Poo Dollar

My days are anything but boring. In fact, I have friends that call me up regularly in the wee hours of the night asking for a story from my chaotic and frazzled life to keep them entertained . Well, here is my latest and greatest.

It was a Friday night in a town smaller then the one I am from. I was feeling slightly bored with the scene and the lack of interactions with people that speak the same language as I, when suddenly my night took a turn for the worst  best.

One of my friends called me outside for a "must see" moment. I was expecting a bar fight, or perhaps a small critter of unknown origin. But no. What did I stumble upon? None other then an actual Poo Dollar.

Naturally, I began to frantically send photographs, text messages, and phone calls to the cult of people who want juicy gossip at 2am. Their responses went something like this. . . "what is that?" or "huh?". I did of course get a few "AWESOMES" and "I didn't know those really existed in real life".

Yes, it is disgusting and inappropriate. Nor do I wish any of my close friends or family to stumble upon one of these and attempt to pick it up, leaving their hands dirtier then a portapotty in July. But, it did make my evening somewhat brighter, and it did successfully make me forget 100% of my troubles for about 20minutes.

For those of you who aren't familiar with the poo dollar... check it out

All I want for Christmas.... is my two front teeth.

Dear Santa,

I know Christmas is still a ways off, but if you could send these to me then I promise to be a good girl for the rest of the year.

Also, I would like a red rider B.B gun so I can shoot my eye out.

Sincerely,
    Emily

Life Explained.

Enough Said.

drip, drip, drip

Take away the masculine features of this cartoon character and you see how I feel today. I decided a day in bed was much needed and I could benefit from a little lot of extra rest.

The Problem: I woke up at 4am and haven't been back to sleep since, my nose is dripping like a faucet, and my voice resembles something of an 80 year old man.

The Solution: A cup of soup, a diet coke, and some trashy magazines. Does wonders.

Bad things come in 3's

My life is comparable to an old farmhouse with a caving in roof and a gate that doesn't quite latch properly. To the naked eye it appears in shambles, and to the trained eye it is shambles.  Why is it always something? Something broken. Something that needs to be fixed. Or some new disease. Welcome to my so called life.

Following Friday's lovely little food poisoning episode I had a fabulous Saturday. I played some darts, talked to some very country folk, ate taco dip, and got to do it all in the company of a lovely lady named Laura - The girl who makes me feel much better about my shambles. No offense.

As I woke up Sunday morning things began to take a turn for the worst. I noticed a small burning sensation covering the top and sides of my tongue. I ignored the feeling and decided I had probably just burnt it on the pizza I had eaten the night before. However, as the day progressed the burning turned to swelling, and the swelling turned to big red bumps, and the big red bumps turned into an emergency trip to talk to the pharmacist.

We both decided it was an allergic reaction to something I had eaten or drank the previous day, so I snatched up a bottle of benedryl and began sipping it as if it was kool-aid on a hot summer day. As the day progressed so too did the burning, swelling, and red bumps. I suffered through the night and decided to head to the doctor the next morning.

After gagging on the q-tip for the strep test, ruling out allergies, and ruling out viral infection the Doctor sent me home with a fancy word for "irritation/inflammation of the mouth and throat" and a prescription for some steroids. Great, now I'll start losing my hair, changing my sex characteristics, and have stunted growth. Just what the Doctor ordered - literally. Along with my fancy diagnosis he gave me his business card with website and suggested I scroll to the bottom right to get to psych. Just to summarize, in my mind he is telling me it's all in my head and I'm crazy. At this point in the day I am becoming more irate as the moments pass.

That night I woke up in a sweat and unable to catch my breath due to my throat swelling shut. I took cough drops, hot tea, cough syrup, water, and a walk outside. I felt I was near death and almost speed dialed my neighbor to rush me to the ER. Unfortunately I had puked there merely days prior so I proceeded to calm myself and relax my throat to avoid seeing the pearly lights.

3 days later: My tongue is slightly less swollen, it continues to have freaky red bumps on it, and I have now developed a very deep and raspy cough to keep it company. As if that isn't enough, my stomach is constantly gurgling and I continually have the feeling of neausea. Fabulous.

In addition to my freaky disease, I finally took Ol' Betsy for an under the hood inspection to determine what the cause of her rumbling is. Apparently I need a new alternator. Just my luck.

To top it off, I was driving home last night and got pulled over for a busted headlight. Is this a sign from the big guy upstairs telling me that I need to make some changes in my life? I don't know, but if anybody wants to put in a good word for me it would be greatly appreciated.

So yes, I feel like my life is a hot mess, in shambles, and a train wreck. Help.

CLARIFICATION

Just to clarify from my last post....
The piles of vomit had absolutely nothing to do with a high intake of alcoholic beverages. Obviously my friend and I ate something that was moldy, rotten, or just down right disgusting.

over and out

Riddle of the Day: All Most girls have them once a month, they are unpredictable, can get messy, and when you have it, it's a relief.

Any guesses? . . . Get your head out of the gutter . . .

The Answer: A Girls Night Out.

Well last night I had quite the little excursion on my night out with the girls. Or in this case the singular form of girls. My night was definitely unpredictable, messy, a much needed relief, and started something like this.

It was about 5pm on a Friday night. We spent a tad bit too much time browsing the racks of Bergners for a foxy new outfit to make it for Happy Hour, but we surely worked up an appetite. So at about 6:30 we decided to head across town to a delicious chicken joint that has fabulous $1.99 margarita specials.

After finishing our margarita and chicken I felt something begin to grumble and gurgle inside me. It felt like a mixture between eating to many mashed potatoes on Thanksgiving and needing to unbutton my pants and the need to rush to the bathroom and let loose. I remained calm and quite about the uneasy feeling I was experiencing and we headed towards the car.

As we began to walk across the parking lot the feeling became more and more pronounced - impossible to avoid any longer. I quickly sat down with a clear look of discomfort on my face. Just then the gal I was with said something along the lines of "I think I'm going to puke". We decided to try and ignore the feeling and began to head home.

The drive home felt like the longest trip of my life (even further then driving to South Padre, TX). In fact, it was TOO long. I couldn't take it any more. Pull over the car I yelped as I hung tight to my stomach in hopes that I would be able to tame it.

Conveniently we pulled over the car right across the street from the local emergency room. I fiercely pushed open the door, bent over the edge of the car and began to vomit. The ground became covered with lime margarita and chunks of chicken and lettuce. The car became overwhelmingly full of the odor of my regurgitated dinner. Faster then a blink of the eye the drivers door too was flung open as my friend mimicked my actions and left a blanket of bright yellow vomit spread across the pavement.

For the next 5 minutes we both took turns having chunks of chicken george fly from our throats and occasionally slip out of our nostrils. Once our stomachs were emptier then a swimming pool in winter we continued on our journey home. Although we couldn't even make it the remaining 2 blocks without stopping to get bottles of water to rinse the foul taste from our mouths.

By the time we got home we felt better then a spring chicken at Easter and continued with our girls night out by dancing the night away at a local joint. Of course on the way to the bar we had to drive past the ER and take several photos of our "remains". Unfortunately it is on my phone and I'm not technologically savvy enough to upload that to my blog.

Sidenote: I generally go to that ER once a week for work. I'm hopeful that none of the staff saw me in thie state. And never again will I drive past or go inside that hospital without giggling about the image I have in my head about the two of us puking our guts out.

So yes, it was unpredictable, messy, and a huge relief.

Fancy Contraptions

My course of work takes me all over the place. Uptown, Downtown, Across town, Midtown, and sometimes to a good old fashioned dead end, which in this case I tend to pull over and take a quick power nap in order to keep my outlook on life fresh, gather my thoughts, and calmly remind myself why I do this to myself day after day.

Being out of the office for 90% of the day requires a lot of technology. Technology that I didn't even know existed during my preadult days. Computer chargers, phone chargers, ipod chargers, bluetooth, and of course my handy dandy verizon Internet card, which will allow me to connect to a secure network from any of the places around town that I frequently visit and even those that are not so frequent.

And what do I do with my new found technology you ask? Play with it of course. Luckily for me, using my verizon card I am able to stream pandora, facebook stalk, and even blog from time to time if I so choose to do so during the workday. Unluckily for me, typing progress notes while driving is apparently illegal (even if your stopped at a red light) as too is talking on your phone in school zones (oops).

One piece of entertainment that they can't slap a ticket on is a little gem that goes by the name of  "voicebox". Not sure if you've heard of it before, but they are an amazing investment! I have had mine for 24 years and I make sure to keep it in mint condition by exercising it regularly (aka belting out the wrong words to my favorite songs in the shower and car) and avoiding carcinogins (aka cigerettes and other toxic poisions).

Some voicebox's are more expensive then others and may be worth more in monitary value $$. Some come in high pitches and some deep. Some are friendly and some are shy. Some are loud and some are soft. Some have wise words of wisedom and, well, some don't.

Regardless of what type of voicebox you have, I recommend using it everyday. Use it to VOICE your opinion. Use it to EXPRESS yourself. Use it to make a STATEMENT. Use it to SING a song. Use it to COMMUNICATE. Use it to be UNIQUE.

Always use it in a POSITIVE fashion. Don't discourage. Don't judge. Don't be pesstimistic. Don't redicule.

And most importantly - Don't overuse. Always know when to turn this little contraption off and use your ears, which is another thing that is often underestimated.

I challenge you to: SPEAK UP about something that's important to you this week. You may change somebodies life in the process so make sure to LISTEN to those around you for you never know who your actions may affect.

"Strangers are just friends waiting to happen "

Dangerous Spontaneous Mischievous

An expert is a person who has special skill or knowledge in some particular field. That being said -  "special skill" could be interrupted in an array of different ways. I, for example, believe that there are few topics that I would consider myself an expert in. Some of those areas include the rules of skippo, good hygiene (although I may not always practice), and the positive effects of having large feet (see oh how many feet you meet). Others may argue that I am not an expert in these areas and in fact know very little of these topics. This is debatable.

One area that I do not consider myself an expert in is the DSM (diagnostic and statistical manuel of mental disorders). For those of you who are not in the mental health field, it is basically a compilation of mental health diagnosis that includes symptoms, treatment, prevalence, criteria, etc. To say I am not an expert does not correlate with how well I perform my job, but it is me admitting that I have a lot to learn (although I have come a long way since last December when I was asking "what's the DSM?")

One diagnosis that I'm sure your all familiar with is ADHD - Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. Basically, in a nutshell, this is when an individual has a problem with inattentiveness, over-activity, impulsivity, or a combination. I vividly remember being asked on a first date "Do you have ADHD?" Is it that obvious?

I'm assuming the guy that asked me that question was referencing my inability to focus on one topic of conversation, difficulty siting still, and lack of overall concentration. Now a days we have another name for this - "first date jitters". However, at the time I was outraged, shocked, and slightly angry. Now, a decade later, I laugh because this was actually a very insightful question. 

I recently decided that I have "Life ADHD". What is this you ask? Well, it is my most recent diagnosis for myself. My most recent ailment. Watch out authors of the DSM (whoever you are), because I'm rewriting you and if you turned to the index you would find Life ADHD on page 304 and it would look something like this:

Life ADHD

• Symptoms
• Inability to stay in one location for a significant period of time
• Becomes easily bored and uninterested with career choice
• Jumping from one interest/hobby to another
• Frequent changes in relationships/friendships
• Impulsively making life changing decisions
• Treatment:
• Do what makes you happy because "It sounded like a good idea at the time"
• Prevalence:
• Predominantly found in girls named Emily and possibly rare breeds called Laura

Okay, so maybe this wouldn't fit so well on page 304. Perhaps I would rename my DSM as Dangerous Spontaneous Mischievous. Or even title my book as "Emily Needs To Grow Up". - Nah, that would be too boring.

I like being chocolate swirl with sprinkles.  What fun is vanilla?

WANTED: duck tape, stitches, or filter

I need stitches. Not the kind of stitches that you use to hold your skin together after you accidentally slice through a tomato at the wrong angle. Not the kind of stitches that you use to put the perfect hem line in. No, I need the kind that Edward Scissor Hands has.

You know, the kind that sew your mouth shut and prevent you from blurting out every little thing that is on your mind. The kind that would make me look like Frankensteins twin sister. And the kind that would prevent me from hurting feelings, making enemies,
and having to pick up the pieces afterwards.

Yes, I need stitches.

I appear to be suffering from something that the professionals refer to as "word vomit". According to Urban Dictionary it is the uncontrollable act of stating valid facts at an often inopportune time in conversation.

For me, inopportune happens more frequently then not. It happens in the mornings, in which I blame not having had my morning coffee. It happens in the afternoon, in which I blame needing a nap. It happens in the evenings, in which I blame being.... well.... being me.

The fact of the matter is - I need a filter. A nice one. An expensive one that you can only purchase online. One for a Britta made of solid gold...

Actually, nevermind. Who needs a filter? If I had one of those things my life would be a total dud. BORING! I would have a thousand questions without any answers. I would spend my day wondering aimlessly. And I would feel like a total waste of space - basically I would be better off in the recycling bin.

Instead, I think I will try being straightforward without being insensitive. Outspoken while being polite. And honest with passion. 

Sounds nice. I think I'll try it. What are you going to try this week?