Boobs: An experiment in Science and Search Engines
Ok, so I had no traffic today, and I wanted to conduct a little science experiment to see, what, if any, effects this post had on my traffic. And, SORRY, no, these are NOT my boobs, you dirty little devils.
Fear of Flying
I am terrified to fly. Well terrified doesn’t exactly describe my white knuckled,wordless trapse across the country. I don’t take drugs, drink or otherwise occupy myself to make sure that the flight attendants don’t carry me off in a straight jacket. I just sit there and pretend that, well, I’m NOT flying. Top 10 reasons for fear of flying:
10) Falling out of the sky from 35,000 feet.
9) Sharing the air with 265 coughing, hacking people.
8) Crying babies for 6 hours.
7) Paying $10 for food that is unidentifiable. I mean, shouldn’t that be included with my $400 ticket??
6) Sharing a teeny, tiny cube of a bathroom with 265 coughing, hacking people.
5) Having seen the movie
4) Having headphones that don’t work
3) Getting a middle seat
2) Sitting next to a sleeper who leans on your shoulder
1) Spending 6 hours on a plane with no where to go while Bella talks non-stop about bangs, itching, Dumb Boy, insecurity, pimples, and why she hates sceince class.
The thing is, once I do get over the fact that I am 7 miles up, with only the pilot between me and an early demise, the feeling that I have when I look out over the snow capped rockies is only topped when eating the hottest hot fudge sundae while having a foot massage, surrounded by 6 nearly naked young men fanning me who whisper sweet nothings in my ear. (naked just doesn’t seem right)
Barack, Hillary or John…I Will Vote for You If…
So after my extremely STRESSFUL week dealing with ITCHING, and the fact that I am going to LA today for vacation, (yes, I am going to LA and I like it. So shoot me) I really couldn’t think of much to write. I am drained. Nothing like politics to keep the old brain going. So, those running for office, heed the below: What you need to CHANGE to get MY vote:
Numero uno:
Numero dos:
And mucho importante, numero tres:
There ya have it. Forget about health care, race relations, Osama bin Whatever, taxes, job security, homeland security, social security, and whatever nonsense you keep lying about. Oh come on, you know I am right. They are all lying. Let’s keep all of this in perspective about what is REALLY important. Really.
See ya in LA LA land! I can’t wait. California here I come!
The Itch: Part one hundred and seventeen
So, the itching hasn’t stopped. Last night, Lara with the PhD in “how to drive your daughter”, crazy took a peek and everything looked fine to me, but then what do I know, it’s not like I have any other qualification other than to me they all look the same, and unless there’s a dog or something hanging off of it, I wouldn’t know a rash from an insect bite, from some other disease (not that I’ve seen more than the average gal who sometimes takes a shower in the gym with other women.)
So Bella, being the somewhat* higher than average maintenance 15 year old swore she could NOT go to school today, unless this issue was checked by a true professional doctor, one who actually went to medical school, not just got their MBA, so go figure. Who am I to argue? But then, when we found out that the doctor wouldn’t be ready until 10:45 and she would miss nearly a whole day at school, Bella asked me if she could go to my gyno.
“My doctor? You couldn’t get into to see him for a week.” And the response wasn’t a WEEK? The response was: “HIM, YOU GO TO A MAN DOCTOR?” To which I blithely replied: “Yeah, I feel a little weird with a woman”.
Weird with a WOMAN? And you don’t feel weird with a man?
Well I feel weird with both, but less weird with a man.”
What do they do when you get examined?
They make sure it’s all OK and your ovaries and everything is healthy.
YOUR OVARIES!!??? Do you know how far up your ovaries are?
Well, um, yes, I suppose I do. But listen, you don’t have to worry about this, until you do the hoochicoochi.
I am NEVER, EVER, not in a million years EVER having sex.
Fine with me. Just perfect. You have made my day.
I think I will get through today without a single glass of wine.
PS: 10:14 AM- Her cell phone is dead, she went to school according to the doctor’s office, but I’m just a TAD curious to find out what ALL THE ITCHING was about.
** From Wikepedia- The Free Encyclopedia – SOMEWHAT: Somewhat, somewhat? She is SOMEWHAT high maintenance? No, she is over the top, drive me insane, go gray, pull out my hair, scream, yell bang my head against the wall, HIGH FUCKING MAINTENANCE. Can someone please pass the Clairol?
Epilogue– I promise: This is Dr. P and she’s just a little irritated down there. So I gave her some samples of cream. Don’t worry. She’ll be fine. (No shit Sherlock! Now can you give me something so I don’t jump through the cell, when she calls to report, and scream and yell like a banchee that she is driving me crazy and causing me to gain back all the weight I lost last month and if that happens I will be ready to send her back to the babygiver, from whence she came?) “Thanks doctor”.
I Got An Itch
A TRUE STORY ABOUT THE LIFE OF AN ITCH… Mom and teen talk
DAY 1:
Bella: I have an itch.
Me: OK.
Bella: Down by the watchacoo.
Me: Huh?
Bella: You KNOW.
Me: And?
Bella: I shaved.
Me: Why in GOD’s NAME did you shave?
Bella: I don’t like hair.
Me: Wonderful.
Bella: So, how long does it last? The itching?
Me: I don’t know! Why don’t you GOOGLE IT?????
Bella: What do I type?
Me: I don’t know. Maybe: “I shaved, I itch. How long does it last?”
Bella: YOU DO IT.
Me: You shaved. YOU DO IT.
DAY 2:
Bella: The itching is DRIVING ME CRAZY
Me: Don’t shave anymore. Why did you do it?
Bella: Everyone at school does it.
Me: Everyone at school. You discuss watchacoos at SCHOOL?
Bella: Well, Hermoine R. does it too. She doesn’t like hair either.
Me: What in the WORLD is going on in your school? I will tell you WE NEVER discussed that issue when I was growing up.
Bella: MOMMMMMM.
Me: I have to tell you, I don’t know what to tell you.
Bella: Some people wax.
Me: Marvi
Bella: So, how long does this itchiness last?
Me: Until the hair grows back
DAY 3:
Bella: I had to go to the nurse today.
Me: Why? What’s wrong?
Bella: The itching was so bad. Someone ran out and bought me baby powder.
Me: How thoughtful.
Bella: So, how long is this going to last?
Me: I DON’T know. It depends how fast your hair grows.
Bella: Oh NO! It takes at least 3 months.
Me; No, not that long. It’s not like cutting your BANGS!
Bella: I think I can’t go to track on Thursday.
Me: Why not?
Bella: The itching is driving me CRAZY. The rubbing will kill me.
ME: Note to self: Remove all razors, waxers, etc from Bella’s bathroom. Pour large glass of wine. NO, make that a HUGE COSMO. Put plugs in ears. Go to sleep.
Bella: MOOOOOM?
Me: SNOOORRRREEEEEEEE
DAY 4:
Bella: I can be giving myself a fungal infection.
Me: WHAT????
Bella: They told me.
Me: WHO?
Bella: Help.com
Me: Stop it.
Bella: I need to go to the doctor.
Me: I am going to sleep now. Wake me up when you’re 20.
DAY 5:
Cell phone voice mail:
Ms. Dean? This is the school nurse. Bella was in today again complaining about itching. I wanted you to know about it. Can you please call me when you get the chance? Thank you.
PLEASE SHOOT ME NOW. or drug me. Or something. PLEASE.
Puppy Sadism
So, when I’m a little depressed, I go into AKC Kennels and look at the puppies. Which is what I did on Sunday. And I saw this little guy. I had to hold him. He was shaking like a leaf. When I put him down in the “playpen”, he became a wind up toy. As soon as he heard the shop guys voice, he started to tremble again. It broke my heart to leave him :(. But I knew Chloe would eat him alive. ) And I think I’d go a little nuts (and a LOT broke at $2200–are they KIDDING???) with TWO puppers in the house. And so I leave, significantly more depressed than when I started. Puppy sadism. PUPPY VIDEO
Some Call It Spring…Other’s Call It WAITING ON FRIGGIN’ LINE
There is this sliver of days, between winter and summer, when New Yorkers forget all their cares and act like they’re Angelinos. They have a bounce to their step and come out of the woodworks like roaches after dark. Some call this brief respite, between the frigid winter and hell hole of a summer, a taste of “Spring”.
This sign is actually at the Gristedes I shop in and what the hell that scary motha fucka mannequin is next to the sign or why people still shop here, is a mystery to me.
Others call this: Waiting on FRIGGIN LINE. And everybody waits because no one knows when the next time the weather will be nice enough to spend a few hours outside at night after being couped up all day and all winter in the hermetically sealed buildings where everyone gets sick over and over because there is no sign of fresh air (which would be hard to find in Manhattan anyway) and we are all breathing each others germs as though we’re sitting on a 6 month long journey in MD-80’s (oh wait, those planes are grounded, right?)
The girls wait.
The guys wait. Even… the dogs wait.
But this line? This line I don’t get.
This line is about an hour long. And it’s not for the flowers or the beautiful view.
It’s for a HAMBURGER at the Shake Shack.
Am I the only one that remembers the rat poop in the hamburgers? Ok, it was two years ago, but STILL would you wait an hour for a hamburger? With potential additions that we won’t mention again? Some call it SPRING. I call it short term memory loss.
