I'm Back

I can't stand it. I can't stay away.


The Milk Maid is back.

And, as you may have noticed I changed my hair a little. I was trying to color it back to my natural dark chestnut brown shade. But it turned black. After a week of being in total shock and screaming at the stranger in the mirror every time I paced by, I grew to like my new shade of locks. I feel kind of powerful and bitchy. I stood up for myself a little bit more. I shot a bird at a coworker who called me Elvira.

I had knee surgery on December 15th for a simple arthroscopic plica resection and a lateral release. My "simple" procedure got infected so I was taken in for an emergency arthroscopic irrigation and drainage on December 29th. I had a picc line placed at the hospital during my 2 day stay and received IV vancomycin until January 13th when my surgeon announced my synovial white count (a measure of infection) was over 100,000. Normal is 200 or less. Yeah... it was bad. So, on the 13th I had yet another surgery to clean out the mess that was festering. Dr. Hottie McGropesalot decided that a 4 inch gash incision on the inner side of my right knee was the way to go.

Tomorrow, after 9 days of a continuous Nafcillan IV pump, I will see what my future holds when I see Dr. Hottie for my post op. (I guess technically my post-post-post op. Or post op-op-op. I dunno- anyways...)

So, now that we are pretty much caught up with me how have all of YOU been?

And RainbowMama, I hope I can make you laugh a heck of a lot starting now!

--The Milk Maid says she may be a bitch, but at least she's the pick of the litter.

Ninja Phlebotomist Girl Has Wicked Fast Reflexes

This week during my clinical adventures I have moved to the pediatric side of the lab. The phleb that closes down at night will always have to wrap up on the pedi side, so the experience is a must. However, in my book- a book that includes cooties, vomit, urine, and pain in the ass spoiled brats- the experience is bringing in mixed reviews.

I love the kids that come in that are ready and willing to go. I love the kids that are scared of what will happen to them and I take the time to explain what I am doing and why it's being done. I even love the babies that have puked up milk on me (cause God bless them they are so freakin cute, even with sour-milk breath). I even love the kids who squeal and wiggle- they bleed faster and get out sooner.

What I don't like is a 13 year old girl who tries to bite me (yes I said BITE me) while I'm doing a strep throat swab. What I dislike equally as much is the 11 year old who took a fucking swing at me while doing yet another throat culture (I'm beginning to see a pattern here).

I handled biting girl by pinching her nose (ever so gently of course) and forcing her to either open up and let me swab or pass out. Either way works, right?

I handled the knock out kid like this: She swung at my head with her left hand, I used my left to grab her wrist (as her unconcerned mother looked on) and use my fast reflexes to swab just as vigorously as I could with my right hand. I then proceeded to give her a glare that could have melted polar ice. One of those "You picked the wrong bitch today" looks. My Nike Shox are now officially my new bitch shoes.

Starting Monday I will float between offices- the main lab, a satellite location that is 10 minutes from home, and possibly yet another location later on that is south of here but still very close. My application has officially been pulled for review by Head Lab Lady. SB, who is 2nd in command, but my direct supervisor, assures me I have job. Not that I was too worried.

--The Milk Maid says why buy the cow when you get the Milk Maid for free?

Tone up with this fantastic weight equipment... You know you wanna!

Because it's my nature. And because it isn't.

For the past week, maybe a little longer than that, I've been feeling particularly... um... how do I say this and not scare the bee-gees out of everyone?

Cheerful? Sunny? Bright, verdent, full of life? Pizzazzy, complete with heel-kick?

I know- it's scary. Where's the snark, Milk Maid? Where's the venom? Has no one been there to piss in your cereal every morning? Awww- poor Milk Maid.

I'm not sure what the change is. I'm not sure what has even brought it all about. I am pretty sure that I don't want to over-analyze it because that would probably pull the plug on my Tub-O-Cheer and I'd go whooshing down the drain (and B would have to come fish me out with a pipe snake).

I was driving down the road this morning (ok, I admit- yesterday morning too. And Monday.) and I was happy. Downright annoyingly jazz-hands peppy. I was thinking about LOVE and BIG J and BABIES and SCHOOL and GOOSHY ROMANCE and VACATIONS and all the while I was singing songs...

You see where this is going? And it's not even Vitamin Z induced. No, I wasn't drinking either (although it was 5 o'clock somewhere).

You ask, "Maid of the Milk, what brought about this change? Did your bitch shoes get too tight?"

I'm still me, rest assured. Because pepper-specked in between those warm fuzzies of puppies and kitties and love and junk was this voice:

Waiting for the other shoe to drop... Aren't you Milk Maid?

Whew-- for a second there, I thought I'd been body-snatched and replaced with a Pod Person.

--The Milk Maid says whatever she wants, then feels all giddy about it.
bathroom faucets

No Oompah In My Loompah

I'm trying to study flash cards and do some book work, but my brain seems to be either out of gas (insert your favorite fart joke here) or has malfunctioned to the point that I will never be able to concentrate on anything (other than blogging or sex) for more than 10 seconds at a time.

On a different note, no one (except Kat at BB) has had ANY suggestions for my 300th post. "I'm terribly disappointed!" she said scoldingly. Then she sloughed away and sulked in a corner and had lots of coffee and got over it. Mostly.

Zeus didn't eat any of the other doggies at our class. In fact, he was very well behaved and did everything I asked him to do. He won the Dog of the Night Award, which means he got a chew toy, which means that he now loves Trainer Woman much more than he loves me. Everyone was afraid of Zeus at first- one lady said "Oh My God don't let him eat me!". Never missing a chance to be a smart ass I countered with, "He only eats lean meat, lady!"... I'm damn glad I wore my Bitch Shoes to class.

Ava is still sick. I still have snotty boobs. She's added a new trick to her repertoire: When she's nursing she will get frustrated because she can't breathe from her nose so she bites me. Then I yelp, then she laughs, then I take the boobs away, then she screams, then my eyes pop out of my head. It's actually pretty funny... at least that's Jef's take on the whole deal. I remind him that he will nod off to sleep sometime...

--The Milk Maid says chicka de china the chinese chicken!

drug rehabilitation

Like A Bull In A China Shop

That's my dad. We had to move some wood working equipment around so he can tear down a shed and rebuild it as a barn (don't ask). Other than almost taking a foot off and clipping a toe with a 200lb. drill press, running out of gas in the tractor, backing the trailer with the tail gate down, ripping the tail gate off, dropping the tail gate on his other foot, and smashing a finger with the tail gate once it was back on our move was rather uneventful.

Faith has officially been promoted in her karate class. There are three levels: Beginner, Advanced, and Masters. The Master's Course kids get awesome looking black ninja-esque uniforms (Gees?) to wear. Since she is only a few years away from receiving her black belt, her instructor Mr. Wil (who's last name is Smith, no lie!) felt she was ready to move up. She gets to learn weapons in this class. Luckily, we are starting small with a Bo Staff and not heading directly into any blades at this time. Faith has the coordination of a pickle- sharp would not be good!

Faith works very hard at being a good athlete. Unfortunately, she got her father's "athleticism" and The Cowboy once got kicked off a co-ed softball team that never won a game. He's that uncoordinated. Faith is notably more talented than The Cowboy, but she really has to put her mind and a little heart and soul into what she's trying to do. Effort isn't always her strong suit either.

I never met a sport I couldn't play and be competitive. I didn't like everything I played as a kid- namely basketball, but that was the coach's fault- but I was darn good at all of it. It's really hard for me to see Faith struggle with simple maneuvers and punches and kicks because, since the adult class mimics what the kids do, I'm doing the same stuff she is doing. That is a very hard thing for a parent to watch. I can do it, the kids around her can do it, but she's struggling through it all. I really feel like this class is going to boost her desire to keep striving forward.

Now before someone throws their bitch shoes on and comes after me for saying my kid isn't a great athlete read this first:

I have never and will never tell Faith how bad/uncoordinated/gangly/etc. she is at any sport. She thinks she does just fine, and honestly I do too! She's not going to be a star out there, but she works hard and enjoys herself and that is more important that diamonds and gold and fame and trophies to me. Her friends respect her, I respect her even more. After all, isn't this time in her life about fun?

And speaking of fun, wouldn't a little drug rehabilitation brighten any one's day?

Lastly, and this is long over due, I'd like to hand out the first annual Bitch Shoe Award to a few pals:

*Jennifer the Binky Bitch at Playgroups Are No Place For Children for her recent bad girl behavior at the library (which was totally in check if you ask me!)
*Kathy over at Baby Bound, my new found comrade and future partner in crime (tiny crimes, nothing too bad right *wink*)
*B from Baby Mamas Drama, my eternal friend in Bitch-dom!

If there weren't bitches like us wandering the earth smacking down the goodie-two-shoers everyone else might get splattered with gooey-goodness. Long live snark! And pass it on~

--The Milk Maid says snark comes off off your shoe easily with just a little wine!

Q & A With The Milk Maid

I get lots of questions (occasionally from real people) so today seemed like a great time for a little Q & A with The Milk Maid!


Q.- Why do you write a blog?
A.- The blog started as a way to journal my adventures in breastfeeding for my daughter Ava. What I didn't expect was for my blog to allow me to meet new people and make friends. The blog has evolved from a breastfeeding journal to a glimpse into my life and my many adventures.


Q.- How long have you been blogging? What gave you the idea?
A.- Since October of 2006 I have been blogging. Ava was about a month old at the time. I had made a trip to the local mall KNOWING that I would have to breastfeed in public. It was time to get out and take a chance. I had tons of "lines" to burn the naysayers with. I was ready for the onslaught of busy-bodies to make a rude comment to me. After feeding Ava in a "sitting room" in a department store and being met with only kind words, polite advice, and many oohs and aahhhs I decided then and there that I could quite possibly make a difference in some one's life by letting the world know that bf-ing doesn't have the stigmas attached to it like it used to. There will always be a dumb ass out there to say something uneducated, but for the most part I have found people to be joyful with my choice.


Q.- But I don't want to breastfeed. Or I wanted to breastfeed, but couldn't. Will you be mean to me?
A.- Goodness no! How you choose to feed or have to feed your baby is your business. Everyone is welcome at Milk-Induced Coma. My first daughter was a bottle baby. I just happened to get lucky with Ava (aka Super Sucker!).


Q.- How did you come up with the name "Milk-Induced Coma".
A.- Ava would eat herself silly, and collapse in a baby's breath sigh-- that is a milk-induced coma! The name is a tribute to her and to myself for something we worked hard for together.


Q.- Let's talk about you for a minute... Tell us about yourself and your family!
A.- My name is Aradia. Well, that's one of my names- it's a long complicated story, but half the people I know call me Aradia, the other half call me that other name. I also get called the Milk Maid or MM quite a bit!! I'm 28 years old, I'm married to Jef, aka Big J, and have been for 5 years. I dabble in karate, I am a former softball player (1st base) as well as a former soccer goalie (top ranked goalie in GA my senior year). I'm fairly tall- 5'8- and I'm afraid of nothing. Except spiders. And kidneys.


Jef, Jeffie, Big J, JC, etc is my dearest, sweetest, kindest, most wonderful husband. He is my best friend and without him I am lost. He's going thru some health issues with his kidneys, but we will make it thru. Sometimes I forget that fact, have a mini-meltdown, and need a little love and support. Jef loves planes, trains, and automobiles. He simply melts at the sight of our daughter Ava. He's a wonderful daddy and husband. Does anyone else feel gooey from the sweetness of it all?

Faith is my 9 year old (from my 1st marriage to The Cowboy). Faith is brilliantly funny, quirky, and full of life. She loves Pokemon, dinosaurs, and trying to get out of doing homework. She's an advanced blue belt in karate. Her biggest downfall (of sorts) is that she is exactly like I was at her age. Bless her heart!

Ava is my boobie-baby. She's 14 months old. Those little bits of skin on her ears are skin tags- no she isn't deaf, no they don't hurt. We think they are cute, and when she is old enough to decide to have them removed she can make the decision on them. We had lots of "issues" getting pregnant with Ava, most of which were not my fault. Some of you know the whole story, some of you don't. Either way- she's here! And that is all that is important.


My Mom and Dad: Part-time players in this comedy of errors. Mom's usually a bitch, dad's usually a goob who's broken something that he was fixing that wasn't broken to begin with. Despite their faults and short comings I love them and I *promise* to put them in a nice old folks home. If they behave.


Baby#3: As of yet, baby#3 is just in the "idea" phase. But, baby#3 is spoken of often, so HE (pleasepleasepleaseplease) needed a mention.


Paige: Jef's 21 year old daughter who is currently in Argentina. I rant about her a lot, because she is a doofus. She's not a bad person... she just hasn't grown up yet.


Zeus: Our Doberman puppy who is currently 15 weeks old and weighs 37 lbs.


Q.- We heard a rumor about a special pair of shoes you own... Can you tell us about them?
A.- You must be speaking of The Bitch Shoes. When I get on a rant I toss those shoes on and scuff up the floors of contentment! I love my Bitch Shoes, but I don't wear them any more than I have to!


Q.- Why do you talk about sex so much.
A.- I was always taught to write about what you are good at!

Q.- And what is up with all the weirdo posts about yeast infections and sex dreams. Have you no decency?
A.- I have decency, somewhere. But I think I put it away in a closet with my skinny jeans. I always have made a point to find the humor in any situation, and if blogging about my yeastie beast or sex with presidential candidates or soap stars makes you laugh then so be it! If it makes you cringe, well- maybe you aren't in the right place.

Q.- When WILL you blog about that sex dream with Rudy Giuliani?
A.- Possibly never. It makes me feel all icky just to think about it!

Q.- Why don't you like Republicans?
A.- I like them, I just don't vote for them.

Q.- Are you a Democrat?
A.- No. I'm one of those unnamed, unbiased, vote-for-who-the-best-person-for-the-job is kind of people. As of late, I think Jim Morrison should be President with Freddy Mercury as VP.

Q.- Why do you always end your blogs with a "Milk Maid says..."?
A.- One of my favorite blogs- Mimi Smartypants- has a signature ending, and since imitation is the sincerest form of flattery- well... you get the point.

Q.- Any parting words of advice for your readers?
A. -The Milk Maid says live long and comment!

My 2 Cents

Because of the recent activity from Pourlebebe (which makes me rancid with anger) on RaJen's blog I'd like to say...

On behalf of the whole blogging circle that I am a card carrying member of, this one's for you:




'Nuff said.

--The Milk Maid is throwing down the gauntlet.

Daily Footwear

I awoke to yet another sticky-headed barf-baby this morning. Nothing says Good Morning like stomach bile and crackers, yo!

After taking Faith to school I called the pediatrician's office and spoke to the nurse on call. Apparently, a week long cold followed by 5 days of the shits and then 36 hours of vomit do not constitute an emergency. Or an office visit. Nor would they even recommend anything besides "clear liquids and Pedi*Lite". The nurse was like, "Well stuff is going around. If it gets worse then we might can see her, but it's probably just a little bug and you shouldn't worry."

Did she just give me snark?....

Now I know that mother's tend to get all feisty and worked up over small things when their children are "sick". You know the mom's that as soon as Junior sneezes they rush him to the ER and have a billions tests run, never mind the fact that he's been playing in black pepper for cripes sakes. Yeah, those mom's are my Nemesis. My Achilles heel. They are the moms that cause people with real problems to get the old ho-hum answer of give it a few more days.

...Needless to say, I dusted off my Bitch Shoes and walked all over nurse so-and-so's smart ass with them. I still didn't get an appointment (probably because I hung up on her), but I sure felt a hell of a lot better about the whole deal. I will give the puke-a-thon a few more hours (so far, so good since breakfast) and take her to another doctor or the Quick Care if need be.

And while I'm wearing my favorite footwear...

Do any of you read the Because I Said So blog? You know, the e-bay mom with 6 kids who is now an overnight sensation because of a pack of Pokemon cards and a funny story that sold said pack of cards for some insane amount like $200. She has a book deal now. Which is great and all but (if you like her please stop reading now)...

She really isn't that funny.

There, I said it. Now keep in mind that I do read her every few days and I understand that she is keeping all her "good" material for the books she is writing. And I know I should not be the one throwing stones since half the stuff I write either is a) not all that funny or b) about sex. But I just keep thinking to myself, "Self- see what that semi-funny woman did. You can do that too, Self. Plus you have Bitch Shoes, snark, and you are in a gang!"

If someone finds a Muse out there, I seem to be missing one.

--The Milk Maid says mecka-lecka-hi-mecka-hiney-ho!

(PS- home gym equipment)

Monday is almost over...

And can I just say thank goodness. I have been running like a crazy person today (which is a fairly accurate description I guess)!

Let's catch up where I left off on Sunday:

The ex decided he wanted to rumble with me- Basically, last weekend Faith came home from over there with a half wet head that had been blown dry with the "hang your head out the window method". Yes, I am serious.

Anyways, I was asleep and Jef asked Faith to rewash and blow dry her hair, per MY rules. She looks like a total goober with her half-wavy hair all oily and smashed to her head, plus she's getting acne- so hair care is a priority! She happily obliged, and came back down to play a little before heading to bed. Jef told Faith he just didn't want her to look like an orphan at school, and she said she understood.

At 5 o'clock I get a call from The Ex. He immediately starts a cuss fit at ME yelling that no man will call HIS child a bleeping orphan. He went on and on and on- calling me everything but a nice lady. I let him finish, and I told him, "When you can speak to me like a human, you may call me back and speak to me. And I HOPE you are not using these words and this tone with me in front of MY daughter".

He counters with, "I pay YOUR child support and I will say what I ...."

He didn't get to finish that sentence. I hung up on his stupid ass.

At 6 when he pulled up I was ready for him. I opened the front door and he stopped cold in his tracks- he knew I was pissed off and was no longer the wimpy little girl he used to push around. I was all bowed up (and ready to start throwing punches if I needed to). I had Faith tell him MY rule on washing her hair AND retell him the story that she told me about how all of this came about. He started backtracking and apologising and stammering about and then said he must have misunderstood- and I said "You sure did".

I kindly reminded him, after shooing Faith inside (and after letting him have a verbal lashing from me) of my offer... the offer of, "If she is only a check to you, I can make that go away- I have papers ready for you to sign to relinquish your custody of her and this is all over".

He couldn't get off the porch fast enough.

Just for kicks: Online Furniture Catalog

--The Milk Maid kicks ass and takes names, then blogs about it!

Monday, Monday

My aunt saved my life today. Ok, not really my life- but what a catchy first sentence huh? She actually just fed me really well (deviled egg sandwich) and baked a chocolate pie just for ME... and happened to have some kickass antibiotics that she wasn't using. I don't normally borrow meds from people, but the crap my doc called in (all 3 days worth) was as useful as a bicycling fish. I have been in constant pain and bladder-spasm all weekend. I took one borrowed pill this morning, and I am almost symptom free. Hurrah!

Now that we're all current on the strategic maneuvers of my plumbing, let's talk about skinny people who have liposuction. I was watching Dr. 90210 and this SIZE ZERO beeyotch was having lipo. Because she was "SoooOOOoo fat". I wanted to write her a letter and inform her that a manners class would have been a better investment, long with a grammar lesson. Then I wanted to smack the crap out of beeyotch and yell, "Eat some solid food you whore!".

But I digress!

--The Milk Maid is not lactivist intolerant

Letters From The Editor

Dearest Father,

I know that I keep a messy house on the best of days. In case you have forgotten, I have a husband, a 9 year old daughter, a 10 month old daughter, and a cat. Sometimes the clutter goes unnoticed and the fallout of a day's adventures goes without being picked up. You do not need to barge in, unannounced, and voice this to me when I am already having one hell of a day.

Let me remind you that you do not live here, nor do you pay the mortgage or any other bills at this residence. May I also remind you that since I am your only child I will be the only say-so in choosing what nursing home you will live out the rest of your days in. Furthermore, and this should go without saying, you do occasionally use my home as a hideout from my mother. I will tell her were you are. I will tell her you come here to hide from her, drink alcohol whilst on my premises, and that you say "dammit" when she calls you on your cell phone to make you come home.

With all this said, I do love you dearly father. You have been a marvelous person and caregiver 98% of the time that I have known you. You've never failed to give me your all and bend over backwards for me. Ask anyone, they know I am truly a "daddy's girl"!

But your "my way or the highway" attitude sucks. And you seem to piss me off on a more and more frequent basis these days. I no longer live under your roof. I am bigger than you, stronger than you, younger than you, and I am trained in martial arts. I am an independent woman. I'm in a GANG for cripes sakes. Do not make me shank you.

Please heed this warning to be on your best behavior when on my property. Jef is looking for an excuse to move us to the Yukon Territory or a deserted island or some other location that even the best, most sensitive navigation system will never find if you continue to cause me strive. When I'm pissed at you, he must face my wrath. Snarky does not cut it with Jef. If he blows his top you will be labeled by news media everywhere as collateral damage.

This letter constitutes as your fair warning.

With love,

Your Daughter

Strange Phone Call

The message on my answering machine said:

"Hi, this is So-in-so from the City Hall of Ottawa, Kansas. I am trying to reach you (First Initial, Last Name) in regards to a parking ticket you received on July 17th. We have traced the tag back to you, and would like to speak to you in person regarding this ticket. Responding now to this courtesy call will allow you to pay the small fine of $5 instead of the larger fine of $25. Please mail a check today to..."

First of all I panicked. OMG when did I get a parking ticket?

Then the logical side of my brain say, "Hey you dumbass... you have never been to KANSAS!".

So it's a mistake right? But that fear still lingered. Did someone steal a tag that was mine and go park next to a fire hydrant or something? Do I have a tag on my car now?! I was at the water park in my dad's truck when I checked my messages, so I had to ride for 30 minutes to see that yes, I still have a tag attached to my car. It's the only tag I've ever had in my name, so that really narrowed that down.

I called Mrs. So-in-so. I left Mrs. So-in-so a message saying there must be a mistake, I'd be happy to discuss this with her at her convenience, and then I mentioned that I'd never, ever been to Kansas, but it sounds like a really nice place!

Of course dad had to comment on this. Of course he did, where do you think I learned my snarky ways? What'd he say?... Something to the effect of, "Did you click your red heels and fly off to Kansas and forget about it?"

My response (in my trademarked monotone never-skip-a-beat style):

"The Bitch Shoes don't have magical powers dad."

Oh yeah, and it was all a case of mistaken identity. Seems when you leave the name Aradia on someones machine all they can seem to reply is "Oh, I thought I was calling Ann [Lastname]".

--The Milk Maid says the bitch (shoe) is back with fresh snark.