Because one can only post one Tweet at a time:
- scarfing pizza, enjoying a Papa John’s whole wheat crust test-run. Win.
- uploading the clinic’s site to GoDaddy, slooooowwwwllllly.
- emailing back the Google God who seems to have said, “Sure, you can have extra posts so you can use your Amazingly Geekeriffic Tool to post all 500? 600? posts from WordPress to Blogger. (He did not offer me any monetary compensation for being a constant Google Pimp*. Blogger will bring teh cash, though, because I can post ads. And y’all will not care, because you feel the working-mama-starving-creative-type love, yes?)
- bumming because Blog2Blog won’t migrate my comments. I can link back to here, though, so they won’t like poof! totally.
- contemplating what to do with the self-portrait sketch I’ve just uploaded and petting my little paleolithic eMachine for finally getting healthy enough to run Photoshop again.
*Dood. Todd Oldham’s ‘Projecting Boxes’ skin for iGoogle. So yummy. So is Todd Odlham, actually. I’m officially having a Heterosexual Day. I even entered a captcha earlier that said “hethoti” or something and thought it was cute. Oh the lolz that get me.
I broke down and made my third doctor visit regarding the sore throat affliction. This was a new guy at my new/old clinic. He was cute, but honestly I was reading a New Yorker article about George Clooney, so I may have been projecting. He also charmed me by asking “Where are all your earrings? I see piercings…” and then nodding knowingly when I mentioned a two year old.
We went through the asthma and allergy history and my recent affairs with Amoxicillin and Azyrr-WTF-EVER-eggfhgfhmycin and my peekaboo fever. He admitted he was sorta stumped, and sat in deep thought. He looked at my ears again, then offered a theory. He proposed that I have allergy-induced congestion in my Eustachian tubes and nasal passages, which is trapping a low grade infection. He thinks if we can get my head clear the germs will vacate my head. At this point I almost kissed him because his reticence to throw more antibiotics at me appeals to my crunchy side. Then he wooed my side that wants only relief at any cost and drugs are fine thanks by prescribing Flonase. (Later I jumped the pharmacist’s bones for giving me the generic version.) Dr. Awesome also says to stay on the crank Sudafed and ibuprofen.
Notice how I don’t write Dr. McAwesome. That’s because I’m a House person, not a Grey’s person. My theory, like my Respective Exclusivity of Buffy and Charmed Fans Theory, is that you are either a real fan of House or Grey’s Anatomy but you can’t be both or you’ll make the universe go all wonky.
I always feel, in my medical rants, like I’m dissing physicians. I admit that I am biased against OB/GYNs ( a lot) in favor of midwives, but I’m not hostile to the whole profession. Many local doctors I’ve seen do come across as a bit little pill-happy or not pill-happy enough for my tastes, depending on whether the pills in question are antibiotics for a cold or pain pills for my back;) Some of them also take a dumbing down tone, maybe believing that patients at low-income clinics are uneducated? Anyway, I apologize to any in the medical profession (or who have adorable spouses who are doctors- Hi Eden.) I don’t mean to be all judgey.
I just want to declare it loud and proud for the whole internet to know:
I am the Queen of Reproductive Cycle Tracking. The Queen. Because here is what happened when I tried to track my fertility as crunchy, natural birth control method:
Yes. The very first month, totally knocked up. Thrilled, yes, but not so much with the on-purpose. And what happened when I counted on my calendar last month and saw that wooHOO I was all good for the beach trip? Oh yeah. Got my period. In a serious, heavy, crampy way. It was the last day, though, so it wasn’t a disaster. The worst part was the ribbing from Bu about my apparent crippling inability to make sense of a fucking calendar. The best part was that it showed up immediately after we were caught in a downpour in Savannah while I wore a white gauzy skirt:)
Firstly, who drinks a huge Long Island Iced Tea, then comes back to her laptop dying to blog but being self-restrained enough to make and enforce a No Drunk Blogging Rule, but then decides that Drunk Blog Editing is fine? Mulling over my on-the-road posts I see that, in my most poetical post, I have decided that typing the correct “there” right after the mistakenly-blogged “their” (a thing I snottily look down upon and think I’m way better than but persist in doing when I’m sleepy or giddy) but not deleting the error was a good idea. Even if I’d done a strike through to show you how loopy I was, that would have been OK. But nope, tipsy proofreader just plopped down the better word right there and called it good. Also, I left “blissed” as “blessed.” I have now soberly re-edited my edit and my moon-ocean-super-baby-love post is improved.
Now I’m sinking into home life and trying to play catch up. I have so much to do but am, as usual, overwhelmed and daunted. No big… I guess I need to start with my computer issues. My poor dinosaur is running really slow and can’t even load Photoshop. Bu says he needs to reinstall the OS and I need to defrag and delete the eleventy billion gigs of image files I have on my hard drive. I’m pretty stuck I guess with addressing these issues first and then digging into my art stuff.
My throat is killing me again. Started in Daytona to feel sore & swollen again. Friday will be the one month anniversary of this annoying illness or allergy attack or WTF ever it is. I hate to go to the clinic again and whine about it some more, but even if it is just allergies my OTC stuff is not working.
I did have good art news though: On the way to the beach a woman involved in my town’s big arts festival called to see if she could display my motherhood pieces in a store front downtown. I explained I was out of town until right before the start of the festival, and she told me she works at the bookstore where the previous show was held and the art was being stored and could take care of everything for me. That was killer awesome. I sit on my butt in the van, talking on my cell phone and poof! I have art in the public eye. It’s weirdish though, too. Those pieces are so different from what I’m working on now that they feel older than they are. Whatever. Art on display = good.
baby in uncannily cute mood. we’re about halfway home.
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Bu shot it from the hotel window. The Photoshopping I did was genius in the water… not sure it improved the part with us. *Shrug* That’s why he’s the photographer. I just play.
Don’t go on vacation with a toddler and forget a stroller. Will be buying a cheap one tonight.
Don’t take a baby for a hot sunny walk in the sand for a half-mile or so and forget drinking water.
Don’t take aforementioned tired, hot, dehydrated toddler out and neglect to bring the diaper bag.
So, after I scooped out the dried-out baby cement poo and got her to chug some milk, she passed out cold and stayed. I’ll pay for this long, late nap later, but hey. It’s vacation, so I’m not being OCD mama. The only rule is there are no rules. Except the ones above re: stroller, drinks, poop:)