It is Spring Break.

I have accomplished…both nothing and many things, bizarrely.

Brandus and I saw Divergent, which I enjoyed but wouldn’t write home about..or bother reviewing. I love a good dystopian movie, basically, but this felt too simplified in some ways. I also saw the preview for The Giver, which made me throw things at the screen in irritation, because I really don’t think there is any way possible they will do the book justice. The whole feel of it is wrong to me.

Otherwise, by some bizarre stroke of insanity, I’ve decided to teach myself to quilt. I’ve pieced a tiny crib-size quilt, quilted it successfully (although dont look at the back, it’s a mess), and am currently scowling at directions for how to bind it. Then somewhere in there, I pieced a twin size quilt. It’s upstairs awaiting my husband’s ability to figure out spatial problems so he can help me determine how to cut and turn the pieces of the backing to actually..you know, back the quilt.

I think I might be slightly addicted already, which isn’t good, because fabric takes over your life and we just redid the spare bedroom into a shared office/sewing room/family game room, so Brandus will notice if fabric starts piling up.

I have 4 more days of break, and (other than a dr appt on Friday to determine why I am sleeping like crap) I plan to continue to do ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. It is AMAZING.

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With My Mouth Shut

I feel…wordless. Which is strange, because Percocet usually makes me chatty, and wow, am I on a lot of Percocet. And antibiotics. And..some other thing or two that I can’t remember, which is probably also due to the Percocet.

See, that whole UTI thing I was stressed about? Or maybe I didn’t mention it here. Regardless, I had what seemed to be 3 different UTIs in less than a month. But turns out they weren’t UTIs, because the initial dip came back showing issues, but the actual culture showed nothing.

So, with great reluctance, my GP set me up an appointment with a urologist, and gave me a bunch of information on cystitis, which is basically a bladder issue that means it will always feel like you have to pee and it sucks to be you, because while there are things they can try, they have no idea if any of them will work or why any of them work.


They also set me up with an ultrasound of my kidneys/bladder, to make sure there weren’t any other issues.

As luck would have it, I woke up the day of the ultrasound in extreme pain. It’s called flank pain, which means that one side of your lower back hurts like a bitch and leaves you, if you’re anything like me, trying desperately not to puke.

The man called the doctor to see if the ultrasound could be moved up from the afternoon, as I needed it NOW, and the doc sent us to the ER.

HEY GUESS WHAT? I HAD A KIDNEY STONE. You remember the one I had right after Christmas? THIS WAS THE SAME ONE! IT WAS CAUSING ALL OF THE ISSUES AND EVERYTHING SUCKED UNTIL THEY GAVE ME LOTS OF DRUGS! I’d like to point out that this was the end of January. But wait, we aren’t done yet!

On to the urologist, who wanted so little to do with me that he barely even let me finish a sentence, much less the whole story. Verdict: Surgery! They were going to shove a scope up my urethra and blast that kidney stone with a laser and then I’d be back on my feet and fully recovered in 24 hours!

Oh, how I laugh at that thought now..

Surgery happened on Feb 14, which made for an awesome Valentine’s day for both myself and Brandus. Nothing like being taken to the hospital for a romantic gesture!

When I woke, I was..uncomfortable.

Come to find out that the doctor, who had originally told me I would have a stent for 2 days, discovered the kidney stone was much more implanted in the lining of my ureter than originally thought.

I would need the stent for TWO WEEKS. And while it was in, I was to expect pain, blood in my pee, increased urge to pee, and general irritation. And if I resumed my normal activities, it would make all of those things worse.

Awesome. But I’d already missed a week of work due to pain and then surgery, so back to work I went.

It was fine for a week. Kind of irritating, and not exactly comfortable, but I didn’t need the percocet often, just when I overdid things – like doing my job or wrestling with the 3 year old who had just smacked a kid in the face with a block.

But then, of course, something went wrong. Things..hurt. Badly. I’ll let you use your imagination to decide exactly what hurt, but it lead to me calling the doctor in the middle of the day. And being told that some pain was normal with a stent.

Brandus called, as he was at home and I was at work, and at this point we were just trying to get the stent removal moved up a few days, as I didn’t think I could last another 5 days. They kept blowing us off. So when I got home from work that day, Brandus asked me how I felt. I said, “Shitty,” and he said, “Get your stuff. We’re going to the ER.”

After 5 hours, 4 vials of bloods, an injection of the good drugs, and peeing in a few more cups, the doctor came in and told me he was going to personally call my urologist. As my stent was infected, and needed to come out sooner rather than later.

That was Tuesday. The stent finally comes out tomorrow. And if, after two months of being in pain, the removal of the damn thing doesn’t finally make it stop hurting, I’m planning on crying at the urologist until someone does something to make me feel better. And then maybe quitting my job and spending the rest of 2014 in bed, because clearly, this year hates me.

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I’m going to cross stitch this on your forehead

Me: Hey kid, what are you about to do?
Voldemort: Create. Isn’t that what kids do?

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Challenge Clearly Accepted

Dear 2014,

When I said it would be hard for you to be worse than 2013, I didn’t mean for you to take that as a CHALLENGE.


I mean, if the mental health fun for both myself and Brandus weren’t enough, adding in root canals and a tooth extraction plus bone graft for brandus and some bizarre UTI issues that aren’t UTIs that have resulted in referrals for ultrasounds and urology appointments for me, just isn’t fair.

It’s only JANUARY. Come on, 2014. Can’t you at least spread out the medical issues?

No love,

PS Dont think I didn’t notice the dentist’s concern for the fact that Voldemort has a permanent tooth that is coming in SIDEWAYS – I’m just ignoring it for the moment.

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I’ll Bake If I Want To

It’s my birthday today, and due to a variety of reasons, it’s just me and the kid. I’m heading up to hang out with my favorite awesome ladies of the Vagina Monologues tonight, so it’s not sad and pathetic and mopey, but someone needs to make me cake, and that someone is clearly going to be ME.

Ordinarily, if I were in Georgia, I would have gotten a cookie cake from Great American Cookie, because they are awesome and amazing and my favorite.

However, I am not in Georgia. I am nowhere in the South, and compared to the THIRTY FOUR Great American Cookie places in Georgia, there is a whooping TWO in Colorado. Both of which are almost an hour away. We have experimented with other cookie cakes from other places, but they’re just not nearly as good.

So, because I am BRILLIANT, I decided to look online to see if anyone had a copycat recipe I could try.

I found two!

One of which advised me to take the regular toll house cookie recipe but sub this and add that and don’t forget to do these other arcane rituals to make it come out perfect.

The other said to take a thing of refrigerated Pillsbury cookie dough and add a fourth of a cup of corn syrup.

Guess which one I chose?

So! Let me walk you through this, for no other reason that I need to document whether I can reproduce anything resembling the best cookie cake in the world.

I used:
-An extremely old bottle of Karo* syrup that I don’t remember ever buying
-A regular size thing of refrigerated Pillsbury chocolate chip cookie dough**
-A flimsy disposable pizza pan for ease of travel

Step one:
photo 2

Step two:
photo 3
Smoosh into greased pizza pan with wet hands

Step three:
Shove into oven at 325 for 25 minutes. The recipe said to line the rack below it with foil in case the cookie tried to crawl over the edge and escape, but I didn’t.

*This is the one word more than anything else that makes me sound Southern. It is pronounced KAY-ro, and my husband laughs every time i say it.
**I’m not sure why Pillsbury, but I didn’t want to offend the recipe gods.

And then, because it’s my birthday, and I figure at 35, I might should practice being a motherfucking adult, I actually stopped licking the cookie dough out of the Pillsbury thing to WASH THE MIXING BOWL. And by wash, of course I mean I actually remembered to put soap in before running water and leaving it in the sink.

Step four:
Hmmm. That doesn’t look…quite right. Mildly (I hope) overcooked except for that bump in the middle, with bonus over-overcooking on the edges where the cookie tried to crawl over the edges and escape.

Nonetheless, we shall proceed. Onward! To the decorating!

I didn’t even try to recreate the Great American Cookie frosting, although it is yummy, because I am lazy and frosting comes in a can.

I let Voldemort pick it out, which was probably a mistake. And then, to compound the mistake, because I have no problems making my own cake, but I feel really weird about writing “Happy Birthday, Alia!” on my own cake, I let Voldemort decorate.

photo (1)
I have been informed that it says “Happy”, “Mom,” and that is a happy face at the bottom. I know the 0 in “Mom” originally started out as a 6, because he wanted to write “65″ on the cake for how old I was. At which point I gently informed him that I was, in fact, 35, and shouldn’t he go do something somewhere else before he accidentally wrote 105?

Taste test still to follow. Will let you know tomorrow if I will be going into competition with Great American Cookie.

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