Here's to September

Holy crap, this month sucked.

BUT I have had a ton of help from friends and fam and especially my pooky. I'm glad people love me even though I'm a crazy psycho.

I'll give you a run down just in case you missed out on the fun.

1. I ruin the only vacation I've been on in two years for me and everyone else there.

2. I have terrible kidney pain. Go to the ER twice, see 5 doctors, and get a CT scan. The verdict? You're pregnant so you'll have to suffer until the baby comes. Sucks for you. Derrick has to watch me scream and writhe in pain for a good two weeks.

3. Because of the pain I'm on drugs. My work decides they don't want me on drugs doing accounting. DEMOTION. I am the receptionist again.

4. I try a home remedy for kidney stones. 1/3 cup olive oil and 1/3 cup lemon juice. I chug that shiz down and am so stoked that I could actually do it! Two hours later I wake up to pee, go to the sink to wash my hands and freaking barf up EVERYTHING I ate that day into said sink. Now it won't drain and it's 1:30 in the morning... I've never dealt with a clogged sink before so I wake Derrick up. Big mistake. It might have been wiser for me to slit my wrists and watch myself bleed to death. He's obviously in no mood to help me so I grab a cup and a bowl from the kitchen and start scooping vomit into the bowl until I find the blockage.

Keep in mind that Lortab has been a steady part of my diet about every 2-3 hours and it's late so I'm not really all there... instead of dumping the puke in the toilet I decide to take it downstairs and run it through the disposal. I turn the switch on, puke dissapears, I go back to my nice comfy bed, right?! Umm no I flip the switch to shut the dang disposal off and it's still running. I flip it again and again and again and it won't turn off. Now, Derrick has decided to wake from hibernation... He screams profanity (at the situation, not at me) and turns the power off. I lay on the kitchen floor and bawl for a good 20 minutes. Turns out we had a bad switch.

5. Derelict stretches his arms out on the couch and knocks over my scentsy on our end table. Purple wax on the walls, in the carpet, on the lamp... EVERYWHERE.

6. I take Derrick's car to run an errand. When I pull into the garage I hit his mirror on the garage and kind of break it... oopsy. I'm not used to pulling in on his side. We get in a fight about it outside. The relief society prez lives right next to us. With all the screaming from the kidney stones and the fighting outside she probably expects to find one of us murdered someday.

7. I go in the house to do the dishes while Derrick tries to fix his mirror. I'm fuming. I turn on the kitchen faucet and it breaks... I can't turn the water off to save my life. I crawl in the sink and beat the living crap out of it trying to get the water to stop running. I swear my face off and I start bawling again. Derrick comes in and fixes it with ease. I go upstairs and cry myself to sleep.

8. I get a flat tire.

9. I notice my innie is turning outie. I truly thought I might be exempt from this one... I have a slight panic attack. I know I'm pathetic.

10. Yesterday, the last day of August. I come home from lunch. Derrick has been playing with knives. He has meat hanging out of his fingers. We go to Instacare and get him some stitches. I think we need Aflac.

PLUS my baby brother moved away to college. We tried to go to Bear Lake to Pickleville Playhouse for our anniversary, get over there and the play is sold out. My parents dog got ran over and I didn't even get a fair burger this year. :(

It's a good thing I've been practically inebriated most of the month.

I'm taking up drinking for fun.

My vacations bite the weenie.

First weenie bite: 2007 - Oceanside California.
While frolicking in the ocean I get stung by a sting ray. Ended up in the ER.

Second weenie bite: 2008 - White Plains, New York
Anaphlyactic Reaction to unkown substace. Another ER visit. You can read all about it here .

Third weenie bite: 2009 - Cabo San Lucas, Mexico
Our honeymoon. We hunker down in one room with the entire resort and brace ourselves for Hurricane Jimena. We talked to our parents on the phone the ENTIRE trip. I call interference! Not my idea of romance, but I guess if we had been thinking straight we could have started a resort orgy or something.... Next time.

Fourth weenie bite: 2011 - Flaming Gorge, UT
We're on a boating trip with friends.
Day 1 we search all freaking day for a campground and when we finally get set up and want to start boating and it rains all. freaking. night.
Day 2 is wonderful.
Day 3 I wake up with pain in my back I've never experienced before. I figure it's just a cramp from sleeping on the air mattress and try to change positions to will it away... I try and try and try. No luck. The pain escalates and starts hurting in my stomach. I figure my fetus is dying inside my body and panic. The nearest ER is almost 2 hours away. I'm screaming and bawling and the entire campground wonders what kind of animal is dying and if it's time to shoot it at this point.

My friends are running all over calling doctors and rounding up the boat and I'm still in panic mode. Dry heaving, puking up stomach acid, swallowing cry snot.... We make it to the ER and they tell me I'm probably having gall bladder problems and send us away with a $2800 bill. (I went back to ER a couple days later and found out I ACTUALLY have kidney stones. Freakin Evanston.) Everyone packs up and goes home a day early because of me.

I hate me.

Get in My Belly!!!

This pretty much sums up why I am not getting maternity pics taken.

This Heifer's Gonna Calf!

Most of you who read this already know, but for those of you who don't...

IT'S BABY TIME AT THE BODINE'S

We heard the heartbeat yesterday so I figured it was safe to tell EVERYONE. Plus, it's not official until you tell the internet right?!

Cravings?
None. If I could stop throwing up and get that sick taste out of my mouth I'm sure I'd be craving something. It's just not like me to not want to eat. I don't even know who I am anymore. The only thing that is different preference wise is that I used to like my water at room temp. NO ICE. Now I like it ice cold. It's like taking a nice, disturbed sip of Edward Cullen. "What's cooler than bein cool? ICE COLD!! alright, alright, alright alright, alright, alright!" (FYI for those who are over 40: that is a song by Outkast. I know, I know, It's hard to keep up. Just don't worry about it. Occupy your mind with something else. Go try to figure out the DVD player, I dare you. bahaha!)

Emotions?!
On the "boo hoo" scale I think I'm doing very well. Sometimes I cry when I'm hanging my head over the toilet because I don't understand why my fetus hates me so bad. Other than that I've stayed pretty stable. On the "I could shove ice picks in your toenails, cut you with razor blades, and leave you for dead" scale I'm not doing so great. I just figure if I don't end up in prison at night, it's been a good day.

Here's a snippet of the advice we've been given so far:

"Dude, make your wife run and lot and rub aloe vera on her stomach so she doesn't get stretch marks."
-some D-bag Derrick carpools with

"Derrick, remember that milk is just for the baby"
-Chase, my cousin's husband

"I suggest you get a C-Section so that everything stays the same "down there". If you have the baby the other way you'll have shiz leaking out of there all the time"
-a D-bag I have the privilege of working with

(He follows this comment by saying "Hopefully that's not too invasive." Talking about my vagina with someone other than my doctor, invasive?! Pssshhh H-no! I'm totally fine with this. Hey, next time you take a dump let me know and I'll come rub your feet and you can tell me more about this vaginal leakage I'm about to experience, you sickening pig.)

"You can even go waterskiing, if you're careful. It's not the fall that will hurt the baby. You'll hurt the baby when the boat is pulling you out of the water. You'll get power douched."
-Dr. Dibble

To sum up: Pregnancy is Magical.
(That's it, I love it. I'm putting that saying in vinyl above my toilet)

Try not to eat me.

Have a wonderful weekend everyone
and remember you are all sex panthers to me
Grrr baby... Grrr!

Priceless.

I've reverted back to cutting my split ends and I'm giving myself a headache.
I decided that I will stop the madness and tell a personal tale.

I'm not a big potty talk person. Sure, I can joke around about how I pee my pants and pee the bed as an adult because it's a fact of my life and rather than be embarrassed about it, I have decided to embrace it. However, when it comes to "taking the Browns to the Superbowl" I'd like to pretend it just doesn't happen. I mean really? Why do our bodies do this? I figure Heavenly Father has a sense of humor that I just don't understand.

For my senior trip I went to Lake Powell for 5 or 6 days with a BFF and her aunt and uncle. If we had to pee we could go in the lake, but if we had to make a nasty we had to ask the aunt and uncle to turn the water on in the boat and then they would all be sitting on the beach while you're in the crapper and they knew EXACTLY what you were doing. My solution? I didn't poop the ENTIRE trip. That takes talent people. My friend was even like, "Uh, you didn't even go to the bathroom the whole time we were there." I was like, "Yeah, I guess I just never had to go." When in reality I lost 5 pounds when I finally made the release. Haha, I can't believe I'm typing all of this! Do you see what my job is doing to me?!

For all Derrick knows I NEVER fart or make number 2. It's been a little tricky to conceal for the last 5ish years, but I'd like to think I've done a stand up job! The real challenge started when the endometriosis came because it makes your body act like it has IBS. What is IBS? It's Irritable Bowel Syndrome. So basically, when it hits you gotta find a toilet like PRONTO or you're scewed. And don't even think about farting to release the pressure or you could shart! What is sharting? It's when you think you're gonna fart and instead you shiz your pants.

Once upon a time we lived in an apartment with only one bathroom. I was making dinner like a good slave... I mean wife (oopsy!) and Derelict was in the shower. Suddenly, a meteor expolded in my stomach and my intestines opened a can of serious whoop-A. I doubled over and weighed my options as fast as I could. A - Go into the bathroom and scar my husband for life with no chance for recovery. B - Try to hold it, drive 5 minutes to the nearest gas station and hope to make it back before Derrick notices I left. The gas station wins! Although, I was not fast enough. The truth came out and I've yet to live it down.

Last week I was having serious stomach issues. I was laying on the lovesack watching a show and decided to let a silent but deadly fart escape from my body. This episode of flatulence probably could have killed a small village. Derrick came downstairs and lifted up the blanket to sit by me and watch the movie. The stench hit his nostrils and he pulled back in disgust. His poor face was priceless! I still crack up every time I think about it. I'm cracking up right now. Good thing the rest of my office is at lunch. It leaves me wondering, why did I wait so long to unleash the beast?

I hope you enjoyed my very long story about pooping and farting.
Until next time.

-The Princess of Phenomenal Flatulence
(my sister is the Queen)

I'm Surrounded By Morons.

Pet Peeve #582

SAHM Facebook statuses that read:
"Hubby lover buns is away on business for two whole days :( Being a single mom is SOOOO gosh darn stinkin hard!"

I will slap you until you bleed, you stupid idiot women. Yes, women-plural. I see this comment probably bi-weekly. Now call me crazy, but I believe when your husband is away making money for your family that does not qualify you as a single parent. REAL single mothers have to dump their kids in daycare, work at a job or two or three away from home all the live long day, AND make dinner, do dishes, do laundry, go grocery shopping, bathe, etc.

I honestly can't believe people are that freaking stupid.
That's like me saying:
"My new Nikes gave me a blister on my run this morning! As I limped along, I could feel the pioneer spirits guiding me on my journey back to my heated three story home. What a testimony builder!"

I feel a brain anuerysm coming on so, that is all for today.

I'mma Bust a Cap!

The other morning, while in peaceful slumber, my doorbell rings at 7 AM.

1st thought, "It's probably some chick in the Relief Society."

2nd thought: "Pssshhh. If those beeotches wanna talk to me, they can come back at a decent time."

I'm waiting for the lightning to strike me down, but let's be honest. Church people are the only people who will consistently show up at your door time and time again unexpected and unannounced. I'm just telling it like it is.

I proceed to roll over and capture some more wonderful shut eye, but I hear doors and cupboards slamming. Then, the mind games start.

"Oh shiz. It's a maniac killer/evil robber/menacing rapist. They rang the doorbell to see if anyone was home and then came through the back door when they thought the coast was clear."

After some serious debate, I decide to trek downstairs to see what's going on. First, I have to get dressed. "Hmmm, what should I be wearing when the cops find my mutilated body?" This decision took a shameful amount of time. Much longer than I'm going to admit. I finally settled on some gray sweats and one of Derrick's black zip up hoodies. I pick up my phone, dial 911, position my finger over the green send button, and grab Derrick's gun.

Halfway down the stairs, I rethink the gun because I can't even cock it. The last time I tried my fingers got stuck in the freakin thing and it hurt like a motha! So, as soon as my attacker figures out I have no intention of actually using the gun they'll take it from me and kill my with my own gun. Then, the police will come, trace the gun to my husband and they'll think Derrick killed me... What to do, what to do?

I decide to stick with the gun. It makes me look gangsta.

I slowly make it downstairs and check all rooms, closets, behind furniture, etc. I open the front door and peek out. Well what do you know, I guess it was just the neighbors slamming cupboards and doors. Haha! Don't I feel sheepish.

I walk back upstairs, lock myself in my room - just in case, and go back to sleep until it's time for work.

First thing I google after arriving at work.

Taser.

That's right I am soon to be armed and dangerous. Either with a taser or this cute little gun that I can actually work called "The Pink Lady". So, don't come knocking at my door earlier than 8:00 AM unless you want to suffer the consequences.

Word.

Pee is Fascinating

Oh Em Gee my job is boring.

I can't take it anymore.
I even read an article the other day and Dr Oz said
it's worse for your health to be
bored than it is to be stressed.
I honeslty can't wait to get knocked up.
It's going to be my golden ticket!

Obviously, my sanity is becoming more and more debatable. I'll give you a little rundown of what my job has been like lately.

About a month ago I took to cutting my split ends all day long. Kind of gross considering that my desk area had constant plethora of 1/2 inch hair pieces floating about, but it killed the time. It probably killed my eyesight too. Then I got a trim. Bye bye gross habit.

Yesterday I had the task of hauling a box, taller than I am, upstairs to our filing room.
The boy who sits by the stairs, (whose calves are twice as thick as my head) turned around, folded his arms, and intently watched me lug the box upstairs. He is a creeper and an absolute douche. I spent the rest of the afternoon contemplating ways to kill him using only office supplies.

Today when I went to the restroom I noticed my pee was a little too yellow.
So, I've been drinking lots of water and going to the bathroom frequently
to watch my urine change colors.
I heart clear pee.
I'll probably pee the bed tonight.

Help me.

The end.

HONEEEEY!!!!!!!

When I was a youngster my mom and dad would call me honey.

"Honey, rub my feet."

"Will you change your brothers diaper, honey?"

"Honey, get over here, fan my face, and feed me grapes while I watch Young and the Restless."

You see what I mean.

So, when my wee brother started learning names he called me honey. He couldn't get down the stairs all alone, so he would stand at the stairs and scream: HONEEEEYYY, HONEEEEEY!!!!!! I would come running, push him down the stairs, and have a good laugh.

My parents neighbors even call me honey. The name just kind of stuck.

Now, I am about to tell you a sad story. Lately I've been suffering. Every morning I look in the mirror, start to cry, and turn away in disgust.

I've been cursed with...

ADULT ACNE! and FLAKY DISGUSTING SKIN

WAAAHHHH!

I know, I know. I live the. hardest. life. ever.

Since facial death has fallen upon my face I've been frequenting makeupalley.com to find a cure. It turns out honey will be my saving grace.

And the choir sings!!!

I've been slathering this on my face for 15-20 minutes a couple times a week. Then Derrick licks it off while I shout praises to the queen bee and her hive. Hello pre-pubescent skin!

I also use it as a spot treatment for any zits that do happen to pop up. Even yucky chest zits. The next morning they are gone! It's a miracle for sheezy.

If you decide to give this a try you have to use raw honey. None of that crap in the bear bottle. If you have any questions, your Chinese friends at your local health food store should be able to help you out. Have a rice day!

(Yeah that's right. This is all I have to blog about. And I'm not going private. I'm an overreactor and I'm just not that big of a deal yet.)