Zombie Apocalypse

It is WEDNESDAY.

The rumors of my death and dismemberment have been greatly exaggerated - I've just been an unusually busy Stork.

Those outside of L.A. may or may not be familiar with the term "carmageddon".

Cars are to L.A. what pedestrians are to NYC.  If you want to travel two blocks, you hop on a highway.  To make some repairs, they shut down the 405 to the 101 this weekend - essentially the two highways everyone here takes.  They did this last year for a weekend, too - you go back and forth between thinking it's not going to be a big deal, and then assuming it's going to be an all out zombie apocalypse and you should be stocked up on can goods and whittling broom handles.  Plus, I live on basically the one available beach access road left.

It wasn't that bad - but I had to travel.  My life since we last spoke - 

Thursday evening went swimmingly - I was alone, rather enjoyed it, feel somewhat like a ninja warrior for not being too chicken.

Friday I had to drive down to the OC for my sister's 40th.  It was T-5 hours to carmageddon, and what is normally a 60-90 minute drive took me 3 1/2 hours as everyone was fleeing the city like cockroaches in the night.

Family party (babies babies everywhere there are babies), trying to be sociable with my sister's friends who were surprisingly lovely, dropping drunk sister off at rich friend's house for continuation of party. (Rich as in house, guest house, second guest house - hilarious trying to get my shitty car out the motion detecting gate).

Leave close to midnight for LAX, unable to take my usual highways, pick up Bub.  Maneuver through beaches and canyons to get home at 2 AM ( was convinced we were headed towards death-by-deer).  Dogs furious. 

Sleep all day Saturday.  Discover on Sunday that I need to do a psychotic clean, as house smells like old potatoes and we haven't had potatoes in weeks.  Clean, remove trunks of Halloween decorations from garage (which is a death trap), verify trunks are free of raccoon, put decorations up (including horrifying zombie woman on front porch).

Monday, wake up at ass crack of dawn as it is Mr. T's birthday and we go to Disney every year.  Arrive at Disney at 10 AM full of coffee and optimism.  Purchase fabulous lacey ears with a feathered top hat.  Marvel at the fact that all previous years we've had to wear sweatshirts - as apparently, this year, they moved the park from Anaheim to the surface of the sun, or just decided to hell with the theme park altogether let's make it a Disney themed sweat lodge.  Sweat off half of my body weight, discover they have jacked up the annual pass prices ($267 big ones, happy birthday Mr. T) had all around good albeit very hot time.

Get home Monday evening exhausted and full of hives (I'm telling you, it's entirely possible I'm allergic to children) forget that I put zombie woman on my front porch, scare the crap out of myself.  (Screaming, shaky hands, near fall... if you were a nosey neighbor peeping out your window at that moment my insanity would be confirmed as it would have appeared I was having a passionate argument with a mannequin).

Tuesday morning wake up to realize I have pulled a muscle in my rib cage (how, I don't know - I'm refusing to believe it was the zombie woman) and that jaw is clicking.  Who knew I even had muscles at the top of my rib cage?  The only thing I can think that they do is hold up my boobs.  Admittedly this is a difficult job, but as far as job assignment goes I don't see why they're complaining now or ever - compared to my colon they are doing the Lord's work.  Spend all day trying to figure out how to write while laying flat.

This morning, wake up, find that sleeping for 8 hours has eased the rib pain, but my jaw is worse.  Make impromptu trip to see dentist (again in O.C. - I'm a huge chicken and know my dentist personally, so that's where I go) and discover that I have somehow completely dislocated my jaw (again) without realizing it.  Listen to the disbelief at my pain tolerance, happily take prescription for pain medication, drive home.

As an amends for my absence, I'm gonna reveal myself in a picture.  A picture of Mr. T. & I, my gay husband (the straight one's a little camera shy), on the tram at Disney. Enjoy, because I will soon be replacing it with a picture of an angry uterus (when your chubby it's best if all forms of nudity are brief).

That's Stork.  Am I what you pictured? I'm curious because most of you I have no idea what you look like - but I've developed very clear cartoons of you in my head based on your personalities.  Wondering how reality stacks up.

So, this evening I'm going to watch the debates and enjoy not cooking, and then tomorrow I am doing nothing but individually crawling up into your uteruses to make up for my absence. You should feel the presence of ridiculous in your lady bits around noon PST tomorrow.

I did skim my newsfeed this morning - a few awesome gals that could use some good vibes:

WTW - who had some poor fertilization (been there - it's just as fun as it sounds). Hugs and love and good vibes encouraged.

Road2ourbaby - she's fine, but she had a bit of a scare with pregnancy/bleeding.  Good vibes encouraged.

SLESE1014 - My loverly friend found out her FET didn't work and is blue.  Internet forehead kisses encouraged.
B - her cat passed away (in the middle of IVF, no less).  Good furry vibes encouraged.

(Anybody else need cheering up while we're on the subject?)

So what's the drinking game for the evening - take a drink every time someone says "jobs"?  "Deficit"?  Or is that a suicide mission?