Last Friday Cupcake graduated from College. For the second time.
Congratulations on your Master Degree in Nursing Cupcake!
While Friday was spend celebrating Cupcake’s big achievement and drinking multiple margarita’s from the fun frozen margarita machine, Saturday was all about dinner and a movie. Cupcake, LSU Friend, and myself decided to meet for a nice dinner then brave the Saturday night movie crowd and go see Bridesmaids. Cupcake had pigged out on some guac earlier that day and I was completely indifferent, so LSU Friend had the honors of picking our restaurant. So, for once in our lives, we weren’t going to head to a local Mexican food place and drown ourselves in queso, but drive over to a local Indian food restaurant that LSU Friend swore up and down was yummy.
So we went.
Thoughts on Indian Food…
1. I’m not all that into Indian food. I don’t hate it, but I also don’t love it. It’s like this… why would anyone eat Indian if they could have Mexican? But, I think that about a lot of genres of food.
2. Cupcake is an EXTREMLY picky eater! My whole life I thought being an “extremely picky eater” just meant that you would not only HATE Norwegian food, but also turn into a huge brat if ever forced to eat it. (Yeah, maybe one day I’ll write about that story Favorite Cousin…) So, I was totally unprepared when I became friends with Cupcake. She’s a “selectatarian”. AKA a really picky eater. She doesn’t really eat meat… unless she wants to. And, then you (or whoever is preparing the meat) HAS TO COOK THE SHIT OUT OF IT. Nothing can be slightly under cooked or she literally can’t choke it down. Once, when I first met her, a few of us girls were cooking and she practically dissected the chicken breast to make sure no red veins or blood was left anywhere and then stood over the chicken while it was being cooked just in case the dead, sautéing chicken just started bleeding in the pan. Then she over cooked it five minutes and deemed it ready to eat. Also, she doesn’t really like “hole in the wall” kinda places. This absolutely makes my heart hurt, because to me there is nothing better than a steaming plate full of enchiladas from some random shack where the wait staff doesn’t speak English. Cupcake doesn’t like not knowing if the beans are vegetarian or not. All in all, I was shocked that Cupcake was even going to venture into the Indian food establishment. (By the way I adore Cupcake and all her little quirks.)
So, the three of us load up into LSU Friend’s car, Leroy, and drive the 3.5 minutes to Bombay Bistro for what the website and menus call, “modern Indian cuisine”.
When we enter Bombay Bistro, it is plainly obvious that is used to be Henry’s Hunan and six months before that it was Ancient Golden Dragon and six months before that China Pearl, but whatever. We took our seats on the wall, so that LSU Friend and I were sitting on a bench with our backs to the wall and Cupcake sat across from us in a normal chair. Next to us, shoved up against the table was a short divider which I guess was there to give us a little privacy from the table next to us. Everything starts out okay. I order my overpriced glass of wine, LSU Friend tells us what she has had there that is good, and Cupcake tells us about what happened at her grad party after we left the night before. Normal going out to eat things…
Me: “New job, new job” wine sip “new job”
LSU Friend: “Job, should I get a new job, job” wine sip “best friend getting married”
Cupcake: “Africa, new job, graduating… Eeck!”
Yes, readers, the nights shenanigans all began with a little “eeck”
The “eeck” was caused by a little cockroach climbing up the divider that hugged our table.
What followed was about ten seconds of absolute silence, wherein I (and I’m sure LSU Friend and Cupcake) had a litter internal dialogue with myself…
To Myself: “Okay. That’s gross. Wait. It’s still climbing. What do we do with it? Should I kill it? What am I going to kill it with? OMG, this is unfortunate.”
LSU Friend to Herself: “Well, shit. I finally get us to a restaurant that isn’t Chuy’s or Z-Tejas and this is what happens? Cupcake is going to freak out.”
Cupcake: “Oh, eeck, okay. This isn’t okay, but I’m going to Africa in a week and a half and I’m going to have to deal with bugs over there. Oh, but… oh, this is icky.”
Then Cupcake, like the awesome badass that she is, plucked our unlit candle off the table, and using the candle cup trapped the baby cockroach in the jar.
Me: “Yay Cupcake!”
LSU Friend: “Great, but , um… now what?”
Now what indeed? Cupcake had successfully trapped the little booger, but the roach is still alive and Cupcake can’t spend our entire diner with her hand holding a candle jar on the wall. So, she slowly slides the jar down the wall divider and secures the jar by leaning the cup with sugar against it, just in case that baby cockroach was part He Man and able to lift the decorative candle holder and escape. Success!
We then spent the next few minutes convincing ourselves that it was one lone cockroach and anywhere else we go is going have an hour and a half wait because it’s graduating weekend, so we might as well stay put and eat our Curry and Puho.
Then Cupcake goes to the bathroom, because she has the world’s tiniest bladder ever, and sees another bug. Here exact words were, “So, I saw our friend’s brother in the bathroom.”
By this time we have decided we should get rid of bug number 1, who is still trapped under the candle jar.
Cupcake: (leaning around the divider where there are two busboys and either a waitress or a manager cleaning off a table) “Excuse me Ma’am?”
Nothing
Cupcake: “Ma’am?”
Nothing
Cupcake: “Excuse me?”
Nothing
Cupcake: “Excuse me Ma’am”
Restaurant Woman: “What?!?! I’ll be with you in a second!”
Cupcake: “oh… okay.”
So now we’ve seen two cockroaches, trapped one, and Cupcake “AKA the nicest person in the world” has been snapped at for wondering, maybe, if it wouldn’t be too much to ask or too much trouble for the wait staff to kindly REMOVE THE COCKROACH from under the candle jar on our table. K, thanks.
Then our food comes out.
Here is where I’m sure most of y’all are all, “Why is Lemon Lady and her friends still sitting in this place and why oh why are they going to eat there?” I can only answer this question by of course blaming Cupcake. I blame Cupcake because she is our friend that gets grossed out by normal things like fat being on chicken and beans cooked oh so yummy in lard. She should have been jumping up from her seat and running out to the car, but instead she was just sitting there. It was like in my mind if Cupcake isn’t freaked out and if Cupcake can handle a few bugs, so can I. Then again, she also ate before we got there.
So the food is on the table and we start eating.
Cupcake: “Eeck!”
Me: (Throwing up in my mouth just a little bit) “Oh God… what?”
LSU Friend: (Spitting food in her napkin) “Oh crap… where?”
Cupcake: (Pointing) “Behind you. On the wall.”
Yup, there was brother number 3. He was crawling up the wall about three feet from my head.
Me: “Gross. It’s going to jump on my head.”
LSU Friend: “Lean on me friend.”
Cupcake: “Sir. SIR! We need help over here!”
Now, y’all tell me. What would you do if you were the owners of a restaurant where a nice group of young ladies kept seeing cockroaches everywhere? Maybe you would apologies. Maybe you could comp their ridiculous eight dollar glasses of cheap gas station wine. Let me tell you what I would not do, SEND MORE FOOD! Yeah, just in case we had forgotten if we had completely lost our appetites due to the infestation of disease carrying bugs the thoughtful management at Bombay Bistro sent over a free dessert. Oh, and it was gross. Like really gross.
Moral of this story, once every few years or so I get a great cockroach story while hanging with LSU Friend.
Oh, and Bridesmaids was really funny.
Showing posts with label embarrassing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label embarrassing. Show all posts
Monday, May 23, 2011
Friday, April 1, 2011
Embarrassing Burned Boob Story: Round Two...
Do y’all remember the story I wrote a while back about burning my left boob with my curling iron and then hanging out with my new boyfriend instead of going to the hospital? Well I always meant to write a second chapter to that tale…
When I was a freshman in college I lived with Wesley and he had a friend named Chris who would come over and hang out at the house. One day Wesley, Chris, Kenny, Robby, and I all went to Jims for breakfast. (Jims being a local 24 hour diner) It was right after Wesley and I began living together so it was nice and hot in the Texas heat and I was wearing a little halter top and shorts.
Anyway, we were seated in a round booth and after we all ordered our food I noticed Chris kept staring at my chest. After a few minutes I totally called him out on it.
Me: “Chris! Stop staring at my boobs!”
Everyone else at the table: “Hahahahahahah!!!”
Chris (turning very red): “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I really am sorry, but are you okay?”
Me: “I’d be a lot better if I knew I could eat in peace without having you droll over my lady lumps.”
Chris: “No, really… What happened?”
Me: “What do you mean what happened? Stop leering at me, man.”
Chris: “Are you okay? (Pointing at my left boob) There I mean. Are you okay?”
Me (looking down): “Oh! You mean my scar?”
Chris: “It looks pretty bad. Did you hurt yourself?”
Wesley: “You never heard the story of Lemon Lady’s scarred boobie?”
Chris: “No. What happened?”
Wesley: “Well this one day in Ger…”
Me: “I HAD A BREAST IMPLANT!”
Wesley, Robby, and Kenny: “snicker snicker…”
Chris: “Oh… wait. Breast implant? Breast? Singular? As in only one?”
Me: “Yes, my left tata just never grew like the other so as a graduation gift my parents paid for me to get one implant to even things out.”
Wesley: “Yeah, and man, she’s kinda self conscience about it, so stop staring and bring it up.”
Chris: “Oh, Lemon Lady. I’m so sorry. I mean I never knew. No one told me. (turning to the other boys) You guys should have told me!”
Three years later when I lived in Austin and that same group of people came to see me and go out downtown, we finally let Chris in on the fact that no, I didn’t have one boob implant and both my breasts are natural. He got angry and threatened to leave the bar unless we fed him large amounts of vodka. We obliged.
When I was a freshman in college I lived with Wesley and he had a friend named Chris who would come over and hang out at the house. One day Wesley, Chris, Kenny, Robby, and I all went to Jims for breakfast. (Jims being a local 24 hour diner) It was right after Wesley and I began living together so it was nice and hot in the Texas heat and I was wearing a little halter top and shorts.
Anyway, we were seated in a round booth and after we all ordered our food I noticed Chris kept staring at my chest. After a few minutes I totally called him out on it.
Me: “Chris! Stop staring at my boobs!”
Everyone else at the table: “Hahahahahahah!!!”
Chris (turning very red): “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I really am sorry, but are you okay?”
Me: “I’d be a lot better if I knew I could eat in peace without having you droll over my lady lumps.”
Chris: “No, really… What happened?”
Me: “What do you mean what happened? Stop leering at me, man.”
Chris: “Are you okay? (Pointing at my left boob) There I mean. Are you okay?”
Me (looking down): “Oh! You mean my scar?”
Chris: “It looks pretty bad. Did you hurt yourself?”
Wesley: “You never heard the story of Lemon Lady’s scarred boobie?”
Chris: “No. What happened?”
Wesley: “Well this one day in Ger…”
Me: “I HAD A BREAST IMPLANT!”
Wesley, Robby, and Kenny: “snicker snicker…”
Chris: “Oh… wait. Breast implant? Breast? Singular? As in only one?”
Me: “Yes, my left tata just never grew like the other so as a graduation gift my parents paid for me to get one implant to even things out.”
Wesley: “Yeah, and man, she’s kinda self conscience about it, so stop staring and bring it up.”
Chris: “Oh, Lemon Lady. I’m so sorry. I mean I never knew. No one told me. (turning to the other boys) You guys should have told me!”
Three years later when I lived in Austin and that same group of people came to see me and go out downtown, we finally let Chris in on the fact that no, I didn’t have one boob implant and both my breasts are natural. He got angry and threatened to leave the bar unless we fed him large amounts of vodka. We obliged.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Listen To Your Body: Drugs, Spring Break, and a Not So Scary Cop...
About three weeks ago Cupcake finally convinced me to go with her to a yoga class. I’ve done a little yoga in the past. Very little. I few years ago I went to a couple of classes and then about 6 months ago I tried Bikram Yoga. I got very bored very quickly in both those classes. However, I’m very much enjoying Cupcake’s studio , Yoga Vida. They teach Vinyasa yoga, which is… well I’ll just copy and paste this from their website because they say it best…
“Vinyasa is a Sanskrit word meaning breath-synchronized movement; breath and movement are seamlessly united in such a way that one action encourages the other. We call our classes "flow" because of the flowing connection between the breath and the body, between one posture and the next, and between one series of postures and the next. We invite you to experience this holistic fitness program for people of all ages and fitness levels that heals and detoxifies.”
Oh, and this is done in a hot room.
On Tuesday our instructor talked a lot about listening to your body and signs of fatigue or stress or dark circles, well these are ways our bodies tell us that something is wrong and we should listen. Now, I’m sure many of you are rolling your eyes and thinking to yourself, “oh that crazy Lemon Lady living in that weird city” (yeah, I know what you’re thinking Dad), but I truly believe in this because of one incident over Spring Break my senior year of college.
Spring Break my senior year really snuck up on me. I didn’t make any plans to go to some crazy destination somewhere and drink my bad grades away, nor did I even remember to ask for time off from work. I worked retail at the time and I probably would have forgotten about the break completely if it wasn’t for my manager asking me to take on more hours that week because half the staff was either in college and going to Mexico to drink all the tequila they could get their hands on or they had children who would be out of school that week to entertain at home. Because, I’m an idiot I told her sure I’d take a few more hours if she would give me the last two days off so I could try to have a little fun somewhere. I decided my fun would be driving the two hours to see my parents so I could go shopping with my mom. Seriously this was the highlight of my senior year’s Spring Break.
The other side of this story that you need to know is when I was a sophomore in High School I hurt my back pretty badly, and now I have back pain. I’ve talked to lots of doctors about and tried a lot of different medications and stretches. I’ve pretty much just learned to deal with it. At the time of this story I was still seeing my nice, young, female doctor as this was before I kicked her in the face and made her nose bleed. About a month before spring break she had prescribed me an arthritis medication hoping that would alleviate my back pain because she didn’t like me eating Motrin like candy or popping Narcotics. (Oh, sweet, sweet Vicodin…)
So I had been taking this medication for about a month, not every day, but enough to realize that it really wasn’t working. This is the sad thing. The freaking drug DIDN’T WORK, but in my mind I convinced myself that maybe I just needed to give it a little more time. I also noticed that it made me itchy. Not crazy itchy, but enough where in the middle of the night I would have to get out of bed and slather myself in lotion.
This is where I should have listened to my body. The itching should have been a giant red stop sign to me that hey, maybe my decision to keep taking this drug that is not working and seems to be having a weird reaction to my body ISN’T A GOOD IDEA!!! But, no. I wanted it to work so bad because my back hurt from working lots of hours (I worked in the stock room mostly) and I was going to see my mom and we were going to go shopping and I just wanted my two day Spring Break to be fun and perfect and pain free!!! I mean is this too much to ask?
Again, “I was going to see my mom and we were going to go shopping and I just wanted my two day Spring Break to be fun and perfect and pain free!!!”
On the morning of my first day off I woke up and my back was on fire. It was the worst it had been all week. It felt like some evil, evil little demon was pulling my skin away from my lower back and then twisting screw drivers into my spine. I was in PAIN. So, I crawled my way into the kitchen and downed a few crackers so I could crawl back into the bathroom and take two of the little blue and white pills that I wanted to work so bad. I prayed. I willed them to work. Then I took a shower and while the hot water massaged my lower back and temporally washed the little demons, I convinced myself that I would be okay and my two day Spring Break going to be awesome. It was at this point that I started getting really, really thirsty. I decided that my thirst was probably just being a tad bit dehydrated from beer the night before, so I made myself a big ‘ol cup of ice water for the drive down to my parents house.
Signs from my body: 2 (back pain and dehydration)
It was when I was walking down the stairs outside my apartment with my big ‘ol water and overnight bag when I started to feel a tad bit dizzy. Kinda like when you stand up to fast, but I was already standing. I figured this was because I was hungry, but I could make it to mom’s because if I did she would buy my lunch, thus more money to spend shopping.
Signs from my body: 3 (back pain, dehydration, and dizziness)
I had been in the car and driving for twenty minutes or so when the itchiness started… real bad. At this point in the back of my mind I know something is wrong. Something is seriously wrong. I can’t put down my big ‘ol water for fear of my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth, I’m having trouble concentrating on the road because my mind and eyes are dizzy and now I’m having to take my hands off the wheel and scratch my body every three seconds.
Signs from my body: 4 (back pain, dehydration, dizziness, and itching)
Five minutes later it hits me, like a slap to the face, I have to throw up. All the water I’ve been drinking is suddenly at the back of my throat and I can feel it. I’m doing 70 MPH on 290 just outside Dripping Springs and my eyes can’t focus and my back is on fire and I’m rubbing my legs on the back of the seat trying to relieve the constant itch and I know I have to pull over.
I pulled over on the side of the road and threw up all that water and any of the drug that was left in my stomach and yes, probably those few crackers as well. Just as I am finishing I hear a car slow and pull in behind me. I just remember being pissed off, honestly. I remember thinking, “Really? I just want to get to my parents so I can go shopping and try to have a fun day with my mom and put this whole silly over dose or bad drug reaction out of my mind and now I have to deal with some hillbilly stopping to hold my hair and ask questions, oh Hell no…”
Then my mind sobered up and I remembered that I was in the middle of nowhere and what if this person stopped to rape me, kidnap me, force me into slavery, etcetera… I’m all alone on the side of a two way highway in Texas with my car door wide open and I’m bent over at my waist not trusting my mind to be stable enough to actually stand straight and defend myself, or at least run.
Turns out “scary rapist guy” was a cop, and not a “scary rapist cop” but a nice old cop who kinda looked liked Kevin Spacey (who I love). I think at first he thought I might be drunk – which would have been bad enough – but then I told him the story about the bad drug I’ve been taking… which big surprise didn’t help my cause. Finally my brain started working again and I perked up enough to add to my story that the drug I took was prescribed by my doctor and not a narcotic. In fact it was a old person’s arthritis medication and I should have stopped taking it weeks ago, it’s just I really wanted a good two day Spring Break that involved shopping with my mom. Again, I really just wanted a good two day Spring Break with my mom. By this time he had gotten me a bottle of water from his car and was laughing at my story. While he stayed with me for a few minutes to make sure the dizziness was gone he told me a story about his daughter and how she thought she overdosed on Benadryl but really she just ate some unwashed lettuce. Yeah, my crazy Spring Break story can now be lumped in with some Benadryl bimbo that can't wash her veggies... great...
After twenty minutes I got into my car and drove off with no more itching, upset stomach, or dizziness. I got to my parents an hour and a half later with just some good ‘ol bad pain. I took some Motrin and sucked it up, so I could at least pretend to have a good time shopping with my mom.
My mom and I bought matching shoes at Nordstoms. They were these cute little summer wedges in red and blue. The next week I realized exactly how bad my back must have hurt because those shoes that were all cute and comfy in the store, HURT LIKE A BITCH the second I tried to take a step in them outside my apartment door.
Signs from my body I didn’t listen too: Back Pain, Dehydration, Dizziness, Itching, Upset Stomach
Signs from my body I did listen too: Foot Pinching – I never wore those shoes ever again
“Vinyasa is a Sanskrit word meaning breath-synchronized movement; breath and movement are seamlessly united in such a way that one action encourages the other. We call our classes "flow" because of the flowing connection between the breath and the body, between one posture and the next, and between one series of postures and the next. We invite you to experience this holistic fitness program for people of all ages and fitness levels that heals and detoxifies.”
Oh, and this is done in a hot room.
On Tuesday our instructor talked a lot about listening to your body and signs of fatigue or stress or dark circles, well these are ways our bodies tell us that something is wrong and we should listen. Now, I’m sure many of you are rolling your eyes and thinking to yourself, “oh that crazy Lemon Lady living in that weird city” (yeah, I know what you’re thinking Dad), but I truly believe in this because of one incident over Spring Break my senior year of college.
Spring Break my senior year really snuck up on me. I didn’t make any plans to go to some crazy destination somewhere and drink my bad grades away, nor did I even remember to ask for time off from work. I worked retail at the time and I probably would have forgotten about the break completely if it wasn’t for my manager asking me to take on more hours that week because half the staff was either in college and going to Mexico to drink all the tequila they could get their hands on or they had children who would be out of school that week to entertain at home. Because, I’m an idiot I told her sure I’d take a few more hours if she would give me the last two days off so I could try to have a little fun somewhere. I decided my fun would be driving the two hours to see my parents so I could go shopping with my mom. Seriously this was the highlight of my senior year’s Spring Break.
The other side of this story that you need to know is when I was a sophomore in High School I hurt my back pretty badly, and now I have back pain. I’ve talked to lots of doctors about and tried a lot of different medications and stretches. I’ve pretty much just learned to deal with it. At the time of this story I was still seeing my nice, young, female doctor as this was before I kicked her in the face and made her nose bleed. About a month before spring break she had prescribed me an arthritis medication hoping that would alleviate my back pain because she didn’t like me eating Motrin like candy or popping Narcotics. (Oh, sweet, sweet Vicodin…)
So I had been taking this medication for about a month, not every day, but enough to realize that it really wasn’t working. This is the sad thing. The freaking drug DIDN’T WORK, but in my mind I convinced myself that maybe I just needed to give it a little more time. I also noticed that it made me itchy. Not crazy itchy, but enough where in the middle of the night I would have to get out of bed and slather myself in lotion.
This is where I should have listened to my body. The itching should have been a giant red stop sign to me that hey, maybe my decision to keep taking this drug that is not working and seems to be having a weird reaction to my body ISN’T A GOOD IDEA!!! But, no. I wanted it to work so bad because my back hurt from working lots of hours (I worked in the stock room mostly) and I was going to see my mom and we were going to go shopping and I just wanted my two day Spring Break to be fun and perfect and pain free!!! I mean is this too much to ask?
Again, “I was going to see my mom and we were going to go shopping and I just wanted my two day Spring Break to be fun and perfect and pain free!!!”
On the morning of my first day off I woke up and my back was on fire. It was the worst it had been all week. It felt like some evil, evil little demon was pulling my skin away from my lower back and then twisting screw drivers into my spine. I was in PAIN. So, I crawled my way into the kitchen and downed a few crackers so I could crawl back into the bathroom and take two of the little blue and white pills that I wanted to work so bad. I prayed. I willed them to work. Then I took a shower and while the hot water massaged my lower back and temporally washed the little demons, I convinced myself that I would be okay and my two day Spring Break going to be awesome. It was at this point that I started getting really, really thirsty. I decided that my thirst was probably just being a tad bit dehydrated from beer the night before, so I made myself a big ‘ol cup of ice water for the drive down to my parents house.
Signs from my body: 2 (back pain and dehydration)
It was when I was walking down the stairs outside my apartment with my big ‘ol water and overnight bag when I started to feel a tad bit dizzy. Kinda like when you stand up to fast, but I was already standing. I figured this was because I was hungry, but I could make it to mom’s because if I did she would buy my lunch, thus more money to spend shopping.
Signs from my body: 3 (back pain, dehydration, and dizziness)
I had been in the car and driving for twenty minutes or so when the itchiness started… real bad. At this point in the back of my mind I know something is wrong. Something is seriously wrong. I can’t put down my big ‘ol water for fear of my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth, I’m having trouble concentrating on the road because my mind and eyes are dizzy and now I’m having to take my hands off the wheel and scratch my body every three seconds.
Signs from my body: 4 (back pain, dehydration, dizziness, and itching)
Five minutes later it hits me, like a slap to the face, I have to throw up. All the water I’ve been drinking is suddenly at the back of my throat and I can feel it. I’m doing 70 MPH on 290 just outside Dripping Springs and my eyes can’t focus and my back is on fire and I’m rubbing my legs on the back of the seat trying to relieve the constant itch and I know I have to pull over.
I pulled over on the side of the road and threw up all that water and any of the drug that was left in my stomach and yes, probably those few crackers as well. Just as I am finishing I hear a car slow and pull in behind me. I just remember being pissed off, honestly. I remember thinking, “Really? I just want to get to my parents so I can go shopping and try to have a fun day with my mom and put this whole silly over dose or bad drug reaction out of my mind and now I have to deal with some hillbilly stopping to hold my hair and ask questions, oh Hell no…”
Then my mind sobered up and I remembered that I was in the middle of nowhere and what if this person stopped to rape me, kidnap me, force me into slavery, etcetera… I’m all alone on the side of a two way highway in Texas with my car door wide open and I’m bent over at my waist not trusting my mind to be stable enough to actually stand straight and defend myself, or at least run.
Turns out “scary rapist guy” was a cop, and not a “scary rapist cop” but a nice old cop who kinda looked liked Kevin Spacey (who I love). I think at first he thought I might be drunk – which would have been bad enough – but then I told him the story about the bad drug I’ve been taking… which big surprise didn’t help my cause. Finally my brain started working again and I perked up enough to add to my story that the drug I took was prescribed by my doctor and not a narcotic. In fact it was a old person’s arthritis medication and I should have stopped taking it weeks ago, it’s just I really wanted a good two day Spring Break that involved shopping with my mom. Again, I really just wanted a good two day Spring Break with my mom. By this time he had gotten me a bottle of water from his car and was laughing at my story. While he stayed with me for a few minutes to make sure the dizziness was gone he told me a story about his daughter and how she thought she overdosed on Benadryl but really she just ate some unwashed lettuce. Yeah, my crazy Spring Break story can now be lumped in with some Benadryl bimbo that can't wash her veggies... great...
After twenty minutes I got into my car and drove off with no more itching, upset stomach, or dizziness. I got to my parents an hour and a half later with just some good ‘ol bad pain. I took some Motrin and sucked it up, so I could at least pretend to have a good time shopping with my mom.
My mom and I bought matching shoes at Nordstoms. They were these cute little summer wedges in red and blue. The next week I realized exactly how bad my back must have hurt because those shoes that were all cute and comfy in the store, HURT LIKE A BITCH the second I tried to take a step in them outside my apartment door.
Signs from my body I didn’t listen too: Back Pain, Dehydration, Dizziness, Itching, Upset Stomach
Signs from my body I did listen too: Foot Pinching – I never wore those shoes ever again
Monday, November 29, 2010
First Post After Turkey Day and I Would Rather Be Sleeping...
First work day back from Thanksgiving Break sucks.
Here’s your super awkward embarrassing story for the day.
Once upon a time I was 12 and in 6th grade… for a whole year… FML.
You’re welcome.
Here’s your super awkward embarrassing story for the day.
Once upon a time I was 12 and in 6th grade… for a whole year… FML.
You’re welcome.
Monday, November 22, 2010
The Night I Gave Myself a 3rd Degree Burn And Hung Out With My Boyfriend Instead of Going To The Hospital...
Okay, the time has come. I can’t continue with all these frivolous blog posts about fashion and cookies and TV Shows. It’s time to get back to the roots of my four month old blog. (Yeah, deep, deep roots.)
It’s time for another ultra embarrassing, ultra awkward, ultra “OMG! Is this really my life?” story. I mean there’s nothing like a little embarrassing story to make your Monday, right? I call it the story of the night I gave myself a third degree burn and then decided not to go to the hospital and hang out with my friends instead…
It was Friday night sometime around the end of February of my junior year (still living in Germany) and I was looking forward to hanging out with my new boyfriend, Matt and some other friends. Matt and our other friends, Sean and Kristen, had been a good influence on me and when I say “hang out” I really do just mean that. I think our big plans were to go bowling or maybe see a movie… on base which meant no ordering beer mixed with soda at the German movie theater off base. (And yes, beer mixed with Coke was on the menu and not some weird drink the local American teenagers wanted.) So, yeah, there I was 17 and all excited to do very PG activities that Friday night.
I got home from school around 4 and the plan was for Matt to pick me up around 6 to go grab a bite to eat and then hook up with our friends. So, I got home and since there was no way I was going to do homework on a Friday night and since we only had five English channels on our TV, I decided to take a long bath (something I still love doing) and actually do my hair and plan a cute outfit instead of just throwing it in a ponytail and wearing jeans and my Ramstein Royals sweatshirt.
So I took a bath…
Me: (in the bath) "Ahh…"
Bubble Bath Bubbles: "Pop! Pop!"
Me: “I love baths.”
Hair: “You should wash me. I’m dirty.”
Me: “But I’m taking a bubble bath hair. I can’t wash you in my bubbles.”
Hair: “But I’m dirty…”
Me: “But if I wash you, you will not have enough time to dry and then you will be wet and I will get sick because there is still snow on the ground and duh, it’s cold. (No, I didn’t own a hair dryer. In fact I still don’t own a hair dryer.) I know! I won’t wash you, but I’ll curl you and make you all pretty and then Matt will fall even more in love with me and we’ll live happily ever after…”
Hair: “Yeah… I don’t know about that… I was really just looking for a wash…”
(Note to readers: I do not actually have conversations with my hair. The previous conversation was for blog humor reasons only… moving on…)
I got out of the bath and immediately ran to the thermostat on the wall and cranked it up to 90 degrees. I did this whenever my parents weren’t home and I was cold. (Sorry Mom and Dad and your check books.) So, with my room all nice and toasty and my curling iron warming up, I started looking around my room and closet for something fun to wear even though it was like 12 degrees outside and I would be forced to wear a coat over anything. I couldn’t decide on an outfit, so I sat down at my vanity to do my hair instead.
So, here’s the mental picture… I’m sitting at my vanity. I’ve put on makeup and pants, but I haven’t done my hair yet or put on a shirt. This is honestly something I can’t remember. I can’t remember why I was sitting at my vanity topless. Well, not completely topless. I had on my favorite bra from back then. It was lavender and had little butterflies on it and I bought it at H&M and it had matching panties and I loved it and wore it all the time. Okay, so I’m sitting in my bra, curling my hair, probably jamming out to Linkin Park or New Found Glory or some other God awful band when disaster strikes.
As I am curling a front section of my hair I DROP MY CURLING IRON for no apparent reason. I didn’t drop it because my music skipped or because I heard one of my parents walking in the front door and the heat was still jacked up to 90 and it felt like a F-ing Amazonian jungle in our house or because the phone rang or because I have some medical condition where, although thousands of people have looked for a cure, I just randomly drop shit all the time and it’s really quite sad because I honest to God can’t help it. No, the was no reason at all except my hand just let go of the hot iron it was holding near my face.
It fell. The curling iron fell for what seemed like minutes as I tried to get my hands to keep working. Mentally I was yelling at my arm to move faster and my thumbs to do what evolution had made them do which was grab on to things… but I wasn’t fast enough and the hot curling iron landed. It landed right on my left boob.
Here’s the thing, too… I had zero boobs back in the day. Seriously I was barely out of an A cup until I turned 22 and the damn things just grew over night. But, on that horrible, horrible night I was wearing my favorite bra. It had cute butterflies and was a pretty color, and (I don’t think I mentioned this) was padded like I was fearful of drowning and my bra would be the only thing around to save me from dying a watery, cold death. The clamp on the curling iron got caught in the padding and underwire, thus trapping the hot medieval torture devise in my “cleavage” and not letting it keep falling like gravity, and my boob, wanted.
By the time my hands and thumbs remembered how to work and made it down to save my beautiful, soft, booby skin… it was too late.
Me: “OOOUUUCCCHHHHH!!!”
My Left Boob: “HOT! HOT! HOT! Very Fucking HOT down here!!!”
Me: “OMG! What do I do? What do I do? OMG? Shit! Shit! Shit!”
My Left Boob: “Help me! Help me! So hot! Help me!”
As the skin on my left boob is burning like Hell (yes, that pun was intended, thank you very much) I did what any 17 year old girl would do, I put a cold wash cloth on it and slathered my breast with Vaseline because in my mind Vaseline cured everything. Kinda like the Dad in My Big Fat Greek Wedding. Except he was all about the Windex and my love was petroleum jelly. Sitting on the couch half naked with a cold towel on my chest, I started to feel better pretty quick.
Me: “Okay Lemon Lady, calm down. You are okay. Life is okay. Crisis averted.”
So what did I do next?
Did I…
A: Call off my fun night with friends and lay face and boobs down in a vat of ice cold water.
B: Call my mother crying because I totally disfigured myself for life.
C: Call my mother asking if we had any drugs for burns because I “had a little accident”.
D: Continue to curl my hair and get dressed for the fun night we had planned.
If you guessed C and D, you are right. I did call my mom and she told me we didn’t have anything, but I wasn’t too worried because I had slathered my wound in Vaseline and I figured it would be all cured up by the morning. I wasn’t until I had gotten completely dresses in my jeans and cute sweater when I realized things might be a little worse than I thought. My left boob was on fire! It felt like the curling iron was still attached and would always be there burning and burning my flesh.
Me: (to myself) “Wow, this really hurts. I hope I didn’t do any lasting damage. I wish the Vaseline would work faster and make it stop burning. I wish we had some burn cream.”
IDEA!!!
So, I called my new boyfriend, who I really, really liked, and told him I burned my boob and did he have any burn cream because I’m pretty sure it’s going to fall off if I don’t do something to help it out. Then I hung up the phone and died just a little bit on the inside.
Doorbell: “Ring ring!”
Me: (opening the door) “Thank God you are here! Give me the cream! I need the cream!”
Matt: “Oh, were you serious? I mean I know you were serious, but were you serious, serious? We didn’t have any. I did look! But, yeah we didn’t have any… Should we go to the Shoppette (corner gas station to you non-military folks) and see if they have any? I’m so sorry… Is it that bad???”
Me: “No, I’ll be okay. It’s not that bad.”
And honest to God, it wasn’t that bad. When I opened the door and saw Matt standing there I did feel better. I felt the pain slipping away and I knew everything, including my left boob, would be okay. In my retarded 17 year old mind the reason for this was Matt. My amazing new boyfriend had saved me from the fire of my boob and we would live happily ever after. Yeah, no. Love was not the magic that caused the burning under my sweater to stop, THE FUCKING FREEZING AIR OF GERMANY IN FEBRUARY caused the burning to momentarily cease. I learned this three minutes later when we got into his still warm car and the fire started again…
Me: (to myself) “Oh, God, it’s getting all hot again. No, no more burning. I can’t handle the burning. I need the magic burn cream. Fuck Vaseline! I need the cream…”
Matt: “You okay?”
Me: “Yeah, of course… What could be wrong? I’m fine…”
Matt: “It’s just you’re kinda squirming around a lot and sweating. Are you hot?”
Me: “Yes! I’m so hot!” (rolling down the window and letting the snow blow in) “Ah… so much better…”
Matt: “Okay…”
I found out from Matt the plan of the night was to meet up with friends Sean and Kristen at Popeyes and then go bowling because Kristen wasn’t going to be able to stay out very late that night. I was feeling great when we arrived to Popeyes because I had the windows rolled down the entire car ride there (all of four minutes), so it wasn’t until we arrived and walked inside when I started to get uncomfortable again. To top it all off, half of my high school was there. (Okay, not half, but Popeyes was one of like three places to eat on base and it was Friday night, so there were like eight or nine other people I went to school with there.) I couldn’t eat. Putting hot fried chicken in my mouth just seemed to make it worse. If my mouth got hot, then my left boob got even hotter. About half way through my first piece of chicken I just couldn’t take it anymore and I just up and ran outside. I didn’t stop to tell anyone where I was going or to put on my coat, but Matt, Sean, and Kristen all watched me sprint outside in relief. And what relief it was. The cold air was my drug and I needed it. I put snow in my hands to get them really cold, I danced around to create wind, anything to stop the burning!
Matt: (walking up to me) “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Me: (holding my sweater away from my body fanning cold, freezing air down my shirt.) “Me, yeah sure… I’m doing great.”
Matt: “I don’t think you’re doing so good…”
Me: (grabbing snow until it melts making my hands super, super cold and then putting them down my shirt) “No, really I’m okay.”
Matt: “Lemon Lady, you’re feeling yourself up with icicles.”
Me: “Okay you’re right. I’m not okay. I burned the shit of out of my left boob trying to get all pretty for you and now I’ll probably be all permanently disfigured at age 17. And I feel like it’s on fire. I feel like my boob is on fire. No, I’m not okay.”
And then I showed my wonderful and amazing new boyfriend my scalded left boob outside of Popeyes in the snow.
...yeah...
I sucked it up and managed to get through the night, but I had to tell Sean and Kristen why I was acting all weird and keep running out of the bowling alley to rub snow up under my sweater. All those other kids I went to school with who were at Popeyes or later at the bowling alley just thought I had lost my mind. And by the time Matt dropped me off back at home that night, it really did feel better, although I slept with a cold washcloth under my T-shirt that night. I told my mom, kinda what happened the next day. She asked me if I found the burn cream I had called her about and why I needed it in the first place, so I told her I dropped my curling iron on my chest, but that I was fine. She didn’t understand the magnitude of the burn until we went to the island of Crete for spring break and I had to make sure my bathing suit top covered up the huge scab on my boob so it wouldn’t get re-burned in the sun. (The scab itself was about the size of a quarter… a kinda stretched out quarter.) She was pretty horrified and told me I should have told her and we should have gone to the doctor. Um, my bad mom, but I wanted to eat fried chicken and bowl with my boyfriend.
The scab fell off months later, but left a very sexy, very attractive white scar (again about the size quarter) on my left boob just where my bikini top would start. It finally faded away about two years ago. Meaning whenever I was naked, whenever I showered, whenever I wore low cut tops for five years, I was always reminded about that time I tried to be pretty and curl my hair for my new boyfriend.
It’s time for another ultra embarrassing, ultra awkward, ultra “OMG! Is this really my life?” story. I mean there’s nothing like a little embarrassing story to make your Monday, right? I call it the story of the night I gave myself a third degree burn and then decided not to go to the hospital and hang out with my friends instead…
It was Friday night sometime around the end of February of my junior year (still living in Germany) and I was looking forward to hanging out with my new boyfriend, Matt and some other friends. Matt and our other friends, Sean and Kristen, had been a good influence on me and when I say “hang out” I really do just mean that. I think our big plans were to go bowling or maybe see a movie… on base which meant no ordering beer mixed with soda at the German movie theater off base. (And yes, beer mixed with Coke was on the menu and not some weird drink the local American teenagers wanted.) So, yeah, there I was 17 and all excited to do very PG activities that Friday night.
I got home from school around 4 and the plan was for Matt to pick me up around 6 to go grab a bite to eat and then hook up with our friends. So, I got home and since there was no way I was going to do homework on a Friday night and since we only had five English channels on our TV, I decided to take a long bath (something I still love doing) and actually do my hair and plan a cute outfit instead of just throwing it in a ponytail and wearing jeans and my Ramstein Royals sweatshirt.
So I took a bath…
Me: (in the bath) "Ahh…"
Bubble Bath Bubbles: "Pop! Pop!"
Me: “I love baths.”
Hair: “You should wash me. I’m dirty.”
Me: “But I’m taking a bubble bath hair. I can’t wash you in my bubbles.”
Hair: “But I’m dirty…”
Me: “But if I wash you, you will not have enough time to dry and then you will be wet and I will get sick because there is still snow on the ground and duh, it’s cold. (No, I didn’t own a hair dryer. In fact I still don’t own a hair dryer.) I know! I won’t wash you, but I’ll curl you and make you all pretty and then Matt will fall even more in love with me and we’ll live happily ever after…”
Hair: “Yeah… I don’t know about that… I was really just looking for a wash…”
(Note to readers: I do not actually have conversations with my hair. The previous conversation was for blog humor reasons only… moving on…)
I got out of the bath and immediately ran to the thermostat on the wall and cranked it up to 90 degrees. I did this whenever my parents weren’t home and I was cold. (Sorry Mom and Dad and your check books.) So, with my room all nice and toasty and my curling iron warming up, I started looking around my room and closet for something fun to wear even though it was like 12 degrees outside and I would be forced to wear a coat over anything. I couldn’t decide on an outfit, so I sat down at my vanity to do my hair instead.
So, here’s the mental picture… I’m sitting at my vanity. I’ve put on makeup and pants, but I haven’t done my hair yet or put on a shirt. This is honestly something I can’t remember. I can’t remember why I was sitting at my vanity topless. Well, not completely topless. I had on my favorite bra from back then. It was lavender and had little butterflies on it and I bought it at H&M and it had matching panties and I loved it and wore it all the time. Okay, so I’m sitting in my bra, curling my hair, probably jamming out to Linkin Park or New Found Glory or some other God awful band when disaster strikes.
As I am curling a front section of my hair I DROP MY CURLING IRON for no apparent reason. I didn’t drop it because my music skipped or because I heard one of my parents walking in the front door and the heat was still jacked up to 90 and it felt like a F-ing Amazonian jungle in our house or because the phone rang or because I have some medical condition where, although thousands of people have looked for a cure, I just randomly drop shit all the time and it’s really quite sad because I honest to God can’t help it. No, the was no reason at all except my hand just let go of the hot iron it was holding near my face.
It fell. The curling iron fell for what seemed like minutes as I tried to get my hands to keep working. Mentally I was yelling at my arm to move faster and my thumbs to do what evolution had made them do which was grab on to things… but I wasn’t fast enough and the hot curling iron landed. It landed right on my left boob.
Here’s the thing, too… I had zero boobs back in the day. Seriously I was barely out of an A cup until I turned 22 and the damn things just grew over night. But, on that horrible, horrible night I was wearing my favorite bra. It had cute butterflies and was a pretty color, and (I don’t think I mentioned this) was padded like I was fearful of drowning and my bra would be the only thing around to save me from dying a watery, cold death. The clamp on the curling iron got caught in the padding and underwire, thus trapping the hot medieval torture devise in my “cleavage” and not letting it keep falling like gravity, and my boob, wanted.
By the time my hands and thumbs remembered how to work and made it down to save my beautiful, soft, booby skin… it was too late.
Me: “OOOUUUCCCHHHHH!!!”
My Left Boob: “HOT! HOT! HOT! Very Fucking HOT down here!!!”
Me: “OMG! What do I do? What do I do? OMG? Shit! Shit! Shit!”
My Left Boob: “Help me! Help me! So hot! Help me!”
As the skin on my left boob is burning like Hell (yes, that pun was intended, thank you very much) I did what any 17 year old girl would do, I put a cold wash cloth on it and slathered my breast with Vaseline because in my mind Vaseline cured everything. Kinda like the Dad in My Big Fat Greek Wedding. Except he was all about the Windex and my love was petroleum jelly. Sitting on the couch half naked with a cold towel on my chest, I started to feel better pretty quick.
Me: “Okay Lemon Lady, calm down. You are okay. Life is okay. Crisis averted.”
So what did I do next?
Did I…
A: Call off my fun night with friends and lay face and boobs down in a vat of ice cold water.
B: Call my mother crying because I totally disfigured myself for life.
C: Call my mother asking if we had any drugs for burns because I “had a little accident”.
D: Continue to curl my hair and get dressed for the fun night we had planned.
If you guessed C and D, you are right. I did call my mom and she told me we didn’t have anything, but I wasn’t too worried because I had slathered my wound in Vaseline and I figured it would be all cured up by the morning. I wasn’t until I had gotten completely dresses in my jeans and cute sweater when I realized things might be a little worse than I thought. My left boob was on fire! It felt like the curling iron was still attached and would always be there burning and burning my flesh.
Me: (to myself) “Wow, this really hurts. I hope I didn’t do any lasting damage. I wish the Vaseline would work faster and make it stop burning. I wish we had some burn cream.”
IDEA!!!
So, I called my new boyfriend, who I really, really liked, and told him I burned my boob and did he have any burn cream because I’m pretty sure it’s going to fall off if I don’t do something to help it out. Then I hung up the phone and died just a little bit on the inside.
Doorbell: “Ring ring!”
Me: (opening the door) “Thank God you are here! Give me the cream! I need the cream!”
Matt: “Oh, were you serious? I mean I know you were serious, but were you serious, serious? We didn’t have any. I did look! But, yeah we didn’t have any… Should we go to the Shoppette (corner gas station to you non-military folks) and see if they have any? I’m so sorry… Is it that bad???”
Me: “No, I’ll be okay. It’s not that bad.”
And honest to God, it wasn’t that bad. When I opened the door and saw Matt standing there I did feel better. I felt the pain slipping away and I knew everything, including my left boob, would be okay. In my retarded 17 year old mind the reason for this was Matt. My amazing new boyfriend had saved me from the fire of my boob and we would live happily ever after. Yeah, no. Love was not the magic that caused the burning under my sweater to stop, THE FUCKING FREEZING AIR OF GERMANY IN FEBRUARY caused the burning to momentarily cease. I learned this three minutes later when we got into his still warm car and the fire started again…
Me: (to myself) “Oh, God, it’s getting all hot again. No, no more burning. I can’t handle the burning. I need the magic burn cream. Fuck Vaseline! I need the cream…”
Matt: “You okay?”
Me: “Yeah, of course… What could be wrong? I’m fine…”
Matt: “It’s just you’re kinda squirming around a lot and sweating. Are you hot?”
Me: “Yes! I’m so hot!” (rolling down the window and letting the snow blow in) “Ah… so much better…”
Matt: “Okay…”
I found out from Matt the plan of the night was to meet up with friends Sean and Kristen at Popeyes and then go bowling because Kristen wasn’t going to be able to stay out very late that night. I was feeling great when we arrived to Popeyes because I had the windows rolled down the entire car ride there (all of four minutes), so it wasn’t until we arrived and walked inside when I started to get uncomfortable again. To top it all off, half of my high school was there. (Okay, not half, but Popeyes was one of like three places to eat on base and it was Friday night, so there were like eight or nine other people I went to school with there.) I couldn’t eat. Putting hot fried chicken in my mouth just seemed to make it worse. If my mouth got hot, then my left boob got even hotter. About half way through my first piece of chicken I just couldn’t take it anymore and I just up and ran outside. I didn’t stop to tell anyone where I was going or to put on my coat, but Matt, Sean, and Kristen all watched me sprint outside in relief. And what relief it was. The cold air was my drug and I needed it. I put snow in my hands to get them really cold, I danced around to create wind, anything to stop the burning!
Matt: (walking up to me) “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Me: (holding my sweater away from my body fanning cold, freezing air down my shirt.) “Me, yeah sure… I’m doing great.”
Matt: “I don’t think you’re doing so good…”
Me: (grabbing snow until it melts making my hands super, super cold and then putting them down my shirt) “No, really I’m okay.”
Matt: “Lemon Lady, you’re feeling yourself up with icicles.”
Me: “Okay you’re right. I’m not okay. I burned the shit of out of my left boob trying to get all pretty for you and now I’ll probably be all permanently disfigured at age 17. And I feel like it’s on fire. I feel like my boob is on fire. No, I’m not okay.”
And then I showed my wonderful and amazing new boyfriend my scalded left boob outside of Popeyes in the snow.
...yeah...
I sucked it up and managed to get through the night, but I had to tell Sean and Kristen why I was acting all weird and keep running out of the bowling alley to rub snow up under my sweater. All those other kids I went to school with who were at Popeyes or later at the bowling alley just thought I had lost my mind. And by the time Matt dropped me off back at home that night, it really did feel better, although I slept with a cold washcloth under my T-shirt that night. I told my mom, kinda what happened the next day. She asked me if I found the burn cream I had called her about and why I needed it in the first place, so I told her I dropped my curling iron on my chest, but that I was fine. She didn’t understand the magnitude of the burn until we went to the island of Crete for spring break and I had to make sure my bathing suit top covered up the huge scab on my boob so it wouldn’t get re-burned in the sun. (The scab itself was about the size of a quarter… a kinda stretched out quarter.) She was pretty horrified and told me I should have told her and we should have gone to the doctor. Um, my bad mom, but I wanted to eat fried chicken and bowl with my boyfriend.
The scab fell off months later, but left a very sexy, very attractive white scar (again about the size quarter) on my left boob just where my bikini top would start. It finally faded away about two years ago. Meaning whenever I was naked, whenever I showered, whenever I wore low cut tops for five years, I was always reminded about that time I tried to be pretty and curl my hair for my new boyfriend.
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