Don't Worry, He's Gonna Make It

"Beetle, I think I pulled my groin muscle."

Famous last words.

Or first words...I guess that would fit our situation best.

Let me preface this story with the disclaimer that Mr. Lucas did approve the following information to be leaked to all corners of the globe through the power of the Interwebs.  This will neither be my last post nor will you see any formal apology for what I am about to write.

But really, it's not that bad.  I'm just gonna talk about Corey's crotch a little bit.

Now without further ado...

Corey and I spent the wee hours of Saturday morning in the emergency room.  He.  Was.  Injured.  We're not sure how it happened, or when it happened, but it happened.  Something was horribly wrong.

...

"Corey, why do you keep grabbing yourself like that??"

"What??  I have to help pick my leg up...it hurts!!"

"But we. are. in. Public!"

This was Friday night.  We decided to meet up with friends for drinks and apps despite Corey's fragile condition and the rain.

I feel like at his age a lot of aches and pains can be now be blamed on the weather.

Anyway, we see our friends, we laugh, we eat, I eat off of everyone's plates, we laugh some more.  I noticed Corey propping his foot up on the bottom rung of those high bar chairs.

"It's the only thing that makes it feel better."

(foreshadow)

Next thing I know it's 3:30am and I'm woken up by a tap, tap, tap.

"Hey Beetle, I think I need to go to the ER."

"Wha....why?"

"This thing hurts!"

"Ok, did you try laying a different way?"

So he tosses and turns.  I doze off.

"It feels a little better when I sit up like this."

"Ok, so we'll prop you up in the chair in the living room and...."

"No.  I need to go to the ER."

(Lord give me compassion because you know how much of a bear I am without my beauty sleep)

**BOINK!**

Granted.

"Ok, Cor.  Let's go."

Now, the moral of this story....well, there really is none.  We drove to the hospital, he got shot up with some extra strength ibuprofen in the keester, and we drove back home.

But what I think us ladies, and some of our gentlemen, can derive is some amusement in the differences between our sexes. 

It's the I-feel-like-my-uterus-is-going-to-explode-better-fold-this-laundry VS. I-have-tummy-grumblies-please-hold-me.

Or just-sliced-tip-of-finger-off-chopping-onions-must-feed-family VS. I'm-sorry-this-bunion-on-my-foot-prevents-me-from-mowing-the-lawn-ever.

And my favorite I-may-feel-like-swine-flu-is-stabbing-me-in-the-chest-but-I-need-to-see-who-wins-America's-Next-Top-Model VS. I'll-be-late-to-work-because-I'm-going-to-have-this-ingrown-hair-looked-at-by-the-doctor-because-I'm-sure-it's-not-just-a-pimple.

(of course this is entirely hypothetical)

You're nodding your head, aren't you.

Some things I was thinkin'

A coupla things to chew on until I post next:

(which could be next week, so read slowwwwwly)

There is a colony of the scariest type of bug somewhere in our apartment.

There are very few things that scare me like the centipede does.  I can handle bugs, spiders, snakes and rodents.  But these suckers give me the heebie jeebies like no other.

"Where was that bug you saw last night?"

"Behind the tv.  He ran back and forth from the tv to the couch.  Corey, he was taunting me."

"I don't see it..."

"Well I'm sure he's moved by now!"

"Oh, wait!  I see him!  Look, there's two, three.  Three!  Oh it's a family!"

"Very funny."

Right about now I'm so glad I don't have to worry about a colony of creepy crawlers making a home in my shoes.  Sandals, I'm guessing, just aren't the habitat they look for.

Phew.

Another thing I think you should know is that I have the foggiest brain right now.  It's hilarious.

Hmmm...I don't remember finishing that one Ten on Tuesday question.

I did.

"Hey Stace, can you call so-and-so about such-and-such?"

"Yes."

(five minutes later)

"Um, hi.  Who was I supposed to call again?"

Hilarious.

Wait, did I spell that right?

My dad and I had breakfast this morning, as we do several times a week, to go over more details for the Coming Together For Hope event:

"So, we might not have a dunk tank."

"Eh."

"Or a Wii tent."

"Coo."

"And our grand finale band backed out."

"Whatev."

Hil-ar-ious.

...

Space cadet, over and out.

Asparagus: Always the Answer

I am in the middle of what I like to call Brain Funk.

It's when I don't eat my veggies and my brain is unable to make connections to big words I used to know, such as superfluous.

What the heck does that mean?  I remember using it just last week.

Or maybe that was in a college paper...before my brain literally shrunk in size.  Shrunk...shrunck...schruhnk...

During Brain Funk I like to sit and stare.  Without moving.  For hours.

And then I try to do the things I am paid to do, like write letters on subjects I know nothing about.  But the kind of brain power it takes to pull such BS outta nowhere is beyond me.  So I sit and stare.  At my computer.  For hours.

I do think when I'm staring.  About lunch.

Or about the cake sitting in our dirty office kitchen put there by our sloppy office neighbors.

I think about how I can sneak a piece and, surprisingly, my thoughts are clear and concise.

But as my brain is still connected to my arms and legs, the funk does not allow me to move them as stealthily as would be necessary to swipe a piece of Beth's birthday cake without anyone noticing.

So I think about other things.

Maybe I'll cut my fingernails when I get home.

I'm Jimmy McMillen...breakfastlunchanddinner.

Why is it I can only breathe out of one nostril at a time...?

Did Zack and Kelly like each other for real?

I'm not sure I can pull off the jean jacket look.

This is brownie weather.

And so on.  For hours.

Luckily, I have about 5 bags of frozen veggies ready to be steamed in my microwave.  And if I eat all five between dinner and breakfast I may be 1) green, 2) the smartest person you know, or 3) still in a brain funk because lack of veggies was not the problem.

We'll see how it goes.

Sick Day

I jinxed myself.  Dangit.

"I catch colds often, but rarely do I get the cough or stuffy nose that usually come with it."

I now have the stuffy nose and all of the achy fun stuff that comes with being sick.

The best part is that Corey is still sick too.  So here we are.  Together.

"Can you help me with this?"

"But I'm sick!"

"Well I'm sick too!"

...

And when we are sick, we are cranky:

"Can you please stop blinking like that??"

"Only if you stop breathing out of your nose!"

"Well I have to breath through my nose so I don't feel like I am ingesting your rotten trash breath!!"

But I lie.  We didn't actually have that conversation.  Although, Corey does have pretty nasty sick breath that I can smell even through the gunk hanging out in my sinus cavities, and if he washes one more dish in the sink I just might throw something at him.

Otherwise, we're just two sickies hanging out at home, wondering who is going to make lunch and take the dog out to pee.

Tomorrow will be better.

A Little More of Nuthin'

You know you have a busy weekend ahead of you when you have to plan to make your plan.

We had several breakfast dates, a coffee date, a lunch date, projects to attend to, junk to sort, stuff to wash, fold, and put away, and so on.

Not part of the plan, but managed to sneak in anyway: catch a cold.

Not part of the plan, but I wish I had planned: nap times.

I catch colds often, but rarely do I get the cough or stuffy nose that usually come with it.  Nope, my cold stays right in my head, swarming all around my think meat causing me to spit out boring blog posts and stare at stuff.

It also makes me use the word "stuff" more than Mr. Kirkpatrick would approve of.  Oops, there I go ending a sentence with a preposition again.

Mr. K. was my English teacher in high school.  If you are a regular follower of mine you may remember me writing about him dying and me being paranoid to make grammatical errors for fear of natural disasters and plagues of locusts reigning down against me.

... 

And if you're not a regular follower, shame on you.

But I digress.

Digressing hurts, so I'm going to go lie down.

Beware of cranky monster

Headaches.  Sheesh.

They just take right over your body, don't they?

Like your head is in a vice, your eyeballs in a juicer, and your stomach on one of those upside-down roller coaster rides you begged your friends not to make you go on but you do anyway because peer pressure is a jerk and you end up expelling the cotton candy, chili dog, and tater tots you swore you could not live without but now wish you had.

You know?

I have one of those headaches. 

It's keeping me from telling you something really funny about Saturday.  No, really, it was hilarious.  I mean, how many times does an adult pee their pants?  Like literally pee their pants?

But all three of you will have to wait until I can open my eyes again without the fear of vomit coming out. 

Out of my mouth, not my eyes.  I guess I should have made that clear.

Until we meet again...

Sick...

...but not really sick.  Just the aches and pains of being 34.

One incident I remember clearly occurred the summer of 2006.  We were living together, this was before we weren't living together, which was before we were married and then living together again.

Confused?

I'll draw a timeline:

Does that help?  "Marrierl" is actually supposed to be "Married."  It's not easy to write with a mouse.

Anyway, within the three months we lived together, as shown above, we made two trips the emergency room.  I don't remember the first, because it wasn't as eventful as the second.

The morning of my birthday (July 16th, in case you would like to send flowers/candy/shoes size 8), I woke up very early to Corey crawling on the floor toward the bathroom.  For some reason he couldn't get up.  He was disoriented and dizzy and very badly needed to get to the toilet to vomit.

Being oh-so-sympathetic in his time of need, I reluctantly called 9-1-1.

"911, what's your emergency."

"Um, my boyfriend...uh, can't get up."

"Ma'am is he bleeding."

"No."

"Is he passing out."

"No."

"What is wrong with your boyfriend."

"Well....he says he's dizzy."

"Dizzy?"

"Yeah, and nauseous."

"....ok."

"So....."

"......"

".....can we have an ambulance?"

"I'll send one right out."

Great.  I felt stupid. 

"Jeez, Corey if you coulda just bonked your head on the bathtub or something..."

Eventually the ambulance came, no sirens, and the EMS crew came upstairs.  I led them to Corey who had made his way to the toilet.  We found him clinging to life and porcelain.

After a few minutes Corey decides he does not need to be carried out, but still would like ambulance transport.  So they all walk down the stairs and hop into the ambulance.  I followed in his car.

I can only imagine what happened in that ambulance.

"What's that switch for?"

"Can I push that button?"

"Are you gunna turn on the siren??"

"Can we stop for ice cream?"

We spent the next eight hours in the emergency room to find out Corey suffers from vertigo.

Ver-ti-go.

I'm fighting the good fight

I will not catch that cold.

I will not catch that cold.

I will not catch that cold.

I will not catch that....cold, well yeah, it's a little cold in here.

I will not catch that cold.

I will not catch that cold.

I will not...hey, is it cold in here?

I will not catch that cold.

I will not catch that cold.

I will not catch that cold.

I will not catch th....is there a heating pad in that closet?

I will not catch that cold.

No, the closet in the bathroom.

I will not catch that cold.

Could you bring it to me?

I will not catch that cold.

Maybe some tea, too.

I will not catch that cold.

No, the chamomile.

I will not catch that cold.

I will not catch that cold.

Oh, and that box of tissues.

Yes, the whole box.

I will not catch that cold.

I will not catch that cold.

Why?  Because I am not catching a cold!!

Devestation

Corey has come down with a serious ailment.

One that has left him practically incapacitated.

He is unable to concentrate on his work.

And barely able to eat.

His world has now come to an end.

Corey has red itchy bumps on his face.

Back in action...

...kinda.  My head is spinning, my chest is full of ooze, I have been spelling words the way they sound (shu = shoe, soop = soup, etc.), and I am temporarily dyslexic, but that has not stopped me from getting in my car and infecting my entire office.  But I exaggerate.

Until I get my brain back, however, I'm afraid I will have to limit my blogging to simple paint pictures (which take little to no talent/effort/brain waves) and scary craigslist finds (which, thankfully, speak for themselves).  Once I am back to normal...I will be back to normal, and I can give you the embarrassing, pathetic details of my worst day spent watching 12 hours of America's Next Top Model. 

Depending on how I feel, I might actually try to illustrate me practicing my "signature walk" in between coughing fits.

AUTO RESPONSE

Hello.  This is Stacie's auto-pilot.  She has fallen under the deep and nasty spell of the cold bug and is unable to perform normal daily duties.  I have been activated and will now take over the daily blog.

Unfortunately, I am not as humorous and witty.  For example, Stacie would have written "doodies" instead of "duties" because it just looks funnier.  Auto-pilot is not programmed to make the distinction.  My sole purpose is to make sure she does not run her car off the road as she sings to Bon Jovi on the radio or that she follows her full morning routine and doesn't miss the critical deodorant step.

Stacie will be back to her normal "doodies" in approximately 7-10 days, depending on how much Vitamin C and chicken soup I can cram down her throat while she's not paying attention.

Thank you.

Common Ailments

I'm probably going to get in trouble for this, but I am just too amused by the conversations Corey and I have over his aches and pains to not share them. This one in particular:

"Might be heading to the doctor...my left knee is popping when I walk...really weird. I'm keeping an eye on it."

"You'll be fine" (this is me, the voice of reason)

"Oh no...it's more than that...it actually popped while I was walking."

"Just walk it out. You really will be fine." (me again, sympathy level 2)

"Might be ligament damage...or ACL."

"Um. No." (this was after a brief chuckle)

"Trust me."

Aw, my sweet old man.

I think after work I'll pick up a cane. He can keep it with his heating pad, special pillows, MRI results, and prescription arsenal.

But seriously folks, he did take me and my sister out for lunch on Saturday (where our waitress was an old girlfriend who apparently still has his gray Yankees sweatshirt).

He ended up with a stomach ache.