Thursday, May 24, 2012

It's not a plague of locusts or anything, but good grief

Our dumb dog is at the vet for bladder stone surgery. Which costs $500. 500 real American dollars. That's kind of a lot of dollars. Especially for a free dog that was supposed to be inexpensive. We had her fixed. The end. Except then we had to replace the blinds that she destroyed and the curtains and the laptop and the paint on the door frames. Then we had to replace every pair of underwear in the house plus every single pair of my pajama pants and three pairs of blue jeans. And now the bladder stone surgery which follows 2 $200 vet visits in which they tried to determine what was wrong with her in the first place. I have a bald spot on the back of my head. And my husband does not understand why "It is not that big a deal" is not a helpful thing to say to me. I have a fucking bald spot. I realize that it is not exactly genocide or war orphans or those kids with the flies on their eyeballs. I will probably be over it by tomorrow. But right now, I would like to sob inconsolably over my big fucking bald spot that came from no fucking where in peace. Like he wouldn't be upset if he started turning into (non)fucking Quasimodo. My IBS has been overactive the last 2 weeks, and yet for some reason I cannot seem to lose any weight. I'm sure you are glad that I shared that little detail of my life with you. I am a giver, is what I am. A fat, broke, balding giver. My mom's hours have been cut in half at her job. Which means she will start needing money from me again. Which I don't have. Because the dog. And also whatever amount of money I have to give my hairdresser to fix this baldness shit. As long as it doesn't involve hair extensions. I don't know why. Except I'm in a contrary mood and I want my own fucking hair back. Give me things that are impossible. GIVE THEM. I'm 30. Which is fine, except apparently everything in the media is all "30?! That's so gross! Minus 12 billion hotness points, Old Person!You might as well just have your sex organs removed now and die because it's not like anyone will want to have sex with you. Your husband is a total liar who is picturing an 18 year old when he has to sleep with you." Because the balding and the fatness aren't enough. My endometriosis is getting worse again. It feels like someone wrapped several strands of barbed wire around my midsection and now they are trying to cut me in half with it. Which may also explain the baldness freakout and the oldness freakout. I'm going to take, like, 8 Midol and go to sleep now. And maybe a Valium wouldn't hurt anything either.


  1. I feel you on the hair thing. I didn't get a bald spot, per se, but I lost so much hair as a result of stress (I think) from the horrible awful move to South Carolina that my hair looked to be visbly thinning from the front. Where my hair parted, you could look along my scalp for what felt like miiiiles to me. I got my b.f. to admit he could see what I was talking about at one point, and he quickly regretted it as I constantly complained about how I was balding.

    Now, it seems to be growing back in, so I have a constant halo of fine hair that's about 2 inches long all the way around my head when I try to wear a ponytail. It's a really attractive.

    That said, I'm sorry. If we lived close to each other I'd invite you over for a cake and bottle of wine. Or pie and vodka tonics. Whatever you fancy.

  2. I don't have any money either but if I did I would immediately hop on a plane and come down and give you the giantest hug ever. I'm sorry things suck right now.

    Also, you're hot even with a bald spot. So there.

  3. Also, I was reading that first part faster than I thought and all I saw was "she ate all my pajama jeans" and I was like, "heh, Megs has pajama jeans" then I realized that's not what you said at all.

    If that makes you feel any better at all.

  4. Also, I want a medal for triumphing over these motherfucking captchas. THEY ARE MORE ILLEGIBLE THAN THEY HAVE ANY RIGHT TO BE. I'M NOT A ROBOT BUT I'M NOT MAGIC EITHER, INTERNET.