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I’d like to take this time to overtly make fun of Earl.

Issue Date: Tuesday, Jun. 28, 2005

Ninety nine degrees. 99 degrees Fahrenheit. 37 degrees Celsius. Ugh. Humid. Schweaty.

Inside the office I wear a sweater at my desk. It is imperative. My officemate has a fluffy, green, fleece blanket she wraps up in and her little hands still turn purple.

There is a veritable wall of heat as soon as I walk out of the office and it assaults me and almost knocks me off balance with the violence and intensity of the difference in temperatures and it is not even August.

Hell, it was over 80 this morning shortly after 7am.

The air outside is…. Chunky and hard to breathe. People are wheezing, coughing, sneezing. Our ozone warning hovers between orange and red. The UV warnings are high. Everyone goes from their air conditioned houses and apartments to their air conditioned cars/trucks/SUVs to their air conditioned offices, malls, supermarkets, strip clubs… whatever.

It’s like being in that bar that’s been open all holiday weekend… when the a/c is just about shot. The fan is running. Yeah, there is a small breeze but it has this musty smoky smell to it like airplane air. Reconstituted. Like you are smelling other peoples’ coughs, morning breath and the farts that they try to bury in the cheap economy class seats. There is a visible haze from all of the Marlboros smoked in the past 72 hours hovering over the faded green felt of the only pool table in the place. A flickering Budweiser light casts a meager glow on this barely moving smog because no one has left their favorite bar stool long enough to stir the air and the front door only stays open long enough for Misty and her long-time beau Ricky Don to go out in the parking lot and either neck or fight in the front cab of his flat-bed Ford.

Or… um… not.

In other news… Jergens Natural Glow® lotion loves me and my nuclear winter white skin. I started using it yesterday and I already have a healthy non-fish belly white glow about me. No streaks to be found. I recommend it to those ladies who are afraid of orange palms and the like.

Let’s talk about my uterus for a moment. Guys, ya’ll can move along. Pick back up after the line.

She’s taking over and this time, there is no kidding around. I cried at church ya’ll. Normal praise hymn. There’s Sue… cryin like a freak. Gah. This morning? On my way to work… this song (if you click on link, there is audio) … and there I was… cryin. Geeze. What a sap. [Note to those who know, it reminded me of Copelan… Gah.]

I’m on Yasmine BC and to regulate my migraines for estrogen withdrawal therapy (I tended to get migraines right before the start of my cycle) I have been doing a continuous cycle of birth control pills and my normal migraine medication. This means I don’t even stop for a menstrual cycle. 28 days? Not me.

The first time, I went (at my OBGYN’s instruction) 3 months w/o a cycle. Holy crap, the cramps! The flow! The clotting! Oh My! Actually, HOLY SHIT!!!Is more like it. I thought I was going to die. The migraine that ‘caught up’ to me almost killed me.

So I thought, hey, I’m smarter than my uterus, I’ll go two months this time.

Oh my God.

I had my last BC pill Thursday night and the cramps that have been plaguing me ever since are incredible. The migraine that I had yesterday was intense. I barely made it home. I went to sleep yesterday evening at 5:15 pm and (woke up for two hours last night to get incredibly sick) and then slept straight through to this morning at 5:30 am.

What the hell?

I haven’t even started yet.

I am so crampy and miserable. It feels like I am being ripped in twain! (Sooo melodramatic aye?) I am dreading the cycle itself. How long is this one going to last? Will I just bleed out like some calf at a slaughter house? Gross I know… but come On!

Advice? Knowledge? Does anyone have answers?

Back to our regularly scheduled non-uterine program.

Sorry guys.

Okay… um… humor or something.

On with the funny damn you!


Well, the Rascal Flatts concert was incredible. The traffic was so intense (it took us over an hour to go less than 2 miles) that 4 miles from Smirnoff Music Amphitheater Mister turned to me and pointed at some scalper on the side of the highway. “Baby, if he’ll give me $100 for these tickets, we’re taking the next exit and heading to the house.” I got all Lord of the Sith on him, “NnnnoooooOOOOOOO!!!!!!”

Blake Shelton (and his mullet) opened for the boys and did and incredible job. That boy is COUNTRY. We are talking cane pole fishin and fatback eatin country. Carhart overalls and redwing boots country. Rubber boots between the cab and the bed of your truck and a hound dog standin on your truck box country. Bill Dance Outdoors and fried catfish (not from a stock pond) country. Ok, I’ll quit… but he was cute, and country, and did an amazing job. The crowd sang along with every single song he sang. He was a real crowd pleaser.

Rascal Flatts came on and announced that we were part of history. We knew that it was a sold out crowd, but we didn’t know that it was the largest crowd that the Smirnoff Amphitheater ever held. Awesome! The place was packed… and loud. I couldn’t see a lot of the action because of some guy I’ll call Earl.

I’d like to take this time to overtly make fun of Earl.

Earl was an older gentleman, and I use the term gentlemen in the loosest of meaning. Earl had a flat-top hair cut that he kept displaying to everyone around when he would take off his black straw hat act out the words to the songs. Yes, Earl we know the song says, “baby blue eyes, your head on my shoulder” and we do not need you to take off your hat and point to your blood shot eye… turn this way and that for everyone to see and then pat your own shoulder lovingly.

Earl was wearing a white wife beater that looked as if it belonged on an eleven year old girl. Earl was not, in fact, an eleven year old girl. Earl had on stonewashed jeans… jeans whose seams I could hear screaming above the fifteen year old girls sitting next to me.

Earl liked to get up and walk around a lot. Earl would stand on his chair, and (manually) lift his leg and his screaming stonewashed jeans and foot (encased in requisite black snakeskin boot) over the chair as he was too cool to walk around. Earl would dance when he would be at full standing height on said chairs. Earl would dance when in front of chairs. Earl would dance with whoever was coming down the row. Earl would dance with the poor older woman beside him and the man’s who was on the other side of him girlfriend. Earl’s preferred method of dance was the white man overbite/air-hump. Yeah, I couldn’t contain myself either.

Earl was in fact, a moog.

PS.. Get some more jeans man. I do not need to know your religion. Thank you.

Other than that? The show was awesome and I had a blast. Mister called my office phone and left me a few messages and I can hear the concert in the background… it’s splendid.

Hope you guys are having a great week!


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To understand this dear reward (above) at all, you must hie thee on and read gatsby’s grape ape entry and my comments.

And because of said comments he sent me my very own dream turtle in an email titled wee gift with these words attached, “my purple monkey is booked solid so i ordered you a tangerine turtle. hope he proves helpful.”

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