Smells Like (Gr)Ass.

So, before, my life was consumed with sleeping, working and going to the Y. I have a new responsibility. Home ownership. Pretty sure I wasn’t aware there was this much work. I mean, really, people. I could do house stuff every damn day if I wanted to — that’s how much there is. Eric and I make a list of things we need or what we need to do — and just as fast as we cross everything off that list… magically, a new list pops up. Usually, it’s longer and more long-term than the first. It almost stresses me out — but good thing I love lists. Really. I love them. The process of crossing things off gives me great joy. Call me weird. It’s cool. I mean, I just looked up at our counter, and I seriously have 5 lists. Good thing I have a lot of paper laying around here. Ha. I digress. I love the house, though. Everything Eric and I do is fun and definitely adding to the house. It’s becoming our own and I still can’t believe all this crap happened. (I call it crap in the most loving way.) All the little things still bring me joy — like bringing the trash can up, cleaning the kitchen floor…

OMG!! I totally buried the lead here.

We bought window treatments. Holy man. How exciting. (Again, the small things.) Pictures to follow. You don’t even know how great this is. I pee myself a little thinking about it! No more tarps!! Those blinds couldn’t come soon enough, let me tell you. As much as I like the blue/brown tarp look…

Alright — so, the point of this post — to talk about the first Grass Cutting at Hotel Smithenreiter. It was the day after it rained like 62 inches — so, we Eric could only cut part of the front yard — but squeeeee!! It was -23 degrees… and Eric was a champ. Of course, instead of helping him, I grabbed my camera and started snapping pictures. Obviously to share with all of you. Enjoy. I’m also including some other pictures. One of a cactus growing in our front yard — and two beds of stuff that’s coming up. I really have no idea what they are, though. Tulips, maybe? I’m no greenthumb, that’s for sure. Guess I’ll learn.

Housekeeping.

And hi. Just a few things to take care of before starting another post.

1. Boston! Good to hear from you! Thought you fell off the face of the Earth, or at least the East Coast. Either way, fun you’ve found thing I call my “blog.” Hope you enjoy it… at least once in a while. And yes, I completely stole that “what I should have said was nothing” line from Mike Berbiglia. He is hilarious. His dry humor makes me laugh my tail off. I strive to be just as funny. I usually fail. But I try, and isn’t that worth anything these days?! Anyway, glad you’ve made your way here.

2. Kristin W. (The artist formally known as Turner): Why, hello! Good to hear from you, as well. It’s funny how Kim is the tie that binds here. It’s fun. Thanks for reading. Hope all is well with you. I’m sure you’re on Facebook — which I don’t do… my apologies.

Which brings me to 3. I’m tellin’ ya, WordPress is the new Facebook. If all the people I went to H.S. with would just come to my blog site and posted comments and such — then I wouldn’t ever have to join FB. I’m sure it’ll never happen, but I’m just sayin’.

4. Eric and I close on The House on Tuesday. Oh buddy. Hello St. Patty’s Day. A green beer and keys to a house. Sounds most excellent, no?

5. Speaking of St. Patty’s Day — my overnight schedule, while usually  horrific, is panning out in my favor. Tuesday, I will start drinking early. And by early, I mean 7 a.m. I win. Bad news, after a drink or two — I’ll probably pass out on the table because I’ll be so damn tired. Hopefully I’ll wake up by the time we close on that House. Ha. I’ll take pictures of Tuesday’s drinking escapades. No worries. Um, by the way — if you want to see what I’ll be wearing — http://www.kohls.com/upgrade/webstore/zoom_popup.jsp?productId=845524892472330  (if I knew how to make that a link in this damn post, I would, trust me. Sorry I’m an idiot.)

6. I’m still holding to my Lenten promise. I gave up sweets, which is like giving up breathing for me. Sweet Mary, I have such a, well, sweet tooth. It’s been hard. Reeeal hard. I guess that’s the whole point, huh? Either way, I’m counting down the minutes until I can sink my teeth into a glorious Cadbury Bunny Egg.

7. Dear Kohls, thank you for making a clearance section. I don’t care if you always “have a sale going on” or if it always “looks like I’m getting a steal” — your marketing works on me. I had a wonderful trip to your store today. I gotta keep up my “Kohls VIP” status somehow, right? Too bad that’s the only “VIP” club I’ll ever be a part of. I hate ending sentences in propositions — but that one just seemed right.

Holy Margarita.

Have you been outside the last few days? Oh man. I didn’t even wear my gloves to work last night — that’s how warm it was. Living on the edge, I know.

I even knew Spring was coming, when I got in my car after working out and saw a ladybug on my windshield. Granted, I hate those ladybugs, they make me shudder… especially when they’re in large quantity — but I was so excited about it, I didn’t even hit my wipers to knock it off, or drive faster so it just flew off.

Too bad it’s going to damn pour all weekend.

Debbie Downer. Wahh Waaaaahhhhh.

What Brought You Here?

Things people “searched”… and landed here.

— moving out with nothing (this was my favorite one, poor lad.)

— what should i have first

— what i should have said was nothing

— crazy core skittles

Fun things.

Yay. After months of just reading my blog (and others) in secret… my friend, Kim is now blogging. I really wish I knew how to put a blogroll on my site. Or maybe I could just dink around on here to find out how to do it.

Anyway — Want to read about Kim’s life in a long house? No, really, it’s long. Head over to uwkimmy.wordpress.com.

Oh, and HI SARAH A.!!!! (Formerly Sarah P.) I’m excited to hear from you. Please, keep reading my blog. I now have four people who I know read this thing. Amen. Ha. All my rambling isn’t done in vain.

Not Selling Out Just Yet.

I don’t have a Facebook account. I think I’m the only person in the galaxy who doesn’t. I mean, really. I can’t even tell you how many “gatherings” I’ve been to, where all the people talk about, is Facebook. Who is friending who, who they ignored, the “status” of (insert name here), the pictures (insert name here) tagged on their “wall.” I don’t even know what half of that crap means. Heck, I even have a friend who hasn’t emailed me back after, like, three emails that I’ve sent. Apparently she “never even emails anymore…she just goes on Facebook.” Really? Really?!

Every one of my friends (and really…every last 6 of them) say I need, need to get signed up. Too bad my name is Sara Smith and there are 3,723,643 of us out there. How will my friends ever find me on there? Ha. Because I don’t have anything else to worry about. I can hardly keep up with blogging, let alone upkeeping a damn website. The only reason I’d ever go on there, is to look at everyone’s pictures.

So, for now, I’m holding out. I think it’s come to a point now, where I just want to prove to myself — and all those FB-ers…that I can holdout. But Eric tells me… it’s just like cell phones. Eventually, everyone will be on FB (as I’ve so nicely abbreviated it). It will someday just “be” a way of life. Crap.

Until then, just send me an email… or even a text. I can’t see your wall to know that you’re pregnant, engaged, single, in a relationship, bored, watching tv, wishing Denny would just die-off the Grey’s cast…. you get the picture.

My Clam(bake).

Welp, by Sunday night, I had convinced myself I had cervical cancer and only had three months to live.

Good thing the nurse called the next day and had another fate for me. Phew. Apparently the tissue the doctor took from my cervix had severe dysplasia. But, the doctor says she got it all. My Lady Bits are allegedly in the clear, for now. I go back in for a follow-up, then I’m sure subsequent Paps will be in order, probably one every three months or so.

I’m oh-so-relieved. I don’t think I was ready to kick-it just yet.

Only bad part — I started working out again (including running) the Friday after my surgery. I only gave myself 3 days to heal. Apparently that isn’t enough. I’m an idiot. Just when I though my Business was healing up just fine… BAM, I’m bleeding again like someone stabbed my Clam with an ice pick. Oh, and remember, people… I’m wearing pads. Sick. So, by orders of Eric and my Mom — I’m not working out the rest of this week. Which really puts a hamper on my half-marathon training. Ah well, I guess health comes before CellCom Halfer. Sometimes you’ll have that.

At least my Jine-Ur will back  in working order soon enough.

Just in time for my period. Sweet.

If You Have Two Hours and a Kopps Nearby.

Go see Slumdog Millionaire — and wait until the Flavor-of-the-Day at Kopps is “Tiramisu” and get a one-scoop waffle cone. You’ll die. It’s that good. Well, both of them. The movie and the flavor.

Enjoy.

You Want to Do What to My Where?

Early warning: This post will contain such words as Pap, “Jinur,” “Lady Bits” and Crotch. Be prepared or turn away now.

Paps are scary. Well, not scary — but pretty uncomfortable. I heart my OBGYN, don’t get me wrong, but that one appointment every year where you have to undress and straddle-up — just to have a cold piece of metal (gently) shoved in your Business…it makes me shudder. I don’t think I know any lady-friend who actually enjoys doing those things. Well, my annual Pap in December was standard fare. I hopped up there, my doc talked with me about skiing, dusting TVs and how her cold hands can really make this whole thing pretty crappy. Great. Thanks for trying to take my mind off things while you’re poking, prodding and brushing the inside of my Lady Bits. “Alright,” she said, “We’ll mail you those results and see you next  year.” “Cool, thanks,” I said.

Two weeks later. Still nothing in the mail from the doc. Which was pretty unusual, as they’re usually prompt. About two days later, I listened to a message on my phone. “Hi Sara, this is the doctor’s office, if you could just call us back, that’d be great.” Ha. Really? That’s your message? Why don’t you just say, “Hi, you’re dying. Would you like to schedule an appointment for that?” So, of course, I don’t get the message until after the entire doctor’s office had gone home. Cool. Now I have to think about this thing all night at work. Yeah. Because I work third shift.

So, I call the next morning. Promptly when the office opened at 8 a.m. Heck, I even stayed up past my “bedtime” to make this call. It better be good.

Nope.

I have an “abnormal” Pap. This doesn’t sound that bad, in theory. Heck, women have abnormal ones all the time. But this was a first for me. Scary. Then, the lab nurse-lady informs me that a Colposcopy is necessary. Not sure what that is? Neither was I. All I know is that after being at work all night and tired as hell, a Colposcopy didn’t appear to be rainbows and ponies. Of course, I “google” it. Let me break it down. Basically, they snip away pieces of your cervix to test it for “dysplasia.” Again, not sure of that dysplasia is? Yeah, I googled that, too. It’s infected tissue. It can range from mild to severe. And that severe can turn into cervical cancer and/or the inability to conceive.

Alright, so, a lot to swallow in a short amount of time. I make the appointment and call my Mom. Yikes. Mom didn’t take this one too well. I’m pretty sure she assumed I had cancer immediately and my legs were going to fall off in the process. So, after I talked her down off the ledge — we had an intelligent conversation about what the issues were and how the doctors were going to fix them.

I went to the Colposcopy. Alone. Yeah, note to self — and others: Bring someone with you. Your mail carrier, a friend, a co-worker. Anyone. Granted, you don’t want to give them a show with your Jinur all in the spotlight and whatnot. But, it’s not a comfortable thing.

So, that’s over. Cool. I have sore Lady Bits for a few days — and knots in my stomach, waiting for those test results.

Then, I get the call. Again. (So dramatic, huh?) “Uh, Sara, hi,” the nurse stumbles out. “Your test results show you have moderate to severe tissue damage. We’ve got to do another, more serious procedure. Basically so you don’t get cancer and you can eventually conceive children.”

I lost it. Bawling on the phone with Lori. (That’s the nurse who called me.) For whatever reason, the cancer and inability to have children really hit me hard this time. Wow. So, this is serious. All I could mutter out on the phone was, “Ok.”

Again, I make an appointment. This time, for a LEEP. That’s “Loop Electrosurgical Excision Procedure.” Yeah, that’s electricity… and a hot loop-like tool that again… cuts away at the cervix.

Geez.

This time, I enlist my Mom and Eric. Hell, I wasn’t doing this one alone. My Lady Bits quivered at the thought of it.

I had that one Tuesday. My Mom came back with me, to the surgery room. Eric so kindly stayed in the waiting room. I was terrified. The procedure didn’t scare me as much as the possibility of what could be to come. Cancer? Not being able to have kids someday? Shit, man.

My Mom was wonderful. She held my hand as I shook like a leaf. They numbed my Jinur up. Yeah, shot me “down there.” Then, had to put a “grounding pad” on my thigh so I didn’t get electrocuted. Hey, great. The whole while I was hoping that this shit wouldn’t put me into cardiac arrest. The doc kept telling me, “Oh, this is going to be just fine, the hot loop will cut through your cervix like butter.” That’s right. She compared my Business to butter. Sweet. I’ll never look at those four-pack sticks the same.

It was all over in about 15 minutes. Easy-peasy. Errr. No tears were shed. I think, because I was too scared. I even got to check out the part of my cervix they cut out.  Sweet. Errr.

And now. I wait. Hoping I don’t get another bad phone call. I don’t know how many of these procedures I can do. The doctor even said they don’t want to cut away too much, because of the important role the cervix plays in childbearing/birth.

I mean, kids… make me nervous. They drools, poop, need things and are a human being that I’m not quite ready for just yet. But suddenly the thought of never having them… is scaring the crap out of me.

I’d say cross your fingers for me… but that just wouldn’t be right.

Cross your legs, instead.

Just like me.

So, it was Friday night. Probably around 7 or so. The BF was long gone to his parents’ house for the weekend — and I had the apt. to myself. Of course, I blogged (for the first time in ages). After posting said blog, I emailed the four… yes, four… people who I’m pretty sure are the only people reading this thing. Now, when I sent the email, I was sure they’d all have big plans on a Friday night and not even CHECK their email until maybe Sunday night or Monday morning.

Funny like three of those four not only read my post, but commented on it within about a half hour. Don’t worry, I only knew that because I checked my email about 20 minutes after I posted, just incase, ya know…

It comforted me — knowing I wasn’t the only one chillin’ in front of the computer Friday night.

I laughed at the thought… then, plopped right back on the couch with my sweats on, watching the Food Network — with a bag of half-eaten Baked Lays on the coffee table.