Ms. Pacman is on the run inside my brother

My brother called tonight to discuss a very serious problem he’s been having.

And before I go further, I want a disclaimer stating that I *know* this is a serious problem. I get it.

But I’m the girl who laughs at funerals and cries when something’s really funny.

My brother recently learned he has a heart problem. In that, he’s lost a part of his heart. A little hole got punctured in it and the piece of the heart that’s gone is now traveling through his body, causing seizures and other problems. And to make it worse, he might have to have open heart surgery someday and because of other medical conditions he has, the doctors don’t think he could survive such a surgery.

Yes, I know it’s serious.

Tonight, he calls me to say that the Docs have figured out what ails him and in the past two days, he’s had some sort of radiation treatment to help the doctors find these pieces (because the original piece then split in two) of his heart floating around his body.

But instead of the radiation finding and “tagging” these pieces, like it was supposed to, my brother said it just “ate them up.”

This is when I began to laugh inappropriately.

Of course my brother, being the big sissy he is, with a hole in his heart and all, is outraged.

“Why are you laughing about this?! This isn’t funny!” he cries.

Oh, but it is. The doctors didn’t know the stuff they put in him was actually going to eat up his floating heart pieces. Come. On.

And through my laughter, I managed to spit out that it sounds like Ms. Pacman was let loose in his insides and she just ate a piece of his heart, cause it was in her path

Then, I laughed more. But this time, my brother joined in.

After we hung up, he downloaded the Ms. Pacman music to make it his ringtone.

Laughter really is the best medicine. 🙂


I hate myself each time I snuggie

I want my first point to be very clear: I did not do this on purpose.

It was forced on me. It was gifted. This is not my fault.

Just so that’s clear

A Saturday morning staff meeting is to blame. You see… I’m incredibly good at my job. Not to mention modest. So when our staff was broken into teams to compete against one another, and they made me team captain and, well…

Did I mention that I also have a teeny tiny competitive streak? Barely worth mentioning.

But OF COURSE my team won. In the words of my friend’s two-year-old in response to absolutely everything that is said to him… DUH.

However, everything in life comes with consequences. And in this case, my team may have won, but our prizes ended up being Snuggies.

Oh boy.

The idea of a blanket with sleeves has never appealed to me. How incredibly lazy must one be or how uncomfortable must the temperature in your house be to require you to bundle yourself up from neck to toe, you know?

But the Snuggie came home with me. And it sat there in the packaging. Staring at me.

How do you weigh the balance between receiving something free and something that you hate?

Free normally wins out, in case you were wondering. *insert justifiable excuse next*

And it was chilly in my house this weekend, because I opened the windows to let the warmer-than-normal-for-February-air in.

And I did need to type on my computer. I did have things to get done in a chilly room.

So I stared. Until I caved.

And it was wonderful. Dammit.

Of course, everything has a consequence and mine is that my very red Snuggie sheds everywhere. I’ve got Snuggie on my couch, on my black workpants, on my shoes, in my shower…

I’m starting to wonder if my Snuggie doesn’t transform in to a cat when I’m not home.

Anyway, I’ve come home and slipped it on the last two nights, and last night I slept in it, cozily (if not a little too warmly) for a few hours.

I hate myself for loving my Snuggie. At least it was free.

And before this post goes anywhere, I just want to reaffirm that me liking my Snuggie does not make the Lazy Forever an acceptable product in any circumstance. Anything besides a baby jumper that comes with a removable panel so you can squat on your pot without taking your clothes off, is in fact, unacceptable.

I really thought this was a joke the first time I saw it…

The Mean(ing) of Green

I just heard Taylor Swift’s “Why you gotta be so mean?” on the radio and it triggered my memory of a dream from last night.

And it’s the kind of dream that should be shared.

So, Taylor was singing her song, Mean… the lyrics “Why you gotta be so mean?”  resonating in my head.

Except instead of “Mean” she said “Green.”

“Why you gotta be so GREEN?”

And in the audience, it was just me and Kermit the Frog.

So I shouted in defense of Kermit, “”Don’t you know it’s not easy being green?!”

Taylor kept on singing.  End dream.

A. I want to point out that I can’t make up dreams like this. I’m not that creative.  And…

B. Taylor’s actually a nice person. Or so I’m told via a reliable source. It involves details and a mattress… anyway, she’s nice. And my subconscious KNOWS this. So…

C. What exactly did Kermit the Frog do to rank this situation in my dream?

D. Why, oh why have I given it this much thought?

End Discussion.