This Post is About Poop

So you may be asking yourself, how is this post going to be about poop? Looks like a boating accident to me. Did she poop in the lake? Did she poop on the boat and that's what caused the accident? No, not even close. This is a trick question because I never poop. *foreshadowing*

Anyway, last summer I was at the lake tubing. Why did I think this was a good idea? Not sure. I am extremely injury prone, I was bound to get hurt. So I'm on the tube and everything's great, and I'm basically just sunbathing on a moving lounge-chair, when all of the sudden BAM, a huge wave comes and I died. Then people had to jump in and save me, and the paramedics came and they had to shock me back to life with the electric paddles and they said if they would have been 30 seconds later, I wouldn't have made it. **NOTE: last part was possibly exaggerated, but I did actually get hit by a huge wave on a tube and it hurt.**

So anyway, for like 3 or 4 days after this tubing incident, I was in a LOT of pain. Every time I breathed, there was this sharp shooting pain in my chest. After laying around whining to my roommate for about 72 hours about how I was probably going to die of a punctured lung or something, she took me to Redfern (campus doctor's office for students.) Needless to say, they are pretty terrible and hate their lives because they deal with a lot of pissy college students on a daily basis coming in there complaining about genital warts or needing a cure for hangovers and whatnot.

BUT, it's free if your parents are awesome like mine and pay for it. So I guess it's not really free. But it was free to me, so I went and asked for an x-ray.

Maybe it's a product of being located in the middle of a college campus, I don't know. All I know is that if you are a female, and you go to Redfern for ANYTHING, they will blame it on a possible pregnancy.

Basically incompetent.

So after fielding approximately 529852384 pregnancy-related questions, I finally convinced the doctor that the pain was coming from my lung and not my uterus. He agreed to do the X-ray. I finally got into the X-ray room after about an hour of pointlessness.

Not an exaggeration, I did actually have to sign paperwork stating I was in no way, shape, or form carrying a baby. It was absurd.

Anyway, I am lying there on the x-ray table, freezing cold and basically dying because of the shooting lung pain I'm experiencing. The x-ray technician lady is like "So what do you think it is?" and I'm like "I think I broke my rib in half and it's puncturing my lung and I'm dying." and she's like "OK, twist your body this way and try not to kill yourself." And then I killed myself.

She had me lay in that position for about 10 minutes while she took what I can only imagine to be 500 x-ray pictures of my ribcage. She got on the little microphone and told me from the x-ray booth that even though she was done, I needed to stay in that position until she saw the x-rays and knew whether we needed a different view. So I just stayed there, dying, for another five minutes until she finally came out of the glass room.

I will seriously NEVER forget the look on this woman's face. It was pure, sheer, unabashed PANIC. She was looking at me like I might spontaneously combust right in front of her eyes. She gave me the once-over, told me I could sit up, and then sat there staring at me like a freak for another 30 seconds before she finally made up her mind to spit out what she wanted to say.

Me: .....you ok?
X-ray Lady: .....I'm really not supposed to discuss your x-ray results with you, but honey, I don't know how you aren't in EXTREME pain right now.
Me: ........................... ummwhat? Why?
X-ray Lady: If you're not in excruciating pain right now, you WILL be in about 20-25 minutes, I'd say.

**I'd like to go on the record and say that along with being an extremely injury-prone person, I am also a pretty chronic exaggerator and a borderline hypochondriac. When I do get hurt, I tend to make it into something a little more severe than it probably is (same with illness.) And if there is ever a time I think I MAY be hurt, my mind always goes to the absolute worst-case scenario. Like right now, I have this lump on my finger, and boyfriend swears it's a bone spur. I know it's a finger tumor. You see the problem. So, as you can imagine, at this point I am totally losing my shit because of this lady's reaction to my X-ray.**

Marlee's Mental Thought Process: omfg, what is going on, this lady is freaking out, i mean, she does x-rays for a living, i'm pretty sure she sees some pretty bad shit, there must be something seriously wrong with me. omg, i probably have a huge lung tumor and it ruptured when i fell off the tube. can tumors rupture? what if it ruptured and it split into like, 400 mini-tumors and then dispersed throughout my lungs? what if there's an alien living in there? i'm going to die.

BUT, I like to keep it cool on the outside, so I don't let on to my panic to x-ray lady.

Me: ...... no, no pain here, is something wrong?
X-ray Lady: Well, I really shouldn't say anything.... but..... **more concerned gestures and terrified stares**
Me: ....................
X-ray Lady: ......it's just that, well......... honey, I don't know how to say this.........
Me: .................................................
X-ray Lady: .........honey, you have tons, and tons, and tons of stool backed up.
Me: **blankly stares**
X-ray Lady: Seriously, I have never seen anything like it. I don't know how you're not doubled over in pain. 

OK so at this point I start hysterically laughing at the poor x-ray technician. I was diagnosed with moderate-severe IBS when I was 13 and I am no stranger to "severe stool backup." This is normal. This is my life. This lady was looking at me like I had snakes growing out of my forehead. Also, I'd like to point out that this is the SECOND time in my life that I've had an embarrassing x-ray. First, there's a tampon in my x-ray. Now, there's poop. And honestly, if there are two things that a girl would like to keep relatively private, it's tampons and poop. Which is why I'm posting it on the internet.

Me: umm, yeah. It's ok. I have IBS. I'm fine.
X-ray Lady: **skeptical look, leaves room hurriedly**

So I hobbled back to the room to wait for the doctor. People were literally STARING at me. Like, nurses and stuff. Like they all knew. It was creepy. Then the doctor came in.

So, anyway, after all that pointless banter about poop, I finally found out I had a broken rib. Well, cracked rib. And guess what they can do for you?

And guess what they can do for "severe stool backup?"

...............well, on second thought, let's not go there.

I lie

Remember when I bragged about being the blogging queen (yes I am talking about a mere 1 week ago)?? I lied.... sorry (not really)

I had a long weekend this past weekend. As in, NO WORK FOR ME ON MONDAY! Like, I got the day off. And I was planning on blogfest 2011 this weekend, but instead it turned into this:

1. FRIDAY: Fall for Greenville (aka: Fall Down for Greenville)

Fall for Greenville is basically just a huge festival downtown where they sell overpriced food and beer while live music plays and people walk around. I couldn't believe how many idiots brought their kids down there on a Friday night. There were people trying to push 3 strollers through masses of drunkards up and down Main Street. I saw one lady with like 4 kids on a leash. If I was her, I would want to kick my own ass.

2. SATURDAY: Hangover, then College Football

I felt terrible Saturday morning. But people were coming over to watch the game at my house, so I had to wake up and clean so that no one knows thinks I am a slob. This means doing the 500 dishes piled up in the sink, vacuuming the alarming amounts of dog hair out of my carpet, and lighting a candle to hide any funky smells (likely emanating from the 500 dishes in the sink.) Then people came over and we watched football and Clemson won Thank Christ and all was well in the world.

It was not a pretty win, but Maryland always gives us trouble, so I was happy to take it any way it came. Also thank God for Sammy Watkins. That is all.

3. MONDAY: Apple Picking

So just in case anyone is wondering, if you go apple picking in October, there are no apples left. Well, there are, but you have to truck it down to the very edge of the orchard to pick them. Approximately 4 miles downhill. Which means that when you walk there, your basket is empty, and you're so excited to pick apples that you're basically running. Then you get there and load your basket up with 21 LBS OF APPLES (yes they weighed it) and have to walk uphill 4 miles back to the car. Also it was effing HOT outside. I died.

Yeah I know that's Everest. Shut up, I can exaggerate if I want, it's my blog.


So anyway, I failed at my ONE goal for the weekend: Be a blog queen. And I'm sorry. I apologize. I don't want to offend or lose anyone from my huge fan base. But as you can see it was a difficult weekend for me, and hopefully things will start shaping up pretty soon. 


Also it's windy as shit outside right now. Seriously, go outside. Twister city. Also my dog is terrified of wind, so it's been a rough night in my house.

Happy Wednesday, y'all. Now go gear up for GHOST HUNTERS! <3<3<3ghosties<3<3

I'm Not Dead... Promise!

I'm back! I'm sure all of you have been basically clawing your eyeballs out with anxiety because I haven't posted in so long, and I'M SO SORRY PLEASE FORGIVE ME! But I've just been super busy and for a while there it seems like everyone (me included) forgot that I have a job, a house, bills to pay, a dog to feed, etc. and was just blogging away. I was spending pretty much every waking hour making drawings on Paintbrush to entertain your fancies when I should have been doing more important things like eating, sleeping, etc. I'm going to try to be better about achieving balance in my life.

So everyone's probably like WELL YOU'VE BEEN GONE FOREVER, TELL US WHERE YOU'VE BEEN AND WHATS NEW!! Ok so SO many things are new in my life (not really at all):

1. I'm trying to get into politics, and now I basically know everything and can run for President in 2012 *possible exaggeration.* BUT I am trying to be better about educating myself about what is going on in the world, and honestly, I'm finding out that even though there are some good things going on, it's mostly just scary and alarming things that I am now having dreams (yes actual dreams) about. I'm not just trying to learn more about politics... just trying to be more worldly in general. My mom and Flash are always like "you need to watch the news you have no idea what's going on in the world blah blah blah" so I've started reading the news, too. Local stories about things that happen. AND learning about politics. I have always said I hate politics and everything to do with politics because I was traumatized freshman year (and sophomore year and junior year) of college when I had to live with this horrible girl who was obsessed with politics and CNN and screamed about how everyone else was closed-minded and hated the world, when really, she just hated everything. And ever since then I've been scared of politics and watching the news because I never wanted to turn into a psycho bitch like she was. But it turns out, you CAN watch the news and educate yourself without all that, and instead of blaming everyone else for how sad and scared it makes you, you can just not. So that's what I'm trying.... just not.

^^good, non-scary things^^

But in my recent attempt to start educating myself, there have been some confusing and scary things I've had to overcome along the way.

Exhibit A: Angry Protests

I do not fully understand your message

STILL DON'T FULLY UNDERSTAND

I HAVE BEEN SAYING THIS FOR 20 YEARS

spelling is hard

honestly, i'm not sure which i'd prefer being shot at me, both seem terrible

for the win


Exhibit B: The Newspaper

2. My dog is still insisting he be spoon or fork-fed, so I've been dealing with that.

3. Halloween is right around the corner, and Halloween is my 3rd favorite holiday, so I've been preparing for it (mentally) which takes up a good bit of time/energy.

4. NEW GHOST HUNTERS ON TONIGHT WHERE ONE MEMBER OF THE TAPS TEAM GETS GRABBED BY A GHOST HAND AND IT LEAVES A RED HANDPRINT ON HIS ARM. Been preparing for this one for about 3 weeks now.

4. It's football season. So a lot of my energy has been devoted to loving/adoring/stressing over Clemson football. And in all fairness, I was going to blog yesterday, but then Steve Spurrier went all super professional ape-shit 8 year-old temper-tantrum on that reporter in his press conference, and then Garcia got dismissed from the team, and it was all just too much for a girl to handle. Always entertaining down there at Sakerlina. But in other news, I love Clemson, and it figures that after I graduate, we're winning. But whatever.

5. I've been catching up on Dexter, which, if you watch Dexter, you'll understand is QUITE a task. Dexter is pretty much the best show ever, and I had only watched through season 4, and now season 6 is airing and I haven't seen season 5! So I have been catching up. And can I just be honest for a second? Of course I can, because we're best friends and you wont judge me, internet. I am NOT a fan of Julia Stiles being in this season. I know, I know, Ol' MacDonald has already berated me for this since she is a HUGE Julia fan, but I am just not digging the dynamic. Too much drama, not enough killing.

Also, while we're ranting about Dexter, I also seriously 100% absolutely HATE ghost-dad being in Dexter. I mean, I get it. Harry was an important part to Dexter's backstory. But COME ON. Enough with the ghost-dad appearances. It's like in high school when I used to watch Grey's Anatomy (religiously) and then Denny died, and I was like aww that's sad, but a good story. And then he started making guest appearances and was having ghost sex with people and it was so weird I stopped watching the show. Please get ghost-dad out.

Also, I forgot to mention that if you're not watching Dexter, you're dead to me. Get on my level, go rent season 1, and thank me later. (Skip season 3, it's terrible.)

So that's kind of what I've been up to. I can't promise that I have any super funny and witty posts up my sleeve and coming your way, but I CAN promise I'll be better about posting more regularly. 

Haircuts

Haircuts for me are quite an ordeal. I have serious haircut anxiety. Some of you may be thinking, "That's strange that she's so worried about her hair, since most of the time it looks like a disgusting straggly stringy rat's nest." The reason it looks like a straggly stringy rat's nest all the time is because I am always on the verge of a psychological meltdown when I go get a haircut, so it really never gets cut properly. It usually starts with me looking in the mirror one day and wondering how anyone takes me seriously looking like this. So then I get really confident and say, yep, I'm doing it, getting a haircut, gonna look super hot. And I make an appointment and when I get there I start with the heart palpitations thinking improbable thoughts like what if she accidentally shaves my head and then I'm bald and then I hate it and it takes 2 years to grow it back? And usually my sister is there with me going CUT IT OFF MARLEE IT LOOKS TERRIBLE TAKE IT UP TO YOUR SHOULDERS and I'm thinking waaaaat?! I can't do that.... I can't have a MOM HAIRCUT I'M ONLY 22!!! And then I end up telling my hairdresser "Well I know I came in for a haircut, but can you just take a little off the bottom? Like maybe 1 inch?" And so she does and you can't even tell I got it cut, and I fork over $45 and go cry alone in my bedroom with my STILL scraggly stringy rat's nest hair.

This may have all started back in 6th grade when I got the worst haircut ever. I'm not sure why anyone would let their 6th grade child decide that she wanted to have all her hair chopped off, but my mother totally did. AND IT WAS AWFUL. It was up to my ears. It was so short, the lady actually used a RAZOR to shave the back of my neck. It was shorter than my neck. I mean, the haircut itself was not GOOD, but it was made even worse by my overall appearance around the 6th grade years. My teeth hadn't quite straightened out yet (not even close) and I was still a bit thick in the middle from the broken knee bacon bagle debacle of 1998. To this day, every time I walk into a hair salon, my subconscious flashes back to those dark, dark years and I trust NO ONE in the salon to touch my hair.

Anyway, on top of the fact that I'm debatably psychotic when it comes to haircuts in general, there is also the issue of my hair. My hair is like, the worst hair. It does crazy things. It parts itself so far over on my head that half the time, I can't see through the veil of hair covering my face. I think some people may think that I actually TRY to get my hair to look the way it does, but au contraire, it has a mind of it's own. No one wants the Donald Trump comb-over, but when your hair insists, you must oblige. One time, my sister wanted to play with my hair, and she was all, WHY DOES EVERY STRAND GO IN DIFFERENT DIRECTIONS? And I'm all, welcome to my horrible life.

Also, my hair is really, really, really fine. And not fine like "girl, you are SO FINE." Each strand is basically microscopic. And my hair in general is pretty thin. I can use one of those tiny barretts to put my whole body of hair into a ponytail. Also, it is naturally stick-straight. And because it is so fine, it STAYS STRAIGHT. All. of. the. time. People are always like "Oh, you are SO lucky, I wish I had your hair." Don't get me wrong, it's great to be able to hop out of the shower, towel-dry it, and walk out the door with it looking the exact same as it would have if I would've stood there for an hour and styled it. BUT, it also sucks, because if I do end up taking an hour to style it, you can't tell. If I'm going out on the town (rare) and want to look nice, I have to come to terms with the fact that time I spend on my hair will ultimately be time wasted. I will curl my hair and then come dangerously close to suicide by spraying an entire can of hairspray all over my head, and 5 minutes later, it's straight (and greasy from the hairspray.)

Bottom line: When I get my hair cut, I need someone that understands my hair, and knows what they CAN and CAN NOT expect it to do with different styles. My hair has limitations. I need a stylist that gets it.

So the other day, I got really gutsy. The boyfriend was out of town and I had been bragging to him for like 2 weeks that I was going to get side bangs. No one believes me of course, because I brag about getting my hair cut a lot, and then when I do get it cut, they're like "oh, yeah, it looks great, I can totally tell..." but they can't. So he was like yeahthatsoundsgreatgoforit and went back to watching Jersey Shore. So clearly I have to get it cut out of spite now.

So on Tuesday, I felt the urge to get it chopped. I'm like YES, I am making an appointment. I am going to do it. I am getting it cut for real this time. Everyone's going to notice. Everyone's going to tell me I look like a supermodel. I've been to this salon like 3-4 times with my sister and a stylist named Lynn cuts my hair every time, and even though I'm never really pumped about my haircut (probably my fault for not letting her ever really cut it....) she has also never royally screwed me up. So I call.

Salon: How can I help you?
Me: I need an appointment for today at 4 with Lynn.
Salon: OK great, we can squeeze you in at 4. But Lynn isn't here. You'll have to see Tara.
Me: PANICPANICPANICPANICPANIC
Salon: Don't worry, Tara is great.

I mean, do I trust Tara? I don't even know who Tara is. What if she doesn't know how to cut fine hair? What if she's like 80 years old and tries to give me a grandma haircut and a perm? What if she doesn't understand how I want my new trendy side-bangs to look? LYNN HAS BANGS SHE CLEARLY UNDERSTANDS BANGS I COULD TRUST LYNN WITH MY BANGS.

OK, breathing, breathing, "Yes, that's fine, I'll see Tara at 4. Thanks." I decided that since it isn't often that I feel really confident about getting my hair cut FOR REAL, I couldn't afford to wait until the next day when Lynn was available. Knowing me, by then I would have talked myself out of it and would just be like "oh yeah, just need another $45 trim thanks." No thanks, Lynn, no thanks.

I looked at pictures of celebrity haircuts worked for the rest of the day until 4, packed up my stuff, and headed over to the salon. I was nervous. What if Tara accidentally stabbed me with the scissors? What if she accidentally dumped hair dye on my head? What if she accidentally gave me my 6TH GRADE NIGHTMARE BOB AGAIN?!?

I walked into the salon, took a deep breath, and said, "I'm here to see Tara." The receptionist said "She's over there, she'll be right with you." I look to my left.

^^TARA.^^

OK, I want to put it down on the record that I love black people. I do. I'm sure someone reading this is probably all "omg shes such a racist wtf" but NO. NOT. THE. CASE. but...... I will admit I was freaking out. I hadn't planned for this. I don't really understand black people hair. All I know is you can't wash it more than like twice a week or it will kill you. DO YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS IF I DON'T WASH MY HAIR EVERY DAY?? Total greaseball flat-to-my-face stringy grossness. POLAR OPPOSITE OF HER HAIR. How does a black person relate to white people hair enough to feel good about cutting and styling it?? I mean, if I was black, I would DEFINITELY not want a whitey hair stylist touching my head because CLEARLY they don't understand my plight. Kind of the same situation here. And maybe this is just because like I said, I have pretty much no experience with black people hair. Well, not entirely true, I did have one accidental black people hair experience, and it was back in high school. I saw this commercial for Pantene Pro-V Relaxed & Natural shampoo and conditioner, and since I'm a huge sucker for advertising, I ran out and bought it. I mean, I wanted my hair to be relaxed and natural, you know? Never once dawned on me that everyone in the commercial was black. Also didn't register when it was the only brown Pantene Pro-V bottle on the entire shelf. Also didn't register when I read the front and it said "For Women of Color." I thought it meant women that colored their hair. Yes, I am retarded. Are we starting to see a pattern here of me doing stupid shit and ignoring red flags along the way? I think so.

I used that shampoo every day for 2 weeks before I complained to my mom about how greasy it was making my hair and how it's the worst product I've ever bought and I'll never buy it again......

Anyway, as you can see I'm not super well-versed in African American Hair Maintenance. I would venture to say I'm not well versed in Caucasian Hair Maintenance either. In the salon, I was freaking out a little. OK a lot. OK I may have almost had a heart attack, but the point is, I was worried she wasn't going to understand my hair and all I could think about was a few weeks ago when I was doing that online celeb makeover and gave myself a Jerry Curl and CLEARLY could not pull off black hair.

^^NOT A GOOD LOOK FOR ME^^

Anyway, I sat down in the chair and tried to disguise my sheer terror. She also looked alarmingly young, like, almost right-out-of-beauty-school young, and all I could think of is "What if I'm her first client?" and had visions of Frenchie from Grease and how she was so terrible at beauty school and what if she dyed my hair pink accidentally? (ignore the fact that I wasn't in there to have my hair dyed at all........ these are the things that go through my head.) She told me later that she had been cutting hair for 18 years, and that calmed me down a little bit, but not really.

OK, fast forward 1 very scary and mentally unstable hour, and TARA IS MY NEW BEST FRIEND. Not only was she hilarious, she also gave me one of my favorite haircuts I've ever had. We shared good memories that day, memories I'll cherish forever. We laughed, we cried (not really but I almost did when she started cutting my bangs on the wrong side of my head) and we blow-dried until I looked like a movie star.

I think she was so good at cutting my hair BECAUSE she doesn't have white people hair. I mean, my hair SUCKS. And other white people know this. They, like me, feel like it has limitations because of how bad it sucks. But Tara was like, YEAH GIRL YOU CAN TOTALLY PULL OFF SIDEBANGS! And she just started cutting, and at first I was terrified, but then when she was done I realized that she was totally right. This haircut looks WAY better than any of the other ones I have gotten recently. It was like she didn't baby my hair because she was like "yeah, it's just hair, watch me work my magic" and BAM, I was stylin' and profilin'. And I know I was being retarded all along because I'm sure in cosmetology school you learn how to cut black hair, white hair, red hair, curly hair, straight hair, short hair, long hair, alien hair, whatever. But it was something I hadn't ever experienced before. And I am SO glad I did, cause from now on, I only have eyes for Tara. Too creepy? Whatever.