Diary of A Mad White Irish Woman

Is it just me or has this been a really long week?

My husband and I got back yesterday from Las Vegas. We stayed at the Luxor. For those of you who don’t know what that is, its a pyramid hotel that’s filled with douchebag 18-20 year olds who have managed to get a fake ID, travel on a plane, and drink their first beer. All with the collar of their shirts “popped.” I digress.

Here’s the LD:
Friday Night/Saturday Morning: I am asleep in bed, because I have to be at the Hoover Fucking Dam at 10 A.M. In walks my husband. Drunk. He wakes me up….to tell me about the awesome hamsteak they have at the restaurant downstairs. I hear about the ham steak for 20 minutes. I go back to bed.

Saturday Night/Sunday Morning: I am asleep in bed, because I’m old. In walks my husband. Drunk. He wakes me up….to tell me about the awesome hamsteak they have at the restaurant downstairs. I hear about the ham steak for 20 minutes. I go back to bed.

Sunday Night/Monday Morning: I am asleep, because I have to catch a flight later that day. In walks my husband. Drunk. He wakes me up….to tell me about the awesome hamsteak they have at the restaurant downstairs. I hear about the ham steak for 20 minutes. I go back to bed.

Yes ladies and gents. 3 nights in a row, my husband had ham steak and forgot that he told me about it. Or did he forgot that he ate it??

I’m sorry. I forgot about you. But you haven’t been missing much!

First of all, thanks to President Obama signing the stimulus package, I have been busier than a one legged man in an ass kicking contest. But I’m making very good money. Thank you President for putting grant writers to work!

Next, is Chick. My fair Chicklet had a fatty tumor the size of a cantelope. The vet said that it was the largest he has ever seen. She’s still on the mend, but doing much better.

And then….most importantly, I found this in my garden. He was happy to see me.

What does 6 weeks of nausea and 6 minutes of trying to convince a doctor that you’re not pregnant get you? That’s right, gall bladder surgery! After 6 weeks of constant nausea, the kind that wakes you up at 4 AM, and acquiring the ability to blech like a 14 year old boy, I have finally gotten the diagnosis of “bad gall bladder.”

Which really sucks because my dad had the same surgery when he was about 47, he later got heart disease and diabetes. The fact that I might be going down the same road scared me to the point that I’m getting a personal trainer. *YIKES*. I like all of my limbs and I don’t want them to be amputated because I was too much of a dumbass to eat right and exercise.

Other than that.

Jump back.

My Pug Dog smells…metallic. More specifically…my pug dog’s butt smells metallic and he licks his butt and well, HE smells metallic…like a copper penny.

Its very weird. Any ideas on exactly whatthis could be?

Now has a Toy Dollar. Seriously. The dog has his own $1 bill that he carries around. He’s a gangsta.

Owning your own business is stressful. What is even more stressful is trying to cultivate (errr find) clients. Well, my body has decided to rebel. Instead of compulsive eating or depression, my body has found a new way to take stress to a whole new level. Are you ready? Inflamed taste buds. Sounds pretty harmless right? Except my tongue has turned a depressing shade of gray. What’s worse is that, upon google diagnosing myself I read about the remedies. Clip them with nail clippers. So last night, out of sheer desperation, I did. And let me just say, the pain was worse than childbirth. Little did I know that cutting something the size of a tip of a ball point pin could result in so much blood. As a result, I spent the rest of the night with my tongue wrapped in a paper towel and ice to help the swelling.

Dead sexy ain’t it?

Its time for my husband to crank the thermostat down to 60 degrees. No kidding. Its time for me to wear sweatshirts and sweat pants to bed, and sleep underneath 3 quilts and a blanket. Its time for me to step outside several times a day to “warm up.”

Great.

My husband has finally given in. All of the animals are mine, with the exception of Maggie (who hates me anyway) and Winnie (the 17 year old smelly cat). So that means, Walter, Snoop, Janie, Chick, Pug Dog, Holly, Steve and Derick are mine! That’s a lot of animals to be responsible for!

In other words, Janie (the St. Bernard) will not come in if my husband here. So what I’m reduced to is leaving the patio door open, going over to my husband’s computer in the dining room, putting a cap in the window that she can see the top of (so she thinks my husband is here) and saying in a deep voice, “Come here Janie!”

I’m pathetic.

Things have gone horribly the past few months. I have earned the distinct honor of being laid off of 2 jobs in 3 weeks. Seriously. WTF? But, when a door closes a window opens. I have decided to start my own business. Scary, I know, but I love the fact that I can work in my PJ’s. Now, I just have to get clients.

So, I’m back and blogging…granted, I have no coworkers to talk about, so its just my husband. May god have mercy on your soul.

Steve has missed you too!