My first blind date in 10 years

Yep, I was nervous.

I hadn’t been on a blind date in 10 years and I’d been waiting for this one for a couple of months. That first meeting always makes me wanna puke with nerves, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. :)

All the things that run through anyone’s mind were running through mine.

What am I going to wear?

I hope I make a good impression.

Man, this bad hair day sucks!

What perfume should I wear? I want to smell good.

Good grief I have to shave. My hair is growing its own hair.

Do these pants look good on me?

I hope I’m not too chatty.

When it comes time to get nekkid, I hope everything is in its proper working order.

After all that build up, the time has arrived.

I have to work all day first and it’s in my mind on and off during all my endless meetings.

Finally it’s time to get ready, so I get up, take a shower, shave til my razor is dull, fix the hair, put on make-up, spritz on some perfume, check the mirror more than once as first impressions are lasting ones. Then it’s time to go.

I hop into my car and put on some head-banging music to get me in the right mood.

When I arrive I go up to the girl at the front to let her know that I’m here.

Finally my blind date is ready for me, so I go back to our reserved area and after a little playful conversation I get a few minutes of alone time and then start stripping off the clothes.

Shirt first. Then bra. Then pants. Then panties. Always in that order, though I don’t know why. If you’re gettin’ totally nekkid, why does the shirt always come off first? Makes no sense.

Then a knock at the door and it’s time to party…well, as much as you can with your new gynecologist.

Yep, I’m not cheating on the hubby! I love him! Though my new gyno now knows me as intimately. Good gravy, nothing is left to the imagination.

As I was getting ready to head to my appointment I realized that going to the gyno is like going on a first date. You’re all nervous and hoping that he/she isn’t a dickhead. You hope they’ll be gentle with all your girlie parts and not make you limp for a week. You hope they’ll be sweet and really listen when you talk.

It’s just like a freakin’ date. Though most of my first dates over the years haven’t ended up with me naked…well…most… ;)

Luckily, she was awesome and fun and super friendly and I only limped for a day or two.

GynoGod bless nice gynos. I had one when I was a teenager that was the most wretched bitch on earth. It’s as though she delighted in trying to rip me a new muff. But I was a teenager and she was the only female choochie-doctor around, so what was a girl to do?

As a matter of fact, when I thought back on her while writing this post, a very special song came to mind. Cartman, on Southpark’s very first Christmas special, sang a song which is a perfect description of my ex-muff-punisher.

Watch at your own risk as it is in no way polite, un-gross or politically correct. Actually, no one should watch this, but I’m gonna put it here for your viewing pleasure anyway. Click on “Cartman” below.

Have a great weekend, my friends!


The Horrors of my Noggin and the Related Panic Attack

I’m telling you, life is NEVER dull. ;) Not that I wish to be bored, but c’mon, a little peace now and again is a good thing.

So, 3 weeks ago I got my hair dyed.

It’s pretty much been every color in the rainbow over the last 30 years.

My very first “boyfriend” told me one day that, “You’d be perfect if only you were blonde.” Of course what did I do? I immediately went and dyed it blonde and just as immediately realized that blonde is NOT a good look on me. Eeeee gawds, it was a nightmare. Especially with my personality.

If some guy said that to me today I’d verbally cut him until he crawled home crying for his mommy, dragging his entrails behind him. But I was 14 then and always concerned with being as perfect as possible. Thank God I don’t worry about that shit anymore. Take me as I am or fuck off. I rather like that mantra! ;)

I went to get the blonde nightmare fixed a few days later and ended up with 3 different colors of hair. I don’t know why the fix-it hair dyeing adventure turned into such a fiasco, but the good news was that my mom understood that I couldn’t go into public and she let me skip school for a week until I could wash a bunch of it out of my hair. Best Mom Ever Award for that! :)

Over the years it’s been light brown with highlights, black, dark brown, that purpley-red color, accidentally green (yep, that sucked as much as you’d think), red, and so on. I get bored easily with my hair color. Now, the style’s been the same for 20 years and will probably be the same until I die. But the color? That I like to mess with.

So, when I got my hair dyed a few weeks ago I went with a blue black. I wanted that shit dark dark dark. My chick used the same brand of dye she always does and everything seemed okay.

Then a few days later I noticed this weird thing on my forehead right by my hairline. It looked like a skin-colored scrape about 1/3 of an inch in diameter. As I was looking at it thinking, “Please God–no skin cancer. I know I tanned my ridiculously white skin a lot when growing up, but I haven’t had a tan in 20 years. Please spare me skin cancer…” I noticed all these black dots on my scalp. What the fuck? Hmmm…they didn’t look like the typical dye blotches that appear on my scalp after a hair color. These were tiny little specks like someone took a Sharpie and put dots on my noggin.

Well, whatever. I’ll just scrub my head harder next time I wash it to get the dye off.

Uhhh…the dots didn’t come off after the next shampoo. Or the next 5 shampoos.

Finally, after 3 weeks I’m like, “What in the ever-loving shit is on my fuckin’ head?” As we know, I’ve been dyeing my hair for 30 years. I’d never seen anything like it. So I had to investigate.

Can I just tell you…NEVER NEVER NEVER NEVER NEVER Google something like “black spots on scalp.” NEVER! It’s horrifying.


When you Google “black spots on scalp” you learn that you’d be better off dead than with the host of things that come up as possible diseases or conditions.

Keep in mind that I typically stick to sites like WebMD or Mayo Clinic for medical advice as I feel they are likely a bit more accurate than, ‘Jodi’s dumb ass blog on weird stuff,” but even those scared the shit out of me.

Some of the suggestions were: Mold (WHAT THE FUCK???). Fungus (I WANT TO DIE). Ringworm (This is when the panic set in).

All of the sites also mentioned itching. My head didn’t itch before I read that. Now it was as if spiders were crawling around on my head. I know, totally psychosomatic, and I kept trying to rationalize it, but I was scared shitless, so a bit of irrational was starting to slip through.

Then Grant gets home and I tell him what’s going on. He grabs a flashlight and tells me I have black dots ALL OVER MY HEAD!!! I thought it was just that one small spot, but nope. They are EVERYFUCKINGWHERE! Oh, the horror!

So, I immediately got on the phone to schedule an appointment with a dermatologist. If I fucking have any of those things I wanted it diagnosed immediately and then I wanted someone to decapitate me.

Of course, out of the 6 I called, 3 didn’t answer the phone (I’m thinking their businesses are covers for drug running, otherwise how do they stay in business?), 2 sent me to voicemail (how can they close on a Tuesday before 4 pm? Must be nice…) and the last one kept me on hold for, and I kid you not, 15 minutes. 4 times people picked up the line and I’d repeat, “Hi, I’m calling to make an appointment as a new patient,” and they’d always say, “Just a minute,” and I’d wait 5 more. I wanted to smash something violently. First off, what shitty customer service. Secondly, I’VE GOT MOTHERFUCKING FUNGUS, MOLD OR WORMS ON MY MOTHERFUCKING HEAD. SOMEONE NEEDS TO HELP ME BEFORE I PASS OUT FROM HORROR!!!

And of course in the meanwhile I’m terrified to touch my head, lean it onto a pillow, let my husband anywhere near me. I made him throw away his brush cause I’d used it earlier in the day. He tried to hug me and I yelped, “NO! You’ll get the Mange!”

Finally, the idiots at the dermatologist’s office get back on the phone and they can’t see me for a week.

Ummmm…no. That’s too long. I’ll run into traffic by then. I’ll shave my head. I’ll die of terror and fear!

So, I make the appointment anyway and then rush out of the house to go to Urgent Care. By now it’s after 5pm and no doctor in the state is open except Urgent Care. And I was sincerely starting to have a panic attack at the idea of a foreign body making its home in my head. God bless Valium.

When I get to the first one, I open the door to what I can only assume was an outbreak of The Plague. So I said, “Uh, fuck this,” and left and went to another one where everyone looked like they were suffering from Ebola. Damn flu season. So, fuck that one too. I just went home and wouldn’t let anyone or anything near me until I could get in to see someone in the morning.

Finally, morning comes ’round (after a lovely night chocked full of wormy, fungus-filled dreams) and I get an appointment to see a doc.

I go there at 10:30 and they are so nice and lovely. The doc comes in and I explain what’s going on.

She looks at my head and says, “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Great. I’m a medical mystery full of fungus and mold and worms and God knows what.

Then she plays a bit with my noggin and determines that the dye (which is some stubborn-ass dye) had grabbed hold of all the new baby hairs growing out of my scalp and gotten kind of stuck at the follicle (if you’ll recall I mentioned earlier in the year that I had a bunch of hair loss due to thyroid and iron/protein deficiencies). The hair was just a tiny bit of a millimeter long and hardly even out of my scalp yet, so the dye clung to those tiny pieces of hair and went down a bit into the skin. This was why it wasn’t easily washing off in the shower.

Can I tell you that I have rarely been more relieved in my entire life? EVER! I wanted to hump her in thanks for her awesome diagnosis.

She said she could see why I’d have been terrified, but that I’m good to go and that she wished all her appointments ended on such a happy note.


What an absolute cluster-fuck. I had told Grant that I just could not take one more medical issue and was going to snap from the stress. Luckily, I have a wonderful hubby who was supportive even when we did think I had The Funk. Thank God it was just some weird dyeing anomaly and I am worm-mold-fungus free! Yay!!!!

So, that’s my saga. I’m just happy that my noggin is good to go. I’m quite certain I couldn’t have handled any other outcome because they were just too damn gross!

Have a happy weekend, my friends! XOXOXXOXO

Starting Diet. Wanna Die.


Okay, I don’t actually want to die. But I do want to ask God why chocolate, pizza and french fries can’t have the nutritional value of broccoli? WHY GOD? WHY? It’s just so unfair!!!!pizza frenchfries

In reality, I rarely eat any of that. I bet I have pizza once every 2 months or so. French fries every 3 months or so. Chocolate…well…more than that, but only dark chocolate and only in very small doses.

The big problem is that I’ve had thyroid issues for 25 years and hideous, horrible, ungodly, spend-a-zillion-years-at-the-doctor’s-office cortisol problems for almost 20. I’ve had cortisol problems for so long that when I was first diagnosed no one had ever heard of it. They’d say, “Do you mean cortisone, honey? (like I’m an idiot)” I’d say, “No, cortisol. Your fight or flight hormone??” “What’s that?” they’d say. It used to drive me crazy. And trust me, being in a constant state of fight or flight is a delightful way to live. NOT! ;) (Oh, and the people asking for the cortisol/cortisone clarification were DOCTORS! I don’t expect us regular people to know what it is…but doctors? WTF?)

The way the cortisol stuff all started, almost 20 years ago, is that I went from a lithe 140 pounds to 180 in a month. I kid you not. It was horrible! I didn’t know what the fuck was going on.  I had black stretch marks all over me. I was barely eating. It was a nightmare.

So off to the endocrinologist I went. They tested me for everything. I had to pee in a jug for 24 hours. I had to be drained of blood every few hours for an entire day. I had to do spit tests. I was told that I had Cushing’s Disease. Addison’s Disease. I got over 12 MRIs and CAT scans. I was put on every drug known to mankind. I was told I had a brain tumor. An adrenal tumor.  Which, by the way, I still get MRIs every few years to locate as my doctors think it’s a sneaky micro-tumor hiding somewhere in my adrenals or pituitary. Basically, it’s been a clusterfuck forever.

I’m severely hypothyroid with a TSH of 16 (if you know about TSH you know that’s 4-to-5 times the highest it should be depending on what scale the doc uses) and a T4 and T3 that are a nightmare too. But no drugs work. Oh, and I’m hot all the time, which is the exact opposite of what a hypothyroid person should be.  I have a ton of other nonsensical symptoms that are completely and utterly adverse to my blood work. It’s so fucking frustrating I could scream.

I’ve had endos fire me as their patient before. Yep, you heard me. FIRED by my doctor. The lazy ones get tired of not being able to fix me. They get frustrated by my weird symptoms and apparent resistance to all medication and give up. Lovely right? Anyone ever heard of the Hippocratic oath? Hello?

I even had a doctor accuse me of being a raging alcoholic as that can cause elevated cortisol. Fuck me runnin’. I bet I have 2 glasses of wine a year, if that.

Anyway, this blog could be a zillion pages long as it’s been a total and complete nightmare for over 2 decades, but to save you time I’ll cut it short.

What’s going on is that my weight varies depending on my cortisol which goes up and down like a yo yo. I literally have 6 different clothing sizes in my wardrobe as my weight fluctuates so much. Holy shitcakes is that annoying!

Unfortunately, there’s nothing they can do about my cortisol. It is what it is. Until they can find a reason for it, I just live in kind of a tough physical state, and quite frankly, a sometimes very frustrating and exhausting emotional one too. Oh, and the thyroid doesn’t help. So I basically spend my life going up and down in weight. Sometimes skinny to the point where people tell me I look drawn and sickly. Sometimes a little curvier than I’d like (but I still like having T&A for days even when I am a wee bit on the heavier side). Think Baby Got Back by Sir Mix-A-Lot. “Little in the middle but she’s got much back.” ;)

Preach on, brother!

So, I’m going to do Atkins. Any diet that lets you eat bacon seems counter-intuitive to me, but I do understand the science of protein, so I’m gonna give it a try.

Anyone done it before? Anyone have any suggestions? Helpful hints? Ways of killing myself that won’t leave a mess? KIDDING on that last part…sort of.

Oh, one last thing, with the cortisol I’ve been told by all my endos that I can’t get my heart rate up as doing so raises cortisol levels, so essentially fuck exercise. Yeah, cause that makes everything so much easier. Ugh!

Feel free to send me good luck vibes (and prayers–I happily take prayers) and let me know if you’ve been successful with Atkins. I usually just eat healthy, unprocessed food, but right now my body is in rebellion, so a girl’s gotta do somethin’! :)


Snatch Monster, Muff Mauler and Road Rage. A Rant for all Seasons! :)

Alrighty then…since I’ve used absolutely no tact in my title, I might as well follow suit in my post. Prepare yourself for a flurry of fucks, a smattering of shits (wow, that just sounds nasty) and a bombardment of bitches! ;)

How, you may ask, do muff and road rage go together? Well, I’ll tell ya. Being a girl, I’m blessed (cursed!) to have girl parts. As such, I must make a yearly trip to the snatch monster to ensure that said girl parts are still in one piece and functioning according to warranty. Is this a fun trip? No. Do I enjoy it? No. Could I do without? Yes. Though I must admit my snatch monster is simply delightful. I love her. So, I guess if one has to endure such humiliating things as, “Put your feet in the stirrups. Scootch down a little further. Now spread ’em. A little more…even more. Thanks,” all the while watching her move a spotlight onto my goods while praying no one is peeking through the crack in the venetian blinds, it’s at least good to love your Snatch Monster.

Just so you know, fellas, I really, really, really hate you for not having to suffer the equivalent junk misery every year of your life. I mean, I love men, but I resent the shit out of having to endure all this muff torture while you just sit pretty with all your external parts. It’s just not fair. I know, I know, life ain’t fair. That doesn’t mean I can’t bitch and whine about it though! ;)

So, that adventure is what took me out of the house yesterday and led me to my first batch of road rage–which we’ll get to in a minute.

Today, I had to go back to the doctor, but this time for the Muff Mauler. Yep, I’ve been violated by a Monster and a Mauler all in the course of 24 hours. I mean, really…what the fuck? Is not once a year bad enough? Twice in as many days? That is just unfair. This visit was to check out my girlie organs and make sure all is well (all is well, thank God!). For those of you who don’t know how this is done, they take a thigh-sized implement of death and jam it in you until it feels like it’s in your esophagus and then they root around like they are mining for gold. YUCK!!! NOT FUN!!! It’s not horribly painful, but it ain’t a walk in a field of lavender either. This visit, of course, is the reason for my second foray into road rage.

Here’s what I think about other drivers (keeping in mind that I’m doubly annoyed because of the muff violations):

  1. If you are scared of driving, GET THE FUCK OFF THE ROAD!!! Good grief. I’m terrified of jumping out of a plane, so guess what? I don’t do it. Maybe you should consider the same thing in regards to driving. Unless you’ve recently been gut-shot by a large caliber weapon and are driving to the emergency room, or have just gotten out of the hospital from 3 horrible surgeries and every piece of gravel on the road is torturous to your poor little healing body, you have NO EXCUSE for DLAT (driving like a twat).
  2. If you can’t drive AT LEAST the speed limit, or preferably 10 miles over it, then GET THE FUCK OFF THE ROAD!!! There is no excuse for driving 30 on a 40 mph road. The accelerator is your friend. Use the fucking thing before I run you over and dance on your mangled corpse.
  3. If you are on the freeway DRIVE FAST ASSHAT as that is what the freeway is for. If you want to drive 45 miles per hour, get on a side street. I’ll never understand why people get on the freeway and drive like they are getting paid for going slow. It makes me want to ram into you, cut you off, side swipe you and then call you a fuckface over and over again until I’m hoarse.
  4. If you are going to turn or merge into another lane, USE YOUR SONOFABITCHING TURN SIGNAL! I hope there is a special level of Hell for people who assume that at 70 mph I can read your mind and know exactly when you plan on merging in front of me with only 3 feet to spare. Can I say asshole????
  5. If you are driving on the freeway in rush hour at 30 mph and all of a sudden the lanes open up (which I’ll never understand why or how that happens) then SPEED THE FUCK UP! Why do you keep going 30 mph in a 65 mph zone when there isn’t a car in front of you? WHY? Why God, why do they do it??
  6. If you see me coming, just move the fuck over and let me by. That way, we can all be happy and safe. ;)
How people really feel while driving!

How people really feel while driving!

Whew, that was exhausting! Driving these last two days in rush hour (I have to make my appointments late in the afternoon so I don’t miss work) has made me 4,000,000 times more thankful that I have a job where I get to work from home. I’m not sure that I could do the whole rush hour thing daily. I used to have to drive 75 miles each way in rush hour and I don’t know how I’m not in prison.

Thank you, as always, for putting up with my horrible mouth, my unending sarcasm and my delight in ranting. I feel SO much better now that that is all off my chest (doesn’t it always look weird when you have “that that”  in a sentence?).

Have a great weekend! Hugs!