The new Pope thinks gay adoption is child abuse. Since when did the Catholic Church become experts on child ab… Oh, yeah right, never mind.
The joys of Facebook. At first I had the “singles sites” ads in my sidebar. The funniest, no doubt was the one for “older gentlemen”. Yeah cuz I want to meet a bunch of old geezers in wife beaters and find true love…
Recently, random guys have been contacting me every few days because I’m so damn attractive. Who the hell are these people, and what makes them believe I (or anyone else) would want to be their friend (and possibly more) because they saw my profile picture on FB? Seriously, WTF? Why on earth would you hit on someone on Facebook? Have you really that little of a life?
This week’s crop of admirers:
Hello, how are you doing? How was your day at work today? I hope you get this mail and it finds you well.i m “John Doe” from Alabama. I was glancing through profiles when your gorgeous picture got me attracted while your lovely words had me write you. I am passionate,easy going down to earth, honest, sincere, good nature, and receptive to new ideas.I am looking for a Soul Mate to enjoy the pleasures of life with.A long term relationship / marriage with an affectionate and very loving woman who desires the same as I.I have a good job and I work very hard so that I have the ability to enjoy the rewards of a good life. I am interested in meeting a person that I can create a close relationship with, so that we both can be happy and healthy..would love to chat with you and get to know more about you if you don’t mind…I will be looking forward in reading your mail…
Dear John Doe,
How was my day at work? Really? You can’t do any better than that to seduce me? Lets not even go into the bizarritude of you contacting me saying you want a long-term relationship with someone you randomly contacted on FB.
Let me just start by telling you I am a grammar whore. Sentences that don’t even start with capitals? No space between a period and the first word of a new sentence? Multiple ellipses? If you are unable to even spell check and make sure your message is coherently written, you are out of the running.
PS: The “lovely words” is total bullshit since no information from my account is available to anyone other than my friends.
Wow u got a nice smile can I have it
Dear whoever you are,
Totally cliché. And U?
Are you fucking kidding me?
Hi there,How are you doing?You look so gorgeous and charming in your profile picture.I like you and I want us to be friends.I hope you don’t mind.
Waiting to hear from you soon.
Are you John Doe’s twin? Please refer to the above comments regarding grammar and well thought out messages.
Keep waiting Douche.
Disclaimer: This is a story about lady bits. Dysfunctional lady bits. If you have issues with lady bits, dysfunctional or no (but especially dysfunctional), go wander around WordPress, there are some lovely blogs here.
There are man bits. And there are lady bits. Hopefully the twain shall meet. Often. Cuz both bits together are a world of fun.
Sometimes, however, issues arise. For instance, as a hypothetical example, when the lady bits start bleeding and they really shouldn’t be. Visions of the big C start dancing in one’s head, because it’s much more dramatic than figuring, “A three-week period, hey! it must be the last hurray! After this I’m done!! Is it me or is it hot in here? You over there, come here so I can rip your head off.”
One then sees one’s doctor who requests an ultrasound. All well and good. The ultrasound reveals what seems to be a polyp. The doctor sends one on to a specialist who decides that one really needs a hysteroscopy. A hysteroscopy entails, for those not in the know, having a camera stuck up one’s cootchie, shoved through one’s cervix and poked around one’s uterus. Interesting concept to say the least.
One thinks, “Hey Cool! I’ll get to see the inside of my uterus on TV! Get some use out of the damn thing! Plus, drugs! Drugs are always good.” Ha!
For some reason the drugs are anti-anxiety meds. One wasn’t that anxious. One should have known better. One should have been very anxious indeed. Something against pain would have been nice one thinks, because, hey, it turns out a cervix is not really partial to being forced open. A cervix likes to stay tightly shut. The whole “lets-shove-a-camera-up-you” thang does not sit well with a cervix. It protests. Loudly. Sometimes one is obliged to squeeze one’s spouse’s hand into tiny little pieces while enunciating, quite loudly, “MOTHERFUCK!” or words to that effect.
At which point the doctor says “You really have an unusually tight cervix.”
And then they’re through. Hurray, from here on out it’s a free ride. Except, no. Turns out a uterus doesn’t like being played in either. In defense a uterus cramps. A lot. Just sayin’.
At this point, the faint of heart might want to go watch a rerun of I love Lucy or take a walk or have a nice long soak in the tub, because as it happens, one’s uterus is full of pus. Which now has an exit route. Yeah. Out it comes. That’s some nasty shit right there.
Doctor is all “Whoa!” One is all “What?” and “Ewww” And doctor vacuums out the U and sends a sample to the lab for analysis. “No evidence of polyps. See you in a couple of months”. “Huh”?
May one just make an aside here to note the indignity of the whole procedure? Laying there, legs wide open, cootchie to the wind, a guy’s head between one’s legs (and not for the right reasons) shoving what feels like the contents of a toolbox up there. Not to mention that having one’s feet in stirrups** for the better part of an hour fucking hurts or that the frigid speculum*** holding one’s cootchie open (a whole new dimension of screwed) , is also, for the record, not fun. Until it warms up. And then it’s still not fun. Really, would it be too much to ask to warm. The. Damn. Thing. UP?
May one also mention here how completely ecstatic one is in these moments that one never chose to have kids? Cuz really. Ouch!
And as another aside, that god guy? Total asshole:
To the woman he said, “I will greatly increase your pains in childbearing; with pain you will give birth to children. Your desire will be for your husband, and he will rule over you.” (New International Version)
Biotch! that’ll teach you to eat apples!!! This guy had issues. Why worship someone who… oh yeah. Worlds of pain otherwise… Total asshat sadist.
Gods. Pfft. They are highly overrated.
Anyway, being all kick-ass 21st century, once one has slept the day away because the fucking meds finally hit, one turns to the almighty Google (now there’s something to worship!). As it happens, this condition is actually quite prevalent. In bitches. The four-legged kind. In humans not so much. So very not so much…
Cut to two months later, back in the doctor’s office for results: Irritation.
No shit Sherlock. Irritation. Medicalese for “we have no fucking idea thank you very much, maybe she has canine genes”. Then, the doctor (not the same one) innocently says “Oh, by the way, we have to do it again, no biopsy was take the first time”.
What!?! You were in there, you emptied, you filmed, you vacuumed. You freaking dusted and washed the windows and floors. And you didn’t take a damn biopsy while you were hanging out in there? Are you fucking kidding me? At least this doctor was a woman and she had the decency to be apologetic. Not that it helped.
So we did it all again. Without the drugs. With the nausea inducing cramping. Results in three weeks. Hoping to discover I’m not actually a bitch.
Did I mention how thrilled I am I didn’t have kids?
* Title courtesy of Brigitte
** What’s with those stupid metal stirrups? After all these years they haven’t found something more user-friendly? I’ll bet if men were the majority users, they’d be as cushy as a puffy leather recliner
*** The word always reminds of speculoos cookies. Which are yummy. Which the cold-ass speculum is not
Almost 30 years ago I met this guy. We were both in our 20s then, young, fit, and good-looking as people in their 20s are wont to be.
Twenty-five plus years ago, we got together. He was my rebound guy. I was coming out of a breakup, so was he, as far as I was concerned this was gonna be a fling. Then, one morning I woke up beside him in a panic. I’d just realized that I was in love with him.
Not part of the plan. At. All.
That evening I called my mom told her this dramatic news. Her answer? “Well, what’s the worst that can happen?” As usual, she was pretty much telling me to get the hell over myself. Thank you mom.
Twenty-five years later we’ve traveled the world, decided children were not part of our plan, bought a cottage together, discovered who we are, grown older, fatter… er plumper, grown wrinkles and grey hair, had our share of heartache, buried some wonderful people, saw some wonderful people come into the world, made friends, lost friends, worked, played and gotten though the drudgery that a 9 to 5 job can sometimes represent.
He’s stuck by me through 25 miserable (to me) winters (which takes courage or utter insanity, I’m not sure which – probably both).
He’s cooked for me (a much saner choice than me cooking for him), make me gallons of cocktails and annoyed the hell out of me now and again (as I have him, no doubt).
He has put up with my foibles and moodiness, my PMS and menopause, my sarcasm and, more recently, meno-brain. He’s supported me in my harebrained schemes and passing hobbies. He has stood by smiling as I bought paint at $35 a quart (kick ass paint though!)
He is my everything, the love of my life, the one thing I could not live without.
Happy Birthday M, I love you more than words can say.
It’s the first five days after the weekend that are the hardest.
December 27 – Blizzard over Montreal. A record snowfall of 45 cm (about 18 inches).
January 15 – After a weekend of temperatures in the 6 to 8 degree range (low to mid 40s) the snow is more than halfway gone.
I take my happy where I can.
And what’s with the grass all over the place? I get that this is a huge oasis, but what’s the point? You can landscape with a bunch of awesome native plants, so, why bother with mowing the lawn? Didn’t you leave Minnesota to get away from all that?