With all the things that my dad is going through health wise, I decided to suck it up and go see a doctor. It turns out that my PCP who I love and reminds me of the little man from UP has retired. I’ve been mourning him for 2 weeks now. What really pushed me to seek medical help was I got food poisoning the week before last, then I wound up with some viral cold/flu that kicked my ass and had me towing crossing over. I admit, after my time working for a personal injury firm and seeing hospitals in New York failing epicly, I’m sketched. The bulk of my treatment and my daughters is in Long Island with surgeries in Manhattan and Long Island. I’ve never been treated by doctors out on the other boroughs that are affiliated with any local hospitals. Its not to say that there aren’t amazing doctors, but the level of care is just vastly different. NYU compared to Woodhull before the purchase. If you don’t know, once upon a time, Woodhull was a nightmare. You might check in, crap shoot if you check out. You couldn’t pay me to check in there.
So the moral is that I know better. I don’t get injections from basement doctors or get medicines out of zip lock bags. Normally, I do my due diligence. When I was super sick last week I decided to call a doctor because I really felt like I was dying. I got ahold of an office that scheduled me for a week later. Mind you, I had searched for a PCP in my area. Time passed I showed up to my appointment yesterday. Of course, it wasn’t drama free. I looked like a crazy person exchanging words with the car service that picks up my dad from dialysis. My dad called and they were an hour late, telling him they’d be there in 15 minute increments. By the time I was done I had ripped them a new asshole and threatened them if something happens to my father in his condition.
I proceeded to go into the office. Hindsight is amazing. I filled out the paperwork which was unremarkable and waited patiently. When I was called in I gave the nurse my entire history. Food poisioning, etc. when the doctor came in I gave him the same run down. He asked if I had anxiety, I told him that it’s possible at this time. Long story short he proceeded to tell me to strip down and put on the gown. They were going to run a panel for HIV, STD’s and thyroid. This should’ve been my first clue that something was off. In fact for a minute I paused and repeated his instructions. Yet, I still sat down waited for him and the nurse to return and had a vaginal exam.
I went to work and told my bestie about it. She was hilarious because her first question was if there was a nurse present. I responded yes, I don’t think I was molested. Long story short, I had not made an appointment with a PCP. It was an ob/gyn. No wonder he was like okay crazy person, when I proceeded to give him my entire medical life. Today, I was cleaning out my bag and found the business card. Sure enough further evidence that I had gone to an OB/GYN. What throws me off is that the person that scheduled me could hear that I couldn’t talk. I had a hell of a sore throat and told her I was coming in because I was so sick. Maybe she thought I was pregnant and dying of a cold but we were clearly both mistaken… and that’s the story of how I got my vajajay checked when I was really trying to treat a god damned cold…
I’m not going to lie. I’ve texted my friends this morning letting them know I look like I escaped Bellevue. You know, the insane asylum. My hairs knotted and crazy and I’m still in pajamas. Should I care? Possibly. Do I care. No. Although at this moment, I won’t walk outside for fear of being chased with a straight jacket. I can see it now: the paddy wagon people chasing after me with a straight jacket screaming “There she is.” There’s no use trying to explain I’m not an insane escapee. Who’d believe me right? Especially when I look insane.
You have no idea how many times a week I have to resist the urge to show up to work in sweats. I haven’t done it yet, but one of these days I seriously just might. No effort. No fucks given. That actually reminds me of my partying days…
I worked at this one firm where almost always I’d party in Miami drive an hour home possibly change go straight to work. Often times for a while there I looked like I was stripping all night. I did hide my clubbing outfits by throwing on cardigans and coats. It was Florida though. So what was I doing in 80 degree weather with a baby blue furry coat that made me look like fucking Cookie Monster at 8 am? Yeah that resulted in a talk to. A sit down to discuss my recent appearance. That convo also discussed my “cleavage” issues. Listen I’m sorry not sorry. I have big boobs. If I don’t wear a v neck not a plunging neck line to my ankles just a v neck I think it’s worse. Then I look like I have a big ass football on steroids on my chest. Not happening. Lo siento. Apparently from the second floor the attorneys could see my boobage. Listen NASA could see my boobs. I mean their there. I can’t just swap them out like a handbag.
The moral of today’s story is that I look unapologetically insane. And that’s okay. My eyebrows look like Frieda. My sweats look like I’m homeless and my hair looks like I hit a 240 volt socket. It’s quite alright…
Okay I admit it, there’s always a battle between good and evil. 98% of the time my bad side wins. At work, I am known to prank people. I can’t help it, although I better help it or my bestie my disown me. I was having a rough rough day yesterday. However, by the end of the day I turned it around. My friend has been the source of scaring for some time. So at the end of the day as I turned the corner in the hall walking towards my desk. I stopped and turned back towards an empty cubicle that contains bozo. Bozo is the office mascot. He’s a big red punch clown. It occurred to me that I could sneak up to my friends cubicle hold the clown up and scream and scare her. All I can say is success. She almost caught wings. I don’t know where she was running to in her cubicle cell, but she slammed her chair into her file cabinet and screamed aye cono. She called me a fucking bitch. Priceless. She proceeded to tell my boss I almost killed her.
I was almost on the floor dying. So in those 5 minutes I came up with scaring one of our newer employees. He’s been on my radar to scare for a while. So I told my boss and the attorney to ask him for help with the water cooler. Meanwhile, I slinked silently into he closet where the water is kept and silently shut the door behind myself. I waited and heard them approaching. I watched through the crack in the door waiting to see the shadow of him approaching. He opened the door and I screamed rawr!!!! He jumped back and his eyes were like saucers.
It was epic to say the least. I know I’m going to soon become the office target to scare, but I’ve warned them. I’m two steps ahead. They may get me back and scare me, but I’ve already got at least two more pranks ready to go. Life is an attitude. I choose to laugh, I choose to be fun, funny and laugh. There’s too much sad shit going on to focus on being sad. It’s hard to be strong, but you find strength in the good times and the good things. They remind you that not all is bad in the world. So here’s to April fools.
Casey Anthony is called the most hated woman in America since the disappearance and murder of her two year old child. I recently started reading the book authored by the prosecutor on the case Jeff Ashton. I never felt a doubt that she had committed this heinous act but reading the book solidified a few key things for me. For starters the book confirmed for me that Cindy and Casey were in a toxic co dependent relationship. I agree that Cindy wanted to be lied to and Casey obliged. The book discusses the example of Casey’s impending pregnancy. Cindy denied that Casey was preganant while attending her brothers wedding. Although everyone at the party was asking themselves, who’s the pregnant chick? The story was corroborated by Cindy’s own mother. So the lies about where she worked which were not only the Universal Studio story but went back even before that to her fake Sports Authority job. This evidences a pattern of systematic lying. Yes, I think she’s a compulsive liar or a pathological liar. I actually think she might believe her own horseshit. What I think bothered me at the core was that her family swapped stories or refused to answer. Specifically her mother.
Let’s be honest. Parenting is a crapshoot. You can instill the best values, morals, education and still wind up with a bad seed. That I don’t blame the parents for. You can’t control every outcome of your children. But. There’s always a but. But you can’t cover and enable your children even when you know you have a monster in the midst. Maybe I don’t love. MY daughter enough but I can’t fathom covering her behavior and especially something so heinous especially given the evidence. Cindy called the police about Casey taking her car and dropped the bombshell in the 911 call “it smells like there’s been a dead body.” The forensic evidence showed that the signs of decomposition were in line with a human decomposition not garbage as the defense would like to argue. What killed me was that even when talking to Dr. Phil after the verdict, Cindy was still in denial. For 31 days, Casey Anthony partied and lied and did nothing to report Caylee missing. The defense argues that everyone grieves differently. Here’s where I take issue.
If your child had drowned accidentally why go to the extra lengths. It never added up for me that you would drag the police to your fake job where you don’t work until you have no choice but to say they’ve got you. Then at the end of it all after taking the police in a wild goose chase saying there was an accidental drowning. This to me signaled the final emergence of some truth. The truth that Casey Anthony knew this entire time that her daughter was dead. Pat Brown Criminal Profilist has gone as far to say she’s a psychopath. I actually agree. An interesting thing about the lies during the case was that one of the co-workers Casey worked with at universal studios was Juliette Lewis. Does that name ring a bell? It did to me the second I saw it. As in Juliette Lewis the actress?
This case fascinated the nation. Although much of the limelight was focused on the accused, I think it’s important that no one forgets the victim. A 2 year old beautiful little girl named Caylee Marie Anthony.
I am like a hurricane. I can’t help it. I’m a 5’5 Walking hurricane. Take no prisoners I genuinely can’t help it. I’ve told you I have a personality issue. Denial is not one of my issues. When I wrote my blog, don’t think I’m just saying my kid is great because everyone thinks their kid is great. My daughter is an asshole sometimes. In fact sometimes she’s also manipulative. However, I know her and work with her like a drill seargent because I value education. I’ve often said I will fund her future life expeditions so long as she goes to college. If she wants to find herself I’ll play along just do what you have to do and I’ll kick the cash.
My 6 year old is now in a tizzy over the prospects of being held back and now I want everyone’s head on a stick. So I did what I do best and wrote a letter. There’s an inside joke about my letters. I’ve written to probably every agency you can think of and ripped people a new one. I’ve drafted unemployment appeal letters ripping people apart. It’s a gift I suppose. So now, I’m putting them on notice. It’s the first time I hear my kid isn’t doing well enough to the point of failure. That’s not funny to me at all. So knowing the kids abilities I outlined a letter:
Since I was young I dressed to the 9’s even if I went to the supermarket. I could walk 5 miles in pumps to the market. I’ve gone through many phases in my life. I had plans tonight for the first time in forever. At first I threw on a dress. But then, I changed into jeans a sparkly top and a cardigan. Being comfortable in your skin means whether you’re in a thong or jeans no matter the place you’re okay with yourself.
Case in point, I’ve always been open to new things. My best friend and her friend were friends going to a rock concert. I was in my latter 20’s. How did I show up? Smokey glasses, jeans, baby pink top with a beige covering sweater and a matching bag with heels. Did I look out of place? You think? Did I care? Not at all. I had a good time even if I did look like I belonged on the red carpet not a goth/rock event. I was comfortable with myself.
After years of dressing up I’ll confess to you, I’m sick of it. I’m sick of suits, I’m sick of heels. A lot of this is also the culmination of years of the focus of others on my appearance. There was a point in my life that I was sick of being attractive. I was sick of people focusing on my body, my hot body, my pretty face when I was so much more than that. Let’s not builshit each other, we’re a vain society and that plays a large role in life. People are judged by their appearances.
Leggings and jeans are my life now. I never experienced this comfort before because I was too busy dressing up for the emmys all the time. Now I find that task to tedious to be bothered with. The older I get, the more my focus becomes on peace, happiness and life. Experiencing life and for me that means removing the white noise from my life. Tonight I celebrate another year above ground. I am thankful for every second and everyone that made it such a memorable experience because I haven’t had this much fun in a while.
So remember, live your days, enjoy your life, the rest is irrelevant. Always, always be true to yourself.
The other night I survived my mishap with my daughters coat. It turns out that although for mechanical purposes a small basketball or soccer like ball may not make the best choice for a dryer ball but it worked. My daughters coat wasn’t ruined after all.
The feathers after following careful directions were okay. Eventually they puffed up again and the neon ball saved the day.