The Big H

Seems like the last few months my days start incredibly early. Most of the time it is before my 7 morning alarms go off, but I don’t mind. One morning however, it was not so wonderful to wake up. Not only was I up and not so enthusiastically at’em, but 4:30 is a little too early for me. So body, I’m not a farmer, fuck off.

The last couple weeks or so I have been having stomach and chest pains. It legit feels like a leprechaun jigging on my chest. So, Not, Cool. So alas, this pain never fully goes away, instead it’s been a constant. Straight up fucking annoying. Some days it is almost unbearable. Now, I am what I call a….tough cookie. But ouch, man. Seriously.

I am quite stubborn. That’s a fact. I strongly dislike going to hospitals or clinics in every way. The smell, the sounds, butt fuck everything. Most people think of hospitals as a place for healing. To me, its sickness and death. I will refuse and refuse to go. I could have a harmonica shoved up my asshole, and I still would refuse to go. Most likely, I would call up all the Plebians who owe me favours and tell them to finger my harmonica. I would rather lick butter off a prostitutes dirty ass butt crack than go see a doctor. HELL! One of the last times I saw a doctor they couldn’t find my hymen.  MY GOD DAMN FUCKING HYMEN. The doctor thought it was playing peek-a-boo…MY HYMEN PEOPLE!  HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO SAY THIS. For fuck sakes, fuck hospitals and fuck doctors…..fuck.

Okay, moving on…

One of my closest friends advised me over the last few weeks to go see a doctor. Come on Cait, what is the worst that could happen? Um thanks closest friend, let me tell you what could happen.

  1. A shit ton, fool!
  2. A SHIT TON, FOOL!

I simply refuse to go. Caitlin, says no, closet friend, Caitlin says no.

The chest and stomach pain was constant and consistent. I was dizzy, I was drowsy, either I was puking or my ass was puking. Now, I know what you are thinking. This bitch is knocked up. Sorry folks, hate to break it to ya, but unless my fingers are shooting spermies I am as un’-pregnant as humanly possible. If I was preggerz, meet Jesus Junior, the Second Cumming of Christ.

Almost forgot to mention, I am on meds too, but ya’ll know that so…. Yeah, the obvious side effects aside from cracking myself up and being awesome, I get constipated, faint, can’t think straight, I feel like a pansey, and I have the occassional slurrrrrr-rrrr-rring of words. I’m telling you, if they were casting Judy Garland’s BioPic I would knock that shit out of the park.

So all these forces seem to be building up inside of me. That one morning I was sweaty, the world was spinning, I couldn’t breathe, I’m telling you folks, I was one symptom away from seeing a baby crawling on the ceiling. I am alone. Who do you call when you are alone? No one is home. I got my cat plotting my death already, and my dog is licking his balls in the corner.

11745834_10100508642189933_6844818290448706980_n{SIDE NOTE: My boy Barrie is such a mythical Saint Bernard This cuddly beast has no idea what is going. Saint Bernard’s are supposed to be heroes. SAVE ME, BARRIE ST. BERNARD, SAVE ME! Granted, they are known for saving people from avalanches, the alps and people with colds. So I will let it slide, my boy Barrie. I mean the fact he was sitting in the backyard the other day trying to catch the wind with his mouth…whelp! It says it all.}

Okay, back to being alone. Who the hell am I going to call at this ungodly hour? I certainly do not want to call the parental units, not only would it worry them, but them being on the other side of the country is in all essence, useless. Sorry mom, sorry dad. I also thought, and this was a rather quick poke of a thought, to call some of my friends. However, the majority of them either don’t drive or do not have a vehicle to drive. Plus, the last thing a friend wants to hear is, can you please walk me to the hospital? So friends, maybe, you could get your license or a car  and then I could call you, and you could be like a ‘real’ friend…..just saying…

So looking at my phone, I realize I really only have one option. Call the ex. Fuck my life, this is so not ideal. SO. NOT. IDEAL. I call him, no answer. THANKGOD! Not meant to be. I understand, no one wants to pick up the phone this early in the morning, let alone knowing it is from your ex. It’s fine really, It’s a sign. C’mon Cait, you are a big girl now. Definitely not forking up 80$ for an ambulance, so lets drive. Smart thinking, I know! I went to university where all the smart thinkers come from. I put on my jacket, can’t forget pants, grab my Nikes, dish out my Id’s, snatch up the keys and Oh, I can’t forget my driving gloves! KIDDING! Driving gloves are for pussies, and for people who duel. EN GAURD!

So at some point between my front door and my beloved car, Robin I passed out. No joke. I woke up to rain and wind and what I am sure was once a slug smeared on my cheek. MMMkkay… maybe driving is out of the question.

Somehow I find myself crawling my way back up the stairs, baby steps, Cait, baby steps. I can hear my phone. Its ringing. Someone can save me! I increase speed, which really isn’t fast at all at this point. I’m racing to my phone, I reach the top, only to realize my phone was in my pocket the entire time. Seems legit.

Who is it? The ex. I pick up and was doing my best to play it all cool. I went to five years of acting school for this moment, FAIL! I caved. Oddly enough he was on his way with little Plum dog for the pups to play. So….

FLASH FORWARD TO BURNABY GENERAL HOSPITAL.

No line up, practically no hospital personnel either. I’m in a room and on a bed within one hour. The ex heads back to my place to keep an eye on the pups. It was for the best, he seemed agitated and annoyed at my conundrum. I’m sure driving an ex anywhere is on no one’s To Do List. Part of me wanted him to stay, especially since I have driven him to the hospital more times than I could count, but I needed to be alone. I had to do this on my own. We are not boyfriend and girlfriend anymore. We are just friends and that’s okay.

So I am in Room 1. FYI not a real room. Just a bed surrounded by curtains. There was a gentleman on one side of me in Room 2. He sounded like quite the comedian. He was cracking wise with the nurses, telling them stories that ranged from a one-legged prostitute he fell in love with in Bali to tea-bagging a donkey. Come to think of it, not much of a gentleman. Oh and he was in the hospital for….get this… full on corkscrew lodged in his head. Yup, 8 stitches later and a bandage that somewhat resembled a yamaka. L’Chaim.

Now, these hospital gowns, don’t even get me started. They are frail, not flattering and seriously, you can never have enough coverage, (which reminds me I need to switch my life insurance.)

11904718_10100532930141683_8754819215513386869_nSo anyways in my barely there hospital gown, nurse comes in to take my blood. She even says it in a creepy Transylvanian way which she thought was hilarious. I‘ve come to take vyer bloooood! I thought it was nonsense. I even told her to go back and re-enter like a real person. She did, such a trooperSo she grabs my left arm and can’t seem to find my vein. Stabs me anyways. MOTHER FUCKING OUCH! Painful! Incredibly so. Seeing my discomfort, she pulls out the needle, lets my blood drip on my beautiful hospital gown and proceeds to take blood from my other arm. I should have let the crazy bitch play Dracula. Be good to my right arm lady. It’s all I got until I find myself a man. She places cotton balls on my arms, both sore, my stomach is in pain, I can’t breathe, my veins are throbbing and all of a sudden…..a lonely tear drop falls from my eye. Then 2, then 3, and then the water works. I hate crying, I cry even more just knowing I can be an ugly crier. S.A.D.N.E.S.S.

Anyways, Room 2’s mom comes and picks him up. Enter, Room 2’s new patient, crazy lady. Why she be crazy? Let me tell you. I am there in my little ‘room’ crying. She starts crying. I get louder, she gets louder, I get even more boastful and operatic and she hulks it out even more. We sound like a whales, just a couple of swells I tell ya. MAAAOOOO WAHHHHH MAHHHHaaaa….Ahem, I am competitive by nature, its a gift, there is no denying it. So I use my years of voice training to …WAHAHAHAOOO BAOOOOOOMEOOOW MEOW…

This beautiful moment friends, goes on for quite some time. At some point my crying turns into uncontrollable laughter. The sad, sad story we were sharing turned into the funniest fucking moment of my life. AND THIS IS BEFORE THE DRUGS PEOPLE! She however, was not amused. She went silent. Later, Room 2 crazy lady. it was a pleasure. HAHAHA.

So non-bloodthirsty nurse comes in and mixes me up a frothy cocktail of grossness. It was straight up, gnarly. I sucked it back, channeling my college drinking days and I CAN’T FEEL MY MOUTH. Yes, she forgot to mention the numbness in my mouth that would happen with this shot. Clearly, she didn’t enjoy my whale talk as much as I did.

Follow blue line to x-rays. Follow blue line back to bed.

Pain, still so much pain. If I can’t handle this, child birth is not an option. I will order my children on eBay. Props to all you momma’s shitting out kids. Props Mom,

So the ex calls. I can’t talk. I’m trying to, but I sound like Leo DiCaprio from What’s Eating Gilbert Grape. FUCK. MY. LIFE. Or in my case, FEEEOWKK MWAI LIFEEE….Like actually.Where are the actually drugs! This numbness, the mouth shit does fuck all.

I am such a baby. There was a man with a corkscrew stuck in his head, IN HIS HEAD! The fucking thing didn’t even phase him. Whereas me, a 27 year old, single, semi-independent woman Is whining over a misunderstood tummy ache. WHAHHHH!!!

Doc comes in, injects me with wait for it…..morphine! And oh my if you haven’t had morphine, I encourage you to have a go. You haven’t lived until a doctor jabs you in the backside (now I know why hospital gowns don’t close at the back), with a big ass fucking needle. The needle hurts, but the morphine feels like candy. I can’t talk and now I can’t think for myself. Clearly, every man’s dream girl.

So at some point, sprawled out on the bed, face down in a star fish position, gown back flaps wide open the doc revisits me. Lets me know I’ve been out about half hour or so. He gives me the down low. (The Doctor’s down low may or may not be featured in a future blog. After all, I should probably keep some things a mystery from you folks.)  So yada yada, yadada….basically in one ear out the other. The Doc will have to invoice me, seriously I’m high on all your hospital candies, drooling and not even noticing that I am drooling and this is the moment you decide to tell me what is wrong with me. SO. NOT. IDEAL.

What a day it was folks. It will hopefully be a long time before I decide to visit the big H again. Hopefully, my friends will have cars, and I won’t need to call the ex. Or I could not be cheap and take an ambulance ride. BUT WHATEVER….Now, excuse me while, I instagram the hole in my back from the biggest needle ever.

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Just Keep Swimming!

Tuesday, February 26th, approximately 7:00 PM.

One of my endeavors I’ve been currently implementing into my life for 2013 is swimming laps on a weekly basis. Being fitness focused, I figured the more different workouts I do, the more diverse my body will become, as well as the more, toned and firm. (And ladies them boys like it that way).

The great thing about swimming laps, is can you go at your own pace, choosing the lane that best suits you. The unfortunate thing about the pool I go to is they have their fast lanes and moderate, no in between, which means I have the choice of what I like to call the hardcore butterfliers and the short bus lane, I’m on the short bus in this case. Being in this special lane, means that there will be some, ‘slow’er people swimming, and some ‘normal’ swimmers, like ME!

On this night, I was in a lane with two large females. These large females were not related (I realized that night that not all fat people are related), they were not social buddies or co-workers or nothing. There was no relation between them whatsoever. One of these ladies, (who I will call Marge), literally swam in the middle of the not so big lane. Every time I would pass her, she would rumpus me over to the lane divider. Not cool, Marge! Definitely not cool! The other lady, (let us call her the FurBurgler), would swim a lap every 5-10 minutes, waiting and watching at the end of the lanes. Every time I finished a lap she would smile, throw out some positive words of encouragement and continue being a bump in the lane. Image(FYI FurBurgler, I get my dosage of Dr. Phil I do not need your words of encouragement).

After my laps, I venture to the sauna, and already in the sauna was FurBurgler. Not biggy. She smiled at me, and using my peripherals I chose to sit next to the sack of old men. Keeping my distance from this whale of a woman, I closed my eyes most of the time to avoid eye contact with her whatsoever. Eventually, I stroke up a conversation with some of the old fucks and she left shortly after.

After the sauna, I ventured to the hot tub. No FurBurgler was found. Cool.

As I headed into the change rooms, I saw Furburgler in the showers, still wearing her bathing suit. I walked passed as quickly as I could to go open my locker, grab my soap on a rope and conditioner and headed for the showers. (I was not excited at this point). There were no other people in the showers, but FurBurgler and myself. Now, I am one of the people that does not get full on naked in the showers in public; I don’t do those nudey shows. I have no issues with other people getting naked, but it quite simply ain’t my thing, I may time to time show my boobies, but that’s because they are perky and I like them.

ImageANYWAYS!

I’m in the shower. FurBurgler, is across from me, smiling (CREEP!) She slowly takes off her swimsuit, I look away and puke in my mouth. GROSS! The last thing I want to see is some fat ladies raison cleft and Danny Devitos. I finish, quickly!!!

I head back to my locker, which is way on the other side of the change room. I start to pull my clothes out, take off my swimsuit, yadda yadda, and who comes around the corner, but big old fat! FURBURGLER! She has a whole bag of her clothes and what have you, apparently it was so busy where her locker was, she decided that this aisle of lockers there would be nobody. WRONG! You rug muncher! I’m here! I’m fucking here! Of course, I did not say this out loud, but inside I was freaking out. Be cool Cait, be calm. I asked myself what a buddy of mine would do….ya don’t ever do that FYI it will be the wrong fucking answer.

FurBurgler tries to make small talk with me; I just nod or shake my head, avoiding eye contact, one word answers.

FurBurgler: Do you come here often?

Me: No.

FurBurgler: I like your swimsuit, where did you get it?

Me: The store.

FurBurgler: I love it here! So many people, the girls here are nice.

Me: (No answer.)

FurBurgler: I forgot my moisturizer, can I borrow yours?

Me: (I slide it over, no answer).

FurBurgler: I like your boots!

Me: Me too.

FurBurgler: Where did you get them?

Me: The store.

This pretty much sums up one of the most awkward conversations of my life. To add to this awkwardness, FurBurgler would do things like, take her bra off and on, keep looking over, totally checking me out I know it! I won’t lie I figure if this lip licker is into me, I’ll give her a little show. So I exposed my breasts, naturally! And as I did that she took off her pants, which was weird, really fucking weird. So I put my top on super fast! My gayder was bleeping, going completely haywire. I’M OUT!

I packed up my shit, and left.Image

I would just like to say, I am not homophobic. I am also not gay. Therefore, if a gay person hits on me, I’m not cool with that. LES BE HONEST HERE! Don’t look at me, don’t touch me, don’t be all lesbian on me. I went through that phase, I tried the Clam Chowder and I didn’t like it, that part of me died. It’s dead. Gone. Te-nush!

The big question: will I be swimming laps again? Yes, but I’m thinking maybe the short bus lane isn’t for me anymore.

Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming.

Perks of a Personal Trainer

You hear it time and time again. My New Years Resolution this year will be to lose weight or get in shape. Every year you say it, but you’re a lazy fuckwad. I say if you are that lazy you might as well make a New Years Resolution to shit McMuffins or sweat out tar. Come on folks, less talking more walking.

Last year, my resolution was to be happy. I know, I know, super cheesy and was I happy all the time? HELL NO! But I felt the need to really invest in myself (I strongly suggest everyone should do this). This is not to say I didn’t give a damn about my well-being before hand. I did, but I did so in ways that were not conducive to my health (perhaps something I may mention in later blogs). So naturally focusing on myself I signed up for a gym membership, started taking yoga, zumba and one of my besties enrolled in school to become a personal trainer. Talk about perfect timing.

So for all of last year (2012) I went to the gym as often as I could and believe me it was not always easy. I literally forced myself to go sometimes, even if I was only their for 15 mins. Luckily, there were quite a bit of fitness classes during the week that I was able to attend. This definitely made it easier on me. On Saturday mornings, I do a 2 1/2 hour workout with a crazy ass old lady who I swear does a rail Saturday mornings before class. I don’t know about you, but it’s people like that who make me want to go to class and work the fuck out. Because I once upon a time was a dancer, I bought/downloaded cardio dance workout videos, so I could shake my booty at home. But it’s not always this easy for everyone, it wasn’t always easy for me.

This year, I had five New Year Resolution and if I remember correctly, making my farts smell like pickles beat out being happy. Why? Because I am happier, now. Why am I happier now? I have a personal trainer. As fate would have it my lovely friend is now a certified personal trainer and I call DIBS!

Jillian Michaels, watch the fuck out! (Just kidding, I love you, but I love my friend more!)

We meet once a week for training. She sets out a plan for me that day, and sets out a plan for me for a week. Every week it changes. Believe it or not it is awesome. I was never a fan of homework, but this stuff is worth it. I can honestly say I don’t think I have ever been more excited for homework, especially since it is working out.

Perks of having a Personal Trainer:

  • The give you a new and different way to work out. One day they may show you how to work on your thighs, and the next time you see them they can show you another way to work them out. Variety is key in keeping up with exercising.
  • They show you how to do exercise properly. I don’t know how many times I have gone to the gym and seen people violating the lat machines or humping the benches (no joke). Knowing how to exercise will educate you and keep your body safe. Plus also, not make you look like a tool at the gym.
  • They are time savvy! Its not the length of a workout session that determines your calorie burn or value, but its how you work out. They help you get the most out of your workouts. Trainers can intensify your workouts and push you to your limits. 
  • Not only can they physically push you, they’ll mentally push you. They may even push you to the point where you are crying, laughing or want to bitch-slap them across the face. But its all in the process and trust me it feels so good, hurts so good and all so good.
  • Because you are investing in a personal trainer, you will never want to ditch an appointment with them. Why? Because that’s money down the drain for you, time wasted for them and I swear to God they’ll rape the fuck out of you the next time they see you! DON’T DO IT!!!
  • The most beneficial perk (in my opinion) is their encouragement and motivation. You may be paying the bill, but they are genuinely investing in you. They want you to succeed, have a killer bod and well healthy lifestyle.

I’m telling you folks, INVEST IN YOURSELVES! GET A PERSONAL TRAINER OR LIFE COACH OR SOMETHING. EVEN A HOOKER FOR ALL I CARE! Put yourself first, and doing that it usually starts with your body, mind and spirit!

PS vancityfit.wordpress.com This is my Jillian Michaels! I may let you borrow her. If you are in the Vancouver or tri-cities area you are welcome!

5 REASONS TO: Zumba! Zumba!

Image

I’m in love with a thing called ZUMBA!

  1. Full body workout. And when I say full, I mean FULL! You work your legs, gluts, abs, arms, hips, feet…your jumping, sweating, swinging, flying and it completely get’s your heart rate up!
  2. It’s a full on PARTAY! Honestly, everyone is in their own groove, dancing their hearts out. Adding their own style and ‘tude to the movements.
  3. ANYONE AND EVERYONE CAN ZUMBA! Like any fitness class the steps are modified from beginner to advance. But DO NOT let this discourage you. Beginner’s can sweat just as much as Advance.
  4. The music is killer! After a few classes once you know the routine, anytime you here a song on the radio, in the elevator, grocery store you will naturally ZUMBA! My little promise to you.
  5. CALORIES, calories and did I say calories? Because you are constantly moving for the better part of an hour, your body is burning more calories. You can burn up to 800 calories!!! Now that’s a weight loss plan that’s a PARTAY