To Debbie

"Uh, T-Bag. We, uh, we mmmiiiight not be at church in time".

"Don't worry. I knew you assholes were going to be late. I told you guys 5 but rehearsal really starts at 5:30.... You're welcome".

That is a brief phone conversation I had with Debbie, Nicole and Jodi the evening before my wedding. They made it to rehearsal on "time", even though they took the worst way to the church and claimed to have been stuck behind a school bus and a tractor.( Pfff, really? In Wisconsin?). I lived with those three for many years of my college life and they were an important part of my and Brad's relationship. They continued with their roles at our wedding, two being bridesmaids and one being my "bitch" (her words, not mine).  Debbie only swore twice in church. I got married and she kept her swearing in single digits. I call it a successful day.

L to R-Debbie, me, Jodi and Nicole.

The last picture of us four.

 



 

 

Three weeks after the wedding, on October 22, we lost Debbie to a car accident. I remember where I was (at home), who I was with (Brad), what I was doing (eating), what I was eating (food I won't eat anymore) and what the weather was like (cold and rainy). You can't accurately describe or portray how you feel, physically or emotionally, when you find out someone you love dies. You can't. It either sounds over sentimental and full of shit or indifferent and cold. So I won't try to. I also won't bore you with the same sentiments of "cherish the times you have" or "be grateful for every person in your life". Even though you should do all of those things. Because if I did, I could hear Debbie say "[It's] Sad that you suck so much".

 

 

 

908 Union Roomies

 

I met Debbie when I was pledging for the sorority, Phi Omega, my sophomore year of college. I dragged my roommate, Jodi, along with me to some of the events. Debbie definitely stood out. If I could accurately describe her in three words, they would be "Loud as hell". She couldn't help the fact that she was a human megaphone. We affectionately called her "Foghorn". She called me "T-Bag" but NOT for the reason you sickos might think. She liked her food hot, Schmude Hot, which is straight out of the fryer hot. New girls in the sorority, myself once included, had always been intimidated by her. She fronted as a hardass, but she wasn't really that big and bad. At a sorority retreat, the new girls were in charge of making breakfast for all of the active members. Debbie was still sleeping and we told some girls to go and wake her up. "Nuh, uh. I'm not waking her up. She'll yell at us", they said. I reassured them that she would not yell, that was just how her voice was. They didn't believe me. So I told them I would wake her up and that they should watch the master at work. I grabbed a flip flop, got a running start into her room and flew at her like a spider monkey. I smacked her on the ass with the flip flop, tucked and rolled off the bed and shouted "Wake your ass up, Debbie. Breakfast's ready". She grumbled, got up (eventually) and came out for coffee.

 

 

Debbie, Jodi, Nicole, Anna, Franny, Jess and I all moved in together (not all of us at the same time) in the shithole known as 908 Union. It was truly terrible; the house and us. We were the messiest group of bitches I've ever encountered. I eventually lived across the hall from Debbie, the only two downstairs. She wouldn't let me forget that she was there. Many days I would wake up at the crack of noon to her blaring ABBA and 80's music in the shower, which was right next to my head. Instead of texting Jodi or going upstairs to talk to her, they would both scream at one another. "WHAT DO YOU WANT FOR LUNCH" "I DON'T KNOW, WHAT DO YOU WANT FOR LUNCH?". Hey guys, you know what I want for lunch? A big helping of shut the hell up and meet at the stairs to discuss this, I have napping to do. We lived there together for two years. We laughed, cried, fought, watched horrible movies, got broken into, got egged, almost started the fucker on fire TWICE and left with five truckloads of garbage that we dumped off at the campus garbage bins. Why? Because we stopped cleaning a month before our lease was up. I could probably go on and on with stories about that house. I'll save it for another time...maybe I'll write a book :)

 

Debbie had some amazing qualities. She was fiercely loyal. No one messed with her family or friends. Brutally honest as well. She wouldn't sugar coat things and would tell you straight up her honest opinion if you asked for it and even if you didn't. I once had the greatest idea ever. I told her that I was going to take my new phone and record the ringtones from my old phone onto it so I wouldn't have to buy them again. After I laid out my plan, I beamed at her, waiting for her to tell me it was the best thing she's ever heard. "That is the dumbest thing I've ever heard. It's not going to work". I told her it was going to work and that she could screw off because she didn't think of it. Five minutes later, after it didn't work, I told her she was right. She nodded her head in agreement, because she already knew that. One thing that I admired the most about Debbie was the fact that she never put herself down. She would never sit around and complain that she didn't have a boyfriend or wish that she was skinny. She was who she was and didn't give a shit. She was like the original Honey Badger.

 

 

 

I would like to finish up with one of my favorite stories with Debbie. (Now, we had many, many stories, quite a few of them being a touch inappropriate to bring up right now.) Every year, Debbie's family (which is like 50 people) would go camping for the weekend at what was called the Thresheree. It was a small town farm equipment thing held every summer at the grounds next to a river. We never really paid much attention to what the weekend truly was about, because we aren't farmers. All we knew was that it was an excuse to camp out for an entire weekend, drink and go tubing down the river. One night, after drinking throughout the day, Debbie became upset about something. She refused to tell anyone what was going on. So I thought I'd cheer her up. I went up to her and sweetly started to serenade "Have I Told You Lately, That I Love You?" by Rod Stewart. Surely this would be the key to her happiness. "Stop it ", she told me. "Why? Doesn't this make you happy?" I asked. "No, it makes me want to punch you". Idle threat. I continued to sing, like a sweet drunken bird. She continued to tell me to stop, but I knew she secretly loved it. "You ease my trouble, that's what you do", I exclaimed. "I'm going to ease my fist into your face if you don't leave me alone". Then she ran away, but I ran after her. She let me catch her and sing to her some more. I wonder if she would've liked me to sing "Rhythm of My Heart" as an encore? (Youtube it, it's good).  She thanked me at some point, whether it was that night or the next morning.

 

I'm not sure what about that story makes it my favorite. Maybe in hindsight, it's because I was able to tell her I loved her in my own way. Well, in Rod Stewart's words, but my own way nonetheless. Maybe it sticks out because other memories that were of everyday events are starting to fade slightly. But it really described how our relationship was: me annoying Debbie but her not minding it because I was her T-Bag and I earned the right to annoy her. Regardless, I choose not to mourn Debbie today, but to think of all the crazy times I shared with her. Not just my stories with her, but her friends and families memories and stories too. She would have expected that. (I can just hear her say "Oh my gawd, did you seriously just say that? LAAAAAME!!!). 

 

 

 

 

 



Mommy and Daddy Fun Time (Day 1)

Not THAT kind of time perverts, but sweet, sweet, glorious kid-free time! Brad and I had been meaning to get away for a weekend since our last weekend away (October 2012, which is pretty much forever ago) but it didn't happen..... until last weekend (or two weekends ago, depending on when I feel like finishing this post). We had thought long and hard about where we wanted to go this time around, since we went down to Madison the last time. Chicago? St. Louis? Vegas? The options and locations were endless! Not really. When I say endless, I mean within 2-3 hours from us because I don't want to be in the car too long with Brad; it's irritating. So with endless possibilities, we again chose Madison, naturally.

Unfortunately, the week of our trip, we all got sick. Brad awoke me Monday and told me he thought he had the flu. He rarely gets sick, so it was unusual because whatever he had knocked him the fluff out. Then, because he is a wonderful, sharing man, he fucking gave it to me. And not the good kind of give it to me, but the give it to me flu version. He then woke me up on Tuesday freaking out because he thought Teagan's eye was swollen shut, which it wasn't. We took the girls to urgent care to discover they had bookend ear infections. One on the right, one on the left. Because I didn't feel good, it took all my strength not to pass out at the doctors because I didn't want to A)incur a bill to see the dr myself, B)lay on a couch full of germs and people's DNA and C)fall over like a rhino being shot with a tranq gun in slow motion. I was even sick on our anniversary. You know shit's bad when I not only miss our anniversary dinner, but I turn down pie. PIE!!  Everyone eventually got better...except me. But I'll be damned if I was going to miss a once a year opportunity because my body wouldn't cooperate. It may be old and saggy (that's what she said) but I was going to force this old battleax into the car for a three hour trip.


Now, because I'm super geeked that I was able to have an entire weekend as Tara and not as "She Who Provides the Num Nums", I'm going to go through EVERY freaking detail. It's like being invited to someones house under the assumption there will hard liquor and cheese dip only to find out you will have to go through that persons boring ass vacation pictures. If the pics aren't of kids, people I know or people making complete asses out of themselves, then assume I'm sleeping with my eyes open. So here's our trip. Savor it...


That Friday, we had dropped the girls off at my parents house. Now this was a big deal, because my parents didn't like the idea of having them out of their natural habitat, but they have all adapted nicely. Honestly, I don't even think the girls knew we left because my parents house looks like Toys R Us barfed everywhere.

The trip was long and boring (hopefully not what she said) and we got to the hotel without incident. Before dinner, I had to change out of my mom clothes and turn into a normal human being. Now, I forgot to take a "Before" picture, so I took the liberty of creating what I thought I looked like.

 

Before                        After

**Just be aware it is very difficult to draw boobs in Microsoft Paint. And those are yoga pants, not Aladdin's pants.**

 

 

 

That first night, we decided to go out to a fancy sushi restaurant. I made sure to ask one of my friends where the best place was, as I didn't want to get the sushits. We walked in and we were surrounded by hipsters. We settled into our small ass table and order a bunch of food that we really had no idea what it was. Then, a hipster couple and their small child, I'd say about 2-3 years old, sat down right next to us. How modern of them to have their toddler eat a meal that cost more then it does to fill up my gas tank. I gave them the benefit of the doubt, even though I was irritated that we had to sit next to a kid. So irritated, that I inadvertently elbowed the waiter in the junk while I was making fun of the douchenozzles on the other side of us because he kept coming at me from my blind side. Which, because I have glasses, is both sides. I shouldn't have given the kid the benefit of the doubt, because about three minutes into him sitting down, he chucked a chopstick at the table behind him. The best part though, was when his parents began having a deep discussion on how people should parent.  You know, after their child javelined a utensil into an unsuspecting table full of people. I struggle to try to remember exact quotes because I'm not sure my mind could wrap around the shear denseness that came out of those people's sushi holes. The food was very yummy though. PS, the other table of douchenozzles next to us were middle aged women who sat down, looked at their water glass and questioned, "Hmmmm, is this sparkling water? Sir, can we get some sparkling water? Gosh, I LURV sparkling water".

 

Then we went to get gourmet cupcakes. Soooo sophisticated.

 

 

Gratuitous food shot.

 

I won't bore you with the details of the rest of the night. But it involved swimming and early sleep. Real, actual sleep, not the "other" type of sleep. You just don't do that after sushi.

 

 

 

 

If you want to read about the rest of the weekend, I'll have another post shortly. I didn't want this one to get too long (that's what she..ok that's enough of that).



My Favorite 'F' Word

FOOTBALL!!!

 

In all fairness, I also like to say the real "F" word...and my last name starts with 'F', so that's pretty high up there too, but football, my friends, is fan-fucking-tastic and the season is upon us!

 

The NFL season started last night, but it doesn't really count because I couldn't watch any of it. So my perceived real kickoff is this Sunday. In my eyes, the greatest, most magical team in the world is the Green Bay Packers. I've been a fan my entire life. When fall arrives and football starts, I'm filled to the brim with joy, green and gold and beer dip.  But there's also a dark side to this cheese product filled momma. Everyone who knows me, and probably some people that don't really know me, describe me as a "die-hard" fan. I would up that word a notch and call myself "die-hardiest". As in, don't cross me on Sundays after a loss man, because I will end you, hard. While I may enjoy being balls deep in the season, it's not always the most pleasant for those around me. I am trying to be somewhat open and honest (because if I was completely honest, I would scare people) as I outline my illness. Not only do I suffer from Chronic Bitchy-Resting Face, but I also suffer from Seasonal "I Will Cut a Bitch Who Speaks Ill of the Packers" Syndrome, both which are new in the DSM-V.

 

 

Backstory

As in all things that are wrong with people, I blame my parents for this one. Every Sunday, we would sit and watch the Packers with fervent dedication. We had a routine of standing together in a huddle during kickoff. We would then shut our mouths and watch silently until commercials. Cheering, jeering and throwing of objects were allowed, obviously, but no talking. I once voiced my sadness at Dan Dierdorf's lisp and I got my ass chewed out. Goddamn Dan Dierdorf. At half time, we would eat and then repeat for the second half. We even had a list of rules that were posted for visitors. We did not get many visitors by choice. We hosted a big Super Bowl party during the Packers '96 run. The day of, I remember as if it were yesterday, I sat quietly and nervously reflecting my concerns: What if they lost? What if no one came to our party? What if my favorite Trapper Keeper was no longer cool? I asked my mom what would happen if we lost. "Don't worry", she said, "we won't". Long story short, after being raised in this environment, is it any wonder I turned out this way?

 

Throughout the Years

This was all several years, a few lb's and 2 chins ago. But yes, I did have my wedding pictures at Lambeau Field and had a Packers themed wedding. My choice, of course. I wanted a field goal post brought in the reception, but the room wasn't tall enough and I couldn't figure out how to kick it into the uprights in a heavy wedding dress.

 

Passing on the Tradition



What can I say? One of the girls middle names is after a player after a bet I made with Brad. Plus, they were born during a bye week, so they obviously have their shit together. Oh, and they were born 9 months, 1 day after the Super Bowl. Tara for the win.

 

 



 

Social Situations and Relationships

 

Social situations become difficult. When I lived at home when I was older, my parents didn't really like to watch the games with me and I preferred it that way. I also have just recently been able to watch with other people around. There is nothing worse than sitting in a bar watching a game with several types of jackass surrounding you. There's always ONE person who is intolerable and my bullshit bar is very low. On the flip side, I don't care for my "own kind" that would watch the games with me and watch (or worse, egg on) my reaction to every bad play. One instance was when I was watching the 2010 opener with my dad and Brad and some bad play happened. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see my dad staring at me to see if I'd freak out. Without looking at him, I told him to stop staring at me. He laughed until I told him he made me this way.

 

 

And then there are relationships. I made sure to choose a husband that was a Packer fan, because if he was any other kind of fan, especially of a team within our division, he wouldn't have gotten any from September until February, if at all. I can be as frigid as the Frozen Tundra if needed. Brad knew what he was getting himself into. About three years into our relationship, the Packers were in the NFC Championship against the New York Giants. It happened to be my midnight birthday (the day before your birthday when you went out and drank until your actual bday. Thank you college). Well, old man winter, Brett Favre (whom I am still struggling to forgive) ended his career with the Pack with a big, fat loss due to an interception. Brad came over to comfort me. "Just leave me alone" I said as I cried for the next two hours. I cried in my vodka that night. Well, several vodkas. People are also afraid to talk to me after a loss. I have gotten much better within the past few years, so people can stop putting the concerned facebook posts up worrying for Brad's safety. "I'm not going to doooo, what you all THINK I'm going to do and FLIP OUT MAN".

 

 

Superstitions

 

It's like the beer commercial, "It's only weird if it doesn't work". I'm not sure when this all happened, but the first superstition I recall is my dad rubbing the belly of troll doll that I made into a green and gold cheesehead wearing badass. I eventually developed my own superstitions. Now I know, being a rational person, that nothing I do can affect the outcome of the game but I feel off if I don't perform several of my rituals. Now I can't tell you what they are, because it's bad luck, but I can say that some of them are obvious (at least I think they are) and some are pretty hidden. Don't try and figure them out, because that will only piss me off. People try, oh yes they do. But don't. It's bad luck. I will say that one of my rituals may have been in "The Silver Linings Playbook", I may have geeked out when I saw it and Brad may have looked at me immediately and slow shook his head. Hey, if Bobby DeNiro does it, it must freaking work.

 

 

Overview

 

Now I may seem a little "obsessive" or "crazy" or "awesome", but this is my passion. I love talking about football and I (usually) know what I'm talking about. I do enjoy watching other teams play, but I won't root for anyone else. Even whatever teams playing the Vikings/Bears/San Fran/Giants/Cowboys/Seattle/Atlanta/Patriots/Lions, etc, etc. I will give credit to a great play by other players, but I won't cheer for anyone. And that's why Fantasy Football can go to hell. 

 

 

 

NOTE: Some of this was written before the season began, so I was hopeful, optimistic and the Pack was 0-0. Then we lost to San Fran and I didn't feel like writing it. Then we won against Washington and I was all gung-ho and happy. Then we lost against Cincy and I become grumpy again. So, it was only natural that I finished it up during a bye week, so I'm all balanced out.



 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



Ridin' the Storm Out

On a Tuesday night in August, right before Brad and I had gone to bed, we checked the local weather station. Thunderstorms to the north of the state, but we shouldn't see anything down by us. Since meteorologists are super accurate, we left the windows open in the whole house and went to bed.

I was in the middle of a dream where I was on a boat, being gently sprayed by sea mist, when I woke up confused because I was actually being rained on (I was going to frame it as saying "in the middle of a wet dream, literally", but the thought kind of grossed me out). Then the blinds began to hit the ceiling and our doors started slamming shut. Either we have some Poltergeist shit up in this hole to hell or we were in the middle of a storm. As Brad was shutting our window, I somehow fell back asleep for about 5 seconds before I told him he needed to go and shut the girls window. He did and proceeded to yell for me to get up and help shut the rest of the house up. Our entire kitchen floor was soaking by the time we closed up shop. We looked outside and saw orange skies, torrential rain, trees and branches everywhere and heard the sound of a train. I am well aware that if you hear that, you either better be in the basement in .2 seconds or bend over and kiss your ass goodbye, because you're about to star in the remake of "Twister". Our electricity was out, but using the power of 4G and WiFi, Brad was checking the weather while I was checking my mom's group to see what everyone else was doing. Because there were no warnings of tornadoes or anything else and no sirens, we assumed everything was fine and nothing more than a severe thunderstorm, so we went back to bed.

We woke up to a damn shit storm. Luckily, we only had some small tree branches down by us, but the former drug house across the street had a tree for a roof (which was just taken care of yesterday). Still without power, both Brad and I attempted to go to work, only to be sent home due to widespread power outages that covered tens of thousands of people. It was reported that it could take days to a week to get power back everywhere. Panic mode set in. How was I going to cook? Would we lose all of our cold food? Will I get to drink my quarter bottle of wine? Why does my phone only have 5% battery left after I charged it last night? How will I entertain my children? Good lord! There's no access to "Bubble Guppies" and they start jonesing for their fix around lunch time! I'm never going to make it. I'm not sure if I can entertain them for an undetermined amount of time. Without outside visual and audio stimulation, their other senses are going to perk up and they will be able to smell my fear!! Even more terrifying, is that I could foresee what life would be like at home 1800's style and it didn't look pretty.



This is how I would have to dress and the accessories I would have to carry around:

That is a hat with lights.

 

 



Whenever I think of a freezer thawing out, I always think of the scene in "Jurassic Park" where they had to eat gallons of different delicious ice cream. We didn't have any of that. This was all that was left of our freezer...

Bottle is from Christmas three years ago.

 

 Strange things began to happen. Our clock had stopped about 6 weeks earlier. We tried changing it's batteries and it still wouldn't work. Out of the blue, after ALL of our power went out, the thing started up again.

 





"Don't worry guys, I got this. I'm the Regulator. Mount up".

 

 

But probably the worst, most awkward thing of that time, is the fact that I would have to put my phone, computer and anything else I love away and have face to face contact and interaction with people. Like my husband. Painful.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 





"Hey...uh...come here often?"

"Holy shit, since when have your eyes been blue?"

 

 



F this in the A, if we are going to be out of power for days, I'm taking the girls to my parents house. I offered to allow (yes, allow) Brad to come with us, but he wanted to be Grizzly Adams manly and stay until the power came back on. Which is guy code for he wants to have some peace and quiet and go to the bar. We left and spent 18 glorious hours in present day culture. Except, I still didn't have internet connection for my laptop. First world problems. This also happened to be the first trip/time in which the girls almost perfectly mimicked my road rage and started saying "Fah-King?! Faaaahhhhh-King?!" Loose lips sink ships? More like loose lips nominate you for Parent of the Year.

When the three of us returned, we were still without power for 24 more hours. Luckily, I had to go to work in another city that night, so Brad got to take care of the girls in the dark. I guess the blackout wasn't too bad on me, since I wasn't there for the worst part of it.

Day 3 without power proved to be a little more difficult.  While the girls weren't actively going through cartoon DT's, they were still itching for the good stuff. Instead, we built towers, chased each other around, tried to jump off the couch, tried to jump onto me, successfully jumped onto me and got to eat their weight in PB sandwiches. We did "Patty Cake" until I wanted to punch myself in the face. I didn't have the heart to tell them they would be waiting for a long time for their cake to be baked, as the bakers man had no access to an oven. We all laid down for a nap and when we awoke, power had been restored. I busted out with an my version of "This Little Light of Mine" while I hugged my electronics. Don't leave me again, microwave. I'll clean you real good for coming back to me.

It took a awhile for everyone to clean up after the storm. After days of speculation and a lot of pissed off people, it was eventually confirmed that there was a tornado that went through the area. Six tornadoes confirmed to be exact, including one that went by a block from us. There are controversies surrounding the sirens not going off. There's a county that's telling people it wasn't their responsibility to sound the sirens, it was the citizens needing to take some "personal responsibility" for their safety. Nice Facebook PR "Unnamed Wisconsin County".

All in all, I am very grateful that no one got hurt and that the kids slept through most of the storm. And that they forgot all about the naughty word I shouted at some dipshit driver.

1st Convo with my 1.5 Year Old

Destroyer of Life

 

I realize that the conversation I had with one of my 1.5 year olds wasn't really a conversation, but I felt like it was the start of something. We were outside and she was on the bottom of the slide. She saw a bug, some sort of small winged thing, and started poking at it. She looked at me with questioning on her face. So here it goes:

 

Me: It's a bug.

Teags: Bud?

M: No, bug. BuGGG.

T: Bug-ah.

*She starts to poke at it and it's now half squished*

M: Oh no, you're squishing it, Lenny (from 'Of Mice and Men')

*She finishes the job and it's squished*

T: All DONE. (She then just stares at me, like I'm next)

 

2.5 minutes later, she sees the bug she just squished stuck to the side of the slide.

 

T: Ooooooo, bug-ah!!

 

 

I know everything thinks kids say the funniest things, but I truly think I have my work cut out for me with these two. Good luck to me.

Nail Fail

The last time I really got into doing my nails was in 6th grade. I hadn't been allowed to wear makeup or paint my nails up until that time, well, I still didn't wear makeup, but  I could paint my nails. At first, my parents didn't want me to put any kind of devils color on my body but after unrelenting pre-teen whining, they finally broke down. I assume one can only take hearing "YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND, NO ONE UNDERSTANDS, WAAAAAA!!" so many times before you just don't give a shit anymore. I would go to the store and buy every crazy color I could imagine. Once, I painted each nail a different color! For a 12 year old, that's like bitch-slapping society in the face. Plus, I liked the smell. Reminded me of my other favorite, brain-cell erasing smell: gasoline.

Flash forward to now and my interest in "nail art" has piqued once again, thanks to the ladies I work with. They do their nails fairly regularly, where I paint mine and let them chip off naturally. I once had  nail polish chip off (by itself) into the profile of George Lucas, I shit you not. I'd put the picture on here, but I'm hoping to Tweet it to George Lucas and get something free from him. But the girls at work are true dye hards (see the wording, huh? huh? Punny), doing some really interesting stuff that I can't make work. I once totally branched out and painted all my nails turquoise and then had one gold, glitter accent nail. I showed Brad and he said, "Why is one nail painted like that?". "YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND, NO ONE UNDERSTANDS, WAAAAAA!!" and I ran off to Instagram it to the people that do understand.

So, as you can imagine, I don't get much time to pamper myself. But one night, before a wedding, I decided to pamper myself by taking a nice bath, drink some wine and paint my nails. Well, the bathtub made me realize why I don't take baths anymore, with the sitting in your own dirty water and the noticing places in the tub that you don't clean good enough. Then I took the girls picnic bench and set up shop. I decided to do the "Saran Wrap" nails. I got my base on and thought, hell, this looks nice. Looking back, it was probably the 3rd glass of wine talking. So I started putting the second coat on and did the Saran Wrap thing and my god in heaven, it was awful. I suck at fancy nail painting......

I felt I had one of two options: 1)Take the monstrosity down with some nail polish remover or 2)make my face up to look like the Joker to complete the look. I chose the first option because I was fresh out of crazy . Needless to say, I think I'll stick with plain polish from now on. Fucking Pinterest tutorial.

Mother of the Ear

 

 I am recently on the mend from an extremely painful and complicated ear infection. Whenever I used to hear of that illness, I just thought of a sore ear, fixed up with antibiotics within a day or two. But I can say first hand, I would not wish that kind of pain on anyone, no matter how much I hated them. I had the good fortune of having both an outer and middle ear infection and I would rather be in labor than have that happen again. It felt like my ear turned into Satan's asshole or something.

I think I got the Swimmer's Ear from when I went into a hot tub and pool. I had gotten a pedicure that day and my foot was cut, so I was afraid of going into the water for fear my foot would get infected. I believe I was told "Your foot's not going to get infected, don't worry".


Flash forward two days later and my ear hurt. I knew I should go in right away before it got too bad, but it was Memorial Day so only an urgent care type place was open. I was in and out within an hour and given antibiotics. By late evening, I felt as if the outside of my ear and cheek were swelling, so I asked Brad if he thought it felt swollen. He looked at it and said "Yep, uh, it's swollen alright".  The pain was getting worse and so was the swelling. I decided to call the on call nurse, who suggested I go to the ER.

There I sat at the ER, feeling like a tremendous asshole for being there. I didn't have a temp, but the pain was pretty awful. I began shaking and sweating profusely but was very cold. I put my hood up and started bouncing my legs. Everyone who was in the waiting room had glanced at me a few times. They probably thought I was going through detox or withdrawals, looking for pain meds.


Was eventually seen by the doctor who told me it wasn't the worse thing he's ever seen. Gave me a script for ear drops and sent me on my way. By that time my temp rose almost 4 degrees. I asked if anything could happen that would indicate my ear was getting worse and I should return. "Nope", he said.

So I went back home, took the drops and tried to sleep. By morning, nothing was better and I had zero energy. Luckily, I called my mom and sounded pitiful enough that she came over and watched the girls for me while I slept.

The next day was pretty much the same, but my dad came over to help. By this time, it had been over 48 hours that I had been on the meds and drops with no relief. I couldn't find a position to sleep, sit, turn my head or stand that didn't result in horrible pain. I tried everything I could think of: warm, wet washcloth, heated rice pack, tilting my head to one side, tilting it to the other side, blowdrying it. I even cut up a piece of garlic and placed in in the outer part of my ear, as one hippie told me to do. I had no luck whatsoever and I was starting to smell like Fazoli's. So I call the on call nurse back again. She asked me some questions and told me to go to the ER ASAP as she wanted to make sure I didn't have Meningitis. Her exact words. I went to the ER, waited and was seen by a nurse. She stated that my ear had completely closed and I probably had some bacteria in there that couldn't be destroyed by the meds I was on (from that goddamned hot tub!!). They were going to put me on IV antibiotics and do some blood work. A male nurse came in and told me they wanted to do a CT scan too. Aye Paco. Luckily, the male nurse had taken his time prepping my arm for the IV (I had told him the last 2 times I had an IV put in, I had either passed out and/or thrown up. Plus, the bed I was in didn't have rails) and the head nurse lady came in and told me I could go straight to the ENT (Ear, Nose and Throat) Dr., with no IV. Whew.

The ENT was a very nice, young man. He reiterated that my ear was completely closed and he couldn't see my eardrum at all, so he didn't know what kind of shape it was in. By this time, I was completely deaf in the left ear. He told me he had to put some wicks in the ear to open it up. He warned me that there was going to be pressure, but I told him it couldn't be as bad as what I had been going through. I was dead fucking wrong. He placed two wicks in my ear. I mean, he shoved two wicks, which are like stiff cotton ear tampons, into an ear hole that WASN'T OPEN. I screamed and tried to roll away. I got through it by saying the pain was temporary and he would take them out in a few minutes. "See you Friday!!". I looked at him like he just kicked a puppy. It was Wednesday and no way would I be able to have these devil sticks all up in my unopened ear. He told me not to worry, the wicks would open my ear up and allow the drops to do their jobs. And he would give me pain meds. Pain meds make me vomit.

I couldn't eat and could barely sleep for the next few days. I went back on Friday to a new ENT who looked like this guy...

 

I had been feeling a little bit better until New ENT ripped the enlarged ear tampons out of me. He said two things 1) "It looks like new skin grew around the wicks and when I took them out, I ripped that new skin. It may bleed". and 2)"Well, your ear isn't the most open thing in America". With as painful as the removal was, I was two shakes of a kitten's whisker away from telling him his mother was the most open thing in America, but I feared he would put in a jumbo super plus ear tampon the next time. He made an appointment with me for the following week and told me if the ear wasn't healed by then, "then something's really wrong with your ear". I took that as him telling me I should google the shit out of this problem and scare myself senseless by thinking I have some weird brain infection.

 

 

Flash forward to the following Tuesday. I was feeling better, could eat more than mashed taters and pudding and didn't need pain meds. I still couldn't hear out of the ear and it was doing some pretty gross things still (I'll spare you those deets) but I was optimistic. There wasn't any dramatic unveiling of a condition that would be applicable to "Mystery Diagnosis". He looked in, said it looked like it healed, used a little vacuum which felt like a little snake's tongue flickering my ear drum and told me everything was fine. I wanted him to tell me it was the biggest, most healthy looking hole he's ever seen, but I thought things might get weird. Although I couldn't hear, he said it was likely due to the trauma of the wicks being shoved and ripped out and it will go back to normal soon. Which it mostly did.

 

 

Moral of the story? Always trust your own body, even moms get sick and need extra help and if someone tells you a hole on your body isn't the most open thing in America, it's not always a compliment.