This post is about how I found out squirrels are full of skanky STD's and the nurse at the urgent care place in my neighborhood is their master.

I just wrote three paragraphs and deleted them due to the fact that when I re-read them I had totally no idea what I was even talking about.

You guys know the drill: I wrote the paragraphs. Then my cat started snoring. And it was one of those little squeaky snores followed by a fat man grunty snore. And I tried to record it with my iPhone, but it wouldn't come through. Then I dropped my phone. Then The Cat woke up and looked at me like I was an asshole. Which I kinda am. Then I apologized to her, and then explained that her snore was really funny and I was trying to record it so I could post it on Facebook. Then she looked at me like I was even more of an asshole. And also an idiot for talking to her in human like she possibly understands. Which I know she doesn't. But I sometimes forget. Although I do think that there is a strong possibility that she understands Spanish because when I had the tv on Telemundo one time by accident, she seemed really into it. Anyways...then I saw a lizard crawling on the window screen. So I picked her up to show it to her. And she got kinda irritated due to the fact that she doesn't like to be picked up. And she straight up refused to even look at the damn lizard on the window screen. And I said "Hey girl. Your loss." Cuz that lizard was mega hyper and I know for a fact that if she'd seen it she woulda really enjoyed it. So I started playing with him by tracing my finger along the screen to see if he'd follow it. Which he totally did. So I decided to go outside and try to touch him. But as soon as I opened the door, about 5.3 million mosquitos tried to eat me. So I closed it. Then I sang a song about mosquitos being dick-holes. Which got me seriously thinking about Jurassic Park and how mosquitos were the whole reason that all that frickin' shit went down. Which made me wonder if, like, a gazillion years from now when Alien's take over the planet, they might find a dick-hole mosquito that had bitten the crap outta me, preserved in some amber and get the DNA out of it and make a bunch of Patti's that they would then use to make Alien/Human hybrids that have amazing 80's song lyric memorization skills and hobo stabbing skills,  as well as the ability to do mega Karate Kid Crane Kicks.

Then I sat back down at the computer and read the stuff I wrote about my arm surgery and Bionic Woman and blue polyester jumpsuits and The 6 Million Dollar Man, and I thought "Dude....that shit's boring."

And look at what you got now.

Maybe I made the wrong decision.

But basically I was just gonna tell you guys that I'm still rockin' it with my arm. It has healed up rapidly. Which is weird for me. The girl who has the worst medical luck on the planet. And I have enjoyed being able to brag, for once, about how well I am doing after a surgery. Instead of telling you all the domino effect of shit that went down afterwards. But maybe I bragged a bit too much and The Universe decided to give me a big ass kicking for being so cocky.

So Friday night my friend Casey came to spend the night. And we were outside. As were about 9 billion hungry mosquitos. And I got bitten about 50 times. Ate at least one. Maybe two. I can't be sure. Alls I can be sure if is that it sucked ass. So later that night I see that I have these bumps on my forehead and eyelid. So of course I'm thinking the mosquitos did it. Then Sunday morning when I woke up it hurt like balls and looked like I had a flesh eating virus. So I went to Urgent Care, quite convinced that they were going to tell me that my entire face would be gone by Thursday. So get my ass to Target Portrait Studio and live it up now. While I still had skin. But they told me it was a virus. Shingles. Which is a form of herpes that is usually on your back and sometimes on your face. And it almost always happens to old people. Like most of the nonsense I get. So I asked her if it was possible to get it from being face raped by an angry, STD-ridden, socially deviant squirrel, because that shit happened to me just last week. And she didn't say no inasmuch as look at me like I had a mental disability. And I don't really take that as a no. I kinda take it as a maybe she is a lover of squirrels and is in on this whole face rape epidemic and sees that I'm onto them and is having a moment of shock at my revelation. I'm very perceptive like that.

So now my arm is feeling pretty damn good, but my face is starting to make me look like that kid in Mask. Which just makes me think of that movie. Which just makes me cry like a little bitch. And I keep singing that Katmandu song. Cuz they played it in that movie when the Mask kid got mad about his friend moving away and not going to all the places on the map with him. And he ripped the pins out and had a big hissy fit. That's why. And for the record: I thought Sam Elliott was HOT in that movie.

And alls I can say is thank balls my Halloween costume this year is Zombie Chrissy Snow. Cuz if my face is all jacked up I really have no other choice but to be a zombie. Or Lindsay Lohan. But I think Zombies are cuter. So hopefully this latest medical fucktastrophe will only add a realism to the costume that I would not have had before. And if by chance that costume doesn't work out, I'll just go as me, with a stuffed squirrel taped to my face. And a bottle of Valtrex in my hand. It's good to have a back-up plan.

P.S. Due to some wank-hole posting a very inappropriate comment on my blog, I will now be moderating all comments. So if you post and don't see it don't worry. Once I look at it and deem is not douche-tardy, I will post it. Thank you!

This is my first post in about 3 weeks and it's about lots of things that actually do connect for once, even though it might seem like they don't.

So first things first: I obviously survived my surgery. Which you should already know due to the fact that when I posted my guest blogger posts I also wrote little introductions. But even if I hadn't survived my surgery I woulda probably still written those intros. Cuz like I've told you guys before, I plan to continue to blog from the grave. So if I have any haters out there who think they can make me stop blogging by sporking me to death or something, it's time to get another plan. Cuz that won't stop me one bit. In fact it will probably make my blogs even awesomer cuz I'll have all that being sporked to death by a hater stuff to talk about. So you might as well give in and start liking me. Turn your sporking energy towards someone more deserving. Like Anne Coulter. Or whoever decided to re-make Footloose. Cuz that shit was just fine the way it was. And seeing some stranger do the Angry Warehouse Dance is like getting my heart kicked by some kinda animal that kicks really hard. Like a kangaroo. Or Jean Claude Van Damme.

And although I survived my surgery, I did lose something very important to me:

I'm only kidding you guys. The armlessness in this photo is due to the fact that I was just accidentally positioned wrong while Cathy was taking yet another picture of me on our morning walk. Although awesomely apropos, it wasn't even on purpose. And why was Cathy taking a photo of me from behind?Probably cuz she is obsessed with me. And I know that she tells everyone that she doesn't like to take ridiculous photos of me. But we all know she secretly loves it. Why else would she repeatedly go on walks with me and take pictures of me acting like an idiot? Plus take those face raping squirrel prevention classes at the Y? Think about that, you guys. Think. About. That.

I think the squirrels clawed that in there. They follow us around so much they certainly know what's what.

Anyway, I did come out of surgery with both arms. I swear. And if you're on Facebook you already know this cuz I was on there within a few days post-surgery, slowly posting with the index finger of my left hand. Like a boss. But I wasn't really able to type enough to write a full blog post. Until now. But although I can now type an actual blog entry, I am also having PMS. Which most of you know makes me even more scattered and ADD than usual. And those of you who know me well probably know that since I made the mistake of mentioning Footloose in the first paragraph, my brain now can't seem to focus on anything else but Kevin Bacon, his hair, and that awesome awesome Angry Dance. Which I have been on You Tube watching repeatedly since starting this blog post. ANd of course trying to re-create for The Cat. Who really seems to dig it. As she digs most of my musical performances. Then THANKFULLY I remembered that Brett did his own version of The Angry Dance on Flight of the Conchords. So I watched that. Like, 100 times. And now I have to post it for you so I can get it outta my system:

You're welcome.

So anyhow It's been 3 weeks since my surgery. And I'm healing like a super hero. Or like someone on True Blood who gets hurt then drinks vampire blood. Which is really unusual for me. Cuz I have had a lot of surgeries for various effed up stuff, and if there's one thing I don't usually do well, it's heal. What I usually do is turn into a medical domino whereby the fixing of one thing turns into the discovery of another thing, then the fixing of that thing accidentally effs up another thing, then the fixing of the accidentally effed up thing accidentally effs up yet another thing. And so on and so forth.  So the fact that I have been healing so rapidly really makes no sense at all. So maybe I did have some vampire blood that I don't know about. I was pretty high on narcotics and in and out of consciousness for about a week there. And I did have some pretty realistic dreams about vampire Eric. So it's totally possible that he may have visited me. Or possibly slipped some blood into the tomato soup I had one day. It did taste kinda weird now that I think about it. So when I go in for my next follow-up appointment I'm gonna tell Dr. Mattieburger that the reason I'm totally Bionic womaning this whole screw in my arm torn rotator cuff thing, is due to the vampire blood I ingested. I'll let you know how that goes over.

And for two weeks after my surgery I couldn't lift my right arm and it hurt like balls. And I looked like a total asshole cuz I couldn't straighten my hair or put on makeup or anything. And I couldn't drive so I was stuck around the house for two freakin' weeks. So thank Rudd for Facebook. And you long-time readers know that I always say thank Rudd and for the love of Rudd and stuff like that due to the fact that I totally dig Paul Rudd and that whole adorably cute and funny situation he has going on. But this time I literally mean Thank Rudd. Cuz right before this stupid surgery I became Facebook friends with him and then a ton of other interesting people and then got involved in these revolutions and nations and rebellions and all kinds of really fun and stupid stuff. And it was perfect timing since I was stuck here on my ass for 2 weeks with absolutely nothing to do all day. So yeah...thank Rudd for that. 

And even before all that happened I was planning to write a Dear Paul Rudd blog. Kinda like the Dear James Franco blog I wrote. But less mustache and old man sweater oriented and more lets play frisbee in the park and drink some beer and spoon while watching funny movies, oriented. But now he knows I'm writing one. About him. And although I think he kinda "gets" my vibe and understands that I am a bit weird by now, I don't think he actually understands the full extent of it. So hopefully he won't un-friend me and call the police after reading whatever I write. But if he does I'm cool with it. Cuz as I've told you guys before...I LOVE a good prison break movie. I watch them all. And if that shit goes down I am fully prepared to break myself out. Assuming they even get my Karate Kid Crane Kicking ass in there in the first place. And if I know anything at all I know that at least half of you guys are as weird as me if not weirder, and that you will have my back. And someday they will make a movie all about the weird mom blogger who totally freaked out Paul Rudd and went to prison for it and busted out like Tim Robbins did in Shawshank but much awesomer and with less anal rape and crawling through sewers of poo.

Actually....that having a movie made about my Rudd arrest kinda sounds interesting. So either way, cops or no cops, restraining order or no restraining order, it's all good.

We'll just wait and see how it pans out. But you guys should all brush up on your prison break movies just in case. I need my back-up to be prepared. As well as slightly mentally unbalanced. And if any of you guys have an Invisibility Cloak, that would rock pretty hard too.

This is a blog about all the reasons I am not fit to report to jury duty

I talk too much. And if you tell me I am not allowed to talk, I can pretty much guarantee that I'm gonna talk more.

I am very irresponsible. The first day I brought my son home from the hospital I forgot to feed him. When he wouldn't stop crying I thought he was just an asshole.

I am obsessed with drag queens and if one was accused of a crime and I was a juror, I'd probably let her off. Or at least go on The Lam with her and start a new life with fake names and everything and lots of moving from town to town. And since drag queens are much more feminine than me, she'd pretend to be the wife and I'd have to cut my hair and pretend to be the husband and my name would be Herbert:

I used to be a criminal. I once stole a big canister of Slim Jim's from TG&Y. And one time when Cheryl Figgenspan wouldn't let me borrow her little plastic frying pan with rubber eggs in it (sunny side up!) I put it in my pocket and took it home with me.

I am not above lying if backed into a corner. When Cheryl Figgenspan's mom called my mom to say that I stole the frying pan, I accused the entire Figgenspan family of trying to frame me.

The other day, for no reason at all, and even though I have an allergy to cat fur, I brushed my cat and made Wilford Brimley eyebrows out of her fur and taped them to my face and made my sister do it as well:

I want to tattoo Wonder Woman's costume onto my body, because (a) It's awesome, (b) I won't have to wear clothes if I don't want to because I will always be dressed. I know that this will work because when I was 9 I used my crayon soaps to color a wonder woman costume onto my body and then ran around the house and nobody seemed to notice that I was totally nude.

I cuss a lot. If you tell me not to cuss I can pretty much guarantee that I will probably cuss more.

I have a pet peanut that looks like a bird and his name is Nutbird and he lives in one of my houseplants:

I am forgetful. I once took my son all the way to the zoo but forgot to put his shoes or pants on.

I am a daydreamer and a terrible listener. Here's how it will go down: Annoying D-Bag Lawyer: "Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, I present to you a man who..."  What's going on in My Brain: "Man, if I had a Unicorn I would name him Lord Burgess Atwood and I would train him to come when I sing 'U Can't Touch This', which I would totally sing right now, and he would come get me out of this juror box thingy and I would jump on his back and tell everyone 'It's Hammer Time, bitches', and Lord Burgess would fart a rainbow and we'd slide on it all the way to Baskin Robbins and I'd get the S'Mores ice cream in a waffle cone and Burgey would get Bubble Gum in a dish cuz he can't hold a cone cuz duh, unicorns don't have hands."

I once went to Target Portrait Studio to get this photo taken:

One time I walked all through Target with a pair of underwear stuck to the back of my shirt. And once I discovered it was there, I really didn't care.

I totally believe in ghosts and I'm not above bringing one with me to court. I also believe in Bigfoot, The Loch Ness Monster, Chupacabra's and Vampires.

I have a really big mouth and I can in no way promise that I can keep the details of any case secret.

I am obviously unstable.

I think this is completely appropriate attire for jury duty:

If I were told to not wear that outfit, I would probably wear my graduation robe.  If the judge gets to wear a robe, I get to wear a robe. And on the back I will iron-on the words "#1 Robe Wearer" so the judge knows that as far as rockin' big dumb robes goes, I totally win.

Unless one of the lawyers looks like Matthew McConaughey, I'm not gonna be paying any attention.

I'm pretty sure that Judge Judy is the only person capable of properly handling a courtroom.

I sometimes do karate for my cat. I also perform scenes from musicals. She seems to really enjoy it.

I can almost guarantee that at some point I would have to yell "I object!"

My bladder is the size of a raisin and I require lots of pee breaks. If I am denied pee breaks, I will find it necessary to wear a diaper or pee in a bottle which will be extremely messy since my husband did not buy me The Whiz.

I wear a wrist brace which I will tell everyone is from hurting my hand giving too many handy-j's to strangers in the alley, but is really from beating up hobos for sport.

I'm pretty sure that the other jurors will want to kill me, so if you choose me you risk having another murder on your hands, plus another trial, plus more taxpayer money, plus a need for more jurors. It's an endless cycle.

I would be totally easy to bribe. All it would take is some guacamole and a margarita.

I think Charlie Sheen is some kind of evil genius.

I believe that PMS is an excuse for anything.

Did I mention that I write this blog?