Where’s Whoopsie #17: Two-Ply Christmas Lullaby

On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me

An extra roll of TP.

 

On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me

Two bottles of Miralax and an extra roll of TP.

 

On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me

Three gluten-free pancakes,

Two bottles of Miralax and an extra roll of TP.

 

On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me

“Oh, God don’t come in here!”

Three gluten-free pancakes, two bottles of Miralax

and an extra roll of TP.

 

On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me

Five minutes of straining, “Oh, God don’t come in here!”

Three gluten-free pancakes, two bottles of Miralax

and an extra roll of TP.

 

On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me

Six packs of undies, five minutes of straining,

“Oh, God don’t come in here!”

Three gluten-free pancakes, two bottles of Miralax

and an extra roll of TP.

 

On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me

Seven bottles of Pepto, six packs of undies,

Five minutes of straining, “Oh, God don’t come in here!”

Three gluten-free pancakes, two bottles of Miralax

and an extra roll of TP.

 

On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me

Eight clueless doctors, seven bottles of Pepto,

Six packs of undies, five minutes of straining,

“Oh, God don’t come in here!”

Three gluten-free pancakes, two bottles of Miralax

and an extra roll of TP.

 

On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me

Nine restroom breaks, eight clueless doctors,

Seven bottles of Pepto, six packs of undies,

Five minutes of straining, “Oh, God don’t come in here!”

Three gluten-free pancakes, two bottles of Miralax

and an extra roll of TP.

 

On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me

Ten stomach cramps, nine restroom breaks, eight clueless doctors

Seven bottles of Pepto, six packs of undies,

Five minutes of straining, “Oh God don’t come in here!”

Three gluten-free pancakes, two bottles of Miralax

and an extra roll of TP.

 

On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me

Eleven cutie tooties, ten stomach cramps, nine restroom breaks

Eight clueless doctors, seven bottles of Pepto

Six packs of undies, five minutes of straining,

“Oh God don’t come in here!”

Three gluten-free pancakes, two bottles of Miralax

and an extra roll of TP.

 

On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me

Twelve billion active cultures, eleven cutie tooties,

Ten stomach cramps, nine restroom breaks

Eight clueless doctors, seven bottles of Pepto

Six packs of undies, five minutes of straining,

“Oh God don’t come in here!”

Three gluten-free pancakes, two bottles of Miralax

and an extra roll of TP.

 

Happy Holidays everyone. Wishing you an experience that is a treat for both taste buds and tummy! And, if you happen to get the former without the latter, here’s also wishing you a private bathroom well away from the prying eyes of “nosy” family members and that extra roll of TP! Oh, and remember that self-care is nothing to be ashamed of during a stressful holiday season.

Have some holiday-themed Where’s Whoopsie’s because nobody wants to see #2-themed pages on the #1 most-anticipated holiday for a majority of America. ūüėČ

 

 

 

Need a recap of anything I’m talking about in any post? Check out the Glossary of Terms.

Advertisements

Where’s Whoopsie #16: Build Me Up, Butterball

“For pounds up to nine,” Peapod’s flat fee’s pretty fine
But they lied, they substituted and then (Ba-dah-dah)
Showed up from the store, a turkey fed many times more
It’s not them, will I let us down in brine? (Hey, hey, hey)

Maybe, baby, try to find (Hey, hey, hey)
Dethaw time and I’ll make us happy (Hey, hey, hey)
I’ll be home, I’ll be beside the stove waiting on food
Ooh, ooh

Why do you build me up (Build me up)
Butterball, baby
Just to give me dread? (Give me dread)
And mess with my head?
And then, worst of all (Worst of all)
The bully calls, baby
“You can’t keep us fed” (Keep us fed)
But it’s quite misled
I trust us (I trust us)
And the Internet darling
On prep, I will soon make a start
So build me up (Build me up)
Butterball, don’t break my heart

It’s true, we’re just two, but we could eat for many days more
If you’d just turn out right (Ba-dah-dah)
Although you’re quite rare, I am willing to dare just to gorge
Oh, let me feed us so! (Hey, hey, hey)

Maybe, baby, try to find (Hey, hey, hey)
Cooking time and I’ll make us happy (Hey, hey, hey)
I’ll be home, I’ll be beside the stove waiting to chew
Ooh, ooh

Why do you build me up (Build me up)
Butterball, baby
Just to lay breast down? (Lay breast down)
On plates all round
And then, worst of all (Worst of all)
The sides and all, baby
Why can’t you be alone (be alone)?
But I’ll make them too
I’ll eat you (I’ll eat you)
And everything, darling
Of all, I’ll eat more than my part
If you build me up (Build me up)
Butterball, don’t break my heart

I-I-I want you on Thanksgiving Day, baby
That’s why you were put in our cart
So build me up (Build me up)
Butterball, don’t break my heart

Continue reading “Where’s Whoopsie #16: Build Me Up, Butterball”

Top Ten Things I Hate About Top Ten Posts

I went away to a place that was not the 9th Circle of Hell this past long weekend with my partner. It was just a long-weekend getaway, and – given that my Partner had literally been to Hell the week before – it doesn’t quite imply everything is fine. However, it was enough of a mental reset for me that I don’t want to think or write about that other¬†place if I can avoid it for a week.

I wasn’t sure at first what else to write about. The 9th Circle of Hell and the soon-to-be-introduced-on-my-blog replacement for the Bedbug Motel still occupy entirely too much of my brain space. It was harder at first to not think of the 9th Circle of Hell than even to not think of an elephant. Until suddenly, I realized…

Continue reading “Top Ten Things I Hate About Top Ten Posts”

Blog Awards Series #5: B is for Blog Awards

I am not saying “B is for Bedbugs,” because supposedly things are “happening” with that. The home is hiring a new exterminator to come tomorrow and – again supposedly – is going to deal with the code violations that resulted in the scary green notice. I’m not sure how much faith I have in either of these things, but there’s not much I can actively do until I’ve given them a chance to fail all on their own.

Having learned entirely too much about what to do to keep bedbugs out even before¬†an exterminator comes by when a complex I lived in during graduate school got them – and finding the agency rather lackadaisical about learning from my lived experience – I’ll share it with you all. Food-grade diatomaceous earth lining the walls and furniture is a great way to stop bed bugs and other nasties from getting in if the neighbors have an infestation. It’s also a cheap and surprisingly effective after-care product once the exterminator does treat. I did my research as soon as I discovered my neighbors had them, bought that, and was the only person in a ten-unit apartment that didn’t get bedbugs back in the day.¬† I don’t think it was strictly allowed by my lease to do my own treatments, but at the time management didn’t care since it worked.

There’s no point in putting it down in my sibling’s room until the infestation is handled with entomological nukes first, but I keep hoping the agency will at least allow me to do the same after-care measures for my sibling’s room later. I’m not quite daring enough to just do them anyway as I did in grad school, because I’ve seen agencies use any technicality to boot someone, they barely wanted someone with a trauma history to begin with, and there aren’t really any other openings.

So instead B is for Blog Awards like C is for Cookie. If I have an enforced sit-on-my-hands week, I probably should get back to that “mental health sabbatical” portion of my not-FMLA. I’m hoping to do some baking. Baking too often seems incredibly overwhelming and not worth the spoons when the world is falling apart. But, I’ve always deeply enjoyed it when I can manage it. My original “balanced scorecard” included playing with inventing recipes as a thing that made me feel more like me.

Today’s other balanced scorecard questions are courtesy of Fibronacci:

Continue reading “Blog Awards Series #5: B is for Blog Awards”

I Love You More than Salt

Today has been lousy. There’s no other way to say it. Its lousiness has stemmed primarily from two causes: dysautonomia and C-PTSD. (I will write dysautonomia and C-PTSD officially, but I could just as easily have claimed dysautonomia and office politics. The two are kind of synonymous when C-PTSD views any perturbations in power dynamics that result in strong words being exchanged as an existential threat. The bully-in-my-brain helpfully comforts me while triggered with the alternative idea that office drama doesn’t always have to mean that I’m not safe. It could just simply mean that I am safe but¬†suck.)

I’ve been in a dysautonomia flare the past three days. (Have we established yet if it’s appropriate to call an uptick in autonomic nervous system symptoms a “flare” when it’s not necessarily an inflammatory response?) I’ve been cycling rapidly between blood pressure extremes for the past couple of days. Today, I started out borderline high and watched it tumble after completing the rather physically demanding requirements – aka getting up and walking around for fifteen minutes as a break after a couple of hours on the computer – of my job. I usually don’t faint until I dip below 90 systolic, which fortunately is relatively rare with my meds now, but tumbling from 145/70 down to 92/54 in about fifteen minutes isn’t fun even if I do somehow manage to stay upright. (Also, yes, for those asking, I do keep a wrist blood pressure cuff at work. Those are real numbers. Not my worst, by a long shot, either. One of the two final numbers was technically in the human normal range, after all!)

Continue reading “I Love You More than Salt”