Smooth move, Exlax

Tee, hee, hee. My Dad used to say that all the time when I did something stupid and it still make me chuckle.

So I’m wondering, is there an Exlax specifically for bloggers? Because I have been backed up for some time. After Mr. Big Momma and I discussed my masturbatory habits for an hour or so tonight (another post, kittens, I promise!), I was telling him how neglectful I have been with my blog. And how I wasn’t really neglectful because I have 5 posts saved in Word that I just haven’t posted. He was curious as to why I haven’t posted them (see future, already written post to be posted someday…). I told him that I haven’t posted them because I wasn’t feeling them. The foundation was laid (you: mind, out of gutter, please), but the details weren’t falling into place. He then told me that sometimes you need to settle with “B” work. Ha! “B” work is not part of who I am, unless I am posting six beers in.

So here I am, 3 beers in and feeling the urge to post. I’m half way there. So for tonight, you get random thoughts.

Random thought #1: If you play tennis, you should have full sight. There is this woman on my tennis league who I really think is blind. I say this because her eyes seem unable to focus on a human being. Now it would be really interesting if she was blind and able to play tennis. I am fairly certain that she is not blind because every week she shows up and does in fact play tennis. But her googly eyes still are troubling to me….

Random thought #2: The best shot in tennis, if you are playing at the net, is to hit the ball directly at the person playing the net on the other side of the court. Even though my tennis skills are somewhat lacking, I still can do this from time to time. Every time I do it, I apologize. I did it to my tennis coach on Saturday and of course, apologized profusely. She told me to shut the hell up. So when I was telling this to Mr. Big Momma tonight, I told him that sometimes in sports, you have to take a ball to the face. I am so willing to do this. Take a ball to the face and congratulate the person who hit it for hitting the perfect shot. Unfortunately though, many of the women on this league to do not feel the same way. Maybe because I have been married for 10 years, I am just used to taking balls to the face. Thanks Mr. Big Momma for the prep work. And again, just a reminder, please get your mind out of the gutter. You are really sick. Sick, sick, sick. Tee, hee, hee….I just said balls, like, 80 times. Balls, ha, ha, ha!

Random thought #3: There is woman that I met several months ago who is almost certainly the future me. The me at 55. And I have to tell you that I love her. Not just because she is cool as hell, but because she calls me “kiddo.”

Random thought #4: My best gay calls me kitten. I love this moniker. In fact I told him several weeks ago over a brutal Uno game that he doesn’t call me kitten anymore and that I thought we were no longer BFF’s. In this case, BFF=best fruit fly. Because he is my best gay, he immediately kittened me all up and all was right in my world. Best gay’s can do that to a girl.

Random thought #5: Mr. Big Momma asked me tonight to choose my best moniker: kitten vs. kiddo. As if! I cannot and will not choose.

Random thought #6: Holy shit, it is almost 2009. Scary shit. Don’t even ask me about New Year’s resolutions. Too much FUS (fucked up shit) wrong with me to even consider.

Random thought #7: I swear, one of my resolutions is to post up the crap that I have socked away. Your NY resolution is to be very, very afraid.

Big Momma's deep thought

Does the rain wash away peoples' ability to drive?

Hit me baby one more time

.....Pretty please? And make it a good one. A good enough one to erase any and all memories of earlier today……

In case you forgot to mark it on your calendars, today was my big day. And Britney Spear’s Birthday, in case you forgot that too.

My BIG FAT SHOCKING DAY.

If you have no idea what I am talking about, please scroll down a few posts. That post (and this one too, I imagine) is not for the faint of heart. Don’t say that I didn’t warn you.

So this morning at 8:30, I had the pleasure of getting anally raped by a tube, all while being catheterized. Plus I had enough electrodes on my ass to jump start a car. Kind of like a modern day, kinky Bride of Frankenstein.

The only good part of the procedure was the end of course, and the hug that I got on the way out from my nurse. I think that was the least she could do after violating me six ways to Sunday. I would have preferred to cuddle with her and share a smoke, but beggars can’t be choosers. And I really needed that hug.

All of this torture to find out that my urethra is too small. This is, unfortunately, the only small thing on my person. Big butt, big boobs, big hips, big mouth. I am starting to feel cursed. My small urethra prevents me from fully emptying my bladder. Basically, I am a walking bag of urine. A pee sack if you will.

The remedy is to have my urethra stretched, which I will not comment on because the reality of this hasn’t sunk in yet. I’m just keeping my fingers crossed that they will give me the good drugs for this procedure. The good drugs and lots of them. Excuse me while I go burn out a few Hail Marys.

When I got home from the doctor’s office, I changed into my sweats, curled up on the couch and got to working. I had Footloose on in the background in order to sooth my soul. About half way through the movie I came to the conclusion that having my urethra stretched is a lot better than not being able to dance. See, sometimes you need to put in all in perspective. I also ate a half pound of Anthony Thomas chocolate and I think that helped too.

Later I did some internet searching to find out a little more about this urethra stretching business. And let me tell you, I could not believe what I came across. Here is a rundown of the more interesting results that came up on Google, in no particular order.

Listen to urethra stretching radio. Sorry Kevin, no music for you!

A youtube video of Tom Urethra. I was too chicken to take a look. Plus, I was on my work laptop.

Urethra itchy diseases. ???

Urethra stretching, free dating: singles and personals.

Your urethra, the Portal of Evil. Amen to that.

Penis plugs. Not in my urethra you don’t.

Shopping for urethra stretching? You will find the best price at Apple Laser Toner Cartridge. See honey, always saving you money!

There were a plethora of websites talking about how “arousal” could be “enhanced” by 1. stretching your urethra, 2. inserting a vibrator into it or 3. inserting a penis into it. Oh my holy god.

The internet, although marvelous in its vast knowledge, sometimes scares the bejesus out of me.

I did come across this foxy lady on one of the sites:


She looks fiesty. And happy. I bet her urethra is of nornmal size. Bitch! After a second look, I'm not even sure that this is a woman. Geriatric drag queen, maybe.


I also came across this which I thought was kinda funny, given the day I had:




I bet she just had her urethra stretched.

To the beat of the rhythm of the night

While I made cookies this afternoon, the Mr. watched "Barry Gordy's the Last Dragon" without even a hint of embarrassment.

I haven't seen this movie since 1985 when it came out in the theatres. I don't remember a damn thing about it other than these few, ultimately useless facts:

1. It tried too hard to be The Karate Kid + Purple Rain. Morris Day and the Time presents, "Mr. Miagi's the Purple Dragon." Oh wee oh wee oh.

2. Prince wasn't in it.

3. Neither was Ralph Macchio.

Now the Mister on the other hand, was quoting lines from the movie. And when the damsel in distress came on the screen, I'm pretty sure I saw him tweaking his own nipples.

For those of you who don't remember, Vanity was the damsel in distress. Here she is, circa 85:

So readers, I'm hoping you can help us settle an argument. I personally feel that Vanity is the poor man's Apollonia. Mr. Big Momma disagrees. If you don't remember Apollonia, she was the damsel in distress in Purple Rain.

So please vote for your favorite damsel in the comments section. Our marriage thanks you.

P.S. Just as an FYI, the internet told me that Vanity was SUPPOSED to play Appollonia in Purple Rain. But please, don't let me influence your vote.

I hope your face falls off

I am a stalker. Seriously. Just ask anyone in my family. If I call you and you don't answer, I will call you until you do. I am charming in that way. Those I do this to (especially the hubby) certainly find it annoying. But I do think that stalkery (yes, I just made that up, wouldn't George W be proud!) is the ultimate form of flattery.

Or at least that is what I keep telling them.

In my constant efforts to mature, I have shifted my stalking efforts. See, I'm a big girl now! I am now a Facebook stalker. What is even more remarkable than this confession is the fact that I DO NOT have a Facebook account. That is where the stalking comes into play.

You see while in Chicago this summer visiting my friend T introduced me to The Facebook. Because I am a stalker, I memorized her username and password. You really can't trust me with anything. But, in my defense, T knows that I have been logging on as her and peeking around. During our weekly calls, we generally do a Facebook recap. There are a few high school friends that usually dominate the conversation. I guess not much has changed.....

I have thought many times about starting my own Facebook account, but I doubt that I ever will. Really, do I want to know what people from high school are up to? Not so much. The people that I want to keep in touch with, I already do. And I really have no desire to spark up a friendship with someone now, that I didn't even speak to in high school.

But what I do want to do is fuck with The Facebook. Understand that when I say want to do, I mean will never do. But I just can't control the evil part of my brain. Now just because I would never violate T's Facebook trust, doesn't mean I don't have a detailed laundry list of exactly what I would do with my own Facebook account.

Once logged into Facebook, you are encouraged to type something. There is a friendly box that states "What are you doing right now?" The something that you type there shows up on the pages of those you are friends with. In case you are not familiar, here are some examples of what people type:

Joe is waiting for his children to fall asleep.
Tammy is glad that tomorrow is Friday.
Billy just finished power washing his dog.

Blah, blah, blah. You get the idea. Here are some of my ideas:

Big Momma just squeezed out a dump in the shape of Mr. Potato Head.

Big Momma got sick of her son whining, so she bound and gagged him and locked him in the closet.

Big Momma is watching gay porn.

Big Momma just drank a case of beer and followed it with a percocet chaser.

Big Momma is hoping that none of her high school classmate fucks contact her here.

And so on, and so on. Oh the fun that I would have.

Another thing that Facebook shows is who you are friends with. For example, Tom and Sue are now friends. This drives me nuts. Who gives a shit, who gives a fuck?

It also can announce events others are attending. "Betty is attending a help me find my G spot seminar on Tuesday." You go girl. Please be sure to tell us when you find it.....

....cuz I'll be anxiously awaiting, while I stalk the pages of Facebook.

Technology. A curse and a blessing all in one neat, stalking package.

Who told him?

Looks like W found out about my Shocker Treatment.....

I'm pretty sure they took this picture in my honor....wishing me the best for my December shock therapy.

Am I the only one counting the days until this moron is no longer prez?

I am getting THE SHOCKER and I have to say that I am shocked.

Anyone that has been in my presence for more than an hour will tell you the following:

I am shockingly cute.
And perky.
And I pee a lot.

If they started “Peeing with the Stars,” I would totally dominate. Eventually I would become a judge because I so rule and I promise you that I would go Paula Abdul on their asses. Would you expect any less?

Unfortunately there are no contests or prizes for the most pees in a day. You can trust me on this one; I have searched long and far for them.

A few weeks ago I have my quad-annual physical. Not only do I pee a lot, but I am really lazy. My Doctor recommended that I visit a urologist. We had tried solving my problem several months before by limiting my fluid intake and with drugs, but neither worked.

So today at 3:15, I had the pleasure of visiting a urologist. I should have known while I was filling out the paperwork that I was in trouble. I actually took some notes of the more interesting questions that the paperwork asked me to answer:

Do you need pressure against your vagina to have a bowel movement?

Um, what? Honey, I’m trying to take a shit….I need some help!!!

Do you lose urine without any warning?

Lose urine???? Honey, have you seen my urine? I can’t seem to find it….

Do you ever wet the bed while asleep?

In case you were wondering, my answer was no.

Do you have reduced self-esteem, depression, frustration or nervousness?

Who doesn’t?

Because I pee more than 20 times per day (TMI? If you think this is TMI, trust me, you should stop reading this right the fuck now!), I am in the severe category. They basically start at the top of possibilities and work their way down. There are many things that could be wrong, from an irritated bladder lining, neurological problems or maybe leprechauns may have taken up residence in my bladder. So, the doctor gave me a different drug to try and is having me come back in for a Urodynamic Study.

Sounds interesting. Very scholarly. A study. A dynamic one at that.

So on my way home, I was telling my sister what I had found out. She asked, “What does a Urodynamic study mean? What exactly will they be doing?” I told her what the doctor had told me: stop taking your anti-pee meds 2 days before the procedure and come with a full bladder. Easy peasy!

Then I remember that I was stealthily handed a piece of paper on my way out. I thought maybe this would have the answers and boy did it. Talk about TMI. Here is what it says of the procedure:

And I quote…

First you will be asked to void (can’t they just say pee) on a special commode (how official! I feel like a queen!) where we can measure how fast and how much you urinate. We will then place a catheter (ouchy) into your bladder, and one into your rectum. We will put tiny surface electrodes on either side of your anus. (????)

And it goes on and on…..the torture that is. McCain style.

So I’m wondering now, what does my ass hole have to do with this? Can’t they just leave it alone? Isn’t the pee hole catheter enough? And don’t even get me started with the tiny surface electrodes. ON MY ANUS.

Baby’s got back, but not enough to surrender to anal electrode torture.

I think I’m going to get a second opinion….