Friday, December 16, 2011

Welcome to the Sh*t Show (Pardon my French.)

Yesterday I experienced my first colon cleanse, and let me tell you—it was not pretty.
I started the awful day off right—with a dentist appointment. Once my teeth were clean, I continued with my all clear liquid only diet.
I had organic chicken broth, lime green jello (any red or purple dye was off limits,) water, Gatorade, and diet ginger ale. All Day. And that was it. Who knew how hungry one could be??
I used the term “hangry” (angry because you’re hungry) quite a few times.
I tried to make the most of the day by getting some errands done in the morning. But I had to stop because everywhere I went smelled like McDonalds (which I don’t even like.)
Luckily, I have a very understanding boyfriend. He brought over butt paste and bought me a magazine.
Around 5:00 pm it was time to take the saline flush solution. 16 ounces of the most disgusting liquid I have ever tasted— like sea water mixed with bad cherry cough syrup and lots of aspartame. I chugged over the sink.
Then it happened.
I was in the bathroom for the next 3 hours. TMI? Probably, but I’m trying to prepare you in case it’s ever your turn. I literally read half of the 2nd Harry Potter Book.
Between the long bathroom sessions and not eating all day, I passed out for an hour. When I woke up at 9:30 it was time for round 2. I didn’t get to sleep last night until around midnight, and I was starving like I have never been. You should know by now how much I love food.
This morning I woke up to grumbley tummy, took a shower, and headed to the outpatient surgery center. My appointment was at 10 am, and unlike myself, I got there 10 minutes early. Unfortunately, it was my lucky day and everything was delayed. I got taken back for blood pressure finally around 11am. By 11::45 I was getting into a backless hospital gown and getting a plastic IV tube shoved into my arm.
At noon I got some oxygen tubes up my nose, and got wheeled into the operating room. By the time I realized my anesthesia has been put into my IV I watched the walls move for a couple seconds, then passed out. I woke up 20 minutes later, had an apple juice, and waited for the Doctor to tell me that I was all clear—both literally and figuratively. Which is nice to hear, but also frustrating, because if problems aren’t solved, and endoscopy is next.
I’m not worried, though. Just inconvenienced. I didn’t have to work today, or yesterday, so that was nice. I’ve been watching the Oprah Winfrey Network all day being consistently served tea and toast by Brian. As soon as I got out of surgery, all I wanted to do was eat—the suggested a light meal first mean before I could eat whatever I wanted. I decided a soup from WaWa would be a good call. Stupid me, I gave into the delectable lobster bisque. Bad choice. Brian later confirmed this by saying, “you went with fish and dairy as your first choice?” Hah. Observant.
It’s after 5pm and I’m still not feeling too hot, but I have the rest of the weekend to relax and do nothing, except attend an ugly sweater Christmas party.
All I have left to say about this experience, now that I’ve considered it all, is this—Once you’ve had a colonoscopy, you will never use the term “hot sh*t” again. Not that I actually ever use that term, but when people use it they’ll say, “Oh, he/she thinks he/she’s hot sh*t.” No. No. No. No. No one would ever want to be that.

Thursday, December 1, 2011

Getting Old & Acting Creepy

Getting Old & Acting Creepy

Last night, a girl friend and I decided to have a ladies’ night.

We had high expectations of a Wednesday night filled with drinks and laughs and dancing.

Plans went from a club in Atlantic City to a bar in Somers Point.

Cocktails and cute outfits turned into two tired girls sitting at a table in the corner struggling to finish our one and only drinks over a pile of nachos and mozzarella sticks.

She is a newly, newly wed, so I got to look through her camera and see all of her pictures, which was lovely—she is lovely.

By 9:30, we were yawning and calling it a night; I could barely keep my eyes open on the 45 minute drive home.

Not to say, I didn’t have a great time, because I did. It just made me feel old and kind of lame.

A month ago, I hosted an awesome Halloween party in a house I rented in Ocean City. It was lots of fun, and a lot to clean up and take home, so inevitably Brian forgot his brand new tool box that his dad bought him for his birthday. Ocean City is kind of out of the way, and after a few failed attempts to return to get the box, we’d kind of forgotten it. The owner of the house had already winterized it (I know, because I clean for her.)

So last night, since we had driven to the bar from my lady friend’s apartment in Ocean City, I asked if she minded stopping at the house quickly so I could grab the tool box before I headed home. So we did.

There’s a lockbox on the front porch, and I knew the combination from cleaning in the summer, so I fumbled around with it in the dark, until I finally got the stupid thing open.

I did explain to the owner that I had forgotten something, and would be stopping by the house next time I was in the area to get it. She lives in West Virginia. It’s not like I routinely just let myself into people’s homes.

I open the lockbox, and there is NO KEY inside of it. There’s a guy who lives in a separate downstairs apartment, and his light was on, but he had complained about our bass being too loud at the party, and I didn’t really feel like asking him.

So I get the bright idea to walk around the back of the house to a two story garage that was converted into another apartment. I knocked on the door once and waited. It’s 10pm on a Wednesday night by this point. I knock again. Finally a shirtless guy in his late twenties answers the door to find two lovely ladies standing outside in the dark.

I briefly explained that I had indeed met him before, because I invited him to my Halloween party a month early—“Could you let me into the house, I forgot something?” He briefly explained that he had been to no such party, and that was probably his brother. Oops. I countered with a—“Remember that time in the summer I cleaned the house and you were in there fixing the washer?” (True story.) It worked. The dude put a hoody on, led us into the house, and once I found the light switch, I made my way to the 2nd floor and found the tool box.

On our way back to my friend’s apartment, we concluded that three things could have happened tonight—we could have left empty handed, we could have had good luck and gotten the tool box, or we could have never been heard of again.

I went to bed last night feeling old and creepy.