What the!
Mood:  quizzical
Now Playing: The All-American Rejects
Ok, so I was suckered into watching the American Idol finale. I know, for shame.

Now, I can see why the producers zoom in on celebrities in the crowd shots to show the Hollywood hoi palloi who show up to attend the finale. So I understand why they zoomed in on David Hasselhoff. What I don't understand is why when they zoomed to him to get a reaction shot, he was crying like a little bitch when they announced Taylor Hicks as the winner. What the?!

Perhaps they were tears of jealousy as Taylor can look forward to having a music career and fan following outside of Germany unlike David Hasselhoff.

Celebrity Gossip AKA I Believe
Mood:  mischievious
Now Playing: Flyleaf
For those of you who used to visit the home page (don't bother to go check it as it's now defunct), I used to put in a bit of celebrity gossip each week. As many of you know, I was in the entertainment industry for a while and have several friends who are still involved in it who pass on inside dirt.

Several 'regulars' have emailed me and asked me to bring it back. So starting this week, each week there will be an "I Believe" celebrity gossip/insider bit for your consumption and comments.

Enjoy!

I believe that stars sometimes "go into rehab for an addiction to prescription painkillers" right after they've had cosmetic surgery so that no one thinks it's unusual for them to be out of the public eye for a certain length of time as they recover. That it is a sad testament to the Hollywood mentality that they would rather be thought of as a drug addict than to be known for not being naturally dewy and youthful looking. That for guys, it's usually all about hair transplants like Nic Cage who has spent well over $1 million battling hair loss and still hasn't gotten it right.





That Matthew McConaughey was one of the few who didn't claim to go into rehab, instead he took a "spiritual sojourn" to Africa or wherever and it just happened to coincide with the time he needed for his new hair plugs to grow in.

(Notice the glazed eyes on Stoner McBongo in this 1999 mugshot from his arrest for naked bongo playing while uberly baked--couldn't very well claim rehab now could he?)

Now check him out in his new movie "Failure to Launch" and the guy is literally sporting a massive hair helmet!

Casa De Meg O Rama
Mood:  happy
Now Playing: Sugarcult
Apparently, I am grossing you all out with my midget porn and narfy toenail pictures so here are some that won't offend you although they may bore you to tears.

I finally took some pics of the new pad albeit crappy ones with my cell phone. I have yet to find the box and/or boxes that my digital camera and 35MM are packed in but this gives you an idea about my random decorating at least.

This family room shot looks freakish because my walls are painted USPS 'return receipt requested' green AKA pale mint hideous! I didn't have time to paint before I moved in so I have added it to my ever legthening list of "Shit To Do Around The House Before I Die And/Or Run Out of Money". It clashes nicely with my metal, wood and earthtones don't ya' think?!

Here is a shot of the corner of my back porch complete with new 100 gallon fish tank AKA horse trough that came with the house purchase for my low rent Koi AKA ginormous oversized Comet goldfish. Please note the middle window that is covered with a box top--that is the one I put my hand through on day 4. Nicely done on my white trash repair!

A quick shot of a small sampling of the weird ass shit in my master bathroom. Think Hindu run amok while holding hands with modern art.




And then here is one of the side of the kitchen--the place where all the magic happens...ok, only once but every room in a new house needs to be blessed at least once.

Enough already? Ready to tear your hair out? Just wait--there's more...

In Desperate Need of a Pedicure
Mood:  don't ask
With all of the moving, unpacking, decorating and business trips I have had no time to post, let alone take care of personal hygiene. Get your minds out of the gutters folks! I have not joined the ranks of the great unwashed like Brad Pitt has. I'm talking about the much needed pedicure I need to get scheduled lickity split.

My feet are starting to resemble those of a lesser relative of Big Foot. As in kind of sketchy borderline narfy. I was feeling pretty bad about it until I came across this picture. I've got NOTHING on these!

Speaking of Google Searches
Mood:  mischievious
Now Playing: Fun Boy Three
I have an answer for one of you who came to Meg-O-Rama looking for the answer to "how small are midgets penises".

Given that they have small feet, small hands and pretty much small everything, one would figure...small.

Well, here's your answer...



Don't say I never gave you any free porn!

Who Are the Freakies in Your Neighborhood
Mood:  irritated
Now Playing: Tool
Well, I’m not in moving Hell anymore…more like moving Purgatory. I have a decent chunk done, but not enough. And can I just tell you that I almost crapped when I realized how much crap I have? Seriously! Jeesh! I have to admit that my sister was right—I seriously need to do a major purge and garage sale accompanied by a call to the Good Will for a massive ol’ pickup. Seriously! How much random shit does any one broad need? I tell you…

So, on the cool side, several neighbors have stopped by to introduce themselves. It’s also kinda spooky AKA Who Are the Freakies in Your Neighborhood.

My doorbell rings and after realizing it was not my cell phone ringing (I am beyond not used to a digital doorbell) I open the door to find some old broad with scary psycho killer eyes on my porch. You know those stone cold pale-colored eyes that feel like winter? I call them psycho killer eyes. Anywho, she proceeds to say “Hi, my name’s Jackie—welcome to the neighborhood…we’re putting our house on the market and moving to Arkansas.” I just stood there for a minute blinking and then I replied “Have I annoyed you that much already?” To which she started laughing and that was my first meeting of a neighbor albeit a temporary one.

It went down hill at a rather rapid pace from there. Weirdest one so far was the broad from down the street that I am pretty sure rides the short bus AKA window licker. She just was not right in the head folks! The dogs are madly barking and running around as I answer the door and this weird looking blond gal is standing there and says “You need to check your dogs.” Huh? I look down at the dogs and look back up and she says “Your dogs are out.” What? I say “Uh, they’re both right here.” To which she responds “Do you have kids?” and I say “Er, no.” and she replies “It’s ok if it’s just you.” What?! Now I am starting to freak. She starts telling me some long ass weird story about her horse and I can feel myself totally zoning out on her to ‘la-la-la I’m not listening’ land. All I can do at this point is start trying to steer the conversation to a rapid and unspectacular end and not soon enough.

I have had more random, previously unknown, drop in visitors in the last 2 weeks than I have had in the last year and none of the bastards brought liquor. It’s getting beyond annoying having arbitrary folks ringing my door bell on a regular basis. Can’t they see that I am naked, swilling beer, watching Springer and unpacking as it were? Jeesh! Inconsiderate swine! Who do they think they are anyway? My neighbors or something?!

Don't Hate Me Cuz I Am Still Unpacking
Mood:  accident prone
Now Playing: Panic at the Disco
So I am still here in moving Hell. According to my mover, I have enough stuff to fill a 4,000 sq ft house which is apparent by the amount of crap that is currently being stored in my carport. Have I mentioned that we’re expecting rain tomorrow? Joy! Not!

Anywho, even scarier, is that I still have tons of stuff at the old pad. So much so, that I’m having my movers come back on Tuesday to schlep the remainder of it! After one load on my own, I was done.

Have I mentioned lately that I am in Hell?

As I have done nothing ‘fun’ lately, other than unpacking, the only interesting story I could tell you would be that my evil dogs were barking and savaging through the fence at the neighbor’s dogs. I, being a moron, banged on the window to get their attention and put my fist right through it. Yup. Not even in the house four days and I am having to call a repair man. Well, then again, if it can cut me or burn me it will.

In the meantime, here are more uber freaky Google searches that led folks to my blog. Call me crazy but these just amuse and frighten me to no end…


"Skating with Stars" wrestler

man is attacked by chimps

friday night titillation

zowie bowie arizona pictures

I won’t be giving you my heart this year…

"bobby crosby" girlfriend

NUN PHOBIA

AskNow and Steve Feder

inga sweater

score magazine dec 05

warrior tattoo

Valerie napsack

hummer cologne smells like

instabond adhesive spray made by

stool seats at zoomanity

butterflymall fraud (severaln searches on this)

Hottie in the rear

jenna blog cute manager safeway

why do swingers lean on the wall

"happy ending" massage Wisconsin

Supposibly

jan 06 tupac alive

Teen Asian Big Boobs In Sexy Lingerie

"nick swardson" ninja

peter likins

midgets nuns (weird foreign google search)

redbrick pizza

lower back tattoo cum target

stuffed stay-puff marshmallow collector dolls

American nude cowboy

"William Blake" "fear of nuns"

I will try to be back soon with some more inane stories--as soon as I have a life again....

A Snowboarding Story
Mood:  accident prone
Now Playing: UB40
So here I am—still in moving Hell. It hasn’t rained in like 142,000 days in Phoenix and I pick the one day to move that it fricking rains and rains and rains. Good news? My mover cancelled until Tuesday which gives me more time to pack so that those poor bastards can schlep my crap instead of me. (This is my 5th move in 4 years—the movers are taking everything I can shove in a box and tape shut).

Usually when the forecasters say we have a 10% chance or greater of rain it means absolutely dick. It never happens. They may as well say that Phoenix has a 30% chance of snow because it’s got the same probability—none. That is until this weekend. Not only is it raining like no one’s business this weekend, all weekend thanks very little, it’s actually snowing in Scottsdale. It’s such a ginormous deal that it’s actually made national television. I know there is something rather freaky about seeing snow piled up on cactus but please. Apparently, a slow news weekend.

I’d love to drag out the snowboard and go hit the Scottsdale 'slopes' and cause some damage…to myself…but I need to keep at it.

But speaking of snowboarding, here is a Meg snowboarding story.

A few years ago, I was visiting family in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. My sister-in-law and I decided to hit the slopes one day. We ended up going over to Truckee, Idaho, in order to hang more with locals and not so much with the Hollywood/hoi polloi crowd who are more concerned with what they are wearing, how they are looking and who is looking at them then in just hitting the slopes for some fun.

So there we are swooshing away. Me on my board and Darci on her skis just having a good ol’ time. Then Darci goes over a mogul and disappears from view. Before I can react AKA stop my silly ass, I am flying over a mogul that has about a 4-ft drop on the other side. Now I love to board but I’m not all that good as I have the sense of balance God gave dry wall plaster. Combine that with an unexpected obstacle and you know what happened. I went down like a sack of fricking potatoes. Kablam!

The next thing I know, I open my eyes and there’s Jesus, looking pretty scraggy, gazing down at me. I ask “Am I dead?” and Jesus says “No, you’re fine.” And I reply “Are you sure?” and Jesus responds, laughing, “Yes, I’m sure.” So I say “Well, if I’m not dead, how come I see a dirty Jesus?”

All of a sudden, I hear lots of people laughing. I look around and I realize that it’s not Jesus, it’s some long haired, bearded dude from the ski patrol who came to help me after I clubbed myself into unconsciousness—no small feat considering I was wearing a helmet.

So I ended up with a slight concussion, which didn’t stop me from drinking the minute we hit the lodge, and an enemy for life. Apparently the other snow patrol dudes thought “Dirty Jesus” was so funny, it became the guy’s new nickname. Sorry dude. I call ‘em like I see ‘em, head trauma or not....

Deb's Choice Bits
Mood:  don't ask
Now Playing: Yellowcard
I am quickly checking in from Hell AKA the process of buying a house and the subsequent packing, moving and unpacking.

I have been remiss about posting because I have no fricking time to! My world is currently a revolving world of working my ass off at work to come home and work my ass off. Good times I tell you! NOT!!!!

So anywho, I asked Deb to send me a list of her personal favorite Meg-O-Rama entries and the reasons why. This is what she sent:

Tuesday, 10 August 2004
RIP Dearest Sandals
Because it's SO you, and I love any post about shoes

Wednesday, 22 September 2004
I needa...
Because Hummers have been in vogue way too long, and like the Ugg boot, they must be destroyed! And I shudder to think there are men out there who'd think that is cool.

Sunday, 31 October 2004
Trick or Treating in `Ancientpeopleville'
I mean, giving trick or treaters a stapler? Priceless? And to quote Homer Simpson, "It's funny cause it's true!"

Monday, 14 February 2005
Happy VD!
Because it is just so right on!

Saturday, 19 March 2005
Celebrity Funeral
Really hilariously random celebrities, and it is also an homage to your good buddy Jason!

Thursday, 5 May 2005
Call of the Cougar
You needn't ask why!

Monday, 13 June 2005
Yo' Mama!
Because I personally have been at places where you have used these, and the world should know you are not making these up!

Friday, 1 July 2005
Hollywood 'Hit' List
Everyone should have one!

Thursday, 12 January 2006
Fear O Flying
Again, this one hits home, and truly explains fear of flying to the non chicken-shit!

Sunday, 1 January 2006
My Dating Rules for the New Year
Stick to 'em darlin'!

If you haven’t read everything on the site already, check out Deb’s Choice Bits. She’s biased of course but maybe they will keep you amused while I finish my move…or while I step in front of a public bus which would be far less painful.

The Top 100 Reasons Terrorists Hate Us
Mood:  mischievious
Now Playing: The Clash
For some reason, this just totally amuses me (beyond easy to do) and I keep thinking of more. It is now up to the Top 100 Reasons Terrorists Hate Us although I?m sure there are many, many more?.

1. Wal-Mart’s everyday low prices
2. Oprah
3. Seasoned curly fries
4. Shrek I & II
5. Big Lots stores
6. Happy hour
7. Triumph the Insult Dog
8. No foam decaf soy lattes
9. Performance fleece
10. M&Ms
11. Poetry slams
12. Budweiser, the King of Beers, Budbowl
13. Porch swings
14. Calvin & Hobbs
15. Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade
16. Drive through liquor stores
17. The Vermont Teddy Bear Company
18. Paris Hilton
19. Hostess Twinkies
20. Pay-per-view porn
21. Chuck Norris
22. Mild salsa from La Victoria
23. Spongebob Squarepants
24. The Ice Capades
25. Celebrity Fit Club
26. CROCs
27. The homo-fabulous actress-groping Isaac Mizrahi
28. Grocery store 'club' cards
29. Emoticons
30. Trophy wives/soccer moms
31. Justin Timberlake screensavers
32. Brazilian waxes
33. The Prius
34. Jay & Silent Bob Strike Back
35. In-N-Out Burger
36. Free ringtones
37. Halo 2
38. Viagra
39. The fact that it took two years to get the final 10 episodes of The Sopranos
40. Boneless riblets
41. David Hasselhoff
42. ‘Girls Gone Wild’
43. Star Trek conventions
44. Fusion yoga
45. Charles Shaw $2 merlot (AKA Two Buck Chuck at Trader Joe’s)
46. Tevo
47. Match.com
48. Home equity lines of credit
49. French pedicures
50. Boogie boards
51. 1-800-Pet-Meds
52. Bling, bling
53. Strobe lights
54. College Basketball
55. Racial profiling
56. Breast implants
57. Glade Plug Ins
58. Mountain Dew Code Red
59. 1969 Camaro Z-28
60. Hermit crab races
61. I can't Believe it's Not Butter
62. Croched toliet paper covers
63. Midget tossing
64. Ring Pops
65. The George Foreman Grill
66. Deep fried Snickers bars
67. Velour track suits
68. The Blue Man Group
69. Jiffy Lube
70. Frisbees
71. Dear Abby
72. Crab cakes
73. Sunless tanner
74. Kegerators
75. Tom and Katie’s bastard, and most likely turkey baster, child
76. Livestong bracelets
77. Mary Lou Retton
78. The International House of Pancakes
79. Thighmaster
80. Some call it football, we call it soccer
81. Mr. Potatohead
82. P-51 Mustang
83. Silly Putty
84. I dream of Jeannie
85. Oral hygiene
86. The Village People
87. Sleestacks
88. Vanilla Ice
89. Lee Press on Nails
90. Trailer parks
91. Cabbage Patch Dolls
92. Howard Stern
93. Chicken fried steak
94. Las Vegas
95. What you talkin bout Willis?!
96. Mr. Clean
97. Slurpees
98. My Space
99. Appletinis
100. Indian casinos

Olympic Overkill
Mood:  don't ask
Now Playing: New York Dolls
I have now reached my Olympics saturation level. As In, I’m done.

See, the Olympics are like homemade fudge. You greedily gobble down the first offerings and you just want more! It is unbelievably good. But soon enough, you are sick of it. It finally gets to the point where the mere thought of more makes you positively queasy. Yup. The Olympics are like fudge. It’ my analogy and I’m sticking to it.

Just how many preliminary speed skating runs and trials can I possibly be expected to endlessly watch anyway? Don’t get me wrong, it’s interesting and all, but after watching a seemingly gazillion qualifying runs, I am pretty much at the point where I don’t give a crap who medals—not even if it’s Apolo and that’s saying something!

Show us the “thrill of victory and the agony of defeat” just keep to short clips and highlights to keep our limited attention riveted. Cut the televised program down to the Opening Ceremony, athlete personal interest stories, medal runs and medal presentation. Televise it over a 3-day weekend and be done with it.

The Olympics lack a larger audience because they drag it out and even when you really enjoy them, like fudge, you can have too much.

I’m thinking Olympic Idol…

Things I've learned....
Mood:  d'oh
Now Playing: Soul Coughing
1. Packing to move sucks serious ass
2. Never cook bacon naked
3. I apparently own two identical socket wrench sets--perhaps the work of the socket wrench fairy?
4. Fleece, Performance or otherwise, doesn’t play well with hay
5. Did I mention packing to move sucks serious ass?

That Party
Mood:  suave
Now Playing: Tony Bennett
So the hoi polloi private party I went to the other night at the golf tourney. First off, I think they took serious liberties in describing it as “celebrity filled”.

I saw one random morning show personality and that was that as far as the star boinking went. Now there were some rather large blinged-out black guys at the party, but I didn’t want to be a dillhole and assume that they were athletes representing the high-end sports magazine that co-hosted the party--as that would be totally dillhole of me.

Long and short of it? Free drinks and noshes as well as decent eye candy in a sweet locale.

Coolest portion of the evening? Ran into a buddy who I haven’t seen since college. And even better? He is one of the people that I actually gave a shit about ‘whatever happened to…?”

Pretty cool scene even if they were serving chardonnay in Dixie cups…

Random Thoughts
Mood:  not sure
Now Playing: 10,000 Maniacs-MTV Unplugged
1.Any man who refers to the woman he’s dating as his “current lady friend” is an ass.

2.Losing a pet to death, by whatever means, is heartbreaking.

3.Anyone who willingly appears as a guest on The Jerry Springer Show should be sterilized and prevented from breeding.

4.Sometimes you just have to refuse to let common sense cloud your judgment.

5.I wonder who would win in a fist fight between Chuck Norris and a Klingon.

Ah! I love the smell of the Olympics in the evening!
Mood:  happy
Now Playing: Abandoned Pools
I am a complete and total whore for the winter Olympics.

There’s just something about it. My favorite part of the Olympics after medal ceremonies when the American athletes sing along to the national anthem and cry? Opening ceremonies. Why you ask?

First off, I love hearing the names of all of those random countries that I could honestly not pick out on a map with any degree of certainty. I mean seriously, just how many ‘-istan’ countries can there be?! Apparently quite a lot.

I also love the whole ritual of it all. Nothing says pomp and circumstance like the opening ceremonies. Parades, banners, excitement, fireworks, energy, and last but not least flags. The lighting of the Olympic flame. It’s just plain cool in my book.

But who’s bright idea was it to use a melange of cheesy 80s tunes as the accompanying music to the parade tonight?

Did I really need to experience the athletes from Latvia entering to Y.M.C.A.? Chinese Taipei coming in to What is Love? Senegal boogying to Disco Inferno? I swore that if Kim Carnes’ ‘Betty Davis Eyes’ started to play, I would boycott the remainder of the show as some things are just not right.

On the bright side, the naked pink Mohawk dude and accompanying surreal performers were stellar. The Ferrari spinning donuts also was way cool. Made me yearn for a Power Ball win.

I think Italy did it up proud although that could just be the Pinot Grigio talking.

On another note, just where the Hell is the country of San Marino anyway? The world map was a whole lot easier in the Cold War years. I almost feel sorry for the little bastards in our under funded public school systems trying to learn geography these days.

Suburban Vigilante
Mood:  d'oh
Now Playing: The Clash
When I was in 7th grade someone began vandalizing the mailboxes in our neighborhood. All the neighbors were completely freaked out figuring it was the ‘damn troublemakers’(this was the 70s folks).

One night, my Pop had enough. The neighbor’s mailbox has been defaced and Pop was just certain ours was next. He had gotten himself all shades of worked up. So what does he do? He parks our full-size Ford Econoline van on the driveway in front of the house, sets up a foldable lawn chair and sets out to wait for the “little bastards” to come. Did I mention he was grasping a softball bat during his vigil?

Around Midnight, two teenage boys walk by our house talking. As they wander by, one of them half-ass kicks our mailbox in passing and Bam! Game on! Pop flies around the end of the van going towards the kids at a full run, softball bat gripped in both hands and raised high over his head as he screams some primal scream only suburban airline pilots can produce. Scares the holy crap out of these kids who both proceed to scream like little girls.

The taller kid takes off at a dead run into the night, leaving his freakish buddy to face the wrath of the mighty Oz. Pop had this kid by the front of the shirt and was holding him up on his toes as pop threatened him with the bat—screaming at him the whole time. At the top of his lungs. At Midnight. In the suburbs. “You sonofabitch! You thought I wouldn’t catch you?! Why did you kick my mailbox!?”

Yeah. Pretty soon, my mom wasn’t the only one running out in her jammies to scream at Pop. Needless to say, mom talked him out of calling the cops, reminding Pop that the kid could claim assault based upon Pop's convincing Ape Man of the Serengeti portrayal.

Flash forward several years. Many severals of years. As in this year. Someone is vandalizing the stop signs in my parents’ neighborhood and pops is all shades of pissed off about it.

“It costs $2,000 to replace every sign they deface. $2,000! Morons! It costs us all more as taxpayers! Do they realize that?! Do they have any idea?!” (Note: Pop, people who deface stop signs are no doubt so not worrying about their increasing share of taxpayer burden).

He goes on to say that he’s going to plan a sting and catch the “little weasels in the act".

So I say “What pop? You going to park the Tahoe out front, set up a folding chair, wait, and then after you catch them in the act, run after them screaming with your softball bat?”

Dead silence. Then he starts chuckling “I had forgotten all about that…”

Yeah sure you did Captain vigilante!

Now That's Red!
Mood:  surprised
Now Playing: Maroon 5

So....Red
Mood:  surprised
Now Playing: Edith Piaf
I have this high brow celebrity-filled outing on Saturday. Basically, a private party at whatever they call that big golf tourney now. Amazing that Joe Lewis arena and a plethora of other sporting venues have maintained their original name forever but we seem to change the names of our venues and events on a regular basis…but I digress.

In light of the festivities, I needed to freshen the hair color, etc. The problem is that my back is verklempt and sitting for hours on end (pun intended) is excruciating. How does one go about the upkeep on one’s outer appearance when one is unable to sit for a long time? One, being me, asks her stylist what could be done in say....a half an hour or before the Soma runs out. Apparently, hair color not highlights.

A half an hour later—SHAZAM! I am freshly coiffed....all shades of red. Yup. Red. I went red. As in saucy vixen red. You know, that red somewhere between Maureen O’Hara and Bozo the Clown. Not an I Love Lucy red so much as Raquel Welch red. Kind of auburn but definitely red. Red.

Can you tell I am still kind of freaking out?

I like it but it is seriously drastic which I think is really the only way one should go red. Hard and fast. Like ripping off a bandage. Red is just not a gradual color....

But I really think I like it…in fact, I think I really like it.

And the matching cuff....

Before the Red
Mood:  cheeky
BEFORE THE RED....

Broke Back
Mood:  accident prone
Now Playing: OMD
I almost made it a few weeks without a personal injury ‘incident’. I am just so not the poster child for OSHA. I managed to blow out my back. As in ‘totally gone verklempt sucks to be you cripple’. And it didn’t even happen while doing something fun like midget bowling or playing Bloody Knuckles. And how did I blow out my back? Hurking hay out of “high ho”. Yep, I am one of those white trash horse owners who lug hay about in non-pickup truck type vehicles. At least I am not as bad as my friend Robert who hauls hay in the trunk of his Jag. Now that’s overkill.

Now, I usually have no problem with tossing hay around. Each bale weighs about 75 pounds but it’s not the weight that gets me, it’s the awkwardness of the bale design. Whoever decided bales were a good unit of dry grass measure didn’t take into consideration chicks hurking them out of mid-size SUVs wearing 4-inch platform flip flops. Not the best shoe wear for manual labor I know but I was in a hurry. It didn’t hurt exactly when I was unloading, it was more uncomfortable than anything.

All I know is that I woke up Friday morning at 3am and I was in more pain than I have been in…months, which is saying a lot given my accident-prone background.

I started howling in pain. The chorus of gnarly f-bombers that left my mouth would have made most folks sob in horror. I spent the next five hours alternately sobbing and cursing God.

Made an appointment with my doctor ASAP. I actually hurt hard enough that I had to ask my 71 year old girlfriend Carol—red-headed little grandma and former 1950s scooter trash- to drive me there.I literally couldn't. How lame is that?

My legs actually gave out under me during the exam and my doc had to catch me. I was sobbing hysterically that it was a ruptured disc and I couldn’t have surgery now because I have too much too do. He hugged me and patted me as I sobbed.

Have I mentioned that my doctor is smoking hot? I had to tell one of the gals at the office who goes to him too and just lurves him. “Hey, Doctor Hottie totally hugged me.” She’s all “Nu-uh! What was it like?” So I told her “Sweet” and sighed just to be a brat. She called me on it--“Bitch!”

So after the hug, Doctor Hottie administers the ‘How screwed up are you?’ tests on my back. He tells me the good news: No ruptured disc just a massive back spasm. Whew!

He had the nurse come in and pump me full of happy juice AKA 1000000 micrograms of some wicked narcotic, prescribed some Percocet and Soma, patted me on the head, and told Carol to drag my now increasingly fuzzy self home.

Carol was a total trooper- She drove me back and forth to the doctor, picked up my prescriptions, drove my now giggly/sloppy/singing show tunes ass home all the while regaling me with stories of dancing on table tops and how she could “…spin both tassels the same direction.” Oh good God! Like I needed that image scorched on my retinas! It burns! It burns!

Now? Borrowing Sanchez’s Jacuzzi on a regular basis and praying for a full recovery and soon.

The structural engineer okayed the house. I have to pack and move in a matter of weeks…well, 6 weeks but still. ARGH!

Posted by azcoolchick0 at 3:55 PM NZT | Post Comment | Permalink