Back (look I did a pun or is it a double entendre?)

Soo….. I am back.

Like, really back. For real.

I know what many of you are thinking. And frankly, you’re all a bunch of pervs.

But seriously.

Something pretty bad happened and it’s taken me a while to feel capable of being funny about it. But I think I’m there now. Lucky for all of you.

I am sure you all remember that time I fell down a flight of stairs and hurt my back. If not, feel free to read about it here.

So, I recently had to get a new MRI. My back pain has been getting worse. And my doctor wanted to see where we were. I mean, I knew where I was. In lots of pain.

When the results came back my doctor sat me down for a serious talk. My disc is herniated and pressing on a nerve that goes into my groin. So she asked me, “Are you having any issues with incontinence?”

Now, you guys all know that I totally am. *cough cough* Here.

But like any responsible adult, I lied my ass off to my doctor.

She explained to me that incontinence is a sign of serious nerve damage. And that if I am experiencing it then I would need to see a neurosurgeon about getting back surgery.

Nothing like being threatened with surgery to get the truth out of me. So I told her I was having issues. Needless to say, my doctor was not pleased. Hell, I wasn’t pleased.

She also told me that my vertebrae were also pressing on my spinal cord (called spinal stenosis and is a result of the disc herniation). And that, untreated, it could cause me to become paralyzed.

And some combination of those three things are causing my constant back pain.

I’m not sure what my response was at that point. I believe I may have bragged about winning the genetic lottery. I know it isn’t fair to rub that in people’s faces but I really am a sore winner. And then I got the hell out of her office so she couldn’t see me cry. 

She referred me to a pain management doctor to see about getting shots in my back for the pain. And she referred me to a neurosurgeon to see about getting back surgery.

I left her office and cried for basically the entire day. I also texted a bunch of my friends some whiny self-pitying bullshit. Sorry, friends!

But then I started joking about trading in my body for a robot body. Like, a sexy lady robot with 8 foot long legs and laser gun arms. And I had to admit, that was pretty cool. But unlikely.

More likely was that I would be paralyzed and get a wheelchair. So I started thinking about that instead. But my wheelchair was going to be bitchin’. I wanted like, a glow in the dark human skeleton frame. And I would knit and embroider all the panels and spokes. And maybe carve some Enochian spells from Supernatural into it.

That wheelchair would be cool as fuck.

That night I lie in bed and thought. It’s not like back surgery would be worse than five heart surgeries. It’s not like being paralyzed would be the worst thing to ever happen to me. Not even death was scary to me. I had already made my peace with it years ago.

So what was the big deal?

Turns out nothing. I waited for my doctor’s appointments and tried to pretend like I was fine. Not facing the reality of my life is a finely honed skill. And I am on some expert wizard level at that.

But, I found out this week that my neurosurgeon wants to wait on back surgery. My pain management doctor wants to put some needles into my spine (which sounds metal as all hell).

And now I am just waiting to make sure I’m not allergic to the drugs I’ll get pumped full of. Which would be my luck.

In reality, nothing much has changed. My back doesn’t hurt worse now that I have names for my problems. And I’ve been making a lot of pretty dark jokes to everyone about it.

So I am back!

And I decided to dye my hair grey to match my tired, shitty, old person body. That story will be next!


If you read Leah over at militarywiferants, and you should, because she is fucking hilarious, then you may have read about my deep ‘sexy’ voice. I have been hearing it described that way a lot lately. Which is pretty weird for me. Because it is normally described as masculine, monotone, robotic.

I feel like I sound like this.

In high school I was in chorus. Unlike males, as a female you have to be a decent singer to be in chorus. Males get in because there aren’t enough; no matter how terrible you are.


My best friend, K, was in chorus. It was the only reason I joined. I was immediately put in the intermediate class which meant K and I got to sit in the back and be obnoxious together. We were both altos (that is the deeper female voice).


In chorus there is a hierarchy. The sopranos are always the sexy, Disney princess types. The altos were the sarcastic types.We always used to joke; the higher pitched the voice, the dumber the girl. They always used to joke; the lower pitched the voice, the more of a lesbian the girl. Sorry. We were little assholes.


My class had two male singers. One tenor, one bass. That was literally it. If one of them was sick, we had no male part that day. Until my chorus teacher realized I could hit their notes. And then I was put in their roles.


This was not the first time I played the part of the man. But, going by the above criteria, I was fucking doomed. I had super short hair, I was thin and flat chested, I wore baggy jeans and t-shirts every day, I had never had a boyfriend, and now it turned out my voice was actually a tenor and not even an alto.


Me at 16 looking smooth as fuck in a tux at my sister’s wedding.

I was basically a man. And definitely a lesbian. I never thought being a lesbian was an insult and it didn’t bother me being called one. It still doesn’t bother me and it still happens regularly. Also, I get called ‘sir’ a lot, even in person.


Every year, we would go to Disney in December and sing Christmas carols. It was called the Candlelight Processional. We would learn a bunch of Christmas songs and sing them. My favorite song in the group was always Handel’s Hallelujah Chorus from the Messiah. I am not even remotely religious. It is just a beautiful song. And fun to sing.

There were a lot of these type of jokes going on.

Because I was covering for the male roles, I didn’t get a lot of time to practice my alto parts. I tended to know the tenor or bass parts of different songs better than the alto portions.


Once we arrived at the Candlelight Processional, they arranged us in our groups by height. Being 6’1” made me by far the tallest female. This put me completely with the male singers. They were next to and behind me.

Basically me. All the time.

By the end of the night, I realized I had sung the male parts in every single song instead of my own alto parts. In fact, at the end of the year, part of our grade was to sing certain songs we had learned during the year. And I could only sing the male parts.

I actually keep thinking about how much I would love to find a chorus to join and sing in. I wouldn’t even mind of it was at a church as long as I didn’t have to sit through their sermons.

I love to sing. Even karaoke, but that is a story for another time.

August/September Search Terms

It looks like I forgot to do this last month. And the month before. My life has been in upheaval! But I am going to make up for it now because they really do amuse me.


Sexy cartoons: This has been the single biggest search term for my blog since that post. I’m glad the internet knows me as the perv that wants to bang cartoon characters.


Handsome hairy men: This is the second biggest search term in some variation. Also something I am proud of. I need more handsome hairy men in my life and blog.


Cross stitch “I’d call you a cunt”: I am very surprised to see this (more than once). The quote you are looking for is “I’d call you a cunt but you lack both the depth and warmth.” You’re welcome.


Sexvideo.taco: There seems to be some underground subset of Mexican food related porn that I am not aware of. And they keep getting directed to my blog.


Fucking bizarre inanimate objects porn: Is that like when I have my stapler make out with my letter opener?


Penis through the wreath: This is like that dick in the box thing, right? Christmas themed penis pranks are the best.


Tiny banana bikes: I’d like one of those, please.


I put a bag of maggots in my pussy: Um…okay…why?


A roach bite my vagnia: Alright. You’ve gone too far. I want to sleep again someday.


Would a cracked tooth smell like poop: Wow. Just. Wow.


Invento Robotico Octopus 2014: I smell a sci-fi movie coming.


Take my bra out conversations: I don’t take my bra out. I take it off. I think taking it out implies showing it to people. Though I guess I did in that one post.


Fuck Okeechobee Florida: Hey! It’s not that bad down there. Too many love bugs, though.


Strawberry Shortcake Banana Seat Bike: I want this!

Fucked up mottos: My mottos aren’t fucked up. Your mottos are fucked up.

Is my tooth hollow: Maybe. And it might also have a tiny world living inside it like in Journey to the Center of the Earth.

I’m starting to just feel sorry for all the people innocently looking for porn and are instead directed to my inane profanity. I bet it really spoils the mood.

Baby Robot Octopus

Alright, I am about to do something I have never done yet on this blog. I am going to show you a semi-sexy picture of myself. I am really nervous about posting it. but I want you all to get what I am saying here. Please be kind in the comments, at least about my body. Feel free to be dicks about everything else.


After every heart surgery, and still at random intervals even now, I have to wear a portable heart monitor. This thing looks like a baby robot octopus attacking my chest. It’s how I have always imagined it.

It actually looks like an iPod until it is attached.

The first time the nurse tried attaching it to me, I wrapped the cords around my neck and pretended it was choking me. I was shouting and fighting it off like a hero.

Oh god, it has me in it’s slimy grasp!

She was not amused. She was a tough older Russian lady. She was clinical, cold, and very unfriendly. I was a little bit intimidated.


Until I turned around to assist her in attaching this thing to me. Apparently, I was the first person to ever help her attach it to me. I was dumbfounded. I was just being courteous. I mean, she wasn’t my servant, she was my nurse. But after that, and ever since, she has always been very kind to me. She still doesn’t think I am funny, though.


The way this thing works is that there is a small box, about the size of a deck of cards. It has a green light and four leads that come out of it. The leads are wires with snaps on them. The snaps attach to half dollar size stickers that attach to your body.


So, this is how it looks attached. Fun bonus for you guys, you can totally see my third nipple here.

The real issue is that you can’t shower while wearing this. And you have to wear it for 24-48 hours. I work a pretty physical job, in Florida. That means lots of sweating.


Not only do I smell bad, but the leads can come unstuck. The trick to keeping them stuck to you is two things: sandpaper tape to rub off the top layer of skin and hair, and a skin safe epoxy to keep them extra stuck.


The problem with those two options is that I have EXTREMELY sensitive skin. I have a mild form of dermatographia.

Mine is not quite this bad, but I do have a future story about it.

Also, as mentioned here; I am allergic to everything. This means that by the time the leads are attached, my skin is angry and irritated like a huge blotchy rash. It also means that when they are removed I have giant scabs, like I really have been attacked by an octopus.





Yeah, it looks exactly like that.

So they rub my skin raw, coat the raw skin with epoxy, and then coat it with a lead patch. They take the actual device and put it either in a halter mount, for men, or in your bra, for women. I don’t know why they cram it in there, I mean, my bra is already being used to hold my boobs. But that’s where it has to go for some reason. And you can’t remove the bra to sleep either. That is super uncomfortable all night.


When wearing these leads, I have to keep a journal of everything that I do and also any symptoms I feel. I like to make that fun for the people reading it, which I suppose is my cardiologist.


Here is an example of what I like to put (just so you know, all these examples are true things that happened):


6:30pm-7:00pm eating dinner (I eat really fast and food excites me, don’t be surprised to see palpitations here).


8:00pm-8:15pm sponge bath (bow chicka bow wow).


10:30pm-10:40pm I thought I saw a roach and freaked out, but it turned out to be a very roach realistic woodgrain pattern in my new wood floors (definite palpitations).


3:27am-3:45am I had a dream I was in an abandoned construction site fighting a zombie horde (definite palpitations).

7:00am-7:05am really hot guy smiled at me and I accidentally punched myself in the face trying to put on my seatbelt (possible pounding heartbeat).


After the allotted time, I would go back to see my nurse and she removes all the leads. She tries to do it carefully, but it doesn’t really matter. I usually remove my bra while still in the office. It peels off like a used band-aid. Then I drive immediately home and shower. And wash my bra.

The giant sucker marks generally go away after a week or two.