A Close Shave

Hello, my darlings! Do you ever have those nights where you can’t sleep and you start to get a little loopy? The other night, it was around 3am, and I was lying in bed unable to get to a snoozy place. Everyone in the house was asleep, all was quiet, and I’d been tossing and turning for two hours. Hell, even the Puggle was at the foot of the bed, snoring. As I flopped about the bed trying to get comfortable, I thought I felt something odd. The place of this odd is a place generally only seen by my husband and gynecologist. Now, see, here’s the thing: After the skin cancer scare from two years ago, and the luck we’ve been having lately, feeling anything odd on my skin really super freaks me out. My brain spiraled into a worry hole of all the things that could possibly be killing me and how I was definitely going to die because that’s the one thing that’s been missing from the last few months. I flew out of bed and went to inspect to make damn diggity sure there was nothing wrong. And. Okay. I was tired. Like, super tired. But it was 3am and maybe I wasn’t on top of my game. Because when I realized there was some visual impairment in the form of, uh, shrubbery, my idea was to grab an electric razor to get a clearer view of the area. Basically I panicked. Mistakes were made. I quickly realized all was well, there was nothing to be concerned about, I didn’t see a damn thing out of place. Except that now my *ahem* area was looking a little lopsided. And so, even though I haven’t done such a thing in like, fifteen years, there I stood,...

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Fizzy Follies: The Funeral

Hello my darlings! So, long time no blog… Very sorry! But today I am back with…well, quite a tale. I debated posting about this because I don’t want to be disrespectful in any way, but by the end of this event, even my mom was declaring it had to be shared. I thought about just working this into a novel someway, but I have been reliably informed by multiple people, it would be rejected as fiction for being too absurd. So.  I was at a funeral… There’s really no good way to say I’m about to tell you about ridiculous things that happened at a funeral. I’m trying to take the perspective of finding something to smile about in any situation. (Or I’m just a dick. Either way.) (This was not a sudden death funeral, it had been a very long time coming, so everyone was sad for the loss, but happy the struggle was over, if that helps at all…It probably doesn’t. Anyway…) Okay. So. Last night was the calling for the funeral. Where they show the body and everyone stands about chatting and reminiscing. A little background: I don’t do well at funerals. I am the person who is so uncomfortable I will accidentally say horribly awkward things. I know this. BUT. I am also scared to death of bodies at a funeral home. When I was a kid, my mom told me a story about the funeral of a man who’d had a terrible hunch in his back, so when they laid him out, they’d had to put a rod on him to keep him straight. It broke in the middle of the funeral. And the body SAT THE FUCK UP. So, yeah. Bodies in caskets freak me out royally. My mom, my sweet little old...

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Fizzy Follies – No, YOU Have PMS!

Hello my darlings! My laptop decided it was overworked and crapped out on me so I have been unable to blog for a bit! Which is a shame because I had a moment of sheer mortification happen this week and well, I’m a giver. Let’s set this story up by saying I was so not in the mood for shenanigans on Monday. I really was not. I had cramps and was ready to set the world on fire. It’s worth noting that I am not one of those women who can strut into a store and buy something like feminine hygiene products or condoms and feel all confident. No, I’m one of those people who needs only that one item but I will buy several random items just to be stealth. Who doesn’t need seventeen packs of Tic-Tacs? So there’s me, awkwardly standing in line at Walgreens with a giant box of tampons and mouthwash. Why mouthwash? Because I was too lazy to search for anything else and it had a picture of Shakira next to it. That was my actual logic. I’m in line, headphones in, listening to Imagine Dragons wax poetic about hidden demons when I feel someone breathing on my neck. ON MY NECK. I yank my headphones out to hear a man’s voice, mid-sentence say this: “…those filthy rags, I can’t believe anyone buys them.” I was horrified. I whirled around and shouted, “WHAT THE HELL!?” at this dude. “I said I can’t believe anyone would buy enough of those filthy rags for them to sell out,” he repeated. A fiery ball of PMS induced feminist rage boiled up in me and I swear, I actually had my hand pulled back to slap him. I was literally about to slap a man in the checkout...

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Fizzy Follies: Adventures in Matrimony

Hello my darlings! So, you know how you go out and do normal things and then come home? Like, there you go to the grocery store and come home and it’s just a calm, casual thing? I don’t get those. If you’ve read this blog or follow me anywhere online you’ve seen that things in Summerville are…strange at best. When I go to the grocery store I end up coming home to tell my no longer shocked by these things husband things like, “So, there was this truck with a donkey in the front seat…” and hubs just says, “I wonder if it was the same donkey from last week. Did you buy wine?” This magnetized pull I have to the kooky stems into every part of my life. Including our wedding day. Nearly ten years ago, my fella and I said, “I DO!” in front of *insert some kind of romantic platitude*. But, in typical Fizzy fashion, things did have their snags. I was a very zen bride. I hadn’t grown up plotting my wedding or fantasizing about dresses or any of that. All I knew is that I wanted to have Jelly Bellies on every table and somewhere to shimmy with my people after stuffing our faces with buffet food. The day before our wedding, it was 80 degrees and sunshiney. It was lovely. The day of our wedding, it was freezing cold and raining. And I’m not kidding about it being freezing. It was like a 50 degree temperature drop in 8 hours. Only a problem if you were having an outdoor wedding, really. Which we totally were having. It was so fucking cold, you guys. We had this giant white circus tent sized thing that we were housed in next to a field, and it...

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Fizzy Follies: The Tooth Fairy

Hello my loves! Our daughter has the worst luck with teeth. This isn’t an exaggeration. The kid is cursed. When she was ten-months-old she had a tooth that hadn’t even come in yet bitten out by a dog. Last year she had a tooth knocked out in gymnastics class. Two months ago she had to have a tooth pulled after she broke it eating applesauce. APPLESAUCE. Because screw teeth, that’s why. Of the five teeth she’s lost, only one was of natural circumstances. Cursed chompers, I tell ya. Monday afternoon, I got the most dreaded of calls from her school. Poor Lola had been hurt on the playground. She’d fallen from the highest monkey bars, her knee popped up and knocked one of her front teeth right out. Lots of bleeding, possible damage to the grown-up tooth underneath, and banged up the tooth next to it. Luckily, Miss Lola is totally fine. Her biggest concern was that the tooth had been lost in the mulch on the playground and the Tooth Fairy wouldn’t stop by. Let me explain our family’s stance on the Tooth Fairy. Before we had kids, the hubs and I decided we would never tell our children one way or the other anything regarding the Tooth Fairy, Santa, Easter Bunny, etc. They would hear about these fun creatures and we would let the kids make up their own mind. Even now as Lola says kids at school say the Tooth Fairy isn’t real, I ask her what she thinks. She says she likes to believe in things because it’s more fun that way, so she chooses to believe in everything. Toddler Lola was never particularly interested in any of these things, except the Tooth Fairy. Now six-year-old Lola is obsessed with the thought of her. I...

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