A Number One Story

Tonight I attended a very productive writer’s meeting. There was an informative guest speaker who has written over seventy books AND I barely broke out in hives when it was my turn to speak. The night had gone well. When the meeting drew to an end I excused myself to the restroom.

Side note: I have a condition called interstitial cystitis that flares up from time to time. The medication I take turns my pee blue and when it begins to wear off, yellow and blue make green. Bright, neon green.

While doing my business there came a knock at the door. “Just a minute.” I said. When all was said and done, I attempted to flush the toilet…but the toilet wouldn’t flush. I jiggled the handle, waited a moment and tried again. Still nothing happened. There before me was a commode full of neon green pee that wouldn’t go away while a fellow writer stood outside the door awaiting my exit. What would they think? I couldn’t go into my colorful explanation with a complete stranger. They would think I was crazy, not to mention disgusting.

After an uncomfortable amount of time had passed I tried the handle again which proved fruitless. Nervously, I ran in place and waved my hands a little, but the pee stayed put. This led to the presumption phase. Someone was probably outside the door wondering what the hell I was doing. I hoped they didn’t think I was making a number two. What if they heard me running in place and thought I might be dancing? What reasonable person would be dancing in someone else’s bathroom?

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The hives were now full blown and speckled across my chest and neck. It was a guilty look. I zipped my jacket all the way up to my neck and opened the door.

Waiting there patiently was the hostess. I sucked up my fear and explained the situation while vehemently denying any lewd and lascivious behavior during my elongated bathroom visit. She graciously said she understood and that the toilet malfunctioned from time to time. My anaphylaxis slowly subsided and when the meeting ended I walked out knowing I had left my mark on the group, literally.

The Ambien Chronicles

Insomnia has plagued me since childhood. In grade school, I remember lying awake all night, only to be exhausted the following day at school. It may have waxed and waned a bit since childhood, but suffice it to say I’m still an insomniac today. I’ve tried many different sleep remedies, but the one I always seem to go back to is Ambien. Before Ambien, no other sleep aid had allowed me such a peaceful and sound night sleep…or so I thought.

The following is (unfortunately) a true account of one of many Ambien experiences:


At first I brushed it off, thinking to myself that I didn’t remember talking on the phone the night before. So why was my phone in the bed? Oh well, I thought. It was time to get ready for work. Wait, what was that on my teeth? It was pasty and tasted like peanut butter. That’s when I saw the open jar of peanut butter sitting solely on my nightstand. Upon inspecting it I found a telltale imprint of finger marks where I had obviously helped myself to a couple of “handfuls” during the night.

I was puzzled by my peanut butter findings but didn’t have a lot of time to think about it because I had to leave for work. I walked in the hospital feeling extra chipper and rested. I couldn’t believe how soundly I had slept the night before. I passed people in the hallway, even stopping to say hi to the people I didn’t like. I had gotten a full eight hours of sleep and I felt like a new woman.

I turned the corner and saw my boss, John. “Hello!” I said. “It’s such a nice day outside.” With a puzzled look he asked if I could come speak with him in his office. “Absotootly!” I replied.
We sat down in John’s office and he remained silent for a moment. I could tell he was trying to think of what to say. He finally mustered, “Is there anything you want to explain to me?”

“About what?” I asked.

He then proceeded to dial his voicemail on speakerphone. What I heard next sounded an awful lot like me.

“Hey, it’s Lori. It’s about eleven thirty at night and I just remembered that earlier today you had a message to call the lady in accounts receivable. I forgot to tell you about it so I figured I better call you at home.”

I was mortified. I had absolutely no recollection of calling him and certainly not leaving a message. I tried to explain but he shushed me and said, “Wait, that’s not all. Next is the part where you thought you hung up the phone.”

I shrunk into my seat as I listened to a loud rustling and what sounded like the phone being dropped on the floor. Then, “What? That’s weird…why am I nekked with my socks on?”

John pressed seven to delete the message. “It pretty much ends after that,” he said. There was a long pause while I tried to think of something to say. He went on, “So if you could refrain from calling my house at midnight with non-urgent work messages that would be good.”

“Yes sir, I’ll do that. I think I’ll go ahead and delete your home number from my phone too, just in case.”

“Good idea,” he said. “Now get to work.”

We never talked about it again. Realizing what a great boss I had for not firing or berating me, I swore off Ambien…but it didn’t last. I eventually needed sleep and sleep wouldn’t come. However, I became smarter about it, only taking it AFTER I was in the bed. It was smooth sailing for a while. No midnight snacks or embarrassing phone calls made for at least two or three months, but the rest is a story for next time. Until then, ladies and gentleman…

Meet Joyce

Last week the Wescotts were stricken with illness. Brantley and I had strep throat while Luke battled a double ear infection. After a couple of days, Brantley went back to work while I struggled to take care of Luke and myself. Frustrated, sick and exhausted I did the only thing left to do. I picked up the phone and called my mom.

Ladies and gentleman, meet Joyce. She’s an amazing wife and mother who loves grandbabies like a crack head loves an eight ball. Her two biggest fears are chickens and quicksand, and she knows all the words to the Hillshire Farms meat song. With the ability to turn anything into a song, you should hear her rendition of, “please take the trash out to the street, honey,” to the tune of “What ya Gonna do When the Well Runs Dry?” She would give away her last dime and if you ever catch her topless, cut her some slack. She most likely just gave someone the shirt off her back.

By trade, my mom is a reading coach at a public school in Alabama. She has lots of students and lots of responsibilities, but within minutes of my phone call she had pushed everything aside, put her life on hold, and was headed to Tennessee.

As soon as she arrived she was doing our laundry, walking our dog, and cooking our meth. She was a saint sent to save me from my own demise. I’ve always been thankful for her, but there was something about this act of selfless maternal heroism that left me full of something and this time, instead of crap, it was pride and inspiration. I hope to one day return the favor.

My mom is a special and unique lady. She definitely can’t hold her wine and she sometimes laughs until she pees, but I wouldn’t have her any other way. To the students who missed her last week while she took care of us, I say get over it. She’s my mom. Get your own.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

This is my son last Halloween, as Magnum P.I. Please note the chest hair. Due to time constraints this year, I wasn't as creative with his costume, but hopefully there will be some funny pics to follow. Trick or treat!

Brantley-isms

Brantley walked into the kitchen after a long day at work, and sat down at the table with an exasperated sigh. "Once again, breast cancer has upstaged pharmacist's month."

What could I say? "Oh, honey...those awful women. I'm so sorry."

What the Cat Dragged In

Staying true to my new year’s resolution of trying new things, I ventured out over the weekend to a drag show. This was a first for me and I didn’t really know what to expect. Upon walking in the door, I immediately noticed lots of good looking guys, some of which were shirtless. I thought it a bit cold outside to be sporting this look, but then what did I know. Different types of people were all hanging out together. I sat at a table with my friends and took it all in.

At the bar were some very pretty girls wearing outfits much cooler than mine. I wondered if they too were straight girls who had come out with their gay friends to see a show. The next group I encountered was the lesbians, and I’m not talking about your average, “I wonder if she’s a lesbian,” lesbian. These ladies were hardcore and representing in full force. Mohawks, wife beater tees and all. This group scared me as it always has. Throughout the years I’ve had many gay male friends, but never the other way around. I’ve always thought of lesbians as being very intense and ready to fight me at a moment’s notice. I left them alone.

We ordered a drink and the show began. Imagine my surprise when, onto the stage walked one of the pretty girls from the bar. She was still pretty, but this time clad in sequins and lip syncing to a Lady Gaga song. My mouth undoubtedly hit the floor, because my friend immediately leaned over and said, “Look at her feet. It’s a dead giveaway.” Lo and behold he was right, but “Deception” did have a body to die for…minus the hammer toes, lipo scars and penis.

Next up was the vocal stylings and suggestive shtick of comedian Carmella Marcella Garcia, a full figured gal who’s been in the business for over thirty years. She was very funny, very entertaining and had a very hairy back. All in all, it was a fun night. I helped celebrate the birthday of a dear friend and laughed harder than I have in a long time. I give it four out of four sparkly, sequined stars. Here's to trying new things.

Brantley-isms

• I had just lost a temporary crown for the ump-teenth time, yet Brantley was eager to get out of the house and go to lunch. After telling him I didn’t want to go out in public missing my front tooth, like a hillbilly, he asked, “How about Cracker Barrel?”
  

• I was in the laundry room emptying the dryer when I overheard Brantley talking to Luke in the next room. “Go tell mommy you have a chunky in your pants.”
  

• After mentioning that I was considering a nose ring, like my friend Myrna's, Brantley remarked, "It's totally up to you...if you want to call more attention to your nose." Thanks, honey.