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.

Just When You Think She Hates You She Goes And Holds Your Hair While You Puke

Friday night, after closing the satellite location I will call Doodoo-ville, I went to meet my co-workers Margarita, RoxC, and Tiny-Whiny. We met at a little hole in the wall that features a live band, cheep drinks, and a cozy atmosphere.

Being a little late to the party (again I was driving from Doodoo-ville and they were mere minutes away from the locale) I was bound and determined to catch up to their festive mood by imbibing a few quick vodka-crans.

Normally, being the social, and well occasionally not-so-social-drinker, that I am I have no problem holding my alcohol.

Only I'd gone a little light on breakfast that day. And I ate an early and small lunch. And well, sometimes I forget how fast The Vodka can catch up with me especially when I'm slamming back the smooth refreshing taste of cranberry with every drop.

Somewhere between dirty dancing with RoxC and Random Bar Lady Who Helped Herself To A Cheese stick I Was Eating and my buddy Margarita leaving and some more dancing and a whirl and a whoosh of activity my brain and eyes were too slow to follow I remember uttering the words, "I gotta barf!".

Tiny-Whiny held my hand and led me to the bathroom. I locked myself in the stall and starting riding the vomit comet. As I was enjoying my hard-earned hurl RoxC starting banging on the stall door. By banging I mean trying to kick the door off its hinges. I unlock the door, see a boot inches from my face, and return to my business. Tiny-Whiny grabs my hair and starts trying to hold it back or tie it up or something (hell I can't exactly remember what she was doing, I was drunk you know). Then, these words flowed from her mouth: It's ok, this is how we did it in prison!

Note to self and anyone else trying to lend a hand to me as I am on my hands and knees with my ass in the air puking my guts out: Never ever compare that moment to prison.

About that same time a small white object is flung at me. The small white object (that appeared to be a pill of some sort) rolled under the sanitary waste disposal can. Tiny-Whiny grabbed the small object as RoxC was yelling "give it to her". Tiny-Whiny shoved the tiny pill, the tiny pill that had been on the public bathroom floor under the bin where products used to quell menstrual flow are thrown away, into my mouth.

Well oh well Alice In Wonderland- if the one you eat makes you taller and the one you drink makes you smaller, then what does the white one do? It makes you stop hurling (phenergan) and call you husband and ask for a ride home.

The moral of the story?

People who are assholes in your work life may very well be the ones holding you hair as you puke one day, so tread lightly.

--The Milk Maid says sing me a song piano man!

Maybe I should send Tiny-Whiny some flowers a some New York Yankees tickets

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!

The Case Of The Missing Sister Mish-Mash

Thursday night a little after 9pm the phone rang. I looked at the caller ID and saw that it was Jef's sister D's number. I handed him the phone, thinking the call would be something about the upcoming move that Jef's dad will be making or other brotherly/sisterly based conversation.

Within a few seconds I realized by the look on Jef's face that this call was very, very different. It was Bro Mikey calling (D's hubby). D was supposed to pick their son up from the airport at 3. She'd sent their son a text saying she was running a little behind. D never showed up at the airport; no one had heard from her in person since noon.

We all feared the worst.

Jef's brother, Ronny, passed away just over a year ago. D has a history of seizures. Our minds raced- what could have happened?! A heart attack, a stroke, a seizure-- was she carjacked in the middle of downtown Atlanta?

Needless to say, we didn't sleep a wink that night awaiting the news of Deby's fate.

The next morning on the way to grab breakfast Jef's cell phone rang. My heart sank. I didn't want to hear the news that I was certain awaited. I didn't want to see Jef's eyes well with tears and his heart break over the loss of his sister.

D was safe and sound... and I have never been so happy to hear that someone had spend the night in jail.

The rest of the story is still unfolding, but it is claimed that D's transgressions were just a case of a simple mix up. Only time will tell... And jailbird or not I'm glad as heck she's ok!

--The Milk Maid says roast your jailbird at 425 degrees for one hour for best flavor.

Window Pain

Once upon a time, in a far away land, lived the Milk Maid and her exceedingly brilliant husband, the Milk Man.

These two characters cavorted in many a scheme, but perhaps none so great as to install a window in the sacred kitchen. You see, long before the Milk Man came to live in the Casa Del Leche, the industrious Milk Maid built (with her own glove-clothen hands) the soon to become Casa De Leche for all to see. However, the kitchen sink view was lacking in the fact that there was no window to view the glory beyond it's pane (on a side note, the garage is all there would be to view, but nonetheless the Milk Maid proclaimed that if she were to stand for wretched hours on end scrubbing and scraping and cleaning the dishes like some simple peasant girl well she absolutely MUST have a glimpse of something other than sheet rock).

The Milk Man obliged the fair Milk Maid, measuring and cutting the wall that was to become a portal to the world.

The Milk Maid was slightly worried, but she had complete faith and trust in her man. Well, pretty much.

The preliminary cuts were made, and the Milk Man handed his lovely bride her tool kit. She chose the hammer without further adieu.

Ravishing the wall blow by blow, like a scene from a Victorian Romance Novel gone amok, the Milk Maid tore away at the wall.

A gasp from the Milk Maid... Was it the evil sorcerer behind the wall? A dragon? The curse of a long dead king?

No... it was far worse!

It was 2 electrical cables, one telephone wire, and a 4 inch water pipe that gripped our sweaty adventurers that day.

The Milk Man turned to the Milk Maid, with love in his eyes and proclaimed, "Woman, I think our journey should end here".

The Milk Maid, with sorrow in her eyes asked, "Why can we make an S-bend in the pipe and reroute the wires? I mean, come on dude- let's rock and roll. Mama wants to see some sunshine every once and a while!".

The Milk Man touted, "Fair Maid of the Milk, have you lost your mind? Do you know the hours evolved in something of that magnitude?"

The Milk Maid looked almost doleful, then recanted, "Hey jackleg- all I want is a little sunshine in MY day, I don't know about YOU, but..."

"How about a nice tile back splash here? It's easy to patch sheet rock, and we can put a beautiful mosaic- perhaps of the beach- right about here..."

"Ooooh!" gleamed the Milk Maid. "And maybe even a little metal back splash over here, and some blue paint here, and a new floor here, and even a couple of new handles for the cabinets which need a good scrubbing by the by, and maybe even a couple..."

--The Milk Man says "Yes, my lady"!

The Reason Why If I Win The Lotto You'll Never See My Face Again 'Round There Here Parts Again

My father, who called as I was preparing to scarf down the only food I've eaten today, decided to take it upon himself to share with me one of the secrets of life. Because I am such a good friend and such a caring soul, I will share this little dab of How To Knowledge with all of you, my loyal comrades:

"You wouldn't be so stressed if you just get over it!"

*

Ok, everyone pick yourselves up off the ground and stop laughing. I know my father is the Grand Poobah of the Crazy People. Yes, yes- the village called and they are missing an idiot. The Insane Volcano is spewing molten WTF out of every fissure and crack.

*

"Dearest Father", she proclaimed. "Let me tell YOU the problem with your theory!"

*

First and foremost, just getting over it has not and will not ever solve a problem any bigger than say a hangnail or a misplaced sweater. When it comes to my life, which is currently full of things you cannot even fathom the depths of, I will deal with it in the only way I know how.

*

Between being a full time wife and mother, a part time student with a full time study schedule, a person who enjoys the occasional luxury like bathing and teeth brushing and speaking to real people- people who know more than the words bitebitebite or Pokemon Game, I have very little time to listen to your garbage ideas of how I should run my life.

*

Every time we speak you love to impress the idea upon me that "if you don't just get over all of this you will have a stroke". What is the all of this that I should be getting over?

*

Because if it's the part where I have 40 pages of study workbook due tomorrow for A&P, well getting over it won't get it done.

*

Is it the part where I'm unable to take my eyes off your granddaughter for even a second in fear she will find something just within her reach and pull it off a counter and cut her wrist, but only this time I won't be so lucky that a few stitches will cure her ill? Because if that's what I'm supposed to be getting over, well it isn't fucking going to happen.

*

Or maybe it's the thing where Jef is having all these health issues and if it comes down to where he needs a transplant "I shouldn't worry because it's not that big of a deal". Not a big deal, father? Perhaps to someone who has spent 46 years in a loveless marriage it wouldn't be a big deal. Perhaps to you it isn't a big deal. To me it's the only deal. Just in case you were confused, I love my husband more than I love myself. Between Jef and my children there is not a thing you could name I wouldn't do to keep them from harm or shield them from pain.

*

Maybe the thing I am supposed to get over is the constant nagging from you and mom. You know, where you both call me ten or twenty times a day and belittle and berate me for not having a house that fell out of the pages of Southern Living. Or perhaps today is the day you yell at me for not jacking up the front end of the Honda, taking the wheel off, and replacing the hubcap all by myself (oh well, I guess Ava could help me here). Or is today the day where you remind me of all my other short comings, and that I could stand to loose a lot of weight because I've porked up? I get so confused because there is SO MUCH SHIT that you constantly throw my way I just can't remember it all. I guess you will cover me being forgetful in tomorrow's session.

*

--The Milk Maid passes go and collects $200.

*

Perhaps if your parents are nice and they need a little bling you could get them one of these luxury watches!

Friday Mish-Mash, She's Come Undone

Faith came down the steps from her room in a huff.

"The shoes don't fit my feeeeeet!" she wailed as she flopped her extremities like a breathless bass on a dock.

I informed her that those were the only pair of shoes here that fit her, and that she had let the insane person who lives next door my mother confiscate her clogs (mother feels that clogs are evil, yet she has bought Faith 3 pair of them in the past 6 months). I asked Faith to "wear the shoes to school for 30 minutes- only 30 minutes!". I promised to bring her a different pair once my mother had gotten out of bed. Seeing as how I am one to let sleeping parents lie, I wasn't about to blast her out of bed at 7:15am.

Faith looked at me like I had asked her to gnaw her own arm off, place the severed limb in her teeth, and then dance in circles singing Polly Waddle Doodle All The Day.

Having been through many a morning crisis, I knew that tears were imminent. The feeling of a 10 year old girl having a morning melt down is akin to a tornado brewing and the smell of ozone rising in the air. Wait for it... Wait for it...

"I (sobsobsob) kuuu-haaant (sobsobsob) POSSIBLY (wail whine sobsobsob) wear (sob) these shooooooooooze (high pitched keen).... (sobsobsob) they are (huffandpuff) touching my FEET!!!"

I looked at my hands to see if my eyeballs had fallen out of my skull. They hadn't. I waited for my head to explode like a rocket off of my shoulders. It didn't. I looked at Faith like she was the most irrational human being on the face of the planet. She was.

I calmly called and woke my mother up and got Faith a pair of shoes- that didn't touch her feet!- to wear for the day. Faith snubbed all the way to school (that's when you are crying and you keep sucking in air trying to stop crying but you cant so your suck in air and try to stop crying but you cant so you...).

--The Milk Maid says the shoooooze are touching my feeeeeeeeeeet!

(Maybe I can make a movie of this and pass out Blockbuster coupons to all my peeps!)

Playing The Sidekick

I arrived home from my A&P class this morning to find my father readying the playhouse to be moved to where the old shed used to be (which he got a wild hair to tear down last week). The playhouse was elevated about 5 feet off the ground. Dad called an over sized wrecker company, had them come back under the playhouse and use the flatbed of the truck to lift the playhouse. The supports needed to be cut, and this is where I (unknowingly) enter the comedy of errors.

*

"Here, cut through that 4"x4" post with this," dad said hading me a saw.

*

I jumped right into the cutting, of course. Any excuse to use a power tool, right?

*

We cut all four legs loose, the wrecker driver lifted the playhouse free and started to drive towards the concrete slab.

*

That's when the driver nearly took the side of the garage off with the playhouse porch. Then, once he backed and cleared that, he made it around and almost ran over my mom who was doing god only knows what wandering around in front of a huge truck. Anyway, the guy got to the slab and tilted the flatbed back towards the slab.

*

The playhouse was stuck.

*

So he shakes the flat bed. And nothing happens. So he shakes it harder. Still nothing. As the guy decides to tilt it farther and give it a solid bounce my father decides that exact moment would be the perfect time to walk behind the truck and see what was holding it on the truck.

*

Picture me, swooping in like a chubby Wonder Woman and pushing dad out of the way. Luckily, the playhouse didn't come off the truck completely and (obviously) I'm here to tell you the story.

I don't know who I worry about more- dad for walking behind the playhouse or me for jumping in to save the day.

*

--The Milk Maid says her thighs are too chubby for hot pants.

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Today's comedy of errors was brought to you by the letters D-U-H, and this nice addiction treatment center!

Did My Day Get Easier??

No, but thanks to all who asked!

After the previous fun Ava and I had, I had settled back into studying my A&P. I hear Ava in the kitchen (that I usually keep gated off) so I walk in to the kitchen and check on her... She's playing with a doll in the floor. About that time the phone rings so I walk into the den.

I am about 6 steps away from Ava when I hear a glass sliding on the counter. I immediately turn to see what she is grabbing and see the liquid from the glass tip as she drags the glass from the counter. I continue walking towards Ava. She slips as the liquid sloshes onto the floor, the glass drops onto the tile, breaking into shards.

Ava slips and falls.

Her right wrist lands onto a piece of the shattered glass (which remained intact on the drinking vessel itself). I grab her up and look for blood.

I see no blood.

I walk to our couch, a mere 15 steps away, and set Ava down. All the while I have the plan to call 911 if I see copious amounts of blood. After seeing nothing much, I grab a clean towel, put pressure on the cut and wait.

A million things run through my mind from paramedics to stitches to her bleeding out and dying in front of me.

After a couple minutes- at the very least- I remove my compress and look. No blood. Shallow?

I take a few moments to collect myself and let Ava sit with her wrist propped against the towel. I clean up the glass, continuously checking to see if she'd moved, bled, fainted, died.

She was fine- Laughing at the TV actually.

After about 10 more minutes I put her on the counter of the sink and put peroxide on her cut. I could see how jagged it was... it looked a little deeper than I first thought.

Fast forward between me calling B for reassurance, me calling my dad for butterfly bandages, me calling Jef so hopefully he would just know what the hell to do!!!! and I could go from there.

I decided at this point that there were two options: Put a maxi-pad on the wound and let it heal or wrap it with something thinner and be able to check if there was a lot of blood loss.

I opted for a paper towel folded in fourths and some medical tape to hold it in place. I'm glad I went for this option, even though there was no further bleeding to speak of, but it allowed me the confidence to untape the wound and look at it...

Deep people. I was looking for the words to tell B what I saw, and I can think now that maybe adipose fat was what I was thinking. If I'm wrong with my definition, someone please tell me- but that is the only med term word I could think of at the time...

A little fatty blobby yellowish thingie- which I knew was FAT of some sort- was hanging out of the cut. Dad got home soon after I had called B for a second time (because B is the guru of all medical knowledge or she at least knows who IS the guru). Dad brought home some butterfly bandaids, and as I cleaned Ava's arm with peroxide and the wound bubbled and as the little fat blobs seemed evermore prominent, I knew that I HAD TO TAKE Ava to the doctor.

Long story short, I took Ava to the quick care clinic. She got 5 (maybe 6, I lost count) stitches in her right wrist. I realized I was in the absolute RIGHT line of work, because even though I was concerned for my daughter I was also intrigued with the inner-workings of her wound, the cleaning and stitching, and the Q&A of the doc on call at the clinic.

I also realized how lucky we had gotten... the little blue vein that would have caused a "major emergency" (per clinic doc) was only centimeters, nay millimeters, away. I only realized the depth, literally and figuratively, of Ava's wound once the doc pulled it open to examine and flush.

It was probably a 1/2 inch deep.

I felt like such a shitty mom. I still do. But things happen, right?

It doesn't make it any easier for me.

And, you ask, how is Miss Ava?

She's playing and laughing like nothing ever happened. She's happy as a lark.

She only got mad when the doc and 4 nurses held her down and made her be still (Well, she would call that PISSED in Ava-land).

Until 11pm she played, despite the meds to make her sleepy.

--The Milk Maid says she's glad Ava was a girl and not a boy, cause dude- can you imagine?!
budgeting software

One Of Those Stories The Milk Maid Is Sorta Famous For...

After getting Ava to sleep and then working on my A&P study guide for hours, I developed a headache and a case of the yawns. As soon as Ava awoke from her nap I tossed my books down and loaded up the family truckster and headed to get a caffeinated beverage from the convenience store.

I chose a 16oz R.ed Bull and grabbed Ava a small juice-type beverage with one of those pull-to-slurp tops. She drank about half of her drink while we went to the bank and ran a couple errands. We arrived back home, and of course I went to check the photos that B had sent from her recent Relay for Life walk. That's about the time the following chain of events happened:

Ava came through the house and wanted a "bitebitebite" and was carrying a tin of mixed nuts. I told her to take one, so in toddler speak that translates to take one hand full. I know that she will eat the small hand full of nuts one at a time, so I let her sit beside me and nibble while I read a blog or two. She gets up and wanders into the den (just out of sight). I hear papers shuffling and realize that it might be Ava in my school books and work, so I jump up and look.

Ava had taken the remaining juice-type beverage and poured it on my workbook that I will need to turn in to the teacher tomorrow. I grab the book, dripping blue liquid all over the couch, and run for my bathroom. I calmly grab the blow dryer, turn it on, and start to dry the book.

I look left and Ava is trying to get into my shower. I say no, no Ava! about the time she sits in the wet shower floor. I say get up! and she does while simultaneously grabbing a MOLDY SPONGE and putting it in her mouth. I scream NO AVA NO NO!! and she drops the sponge along with a mouth full of half-chewed nuts onto the rug. I run to move the MOLDY SPONGE and pick up the nuts as Ava opens the toilet lid and tries to stick her head into the bowl.

So there I am holding a wet book, a blowing hair dryer, kicking a MOLDY SPONGE while temporarily forgetting about the half-chewed nuts that I of course manage to step in while keeping Ava swirlie-head free by closing the toilet lid with my elbow.

Ava exits the bathroom stage right and I finish drying the book (which wasn't too worse for wear, actually). As I leave the bathroom I discover Ava using both hands to rub her tongue. Revenge of the MOLDY SPONGE?? No, Ava had managed to spend the 23 seconds I remained in the bathroom after she'd ran off to scale her 5 foot tall cabinet and grab (and drink some of) a bottle of milk from, well- maybe this morning? Maybe last night?

The kicker of the story is, that when I took the milk away from Ava she screamed and cried and was mad at me.

Mish-Mash of Friday with Extra Portions

Let me start off by saying that 1) Y'all be my posse, 2) I never wanna piss any of you off, and 3) I've got the full sized van rented and ready to roll to go kick some ass!

Here's an update to the Incident:

Office Girl actually asked Jef, "Oh, are you mad at me? Really?" before leaving the building to go get her own lunch. Ummm, DUH- yeah he's mad- you are lucky he didn't do his impression of a bottle rocket lady! Anyways, she went and bought Jef the exact same thing he was eating and brought it back for him. He pushed it to the side and didn't eat it- he ended up giving it away to someone else (which doesn't make sense to me either, but he was angry and not hungry and whatnot- he's a man, so I don't question him too much on that macho guy stuff). After he got home I made a nice dinner and we enjoyed each other's company and we all lived happily ever after. I didn't box up my anger- I let it fly! Whoooo- very therapeutic! I feel so free of it all!

Here's what I was going to say yesterday before I got side-tracked on manners and lack thereof:
"Brain Douche"... As I entered the bathroom at the grocery store the other day I was almost bulldozed by the immense heat contained in that tiny, dimly-lit room. Was the heater on? No- it was quite simply two automatic hand dryers running. No one was using them... they were cruising along all by themselves on autopilot. It took half a potty break for them to shut off. After washing my hands I crank up one of the hand dryers. Within 10 seconds it cuts off leaving my hands damp. I turn it on again... and it blows and blows and blows- even after I leave the room the whirrr continued. I think I have managed to solve the riddle of global warming. Conspiracy theory? Somebody call Al for me!

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Haiku Friday

Click the pic to play along!

*~*~*~*

Small girl, very fast

Runs thru store and escapes me

Caught- screams like banshee

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Don't eat his food bitch

I know you might see this but

Like my big butt cares

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Someone is turning

Older, but who can it be?

Twenty-nine? Not me!

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Early twenties rocked

Mid-Twenties were great too, but

End of a decade?

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Denial is tuff

When you are still young- kind of.

Happy Birthday Me

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No it's not today

I"ll never say, but some know

It's before next week

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--The Milk Maid says age is just a number, so lie lie lie!

I'll Have The Mish-Mash Please

T-Minus one day and counting to Shindig Party Time! My nails are done, my hair appointment is tomorrow, the dog has a reservation at the kennel, and Ava has a reservation at the Casa de Nina and Pops (Faith called mom "Neenah" instead of Nanna when she was a baby- Ava actually calls her Nahhnahh. I just call her... well, you can guess what I call her after paragraph 2).

I emailed my Game Show story around to my family (thanks copy and paste) with a slight edit for content (I have a family of prudes, ironic I know). After sending a copy to my mother, I call her later that night and ask what she thought of it. Her comment was something like, "You didn't write that- where did you copy it from?". And people wonder WHY I only share my innermost thoughts and personal writings with Internet Muppets.

Speaking of Muppets, can I be Gonzo? He's my fave color AND he has a huge schnoz... I love that guy! Does anyone remember the old men who sat in the balcony and heckled everyone? Yeah, I can see me and B as those guys.

How about a Shindig Haiku collection:

Big Shindig coming

Squeezing into a girdle

Don't fart on the boss

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Put makeup on chest

BF-ing makes veins pop up

Looks like road map still

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Jef wears ties daily

Not wise to put one's neck in

A noose all the time

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Open bar rings a

Loud death knoll for some people

Avoid the shooters

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The shoes are pretty

The lengths we go for fashion

Squeezing my big toe

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Ava staying with

Crazy parental units

Hope she shits diaper full

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Tune in tomorrow for the pre-party pic (PPP!)...

--The Milk Maid says gimme a "red headed slut", please! (It's a shooter)

elliptical

Potty Humor

I decided to adventure into the realms of being a plumber yesterday and fix my own toilet.


You see, last week before vacation both of our accessible* downstairs toilets broke (good ole Murphy's Law!) . The water kept running and running and wouldn't shut off, and considering our local water reservoir has already made news due to its lack of water and Governor Perdue is asking for federal aid, it was just easier to turn the water off and worry with repairs when we got back home.


(*There is a half bath on the other end of the laundry room, but for all I know Jimmy Hoffa could be hiding back there).


When we got back into town Jef and I relaxed on Thursday night and enjoyed Friday with great leisure since it was his birthday. Saturday we had quite a few other projects to tackle, but we did manage to buy the "white thingie" that would fix both toilets (later I found out it really has a name, Flush Valve). Sunday, after dismantling the tank from the base of the toilet to replace the flush value, Jef discovered he didn't have a wrench large enough to twist off the bottom part of the old valve.


He was going to get a wrench from dad's house, but I guess he got distracted along the way because there the toilet sat- all sad looking and in many pieces- for 3 days.

Until I got bored. Until I decided I needed an adventure. Until I got darn tired of hauling my big butt upstairs to go pee pee.


I went into the bathroom, checked out the situation, and decided to dig through my stash of tools. I happen to own a strap wrench which adjusts out to almost any size. I usually open jars with it, but it looked perfect for toilet repair! And it was indeed JUST perfect... I popped the bottom of the flush valve off, popped the new one in, tightened it down and started to size up how to put the tank back on the base. Very simple- 3 screws inside the tank hold it to the base, then reconnect a water line from the wall to the tank, and pop the other little water line into the new flush valve. In a matter of minutes it was complete!


I slowly turned the water back on. No leaks! My ego was the size of an elephant. I love fixing stuff and Jef being able to come home and say, "Aww thanks babe. You didn't have to do that!".


I looked towards the tub, where all the tools and tank parts were, and I noticed a small black rubber flangie-gasket-thingie. I thought to myself, Must be like with cars- there is always a part let over. I let the tank fill up just a little, and gave a quick handle jiggle to check my handy work.


The best way to describe what happend next is to ask if you have ever seen Niagara Falls? From what I hear, there's a huge crashing sound as the water hits the rocks below, a thick mist saturates the air, and water just gushes and gushes and gushes!


I figured out very quickly what the small black rubber flangie-gasket-thingie's purpose was. Oops- that is what keeps the water from leaking from tank to base when you flush. Luckily, I had towels on the floor. And an empty trash can. And my sense of humor was intact, so that helped a lot too. Plus I needed to mop anyways, so hey it all worked out.


The toilet was fixed by the time Jef got home (even after Ava wandered off with a couple of very important pieces and tried to hide them from me)... I did tell him of my "adventure", and he took it all in stride and asked, "Will you be fixing the other potty tomorrow?"

--The Milk Maid refrained from showing plumber's crack during her adventure.

(Doesn't this look like a neat home based business?)

Add this to the reasons I hate doctors...

Supposedly, it is humanly impossible to pass a kidney stone and not feel it squeeze its little way out. I am here to tell you that most of the time the aforementioned statement is true. I am the Exception To The Rule. My stone has magically disappeared from my right kidney--

**POOF!**

My doctor, not being known for his belief in magic or just simply letting things be, must come up with a new way for me to further fatten his wallet. Let's send her for an IVP (intravenous pyleogram- which is an X-ray test that can show the size, shape, and position of the urinary tract, including the kidneys and ureters. During IVP, a dye called contrast material is injected into a vein thru an IV in your arm. Then, a series of X-ray pictures is taken at timed intervals.)

And all this time I thought IVP was the Internet Vagina Posse.

THEN, because he can't stand NOT to fuck with SOMETHING... he will break up the other stones with that shock-wave ultrasound thingie.

Well, that's what the doctor thinks he will do. But, alas, I have foiled his evil plot. I told him to go take a flying leap- and when I needed him I'd come crawling back.

The Milk Maid says, "Dammit- I am impervious to pain!!" :::knocking on wood:::

Happy Freakin Monday!

Good grief- the weekend is over? WTF? Where'd it go? I call do over!

Ava's appointment in a nutshell: The doctor was a bitch. We aren't having the tags removed. In fact, if we wait she wont have to be put under anesthesia... she can have a little shot to numb the pain and it can be done in the office- not a surgical facility. Arrrgh!

Oh- and one more minuscule tidbit of info the bitchy doctor poked into my head that I've tried to ignore (and did so successfully until yesterday afternoon): The ear and the kidneys form at the same time, so perhaps you should have Ava's kidneys checked to be sure they aren't damaged.

Isn't that just hilarious... and you know why this has festered in my brain for the past few days into a puss ball of fear. Even though bitchy doc went on to say she's never found a past patient with any kidney issues that had skin tags on their ears it just doesn't really make me feel any better about it.

Faith woke up in a CRAPPY! mood today. I swear, that kid is a self-igniting hormonal Molotov cocktail. It took her 5 minutes to even acknowledge my presence, then I had to grab her covers and unroll her, then she acted like she would melt if I turned the light on. I have her put on the same clothes she had on yesterday (because she wore them for less than an hour). She went downstairs to brush her hair and teeth, but instead of actually doing this she closed the door to her bathroom and did nothing but sit in the dark. I asked her if there was anything I could do to help her and she started whining, "I'm cold, I'm cooooold!". I offered her a jacket, but no it cant be that simple, can it?! We erupt into a fight.

I argue: If you are cold, put on a jacket and let's get moving!
Her side countered with: I'm COOooooOOOooOoooold!
My side: I will call Jef.
Her side: (finally starting to brush teeth) Waaaahhh! (Then she choked on a wad of toothpaste)

Is it Friday yet?

--The Milk Maid asks for 1 sugar and 2 cremes with her valium coffee.

If You Aren't Dead, I'm Killing You!

That's what I was yelling at the goats as I stood on my back deck at 4:15 this morning (completely naked). Perhaps something had scared the goats and they were emitting awful goat-screams to voice their fear. Maybe the stupid one (wait, they are both stupid) got her head stuck in the fence and was calling for backup. I'm not sure what was going on, but by the time I got up and walked out to check on them, they were playing and frolicking and butting heads. The llama looked on, shameful of his pasture mates.

Anybody want a free goat or two?

The Outing

Why I (normally) refuse to shop (or do anything) with my mother:

I was having a good morning until my mother decides to take me shopping at The Ungodly Large Proportion Mart. Once there, she wouldn't lead the way in the store... she'd be like go to this item.

I would tell her - I don't know where that item is located. She'd point and make a sour face then get mad at me, because apparently I should have the exact GPS position of every item in every store (whether I shop there or not) permanently etched into my brain. I'd wander trying to find whatever we were looking for and she was NO help. Unless you count the glaring at me as help.

Halfway through the store, she told me to get milk. I asked ,"What Kind?" to which she replied "There are no brands- just get the 2%". So I get the 2% milk with the best date on it. Of course when we get to the register it's the wrong brand. And the jug is dirty. And she wont buy it. And she makes a scene and acts an ass in front of 47 people.

So I told the checkout guy she was only doing that because I picked out the milk, and just to ignore her because she couldn't behave in public.

I don't know why she quit talking to me.

Tooseday Stuff

Because she can...


Missing dada...


It's been a slow day- not a lot going on. I had a doctor's appointment this morning so they would continue their referral of me to my urologist... I had never actually been in to see my primary care provider, and after seeing him I wont go back. Think greasy old man. With dog breath. What a total waste that was... he was like, "Why are you here?". I said, "Because your office said I had to come in so I could continue my referral visits to the urologist". He looked in my ears and said, "OK, you are good to go!"

WTF? My ears? Listen to my heart or something you freak. He probably has an ear fetish... I am so glad I just thought of that. Bleh- disgusting! I asked him about the possibility of him prescribing me a mild anti-depressant and he said he liked to monitor his patients for a year before prescribing anything like that. Dude, I will so KILL someone in the next year and that would SO be your fault. Guess I will call my dear friend the OB/Gyn.

So many of you will need these soon: birth announcements.

--The Milk Maid says blabblahblah.

Friday Extra Addition- The Deep Stuff

I just returned from about 3 hours of pure HELL! at my parent's house.

Let me give a brief synopsis of my visit:

I get yelled at for not receiving a rebate check in the mail and for paying my bills online.

I have no control over Large Phone Company, father. And I will pay my bills any damn way I choose, thank you. I pay my bills, all of them on time, so take a flying leap. Do not make me write you another letter, daddy dear.

My mother asked me, for the remaining 2 and a half hours, "What is wrooong with yoooou?". Apparently, she does not remember what it is like to have ovaries and hormones and PMS or a period in her post-menopausal little world! So, after 150 minutes of the Same!Freakin!Question! every 5 minutes I blew my top, told her everything in the world was wrong and that I was running away and never coming back. Very 7th grade, I know, but very effective on my mother.

Ya know, the moment I walk into their house I feel the need to cram junk food down my gullet and my whole mood changes to something similar to what Ed Gein must have felt at home. So when I leave, just short of making people into human suits, and I get that first breath of fresh air walking across the yard, I wonder what the hell is so wrong inside that house?

Is it just 40+ years of The Parental Units strife and anger all built up and permeating the home? Is it me? Am I electro-sensitive and there some sort of faulty wiring that I need an EMF detector to find and a great electrician to fix? Are there hidden lay-lines under the house? Indian burial grounds? Haints, spooks, spirits? America's version of Stone Hinge (I've had a lot of time to think, ok)!

And the kicker is (:::laughter, bordering on hysterical snorting:::) I built a HOUSE next to these crazies! On purpose!

I really have been thinking about therapy a lot as of late. I really don't think I am the only person who needs it (ahem, Parental Units), but I am certainly the only one who would benefit from it. I also think that a therapist would have a !FieLd DaY! with me. I'm like Shrek- an onion with lots and lots of layers.

For the fun of it all: skin care products!

--The Milk Maid says normal-schmormal

She's Prepared For Anything

When: Tuesday, 6:43am, before waking Faith for school.

Location: Faith's bedroom, queen size bed.

Subject: (1) nine year old, female, wearing white and pink boxer shorts and long sleeve velour Hello Kitty pajama top with lace fringe around neck and sleeves. Subject is on stomach, turned almost 180 degrees away from pillows at top of bed.

Additional items in bed: 2 pillows (Spongebob pillow, regular pillow); 7 blankets (Winnie The Pooh, Scooby Doo, Random Baby Blanket, Homemade Blanket, Sleeping Bag, sheet from comforter set) Note: subject is not under any of these blankets; Giant Stuffed Dog approximately 4 feet tall; Gameboy and Pokemon games (tucked under pillows); Plastic Nun chucks; Plastic Chinese Throwing Star; Plastic "Hatori Hanzo" Sword; Pokemon Defense Strategies Book.

Subject's Explanation of Items:
"You just never know what you might need when you are asleep!"