birthday pictures
February 8, 2010
From my little ladypants’ seventh birthday extravaganza, all courtesy of the lovely and talented Kimberly Giffordpants.
Bet you wish you were there for the cupcakes alone.
-CJ
mah blood-sperience
February 5, 2010
I like to think that Kiddo is so independent that she even chose when she would be born, despite my and any medical professional’s advice to bake in my oven for another month, at the least. Her early delivery resulted in significant blood loss for me. I’m all, here’s a warm home for you to chill in for a while, get comf, and she was all, DIE, MOM. Thanks, kid.
Since then I’ve always said I would donate blood. It’s the people that donate that were there for me when I was the almost-recipient of a large quantity of not-my-blood. (Luckily I did not need the transfusion and I just remained white(r) for several days.) Knowing it was there and it would have helped possibly save my life (I was very near death, apparently, but no one would tell me that because I’d already performed a Stage 5 FREAK OUT) inspired me to give, give give.
Then seven years happened when I wasn’t looking.
So I stopped making excuses and boarded this rumbling Red Cross bus up the street from work. In a room the size of an airplane bathroom, I answered personal questions such as whether or not I’d accepted money for sex between now and 1977. There was another grown woman in the room with me. There was no room for oxygen in there, let alone my sexual history. Which does not include money for sex in the seventies, as I was not here yet.
I’m not afraid of needles but I am afraid of anything medically related that I do not understand. (All of it.) When it took four nurses poking my right arm and then my left for a vein ’suitable for this type of needle’ I almost checked out. (Apparently you’re supposed to eat and drink first. I did neither.) They were afraid of breaking the vein, I think they said, in which case I would have completely flipped the fuck out because, um, THEY BREAK? And how does one fix that? I don’t even want to know, don’t tell me.
So I chanted please don’t let me die on my lunch break a few hundred times while squeezing a stress ball, strapped to a blood pressure cuff, and consequently losing all feeling on one side and going numb from the freezing cold air they were blasting on me unnecessarily.
After a few minutes into the Draining of Jill, I decided I would definitely do that again. Up until that point though, I had nearly sworn off the big blood bus. The crush I developed on the nurse that was a ringer for Da Brat could have helped a little tiny bit.
So, mostly, suck. But overall, feel goody. “You’re paying it forward! With plasma!” -Jamie
“Your boob totally made a difference.” -Ashley
If anyone would like to come hold my hand on April 1st, that’d be lovely.
-CJ
WANT:
February 3, 2010
last night
February 3, 2010
Buried deep inside me, there’s a little femme girl, fighting her way out by way of bright red skirts and black heels.
-CJ
look where I am
February 1, 2010
…and have been since October of last year but I kind of forgot.
http://ingalagringa.com/womanifestos/calamityJill.html
This certainly doesn’t make me special – I think anything you submit can be shared including crap on a log (pending confirmation) but it is pretty nice to see my literary hero alongside my pseudonym in an URL that I didn’t make up.
-CJ
disappointment
February 1, 2010
Over the weekend I was victim to a copy of The Lovely Bones; a DVD meant for ‘awards consideration only.’ I considered punching myself regretfully for bothering with the flick. I loathed that movie and stared directly at my cohort next to me and simply shook my head when it finally ended. I can absolutely appreciate the visionary aspect of the heaven-like place that Susie Salmon finds herself in, becase, holyfuck, that was cool. Aside from that I want 135 minutes of my life back.
The Grammy game went surprisingly slow though there were multiple instances of two or more consecutive drinks. Eventually I made myself a real cocktail and shortly after, got really sick of the dragged out mediocre performances save for Stevie Nicks on Rhiannon (where my ninja gets her first name, excitingly enough). If we’d watched the whole thing on mute and just admired some of the excruciatingly beautiful people I think it would have been much better.
No more award shows or award-consideration bootlegs for me.
-CJ
if someone is going to poke you awake at three a.m…
January 28, 2010
It’d better be to shove a purple stuffed dragon named Oliver under your blanket while being told, “He wants to lay with you.”
Just sayin’.
-CJ
hammered by the first commercial break
January 28, 2010
I don’t watch award shows because for every one award whose winner I might actually care about, there’s three and half hours of filler and six horribly matched duets. Sitting through them makes my brain hurt.
I tweet’d a thought this morning: “There’s gotta be a way I can turn the upcoming Grammys into a drinking game.”
The suggestions were stellar.
- Take a shot every time someone thanks the gee oh dee.
- Take a shot every time someone says Beyonce or Michael Jackson.
- Take two shots every time Taylor Swift or Lady GAGa are mentioned.
Not only will I watch it this time, but I’m excited to. Who’s coming?
-CJ
PS, you can always depend on my lovely friend Misty over at Handbags & Handguns for the most kick ass recaps.
on football
January 25, 2010
I knew there was a damn good reason I hadn’t joined the fram on loving football. I hardly understand it, for one. And the Vikings vs Saints took way too damn long yesterday but once you’ve invested four quarters worth of your time, you sit through the OT. At least I had plenty of good company and a multitude of beverages. I’ll watch the Superbowl for the commercials but I don’t see any face paint in my future.
Baseball on the other hand… April can’t come soon enough.
-CJ
