Archive for the ‘My Brain Hurts’ Category

As if I needed any additional reasons to consider having an entire team of mental health professionals looking after me, I’ve begun to have these hilarious dreams that seem to like to involve complex scientific problems.

The first I like to call:

The Marines Make Accidental Dolphins

My Hub asked me to consult with him on a case involving a Marine. This gentleman was involved in some sort of accident while diving. We walk into this very elaborate laboratory (we’re wearing lab coats and everything) and Hub is telling me I don’t need the bunsen burner lighter thingie that was in my pocket but I ignored him.

There is a very scared looking man in pair of spandex bike shorts with EKG electrodes in random spots on his body (why on the calf?) and Hub is talking very intensely with the people standing around him.

“Okay, kid, get in,” Hub says to the scared Marine guy.

And he turns and dives into this swimming pool (don’t all high end laboratories have indoor swimming pools) and WA LA…. he’s a shiny black dolphin swimming and jumping around the pool.


Then we have the answer to all our prayers:

Sheep Hold the Answer for Anti-Aging

I walk into a lab where Hub and Kittie greet me at the door with big smiles. “We have solved human aging,” Kittie tells me. I’m very excited about this. Aging sucks. Hub tells me, “We have isolated a chromosome in sheep. It’s very hard to get to as it lives in the layer of skin that is right up against the muscle. Here, look.” And I look through a microscope at some cells. Kittie explains that when combined with a lotion and placed on the skin you will never age there again. No wrinkles, no age spots. Ever. I ask what it’s called and Hub tells me, “Well it’s the B.A. Chromosome.”

I straight face him. “What did you say?”

He looks confused, as if he can’t understand why he needs to repeat it. “The B.A. Chromosome.”

I start laughing and say, “You named it the BA Chromosome????? BAAAA….. BAAAAAAAAA.”

And now I’m bleating like a sheep and everyone is looking at me like I’m crazy and I’m laughing and baa-ing.

I really kind of hope these are the sheep that have the chromosome.

I really kind of hope these are the sheep that have the chromosome.

When I wake up and tell Hub about these dreams he just shakes his head and walks away. I guess I’m not getting a laboratory. Or a lab coat. Pity.



Hub and I have conversation that border on insane. Randomly unnecessary conversations that include actual information that may or may not be good for either of us.

ME:  Do you have ten seconds to talk to me?

HUB: I guess.

ME: I want your opinion on something. I have three phrases that I…

HUB: (interrupting) One thousand.

ME: No. Three phrases that….

HUB: (interrupting) Two thousand.

ME: Are you counting ten seconds?

HUB: No.

ME: **sigh** I have three phrases that I am going to make my personal goal to never have included in a sentence that contains my name.

HUB: This should be good. Is one of them “and then a reasonable discussion broke out”?

ME: Dammit.

HUB: No?

ME: The first one is “human trafficking”.

HUB: That makes sense.

ME: And “incarcerated for”.

HUB: This is just for going forward right?

ME: I’ve never been incarcerated, asshole!!!!

HUB: Keep going.

ME: And “seen fleeing the scene”.

HUB: That last one especially, please.

ME: My fourth place finisher is “where a body was found”.

HUB: Here are the phrases I WANT in a sentence with my name. “Remained standing after the huge conflargration”.

ME: Goddamnit.

HUB: “After destroying the last alien ship”.

ME: What?

HUB: “The last male survivor in a shipwreck of swimsuit models”.

ME: I’m finished with you.

HUB: I spent $13 on a new battery for my phone.

ME: Why is that something you WANT your name associated with?

HUB: I’m telling you something I did today.

ME: Go outside and look for UFO’s wouldja.


Screen Shot 2015-01-21 at 2.20.02 PM



I hate myself. Ok not really but kind of. I’m so sick of how I look and how I feel. I’ve been working out like crazy. I mean my fucking fitness is amazing. I can do pushups and an hour of cardio like it’s no big deal but I am still a fat bitch. Can I please not drop something onto the floor of the car and not be able to reach it because my god damn stomach is in the way?

My Hub is so sweet……”Be fat or be thin. But shut the fuck up about it.” I get it. He doesn’t want bitching and that is fine. It isn’t like I’m on the cusp of being a super model. But MOTHER FUCK I’m so sick of being fat.

So here’s the deal. I wore a 2pc bathing suit and had muscle tone when I found out my daughter was on the way. Since then I have gained exactly 100 pounds and I don’t even want to be in family photographs.

Does anyone I know sell meth?

All I can do is hope. Hope my workouts start to show a difference. And hope my new change of diet (Atkins) starting today make a difference.

I hate myself today.

You remember Michelle Miles from my post earlier this week, right? If not go check it out! We had lunch today and stuffed ourselves with Mexican food and talked about people we don’t like and generally enjoyed being the most awesome people there. The place was kind of empty so we were automatically the coolest ones. So now I smell like wood smoke and queso. Let me also pat myself on the back for not gorging myself. Usually I do and as I’m re-learning to eat and be healthy I have to remember to push the stupid plate away…which I did!

So I get back to the office and dove into the stuff I needed to wrap up before the end of the day and put The Empire Strikes Back into my computer for background noise. And then I hear the line that Luke looks strong enough to pull the ears off of a gundar. “What does a gundar look like anyway?” I think and am surprised this has never before crossed my mind. (I am a full time nerd.)

I guess he looks strong...

I guess he looks strong…

I have Google which, of course, means I can find anything anytime I want to. So I type “What does a gundar look like?”

This was an enormous mistake, folks.

This is an example of what I got (edited for content and size for the sake of your eyes and because I’m already going to have nightmares of some kind and ALSO the guy on the right is wearing a loin cloth {sort of} and it’s really hard to see but I did NOT POST nudity because, trust me, I cut that out and you don’t want to see it because it’s super duper horrifying and even cropping the photo made me feel ‘off’ and not in a good way):


No. Just... NO!

No. Just… NO!


I immediately message Hub:

ME: Why didn’t you warn me not to Google about random Star Wars creatures because I don’t know what the hell a “gundar” is but do not go looking for one.

HUB: Excuse me??

ME: Luke looks strong enough to pull the ears off a gundar so I went looking for one and I shouldn’t have. (sending him the link)

HUB: Nick.

ME: Well I don’t care what a “gundar” is or supposed to actually be because after that I’m just going to swear off Googling. In my mind I’m going to just imagine a gundar is a weird badly tempered rabbit. Cos we are talking about Luke.

HUB: Nick.

ME: Especially since he’s gotta be strong enough to pull its ears off which, frankly, is kind of mean. So this badly tempered rabbit must be really difficult to deal with.

HUB: NICK! Your first mistake is that it is an “gundarK”.

ME: Motherfucker! What??

HUB: Go try that one.

ME: I’m scared to.

HUB: I think you are safe on this one.

ME: (after Googling) OMG it’s a damn CHUPACABRA!!!!!!

HUB: Not really.

ME: It really kind of is except for the feet part.

HUB: Okay. I see where this is going and I gotta go. See you tonight.

Much more appealing.


Now that's what I'm talking about.

Now that’s what I’m talking about.

I fell off the blog wagon. Sorry my dear (few) readers and (a few more) friends. I won’t hit 365 posts for the year but let’s see if I can’t get back into the swing.

I have been completely immersed in the Olympics and cannot wait for the USA v. Canada hockey game tomorrow.

I also have been struggling with my weight loss a little bit. My workouts are going really well. I mean super good. I can feel myself getting stronger and the increase in energy is terrific. My eating tends to be a problem and since I have so much weight to lose I get very angry with myself. To the point of my daily commutes being a perfect quiet time to berate myself for a half an hour each way. I’m fighting through it and have decided to kick start this shit by cutting out carbs and sugar as much as possible. Loading up on lean meat, protein shakes, and leafy greens. And guzzling water as if my life depends upon it. I also need to stay off the scale. Since I’m lifting I know that I’m gaining muscle but the pounds are not falling off. Yet.

Topic for tomorrow will certainly be hockey. But I need very much to have a True Detective post because that show IS AWESOME!

Thanks to those how are hanging in there with me!  And, of course….


Conversations I have had recently that make me want to kill myself:

Me: What kind of fish is the special today?
Waitress: It’s grilled.
Me: Yes but what kind? Is it tilapia? Trout?
Waitress: It’s white. And grilled.
Me: So it’s whitefish? Cod?
Waitress: (pausing) It’s white.
Me: Forget the fish….



Broad: That’s a very pretty horse.
Me: Yes indeed. Lovely action to his movement.
Broad: Very prancy.
Me: I do so love the equine.
Broad: Oh! Is that the breed?
Me: (straight face) No. That’s the taxonomic name for a horse.
Broad: Tax uuh what?
Me: Taxonomic. Equine for horse. Bovine for cow. Feline for cat. Canine for dog.
Broad: Oh!

Asinine. This conversation.


Someone rescue me.

Me: Nothing loud on the television tonight please.
Hub: I don’t want to watch something stupid. Quiet movies are stupid.
Me: If you want to watch movies all night rather than sleep that’s your problem. I want to sleep. Let’s limit the explosions.
Hub: How do you feel about screaming?
Me: Come on.
Hub: Cannon fire?
Me: I’m going to divorce you.
Hub: Ooohhh! Starship Troopers.
Me: Pick any fucking thing else! Except Die Hard. You’ve watched it three times this month already. Enough of Die Hard.
Hub: You are so mean.
Me: Just go to sleep!
Hub: Fine. I’ll watch this.
Me: <sighing> Are you kidding? This is Die Harder!
Hub: You said no Die Hard. This is not Die Hard.

I hate you.



I posted yesterday about the horror of being a Dallas Stars fan this month. And was rewarded with a lovely win last night over Minnesota. LOVE a shut out. LOVE not one but two power play goals. LOVE a successful penalty shot.

Sick lil shot by Jordie Benn.

Sick lil shot by Jordie Benn.

It also makes me wonder if I sent good mojo to them by posting about it. The sports insanity of “am I jinxing” or “am I helping”. Before you know it you are wearing the same dirty shirt for every single game and your Hub is telling you to wash that goddamn thing or he’s going to burn it when you fall asleep.

If you think you are doing the team some good regardless of how dumb you have to keep it up. So my babies are off today and I’m celebrating our second (small choking sob) win in the month of January. Tomorrow we play the Maple Leafs. And um, question. Isn’t the plural of leaf actually leaves? Shouldn’t they be the Toronto Maple Leaves?


Also. Last night after 45 minutes of cardio (it sucked but I had to have it) in our workout room (which is currently trashed) I got this little video of Lily Bitch Cat attacking Kittie (again, don’t be confused. If you are just tuning in we have an actual cat. Lily Bitch Cat. I have a human kid. I call her Kittie.)

I’m a big fan of hockey. And the Dallas Stars are my favorite team. As difficult as they are making that on me right now:

20140121 standing

We have managed to win ONE WHOLE GAME in the month of January and it’s driving me insane. Hopefully the Olympic break will do them some good and allow me to forget briefly what a horrible year they are having. Yes, yes. I know. Their team is full of young’uns and once these boys grow up it will be a very, very good team. The waiting sucks.

PS: I hate the sharks more than any other team. I won’t even capitalize their name. Blech.

The coolest thing about the Kittie (besides the fact that she’s my kid) is that she’s also a friend of mine. Hub and I raised her to be who she wanted to be. Example: Dinner is served. She takes two bites and announces, “I’m full.” Fine. Go away. (This caused strife at large family gatherings when she was 5-6 years old since my nieces and nephews were under instruction to finish their meal every time.) Of course, she wasn’t getting anything else BUT dinner when she decided she was “starving to death” later.

We never baby talked. We never “because I am the Mom/Dad so you do what you’re told”. If she disliked our answer we let her say her piece and we’d say ours.  We cuss. A lot. She can cuss someone out with the best of them. We’ve never had to tell her to watch her mouth nor has she ever slipped in public/at school/when she’s someone’s guest. She knows when she needs to rein it in and when the MF can fly.

Hub and I were smokers. Now we’re vape-ers (looooove to vape!) and when the Kittie started experimenting with cigarettes we simply said, “Nope.” and handed her a vape.

She surprises me all the time. The other day she pointed out an equation that Sheldon Cooper had written on a board during an episode of The Big Bang Theory and then proceeded to explain it to me. I puffed with pride and awe. She has a seriously higher I.Q. than I.

As she approaches her 18th birthday I am so proud of who she is. Confident. Happy. Smart. Hilarious. I have friends who have been living a surreal nightmare with their teen aged kids. I sympathize with them but I simply have no corresponding experience. The Kittie has been a delight and a joy and has a very low bullshit tolerance. Not that we haven’t had our moments (who hasn’t) but she has really been more than I could have ever hoped for as a kiddo.

Text messages like this happen between us a lot:

She says my name exactly like that, too. MAAAAAAAAM!

She says my name exactly like that, too. MAAAAAAAAM!

She’s in class. I’m at work. But who cares.

Every now and then EXTREMELY fun texting takes place:

If you're a skipfag you probably already know it.

If you’re a skipfag you probably already know it.


When you voice text it tries to change your cuss words into a fill in the blank game:

I believe I will choose when I censor myself. Thanks anyway, Android.

I believe I will choose when I censor myself. Thanks anyway, Android.

And when we are talking hockey (we’re dang serious about our hockey) the Kittie lamented the fact that her Vancouver Canucks were dismembered by the Anaheim Ducks the night prior:


Dealing with a young goalie can be a real kick in the tits.

Dealing with a young goalie can be a real kick in the tits.

Yeah I know. Don’t judge. My kid. My rules.

And she’s all kinds of awesome.

I really think one of these would be awesome on my mantle.

I really think one of these would be awesome on my mantle.

Kittie and I complained until Hub begrudgingly allowed us to watch the Golden Globes. He said he was nether “a gay man or a teenage girl” and would watch something else in the bedroom. But since he was so busy throwing a fit about being forced into behaving like he was gay or having his period or whatever when Tina Fey and Amy Poehler started talking and thanked the “women and gay men” who were watching the show he triumphantly shouted, “SEE!” and then proceeded to watch the remainder of the awards with us.

I’m going to be kind of all over the place here and call out my favorite moments. Because were there a lot of really interesting moments. Mostly because at this point it’s all beginning to run together. I slept hard last night.

I want to start by saying that whomever was in charge of the layout of that room should absolutely be fired. Or at least given a sharp reprimand.  There was too many snakey and cluttered paths to the stage and whenever an ensemble cast and crew of twenty needed to stampede the stage it was a fucking hot mess. It would take these people entirely too long to get to the stage and I think at some point there were rest stops so that the elder members could take a break because hiking wasn’t really their thing. I suppose the service of food and booze results in the need for tables and somesuch but perhaps a bigger venue with a little more room and clear cut paths to the stage should be considered.  Not sure I need to ever see Michael Douglas try to navigate tables and stairs because the worry that he would fall and break a hip was a real concern. And why these broads insist on wearing hugely fluffy dresses and what not baffles me. It’s an accident waiting to happen when you have no choice but to clear an obstacle course to get your statue.

Now then….let’s talk about Matthew McConaughey. First, he’s awesome with his awesome Texas accent so he sounds just like 99% of the people I talk to every day and he was the one that most people had their money on for Slurry Drunk Speech. Yet he was likely the most sober on-stage star last night leading me to believe that he may just naturally sound somewhat wasted. Two thumbs up:

Alright, alright, alright!

Alright, alright, alright!

Cate Blanchett issued the most confusing statement of the night: “Thank you for plying me with vodka the way Judy Garland was probably plyed with barbiturates.” (sic….. I’m doing this from memory folks) Um Cate. Disrespectful. But you looked pretty.

If someone is force feeding you vodka you are just a lucky girl.

If someone is force feeding you vodka you are just a lucky girl.

Liam Neeson (who I can’t find a photo of actually on the stage at the Golden Globes so you have to just live with this picture) came out to present something and I was struck that he was tall. I never thought about it I guess but he seemed very incredibly tall and the Kittie announced about half way through his presentation that “I feel like he should do group readings, you know? He has a great voice.” Agreed, Miss Cat-Cat. He does give great voice and a group reading would be excellent.

I think I'd enjoy if he read me "One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish."

I think I’d enjoy it if he read me “One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish.”

Emma Thompson. I love you. That is all.

When I grow up I hope I'm her.

When I grow up I hope I’m her.

And I have to say that the entire goddamn Globe presentation was worth it for this insanity moment.

I’m informed by my good friend Eric that this is Edward Sharpe. And that he’s a dirty hippie. When he won for best original score (I think) and they train the camera to him and his girlfriend the only thing I could think of was “WHAT am I looking at?” I really don’t get off on making fun of people don’t care how you want to look but holy shit:

What…just what…what who why eyebrows hairtoopuffy what...

What…just what…what who why eyebrows hairtoopuffy what…

The hair on both is questionable. The eyebrows on his broad are hideous. And is she wearing a burial shroud? What the hell is that? Is it made partially of burlap? Just. Wow.

All in all I would say it was an amazing night interrupted by the preview of Game of Thrones season 4. WHY DO WE HAVE TO WAIT TIL APRIL? WHHHHHYYYYYYYYY?????



Eric knows. I don't. FYI.

Eric knows. I don’t. FYI.