I wear my blue bikini shirt because it’s comfortable. I don’t wear it so creepy, old guys can ogle my cleavage. Harrison Ford can gawk at my boobs all he wants; Creepy Old Guys should not. Does it take much brain power to figure the answer to that?
Major Hotness > Lame Oldness
Empath asked me a very pointed question in tandem with the above. Would it be okay for Stephen Hawking to stare at my boobs? Would I be creeped out or giddily excited?
I thought today was Monday. I got all ready to watch American Justice at 12.30 and so bummed when Flip This House came on instead. 
Then I realized it was Saturday.
Not much going on lately. No bed delivery, probably won’t get here until late next week or the week after. I saw on the Star channel about this plastic surgeon who’d injected motor oil instead of collagen in his patients’ lips. He’s getting sued, but good luck finding the bastard.
I so want to pounce on Michael Weatherly from NCIS. It’s time he had a serious fling with a real woman. 
Oh, I got a $25 coupon from Addition Elle for all the money I spent on those clothes. No, I haven’t gone to the Y yet. Maybe tomorrow.
My eye exam went okay. I managed to get through the glaucoma test (puff of air in each eye) just fine as my right eye has 50% vision loss. The bad news is that the pressure in my eyes is elevated a lot since the last exam 5 years ago and I now have to have some weird eye tests done at one of the hospitals. I’m definitely not having my eyes/face cut open. The eye doctor made an appointment for August 13 and our travel plans to Iowa are still up in the air. My sister M said if we could fly down, she’d drive us back to Canada. The more annoying part of the exam is the cost of my new glasses: $750 taxes included. The frames are $200 (I went with plastic) and the lenses are $500 (including grinding and scratch resistant coating).
So not only do I have to hurry up and make arrangements for a plane trip, I have to worry about going blind. I don’t have faith in what the doctors say, either in the States or Canada. Last time anything happened, I had an MRI and doctors told me I had a brain tumor. Anyway, it’s not like I’ll get told what’s wrong with me. The medical people never tell me what’s the matter, so I have to self diagnose to figure things out. What I think is up with my eyes is ocular hypertension. It’ll be fun to treat since I refuse to have my eyes/face cut open and eye drops do not work well with me (I cry them out). At least I know why I’m having such awful headaches, though I’m confused as to why they’ve only been active this last 3-4 days…
I made Empath stop by the YMCA/YWCA and pick up info about joining. Both of us need to exercise and I think we’ll do pretty good if we can exercise together. I’m sure weight loss will be a huge factor in my eye problem.
Wait, not “died”, but “expired”, like a magazine subscription. 
Empath and I were fortunate enough to see George perform live a couple years ago. George shaped the way I looked at things growing up and still affects how I see things currently. I’m sure everyone’s doing some sort of blog tribute to him, so I’ll keep mine short. In fact, I’ll narrow it down to 10 words.
Shit, Piss, Fuck, Cunt, Cocksucker, Motherfucker, Tits, Fart, Turd and Twat.
The bed frame came in today. Leon’s called yesterday and Empath called them back to be told to call today to make arrangements for delivery. So, we’re thinking we’ve got time to move things out of the bedroom.
Oh god no.
I am woken up at 8.30a to someone pounding on the front door. (I know someone out there is going, “OMG, you sleep in that late?!?!) Cranky, I make my way upstairs thinking it’s one of BIL’s dumbass friends. Two more rounds of door pounding before I get even close to the door. I scream like a fishwife to let them know I’m coming. I can see a blurry shape jump as I scream. Open the door and it’s the delivery guys from Leon’s. I apologize and explain why I yelled. The guy mentions something about “having a late night” which I let slide if it gets him to take the rest of my bed downstairs.
I don’t know about Empath, but I was hoping for the box springs along with the frame. Empath had to put the frame together. Neither of us were off to a good start, me especially. I really hate being woken up like that for no good reason. Anyway, we have 2/3 of the bed. It takes up a lot of room. There’s a bookcase and chair we should get rid of, but have no way to take either to the dump. I expect to get many banged knees and scraped calves from the footboard.
Last night, the ILs drop a bomb on us. First, they offered to pay for a plane ride to Iowa and we would rent a car and drive back. This would enable me to get the dishes and things my sister M has set aside for me. Then, the ILs offer us the use of their new Chevy HHR (looks like a PT Cruiser but the back end is boxy) to drive down and back. Hey that’s cool! We plan out a driving trip and figure out what to do about Empath’s job (3 weeks is long to take off for vacation). Last night, the MIL calls from their cabin or somewhere with a shitty phone connection, and tells us to have things shipped through Mayflower. Empath got pissed, not only from getting the ol’ switcheroo but because he can only hear every 10th word and his folks DON’T UNDERSTAND they can’t be heard.
The whole point of driving back from Iowa is to keep my dishes from breaking. I mean, my folks didn’t have a lot of material wealth and the fact that they bought things specifically for each of us kids to have later in life means something. Granted, the set of dishes set aside for me were collected from auctions. I still like them. If memory serves, they have roses on them and are a light, pale pink in overall color. And, surprise to me, Mom and Dad had told everyone else that the cherry glass set was mine because I thought it looked cool when I saw it.
Anyway, back to the story. Empath is upset and I’m upset because he is and we’re feeding off each other. He feels guilty because the ILs are manipulating him and he can’t do anything about it and that they did this at 10pm *over the phone*. I feel bad because he does and we actually made plans for this trip and I was looking forward to seeing family and my daughter again. I make snap decisions when I’m pissed, things I should think about instead. When he hung up, I called M and told her to sell my stuff since I can’t come down now. I give her a Cliff’s Notes version of what’s happening. She says she’ll keep things (it’s 1 Rubbermaid tub) or see if my daughter wants any of it. I agree, crying. After hanging up, I find Empath in the bedroom and we console each other.
This morning, we’re not in the best of moods. There’re phone calls for the ILs because they never tell anyone when they’re going out to their cabin. One phone call I answered. It was a telemarketer. I’ve worked on that side of the phone and Empath did it for 5 years, so we know how frustrating the job is. I tend to give the ‘marketer the benefit of the doubt; I let them get their schpeel out and listen to it. You can tell by the tone of voice is the ‘marketer is Super Up For Work (re: Kelly Ripa’s Tide commercials) or one call away from killing the person in the next cubicle. The ‘marketer has that tired quality to her voice, so I let her get through her speech and give her a no thank you. Empath waited for me to be done to find out what the call was about. I tell him, “It was a telemarketer. She sounded really tired of it and I didn’t want to be the call that sent her on a shooting rampage through the office.” I looked at him. “Well, it’s just telemarketers though. Not like she’s going to kill Santa Claus.”
XD
We did our bimonthly shopping yesterday. On the way home, I started getting cramps which I thought were just from the end of my period to get the uterus cleaned. About halfway home, the cramps are very bad and feeling much like the hard labor of childbirth. I carry in what groceries I can since I don’t want Empath to carry all of it. I drop everything by the fridge, kick of my shoes and jeans and collapse on the foot of bed in a fetal position. My mommy parts were hurting so bad; stomach and uterine muscles were cramped constantly and vulva and labia were swollen and throbbing (bad kind of swollen and throbbing). Nothing could ease the pain but time. I just lay there and cried, trying to keep my thighs apart so the pressure on my crotch was a little as possible. The pain stuck around for an hour. Empath, who gets much kudos, rubbed my back and brushed my hair to make me feel better. He even got me a cold bottle of water from the fridge that I wanted to stick between my legs to reduce the swelling. Menopause can’t get here soon enough. Seriously.
The rest of the bed isn’t here yet. I’m hoping tomorrow the delivery guys will be by, but I doubt it.
I made an appointment to get an eye exam and new glasses next week. I’ve been having headaches that come and go for a month or so and all I can come up for an explanation is my vision is going. Hopefully I’ll be able to trick my eyes into the glaucoma exam. Unless it’s changed since last time (3 years ago), the assistant using a machine to blow a puff of air into my eye (one at time). Both eyes have to be open in order to get equalized pressure of the retinas or something like that. One eye (the first one natch ) will be fine, but the second one will be problematic; I know what’s coming and I don’t like people messing with my eyes even for the best. If I can get the assistant to go along with it, I have a plan that might work. I’ll have her puff my left eye first. My right eye has no peripheral vision and the lens is bent or something (words/letters are wavy and object/people have smooshed-in right sides), so its not going to see it coming (literally ).
Empath may kill me for blogging about this, but I’m compelled.
Like all guys, Empath enjoys a good ball scratch. He came home from work yesterday, pulled off his Hanes and sat down to do some serious scratching. He gets started, only pull his hand away because something felt weird. There’s a centimeter wide blood clot with a thick blood smear on his thumb. He says, “Oh God” and I turn to look. I see the blood and grab the paper towel roll, ripping one off and handing it to him. I’m thinking the blood is from his thumb. I run to the bathroom to get a wet cloth and he’s sounding a bit freaked. I’m telling him to just press the paper down for a minute until I can get there.
I run back and look at his thumb. There’s no scratch or cut on it. Now I get why he was acting funny; he got the blood from his testicles. I drop to the floor by his chair, grab a flashlight and start wiping his boys down. He’s not feeling anything other than a cold cloth on his crotch. If there’s a wound, he’d feel a sting or something. I’m cleaning his sack very well and really looking it over. He doesn’t have a lot of hair down there, but what he does have is very long (about 3-4 inches) and a pretty light brown color. Yeah I’m weird like that. What he’s figured out is one of his hemorrhoids popped during work, bled out and made a big clot. He’s fine now and everything is working properly.
I found a new blog, V-Carded. It’s The Virgin’s discovery as to why he’s still a virgin in his 20s. He’s not whiny about his lack of sexual intercourse (definition #1), but looks at the whys of his situation. He also talks about other stuff, too. I’d say it’s a pretty intellectual blog which doesn’t carry that pretentious tang.
My period started yesterday.
I dragged Empath clothes shopping at the fat women’s store (Addition Elle) about 20 minutes before the store closed on Friday. I wanted to go earlier, but he was playing some hentai game and I don’t get between my man and his porn. Anyway, we went in and I hit things quickly, getting what I intended in 10 minutes (power shopping ftw! XD). I grabbed 2 bras, 3 undies and some pedal pushers (the fashionable term is capri, but I think of those cigarettes instead of short pants).
Since it was a quick trip and we had other things to be out and about for, we went back to the fat women’s store for a leisurely expedition. I picked out 4 more capri pants, a skort, 3 t-shirts and 3 tank tops which should work great for when we go to Iowa in August. Empath doesn’t mind Addition Elle because it has a) shopping carts and b) comfy chairs. The chairs are between the panties and the bras, so he feels sorta weirded out. The store used to have magazines, but not anymore. On the way home, I complained of pain in my kidneys. Empath asked if it was my lower back (he’s thinking kidney stones) and I say it is. When I get home and go pee, surprise! there’s blood on the TP.
The BIL has been upstairs for a couple days. Last night he was doing laundry. Nothing wrong with that, but he washes his clothes a few at a time. Something like one outfit – jeans, boxers, socks, shirt – are one load of laundry. Water waste ftl. -_- The other thing he does that pisses me off is leaving the washer lid up instead of closing it. I’m tempted to get a fake moose head and stuff it in there the next time the lid is up. I had a scary moment years ago finding a dead mouse in the washer because my roommate would leave the lid open. I think the BIL’s girlfriend dumped him, thus kicking him out. He left leaving the doors unlocked (another thing I hate). It’s a very bad habit he needs to break, but that won’t happen until someone gets attacked.
I don’t have anything very shattering to share. Just wanted a post tagged under a Wednesday, lol. 
About my little toe: I did cut down the perpendicular nail and discovered why it hurt so damned bad. The nailbed wasn’t bruised so much as holding a pocket of blood between it and the nail itself. When I trimmed back the nail, blood oozed out and I found that kinda cool. I dug out a towel from the laundry basket by the bed and daubed at the wound. It didn’t bleed for long and the soreness went bye-bye afterwards. When Empath came home from work that day, I had him trim the nail better since I can barely reach it.
I mailed off my quarter payment for Dad’s funeral cost. It should be there by this Friday.
The rest of the bed might be here next week sometime. There’s more crap taking up space in the bedroom what with new pillows and new side tables. I also bought a small Rubbermaid container for my stuffed animals.
