? Dammit, the pain clearly clouded my judgement.

UPDATE - OCTOBER 5, 2010:
Dr. Dath was a very very nice man who took time to explain things to me and calm me the eff down, and I hope he doesn't Google himself, find this page, and think I am mocking him. I admit, his name sort of terrifies me, but to anyone who has happened upon this blog while looking him up - you will not be disappointed, I have every faith that he will be able to help you with your problems, or at least let you know where to go/who to talk to if he cannot help you himself. Just wanted to clarify that. He is a very good doctor.

And, interestingly enough, as Jody pointed out, I have the 4th spot on page 1 when you search him, even if my Gerard. J. Butler post failed miserably and never even made it into that stinkin' search engine.

 
That is all.



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Proud Moment

Okay, I am supposed to be cleaning the house because I am a PigSlob who is:

1. messy
2. cluttered
3. mildly hoarding-like
4. easily distracted
5. what was I saying?
6. Oh yeah....
7. hey! something shiny! (focus, dammit, this is Wal-mart and the nose leash all over again)
8. painfully addicted to the internet
9. unable to throw perfectly good things out (see No. 3)
10. incapable of properly organizing donations of things (and I feel guilty asking those certain ones to come to my door - it costs them gas money so how is that helping?)
11. don't know where to send perfectly good toiletries I haven't opened or don't want any more (even women's shelters around here won't accept them) which sends me back to No. 9.
12. indecisive, often stopping myself before I start, especially with tasks like this
13. quick to get frustrated/impatient and want to give up

Okay, I'm done making that stupid list. It's depressing (see No. 13).

Anywho, I had a proud moment today. Thought I would share it with you all so you can once again say "I'm so happy I don't have her life".

I have still been losing weight (and hair) and now I am getting pain in my teeth. The latest (racist and incompetent) dietitian told me to try to ignore the 'BANNED' or 'CHEAT' list and start eating more foods because I am simply not getting proper nutrition.

SO you know what my wonderful idea was today? Why not lure a co-worker to come to the PIZZA.Freakin'.HUT.Lunch.BUFFET. And I lured. And we went. And I ATE beyotches. I ate like it was the last supper, or.. well... the first good lunch I have had in a loooooong time.

What? Not a good idea?

I ate 8 pieces of veggie pizza, and 2 pieces of dessert pizza. Oh, and 2 bread sticks for good measure.

C'mon! Those are SMALL pieces. (Note, all but the onions and tomatoes are on the banned list in my irritant-free, G.I.-friendly diet).

I returned to work. The cramps worsened. The nausea bloomed. But I expected that. Tomorrow will be rough. But I signed up for it, so suck it up, right?

I had to return a bunch of bathroom items from the renovation (I seriously took back 5 shower curtains, among about 25 other things - have I mentioned I hate making returns yet do it all the time? See No. 12 - indecisive).

I pulled into the mall parking lot after successfully stopping and returning stuff at 2 stores. And I felt it. After 7 months of vomiting daily in 2009, there was no mistaking what was coming next.

I was in a freshly paved, non-porous asphalt parking lot. There was no storm drain nearby. Even if there was, I wouldn't have made it in time.

SO the vomiting commenced. Leaning out of my driver's side door, trying to simultaneously keep the door open enough to not puke IN the car, closed enough I had a shred of a veil/cover from the public in the lot, keep my damn sweater cowl neck from becoming a strainer, and hold my stupid brown/purple terrible-multi-length-cut-hair from becoming entangled in the drama in front of me.

What a proud moment.

Thought I was done.

I wasn't.

Image Credit

In... uhhh.. unrelated news - Did you know that asphalt is really hard? That things can BOUNCE back upwards if shot downwards with enough force?

Yeah... my last post about the spa lost me two followers (that's 12%! How depressing is that?!). I figure this post should clear out at least 5 more.

But this is my life. This is the glory and the glamour. This is the frustration, the hunger, the lack of portion-control. This is my body telling me to eff.right.off. I still had to make returns to 3 more stores, on shaky legs. I popped an organic, all natural, sugar and sweetener-free mint, cleaned up with a napkin, and had to forge ahead.

"Hi..... I'm here to look legitimate and mature and make some returns. Mmmmkay? What? Something on my face?"

Maybe it was really just triggered because two of my co-workers were egging me on when Bublé came on the radio before I left. One even started singing. Then playing it on his computer. Loud enough to enrage me (so, simply audible I guess).

I say it's Bublé's fault.

Too bad I couldn't explain that to the lady beside me in the line at Winners... who kept inching further and further away from me...

Gotta go clean. BF's folks are coming into town and I have to deal with Nos. 1 through 13 now.


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I'm Scared of Spas - Part 1

No, not "spazz"... I'm one of those quite frequently. Or react that way frequently.


I recently had a really bad spa day. "Bad spa day!?" you say, "How on earth could one have a BAD day at the spa, with all the pampering and selfishness and having other people serve you, you haughty bitch?!"... and at first I would tend to agree.

But I know better now. Much much better. Times two.

I'll start with the most recent one, which resulted in me being told to "get the hell out of my salon because I don't have time to deal with this."

The aesthetician took me into a little ghetto back area without enough room to completely move around. She explained my package would include a facial and 30 minute massage. I had originally booked a manicure, too ('cause I thought, what the hell, maybe it will stop me from chewing my nails off for another week). I cancelled that part two days before because I had a doctor's appointment I needed to be at later on, and I didn't want to cut it too close.

What, me....be late? I know, unfathomable.

Anyway, so she assured me there would be enough time for the manicure. I said no. She INSISTED yes, it would be dry in time. I caved. Drawn over to the selection of 18 polish colours, I felt neon was not in my best interests. She assured me that french polish was "classy and sophisticated". I used to think that, too, in my youth. I went to the trouble of getting one for BF's sister's wedding, only to realize that everyone but me thinks they are ugly and not desirable.

RACY PHOTOS BELOW!  SORT OF NSFW!

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