Bunions are funions except no they're not and apparently creepy feet creep people out.

Most people who know me know that I have ugly feet. Not because they've seen them - my feet are so ugly that I generally don't let them see the light. Most people know my feet are ugly because I've told them and someone who has been unfortunate enough to have actually seen them has served as a witness. Yes. Yes, she has the ugliest feet ever.

 Anyway, about a month ago my left foot started to hurt. Always. No matter what. Throbbing, painful, left foot. I almost became a doctor when I was in college, so I knew just what to do. I googled it.

 Me: I googled my foot and guess what?!?
James: You have bunions.
Me: Yeah, but guess what else?!?
James: I give up.
Me: I have bursitis!
James: No you don't.
Me: I do. I have bursitis and I'm going to the foot doctor tomorrow and they're probably going to give me a cane and I'M LIKE MY OWN FREAKING EPISODE OF "HOUSE" RIGHT NOW! 
James: You don't have bursitis.
Me: You're so jealous ...

 Anyway, I went to the doctor and told them about my bursitis and asked them for a cane so I could be my own episode of "House" but they said no and instead, they chopped up my foot while I was sleeping:

I'm sorry about this creepy picture of my creepy foot, but look at it this way: at least it's not your creepy foot.

My bunion and I had actually become friends.  I named him "Kuato" and sometimes, when I was falling asleep, I could hear him underneath the covers whispering ,"Quaaaaaaid......Quaaaaaaid."  So, you know, I was sad that we had to murder him.  However, I'm pretty pleased with Frankenfoot so far...

...except for the part about the crutches.

So...I got my crutches and I was all, "Meh...crutches, smutches...who needs two feet?  I'm like a ninja anyway. I'll be vaulting over brick walls and using these as weapons before you can blink"...

And then I tried my crutches and it turns out I'm terrible on them.  Like - really bad.  I just keep tripping over stuff and falling on stuff and losing my balance. Also, when your hands are all pre-occupied trying to work your crutches, then they become pretty much useless, too.  So basically, surgery on your foot = no hands and only one good foot, and it's only a good foot if it doesn't try and trip you all of the time...which mine does....so basically, I'm just a torso on stilts right now.

Showering is dangerous and I can only shower while someone else is in the house with me, because chances are pretty good that I will fall and break something....like myself.  This week our local cell phone tower went down, so I can't call anyone...including my husband to find out when he will be home so I can shower safely. I also can't work from home, which was the plan for this week, but no longer works when you don't have access to a phone.

Stairs have taken me out three times so far.

I don't think stairs are done with me yet.

My nerves are a little frazzled.  

On the way to my doctor's appointment today, I heard a song that I decided was about putting your dog to sleep and started crying hysterically.  

It was a CD and I immediately ejected it and threw it out the window.

And by "threw it out the window", I mean I hit repeat.  All the way to the doctor's office, because ...

...I have no idea why, I'm like a crazy person these days.

Did I mention that I hadn't showered?

Did I mention that I'm allergic to everything?  It's true.  Including the sticky stuff that's on the heart monitors that they use when you go in for surgery to have your foot mutilated. 

 My entire torso looks like chicken pox.  Chicken pox torso on stilts.

Also, I get really blotchy when I get emotional and I fidget with my hair.

Smelly chicken pox torso on stilts with a bird's nest head.

By the time I walked into the reception area at the doctor's office, I was this:

It's my turn to see the doctor.

Anyway, my point is this: The doctor may be able to take your Kuato and your bursitis and  your imaginary cane and your freedom but as long as he gives you some rather strong pain pills then  I love you...and cake...and flying bunnies...and puppies...look! 

                                         ...the clouds are shaped like my toes...

                                                                          ...happy toes...

...like clouds....not clowns...

                                                                                ....I like wafffles....

Read more...

Why Jesus is Jesus and James is not.

Me:  If I was Jesus, I think I would be mad at people who gave up facebook for Lent. Well, maybe not mad.  Maybe sad. Aren't you supposed to give up beef or something?
James: I'm not sure.  I think it's food of some sort.
Me:  Yeah.  If people gave up facebook instead of food for Lent and I was Jesus, I'd be all, "come on, man!  Are you serious?" and I'd probably be weeping and stuff...
James:  Not me.  If I were Jesus, I'd be so pissed off at everyone. I'd delete everyone's facebook and smite them.  With explosions.

James: That's probably another reason that I wouldn't make a very good Jesus.
Me:  Yeah, 'cause you'd just be mad all of the time about Lent and blowing stuff up.
James: Yeah, and there would be owls everywhere.
Me: What?
James: Yeah, every tree filled with hundreds of owls, all  "who cooks for you? hoo!hoo!HOO! HOO! WHOCOOKSFORYOOOOOOOOOOU!" *
Me: You can't have hundreds of owls in every tree.  They'll start dying.
James: Um...no.  Not if they're magic Jesus owls.
Me: Magic Jesus owls? Are you serious?
James: Uh-huh.  I'd make them in my own image.
Me: So if you're Jesus, you're just going to fill the world with a bunch of owls that look like you...?
James: Yep.  And blow up people's facebook accounts.
Me: You're right.  You'd make a terrible Jesus.

* It should be noted that we had this conversation while driving, and when James started talking about all of the owls in the trees and making his crazy owl noises, he got all bug eyed and crazy and started shouting "HOO!HOO!HOO!" and almost veered off the road and killed a little old lady pushing her cart of groceries across the street....with her baby granddaughter....and her puppy. Because James is a bad, bad man and also unnaturally obsessed with owls.

Read more...

An open letter to Oprah Winfrey...

Dear Oprah Winfrey,

One time I was checking the news, and all of the news outlets said that Candy Spelling (Candi? Candi with a heart over the "i"? Candee?)  was mad at Tori Spelling, so Candy Spelling wrote an open letter to a bunch of celebrities that she didn't even know, and all of the news outlets were all, "HOLY COW!  This is some serious news!" so they all reported it, and then all of the celebrities found out who Candy Spelling was, and Tori Spelling grabbed her pug and everybody went to Applebees and had margaritas.

You're probably wondering what this has to do with you, and for a minute I was too, but then I remembered what my point was and my point is this:  First - open letters to and/or by celebrities move mountains.

Next -you're doing this whole Next Chapter thing, and so am I kinda sorta, and I think this is a perfect time for us to sit down on your couch and share this exciting time in our lives. While you might not think that we have a lot in common, I'd like it to be known that A.) like Tori Spelling, I have a pug, B.) like most celebrities, I love margaritas and C.) I've been to Applebees on more than one occasion.  So, it's pretty obvious that I would fit in really well with you and your celebrity friends.

The gang at Applebees, just being famous, hanging out with pugs, drinking margaritas.

Also, as a bonus, I've eaten everything in sight over the past few months and gained more than a few pounds.  One of my friends just told me I looked like a potato, so if you were thinking of doing one of those positive thinking weight loss shows, you probably can't go wrong with a potato like me.

I don't want to tell you how to live your life, Oprah, but remember how happy we were when we never visited the Grand Canyon together?

Food potatoes for thought...

You have my number...

Read more...

How To Be Married: Supporting Your Spouse's Goals

Part of the award winning series *

"How To Be Married,"

by Jessica Benassi,

self-proclaimed expert on marriage.

    Once upon a time, not so long ago, my husband decided to take up the art of photography. He's actually pretty good at it, but I don't like to tell him.

    Complimenting your husband creates bad habits like positive self image and good self esteem and pride and all of that nonsense that I'd rather not saddle him with or have to deal with on a regular basis. When husbands are good at stuff, it's best that THEY don't know that YOU know that they're good at stuff, because then they'll try harder to make you notice how good they are at stuff by being even BETTER at stuff and the end result is probably going to be breakfast in bed or a spotless house or a back rub or maybe a new car with a bow on it or something.

Anyway, when James got his most recent new camera gadget thingamajig, this happened:

Me: I think I got bit by a spider on my face...
James: That looks kind of gross.
Me: I know.  Also, I have a popcorn kernel stuck in my eye or something...
James: Yeah...your eye is pretty red.  It's a little swollen, too.
Me: And I spilled coffee on my shirt...
James: Yeah...you're kind of a mess.
Me: I know.  I think I need to hide in the house for a while.
James: Cool, I need to play with my new camera...hold still...

Me: I'd rather-

Me: Seriously, please don't take my pict-

 Me: No, for real, I don't want -

Me:Seriously, dude, can you please just-

Me: I'm not -

Me: STOP IT!

Me: I'm seriously going to-

Me: No, for real, I'm-

Me: Are you finished?

James: I think so.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

James: Just kidding!

Me: You're seriously the worst husband ever....

And that's why:

This is my husband when his hair is a bird and he's being chased by zombies, one of which is scary George Clooney two headed zombie and another zombie who is my dog and all of the zombies are probably going to eat his brains because he runs like a girl, except not like me because I run pretty fast.

Also, he has boobs. 

And his hair is a bird.

Because I'm an artist, too.

Read more...

Pour Some Glitter on Me

I've been hit with a bit of a gnarly cold. Of course, it figures that when I went to the medicine cabinet in search of medicine, I found: deodorant, perfume, hairspray, wire cutters, needle nosed pliers, some eye cream, white acrylic paint, 4 paintbrushes and 2 tubes of glitter. Of course.

I then went digging in my purse, where I found a lonely blue pill that I thought might be some sort of decongestant, but may also have been someone slipping a roofie into my purse....I guess we'll find out in about 20 minutes.

The lesson to be learned here is: Be prepared - a cold can strike at any time. Those who don't prepare will most likely end up roofie-ing themselves, and waking up with glitter pouring from their nostrils...eyeballs probably, too. Maybe with white paint in their ears. I'm not sure why the white paint would show up, but glitter can very easily be mistaken for Nyquil.


Whatever - I don't feel well. I do what I want. Also, this is kind of a lame blog post so to make up for it, here's this picture of 80's super group Def Leppard in short shorts:




I know what you're thinking...I have that exact same outfit in my closet, too. It's pretty embarassing when I show up at the same party as Def Leppard and we're all wearing the same outfit. Thankfully it's only happened a couple of times - I think they've learned their lesson.

Read more...