OK. How the hell did I suddenly turn into Taylor Swift?
I don't know.
Just be glad that I didn't cross over to the dark side a la Kanye.
Speaking of Kanye...I watched the Grammy Awards the other night, mainly because I wanted to see what the crazy b*tch, Lady Gaga, was up to.
And I have to say that I sat in fear for Taylor Swift the whole night.
Every time she won an award, I was like Hurry up, Country Girl! Give your speech before that crazy, mean, Kanye sneaks up from behind and gives you rabbit punches to the back of the head! Seriously. That mofo's not wrapped too tight...
Anywho, back to the reason for my post. On Tuesdays, I usually go to Weight Watchers for my weekly weigh in. But, yesterday, it was a no go. In lieu of getting my ass shrinkage update, I had to (A) go to the dentist and (B) take my Mom to get her boobies squished (Lord.Have.Mercy.On.Me).
My visit to the dentist was pretty uneventful. Chatted it up with my favorite hygienist. My choppers were cleaned. X-rays were taken. Had a nice visit with my new dentist who---I am happy to report is not only professional and friendly, but ALSO has a sense of humor. And how do I know this? He laughed, when after my dental exam, I told him I was going to stop for some cotton candy and a candy apple on my way to work.
So, after my nice, uneventful visit to the dentist, I took my Mom for her yearly mammogram.
Remember how last week, I told you that she...UM...has no mouth filter?
Yeah, well I didn't tell you that LAST WEEK at her regular doctor's office, she was a friggin brat.
First, while we were waiting for the doc to come in, she looked at me and told me I should have worn lipstick. I told her, "I am wearing lipstick." She said my lips looked purple and the color was unattractive (mauve-BTW). So, I told her it must be the lighting because her lipstick looked like poops, too.
How you like me now, Momma?
Then the doctor came in and bitched about her THREE extra pounds, her sugar was high-ish, and her cholesterol was up. And let me tell you...It's because she went HOG WILD over the last six months eating crap.
So, he looked at her and said, "I AM NOT HAPPY." And she said *insert Portuguese accent here* , "I AM NOT HAPPY, TOO."
And then she said she would do better. He said, "I have heard this before! You have to stop eating chocolate, cake, and junk." And she said, "I no eat junk anymore. I only finished the junk I have from Christmas!"
And he said, "And when did you do that?" She said, "I eat the last FIVE chocolates YESTERDAY." And he said, "Haven't you ever heard of throwing things in the trash?" And she said, "Have you no heard that JESUS no likes you to waste food?"
Yeah. She played the Jesus Card...left him shaking his head...and virtually speechless.
So, yesterday, I took her to the Boobie Squeezing Facility. And I was worried about what words of wisdom might spew from her seventy-eight year old lips.
Because, HELLO? She squawks for no good reason!
Put her in a room with an audience of half naked women who are about to get their ta-tas flattened? And, dudes! You know there could be a gah-damn revolt and she'll be its' friggin ring leader!
So, we get to the office, and the first thing we (I) have to do is answer a questionnaire. The first question was, "Are you pregnant?" So, I turned to her and said, "Hey, Ma? They want to know if you're pregnant? BAHAHAHAHAHA!" No response from the peanut gallery, but I did get a dirty look.
A few minutes later, a nice lady came to lead us into the boobie squeezing room. She gave Mom a johnny, told her to get undressed from the waist up, and then told her to sit in the waiting room---which is where I was...holding all of her crap.
Immediately upon undressing, they took Mom into the room with the squishing machine and performed their manipulation of the mammalians. When it was over, she joined me in the waiting room, where she had to wait to get the OK from a technician to put her hooter holders/sweater back on.
So, there we were...sitting in the waiting room...apres boobie squishing...when all of a sudden, MY MOTHER starts pressing on her chest lightly like she was in pain (BTW---been there, done that...so, I know it's no picnic) and says, "SON.OF.A.BITCH. I tink dat lady try to rip my boobies off! All da time, I am so careful not to hurt myself...Now, I come in hee-ya, and dey make my boobies look like pancakes! SON.OF.A.BITCH."
And all of the other ladies laughed, smiled, and nodded their heads in unity.
And I just prayed...
For her to be quiet...
And gave thanks...
That we were not at the gynecologist's office...