DIAPER CHANGING COULD BE THE END OF US ALL

 

#DailyMischief

 

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Last week sometime M.C. Nugget and I were out with a friend who was visiting from out of town, having a drink.

We talked about our upcoming plans —  to visit my niece and her three kids for the two-year old’s Princess birthday party.

Our friend (a female) and I laughed out loud at the notion of Nuggie surrounded by screaming, squealing kids. He doesn’t really DO kids. He doesn’t do two-year old princess birthday parties, either. He never has, and until this past weekend he never planned to.

Somehow, probably after a glass or two of wine, the conversation meandered around the subject of what Nuggie would do if left on his own with said kids. Then our fantastic friend asked the question that started the zany spiral: YOU’VE BEEN PUKED ON BY A KID BEFORE, HAVEN’T YOU?

That would be a NO.

What? You’ve never been spit up on, even when holding your niece when she was a baby?

NO.

Nuggie informed us that although he has a niece who is the golden and beloved grandchild in the MCNUGGET family tree, he’d never in all of his life even changed a diaper.

Wait what? NEVER?

We couldn’t believe it, but Nuggie insisted it was not all that unusual. He was sure most of his adult friends had never done the deed either.

So I decided to check.

Below is a series of texts. First from me, to Nuggie’s best friend, Bogey. Let me set the stage for you: Nuggie and his buddy are both at least 50. Did I just say that out loud? Yes. But we’re all friends here, and 50 is the new 30. Did I also mention they are both actors? You’ll understand when you read it.

FROM ME TO OUR FRIEND BOGEY:

 

 

---

AND NOW THE CONVERSATION

BETWEEN NUGGIE & BOGEY

ALL OF THE BELOW ARE TAKEN FROM NUGGIE’S CELL:

 

 

Diaper changing could be the end of us all. But I can feel it in the air ladies and gentlemen. A “change” is definitely coming.

 

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DON’T UNDERESTIMATE MY NEED

 

#DailyMischief

 

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Today I realized I may not be getting enough estrogen.

That’s a hormone. A very important female hormone.

I’ll spare you the story again, because you’ve probably heard me piss and moan about it many times over, but basically my body doesn’t make female hormones anymore. Damn body. So, I have to take whatever combo my doc comes up with, and we tweak as we go to make sure I’m a happy girl.

I realized I’m probably due for a “tweak” this morning after two things happened that caused my hair to stand on end, poking passers by with poison, and my voice became increasingly shrieky and annoyingly whiny any time M.C. Nugget tried to engage in conversation.

I’m not immune to the fact that these things almost always start with me.

I collect stressful situations like the Kardashians collect shopping bags full of shoes at Bergdorf Goodman.

It’s a gift.

I collected two such stressful situations just this morning, and the worst part was I KNEW they were coming. I was just ill-prepared. That’s another thing I’ve noticed about my low hormone levels. I’m less prepared. Like ALL THE DAMN TIME.

Here’s a little insight into me: I’m normally OVER prepared in most situations. I could be a friggin’ BOY SCOUT if only I had a penis (we’d be talking about different hormones then, but I’m game).

When it finally occurred to me that a) Life is just – pffff – stupid… who made this shit up anyway…  b) every damn website has gone to hell and doesn’t work like it’s supposed to, c) my apartment is messy and my face products are in three different places around the city… and d) dammit why am I so forgetful and unorganized all of the sudden, and that e) yes it’s true, they really did end the season of The Following with the serial killer still alive (why? because they’re FREAKIN’ IDIOTS). When I realized ALL OF THAT, I decided to make the call.

I called my doctor to inform her that the most recent incarnation of estrogen/progesterone tinctures she’d cooked up were not doing the trick. When I also told her that I may drive over to her home, slice her tires and carry away her first born child, she understood that perhaps I needed more.

MORE ESTROGEN PEOPLE.

STAT.

And do not – I repeat – DO NOT underestimate my need.

Nina Matthews Photography / Foter / Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic (CC BY 2.0)

And if that means I need a cupcake, okay then.

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OH IT’S BURNIN’ ALRIGHT

 

#DailyMischief

 

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I interrupt my regularly scheduled blog post to pose the question: “what the HELL happened to my funny?”

It seems that sometime around February my funny sort of deflated and went the way of that mockingbird that use to keep me awake at night doing his best impressions of car alarms and cell phone vibrators.

Before you click the back button on your browser or roll your eyes like a college kid with too many cool gadgets to be bothered, please just unplug your earbuds and divert your attention away from your internet TV streaming system and let me explain something.

Perhaps you’ve not noticed while managing all those amazing things you’re creating for your life, but I’ve not been writing much here lately. And really, that’s what I want for you. I want you to be too busy to notice a tiny little thing like me not writing hilarious, fun posts that brighten your day.

I’ve been creating my own amazingness over here too, and boy is it distracting. Believe me, I was on my fifth cup of coffee the other day when it finally hit me that it’s been a long ass time since I’ve written A SINGLE POST just for the fun of it, or because I actually wanted to. There have been announcement posts, and okay, maybe a little funny now and then, but it’s been nothing compared to what my conveyor-belt comedic blog post factory was putting out prior to February.

You GUYS, it really has been since February that I’ve actually felt one iota of an itsy bitsy hint of funny in my life,

It’s almost MAY… isn’t it?

I’m not sad or depressed or anything like that just because I seem to have misplaced my funny. No, my life isn’t measured in extremes.

Ever.

 

Okay it is, but still… I’m actually doing GREAT.

I’ve just been working my little ASS off.

Aside from rising before dawn to shape the tushes of the masses in my Pilates Plus classes, trying to make this world a healthier, sexier place, I feel like I’m attached at the hip to my other boyfriend – the 27″ big screen – working on some exciting business projects.

What kind of projects, you ask? 

Well, I’m creating a mobile app to inspire gorgeous, single mommies and one to help women in Orchids! Oh, and there is that bright idea I got to launch “The Orchids Plan,” a subscription based service to deliver motivation, inspiration, recipes, diets and exercises to women over 40 or actually in Orchids (I changed “menopause” to orchids a while back).

With all of these exciting projects in process people, I’ve been frazzled from burning the candle at both ends, and it’s understandable that my brain has simply been too crammed full of TO DO LISTS to think in terms of funny.

That said, I’d like to leave you with this little anecdote:

Growing up my siblings and I used the term HUCKA MUCKA. It was our way of saying enormous, gigantic… maybe even ginormous.

We’d say, for example “I don’t want a little piece of cake, mom! I want a hucka mucka piece of cake!”

You get the picture.

I’ve said Hucka Mucka now and then around M.C. Nugget, and he’s well-versed in (and a little terrorized by) my English language nuances.

So, the other day when M.C. Nugget and I were walking on Main Street in Santa Monica and we walked by a store that had the Elvis song, Hunka Hunka Burnin’ Love blasting through its doors, I started to hum. For some reason, Nuggie felt compelled to ask What are you humming?

I replied, “Hucka Mucka Burnin’ Love”

I was completely serious. YOU GUYS, I wasn’t even trying to be funny.

Nuggie looked at me with a little fear in his eyes. When I caught on to my mistake (it sometimes takes a while), I laughed and said, “OMG! I can’t believe I just said Hucka Mucka burn in’ love!” He nervously laughed, and we went on about our day.

Then it occurred to me: My FUNNY ISN’T GONE. It’s on vacation.

It’s somewhere having fun with people on a beach singing HUCKA MUCKA BURNIN’ LOVE.

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Image Credit:
Jeff S. PhotoArt / Foter / Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.0 Generic (CC BY-NC-ND 2.0)