Absolutely Cabulous

I don’t know why Adam EVER thinks he can get me to help him with these wine tasting events and still have me coherent at the end of the night…

Since I have my TAM card (solely so I can help Adam serve at events like wine tastings for his clients), he decides once in a while to let me “try again”… but I’m pretty consistently ridiculous, I’d say.

Recently we drove down to Seward for a rotary club tasting at a hotel… we were to be the Hot Husband/Wife Wine Expert Team! (Obviously, I was more excited about this team title and he told me not to say it out loud). I PROMISED myself (and Adam) that I wouldn’t get ridiculously drunk (again) until after the event was over… hehe.

So, about the time I caught myself saying made-up words to random people, I realized Adam was constantly shaking his head and staring at the clock.

Man wanting a wine pour: Hi, I’d like a red please.

Me: Oh Hiiiiiiiiiiii! Didshjew try the shmerlot? It’sh yummy!

Man: I think I’d like the cabernet please.

Me: Absolutely… CABsolutely! HA!!!!

*this is where I giggle uncontrollably at my own ability to make hilarious cracks even while drunk… I’m so damn talented!! Adam must just lov… uh oh, he looks pissed. Okay, no more jokes. Get it together Jen… gigglegigglegigglegiggle…cabsolutely… hahagiggle*

Luckily, Adam still loves me, and the people in the room were probably more drunk than me anyway so I looked fine. Hey, at least I’m a happy drunk!!

We’ll see how long it takes before I can convince my husband to let me help him with a work event again. 🙂

Gotcha!

Just something to make you all crazy like me:

Ever seen the movie Arachnophobia? There’s a scene in it where someone dies because she got bit in the ass by a spider hiding UNDER HER TOILET SEAT.

Now I have to lift up the seat to check before I use the toilet. Everysingletime, in everysinglerestroom. Even in the middle of the night.

And now you will too.

Enjoy! 🙂

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Nitrus, Schmitrus

At my 3 hour dentist appointment today, the assistant offered me nitrous oxide – which I’ve never had. Which is weird, because I have pretty intense dentist anxiety. Anyway when the assistant described it to me as “it’ll just make you feel like you’re on the ceiling,” I was like BRING IT ON! 🙂

So my dentist told me I was “focusing too much on the needle” when he was numbing my mouth (which ended up feeling like the entire left side of my face), so they had to turn up the gas twice. TWICE. Am I that tolerant of drugs? BTW, what the hell are you supposed to focus on? He joked that I should be thinking about Smurfs and Strawberry Shortcake, BUT I’M NOT SIX.

30 minutes into my appointment, I realized that it’s probably not appropriate to laugh at the scenarios in your head while your dentist has sharp things in your mouth. Apparently the drugs work pretty well, because I was much less focused on my mouth… here is a small sampling of my internal dialogue:

“I don’t quite feel like I’m on the ceiling yet. But I imagine my face kind of looks like that first dead girl in the closet from The Ring.”

“Weird, when I close my eyes, I get that spinny drunk feeling like when I’ve just gone over that line that separates ‘drunk’ from ‘wasted’ except without the nausea.”

“It’s SO WEIRD that I can’t feel anything that he’s doing! Anesthesia is like magic. Except I can still feel the cold water that the assistant is spraying on my teeth. I wonder why they don’t use warmer water?”

“OMG SOMEONE’S HAND IS IN MY LAP”

“Oh, totally my own hand.”

“HAHAHAHAHAHHA I just thought someone else’s hand was in my lap. Wouldn’t THAT have been awkward if I mentioned it! Hahahaha. Ouch, stop laughing out loud.”

“I wish I knew morse code so I could communicate with my dentist via eyebrow-morse-code. Although, I bet he doesn’t know morse code. But how does he expect me to answer all of these open-ended questions? Maybe I’m already supposed to know eyebrow morse code and I look like an idiot because I’m not using it!”

“Well, obviously he doesn’t know eyebrow morse code, because I’ve been wiggling out ‘SOS’ for like 20 minutes and he’s totally not responding. SOS is all I know. Hey, I wonder what SOS even means? I wish I could use my iphone right now to look it up.”

“OMG, I wonder if he thinks I’m eyebrow-flirting with him?! Like on Friends, when Phoebe foot-flirts with her massage client because that’s the only part of her he can see??? God I hope my dentist doesn’t think I’m eyebrow-flirting with him. I should probably let him know that I was just trying to communicate SOS to see if he understood morse code. But then that might make me seem even more ridiculous, so I guess I’ll just try to quit wiggling.”

“*giggle*”

As you can see, nitrus oxide is my new best friend. Although, funny story, I was apparently so high when I left that I was completely out of it… because my dental assistant just called me (4 hours later) to “see if everything was alright because when you left you seemed like you were irritated” –ouch. I was like, “um, sorry? I hadn’t eaten anything and I was there for 3 hours and I had to pee and I was numb and high.” And also I was irritated that my dentist doesn’t communicate via morse code.

PS. Note to all dentists: practice asking ONLY YES OR NO QUESTIONS. Or learn morse code.

PPS. “SOS” means “Save Our Seamen.” No wonder my dentist didn’t respond. Click here for the real wikipedia entry. 🙂

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Baby Anxiety

This was originally posted on jennyfast.com in February 2009, when we had just made the decision to start trying for a baby. That was almost exactly one year before we actually got pregnant with Ellie… and I do still worry a little sometimes that I’m not capable of teaching her how to talk, or read, or anything for that matter!

Okay… I have to preface this post by mentioning that when this conversation too place I was:

a.)totally PMSing and

b.)drunk

I thought that our Valentine dinner at Orso would be an appropriate place to bring up my baby anxiety, since we’ve been discussing the issue of kids lately. So we’re having a GREAT night, we’re laughing and happy and lovey, and I start in with this:

Me: So, are we sure we’re ready?

Adam: Yep (he’s so succinct)

Me: Like really? Because it’ll probably change us.

Adam: It won’t. We’ll live just like we do now but with a kid!

Me: Ok but what if we resent eachother?

Adam: Are you high? We won’t.

Me: What if I suck? I read that whole pregnancy book yesterday, and it said I can’t have sugar or aspirin or anything! I don’t know anything about kids!

Adam: I’m not worried one little bit. You’re going to be such a great mommy Jen, stop being silly.

Me: But what if i’m terrible? What if I drop it? What if I’m too protective? What if I feed it something wrong? What if it has terrible grammar?

Adam: Impossible.

Me: BUT I DON’T EVEN KNOW HOW TO TEACH SOMEONE HOW TO TALK!!

At this point Adam laughed at me uncontrollably, while I giggled and cried. Then this morning when he was kissing me goodbye before he left for work, he woke me up to tell me I’m going to be a good mommy.

I SO love my husband.

Also, don’t ask because I’m not pregnant. Just thinking about it. 🙂

Please Pass the Drugs

Or, “How I Ruined My Husband’s Birthday”

I decided that for Adam’s birthday this year I’d do something spectacular… so I broke my leg. Happy Birthday Honey, can you please drive me to the hospital? Ugh, seriously… what a great wife I am.

After a night of games with our friends in Big Lake, Adam and I were walking from the cabin to our camper at about 2am. I was carrying Ellie in the baby bjorn on my front. About halfway to the camper I slipped, and, conscious of the fact that I might fall on my daughter, twisted around so I would fall on my butt instead. Unfortunately, I slipped right at the edge of a foot-high ice/snow dropoff, and when I went to plant my right foot the ground wasn’t where I thought it was… so I was still twisting when my foot finally made contact, and down I went. I crumbled into a crying heap, Ellie still attached to my chest.

Adam: GET UP! HER ARM IS TOUCHING THE SNOW!

Me: I caaaaaaan’t! It huuuuuuuurts! *sob* *hysterical scream* *sob*

Adam: Jenny GET THE EFF UP! HER ARM IS IN THE SNOW!

Me: I caaaaaaaaaan’t! *sob, unrecognizable words, sob*

At this point, Adam snatched Ellie out of the baby bjorn and ran to warm up her arm in the camper, leaving me lying in the snow howling like a banshee. Our buddy Vince helped me up and he and Adam got me to the camper, where they took off my boot and sock. My ankle immediately swelled and bruised. We put ice on it, and I passed out.

I woke up crying at 4am with an urgent need to pee. Adam reluctantly dragged me outside and waited while I peed in the snow, crying the whole time. Anyone ever try to crouch down and pee while standing on ONE LEG? Suuuuper difficult. I almost fell into the snow with my bare ass about 10 times, and when I finally was able to stand up I had to have Adam pull up my pants. Not embarrassing AT ALL.

The next morning (Adam’s birthday), my ankle/leg was ridiculously swollen, and after I looked up “sprained vs broken ankle” on google and decided that it was broken, I made Adam drive me in to Wasilla to the urgent care center. Every single bump in the road made me wince.

Condensed version of what happened next:

  • xrays at urgent care center showed 2 breaks: tibia and fibula
  • received butt shot of demerol for pain relief; instantly made me feel nauseated and sweaty
  • referred to specialist in Anchorage for immediate care
  • drove to Anchorage, specialist commented on what a “bad break” I have
  • specialist’s PA splinted my leg, then manipulated it so that my ankle is “sitting right” by squeezing, twisting and pressing my toes back toward my body… I screamed (no joke) louder than I did during labor.
  • admitted to Providence hospital for a CT scan; surgery was put off until morning
  • They gave me drugs… delauded, oxycontin and something else I think
  • surgery at 7am, I barely remember anything. Sent Adam and Lynn very drugged up text messages
  • hospital drug haze for the next 2 days
  • released to my king size bed in the middle of the living room floor on Tuesday afternoon

Aaaaand that’s about it. I’ve been sitting in my living room bed for the last week, drugged up and achey as hell. I hate crutches, I hate laying around all day, and I hate not being able to pick up my baby. I was told it’ll be about 6-8 weeks of complete immobilization until I can be re-evaluated, then I might be in a “walking cast” for another 6 or so weeks. CRAP.

Relevant Information…

… according to my mother-in-law (or, Shit My Husband’s Mom Says):

While working our asses off during the Saturday Sweatshop class at the Edge Training Studio this weekend, my mother-in-law Lynn and I (along with my brother-in-law’s cutie high school girlfriend Jennifer) struggled our way through most of the class without any problems. When we started the intense ab workout, however, I started to feel some intense pain in my lower abs. I mentioned it to Lynn, who casually said “you JUST had a baby, Jenny, don’t overwork yourself!”

The trainer happened to hear that comment, and agreed with Lynn, telling me to take it easy. She then asked me if I had torn my abdominal wall at all during labor. Before I had a chance to even try to answer the question…

Lynn (in a voice usually reserved for large auditoriums): I was in the labor and delivery room with her, and she didn’t tear her abdominals. But she DID TEAR EVERYWHERE ELSE… BAAAAD.

Jennifer: OMG

Me: Explain to me how that is relevant information, Lynn.

Man in back of class: HAHAHAHA

Random Girl in class: *giggle giggle snort*

Trainer: Don’t worry, we hear it all… *giggle*

Lynn: What? It’s true. You had a hard labor.

Me: Thanks for enlightening the group. Sharing time is over, now do some more situps and shutup.

And then I died of embarrassment. Or maybe that one dude in the back of the class did.

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Dog Farming

So, my 14-year-old brother, Billy, is up visiting Adam and I from Idaho for the summer, and I’ve had some… interesting conversations with him since he’s arrived. Observe:

Billy: Is Tali spaded?

Me: Hmmm… you mean spayed?

Billy: Yeah, that.

Me: No, we’re thinking about breeding her next year.

Billy: Wow, you WANT like 7 dogs?

Me: Well not to keep, silly!

Billy: WHAT? What do you mean?

Me: Well, we might keep one of her puppies, but we would sell the rest.

Billy: WHAAAAAT? You would SELL your dog’s BABIES?

Me: Um, yes.

Billy: (seemingly having a major realization) Whoa. Is that what your dad does?

*note: my dad has had quite a few boston terriers over the years, and has bred some of them a couple of  times

Me: Of course! Do you think my dad lives on a dog farm with 56 dogs??

Billy: Well… yeah. I thought that’s what the barns were… for the dog farm.

*note: my dad builds storage sheds for a living, and his business name is ‘Alaskan Barns’.

Me: I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.

Billy: I can’t believe you would sell your dog’s babies. How would you like it if someone sold YOUR baby?

Adam, jumping in: How would you like it if your 7 children lived with you all their lives?

Haha, great point, Adam… I’m sure I would be ready to sell my kids if they wanted to live with me forever! 🙂