Apr 21, 2013

To the Grocery Store I Go...

Not only is the grocery store a hotbed for slip and fall lawsuits, it's also a prime location for running into people you just hoped you were never, ever, ever going to see again. This includes but is not limited to; ex's, one night stands that gave you a 48 hour std scare, old classmates, ex co-workers, and the vagina doctor. (Yes, I went to the market after a gynecologist appointment to buy fudge once, and as it turned out, Dr. Vaginaface from the free clinic was also in the mood for fudge. I can still feel his eyes on me as I struggled with my decision of vanilla swirl, chocolate or darting into oncoming traffic. Ugh I just shuddered. Can't a girl get some fudge without being haunted by her cooter doctor?)

Similiar to Pavlov's dog, I associate the grocery store with wearing shitty clothes, greasy hair and minimal makeup and all the carbohydrates a fatty can eat  Hell, I don't even draw on my eyebrows to go to the grocery store. Whoa. I typically spend a good portion of the 30 minutes I'm in there loitering/freezer burning my face, by trying to hide amongst the boxes of meatballs. And for what? Without fail, and with below normal body temperatures, I will always run into someone I really, really don't want to see. Ugh.

In my opinion, the below two examples are probably the worst types of people to run into....

The one night stand. Mom, don't worry, I would never do this but I'm told this experience is just awful. It happened to my friend who I will name Princess Consuela Banana Hammock for the purpose of this story. Anyway, Princess Consuela had the pleasure of being stuck in an unconditioned subway for 50 minutes after work one hot August evening. Just short of being homicidal, she realized she only had ice cubes in her freezer for dinner, so it was paramount that she made a trip into the grocery store. With her makeup running down her face and her inner thighs chaffing and burning with the intensity of 10,000 burning suns,  Princess Consuela took 10 steps into the grocery store and ran into last Friday's one night stand.

Dear God.

Forgetting his name, and her own in the moment, Princess Consuela locked eyes with the one hit wonder, and ran straight for cover in the cheese string aisle. After 10 minutes of heart palpatations and wishing the earth opened up and swallowed her, Consuela met her fate and literally walked right into him.
According to Princess Consuela, the next 5 minutes were laced with excessive upper lip sweating, forced awkward conversation about how the past week was probably the busiest week of their ENTIRE LIVES....Well, it would have to be since both of them needed immediate excuses of why they didn't call each other. Pfft. Amateurs,

Running into old classmates from high school. For the most part, I enjoy running into people from high school...when I'm wearing makeup, down 40lbs and my breasts aren't grazing against my kneecaps. Typically (and because karma is a bitch), I only run into high school people when I go to my parents place for the weekend. Somehow, the Universe calls upon the ENTIRE class of 2000, to all hit up the local grocery store, just when I look my shittiest. Let's be serious, I'm far too lazy to slap on makeup and clean clothes when I visit my parents. It's like the only place on earth where people will still love you, even if you look like a washed up whore.
10 out of 10 times, I will be asked at some point during my visit with parents, to run to the store to grab something obscure such as "banana abstract paste." (I just made that up but you get my drift, I cook with salt and oil and that's it, so everything seems obscure to me.)
My mom always takes it upon herself to remind me I look like shit before I gracefully utter every swearword known to man about how ridiculous it is that they forget everything on their grocery list, then make an Oscar worthy exit by slamming the car door and going 100km/hr down the street. leave for the grocery store.
The last awkward encounter that I vividly recall, was when I was caught with approximately 5 croissants, a cheesecake and a steak while trying to make a dash for the self checkout counter.

"Nanners?! Nanners?! Is that you? Omg.Wait!

Oh Christ.

So next time in you're in your local grocer, look for me, I'll be by the meatballs. Panicking.

Peace out,
Nanners


OH and wait...I just wanted to say something quickly about the Boston Marathon bombings. Since I've been at home for the past 2 weeks recovering from my surgery, I've followed a ton of coverage on the attack, and my heart breaks for all those effected by this senseless act. You don't have to be from Boston to feel the rage and helplessness toward this situation. The people responsible for this are monsters and they will get what's coming to them in some way or another, BUT if you are following any of this story, I encourage you to read about the acts of heroism and strength from the victims. Read about the people running into the smoke to save a complete stranger, as they are the ones that deserve the attention. Find those stories, and you'll remember that good exists.





Apr 9, 2013

Surgery and the Beast

*Disclaimer This post is brought to you courtesy of Percocet. 

Since a bunch of you have been asking where I've been and why I haven't posted not really, I think maybe my mom asked what I've been up to, but I sound almost famous and sought after by use of the word "bunch", I thought I would use my 87th hour of free time and write something.

If you follow my blog, you'll know that I fell down the stairs at a Singles Event last April (surrounded by the ugliest, most useless singles my retinas have ever laid eyes on) in the most horrific high heel accident of all time...According to me. Finally, a year later and not walking for just over 4 months, I had surgery to remove the plates from my foot. Fun! NOT REALLY. Here's what the last 6 days have been like.

Tuesday April 2nd: (Pre-my Apocalypse) At approximately 6:30pm I arrived back to my bachelorette pad, only to find my landlord had let my mother into my apartment. (Someone should really read her the Landlord and Tenant Act) My mother, being dressed as though it was the god damn Bahamas, was in a tank top and shorts and ironing 647 shirts on my kitchen table. Sweet. That meant she had enough time to scour my closet, form an opinion of how lazy I am, come to the conclusion that I am unfit to be married, and that lecture me on how I wear the wrinkliest clothes in THE WHOLE ENTIRE UNIVERSE.
7:00pm: Argue with my mother about how shitty thin crust pizza is.
7:30pm: Open door to be greeted by the pizza delivery guy who says this to me: "Hello my friend! Good to see you again!" .....Debate sticking my head in my oven.
7:45pm: Enter self loathing state and shame spiral privately in my bathroom, after eating 4 slices of thin crust pizza in 15 minutes.
8:00pm: Join my mother on the couch to have a heart to heart about how nervous I am for my surgery in the morning, only to be ignored and given the history on every player in Major League Baseball who has been (in my mother's words) "caught with whores" and shamed their families.
9:45pm: Shaved legs on side of tub while listening to gangsta rap... because in the spirit of sheer laziness, bending over for an extra 5 minutes in the morning seemed really overwhelming.
10:15pm: Change into my pajamas in the bathroom only to receive criticism from my mother for not changing in front of her. "You know I've seen breasts before.." "Well you ain't seen these saggy funbags so drop it woman."
11pm: Explain to my mother who Chelsea Handler is and why I'm obsessed with her.
11:30pm: Fantasize about being Beyonce.
12am: Cry into my pillow about not being Beyonce.
12:29am: Find an eyelash on my cheek and make a wish I that I wake up as a black R&B singer who is married to Jay-Z.
12:30am: Google "The worst foot surgeries ever in history. Ever. Of all time." 
1am: Throw up in mouth and cry myself to sleep.

Wednesday, April 3rd: Nanners D-Day
8:30am: Arrive at the hospital and argue with mother about eating a bagel with bacon on it in front of me...TORTURE since I had to fast until after my surgery. WHO DOES THAT? I'm calling Children's Aid.
9am: Check in and be yelled at by anxious bitchy receptionist for forgetting an important document I've never heard of.
10am: Argue with nurse about not getting on the scale to be weighed, only to have her storm out of the room. It was NOTHING like Grey's Anatomy. Where the fuck was McDreamy?
11am: Choke on some pre-surgery medication and briefly travel towards the white light. Quickly realized no one cared, ressucitated myself.
11:30am: McDreamy walks into room and notices that my weight is missing from the chart. I think the world is over and tell him I'd rather die with plates in my foot and be lit on fire, than step on that scale.
11:31am: Lose battle with McDreamy-step on scale with eyes shut and made him pinky swear we'd never speak of this moment again.
11:35am: Walk down a long dismal hall in basement and into a cold room, crack some jokes about how I feel like I'm in a morgue. No one laughs.
11:36am: Recover from my morgue joke incident by being utterly charming. Obviously.
11:37am: They start prepping my leg by pouring shit all over it, hook me up to heart monitor, pee drizzles down my leg.
11:38am: Pray no one notices that I just peed my bed. Nurse arrives and puts warm blanket on me. Sweet, I'm lying in a hot bed of piss.
11:39am Realize my heart monitor starts beeping faster when McDreamy walks near me. Everyone notices and the nurse laughs in my face and whispers "It happens all the time when he walks in a room." I silently think to myself. "You're a liar, but thank you."
12pm: Lay on the table surrounded by 4 surgeons and yell "YOU PROMISE I WON'T FEEL THIS RIGHT???"

Now, I need to preface this next part by explaining what a nerve block is: Basically pre-surgery, a nerve block is a substance which is injected via needles in the area that is being operated on. The nerve block numbs the nerves in the area, and relieves the pain by interrupting how pain signals are sent to your brain. This is my understanding...and also WebMD's.

Well, at some point during the next 2 hours and 30 minutes of operational bliss,  the surgeons immediately discovered the nerve block DID NOT WORK on the left side of my foot as they sliced me open and I nearly jumped off the table according to the doctors in the room. I thankfully, by the grace of God, do not remember this and they immediately jammed a tube down my throat and put me right under.

3:15pm: Wake up in recovery and feel like my vocal chords have been ripped from my throat and was greeted by the sweetest Jamaican nurse who I wish I was friends with.
Nurse:"Mmmmm Guurrlllll....You awake! You lucky you don't remember what happened in da O.R. You damn near jumped off da table. 
3:16pm: Lights fade, Nanners exit stage left.
4pm: Wake up and scream my tits off for a nurse to come over to tell her my dirty little secret. *Please note that at this point I'm higher than Courtney Love on New Year's Eve and this is literally the ONLY thing I remember.
Me: "Nurse! Nurse! Please come here! Help me! Help me!"
Nurse: (Runs over) "What is it? Da pain?"
Me: "Have you been to Old Navy lately?"
Nurse: "What?! Dis is not an emergency!"
Me: "You heard me. Old Navy."
Nurse: (Kisses teeth) "No, why?"
Me: (imitating a Jamaican accent like a giant asshole just to feel a sense of camaraderie) "Girl dey are having da best sales! I went in the other day and did ya know that I ate da BEST waffles at Old Navy." 
Nurse: "What? (Chuckles) Waffles?"
Me: "That's a nice shirt you're wearing. Do you like slushies?"

Seriously. Who am I?

Lights fade, Nanners takes a bow and exits stage right...For at least the next 3 hours. Everything is just as blurry as the night I lost my virginity.

I debated including the other things that went wrong during my surgery, but the details are boring and frankly it's through no fault of my surgeon and the incredible nurses I've gotten to know over the past year.(Also, I don't really remember much) BUT I will tell you what else I've been up to...
Apart from working from home (which I'm very fortunate to have a boss that supports that), I've been doing this:

Thursday, April 4th-Tuesday, April 9th
5am-4am: Watch Ellen, wish I was Ellen, debate being a lesbian, google pics of penises, realize I'm not a lesbian, cry, send creepy text messages, complain, look at pictures in magazines, sob, eat fresh bread, eat a microwave dinner, drink diet coke, pee, cry, look at my roots, get high on Percocet, try and find family members for free on Ancestry.ca with no luck at all, promise myself I won't eat carbs, eat 14 cream eggs, cry. Watch Dallas, organize my pity party, stalk celebs on Twitter, cry, dream of dancing, break my toaster, short a fuse in my kitchen, google makeup tutorials on Youtube, cry, listen to the Titanic soundtrack, try and find videos on how to do a Boston accent, watch The Voice, look for suspicious moles on my body, cry.

And there you have it folks, THAT is what has been happening with me over the past 6 days. Sorry for the abrupt ending, but I just ate painkillers for dinner. So until next time my friends...

Oh and also, if you've missed it, I've started writing for a Fashion, Beauty and Lifestyle website, which I love. You can check out my latest piece on Biebs and the Amanda Bynes meltdown here: www.redlipslonglashes.com/entertainment

Peace,
Nanners