None of This is a Joke

Fun fact about me:  I tend to over-react.  Like, to a lot of things.  Sometimes people think it is funny. For example, my husband finds it hilarious when I gasp and make horrified faces at things that most people would laugh at.  Or have no reaction to at all.  (What?  You don't find it reprehensible that a mother would save her daughter's stained white mini skirt instead of CUTTING IT INTO A BILLION PIECES, like *I* would?)

ANYway, I just heard a story that reminded me of one of my classic childhood freakouts.  Last week, a 23-year-old woman who was stolen from a hospital at 12 days old was reunited with her birth parents!  Crazy, right?  Great for the woman and her family, but it definitely brings back scary memories for me.  

I read a lot as a child, and I read a lot of things that, in hindsight, I think were poor choices on my part.  Like that book where the girl's older sister gets a nose bleed one night and that was the clue they all missed and it turned out she had BRAIN CANCER and died shortly thereafter.  I wish I remembered the name of that book.  Not so I could re-read it.  (Okay, maybe so I could re-read it).  When Jeremy got a nose bleed out of the blue last year, I started sobbing.  And told him about the book. And made him think he could have brain cancer.  Whoops.

One of those "Poor Choice" books was The Face on the Milk Carton.  O. M. G.  This story is about a girl (who was the same age I was when I read it, natch) who sees a picture of a missing girl on a milk carton ... and it is HER!!!  Sleuthing ensues, and she learns SHE WAS KIDNAPPED AS A BABY and those people who she thought were her parents and she loved were KIDNAPPERS.

Readers beware!  Causes paranoia in mentally unbalanced people!
{source}

You have no idea how much this book freaked my shit.  I had never considered this idea.  I mean, your parents are your parents, right?  According to this book, there is no guarantee.  I realized that I could not just ignore this, and I MUST LEARN THE TRUTH.

I was so scared at this point that I remember HIDING the book from my parents.  Just in case they actually were kidnappers, I didn't want them to know that I had become aware of the possibility that I could also have been snatched as a baby.

What followed was a few weeks of being afraid to meet my parents' eyeline, furious investigation of my birth certificate (compared to my little brother's official seal, my seal looked slightly different -- evidence of forgery???), deep thoughts about my youngest baby pictures (couldn't these photos been TAMPERED with like those famous fake photos of that girl with fairies?  If they could pull that off in 1917, surely my kidnappers were clever enough to superimpose me into a few pictures.), and very detailed scenarios constantly running through my head.

I don't have quite as vivid memories of how I eventually settled into the realization that my parents were my actual parents, but I do have a vague memory of reading the sequel to the book and when the girl was reunited with her birth mom I think I remember it was a big disappointment and she wanted her kidnapper parents back.  I guess I figured getting new parents could always be worse, so I should stick with the ones I had, no matter how I came by them.

However, I still believed that I had a twin sister my parents were hiding from me.  No joke.  Her name was Crystal and I had dreams about her all the time.  My parents might not be kidnappers, but they and I both know they have been lying all these years about Crystal.  2011 is the year of honesty, MOM.  Just admit it.  I won't be mad.

I Am Starting to Understand Those Christian Scientists. Go Figure.

Okay, some of you know about this. Most of you don't. Here it is: the details of my baby girl's harrowing medical traumas and my ensuing HATRED for the medical community 


(Sorry readers who are members of the medical community. You probably don't suck, but 
some of your peers do. Seriously. Like, they suck A LOT.)


Reminder: We had a beautiful baby girl on 8/9/10 (And my dad was super-pissed that she was born at 2:33 and asked me to LIE on her birth certificate and say she was born at 2:34. I could not make this stuff up.). I was on the fence about the whole hospital/doctor vs. midwifery stuff, but in the end realized I could not give up on the idea of that magical-sounding super-drug: The epidural. I cannot complain much about the labor and delivery itself except having a blood pressure cuff on my arm during the entire labor that went off EVERY FIVE MINUTES and I still had bruises from two weeks later. But other than that, the docs were not up in my biz and they didn't cause me to threaten them with bodily harm. In fact, the labor and delivery was actually ENJOYABLE.


Then, a few hours after my little Josephine was born, they whisked her away and a pediatrician sat us down and said she could just have some amniotic fluid in her lungs or she could be DYING IMMEDIATELY and they would go ahead with 58,000 aggressive interventions in order to save the life of our little miracle.  


I SWORE I would not be that mother who was like, "OH!  A doctor said it? It is law! All else be damned!" and I would ask questions, do research, and not ignore my gut instincts. However, when presented with this situation, my husband and are were like, "DO WHATEVER YOU WANT!!" and didn't ask any questions. One hour later, the results of the test came back, and oh, what do you know? She just had a little amniotic fluid in her lungs after all! She will be fine in an hour or so. Too bad we already hooked her up to all those machines and started her on those antibiotics, because now she has to stay there for two days!


And so began the needless suffering of my daughter. She came home two days later with bruises, multiple pin pricks, and a red face from where they ripped tape off when she was finally off oxygen.  


Two weeks later, the diarrhea began. I went to the doctor and informed them that my daughter had about 20 diarrhea diapers a day and was not feeding well. For the next TWO WEEKS, I was in the doctor's office about three days a week because the all the doctors' best advice was to "keep an eye on her and bring her in a few times a week for weight checks to make sure she is still gaining weight." And I did.  And day after day I repeated her symptoms and told them she cried about 20 hours a day, didn't sleep, struggled to eat, and our house was slowly being overtaken by diarrhea.  


I finally saw a new doctor at the same practice, and she finally decided to check and see if there was blood in her stool. When there was, she sent us straight to the hospital and said we would be there for a minimum of two days.


There, we saw horrible things, like the baby cage ...

(I held her in my arms all night instead of locking her up in THAT)

... an "IV specialist" who spent and HOUR AND A HALF torturing our baby because she couldn't find a vein (even though the nurses at the hospital where she was born could do it while making small talk with us), and nurses who would have given my baby incorrect medication and food down her feeding tube had I not inquired as to their intentions.


When we finally left the hospital, the gastroenterologist had decided she probably had milk protein allergy induced colitis, and the only foods I could eat for the next 6 months were fruit and vegetables (minus tomatoes and citrus), meat (except red meat) and potatoes.


Two weeks later, this miracle diet had done NOTHING to help my child. When we went to see said gastroenterologist again, I said it seemed like it was not the milk protein allergy. He said, "You're right. It looks like it isn't" while he wrote down on her paperwork: "diagnosis: milk protein allergy."


So he gave up and said we should just get used to our daughter being in agony.


Then, my mother-in-law suggested I read about milk oversupply. Hmmm. Look at that. Josephine has EVERY SINGLE SYMPTOM listed. I called a lactation consultant, and she about lost her shit when I told her how many ounces I could pump in five minutes.  My breasts were what the La Leche League called "overly enthusiastic about their job." It turns out my little lady was only getting foremilk, which is all carbs and making her gassy, and without the fat from the hindmilk, she couldn't break down all the lactose, which built up in her intestines and led to a crummy tummy.


Two days later, with a little boob training, we were seeing results. After I gave the medical community a MONTH of our lives and I lost thousands of joyous moments with my new baby, blamed myself, and probably scared the crap out of my husband with all the times I sat and cried while I held our crying baby.


So now, what do I do? I have no trust, and a lot of anger. I need options here besides doctors.  Plus, my daughter developed her first cold and starting cutting her first tooth in the past few days.


Let's take the edge off of this rant-y post. Here are my three favorite options for replacing Western medicine:


1.  Magics. Come on, I've read the Harry Potter books enough to know that all I need are some Latin phrases and concentration. Plus, my dad has an authentic Harry Potter wand. He would totally lend it to me if he knew it were for the benefit of his granddaughter.


2.  The Interwebs. Everyone knows all problems can be solved with a short Google session. And you can totally tell who is credible based on the prettiness level of their web page. That's why I would take medical advice from The Bloggess before WebMD any day.


3.  Positive Vibrations. I'm not a pray-er. But I DO send out positive vibes for people. And I like to think that my super-powerful brain sends out extra-powerful vibes. I am likely responsible for many friends getting jobs, securing a second date, and getting good grades. I'm just THAT GOOD. So why not focus that energy on my baby? I'm pretty sure my genius brain could combat pertussis or pneumonia. What CAN'T it do, really?


Let the voting commence! Write-in candidates are also acceptable.

Dog Butt Fail

I know, not very specific, right?  I mean, there are SO many ways a dog's butt could be a fail.  However, I am going to show you a horrible thing that pet owners are doing to their dogs' butts.  Again, fairly vague.  So let me move on the visual portion of my rant ...

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Rear Gear Butt Covers

Yep.  You're seeing it.  Decorations to cover your dog's butt hole.  Because apparently some people out there spend A LOT of time looking at and thinking about their dogs' butt holes.  


Me?  Not so much.  I let my dog do her thing and pretty much ignore her butt hole.  And I think others do too.  For example, I have never had a guest come over to my home only to find them staring uncomfortably at my dog's butt, visibly shaken or disgusted.  And I have had a lot of weird people over to my house.  Also a lot of prudes and anal retentive people.  Yet all of them have managed to ignore my dog's butt hole, and not one of them suggested I cover it to make life more enjoyable for them, me or the dog.


Luckily, those weirdos who are wrapped up in thoughts of their pets' butts have a plethora of butt hole cover designs to choose from:

And as our lovely model suggests, you will love your dog's butt so much with Rear Gear in place that you will want to put your face super close to it and give people thumbs up.  

This is clearly a magic moment for all those people obsessed with "Mr. Brown Eye."  I'm a little more frightened at the amount of time people have on their hands.

A Guest Post By My Husband -- Buzz Aldrin: Astronaut to Astro-NOT

So, my husband read my Dancing with the Stars post and could not keep his emotions to himself.  I guess I am not the only one in the house who likes to rant!  And if you know him, you totally already know that he came up with the title too.  Since I can't keep my nose out of anything, my comments are in PINK.

Take it away, Jeremy:

***DISCLAIMER:  I do not know Edwin "Buzz" Aldrin, nor have I ever met the man, know his financial situation, or his degree of sluttyness for media attention.*** (Never put a disclaimer on your rants, Jeremy.  It makes you look WEAK.)

Some things about Buzz Aldrin.  #1 through the moon landing make him look like a GRADE-A BADASS.  However, the last few should have clued me into the fact that he would eventually make an ass of himself.

1)  He turned down a full ride to MIT to go to the military academy at West Point -- Bad Ass

2)  After graduating with a degree in Mechanical Engineering he flew 66 combat missions in the Korean War.  During the war he shot down TWO Russian MiG 15's in his F-86 Sabre -- Bad Ass  (Jeremy, you know I think war is mean.)  

3) After the war he got his doctorate in Aeronautics from MIT, then became a test pilot and was eventually selected to be an f-ing Astronaut -- Bad Ass

4)  He was the lunar module pilot on Apollo 11.  This means he actually flew the ship that landed on the moon down to the surface and piloted it back up to rejoin with the orbiting craft to go back to earth.  If this sounds like it would be hard to do, it was; in fact, it was extremely difficult even for the most highly trained pilots in the WORLD, and Buzz did it PERFECTLY.  (You're starting to talk like you were there ... I am feeling feelings of worry for your mental health.)

5)  Because of the position of the seats in the landing craft, Armstrong is first out and Aldrin follows.  He was SECOND on the moon -- TOTALLY BADASS  "2nd comes right after first,"  as Buzz would say in the Simpson's episode "Deep Space Homer"  (Or, "Second place is the first loser," as my No Fear shirts explained to people in junior high.)

I am sure being second has given him some kind of complex which probably resulted in the downward spiral to come.  There was a special on around the time of the 40th anniversary of the moon landing last summer that focused on the fact that NASA was leery of letting Aldrin be first on the moon because they thought he was a potential media slut and that Armstrong would handle the spotlight more gracefully and in a way that would add to the prestige and dignity of NASA -- they would prove to be right.

6) Since the History Channel came into existence, he has been on EVERY History Channel special about the moon landing or the space program as a whole.  This suggests to me that he is desperate for attention.  (And yet you have WATCHED every special.  Do you want to know what this suggests to me?  Do you?)  Apparently the title of "Second man on the Moon" does not pay that well and Buzzy has gosta make some bank.  (Good use of the word "gosta")

7)  In 2009 Buzz put out a song/video called "Rocket Experience" with Snoop Dogg, Quincy Jones, Talib Kweli, and Soulja Boy.  I could not make this up if I tried.

8) Today: Dancing with the Stars

So it turns out that NASA was right in not letting Aldrin be the first on the moon.  He turned out to be a media slut after all and handled the spotlight of being a celebrity in the worst possible ways:  Rap videos and reality show appearances.

It is just potentially frightening to me that Buzz Aldrin, THE SECOND MAN TO STEP ON THE F-ING MOON, could be remembered not as a pioneer for the ENTIRE human species, but as an old, crappy dancer.  It just seems below him, below the dignity of an astronaut, and below the dignity of the guy who did things 1-5 on the list above.

The equivalent of this would be like seeing Magellan accidentally spill a large bowl of chocolate pudding down his pants, then bend over to pick up the fallen bowl, have his pants split and the chocolate pudding drip out through the rip in his pants.  (Ummm ... ?)  Sure, this doesn't erase the fact that he was the first person to circumnavigate the globe (nerd alert!!), but every time you saw or read about Magellan after the pudding/pants incident (as this sequence of events would almost certainly become known) you would think about him making an ass of himself.  His legacy is not gone, just soiled.  So it goes for Buzz Aldrin.  He is still the second man on the moon, but now he will forever be known as that old man from Dancing with the Stars who was counting the whole time ...

Buzz, go out with quiet dignity, being remembered as a part of the first team of humans to ever explore another place other than earth.  Go out with people remembering your extraordinary accomplishments, go out being remembered as a representative of humanity, not for your bad dancing ... and rapping.  Apparently the phrase "quiet dignity" was trampled by Buzz's dancing shoes.

Granted, everybody's gotta eat, but is the money from Dancing with the Stars (ABC is really throwing around that word pretty loosely) worth trampling your legacy, Buzz?  Say it ain't so!  He went from Grade-A Badass to easy fodder for an old person joke.  Isn't being second man to ever walk on the moon a better life accomplishment than about 95% of everyone's accomplishments in the history of the world!?  (This is getting REALLY long.)  Could winning Dancing with the Stars really help him look back on his life and say "Shit, walking on the moon was alright, but being on Dancing with the Stars, now that was the highlight of my life."  This is probably why Merriweather Lewis killed himself: he could not do anything more bad ass than being the first Americans to see the Pacific.  (Yikes.  Downer.)  Not that I am advocating Buzz Aldrin kill himself, just live it out in quiet dignity.

Why do I care so much about this?  (EXCELLENT question.)

Now you see why I love my husband.  And fear for his blood pressure.

All joking aside, I totally agree with him.  And I, of all people, OF COURSE can relate to him getting fired up about things that others might not care about.  It's probably why we got married. 

Measured Thoughts on *Dancing with the Stars*

Hey, did you watch Dancing with the Stars the other night?  Usually, my answer to that question would be NO, but ... well ... Jeremy was out of town and KATE GOSSELIN was on, so I stopped in for a brief visit.  I was not disappointed.


I know there are a lot of die-hard fans out there, and I am just a newbie, but I thought I would share some of my impressions of this season premiere.


Away we go:


1.  I missed Niecy Nash.  I feel supremely disappointed about this.  However, I DID see her outfit, and *wolf whistle*!  Go girl!

2.  I also missed Chad Ochocinco.  I do not feel disappointed about this.

3.  Okay, Buzz Aldrin.  Really?  REALLY?!?!  You should have seen Jeremy lose his shit when I told him that Buzz was going to be on the show.  He was shouting and pacing the room and making large gesticulations with his arms.  It was actually pretty amusing.  The best I could tell him is maybe Buzz heard the word "stars" and thought he was signing on to do some sort of show that dealt with space.  I mean, he is old.

And this fact was certainly highlighted in his routine.  Talk about stiff legs and a lot more shuffling than actual moving.  Also, did anyone else notice that he was COUNTING the entire time?  One time I saw his partner say something to him and he stopped moving his lips for like 10 seconds, but then he was counting again.  And the way his partner was dancing with him and looking at him, it looked like she was giving dancing lessons at an old folks home.  I don't want to see pity on anyone's face when they interact with someone who has been on the moon.  So sad.

4.  Kate Gosselin.  Dear god.  Once I saw those hideous extensions, I knew I would wait the entire show to see her "dance."  Yeah, I put the word dance in quotation marks, because I would not consider what she did dancing.  Buzz Aldrin was more flexible and graceful than Kate.  A BROOM would be more flexible and graceful than Kate.  

And that LOOK she had on her face the whole time.  It was this fake, forced smile that looked more like a growl than anything else.  It was painful to watch.  And her new huge boobs -- they just do not fit her body, and it was clear that Kate is not used to carrying those suckers around, because she held herself in a very strange way.  Like she was leading with her boobs maybe?  Or maybe she was being sucked into the earth boobs first?  

However, it was entertaining, because the whole time she was dancing, I was giggling over something Joel McHale said last week: "Kate Gosselin is going to be on Dancing with the Stars, which is great, because now her kids will get to see her an hour a week!"  BURN!

5.  And last, but not least, Pamela Anderson.  Oh.  My.  Word.  Talk about scandalous.  I felt like I was at a strip club.  She was not ballroom dancing.  She was dancing like she was auctioning off her cha-cha ... and not the dance.  Get it?  Her cha-cha?  Pun.

Anyway, it was uncomfortable.  Even for the judges, and they are used to being uncomfortable.  Obviously.  They had to watch THIS face:

There you have it.  Who will win?  I don't know.  Will I watch it again?  Not if Jeremy is living in the same house.  Will Buzz Aldrin make it through one more dance routine without having a heart attack?  Someone fill me in next week.


all images from abc.com

Super-Important Life Lessons that You Need to Read and Memorize IMMEDIATELY

So, last week I had a little adventure.  And that little adventure ended up costing me approximately $3.2 billion.  Or something.  So, my little Chickadees, I thought I would save YOU the time, money, and embarrassment of a similar situation by raining some important life lessons down on you.  Ready? 

LESSON 1:  If you feel like speeding down a quiet, deserted country road late at night -- the kind that is all smooth and straight and flat and car-free and glorious and makes you want to roll down the windows, turn up the music and speed -- DON'T.  Just DON'T.  The Sheriff in those parts is likely bored and hiding in a bush somewhere.

LESSON 2:  If you ARE speeding down a quiet, flat deserted country road late at night after a 12-hour work day and you exhibit such suspicious behaviors such as immediately pulling over your Ford Focus (with the ASPCA sticker on it), putting on your flashers, and putting your hands on the steering wheel, you are sending a secret message to the Sheriff.  That message is: You are dangerous.  

LESSON 3:  Therefore, said Sheriff will NOT come to the driver's side window like a normal cop.  Instead, he will creep up on the passenger side and then pop up like a jack-in-the box.  When he does this, do NOT, I repeat, DO NOT allow yourself to be scared and say something stupid like "OH MY GOD, YOU SCARED THE CRAP OUT OF ME ... I mean, hello officer.  How are you this fine evening?"  This, combined with the English textbooks in your backseat and the ungraded student papers in the front seat will cause Sheriff #1 to signal his friend, Sheriff #2.

LESSON 3:  Here's where it gets tricky.  You should have NOTICED that signal, and that way you would be able to anticipate that Sheriff #2 was about to show up and lean in your open driver's side window and get two inches from your face and then snap on a flashlight.  In this case, PLEASE also avoid being startled.  This will only further convince them that you are drunk, a meth lord, a human smuggler, or a serial killer.  This will lead to many questions and flashlights in your face and other scare tactics that are very effective on pregnant English professors.  DO NOT CRY.

LESSON 4:  It turns out, you have to renew the registration on your plates every year.  No, like EVERY year.  Even if ... stay with me ... the Secretary of State sends your renewal forms to your OLD address (you know, the apartment complex where the new residents are likely to see the envelope and be all "not my problem" and throw it away) and NOT the address on your driver's license.  No one cares if this happens to you.  YOU are still the idiot because you didn't notice that you hadn't gotten that form yet this year.

LESSON 5:  In this type of situation, once you have given Sheriff #1 and Sheriff #2 your license, registration, and proof of insurance, they will make you wait in your car for TWENTY TWO MINUTES until they come back.  Get ready to see those flashing lights in your mirrors for long enough to drive you insane.

LESSON 6:  When Sheriff #1 comes back and tells you that your insurance is also expired, don't enact the following conversation:
S #1:  Okay, your insurance is also expired.

You:  No, it's not.

S #1:  Yes, it is.

You:  NO, seriously, it's NOT.  

S #1:  Ma'am, look at the date on this piece of paper.

You:  Hmm.  Irrelevant.  My husband just put a new one in my car like 3 weeks ago, so it's here somewhere.  I thought he replaced the old one with the new one ... ?

S #1:  Ma'am.  I have no idea what your husband did with the paper that YOU are supposed to be in charge of when you are in a moving vehicle.

You:  Ha.  Ha ha ha.  Of course.  Sorry officer.  But I swear, I HAVE insurance.  We can call them.  Will that work?

S #1:  Ma'am ... sigh ... how about I just give you this ticket and then you can leave?

You:  Okay, sounds great. But I totally have up-to-date insurance.  Just so you know.

S #1:  Well, that's great, because usually in a situation like this, we tow the car away.  But I think I should just give you this ticket and let you go home instead.

You:  Sounds fantastic.

S #1:  Sigh.

SUB-LESSSON (6.b.):  If you are prone to ignoring your dear husband when he gives you important documents, like your proof of insurance, he will instead start putting said documents in your car FOR you.  However, he might NOT put them in the handy little marked book in your driver's side visor that says "REGISTRATION AND INSURANCE."  No, he will put it somewhere else. Somewhere where you will never think to look.  And then a Sheriff will threaten to tow your car.  So, pay attention to your dear husband when he tries to give you important documents.

And finally, LESSON 7:  The Secretary of State is NO PLACE for a pregnant woman who was recently told by her doctor to get more rest and stay calm if this woman also cannot tolerate foolishness.  I'll leave it at that.

THE END.