Hello my Lovely Kernutties!
This is a quick note to update those of you who don’t follow me on Facebook or Twitter.
I survived surgery.
(Bwahahahaaa. I crack me up! Ok, so I’m probably the only one who found that funny, but whatever, it’s my blog. NO, dammit, it is not the pain meds that made me write that. Sheesh.)
They gave me socks in exchange for my uterus.
Ok, so you want non-gory details… (gory details and pics are at the very bottom, beneath a huge warning.)
I got a pair of socks in exchange for my uterus. (See above photo for picture of socks, pictures of uterus available upon request.)
The long-awaited surgery FINALLY happened Tuesday morning. I got home late Wednesday night, and it is now Thursday afternoon.
My patient advocate is terrific! Besides being a truly kind and caring person, she really got things moving forward for me. She came to visit me right after surgery and again the next day. She is continuing to monitor my situation and report back to all involved. Knowing how much she has helped me when I had no one in my corner made me want to do that for others. I’m not sure what is required to be a Patient Advocate, but I would love to help others as she helped me when I needed it most.
And the nurses at But, wait! There’s more…
Author’s note: This is another rant. I apologize. My doctor tells me that after the surgery, my hormones will be back to normal and I’ll feel a lot better. I’ll be stuck at home for two weeks and plan to do some writing about happy stuff, and possibly posting pics from my surgery. (Warnings will be posted for the squeemish.)
Unless you like unsolicited advice, don’t ever tell your relatives or close friends you’ve got a serious illness.
I’m just saying.
Remember when I blogged about looking for a common-law husband with good insurance because ObummerCare sucks? (No, I didn’t find a husband.) I might have mentioned needing surgery.
Well, I do. It’s major surgery, but nothing that millions of women haven’t gone through. Side note: Those of you men hoping I would someday birth your children, well… sorry, but that ship is about to sail.
But here’s the thing that I’m going to rant about…
Do not ever tell your family you’re sick. I know, that sounds horrible. I used to be just like you all, thinking keeping the health secret was a terribly cruel thing to do to your family. They only want to be there for you because they care, they just want to “help”! But, wait! There’s more…
Texas is a Common Law state. According to Findlaw.com, you can say you’re married and that’s it. No ceremony, no nothing.
Yet one more reason Texas is awesome.
I’m looking for a common law husband. Why? Because I need health insurance.
Those of you unhappily married may be asking why I don’t just get ObummerCare (intentionally misspelled) instead of going through marriage, common law or not. ObummerCare is too expensive – even with the low-income subsidy. The good hospitals won’t take the cheapest plans out there. That seriously limits my choices to providers you’ve actually heard of.
<Obummer rant on>
I’m going to momentarily digress to get political…
My long-time readers (if there are any of you left after my recent absence – thank you!) know I’m not one to get on political rants, but my recent experience trying to sign up for ObummerCare has prompted this one.
Texans tend to be a might prejudiced against anyone who once lived in California, even if you weren’t born there, like myself. Whenever Obama is mentioned in a conversation, someone invariably looks over at me and makes some comment about my having voted for him – just because I once lived in California.
I did not vote for Obummer. Have y’all not see my We’re in an Obamanation gear on Zazzle? That’s been on my site for far longer than ObummerCare has been around.
<Obummer rant off>
Why does a
mature 40-something 29-year-old, dammit! woman like myself care about health insurance? But, wait! There’s more…
Another one of those anniversaries of my birthday is approaching. I’ve celebrated a few anniversaries of my 27th birthday, and even anniversaries of my 29th, but that may have to change.
Old house in Texas. I love photographing old, abandoned barns and houses.
I don’t feel (or generally act) my age and I prefer it that way. Life is what you make it, and I’m making mine young and fun as long as I can. In fact, after interviewing the centenarian a couple months ago and seeing the high percentage of centenarians in this area, I realize I may very well still be in my youthful “prime,” relatively speaking.
But then I find some jerk standing on my lawn.
I have a fenced yard. A clearly fenced yard. There is NO mistaking the fence. It has lights so it can be seen at night. Nevertheless, some fool But, wait! There’s more…
(*hat tip* to Bluz Dude at Darwinfish 2 for the title idea)
The Tale of the Tail
I’ve been creating a tree nursery for the park by germinating such things as Pomegranates, Wisteria, Jacaranda, Cheesewood, and Giant Sequoias. (Heh, I don’t pick the seeds, they were already here just collecting dust on the park store desk.)
Since I was tired of dusting the dust off the seed packets sitting on the desk, I decided to plant them. I designed and am helping to build a greenhouse of sorts* to keep the plants (should they ever sprout) safe from the wild critters who run rampant in the park.
*Before you become impressed with my building skills, keep in mind this greenhouse, much like the Squirrel Obstacle Course, will be made from “found” objects. And I’m not making it very big. Rather than a nursery greenhouse with doors and windows and important stuff like that, it’s more like a plant “cozy”. You know, a “cozy” like your grandmother used to knit to cover the spare toilet paper role that sat on the back of the toilet.
My RV happens to be parked next to the
plant cozy tree nursery. I bend down replace one of the nursery bricks, and hear a *hissssss*. Thinking it’s the spray nozzle in front of me, I check the hose. It’s not even dripping.
Then it slowly dawns on me the noise is coming from my other side… I turn my head just in time to see a Western Diamondback Rattlesnake slithering about a foot away from me! Thank goodness he was scared and had already begun to slither away because he could have very easily bitten me before I ever saw him.
The tail of which this tale is about. (My finger is there for scale.)
After I posted this on Facebook, a friend asked if I used a shovel or an axe to kill the rattlesnake. But, wait! There’s more…
So, this is a guest post by Checkers. Yes, the cat.
The Kibble and Tribble Wrangler Cat. The protagonist in Cat-ass-trophe. Author of the Holiday Letter From Da Kitteh. The RV Copilot Who Can’t Read Maps.
Yes, that cat.
THE BEST CAT IN THE WORLD.
Your fearless blogger and Queen of the Zombies has decided to turn her blog over to a Higher Being – just this once, to see how it goes.
Actually, that’s not true. She’s not here and I’m all by myself. This post shouldn’t be here. Don’t tell her, okay? I’m not allowed to touch the computer or play with the mouse. (I don’t get that one… it’s a mouse and I’m a cat. I’m supposed to play with mice, right?)
I haven’t been well lately. But, wait! There’s more…