I hurt my butt.

I did. I hurt my ass. Specifically, I hurt my left assular area and, sadly depressingly to my dismay, I did NOT do it in any sort of fun kinky way.
I slipped and fell pretty hard a couple of weeks ago which apparently enraged a teeny tiny (I know!? A teeny tiny anything in my butt?! I was also excited.) muscle known as the pyriformis. Lil’ Pyri (as I call it) became lonely in his (don’t know why, but Lil’ Pyri feels like a dude) outrage of me slipping in water and landing on him, that he roped my sciatic nerve in to rock out at an ongoing pain party. I attempted to follow the “ignore it and it will go away” plan for the first week which was incredibly successful at being unsuccessful. I’m now actively trying to make it better and it seems to be helping.

Or it was helping until tonight when I was lying here feeling a knot of sharp pain and thinking about how much worse it had gotten.
I complained. I whined. I bitched. Nothing about me bitching, whining, or complaining was helping to relieve the stabbing agony. At the pinnacle of deep pointy pain, I rolled over hoping to find relief and to my wonder, the pain moved.
My first super smart thought was, “huh, that’s odd”. Then I dug around where the pain had moved to and I found this:

No, this is not a kinky sex toy; this is the magnetic vent clip that I leave attached to my phone as a stand. I left the diet coke can in the frame for size reference.

That’s right people, was lying on the point of a phone stand.

Sometimes, my aptitude for ineptitude surprises and impresses even me.

Love,

H.

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Happily married, but I’m still me. LOL

So, feelin’ kinda flirty with my husband and figured I would send a naughty text his way. It’s my own fault, I was just sort of texting stream of consciousness and it’s easy to forget that my consciousness is that of an awkward nerd.

My sexy text:

“Kinda wanna climb on top of you and let pieces parts end up places.”

Now, who can resist that kind of dirty talk?!

I’m still laughing.

snot monster

So, a plague-rat has infected me and now I’m dying. To detail that a little better, my friend’s son gave me his cold and now I’ve turned into a disgusting snot-monster who can’t lay down without coughing. Even worse, beloved manly rough and tough husband appears to be coming down with it as well. While he may be the roughest and toughest manly man ever (shut up, he reads this! :P), when he is sick he devolves. When I’m sick I regress  into cave-dwelling-leave-me-alone-but-now-I’m-lonely level of annoying. The two of us sick at the same time = no bueno. He texted me from work asking if we can cancel the viewing of a potential rental house because he feels crappy too. 

Welp. We’re doomed.  I warned him that if we are both sick at the same time he better use the last of his strength to bring home provisions lest we drown in our own mucus. He agreed, here is the list:

1. soup. it’s what we live on now. I recommend getting plenty of it. chicken noodle and split pea sound great to me (uh. not together). 

2. crackers. because we live on them in soup. 

3. diet coke (we’re low)

4. more juice (because I love you and we will fight over the juice if it gets low). 

5. vanilla coke (cause you like it)

6. popsicles. because they help. obviously bomb pops are the best but any port in a storm. 

7. bread (because toast is nummy too)

8. for the love of my schnoz, tissues with lotion please. 

…and now you know what the next couple of days looks like in my life. 

Love ya!

-H. 

It will be a good day…

Or should I say, it will be a good day, dammit.
The Tuesday following a Monday off has always been a rough day; conversely, I have found most Friday the 13ths to be lovely. Anywhoodle, yesterday was a rough day for no real reason, just found it tough. So I woke up today determined for it to be good. I put on a new (kinda sexy) pair of underwear and a comfy pair of jeans to wear to the office. Unfortunately, once I arrived and was walking up the stairs to get to my office I learned that this particular new underwear is a bit too slippery for denim and my pants keep trying to fall (the fuck) off. As I unlocked the office door and stomped my way into the office, holding my bag with one hand and my pants with the other this thought ran through my head, “well, if there is ever going to be a zombie apocalypse it will happen on a day where I can’t keep my pants on.” This thought made me laugh out loud to myself and reminded me that I wanted to write an apocalypse story (book?) where during the first few chapters our rather well-endowed-in-the chestular-area-heroine spends a significant amount of time finding a bra. Why? Because at this point in my life attempting anything physical (running, fighting zombies, etc.) without adequate support sounds torturous and finding a decent bra during a zombie apocalypse seems like something a normal gal would have to do. Sure, she may have to save the world, but first things first – find a bra.

Okay, extremely random thought completed. Wish me luck with my escapee pants.

Love,
-H.

 

Okay, where’s my (damn) tricorder?

AAAAAAAAGH! Okay, let me start out by saying I am not a doctor. I have never played a doctor on tv. In this lifetime, I have absolutely no desire to ever become a doctor.

that doesn’t mean I don’t find medical crap fascinating.

When I was about 30ish I went through moderate medical diagnostic hell trying to figure out what was wrong with my head (shut up, not in the crazy way) because I repeatedly felt like I a nasty sinus infection. Over the course of a year it was determined I had been having migraines which was then found to be triggered by a dying tooth. That damn tooth was an asshole. Once the asshole tooth had been vanquished, no more migraines.

(*sigh* until lately. Yes, I believe I currently have a new tooth vying for biggest asshole tooth title. But that isn’t what this is about because Shut Up! My bottom right side of my teeth are fucking FINE and I will deal with it eventually *sigh* Adulting is fucking hard.)

Anyway, all of that lead in was to tell you the following: my work skype account had a weird advertisement on the top of it for the past few days:

migraine what

Finally, today I couldn’t fight the curiosity (what the hell is a security transdermal patch?, zombie security?, aaaaah, I must know) and I clicked.

And, I should have known – I searched for migraine symptoms last week and now I’m a target for migraine med ads. *sigh* But, being a medical crap nerd, I kept reading. Hmmmm, a transdermal system? kinda cool, so I read the instructions…thigh or arm, okay….make sure white thing is stuck to sticker thing before sticking it on….yep, makes sense.  wait a second? why the fuck are there batteries…? a button? a light? what in the star trekkedy hell is this?  at first I thought – oh, okay, you wear this every day and then push the button when you have a migraine? nope, it only goes on for four hours.

So, I have no clue why a transdermal patch needs batteries and a button, but by golly they got me to look at it so it may be just pure marketing genius combined with some form of ionization of the meds? not quite sure, but it’s pretty fancy.

I have no idea if this stuff works, hopefully I will never ever have to use it. But I do like buttons with lights so if we could work on making that happen with some of my regular meds, that would be cool! thanks!

https://zecuity.com/getting-started-with-zecuity.aspx

Judge Me.

So,  we have a kitten.  His name is Gerald and he is adorable (and pointy). He loves the dogs and is, by all accounts, good to be a great cat. Cute little bastard,  isn’t he?

image

Having a kitten means you have to put their needs ahead of yours and forgive them when they do those adorable little things like draw blood whilst climbing your bare legs or attack your eyebrows because they hadn’t noticed that there were FURRY CATERPILLERS ON YOUR FACE WHICH MUST BE KILLED! But I realized after cleaning up the third destroyed roll of toilet paper that I can live without skin or eyebrows but I will be damned if I’m going to have to live without toilet paper.  So,  with a little help from my teeny tiny screwdriver I have turned my unused towel rod into Über Toilet Roll Holder.
Now,  I know it isn’t conventionally pretty…. but I love it. Unfortunately, it gave me another idea involving a a label maker and six different brands of toilet paper to determine if there is a superior brand of wiping paper. That project is still in the planning stages.

image

Kisses,
-H.

Today

Today has had a little too much monday in my monday. My pants are too tight due to, well, eating too damn much (damn, hold on…let me check my blood glucose….116. nope, that’s a pretty one. Sometimes when I am overly bloated it is due to too much sugar swimming around….sorry, back to inane ramblings of myself.) Where was I? Oh yes, bitching about tight pants. Not only that but the too tight pants are sending these thong underroos so far north I can feel them in my spleen. A thong? you ask…I can almost hear you all thinking, “da fuq?” while you read that, well the thong was lovingly picked out by the boyfriend….I was attempting to snag the most incredibly comfortable granny panties (Hanes Xtemp) but he was being all sexy-cute and (insert attention deficit disorder now).

O.M.G. – I have a story! Sorry to interrupt my woe is me whine but a while ago I was wearing some seriously old granny panties…at one time they were white with blue and pink hearts on them but had apparently survived a rough decade (hangs head in shame: okay, two decades) and along the way met bleach and possibly a garbage disposal…whatever, they were clean and it was too hot to be sexy or wear pants. So, while laying there sweating quietly next to the boyfriend he mentioned, “those be some ‘thexy panties sweetheart” and then lost. his. shit. laughing. I was almost offended and proceeded to jump on top of him (heat be damned! the non-appreciator must be tickle-murdered!) and that’s when I saw my profile in the mirror absolutely ROCKING that ‘thexy bleached out gaping loincloth look and realized that holy shit were my panties hilariously bad and much laughter was had by all. I also decided maybe it was time to cull some of the more historic examples of my undies. 

Okay, back to my whining! Where was I…ah yes, pants too tight. underwear meeting spleen.. Oh, and I don’t often talk about work on this thing but whoo doggie, this building of doom also known to myself and a select few as “The Albatross” because it can never just be, the fuck, okay. Usually it is something small like floor tiles no longer remaining stuck to the floor or the internet going out (a lot) or the phones not working correctly (all the time) or….well, you get the idea. Sometimes? Sometimes it is something more impressive like the stairs attempting to fall the fuck off of the building. Today was slightly more impressive…today was the installation of a new water feature in the hallway! No wait, it was the pouring of the water from some faulty cooling equipment through the ceiling creating a giant dripping ceiling zip (which I so wanted to pop) but it popped itself and it was like Flashdance all up in the hallway. 

It was like this but with less of the sexy and no chairs were molested.

It was like this but with less of the sexy and no chairs were molested.

Well, kind of like Flashdance….but probably better acted and with less sexy and more office garbage cans being used to collect water. (Aside: I have a friend who did not see Flashdance until she was an adult and she seemed shocked at how horrible of a movie it was; I tried to explain to her that it was freaking magical as a 9-year-old but then I realized–holy shit. That movie is rated R. My parents totally didn’t regulate my viewing habits very well. Anyway, that shit was magical at age 9….that’s all I’m saying.) So, after the Flashdance ceiling zit explosion the mailman dropped off my new shoes! and it is the best day ever! They are orange and fabulous. 

New Shoes!

So, although there is every so much to be done work-wise it is remarkably challenging when there is a contingent of cooling workers spending the day in the hallway. So, while completely distracting it can be a little entertaining; the initial two dudes who showed up are not small – the one guy looks at the other guy and states, “we gonna have to call some of those little guys from the shop to fit up in ‘der.” the one dude decides to give it a go anyway and shimmies and wiggles his way above the ceiling to get to the unit only to find there was an access port to the unit in the ceiling of the first office. Although I feel like an ass about this one I’m still REALLY impressed that he managed to fit. 

So, that’s about it. Enjoy the ramble! 

-H.