Friday fluff

This comes from here.


What's your sexual orientation?
I'm probably a 4.27.  How 'bout you?

americantransman.com

Do you share your bedroom with someone? If yes, with who??
My husband is invited nightly.  He gets kicked out at the first snore though.  Sorry, Partner, you knew that shit before you married me.  Also: Estelah.  She's like a freaking virus.  She goes wherever the hell she wants.  I've woken up many times with an impossibly small elbow in my gut.  People who say I should cherish these days can eat it.  I'm tired.

Do you resemble a famous celebrity?
Unfortunately.  Jaime Lee Curtis.  I've been told that since I was 11.

2flashgames.com  
The prettiest JLC picture that exists anywhere.
My breasts don't look like this.  I'm not sad about that.

I'm surprised any of us ever got laid.  Ever.
I'm the inordinately tall one to the right, with the jutting clavicle and the stripper leg.
The one who most resembles, even at the age of 14, an old, androgynous, two-bit actress.
I'm tall.  See the little ones on the left?  One of them became my best friend.  I ate the other one.

What brand is your mobile?
Do people really talk like that?  My mobile is Apple brand.

What keychains do you have with your house keys?
I don't.  I have a single car key and a single house key on a ring.  Stuff is bullshit.

Do you drive? If yes, what cars do you own?
I love to drive.  Driving is one of my top two favorite things to do.  I own a Ferrari, a Bentley and two Audis.  Next, I'm saving up my money to buy a 2000 Mazda Premacy.  Bitch is gonna be suh-weet.

Do you read the newspaper?
No.  I don't.  If I'm walking past and there's an interesting headline, I'll buy it.  But everything's online now.  Feels decadent to kill a tree just for news that's going to be old by the time it's printed anyway.  The NYT digital edition serves my needs.

Is the TV on right now?
No.  The TV is not on.  The computer is.  I've never been a tv-in-the-background kind of girl.

What song are you hearing right now?
I'm listening to the dehumidifier dehumidifying.  It makes me feel sleepy.  I feel on the verge of slipping into a coma, actually.

Any favorite books you wanna mention here?
I got in trouble for reading VC Andrews' Flowers in the Attic when I was ten.  My mom found the book on my bed and returned it to her bookshelf.  I returned it to my bed.  She put it on a higher shelf.  I returned it to my bed.  She put it in her drawer.  I returned it to my bed.  Then she yelled at me for going through her drawers.  This is pretty much how we communicated as a family--just sub out the book for various things like tampons, condoms, college applications, etc.  I am tempted to say Flowers in the Attic was my favorite childhood book.  So there's that.

Are you up-to-date with the latest news on celebrities?
Nope.  I used to be, a few years ago.  And then I realized how much time I was wasting by giving a shit.  Also, I realized I was desensitizing myself to the fact that these celebrities are real people.  Real, living, breathing people who are just as stupid as I am.  Who gives a shit.  It's all Photoshop anyway.

That being said, I apparently care enough about them to have four separate people email me the news of David Beckham's underwear line for H&M.  Four.  I'm making them all the godparents of my children.  Obvi.  The one who sent me the video, though, kind of wins.  If you're going to watch this, make sure you have time to take a shower afterwards.




Have you ever lied to a best friend?
I lie all the time to my BFF.  The bad thing is, she knows it.  She'll be like, "You're being ridiculously inappropriate, aren't you?"  And I'll be like, "NO!  Oh my god, no.  It's so not like that.  You have no idea how appropriate I am being."  And then she'll be like, "You need to shut that shit down, you freak."  Sigh.

Do you consider yourself intelligent?
Yes.  Though sometimes I wonder.

Are you a morning person or a night person?
I'd be a night person if my children actually SLEPT.  But as it is now, the only chance of my getting any real sleep is before two--when my daughter wakes up, like clockwork, every fucking night, to punish me for my desire to have a family.

She's holding a dinosaur.  She is ALWAYS holding a dinosaur.
That's how you know something's off with her.

Do you enjoy doing stuff on your own?

Heh heh.  Yes.

Next week, we're doing this one: http://www.quizopolis.com/survey/7478/Interesting--Survey/  And just to clarify: you absolutely do not need an invitation to join up.  If you read this and want to play, please do.  Everyone is welcome.

A mouth full of spiders

Seems lately I can't write unless someone's given me a prompt.  Thus, my submission for Lance's 100 Word Song.  This week's song was Hotel Illness by Black Crowes.  To explain to you how I got from that song to this response would take many hundreds of words, so I'll spare you.  But Lance says it's okay.  He says there aren't any rules.  So here goes:

Crystal grew up swaddled in the stories her mother told about her.  “This one, she’s trouble,” she said with a glint in her eye and a shake of her head.  “Independent and fierce.  Wild.” 

Every cup spilled and every tantrum thrown were carefully catalogued as evidence of the girl’s propensity towards rebellion.  And, somehow, of her inherent strength. 

When she turned eighteen, I bought her a dog, one of those angry, sturdy-looking ones that comes with papers you pay a thousand bucks for.  Her mother told me she needed it for protection.  Looks to me, she needed it for company.

See a little light

My submission for Lance's 100 Word Song, where the song this week was Bob Mould's See A Little Light.  This is decidedly not the type of music I'd prefer to be listening to, but I'm sure lots of people said the same when I went with Radiohead's vastly unpopular Idioteque two weeks ago.  So I played along anyway.  Wikipedia tells me that this Bob Mould character raised a ton of money to support the legalization of same-sex marriage.  And that is something I can get behind.  So that's where I went with it.

********

“You’ve never been ashamed a minute in your life.”  It was a statement, not a question, as she traced the curve of my shoulder with a single finger.  I smiled, taking the last draw off my cigarette before dropping it into the glass of scotch beside the bed.

“There’s no time for it,” I said.  “There’s hardly time for this,” I said, kissing the spot just beneath her ear.  “And I’d much rather do this.”

In the shower later, I would attack my skin with soap, bruising my breasts red with the effort of becoming clean enough to go home.

(Sorry for the whole don't-publish-jack-for-days-and-then-publish-twice-in-two-hours thing.  I stick to a schedule on Trifecta.  I can't be expected to keep it up over here, too.)

Gynecology around the world

As you know, I move around a lot.  When I move, a lot of my stuff gets left behind, because it's usually cheaper to just buy a new one when I get to my new destination.  That's true for a lot of things, but not everything.  Not things like, say, my uterus.  I bring my uterus everywhere with me.  I'm also pretty good about bringing my uterus to a doctor once a year for the full workup.  I missed a year once (it was that time I had two babies in 18 months) and felt so freaking guilty about it that when I did see a doctor, it was more like seeing a priest for confession.

All of this means that I have seen gynecologists in the following locations: Florida, Massachusetts, New Orleans, Venezuela, Kenya, Abu Dhabi and Hong Kong.  I want to tell you about all of them, but I'm going to focus on the Kenyan gyno because he was the funniest.  (One of the Florida ones was the hottest.  But THAT is fodder for a different post.  A much different post.)  Dr. P had the exact same laugh as Dr. Nick Riviera from the Simpsons.  He basically WAS Dr. Nick Riviera.

netbrawl.com

I was pregnant when I came to Dr. P. and pregnant again, though with a different baby, when I left Dr. P.  I was young(er), a bit freaked out to have already miscarried half of my attempts at procreation, and ridiculously enthusiastic/involved/psycho about all things pregnancy.  The doctor needed to be perfect, you know?  He was not.

Dr. P was famous for withholding information he thought the mother-to-be would find unpleasant.  Here's a typical conversation with Dr. P:

Me:  I'm a little concerned because everyone keeps telling me that I look about four months pregnant.  But I'm actually eight months pregnant.

Dr. P:  Don't worry.  The baby has started growing again.

Me:  What the fuck are you talking about?

Dr. P: Well, you remember how for two months the baby didn't show any signs of growth or weight gain at all and we were very concerned?  No?  Oh, wait.  I see here.  I wrote "Do not worry mother" in your chart.  Well, the baby is fine now.

Dr. P. would ask me to get undressed and hop up on the table (normal procedure) while he was standing there watching (abnormal procedure).  He also had a second floor office and left the window open.  I could see into the parking lot and, true story, the construction workers could see into his office. It was there that I perfected the "act like this is just a porno" view of gynecological procedure.  It has served me well over the years.

When I said, laughingly (but with sweat rolling down my shaking limbs) that I was kind of missing my daily alcohol fix, Dr. P assured me that two glasses of wine a day wouldn't hurt the baby.  My pre-pregnancy weight was about a buck five.  Two glasses of wine on a 100-lb girl is not a casual event.  The effect on my teeny tiny baby?  I don't even want to think about it.

Dr. P told me that childbirth would be very easy for me because I had a very "roomy" pelvis.  This despite the fact that I weighed about 120 lbs when I delivered an 8 lb baby.  After the baby had to go to the NICU because he was caught in my not-so-roomy pelvis for hours and hours of unproductive labor which ended in a vacuum extraction, Dr. P laughed his Dr. Nick Riviera laugh and said, "I guess it wasn't so roomy!"  Well, wipe the blood off the wall and paint me red.

Dr. P once sent me home on a Wednesday telling me he was 100% sure I would have the baby by Saturday.  Naturally, as a first-timer, I packed the bag, called the grandparents, etc etc.  The baby came two and a half weeks later.  When I called him out on his prediction, Dr. P said, "Who can tell with these things?"

At 24 weeks, I rolled off my husband one morning to find us both adrift in a sea of blood.  The baby and I were both fine, and nobody at the hospital could tell why the hell I was bleeding so profusely.  When I saw Dr. P the following week, he reaffirmed that I was fine.  I said, "Well, how 'bout that sex thing?  Is it, like, a no-go til the baby comes?"  He said, "You're fine.  Just take it a bit easier on your husband from here on out."  Wink wink.  Seriously.  I think any other doctor would've put me on bed rest.  He just advised that we stick to more traditional positions.  Needless to say, the threat of maternal hemorrhage made the last half of that pregnancy decidedly longer than the first half.

I had the baby, despite it all.  But nine months later, when I found myself pregnant again?  I took my business elsewhere.

What about you?  Any good gyno gab?  (alliteration for the win)