My inlaws are in town and between entertaining family and my manic redecorating urges I just haven’t had time to write witty prose. I apologize.
However I thought that to tide you all over I would include a list of some of the thoughts that have graced my cerebral cortex over the past week–just a sampling of what it’s like to be inside my skull. You should be warned that some of these thoughts are inappropriate. Many are disturbing and nonsensical. Some of you might not want to know me this well.
Ready? Alrighty, here we go:
I’d be funnier if I was English…or black…or English and black…or is that like putting the positive sides of two batteries together?
When I die I won’t be able to suck in my stomach. I’m going to look bloated and saggy. I hope I don’t die naked.
What if I die in a public place and then everyone sees me crap myself and I’m not around to explain that I don’t normally do that?
How would I ever date again now that I’m so gassy? What if I found love again but the guy was offended by farting? I think Hubs will be my only husband. If he dies I’ll live alone and make pottery.
Is my face too old for my hair?
Is my face too old for my dance moves?
I should get derma planing. But what if they accidentally stabbed my eye and then everyone would know that I lost an eye because I was vain?
What if I got a boob job and died on the table and then my kids would always think that boobs were more important to me than they were?
Is my vagina attractive enough to do porn? What makes a vagina attractive enough to do porn? Is that a thing? Maybe anyone with a vagina can do porn.
What if I was decapitated and then my face looked like one of those sad Nixon rubber masks?
If I ever have to have chemo and lose my hair everyone will see all of the bumps on my head. I’d have to get a wig. I hate wigs. I hope I don’t get cancer in the summer.
Do I have too many moles to wear a backless gown to the Oscars?
Will the rats in the heating ducts give us all the Hanta Virus? Would Hubs get into trouble if he had to shoot one? What makes a suburban rat shooting legally justified? How do you repair bullet holes in hardwood floors?
What if I’m on a road trip and break down in a place where I can earn the money for my car repair by winning a pole dancing contest but I’m not wearing nice underwear? Or I’m bloated?
What if I’m in a car accident while on my period and I fall into a coma and then I get toxic shock because no one takes out my tampon?
What if my heart stops and they have to use the paddles but they forget to take out my nose ring and it burns off my nostril?
If I had to run for my life without any clothes on how would I contain the jiggle? I should become a self defense bad@ss so I never have to run for my life naked.
So there you have it: some of my thoughts. Yes, I worry too much about things that will probably never happen. And yes, I am at times alarmingly morbid, vain and shallow. I have occasionally endeavored to cut down on the sheer quantity of garbage that floats through my head. But then I worry that I’d be boring or, even worse, so happy and peaceful that I’d die like in Downton Abbey or that movie City of Angels. As a responsible parent I can’t let that happen. My children need me: f*cked up but alive.
I love this. All those weird but good questions one has. Btw, I know someone who is English and black who happens to be everything awesome: witty and interesting and fun and nice and cultured and a great conversationalist. But I think that even if I were English and black I wouldn’t be as adorable as she is. Actually, wait a minute. Maybe I would?! I think you’re onto something!!
I love the caption under the grandma and kids photo.
Courtney you are perfection wrapped in a Texan handbag: edgy but not unstable, funny, cute, empathetic, cultured…I mean, seriously how much better do you need? If I could whip out fantastic phrases like “go Sicilian” and “shame spiral” with a Texan dialect I’d get my own reality tv show and delight people all over the world. As it is I’m just a white girl from Oregon. It’s enough to make a girl hit the self tanner really hard and pull a Madonna.
That isnt a bad train of thought! Of course most of it has to do with you being nekked….Sounds like a post the hubby would be more interested in than me. 😉
I know, when I put it all together I was disturbed at how much I think about my face and body. I didn’t think I was that vain but apparently I’m part Kardashian.
Can I just say, right here and now, that I love you? That’s a rhetorical question, of course, since I just said it. My friend, we are cut from the same cloth. I have worried about many of those listed, so I don’t know if that makes me as weird as you or you as normal as I. Especially since I doubt there is anyone out there who finds me “normal.” Don’t worry about sucking in your stomach when you die though because, ideally, they’ll put you on your back in the coffin and that’s always the most flattering position for a beer or wine gut. Yes, gravity works. You’ve inspired me to write a blog post about another gassy story of my own. In the meantime, just know that you are not alone, my dear. I feel ya!
And if you ever accidentally fart in public, just do what my hubby does and say, “That wasn’t me. My farts smell like Jolly Ranchers.” Yes, this actually works for him.
I hadn’t thought about that but you’re right, lying on your back is very flattering. I suppose it would be in bad taste to ask for an open casket and a half shirt. Thank you for putting my mind at ease about that issue. We should hang out and bloat together.
I don’t think I’d be able to pull of the Jolly Rancher line. That’s something that requires complete confidence and I tend to flush under pressure which makes me look completely guilty…and drunk.
Yes, it does take a lot of confidence, particularly when someone asks you what flavor. I always say watermelon, but Matt claims that his smell like green apple Jolly Ranchers. The trick is to have your answer prepared in advance.
Perhaps I’d go with Cinnamon Fire.
That sounds like an awfully *painful* flavor to me.
But given my digestive system, completely appropriate.
P.S. This post is hilarious. You’re funny without even trying. You were born to write!
And now it’s my turn to profess my love for you. Back at ya, sister!
I shall bathe in your compliment…once a week, whether I need it or not.
Although I can’t say I’ve shared many of those thoughts, I thoroughly enjoyed the trip through your cerebral cortex. Start keeping lists. I want more!
I imagine with your medical background you have waaaay less irrational fears.
Eh, I wouldn’t be so sure… 😉
Well I bet you could have answered at least half of my questions. At least that’s what I was thinking when I was typing the list.
Well I do definitively know the answer to this one: “Is my face too old for my dance moves?” It’s a big no, no way, never! In fact, the older the face, the more entertaining the dance moves become. 😉
You are so brave for sharing what’s in your head — I’m pretty sure I’d be thrown into a padded cell (or, at the very least, have my kids taken away from me!) if anyone around me was a mind-reader. 😉 The toxic-shock comment (totally legit concern, in my opinion!), in particular, had me laughing so hard I cried…
That particular concern has plagued me ever since the toxic-shock scare of the 80s, but for some reason it resurfaced last week when I worried (as I do almost every month) that I’d given myself toxic shock. I’ve always felt that my life’s work is to make other mothers look good. You should stand next to me–you’ll look like a complete overachiever…wait a minute, I’ve read your posts. You are a complete overachiever! Granted you’re an overachiever with a twisted sense of humor who highly values a glass of wine, but an overachiever nonetheless.
My GAWD you make me feel good!! And please, let’s stand next to each other soon – I’m almost ready to go to a blog conference just to meet/see you in person. 😉
Hehehe! Thanks for sharing these. Funny. You make me think of this woman I read about. She died and her gas poisoned the morticians working on her. I think of this often and worry about this happening to me.
I hope you’re enjoying the visit with your in-laws — believe me, they didn’t take anything away from your post — it may not be as witty as you think it should be but I think it’s a “gas!”
That story is horrifying! I would hate to be a news story and future CSI story line.
Now you’ve done it… I will have to worry about having a car accident with a tampon in too!! How could you?!?
Right? I mean seriously, is it an intern’s job to check for those types of things? And then the thought of some strange intern checking me for a tampon might horrify me even more than the toxic shock. Deb, it’s so hard to be a modest hypochondriac. You cannot imagine the strain.
How would you fix bullet holes in wood floors? Duct Tape! 😉
Ha! That would be Hubs’s first choice, but then again it’s his first choice for every emergency and/or repair.
I LOVE the way your mind works, Kellie, and that you’re not afraid to share it with the world. That tampon thing totally grossed me out, though. =p
As gross as the Elvis camel toe? If so, I feel a real sense of accomplishment because that image still haunts me.
My first time reading your blog – so wacky. Are you always this out there? What’s up with all the worry about dying?
This left me smiling and shaking my head with my face scrunched up at the same time.
It was a little disturbing to write it all down and see how much I think about looks and death. The post is a pretty good argument for the validity of counseling.
Yes, I think you are right. Somewhere a therapist is going to be able to take care of his/her middle age crisis on the bills you may rack up.
Well if I can provide a corvette or some other much needed mid-life ego boost to a hard working therapist it’s really the least I can do. I’m a giver.
Wow, you are a real angel.