These dogs have been scamming us for years. MNN.com (that’s the Mother Nature Network, by the way, and I have no idea how I wound up there) does some hard-hitting reporting and blows the lid right off of selfish walkaholics.
P.S. For all its faults, MNN did redeem itself by pointing me towards a video of otters chasing butterflies.
Beyoncé may or may not be in labor. Either way, it’s always best to have some Beyoncé-oriented birthing puns at hand for when the time comes. Allow Lauren, Mary and I to help you.
Knowing that one of my favorite people on the planet is moving a few thousand miles closer to me makes this season of darkness just a little more bearable.
There’s An IUD in the Pelvis
It’s been over 13 years since I was first diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease. A year ago I enrolled in a drug study that has finally controlled my digestive issues. Six months ago I began experiencing crippling joint and muscle pain. My Neck, My Back would be a hilarious go-to theme song, except it hurts to laugh.
Things haven’t been very funny around here lately despite my best efforts to assure everyone I am fine. Mainly because I’m not.
I’ve got a team of doctors to help manage whatever this is. So far, all signs point to spondyloarthropathy. Essentially, my body is inflamed and does not know how to properly handle itself. I can’t take it anywhere.
A lot has happened since I was initially hospitalized in 1998. Back then, texting did not exist. Britney Spears was still a virgin. So was I. It would be a few months before I built my first website. Now, test results are delivered over the Internet. I send all caps emails to my rheumatologist in the middle of the night.
Last week I received the above analysis. While it all comes down to a series of endless details not pictured, one thing is clear: there is an IUD in the pelvis.
At least we can all sleep easy knowing there is an IUD in the pelvis. Are you hungry? Well, we could order out, or there’s IUD in the pelvis. Ladies and gentleman, do not be startled, but there is an IUD in the pelvis. Come n’ get it, fellas, there’s an IUD in the pelvis.
I have had that one sentence, which means nothing to my diagnosis, stuck in my head for days. And the IUD, it continues to sit in my pelvis. My uterus, to be exact. I’d laugh out loud, but it hurts. I suppose the IUD is laughing right along with me, on the inside.
In this highly addictive reinterpretation of Charles Shyer’s masterpiece, Steve Martin turns to a life of crime in order to support his growing family. Martin Short resumes his role as an international meth dealer and event planner. After their professional relationship turns sour, Short aligns himself with Martin’s pregnant, unaware wife and daughter. Looming consequences threaten to tear Martin’s delicate family bonds apart.
You know what? Jacob would give this four stars.
I stumbled up on this gem last night while slogging knee-deep through the grimy cesspool of film that is Starz Play, further proving that Netflix is indeed fucking with me.
Okay, Internet. Who in Seattle wants to purchase a Groupon to see famed psychic (and winner of The Best Name Ever) Chip Coffey with me next Monday? Coffey Talk!
At this point I’ve just started irrationally taking my frustrations out on HelloGiggles.
