Since Sarah is in no condition to hear me bitch, all of you get to go thru the misery together.

See? Here’s the thing … I? Not Pregnant. Let’s just get that set straight. We are all aware that Sabine isn’t p.r.e.g.n.a.n.t. Now, I am aware that I have been sick this past week and I have had to see my doctors more than normal. And that in an effort of medical safety, performing pregnancy tests on your female patients is something that should be done. But really? In the past 7 days, I have been informed 12 different times that I am in fact… Not Pregnant. 12, peoples! 12. In one instance, I was told by a nurse that I wasn’t pregnant less than 24 hours after the last time she informed me that - I.wasn’t.pregnant.

And?

It doesn’t really matter to me how you break the news. No matter how you phrase it; it’s not going to help. Cause being a female I have the ability to completely misinterpret anyway you say it and twist in such a way that I can find the most offensive meaning possible.

If you say “Congrats! You aren’t Pregnant!” I will interpret that in one of 2 ways -

Either you are laughing at me in my nonability to reproduce… or (and possibly the worst) you are laughing at me in my nonability to get laid. And while yes, I am fully aware that my sex life over the past few months has been a bit dismal, I need no one to actually point that fact out to me. Especially if you happen to radiate that certain “newly wed and getting so much sex I’m forced to walk weird” vibe. Cause right off the bat? I already hate you for that.

If you try and apologize and be sympathetic to my nonpregnant self, then I’m just going to be offended since you are obviously suggesting that since I am an established female with a career and a home that I am clearly trying to get pregnant at the first opportunity. Despite the fact there is the all together huge missing chunk of my life called a husband. But this is the 21st century! A woman doesn’t need a man to breed! You’re a woman! You can breed with the sheer force of your mind!

Yeah, fuck off.

Really? It’s just best all around if we go ahead and agree that unless otherwise informed I am going to continue with the assumption that I am in fact Not Pregnant. And until that changes there really is no need for you to bring the matter up. Then I don’t get pissy, and have to suppress this intense desire to go out and prove you wrong. Cause that just wouldn’t be a good idea for any parties involved.

You obviously haven’t seen the dead plant in my kitchen. I am entirely too selfish to even seriously entertain the notion of a pet rock, let alone something alive… and, god forbid, screaming.

Can a notation please be added to my chart?

Thanks,
Sabine

CC: Doctor’s Office.

… then I’m not the only one lying.”

So while in the hospital, I kinda found a love in the most unexpected of places.

Fall Out Boy � owners of 2nd most annoying song currently on the radio (second only to anything by Gorillaz�. Gorillaz � my own personal Hell)

I have to admit I have been pleasantly surprised at what I have found though. There B-side stuff is raw, angsty, and oddly therapeutic. And the mainstream songs are simple and catchy and have absolutely no depth to them whatsoever. They just are what they are with no pretenses. And dammit they make me fucking happy.

I even got the nurses singing along.

So everyone? Here�s my campaign: Go out and fall in love with Fall Out Boy today� or not, and call me crazy. I�m cool with them being my equivalent to Sarah�s unrealistic love for everything Bowling for Soup.

Even their song titles are great �

“It’s Not A Side Effect Of The Cocaine. I Am Thinking It Must Be Love”

“Sophomore Slump Or Comeback Of The Year”

Update: There was a request for the lyrics, so they are behind the cut. (Read on …)

From this point till I leave for War (in 9 days!?! the fuck? where did my first quarter go?), this blog will probably hold a good bit of War Prepping, just fair warning.

I? Have too much garb. I? Have cotes I will probably never wear again. I? Might be willing to let go of a few of them. Like my 12th Night dress from 3 years ago… that I haven’t worn since. Or this blue one that I am fairly certain I have never worn, and I’m not even certain I like it anymore.

Just a bit of a realization. I had when looking at my options that actually fit… which isn’t many. Can I double up on the weight gain supplements? I can, right?

I did some futzing with my packing list while laid up and I think I can fit everything I need in the Fo’cuz. Think being the operative word, of course. I should call Gudrek. (Or Gudrek should call me since he hasn’t even bothered to check and see if I’m alive *looks innocent*) I should also really get on this whole to-do list thing.

Oh, and here’s what all of you have been waiting for – (Read on …)

squeee.

Still weak.
Still not 100%.
But home will help.
My own bed will help.

Anybody want to volunteer to come be houseboy for the week? All you have to do is make sure I drink my chicken broth and take my meds… and get me packed for War.

That’s it, promise.

Well, ok. When I say chicken broth I mean clear liquids for 2 days so that would mean, in theory, you would have to stand between me and my coffee… and since I would already be on day 3 without coffee – that’s going to take a very special person and I don’t think any of you are man enough for that task.

But I dare ya to try.

I don’t have cancer. (woot!)
I don’t have HIV. (STD free, baby!)
I don’t have Lupus. (wootwoot! and yes, in my head Lupus is far worse than cancer. Lupus scares the shit out of me.)

In fact, we’ve (there’s that magical “We” again) ruled out a whole series of autoimmune issues.

The IAHA (um, Idiopathic Autoimmune Hemolytic Anemia – google that if you’re interested… find the most severe case scenarios and that’s me.) is back full force but they don’t think the onset was because of the reaction I had to my new meds. Their initial answer was to take my spleen out… and that would work great, if I still had my spleen.

But, I am getting better. 2 transfusions and 2 purifying cycles and my levels are coming back into range… not a “normal” range but a “normal to me” range. When you deal with immune system issues you don’t always know the cause and you can’t always put a name on it so we may never really know what happened, but it looks like I am coming out on the other end of it. My doctors are waffling on whether or not I can go home tomorrow… I’m pushing for yes, cause if I’m not out of here by Tuesday; Grandmother is insisting they transfer me back to Texas where the “real doctors” can treat me. Yeah, she informed my doctors here that they must have all received their degrees in Peru. Apparently my Grandmother isn’t a fan of Peruvian Doctors.

Oh. And I’m not pregnant… (surprise, surprise), but there is a certain BookstoreBoy here bringing me naughty books. Haven’t even had our first date (that was supposed to be last night) and he already knows that books are the way to my heart. If the hospital doesn’t scare him away, we’ll see about keeping him around for a bit.

Release from Hell postponed till tomorrow (crossing fingers… and toes) No, really I have to get out of here tomorrow. Chris has to go home tomorrow and I can’t stay here with only my family. Seriously debating calling Maria and having her come up with some sort of emergency that will take the Texas people home today, she loves me enough to do that for me.

In the midst of all the bickering at least I got to freak my entire family out. Really, it’s what they get for looking over my shoulder when they just should have been watching the Olympics like good concerned family members. Imagine Grandmother’s surprise when she noticed the header on the notes I was taking was: “Seduction Techniques/Venetian Courtesans” that right there made the entire project fucking brilliant.

Combine that with Chris, who for the past 2 days has been sneaking me in various “contraband” items. Of course it wasn’t until last night that finally started to get a clue of his big idea. I think, I may have mentioned it before that my doctor is single and ohsofuckingoutofmyleaguegorgeous. Chris has decided that this weekend is my perfect chance to seduce him and has brought me all the accouterments he thinks I need for the seduction to take place. Well even when the intended purpose of these items never actually takes place, I will still have some really great additions to the toybox, thanks to Chris (which I only find slightly disturbing). Some friends will bring you flowers and stuffed animals, but Chris? Chris brings you restraints, lube, and a complete Kama Sutra kit (which is great cause I really love their mint balm and I can pawn the honey dust off on someone I’m sure).

If don’t go home tomorrow, we get to start scheming on just who is going to lose the coin toss and come and bust me out of this place. It’s going to take an army, but luckily I have one or two of those in my pocket.

You know private rooms are only private if they deny your family entry…. which they haven’t.

My Mom is here… with my stepfather.
And Grandmother.
And my Uncle… with his wife.

And Chris flew back the same day he left. Despite me telling him not to. He just doesn’t want to have to face his own problems.

And have I mentioned how much my Mom hates Chris? Cause it’s really more than hate - it’s like haaaaaaaate. Can I check myself into the psych ward? Will they allow that? Visitors aren’t allowed back there, right?

Oh, and my legs hurt something terrible� and I still feel like shit, but I am holding out hope that I can go home tomorrow. But the hospital has internet so I�m getting a lot of work done.

Hey guys,

Since Sarah pitched a bloodyhellfit about not wanting to take her birthday shift at the hospital. I, being the great friend that I am, am taking it for her. It’s no big deal, just a few days and some routine maintenance. You know an “oil change and tire rotation” sort of thing.

I was looking for a great excuse to spend the entire weekend in bed with my books… I’m just kinda pissed that it won’t be my bed. I am taking my own linens though… hate hospital sheets soso much.

Call me and keep me up to date with all the going on’s. Life is going to suck if the only entertainment I have is watching the blips on the Lifecycle machine.

love.you.mean.it
Sabine

Gentlemen? This is one of those posts you might want to skip. Cause see I’m going to talk fairly candidly about my weight, and then all the women are going to seethe and call me a bitch. Consider this your warning.

Ladies?
(Read on …)

I would like the drama-go-round to stop now. Please? I’m terribly sorry for the part I played in it, and it’s time to just let it all go. Nobody hates anyone. Nobody is pissed at anyone.

Let’s all be adults and move on before I have to resort to making us all hold hands and sing Kumbyah… and not one of you wants to be subjected to that.

But I will pull out the “I Feel…” mats if I need to.

Do it for the sick girl. K?

Thanks,
Sabine

No one told me today was going to hurt. My doctors obviously have it in for me.

Luckily, my best friend loves me enough to spend his last night here curled up on the couch watching movies and letting me be pathetic instead of the actual plans we had to go out and have a good time. In sickeningly disgusting display of affection, he even hand fed me dinner despite my protests that that was being just a wee-bit over dramatic.

Chris can really suck sometimes, but after today I think I can forgive him for just about anything. For now.

loveyoumoron

So I was flipping thru past posts trying to remember just exactly how I managed to live thru this month last year. (If you weren’t reading then – February was the month I found out I was moving to Florida. Instead of just packing for War I packed everything I owned, and when I left for War – I just never went home.)

I ran across this game we used to play. It’s amazingly therapeutic. What you do is you chose 20 people in your world that you either need or want to say something to, and you say it. And depending on the confidence of the other party, and their comfort in their relationship with you, they can either read through the list and know exactly which comment is directed at them (and understand the sentiment) – or they read through and think every negative comment has to be about them. It’s called Paranoia, and the only rule is: I’ll never tell.

And of course, there are only 20 spots so you may not be on here at all.

1. You are in love with him, aren’t you?
2. I don’t know where my sanity would be without you.
3. I used to think you were just batshitcrazy, but now I know better. Now I know you need to be committed.
4. That thing? The one you keep stressing over? Yeah, it’s all your fault.
5. Please stop panting in my email, it’s starting to turn me on.
6. What do you see in him??????
7. Honey, I’d flame you publicly for all your racist comments if it wasn’t for the fact you are so hopelessly backwoods naïve.
8. I wish you hadn’t fallen off the planet only slightly more than I wish you weren’t gay.
9. I don’t know why after all this time I still want you, but if you leave your wife – I’ll kill you.
10. I dare say it but finally you are coming into your own. You may end up having your head screwed on straight after all… for a boy, at least.
11. There just aren’t any words to express… they obviously don’t speak English in your world.
12. If you ruin my War, I’m sending the hit man after you.
13. You too.
14. I’d marry you tomorrow if you asked.
15. I am out to get you, but you already knew that.
16. Out of everyone there – I miss you the mostest.
17. I already have the text of your banishment scroll written. One day I’ll have the power to sign it.
18. Thank God he’s gone. You are such a stronger and happier person without him. You shine now.
19. I’m sorry, I stepped on you. I wish I cared more.
20. Every decent man is going to run away when he realizes the sex isn’t worth putting up with your shit, but you should be used to that by now.

Aw, hell why not? A bonus:
21. Your ego astounds me, but I still love you.

You can’t believe how much better I feel. Don’t you?

So this was going to be the post that caused the shitstorm. This was going to be the post that my ContentAdvisor said would be a VeryBadIdea. This was going to be the post that caused all of you to hate me a little. This was going to be the post where I brought up a taboo topic in an effort to desperately seek out at least one person whose head was stuck in the same idealistic cloud that mine apparently is.

And then by happenstance last night I found the one other person that I apparently share this cloud with and life is much the better for it. And now I don’t have to stick my neck out there for everyone to take a hack at.

So instead of a shitstorm you get –

Cortisone Injections fucking hurt.

Don’t believe the hype about the Lidocaine. Hurts like a bitch. I did begin to notice a difference almost immediately, and now an hour later – life is good, but at the time? I thought I had made a huge mistake.

And Chris, bless his heart, showed up at my appointment to hold my hand. Despite us being pissed at each other and despite my intense desire to bash his tactless little skull in – he still showed. He even covered up the needle squeamishness quite well, I hardly noticed him turning green.

And now my right ankle feels like I haven’t broken it 5 times. Gulf Wars is looking better and better.

1 doctor visit down – 3 to go. Today is another SleepTherapy session, and tomorrow a trip to my PCP and the HemaDoc! This is my excited voice. no…really. woot. Can’t you hear the excitement?

(Seeing photos of a friend’s long weekend spent in a cabin in the mountains.)
That’s a great idea.
A cabin. Friends. Bonfire. No Garb.
That would be fun.
Or even with Garb, and doing a private event.
That could be a lot of fun.
I haven’t practiced elitism in a while.
OH!
At Christmas Time!
In a cabin. With a bonfire!
Yeah!
Where?
Family Cabin?
*???*
Family Cabin.
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.
Christmas.
…
In the Family Cabin.
*headdesk*

In the past 2 months I had been able to put the idea of having to deal with my parents and stepbrothers for an entire week, in solitude, out of my head. I honestly had totally forgotten about it. A perfect example is that I have repeatedly told Sarah how much I am looking forward to the day after Christmas shopping this year cause I will have a goal.

Snowflakes will be my goal.

If my Mom’s plans work out I won’t be within in driving distance of any snowflakes other than the very real and very cold ones.

I was also reminded of my other Christmas Goal. That of a ChristmasBoyfriend. Cause if I’m going to survive that week; I’ll need gratuitous sex and someone outside my immediate family to talk to.

And that Gulf Wars was supposed to be the start of the Search for the ChristmasBoyfriend… Does this mean I have to give into Sarah’s idea of passing the list out on flyers? Cause if so then we need to make sure that added to the list is –

- Must be able to socialize with her Stepfather… or at least learn to deal with him convincingly.
- Must be available to take off work Dec 23rd thru Jan 1st.

Meanwhile, I think I have an invite only “event” to plan… Cause I think that would rock. Wouldn’t that rock?

Did someone take down the Christmas lights from outside the Hall?

Cause I didn’t… And I totally forgot about them.

Sarah? Steve? Lane? Anyone?

In an effort to make sure this week sets itself on the right track I’m bringing back the Monday Meme…

HOW TO…

Make me cry: Suffice it to say you neverever want to sit down and watch the movie “My Girl” with me. I start to sniff during the opening credits. Other than that, if you make me cry – you’ll only succeed in really pissing me off.

Inflate my ego: Hell, half the people in this world could look at me cross-eyed and my ego would be inflated. Seriously, though? Tell me how something you know I worked hard on impressed the shit out of you…

Piss me off: Make me cry, be a slack ass, have no clue how to tell a story, live in a fantasy world, ridicule me for something you know nothing about, take credit for someone else’s achievements

Gain my respect: Be incredibly assertive. Go to bat for a friend, stand up for something you believe in … especially if the whole world is against you. Have goals.

Spark my interest: Be incredibly assertive. Speak in complete sentences and be able to carry a conversation. Trip over yourself trying to get me to notice you. Know your music.

Make me feel all warm and fuzzy: Don’t treat me like a dirty little secret.

Drive me insane: Tease me. Beat around the bush. Tell half-truths.

Get what you want from me: Ask. Flatter me. Make me think it was all my idea in the first place.

Surprise me: Walk up to me at an event and say “You’re Sabine? Sabine of condoinhell?? I lurk on your blog all the time!” Assume that I need to be taken care of… and that you are the person to do it.

Get on my shit list: Sit on your ass while staring at mine, apparently.

Melt my heart: Persist. Don’t be afraid of public displays of affection. Cook for me. Make me feel like a weak-willed girl.

Today is better. Possibly even much better.

After stressing Chris out enough that he faked a work emergency so he could leave the house and call and check on me. We talked for a few hours, and worked a lot out. Something about having a guy’s perspective seemed to make life a much more happy place. Nothing is ever as complicated to a guy as it is to females. We opted to not kill Sarah, despite her being the chief witness to my weekend breakdown. (Your Welcome, Sarah)

It’s good to know that people see me as so level-headed that when I actually do break down and overreact to something worlds come screeching to halt to try and right mine. Thanks, guys.

Today? It had some redeeming qualities. Almost worthy of attempting to try and salvage what was left of my weekend, but at this point I feel that could be considered a bit over ambitious.

The goal? Finish all the laundry and test pack for Gulf so I could make sure everything was going to fit in the car or if I needed to make other arrangements. Then I was going to head to the office to get some work done.

Actuality? I spent all morning watching foreign films and not even beginning to think (cause who can think when you are reading subtitles and trying to remember College French?) until well after noon. Since overthinking is what got me in trouble to begin with I felt this was an excellent way to start my day. Then I left to grab a bite to eat at my fave little pho shop… which was really just an excuse to go fabric shopping. While searching thru fabric, it was decided that while fabric wasn’t necessarily going to make me happy… new books sure as hell would. And thank god, I opted to work the cute factor into getting ready this morning cause 2 hours later I left the bookstore with a 50% discount from the manager in exchange for my phone number. I then high-tailed it home before Fate realized I was having a good day, and sought to ruin it in someway.

Basically, the laundry still isn’t finished, the test packing will have to wait to some time this week, I never made it to the office, and come to think of it… I never actually sat down to eat anything.

But my head is back in the game… and not in my oven.

It’s the small things in life.

And Chris designed me a new playlist tonight. Life is always better with a new playlist.

Song #1 of Sabine’s “Letting Go” Playlist by The Cactus.

To whoever owns the box that tried to eat my leg,

Please if I have done something to piss you off or make you think that I needed to be beaten by your box, then I am truly veryvery sorry. Please come and find me so that I may grovel at your feet, or cook you dinner, or have your lovechild. Really whatever it takes, just please don’t send the box after me again.

Cause this?

Fucking hurts. And it’s still spreading. It’s been a week and by my estimation come Wednesday my ankle is going to be bruised to fuck and back. And then I’m going to have serious explaining to do to my ortho doc that I’m already set to see.

Honestly, Sarah – I believe that if you put Jack Bauer in a Jamaican Stick fight with the box… I’d be forced to put my money on the box. That box is a sneaky motherfucker.

(And on a side note – Holy fuck my scar stands out on camera. That scar running all the way down my leg? You can’t see that if you are just looking at my leg. Guess my aspirations of becoming a swimsuit model just went flying out the door… damn box.)

I have this sickening gut feeling that if I had stayed in my hole a few more days I wouldn’t be having this urge to stick my head in my oven about now…

For the record, I’m a fucking idiot. No. Really. FuckingClueless.

Yeah. Can we just erase this weekend? Please? Let’s just start over fresh on Monday… or even Tuesday. Tuesday works for me. Thanks.

At various times throughout our life here at condoinhell, I have found it necessary to dig a hole so I could curl up and die. Sometimes it was because I was sick, but most often it was because someone had stumbled across a interesting tidbit… normally resulting in me becoming completely mortified.

Like for instance, Sir Aaron popping into our old chatroom and announcing to the crowd “So Sabine? What this I hear about you carrying around condoms in case of emergency sex?” You wouldn’t believe how that story got around… nor the truly horrible pick-up lines that followed. So I did what any self-respecting female would do – I dug a hole… and died.

Then there was the time I begged Sarah to cut off my head cause I was so sick and I couldn’t breathe, and I would just be muchmuch happier without the offending head… but she wouldn’t do it (she doesn’t love me enough). So I dug my hole and died.

And surely we can’t forget the lapdances. Amidst the planning of a bachelorette party we were discussing pros and cons of certain men who were available for dancing… When 2 of those men decided to let it be known on that day that they were in fact reading every word we wrote. There was a scattering of holes on that day.

And no one here can pay me enough to go into the whole tongue biting debacle, that one took a really big hole.

So a few days ago when my wise ass of a best friend rolls in and starts making pithy little comments, some wayward soul starts asking questions and I opted to just go ahead and swallow my pride and point him to the link that Chris told him he needed to find. Because if I didn’t Sarah was just going to get drunk and make 500 copies and pass them out at Gulf Wars. Then I promptly… dug my hole and died.

I’m much better today… well this afternoon at least. There may or may not have been a blushing fit that I sure as hell won’t ever admit to engaging in. And after talking to Rix, I’ve decided that for now I’m going to move out of the hole so I can start using it to hide the bodies. Cause that list is getting long and somehow next week I have to figure out how I’m supposed to dismember my best friend’s 6 foot 3 inch frame so I can cram him in there and still have room for at least one more.

Besides it’s probably for the best that I move out, I can’t imagine what the cable guy was going to charge to get TiVo set up in there.