Do you know what salt poured on an open wound feels like? Close your eyes and try imagining THE URINARY TRACT INFECTION FROM HELL! I repeat for those of you not listening. Close your eyes and try imagining THE URINARY TRACT INFECTION FROM HELL!

Yesterday afternoon I spent a few hours at the urgent care. I happily peed in a cup and happily waited for the doctor to give me the results. No, it wasn’t a pregnancy test. It was a test to see how much damage I had done to my body, by replacing water with any carbonated drink I could chug down. Kids, please don’t try this trick at home. Some things are just irreversible:

SERIOUSLY!

Anyway, it took the doctor one minute of admiring my delightful urine in the microscope, before saying, “do you know what water taste like?”

“Water?  H2O?  I barely touch the stuff, my dear.” (I didn’t really say “my dear.” In hindsight, I should have…the more dramatic the post…the better.)

So after the “this is your bladder” and “this is your bladder on drugs” lecture. I was sent home with three days of antibiotics and STRICT instructions to stay away from all carbonated beverages.

Sure thing, doc! No carbonated beverages. No beverages with carbonation. Let’s do this, my sweet and thoughtful husband. Let’s get some teamwork around here!

Team, are you listening? Team, why do you have your window down? Team, are you placing an order? Um… Team, did you just pull into the Sonic that I did a drive-off at on last week, and order a coke?

Clearly, the I in team is silent.

Me: I wish I had time to take a shower.

Michael: I wish you had time too.

Me: Maybe, I’ll shower after you shower.

Michael: …maybe.

Me: It would be nice if someone could watch the kids while I showered.

Michael: That would be nice.

Me: *sigh*

Michael: I think I’m going to bed after I shower….watch a movie or something.

Me: Such a lovely world you live in.

Michael: Babe! If you want to take a shower…just say so. I”ll put the kids to bed.

Me: I want to take a shower.

Micheal: Okay! That’s all you had to say…but you’re going to have to wait. I used all the hot water.

Sidenote: I didn’t take a shower that night. I fell asleep while waiting for the hot water to return. I guess it went on vacation or something.

Last week I went to Sonic during Happy Hour. After placing my order I realized that I had forgotten my wallet at home. Since it was Happy Hour, my drink was half of the regular price. I think it was maybe $o.65…or something like that. Anyway, I searched high and low for some change in my car. I came up with nothing. NOT EVEN A PENNY! I could see the carhop walking (they don’t wear roller skates at our Sonic.) out with my drink. What to do? Should I just push the button and cancel my order? No, they’ll laugh at you! Should I pretend like I didn’t place the order? Then why are you sitting here? It was a hard decision y’all; a moment I’m not proud of. I put my Ford Freestyle in reverse and KICKED rocks out of there!

You’re reading the blog of a wanted woman. That makes you my accomplice.

…we are still the world.

Michael and I will mark our 6th year of wedded bliss this July 4th.

Moonwalk on that all you haters, naysayers, and bitchy lady who took forever to give us our marriage license!

Anyway. Why did we decide to tie the knot on Independence Day?

1) We were (are) madly in love. 2) We had a tiny situation. (that’s Code Blue, possibly Pink, for KNOCKED THE HELL UP. 3) We didn’t have to spend money on invitations since our wedding ceremony was held immediately after church service. (yes, we were married on a Sunday right after Sunday School. And yes, fornicators attend church too.)  4) We were flat broke and his family’s annual 4th of July backyard barbecue could double as our wedding reception.

Genius? I think so.

I must say, YOU HAVE NOT ACTUALLY LIVED until you’ve attended a wedding reception/4th of July backyard barbecue. I would compare it to drinking champagne from a helmet that has a straw attached. A continuous flow of uncultured goodness.

Ahhh!

Note: Wedding receptions/4th of July backyard barbecues are only acceptable if you actually marry on the 4th of July. Any other occasion is just WRONG and should be considered in poor taste. I can say this because I took an etiquette class once. And though I didn’t actually pass the class, I still consider myself to be an expert on the subject. AND THAT’S MY FINAL ANSWER!

Moving right along.

The truth is, I want a real wedding. I dream of walking down the aisle with a smile so wide, white, and bright that my guests will think they’re watching an Orbit’s commercial instead of a wedding. TING!

A reception venue where my new/old husband and I will have our first dance in style – instead of in denim cut-off shorts. Vera Wang and “Chicken Wangs” ARE NOT SOLD IN THE SAME STORES, PEOPLE!

Like all brides before me, I too would like to shout from the mountaintop, IT’S MY WEDDING DAY, DAMMIT! Instead of IT’S MY WEDDING DAY DAMMIT, NOW ACT LIKE YOU HAVE SOME CLASS AND DRINK FROM THE DESIGNER PAPER CUPS!

And what blushing bride-to-be doesn’t imagine telling their fiance/husband HELL TO THE NO YOU AIN’T HAVING NO STRIPPER HOS AT YOUR BACHELOR PARTY! And then march right out the door into an awaiting limo filled with Chippendale dancers who all resemble Will Smith.

See folks. I’m just a girl with a dream. A dream that ends with my Fairy Godmother/Wedding Planner/Jennifer Lopez saying: LIGHT THE FIREWORKS, INSTEAD OF THE BARBECUE GRILL PLEASE!

When I entered the salon my hair was short. Upon exit it was long. This confused my children. Now they think there’s a “Hair Fairy.”

Secretly, I wish this were true. I would have new hair and money under my pillow.

911: 911, caller please state your emergency.

Me: I need to speak to someone in the Missing Division right away!

911: Calm down m’am. Can you tell me who’s missing?

Me: It’s really hard trying to stay calm when your loved one is out there somewhere…with a STRANGER! Their filthy hands touching and fondling….I can’t deal with this. Get me your best detective on the line now!

911: M’am, before I can transfer you, I need to know who’s missing.

Me: I need you to call the White House! Get Obama on the line! I voted for him, you know? He owes me one!

911: M’AM! WHO’S MISSING?

Me: You don’t have to scream! I pay my taxes, and my taxes pay your salary, dammit! Now get Queen Elizabeth on the phone now! THE LOVE OF MY LIFE HAS VANISHED!

911: So your husband is missing?

Me: No!

911: Your boyfriend?

Me: No!

911: A pet? Your dentist? Pizza Hut? WHO’S MISSING?

Me: No! No! And are you calling me fat? Can you see me through the phone?

911: M’am, if you don’t say who’s missing right this second, I’m going to have a patrolcar come pick you up!

Me: FOR THE LOVE OF APPLE…MY iPHONE IS MISSING!

911: Your iPhone? Did you say your iPhone? M’am you’re calling to report your iPhone missing?

Me: Yes! Yes! Yes! All of the above!

911: Well why didn’t you say something sooner? There’s a special unit set up for missing iPhones. They have iScanners, iTrackers, and EVEN iHelicopters. The iUnit will have your iPhone home in no time!

Me: Really?

911: NO! {click}

I’ve only lost my iPhone once. And at the time, I actually contemplated calling 911. Sad, I know. But that’s what happens when you put your entire life in your smartphone. For 10 minutes straight I actually cried like a baby over lost contacts, emails, photos, music, and much more.

In those 10 minutes I swore I would never become that dependent on my iPhone again. I would buy an old- fashion planner. You know the kind you actually have to write in? I would carry a camera in my purse. And who needs a phone with a built-in iPod, when a bulky walkman was just as good! I was going to kick it old school.

That was until I realized my iPhone was in my back pocket.

{This post was sponsored by Verizon and JuiceBoxJungle. They asked me to post about the time I lost my smartphone.}

Tonight I cried. They were happy tears.

The New Orleans Saints won the Super Bowl.

It was more than a game. It was hope. It was progression. It was a longtime coming.

My Thoughts: So you’re one of those “mommy bloggers,” right?

My Response: Yes. No. Kinda. Sorta. Maybe?

My Thoughts: Stop squirming. It’s either yes or no. Which is it?

My Response: Well. I do blog. I am a mom…but I don’t consider myself to be just a “mommy blogger.”

My Thoughts: So the term “mommy blogger” offends you? You think you’re too good to be called a mommy blogger?

My Response: No! I just don’t want to be….I just want people to see….I’m more than just….

My Thoughts: You’re more than just what? Are you scared to say it?

My Response: I guess I am – scared. Yes, I’ve said it over and over in my head- but never out loud.

My Thoughts: Why?

My Response: Think it, but don’t say it. Isn’t that the name of the game? Who doesn’t want to be one of the cool kids?

My Thoughts: What? This isn’t junior high, so say it!

My Response: Okay. I’m a blogger. I blog about stuff. All types of stuff. Yes, some of that stuff includes Dora the Explorer, pregnancy weight, new puppies, and husbands who fart.(I mean who doesn’t have one of those, these days?)

But. There is other stuff too.

And to be honest, I’m not afraid of being categorized as a “mommy blogger.” (it’s a great category to be in.) What I am afraid of is this: “check one category, please.”

My Thoughts: So basically, what you’re telling me, is that you want “Stuff Blogger” as a catergory?

My Response: Yes.

Last night I almost installed a donate button on my blog. It was for a good cause. Bail money.

It’s hard dealing with a snoring husband, but a snoring, farting husband is unforgivable, and worth a trip to the slammer!