Thursday, July 19, 2012

And then some other stuff happened.

I just want to make sure none of you ask me to cut your hair, because I will freaking buzz your brains out.  I make haircuts hurt.  And I smile when I do it.  And I don't wear make-up.

 Nothing to add.  You're welcome.

Just kidding.  I'm just posting picture this so one day, when Daniel grows up, he will see that if his mom ended up locked in a small room with carpet stapled to the walls and/or she starts hoarding boxes of Franzia in the fridge, it is the culmination of years worth of traumatic haircuts.  But for now, I'll keep the carpet on the floor and the Franzia at the Food Lion.

I had a most enjoyable birthday.  This is pretty much everything I needed to survive.

I certainly earned it after we missed the bus and had to drive the kids to school because someone had to go potty in a bad way when we were on our way out the door.  And then I earned it some more when someone else got home from school and clogged up the toilet.  While someone else was busy not flushing another toilet, leaving me a special birthday surprise in the bathroom.  It was a good thing my favorite kind of cake is Funfetti and not chocolate, because my day was filled with enough brown stuff for a week.

(Poop.  I am talking about poop.)

I'm surprised I let them sit in my lap after their shenanigans, but it was my birthday, and I birthed them.  

My birthday always marks the time of year where I mentally check out of the school system.  It's not something I can control, so I think I don't need to apologize for it.  When it hits June and it gets hot, my brain melts and I can't be counted on to do anything school related unless there is food involved.

Luckily, Daniel's class had food involved.

Yes, hello, I'd like to RSVP for the ice cream party.  No, I'll have to decline the invitation to collate paper.

Daniel really got upset on the last day of school when I picked him up from carpool; he said he was really going to miss his school and his friends.  It was really killing my Yay-this-is-my-last-day-of-carpool-EVER!-buzz.  I tried to cheer him up.  "In a week, when you start your new school, you get to ride the bus BOTH ways!"  When that didn't work, I told Dan we could go paint the Free Expression Tunnel.  Fully clothed.  Fully messy.  For some reason, that worked better than the bus, which I have also let him ride fully clothed.  And technically, he got the kid next to him fully messy more than once when he got bus-sick.

Many thanks to Jo's PhotoMojo (become a fan on Facebook!) for not only the pictures and the paint, but for making sure no cuss words or spray-painted penises appeared in the images.  Many moons ago, I spray painted something that I promise was not a cuss word or a penis, which is now covered up by thousands of layers of paint, but I promise you it was something witty/enlightening/found on a fortune cookie.

Or maybe it was just my name in bubble letters.  I can't remember very much, and for this I blame on paint fumes.

One thing I clearly remember doing is donating blood in memory of a sweet baby girl who lost her life to cancer.  Her mother organized a worldwide blood drive on her daughter's birthday.  I hope whoever gets my blood immediately feels a sense of fabulousness when the transfusion starts, because I think it's contagious.

I drank more water than I ever do, since my veins are so very hard to find.  In fact, I had to use the bathroom before I gave blood for fear I would wet myself.  There happened to be a scale in there, so I did what any normal person about to pee her pants would do- I weighed myself.  Not because I care about what those tacos are doing to my waistline, but because I needed a before-weight.  And after I peed, I took, you guessed it, an after-weight.  And I'm pleased to tell you that my research shows the fastest way to lose three-quarters of a pound is to pee your heart out!  Go pee before you try to squeeze that muffin top into those skinny jeans.  You're welcome, again.

I hope some of you reading will consider giving blood.  I know most of you don't like needles.  (The diabetic in me will not mock you...loudly.)  But you know when you probably won't mind a needle in the arm?  WHEN IT'S YOU WHO NEEDS THE TRANSFUSION.

Sorry, didn't mean to shout.  Got a nacho stuck in the keyboard.

Anyway, don't be a pansy.  Just do it.  Unless you're really so afraid that when the day comes and you're in need of blood, you pass it up because there is a needle involved.  And that's okay, because there are plenty of pale little bald kids who will take it off your hands.

Besides, giving blood is totally relaxing.  Although I have been known to fall asleep during MRIs because they are still quieter than my house.

I didn't feel weak or pass out after donating, but my brains did get all woozified after going on a roller coaster called Intimidator 305.  Which also happens to be Natalie's favorite ride of all time.

By woozified, I mean that I was certain I was hemorrhaging in the brain.  My brain, to be exact.

If you check out this video, you will see that this ride was clearly designed by people who use drugs.  Because normal people don't do these types of things.  Normal people drink beer and watch YouTube and only floss when the reminder postcard comes in the mail two weeks before their teeth cleaning.

I was okay until about thirty seconds into the ride when I suddenly noticed that I couldn't see anything.  I could still hear.  I could still think.  I could not see anything but grey.  So technically, since I was conscious, this would not be a blackout.  Because it was GREY!  And not to disappoint any of my girlfriends, but it was only one shade of grey.

I am guessing the period of time that I lost my eyesight was only about ten seconds, but it was plenty long enough for me to know that my brain blood was about to come shooting out of my nose and ears.  My vision slowly returned and when the ride was over, while Natalie did her AGAIN! AGAIN! dance (which looks very similar to her I GOTTA GO POTTY! dance), I checked my orifices for blood.  Somehow I kept it all inside, but I think some of it must have left my brain and drained down to my stomach, because it's looking a bit poochier than usual.

When I got home, I Googled "greyout" and "roller coaster" and on the first page of hits, there were several links to the Intimidator.  Apparently, I am not the only person who has experienced this [totally real!  I'm not making this up] phenomenon.  I am probably the only person who found it unpleasant, though, according to the vision-losing enthusiasts on the internet who think loss of eyesight means a roller coaster is THISAWESOME and if you don't lose your vision, you don't even deserve to have brain blood shoot out of your ears and make an awesome viral video out of it.

You know, this started out as a blog about cancer and somehow it's morphed into a journal about nacho cheese, pee, and roller coasters.  I don't know how we got to this point, either.  One day, I hope it's also a blog about how I taught myself to play the Dark Shadows theme on the ukelele.

Don't worry.  You're not always missing some kind of obscure reference.  We just really enjoy watching Dark Shadows before bed and I really enjoy the notion of pretending to play the ukelele.  Maybe I really did have a brain hemorrhage.

If I did, it would explain what I thought was Daniel coming up to me while I was slicing a cucumber in June: You know, Santa Claus wasn't always Santa Claus.  First, he got a job as a roof cleaner, but he never got dirty so they thought he wasn't doing his work.  Then he got a job at a restaurant, but he ate everyone's food and that's how he got fat.  And then some other stuff happened, and that's how he became Santa Claus.

You know, I think it makes sense whether you're bleeding into your belly or not.

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