It never ceases to amaze me how, in hindsight, I can find humor in the strangest places. Dead hamsters in freezers, bones jutting out of legs, parents who make you cry, allergic reactions to drug combina—oh? What’s that you say? I haven’t told you that one? Oh, well—
Easter was quickly advancing. It was the “family holiday” that was held at my house, since I had the vastness of space required for egg hunts. (Now ex)-husband’s family was of the Immaculate-Housekeeping religion, so I spent weeks tidying up the ranchette. And, as luck would have it, I got sick a week before D-day – oops, I mean Easter. Finally, I dragged my hacking body to the outpatient clinic on Good Friday, which turned out to be one of those oxymorons. The wise doctor (also oxymoron) gave me a prescription for Seldane (antihistamine/decongestant) and Erythromycin…..
Saturday morning broke with a frenzy – only 24 hours before the horde – oops guests – arrived. Frantically I scoured the bathroom floor. As I stood, I realized that my ankles were stiff, and so were my hands. “Hmm,” I thought, “Interesting….Ve-rrrrry Interesting.” But time was a-wasting! Carry on McDuff! To the other Loo!
It was while scrubbing the toilet that I realized I was having difficulty swallowing. As I stood and looked in the mirror, I noticed that my eyes were puffy….I tried to take a step closer….and realized that the soles of my feet felt like they were on fire.
“Honey? Something’s wrong. Can you bring me the phone?”
“Aw, can’t ya’ get it yourself? I’m on the computer.”
(yes, ex-husband was charmingly sweet)
I realized that I was having an allergic reaction, so I called the clinic.
“I think I’m having an allergic reaction. My hands and feet are tingly and swollen. My eyes are puffy and my throat feels like it’s closing shut.”
“Are you having trouble breathing?”
“Duh! I have bronchitis! Of course I’m having trouble! What should I do?”
“Well, ahhh, the doctors have left. Take some Benedryl and if you’re still having difficulty breathing you should go to the Emergency Room.”
As I hate hospitals…..I chugged Benedryl. Body effects seemed to halt their growth, but weren’t reversing. So, in an effort to help hasten my recovery, I went to sleep on the couch…..”
“Mommy”
“Yes Sweetie-darling”
“Mommy”
As I groggily open my eyes, I am greeted by the anxious sad face of Erynn (approx 4-5yrs), with tears brimming in her eyes.
“Yes baby, what is it?””Oh Mommy, the Easter Bunny didn’t come….I guess I was bad, huh?”
A big fat tear plinked out of her eye and rolled down her cheek. “Bad Mommy, Bad Mommy,” I scolded internally. “Think fast, think fast—“
“Oh baby – I’m sure the Easter Bunny was here. Maybe he hid your basket. Why don’t you go check up on the road by the mailbox?”
Her eyes brightened, and she lit out the door. “Gotta hurry! Bad Mommy! What were you thinking—“ I berated myself.
Leaping off the couch, I found the soles of my feet still felt like they had daggers in them. But it didn’t matter – my baby needed her basket. With a combination of hobbling, screaming and crying, I made my way to the kitchen, threw her basket together (all items were ready to go, just had not had time to assemble), and frantically tried to think where I could hide said basket. Looking out the front window, I saw that Erynn had scoured the road, and, finding no basket, had begun her journey back to the house.
Eureka! I thought of the perfect place in the backyard, and again, with the combination of hobbling, screaming and crying made my way to it, hid the basket and hurried back in.
Just in the nick of time! Erynn came through the door with a dejected, “No, Mommy…it wasn’t there.”
“Baby, remember that family of rabbits we saw hopping around last week? Maybe the Easter Bunny came to visit them. Where did you and your Dad see them go?”
“The wood pile!” she screeched and rushed out the back door.
Yes, there in the woodpile, next to the Rabbit famly den, was the basket, left by the Easter Bunny.
For the next 4 years, the Easter Bunny got up early on Easter morning to hide Erynn’s basket….next to the Rabbit family den…..in the wood pile.
Friday, July 6, 2007
Jayne and the tumor
Okay, so here's the latest adventures of "Chords de Vocalle de AirplaneJayne."
Friday found Jayne in the office of a very nice (but very married...darn!) Doctor F. Doctor F explained that he was going to rest an instrument called a videostrobe on my tongue. This instrument had a little camera that would peek over my tongue, and shoot pictures of my vocal chords. This entire event should take no longer than 15 seconds -- as long as I didn't gag......
"Oh Great!' I thought. "As long as I don't gag? How can I tell this very handsome (but very married...) doc that just thinking about gagging makes me gag?"
"Okay, Doc." I respond jovially, "I'll do my best."
So without much ado—
--great play at Woodward Park, by the way—
--Again, without further ado, cute Doctor F inserts his instrument into my mouth, and yes-- I gag.
“Sorry,” says the handsome (but married) Doctor F “My fault.”
Fantastic! Finally a man who’ll admit that it’s his fault when I gag!!!!
But (again), darn! He’s already married!
So, with much grace and at a slower pace, Doctor F. rests the instrument on my tongue, and tells me to say the letter “E” without stopping--
--Hey, I ain’t gagging, so if the letter “E” makes him happy, fine with me.
“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE”
About 8 seconds later (which is all that’s necessary for a bull ride, thank you very much), cute (but married) Doc F is done. I think I need to repeat that: In 8 seconds. Doc F is done. 8 seconds. Done.
“Well done Jayne. Let’s take a look at the movie.”
So I look at the screen, and voila! My chords! In all their glory!
But ewww! What is that big thing on the side?
Doc F points out that lump runs from the bottom to the middle of my left chord. He feels that surgery is necessary, but tells me that he and Doc W (nice, but not as cute) will consult before my meeting on Monday.
Monday morning arrived, even though I made every attempt to stop it. I found myself (again) at the Doctor's office.
“Well, Jayne” says Doctor W, “This is not a normal nodule--”
Hello!?!? Normal? Jayne? This guy shoulda figured out that there’s nothing NORMAL about ME by now….
“--But it doesn’t look cancerous. I’d be flabbergasted if it was cancerous. Now, I have been flabbergasted before – but not very often.”
So – to conclude: Totally un-normal Jayne has an un-normal nodule on her left vocal chord. Cute (but married) Doc. F apologized for making Jayne gag, but took pictures anyway. Nice (but not cute) Doc. W wants to have Jayne over (to hospital) for sleepover (during the day) next week to remove flabber from chord.
The Gast is going to be that Jayne can not talk for 10 days after surgery.
Please stop laughing…..that’s not funny…..really – stop laughing!!! This is serious!!!
Okay, after you have gotten yourself under control, please help me figure out how to get us all set up on Yahoo IM so that I can talk –err I mean type at you during my recovery.
Friday found Jayne in the office of a very nice (but very married...darn!) Doctor F. Doctor F explained that he was going to rest an instrument called a videostrobe on my tongue. This instrument had a little camera that would peek over my tongue, and shoot pictures of my vocal chords. This entire event should take no longer than 15 seconds -- as long as I didn't gag......
"Oh Great!' I thought. "As long as I don't gag? How can I tell this very handsome (but very married...) doc that just thinking about gagging makes me gag?"
"Okay, Doc." I respond jovially, "I'll do my best."
So without much ado—
--great play at Woodward Park, by the way—
--Again, without further ado, cute Doctor F inserts his instrument into my mouth, and yes-- I gag.
“Sorry,” says the handsome (but married) Doctor F “My fault.”
Fantastic! Finally a man who’ll admit that it’s his fault when I gag!!!!
But (again), darn! He’s already married!
So, with much grace and at a slower pace, Doctor F. rests the instrument on my tongue, and tells me to say the letter “E” without stopping--
--Hey, I ain’t gagging, so if the letter “E” makes him happy, fine with me.
“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE”
About 8 seconds later (which is all that’s necessary for a bull ride, thank you very much), cute (but married) Doc F is done. I think I need to repeat that: In 8 seconds. Doc F is done. 8 seconds. Done.
“Well done Jayne. Let’s take a look at the movie.”
So I look at the screen, and voila! My chords! In all their glory!
But ewww! What is that big thing on the side?
Doc F points out that lump runs from the bottom to the middle of my left chord. He feels that surgery is necessary, but tells me that he and Doc W (nice, but not as cute) will consult before my meeting on Monday.
Monday morning arrived, even though I made every attempt to stop it. I found myself (again) at the Doctor's office.
“Well, Jayne” says Doctor W, “This is not a normal nodule--”
Hello!?!? Normal? Jayne? This guy shoulda figured out that there’s nothing NORMAL about ME by now….
“--But it doesn’t look cancerous. I’d be flabbergasted if it was cancerous. Now, I have been flabbergasted before – but not very often.”
So – to conclude: Totally un-normal Jayne has an un-normal nodule on her left vocal chord. Cute (but married) Doc. F apologized for making Jayne gag, but took pictures anyway. Nice (but not cute) Doc. W wants to have Jayne over (to hospital) for sleepover (during the day) next week to remove flabber from chord.
The Gast is going to be that Jayne can not talk for 10 days after surgery.
Please stop laughing…..that’s not funny…..really – stop laughing!!! This is serious!!!
Okay, after you have gotten yourself under control, please help me figure out how to get us all set up on Yahoo IM so that I can talk –err I mean type at you during my recovery.
jayne and throat one
I know that many of you think I like to have drama in my life, so that it must remain "all about me." Let me start off by stating the obvious:
It IS all about Me......always.......Just accept that and move on!
Most of you don’t know this, but I went to the Doctor last week. I lost my voice around the end of April/beginning of May. I thought I was talking too much (Jayne? Talk too much? Go figure!) and had probably damaged my vocal chords. I figured it would be better when school got out. It didn't (get better), so I went (to the doctor).
Okay, as you know, most doctors thrive on finding new ways to freak you out. Here is one of their new ways: Doc stuck a tube up my nose. Hmmm, picture one of those cans of compressed air that you use to clean your computer keyboard...with a tube about twice that size. Doc squirted nasty bitter tasting stuff up my nose and instructed me to swallow said nasty bitter stuff.
Just as an aside: Why would a doctor make stuff that has to go down your throat taste bad? If YOU were that doctor, wouldn’t YOU try to make it taste better!?!?!?
But back to my story: At this point, I was a good patient and swallowed the nasty/narpy tasting stuff. Throat proceeded to get very numb; so numb in fact that it became quite difficult to swallow my own saliva. Saliva which was being mass-produced, probably because saliva glands knew I couldn't swallow and they thought it would be fun!
So now, Doc returns into room, with something that looks like a miniature vacuum attachment....or maybe some high-tech computer accessory: Long skinny (about half the width of a pen), sectional, firm-but-bendy cable-y thing with a light on the end.
Jayne's eyes get big as she realizes that Doctor intends to send that snake down her throat.....
Jayne's blood pressure increases when Doc informs her that he will be going down her throat -- VIA HER NOSE!
Yes and still, Jayne remains the perfect patient.....
Doc snakes tube down left nostril causing a feeling similar to someone dragging a finger along a sunburn: very uncomfortable, but not painful enough for you to haul off and hit them.
Doc snakes tube down right nostril -- and still, Jayne behaving and not kicking or hitting anyone....
"Hmmmm, yes," says Doc (either to me or my tonsils -- oh yeah! I don't have those anymore, so I guess he was talking to me), " Yes. You have a lump on your left vocal chord. It looks benign. But I do want you to come in for specialized test. A videoscope. We'll set that up for you."
Okay, let's review the words I heard:
lump. vocal chord. benign. specialized test.
As usual, Jayne plays research/doctor upon arriving home. According to what I have learned, most lumps on vocal chords are not cancerous. And the Doctor did use the word "benign" which is good. Most Doctors are pretty non-committal in diagnosis until they have test-data, so I don't think he'd use that word unless it looked pretty good. But it is a lump (not a polyp or nodule), and I don't want it there.....even though I'm getting told I sound like Lauren Bacall (older audience) or Kathleen Turner (a bit younger audience).
So, videoscope (or videostrobe?) is set for 7/29 at 9:00 in the morning. Results consultation witll be on 8/1 at 9:00 in the morning. Yes, I am nervous, but I am fine. I'm concentrating on the words and research of the doctors and myself, the kind words and prayers of my family and friends, and trusting that it'll all be fine. I just figure it's my turn (again) for some surgery. I don't want you worrying about me. You know I do this Doctor thing okay. But please keep me in your prayers. Never, ever, ever underestimate their power.
I promise to let you all know what's going on and soon as I know what's going on.
Love,
the Queen of the Spotlight,
Jayne
It IS all about Me......always.......Just accept that and move on!
Most of you don’t know this, but I went to the Doctor last week. I lost my voice around the end of April/beginning of May. I thought I was talking too much (Jayne? Talk too much? Go figure!) and had probably damaged my vocal chords. I figured it would be better when school got out. It didn't (get better), so I went (to the doctor).
Okay, as you know, most doctors thrive on finding new ways to freak you out. Here is one of their new ways: Doc stuck a tube up my nose. Hmmm, picture one of those cans of compressed air that you use to clean your computer keyboard...with a tube about twice that size. Doc squirted nasty bitter tasting stuff up my nose and instructed me to swallow said nasty bitter stuff.
Just as an aside: Why would a doctor make stuff that has to go down your throat taste bad? If YOU were that doctor, wouldn’t YOU try to make it taste better!?!?!?
But back to my story: At this point, I was a good patient and swallowed the nasty/narpy tasting stuff. Throat proceeded to get very numb; so numb in fact that it became quite difficult to swallow my own saliva. Saliva which was being mass-produced, probably because saliva glands knew I couldn't swallow and they thought it would be fun!
So now, Doc returns into room, with something that looks like a miniature vacuum attachment....or maybe some high-tech computer accessory: Long skinny (about half the width of a pen), sectional, firm-but-bendy cable-y thing with a light on the end.
Jayne's eyes get big as she realizes that Doctor intends to send that snake down her throat.....
Jayne's blood pressure increases when Doc informs her that he will be going down her throat -- VIA HER NOSE!
Yes and still, Jayne remains the perfect patient.....
Doc snakes tube down left nostril causing a feeling similar to someone dragging a finger along a sunburn: very uncomfortable, but not painful enough for you to haul off and hit them.
Doc snakes tube down right nostril -- and still, Jayne behaving and not kicking or hitting anyone....
"Hmmmm, yes," says Doc (either to me or my tonsils -- oh yeah! I don't have those anymore, so I guess he was talking to me), " Yes. You have a lump on your left vocal chord. It looks benign. But I do want you to come in for specialized test. A videoscope. We'll set that up for you."
Okay, let's review the words I heard:
lump. vocal chord. benign. specialized test.
As usual, Jayne plays research/doctor upon arriving home. According to what I have learned, most lumps on vocal chords are not cancerous. And the Doctor did use the word "benign" which is good. Most Doctors are pretty non-committal in diagnosis until they have test-data, so I don't think he'd use that word unless it looked pretty good. But it is a lump (not a polyp or nodule), and I don't want it there.....even though I'm getting told I sound like Lauren Bacall (older audience) or Kathleen Turner (a bit younger audience).
So, videoscope (or videostrobe?) is set for 7/29 at 9:00 in the morning. Results consultation witll be on 8/1 at 9:00 in the morning. Yes, I am nervous, but I am fine. I'm concentrating on the words and research of the doctors and myself, the kind words and prayers of my family and friends, and trusting that it'll all be fine. I just figure it's my turn (again) for some surgery. I don't want you worrying about me. You know I do this Doctor thing okay. But please keep me in your prayers. Never, ever, ever underestimate their power.
I promise to let you all know what's going on and soon as I know what's going on.
Love,
the Queen of the Spotlight,
Jayne
forks in the road
A recent post by Lecram asked for that one moment you would want to remain in for all eternity. I pondered that for days: settling on one moment Thursday, only to discard and replace it with another on Friday, and then onto a different one on Saturday. And this is supposed to be a good thing? To last for eternity? Geez, almost seems like Hell to have to select only one.
So of course, since my (current) philosophy is “rules, schmules, we don’t need no stinking rules!” I decided, “What the heck. How about writing about a moment in your life that only in hindsight, do you realize was a crossroads?” You know, those seemingly (at the time) inconsequential moments that you look back on and say, “Hey! What if I had done ‘x’ instead of ‘y’?” What if I had stayed in Nebraska? What if I didn’t start skydiving? What if? One of my favorite whatifs, is Dominic.
Ah…..Dominic. Dom was Italian, and spoke little English. He came out to the drop zone one Saturday morning with (I think) his cousin. He wanted to, “how-a you say? I-a, wan to-a shjump from plane, yes?”
Geez, one look at his bod, and I just wanted to bounce on his abs….seriously.
But what was I thinking? I was “in a relationship” with Mike. I had to stop looking at those abs….those eyes…..dear lord those thighs….. And yet, there stood Dom in front of me, chest and leg straps undone.
“AirplaneShjayne. You-a help me, yes?”
Stop staring Shjay—jayne! Think about Mike! Your relationship! What relationship? More like a joke! Oh yeah, I was in a relationship. I had stopped seeing anyone else. I had decided that Mike was “the one.” Only one problem left with this relationship: I was the only one in it! Mike was still sowing wild oats.
But back to Dom….ahhh, Dom….with dangling leg straps.
I couldn’t let him jump from a plane looking like that now, could I? So I tightened up those leg straps, hooked that chest strap, (went to the store about 6 times in a row), and helped him put his helmet on.
“Follow me, Dom.”
And follow me he did – for the rest of the weekend! I had him eating dirt while jumping off the platform doing practice landings, and he fed me chocolate. He told me of his home in Italy, and I told him emergency procedures. I showed him how to pack a parachute, and he showed me his 6-pack abs. Before I knew it, it was Sunday afternoon, and time for him to shum –err - jump.
“Shjayne…”
“Sorry, Dom? Did you say something?”
“Shjayne….I’m a, how you say? Leetle nervous. Ah, maybe you can-a stand where I land, no?”
So, I stood where he would land. And land he did. Lordy, lordy with those beautiful arms (not to mention abs and thighs) he hugged me and whispered, “Shjayne. I would-a like to see you, yes? Maybe dinner, say, tomorrow in town, no? Here is-a where I am staying. Please say you’ll come?”
So fast forward to the next day. I went through the day on auto-pilot – just waiting for the five-o’clock whistle to blow, so I could too! Damn the torpedoes, and relationship be damned! I was tired of the double standard! I was going to eat Italian!! I threw open the door, stepped into the parking lot, strode confidently towards my car, gave a defiant tilt of my chin to Mike –
“Err -- Mike!?! What are you doing here?”
“Hey sweetheart. I—ahh—I thought you’d like to go to dinner. With me.”
Dinner with Mike?
Dinner with Dom?
Stay the course, or jump ship?
I could almost hear the Clash singing: “Come on and let me know: Should I stay or should I go?”
Argh, no time for the indecision that was bugging me. I had to choose.
And I chose Mike.
So, in hindsight, there was one major crossroad in my life: I chose to stay with Mike. Would I go back and take that other branch, knowing what I do now?
Probably not…..
But oh Lordy, lordy, do I remember those abs….and eyes…..and mercy me, those thighs…
So of course, since my (current) philosophy is “rules, schmules, we don’t need no stinking rules!” I decided, “What the heck. How about writing about a moment in your life that only in hindsight, do you realize was a crossroads?” You know, those seemingly (at the time) inconsequential moments that you look back on and say, “Hey! What if I had done ‘x’ instead of ‘y’?” What if I had stayed in Nebraska? What if I didn’t start skydiving? What if? One of my favorite whatifs, is Dominic.
Ah…..Dominic. Dom was Italian, and spoke little English. He came out to the drop zone one Saturday morning with (I think) his cousin. He wanted to, “how-a you say? I-a, wan to-a shjump from plane, yes?”
Geez, one look at his bod, and I just wanted to bounce on his abs….seriously.
But what was I thinking? I was “in a relationship” with Mike. I had to stop looking at those abs….those eyes…..dear lord those thighs….. And yet, there stood Dom in front of me, chest and leg straps undone.
“AirplaneShjayne. You-a help me, yes?”
Stop staring Shjay—jayne! Think about Mike! Your relationship! What relationship? More like a joke! Oh yeah, I was in a relationship. I had stopped seeing anyone else. I had decided that Mike was “the one.” Only one problem left with this relationship: I was the only one in it! Mike was still sowing wild oats.
But back to Dom….ahhh, Dom….with dangling leg straps.
I couldn’t let him jump from a plane looking like that now, could I? So I tightened up those leg straps, hooked that chest strap, (went to the store about 6 times in a row), and helped him put his helmet on.
“Follow me, Dom.”
And follow me he did – for the rest of the weekend! I had him eating dirt while jumping off the platform doing practice landings, and he fed me chocolate. He told me of his home in Italy, and I told him emergency procedures. I showed him how to pack a parachute, and he showed me his 6-pack abs. Before I knew it, it was Sunday afternoon, and time for him to shum –err - jump.
“Shjayne…”
“Sorry, Dom? Did you say something?”
“Shjayne….I’m a, how you say? Leetle nervous. Ah, maybe you can-a stand where I land, no?”
So, I stood where he would land. And land he did. Lordy, lordy with those beautiful arms (not to mention abs and thighs) he hugged me and whispered, “Shjayne. I would-a like to see you, yes? Maybe dinner, say, tomorrow in town, no? Here is-a where I am staying. Please say you’ll come?”
So fast forward to the next day. I went through the day on auto-pilot – just waiting for the five-o’clock whistle to blow, so I could too! Damn the torpedoes, and relationship be damned! I was tired of the double standard! I was going to eat Italian!! I threw open the door, stepped into the parking lot, strode confidently towards my car, gave a defiant tilt of my chin to Mike –
“Err -- Mike!?! What are you doing here?”
“Hey sweetheart. I—ahh—I thought you’d like to go to dinner. With me.”
Dinner with Mike?
Dinner with Dom?
Stay the course, or jump ship?
I could almost hear the Clash singing: “Come on and let me know: Should I stay or should I go?”
Argh, no time for the indecision that was bugging me. I had to choose.
And I chose Mike.
So, in hindsight, there was one major crossroad in my life: I chose to stay with Mike. Would I go back and take that other branch, knowing what I do now?
Probably not…..
But oh Lordy, lordy, do I remember those abs….and eyes…..and mercy me, those thighs…
Potty problems
A recent post on Lelly 's site showed what could possibly be one of my worst nightmare’s come true –
--no, not the one where I actually get the chance to meet Brad Pitt in person and as soon as I shake his hand all my teeth fall out
--I mean my potty nightmares.
Ah yes, I can see you scratching your head, “Potty nightmares? APj has nightmares about toilets?”
No, not about toilets….more about the lack of them.
You see, I have potty issues, primarily:
1. Have trouble going on OPP. No, you nasty Rogue’s, not “that” OPP, for me it means Other People’s Potty’s.
2. Can’t do certain potty things on toilet other than my own.
This of course, has worked its way into my subconscious mind, and into my dream world. I don’t want to tell you how many dream interpretation books I’ve bought trying to figure this potty thing out. Perhaps one of you can help. Here’s some of my
Prevalent Potty Predicaments:
Dream #1
I am cleaning my house. I decided to make it a very thorough cleaning, and I’m taking everything out of the closet.
“Heyyyy….I don’t remember this door here….what the fu--?”
I open this forgotten door in the back of my closet, to find a forgotten bathroom. It is amazing! It has a separate dressing area, a vanity, toilet, sink, tub and separate shower. It is a beautiful room – but it is covered in mold, dirt, and scum because of non-use. I get the cleanser and start scrubbing, but when I turn on the faucet, brown water and spiders come out. But I’m determined to reclaim this room. “How could I have forgotten a room as lovely as this?”
Dream #2
I am refinishing my bathroom. It is a wonderful bathroom, with a flush toilet, sunken tub and roman sink. There are trees planted around the tub, and birds perch above and sing. Of course, it will now be perfect, since I am building four foot fence across the front, so that no one will be able to see me when I sit down for a pee. Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you: the bathroom is located in the breezeway next to my house.
YIKES!!!!!!!
Dream #3
I have to pee. I have to pee so bad, but there is no toilet in my house. “I know!” I think to myself, “I’ll go over to _______________ (insert Linda, Edwina, Steve, Donna, Mom, Cindy, BeeBop-a-Loo-Loo) ‘s house and use their Loo.”
On the way to ___________________(insert name from above) ‘s house, I am delayed by looting robbers, crying children, flying aliens (that one was very interesting), Brad Pitt (that one would have been very enjoyable, but please remember, I had to pee), or just plain faulty memory: “where was I going?” “Hmmm, there was somewhere I was heading that was important….damn, I gotta pee….Oh yeah! That’s where I was going!”
I finally arrive at _______________________(okay, you should get this by now: insert name, yada-yada…) ‘s house, only to find a line for the toilet – or a cue for the Loo. So I wait….and I wait. “Finally!” I sigh, after waiting for minutes/hours/days (hey, depends on the dream). I step into the bathroom, to find
1. The door won’t close
2. There is no door
3. There is a man standing in the bathtub watching me (that one was very strange)
4. The person that used the Loo before me has taken the toilet.
NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!
Okay, so there you have it: APj has potty issues. Please keep this in mind when I come to visit……
Michael in the closet
What kind of learner are you? Some people are auditory learners – they have to hear it. Some are kinesthetic learners – gotta move. Me? I tend to be a visual learner – I gotta see it. And, being as I’m a visual kinda gal, I tend to think that other people are visual learners also. So sometimes, when someone isn’t getting what I’m saying – well I gotta show ‘em….I gotta give ‘em a visual lesson.
Hmmm, I can hear you saying, “What kind of visual lesson, APj?”
Not that kind of visual, you dirtyminded Rogues. Hmmm, let me think……Okay! Got it!
THE CLOSET LESSON
“What the hell happened in the bedroom!?!?!?!?” I screamed down the hall to Mike, aka Voldemort.
“Huh?” came the answer from the living room couch. Well, not actually from the couch; more from the lump-of-possibly-human-flesh on said couch. I say “possibly” because there was this new hunk of metal that appeared permanently melded to his hand, pointing towards the TV, and I didn’t remember my husband as having anything firm, hard, metal or hunky in his hand…..for a loooonnnng time.
“What happened in the bedroom!?!?!?” I repeated, “It looks like a bomb exploded on my side of the closet – blowing all my clothes out!”
“Oh, quit having a cow! I got satellite TV, and they had to get into the attic to hook it up. Look at all these channels we can ge….” and the voice trailed off as his eyes glazed over. I started to ask again, but could tell that he was captured in the thrail of her web.
But meanwhile, back at the ranch – or actually, back in my bombed bedroom: every stitch of clothing I owned was crumpled in a heap on the floor. In his hurry to bond with his new lover, Sad E. Lite, Voldemort had hurriedly removed my clothes for easy access, and discarded them on the floor.
“Honey! Aren’t you gonna help me put this back? I mean, come on! I’ve been working all da—“
“Jesus H. Christ, Jayne! It’s no big f-ing deal! Quitcherbitchin!”
“No big deal?” I thought to myself, “my clothes are all over the floor, he’s making luv to Sad E Lite in my living room, and it’s no big deal?” I began to hang up the clothes, and with each hanger, I became…well, a little more enraged. –and logic doesn’t coexist with rage very well…….and, well, something kinda snapped.
“No big deal?!?” I muttered aloud. “Humph! I’ll show him no big deal!” I casually strolled to his side of the closet.
I removed his clothing from the closet.
I carefully deposited his clothing in a neat, NOT crumpled pile, NOT heap, on the floor.
And I calmly crawled into bed, and went to sleep.
Of course, two hours later, when Voldemort and Sad E Lite were finished making love, Voldemort came to bed.
And discovered his clothing on the floor.
And went ballistic.
“What the fuck? Jayne, what the fuck!?!? You’re fucking nuts! What the hell—“
“Oh, come on honey,” I responded, sleepily, yet slyly, “ Quitcherbitchin! It’s really no big f-ing deal, right?”
Hmmm, I can hear you saying, “What kind of visual lesson, APj?”
Not that kind of visual, you dirtyminded Rogues. Hmmm, let me think……Okay! Got it!
THE CLOSET LESSON
“What the hell happened in the bedroom!?!?!?!?” I screamed down the hall to Mike, aka Voldemort.
“Huh?” came the answer from the living room couch. Well, not actually from the couch; more from the lump-of-possibly-human-flesh on said couch. I say “possibly” because there was this new hunk of metal that appeared permanently melded to his hand, pointing towards the TV, and I didn’t remember my husband as having anything firm, hard, metal or hunky in his hand…..for a loooonnnng time.
“What happened in the bedroom!?!?!?” I repeated, “It looks like a bomb exploded on my side of the closet – blowing all my clothes out!”
“Oh, quit having a cow! I got satellite TV, and they had to get into the attic to hook it up. Look at all these channels we can ge….” and the voice trailed off as his eyes glazed over. I started to ask again, but could tell that he was captured in the thrail of her web.
But meanwhile, back at the ranch – or actually, back in my bombed bedroom: every stitch of clothing I owned was crumpled in a heap on the floor. In his hurry to bond with his new lover, Sad E. Lite, Voldemort had hurriedly removed my clothes for easy access, and discarded them on the floor.
“Honey! Aren’t you gonna help me put this back? I mean, come on! I’ve been working all da—“
“Jesus H. Christ, Jayne! It’s no big f-ing deal! Quitcherbitchin!”
“No big deal?” I thought to myself, “my clothes are all over the floor, he’s making luv to Sad E Lite in my living room, and it’s no big deal?” I began to hang up the clothes, and with each hanger, I became…well, a little more enraged. –and logic doesn’t coexist with rage very well…….and, well, something kinda snapped.
“No big deal?!?” I muttered aloud. “Humph! I’ll show him no big deal!” I casually strolled to his side of the closet.
I removed his clothing from the closet.
I carefully deposited his clothing in a neat, NOT crumpled pile, NOT heap, on the floor.
And I calmly crawled into bed, and went to sleep.
Of course, two hours later, when Voldemort and Sad E Lite were finished making love, Voldemort came to bed.
And discovered his clothing on the floor.
And went ballistic.
“What the fuck? Jayne, what the fuck!?!? You’re fucking nuts! What the hell—“
“Oh, come on honey,” I responded, sleepily, yet slyly, “ Quitcherbitchin! It’s really no big f-ing deal, right?”
My birthday
Drew and Ryan threw a lovely birthday for me last year, complete with champagne and other lovely spirits, lovely food, and absitively-poslutely lovely little waiters serving all. Of course, anytime that the party elements are involved, the conversation turns to sex.
“Airplane Jayne,” announced Drew, “we are tired of you being dateless. So we bought you a date.”
“I hope it’s Martin, the cute blonde waiter” I responded excitedly.
“No,” retorted Drew, “he’s gay. You can’t have him.”
“Stop it Drew!” admonished Ryan, “we don’t know if he’s gay. We just know you want to--!”
Drew interrupted, “Yes he is if I say he is! Anyway, PBj, err I mean APj, we bought you a man, and he’s naked – here!”
Without further ado, he presents me with a 6 inch man.
--yes that’s a 6 inch man – imagine the length of his pe—
“Just what am I suppose to do with him?” I asked.
“Well dahling,” cooed Drew, “throw him in the water, and he GROWS….to FIVE FEET”
I quickly calculated in my head the new anticipated height and length of his body parts – and threw him in the hot tub.
“Can I get you something?” asked Martin, the cute blonde waiter.
“Well, can you find me a towel for my date?”
“Date? Where is your date?” Martin alarmedly asked.
“Oh, that’s him, the 6 inch guy in the hot tub. I’m waiting for him to –err—expand.”
Martin, a bit confused, smiled sheepishly, and went in search of a towel….
“APj!” called Superman Steve, “Kajsa and I have a special present for you.”
I turned away from my hot-tubbing date, because...well, because a present is a present!!!
“Presents! I love presents! But make it quick! I’ve got a man in the tub waiting for me!”
“Yes, yes, APj. We’ve bought you something special—“
“Yes, “interjected Kajsa, “very special – and useful. But there really wasn’t time to wrap them”
Steve handed me a lovely green silk jewelry box.
“Oh, it’s lovely!” I gushed.
“But wait!” teased Steve, “We’ve put some –well, some jewelry inside.”
Okay, now every girl loves jewelry, right? I began to quiver in excitement. I do so love the anticipation. I slowly opened the lid. What could it possibly be? Earrings? A necklace? A bracel—
“Jayne?” came Martin’s soft voice in my ear, “here’s the towel for your date.”
Of course, a soft male voice in my ear slightly startled me
–hey, what do you expect after a long dry spell?
-- and I dropped my jewelry box --
--and all the lovely jewels came tumbling out.
--all forty of them.
“FORTY WHAT!?!?!?” I hear you screaming.
The room erupted as I embarrassedly bent to retrieve all my jewels, scattered across the floor. Drew retrieved my date, still only 6 inches tall with miniscule other parts, from the hot-tub.
“Oh PBj, I mean APj sweetie, I don’t think the jewels will fit on your date’s jewels!”
So Steve is picking up my condoms. Kajsa is picking up my condoms. Edwina and Pat are laughing and picking up my condoms. Martin, ever the gentleman, grabbed as many as he could. As he placed the twenty-or-so condoms in my hand, he said, “oh, by the way: I’m not gay”
“Airplane Jayne,” announced Drew, “we are tired of you being dateless. So we bought you a date.”
“I hope it’s Martin, the cute blonde waiter” I responded excitedly.
“No,” retorted Drew, “he’s gay. You can’t have him.”
“Stop it Drew!” admonished Ryan, “we don’t know if he’s gay. We just know you want to--!”
Drew interrupted, “Yes he is if I say he is! Anyway, PBj, err I mean APj, we bought you a man, and he’s naked – here!”
Without further ado, he presents me with a 6 inch man.
--yes that’s a 6 inch man – imagine the length of his pe—
“Just what am I suppose to do with him?” I asked.
“Well dahling,” cooed Drew, “throw him in the water, and he GROWS….to FIVE FEET”
I quickly calculated in my head the new anticipated height and length of his body parts – and threw him in the hot tub.
“Can I get you something?” asked Martin, the cute blonde waiter.
“Well, can you find me a towel for my date?”
“Date? Where is your date?” Martin alarmedly asked.
“Oh, that’s him, the 6 inch guy in the hot tub. I’m waiting for him to –err—expand.”
Martin, a bit confused, smiled sheepishly, and went in search of a towel….
“APj!” called Superman Steve, “Kajsa and I have a special present for you.”
I turned away from my hot-tubbing date, because...well, because a present is a present!!!
“Presents! I love presents! But make it quick! I’ve got a man in the tub waiting for me!”
“Yes, yes, APj. We’ve bought you something special—“
“Yes, “interjected Kajsa, “very special – and useful. But there really wasn’t time to wrap them”
Steve handed me a lovely green silk jewelry box.
“Oh, it’s lovely!” I gushed.
“But wait!” teased Steve, “We’ve put some –well, some jewelry inside.”
Okay, now every girl loves jewelry, right? I began to quiver in excitement. I do so love the anticipation. I slowly opened the lid. What could it possibly be? Earrings? A necklace? A bracel—
“Jayne?” came Martin’s soft voice in my ear, “here’s the towel for your date.”
Of course, a soft male voice in my ear slightly startled me
–hey, what do you expect after a long dry spell?
-- and I dropped my jewelry box --
--and all the lovely jewels came tumbling out.
--all forty of them.
“FORTY WHAT!?!?!?” I hear you screaming.
The room erupted as I embarrassedly bent to retrieve all my jewels, scattered across the floor. Drew retrieved my date, still only 6 inches tall with miniscule other parts, from the hot-tub.
“Oh PBj, I mean APj sweetie, I don’t think the jewels will fit on your date’s jewels!”
So Steve is picking up my condoms. Kajsa is picking up my condoms. Edwina and Pat are laughing and picking up my condoms. Martin, ever the gentleman, grabbed as many as he could. As he placed the twenty-or-so condoms in my hand, he said, “oh, by the way: I’m not gay”
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