Shit and Shopping.

There is NOTHING like waking up to a funky smell. If I was in a cartoon it would be like that green smoke wafting through to my nostrils and let me tell you, this smell would certainly singe nostrils hairs.
I should have woken up properly when The Garden Terrorist (aka my gorgeous dog) was restless and kept nudging my hand in the middle of the night. I just rolled over. Oh I'm so so sorry this morning. That smell woke me. I opened my sleepy eyes and out the corner of my eye I saw mounds of steamy diarroeah and vomit. The Garden Terrorist is not a small, lap dog (I've never been a fan of those that look like rats or are Paris H/handbag sized.) either. He is a monster of a dog who sleeps at the base of our bed. I wretched at the piles of shit all over the place. Oh and it's runny. Really runny.
Guess who has to clean it up? Me. My man had a plane to catch and acted like he had to rush, rush, rush.
I think I'll hang an air freshener around my nose, suck a breath mint and don gloves. Oh kill me.

Today I am going to do the thing that is dreaded by any woman who isn't a supermodel.
I could think of a few things I would rather do, like gargle with glass or perhaps I could stick toothpicks through my eyes balls.
Today I am going bikini shopping. Oh it pained me to type that. You have to try on swimwear. You just have to. But why do we have to try on swimwear in revolting, unflattering change rooms? Why oh why do stores do this to us? Revolting, bright light that shows every lump and bump and 101 mirrors so we can see ourselves in every angle. Awesome. Oh and my best? The bikini's sold as one. I can't handle that. I need a bigger top and a smaller bottom. Not both in one size. Oh no. Those beady eyed sales reps are there waiting for me.
"Sorry. You can't seperate them!" is normally whined at me.
To find one that fits and turns me into a Victoria Secret Goddess is well...I'm still looking.

I can hardly contain myself with the excitement. I now understand the purpose of the Hip Flask. I need to get sloshed so that I can drink myself pretty!

Below is the wish. Below that is most likely the reality. Kill me.


Wish me luck.

Saturday Night...

Dude...my weekend was totally insane!! The Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Launch was well, um...sexy!
It's just NOT FAIR. No honestly. I know I'm going to sound like such a chick now, but how is it possible for one human being to be that tall and toned with a button nose, piercing eyes, gorgeous hair and not a pimple or dimple in sight?
Wait. I sound like I'm perving. OK wait...this is the "chick" part. I was literally looking for flaws. I was looking and looking and I'm sure I must have looked rather bitchy, but I was gobsmacked. No fair; no fair!
I was utterly exhausted and got home at midnight. Blondie 2 stayed over in the spare bedroom that I'm convinced is haunted. Another story for another day.

Saturday was the day I MC'd for 7 hours and to be honest, I had such a jol! I was exhausted at first, but there is something about 6000+ people all screaming and whistling at you that can perk you up quite a bit. Just saying.

Right, so I'm getting to the good part! SATURDAY NIGHT! Blondie 2 and Special K came over to my crib (because I'm ghetto like that) and we did something so High School and I loved it! We got ready, we did each others make-up, helped with hair and took photo's. As you do.
We were getting ready for Daddy Long Legs Birthday Party. We weren't quite sure how "sober" he would be considering he had been on a pub crawl from 10am; so we were figuring we'd have a party anyway.
We arrived in the pouring rain and managed to hobble (quickly) through the puddles in stiletto's to the venue. We were right, he was a mad/glazed-eyed man who was dancing with anything that moved or didn't move, as the cleaners broom stick got to discover.
We danced, downed shooters and laughed the whole night long. I was having a swell time until it was my turn to go to the bar and get a round of drinks. A guy in a red shirt came up behind me and started dancing with my back...No. Grinding his stiffy into my back. It was horrifying. I turned around but he had moved onto his next victim with his "I can't quite see you, but you must be woman" look.
Two hours later, it was my turn again. I went to the bar and stood next to someone I haven't seen in ages! So there I am, chatting away when I feel some wet splashes on my leg. I didn't think anything of it because I had heard a glass drop. The next second, I feel a LOT more liquid on my leg travel straight into my shoe. I whip around to see Red Shirt guy keeled over the bar vomitting his guts out. Well. I have never been so repulsed. The bouncers removed him and I spent 15 minutes in the bathroom, emptying my shoe out and cleaning my leg, wretching from the smell.
I promptly sprayed half a bottle of Michael Kors onto my leg and went back to party.

At about 02h30, we all piled back into Special K's car and went in search of pies. The first garage we stopped at only had 2 and none of us were feeling charitable enough to share; so we moved on.
At the next Sasol garage we found 3 pies waiting for us, I mean they literally had our names on them. Instead of eating and driving (it's sooo dangerous!); we found a small table with two chairs on them. Special K and Blondie plonked their asses down and left me to sit on the ice-cream drawer. I like to think I was freezing my assets.
So, we're pretty "happy" - a lovely warm alcohol glow stuffing our pie holes with, well, pies when our victim arrived.
At this stage, we are pretty fucking hilarious. Blondie 2 goes up to him (he's buying a Fanta) and decides to be one of those sales woman that irritate the shit out of you in the supermarket.
She walked up behind him, picks up a box of washing powder and proceeds to be a cheesy salesman.
Mr. I Have No Funny Bone says to her: "I don't think you're very funny! I mean no girls should be eating pies at 3am!"
Say what? Oh no he didn't! (Ghetto Blondie is da bomb!)
Well, all 3 of us mature girls starting hucking him. Eventually Blondie 2 put the washing powder and handed him a box of Brooklax. Priceless.
I nearly wet myself.

Ah, the good times!!!

Hurling Heritage Day

Oh God! I sure made up for my bitching last night. If you didn't read the previous post, I was pretty miffed out with the fact that everyone was partying up a storm and I was in bed early for a half day of work the next day. Half day, whatever. Work is work. I like to think of it as: doing my bit for the economy.
;-)

Special K, Blondie 2 and I went for a girly lunch, instead of the braai today. Let me explain.
We were supposed to have a braai with the gang, but someone had to go and get pissed last night and is hanging like a donkey on steroids.
Dude. The man is so ill and instead of being mad, I find him adorable…he reverts to a cute 8 year old boy you just want to nurse. I will never tell him this. You know why.

So, I was all super psyched for potato salad, chicken kebabs and a boerewors roll; and that craving went straight out the window. It went out the window, when I heard the man hurl his stomach contents straight down the toilet. I know this sounds bizarre and gross, but he vomits weirdly. I know there is no “right” way to vomit and I am going to sound incredibly mean, because I should be concerned, but I find it hilarious. Seriously. He makes the funniest sounds. He sounds like a combination of a hyena laughing, coughing up a fur ball and well, the general “normal” up chuck sound.
Man, it is funny. Trust me. I would say you have to be there, but that’s really sadistic isn’t it?
Can you imagine? “Hi guys, come around… you know I was telling you about the man’s weird vomiting sounds, well, I thought you should experience it first hand, so let’s feed him revolting things to make it happen. Trust me; it’s going to be the best time ever. Ever!”

Anyway, I called up the gang to find out what the vibe was with having a braai. If everyone was still keen, well, sorry for vomit boy... but they all dropped like flies... all of them were hanging. Bunch of babies.
All of them, except my best girls*. Blondie 2 and Special K were still keen to do something. I left the man lying in bed curled into the foetal position, muttering the usual: “I’m never drinking again. No really. I mean it this time. Fuck I wanna die…shit, pass me the bucket…”
I asked if he wanted me to stay, but he kind of waved me off, muttering: “Kill me.” and “Have a good time!”

We met up for sushi and Cosmopolitans. Lunch with girls is never an hour or two.
6 hours later, sun setting, several Cosmo’s in and stomachs literally sore from laughing, we called it a day.
The bill showed that we had enjoyed 13 Cosmopolitans between the 3 of us. We paid the bill and it was only when we were in the car park that we suddenly realised that made no sense. How can 3 girls share 13 cosmos? They either didn’t charge us for an extra one (yeah right) or they over charged us by one (probably.)
My head is spinning and I’m feeling a little bad. What heritage did I celebrate today? I drank Cosmopolitans – for Johannesburg (work with me here) and I ate sushi for…um… well... I’m stumped.
I bought biltong on my way home. Does that count?
The man is still on the couch, watching Absolute Formula 1 and stuffing his face with biltong and Lay’s Salt and Vinegar crisps. It helps with the nausea. Apparently. He is still hanging. Insane.
It’s another early night for me. This time, I really don’t mind. Those Cosmo’s are dangerous. Deliciously dangerous.

* I sound like a pimp. Niiiice.

I'm NOT dying!

Well, well, well. A nurses head rolled this morning. I have to admit, I'm not boasting this fact, I'm really not and I actually feel rather terrible but at the same time, she made her bed and has to lie in it....I just don't feel fab knowing that I was the one to put the final nail in her career coffin.

Let me explain. I called for my results yesterday. Dr. Smit had left but a nurse gave me my results. The results of doom and panic. I had a very restless night last night from all the stress.
Dr. Smit gave me a call this morning and gave me my results. Completely different results.
My iron level is NOT devastatingly low. It's low but not low enough for an iron drip. My liver is fine but I'm basically fighting a serious infection and my body has been fighting it for a while ( a few months -lovely) and is getting tired hence the migraines, vomitting, dizziness plus other symptoms I don't feel like sharing...that TMI story again, you see!
Dr. S has put me on antibiotics for a general infection but they're doing more tests to see where the infection is coming from.
I'm not dying, my organs are not failing and I'm actually alright. I'm sick and I'm not out the clear because we have to actually find out what's causing this infection/where it's started, but I'm alright!
Hip Hip Hooooray!!!
Turns out the nurse was not allowed to give me my results as they wouldn't be relevant without the interpretation from the consultation. She was giving a text book version without knowing the history, the symptoms or anything about me and why the tests were being done in the first place so they were wrong. Problem is I'm not the first and after several warnings and notice she received the boot! HECTIC!

I am taking so many tablets I feel like I could hire myself out for baby parties: Shake me and I rattle!
Awesome career opportunity right?
BUT. I have a complaint. If I am taking so many drugs I feel cheated. No awesome feeling, no floaty airy feelings, all stuff I would imagine one gets from being drugged up. I've been cheated. Unless, this is what being "high" is in which case: What's the big deal?

Going for catch up coffee with Blondie 2 tonight...can't wait! x

Being sick SUCKS!!

I've been pretty sick. Really horrible. Hate being sick. I don't do sick! Did I mention I hate it?
I have literally become a pin cushion. No, I didn't develop a sudden fetish for piercings, but I have had more needles stuck in me to draw blood than most tattoo'd people do.
I have been vomitting, fainting, weak, exhausted, hot and cold, diarroeah-ing and constipated (work that one out) *sorry for the TMI*
I have discovered one thing. YOU CANNOT EVER VOMIT AS A WOMAN. IF YOU DO...YOU ARE AUTOMATICALLY ASSUMED TO BE PREGNANT.
Imagine this. I'd love to imagine, only it became reality. My mom and I sitting in the doctors room (my mom had come to fetch me to take me to the doc, after I collapsed)
Dr. Smit: Are you pregnant?
Blondie: Um...well....um...(squirm, blush, squirm, kill me now) I don't know.
It came out in the smallest voice. I felt my mothers eyes turn into laser beams.
Awesome. Really.
Dr. Smit: Well when was your last period?
Blondie answers. Do't want to kill you with Too Much Information.
Dr. Smit: Uh-huh...Hmmm....Could be a false period?
Blondie and Mama Blondie: Oh dear God!
Dr. Smit (quite cheerful and sadistically enjoying this awkwardness between mother and daughter): Do you know I have had two 25 year old's come to me this week with the same symptoms you're experiencing. The one is 6 months pregnant with twins and the other is 5 months pregnant. Can you imagine? Being 5 and 6 months pregnant and not knowing.
Blondie: But, didn't they see their stomachs growing?
Dr. Smit: Yes, but they just increased their exercise.
Mama Blondie: Good grief!
Dr. Smit: I think we should test you to see if you are pregnant and run other tests too. We need to look at everything to see what is causing this.

5 viles of blood later, I felt faint, sick and well, 'kill me now' was pretty appropriate!
My mom and I looked at each other and all she said was: I don't think we should tell your father about the pregnancy test.
"Agreed! But wouldn't it be awesome if you became a granny?" I said amusing myself.
Mama Blondie: "Don't even think about it! Dear Lord, I think I'm going to throw up now!"
Blondie: "Your support is so warm and comforting!"

I have to give the man 20 out of 10 for being so awesome. Besides the fact that he was wishing and hoping and praying I was pregnant (bless him); he looked after me so well. Tea, dinner, wet face cloths for my temperature, kisses, stroking my head. Ah, pure bliss.

My blood results came back today and I'm NOT pregnant. Glucose and Thyroid is fine, but my iron level is dangerously low. Normal level of iron is 60. I'm on 6.8. It's so low I need to go for an iron drip immediately and then start on iron tablets. There is also a problem with my liver which I'm really worried about. I've been asked to come in. That's not good right?

So wish me luck. I'm not going to lie. I'm awfully sick. I'm awfully worried too, but trying to stay positive. I'm sure it's nothing, but I'm really not loving the idea that my doctor wants to see me about the results.