I didn’t die. But I could have and wanted to. However, the week ain’t over yet.

July 19, 2012 in Crap I Was Considerate Enough to Not Bother You with Before Now.,Me and My Public Self

It was 1999.

Or 1998.  Wait.  Maybe it was 2000.

I don’t know.  I just do know I remember praying to die.  Or wishing to die.  Wait.  Maybe I did die.

I don’t know.

But I do know it was Christmas.  And I was in Houston.  And momma was 2 hours away.  And I was stuck.

In bed.

With some God awful something.  Fever.  Hacking up multicolored stuff that should never leave a body.  Blowing stuff out of my nose that should never leave a nose.

(By the way.  I’m not a nose blower.  Never have been, never will be.)

(So when I say “blowing stuff out of my nose” that simply means it somehow found it’s own way out because I ain’t helping.)

(And most everyone I work with knows, if they’re gonna blow their nose within 2 city limits of me, they better warn me up front.  Then I can handle it.  Don’t surprise blow though.  That can get you some shit you just don’t want.)

(I’ll get that big knot in my throat and immediately dry heave.  Right there.  On the spot.  And gag a little.  Sometimes a lot.)

Anyway.  That was the last time I’ve been so sick.

Until now.

I’ve missed 4 days of work this week.  Well, actually 3.5 days.  I did go in Tuesday morning but the boss pretty much told me to get out.  Of his life.

For the day.

Apparently, he’s not a fan of bubbly coughs.

Let me back up a little.

Monday morning I’m standing at the door to the local stupid clinic waiting on the doors to open.  Me and 2 other losers.

Not .4 seconds before 8:00 am, they unlock.

I’m a walk-in.  Yes, the loathed loser walk-in.

Therefore, I am asked to sign this sheet that says I understand that since I’m a loathed loser walk-in who was too lazy to call and make an appointment I could quite possibly have up to a 2-hour wait.

Whatever.  There’s only 3 of us in here.  I sign.

In mucus.

And I wait.

And I wait.

And others start to come in.  And most have appointments.

As well as chippy toenail polish.  Or jeans that are way too short.  Or no bra.  Or really loud flip flops.

One dude walked in and it was 8:52 am.  I checked my phone.

He had on Harley boots on his feet.  He had on a Harley t-shirt on his back.  He had on a Harley rag on his head.

He drove up in a Corolla.

(Oh, yes he did.)

No Harley to be found in that parking lot.

Why?  I swear to God I wanted so bad to ask why he’d put that shit on then get in the car?  Why not just leave the rag at home?  Or just get on the bike?

If he even HAS one.


At 9:30ish-y later, I’m called back.

And the fiiiiirst thing they do is run your ass to the scales.  Because what you weigh is gonna make a huge difference in the economy or something.

(And apparently the paper thin flip flops I wore weigh 8 lbs.)

(I exercise, eat stupidly healthy (and by ‘stupidly healthy’ I mean a somewhat kinda mostly vegetarian diet that includes no fast food (except Subway) no fried shit and no soft drinks of any kind) and am fine with the report my scales at home give me.  Though I wouldn’t balk at 10 more pounds gone.  But what woman wouldn’t?)

(But yet I weigh 8 pounds more at the doctor.  Are you f’ing kidding me?)

(Cut.  My.  Friggin throat.  I can’t win for losing.)

(I’m blaming the flip flops.)

I waited 1.5 hours to get called back and now I sit 30 more minutes while in the back.

And there’s no more than 6 people, including me, in the waiting room.  I know.

And I’m hacking the whole time.

The doc comes in and he’s hot.  Which is the only saving grace.  However, I was hoping to see the physician’s assistant because well, he’s my dealer.  He’d give me crack in gummy bear form if I asked.

And I love that man for that.

(But I don’t ask for crack.)

(Not yet anyway.)

The damn doc wants to know friggin everything.  About everything.  I’ve now been in that office for almost 2 hours and am in no mood to discuss with him why my records reflect that I like the occasional Xanax high.

I ain’t here for that.  I’m here because I’m choking up internal organs, doc.  Get with the program.

He prescribes several different things and sends me on my way.  Knowing more about my love of Xanax than he does my loathe of hacking.

So, three days later, apparently 8 pounds heavier when in paper thin flip flops, no more fever and less several hacked-up internal organs later…I’m not feeling so deathly-ish anymore.

(Thank you, Jesus.)

Though I do have random moments hit when I still kinda feel like I could die any minute.

Or toss out a lung for show and tell.

(Oh!!  The cutest boy in the world is still around.  I like him.  A lot.  Like, a lot a lot a lot.  He’s, without a doubt, the nicest guy I’ve ever met.  And it’s been 3 weeks now.  And he’s still calling.  Everyday.  Uh, huh…everyday.  And he’s still taking me out (not these last 4 days of course…I look hideous and sound worse…so, no way for this week).  And he hasn’t lied yet or said anything jackassy or been disrespectful in any way.  And I’ve met his really sweet daughter.)

So, that’s been my week so far.  Suckish.  To the extreme.

Disinfect your monitor after reading this.

Just in case.

Mamarific July 19, 2012 at 9:39 am

Ooh, girl, I hope you are back to 100% very, very, soon! Being that sick sucks!
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Carrie July 19, 2012 at 9:57 am

Thanks tons…but I’m probably 90% better this morning. Sheer misery.

I’m so sick of being sick, I’m getting dressed to go back to the office. Yes, I feel THAT much better.

Jennifer July 19, 2012 at 10:21 am

Why is it that summer sick seems so much worse than winter sick?
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Carrie July 19, 2012 at 11:45 am

I don’t get it either. But I swear, a couple of times I thought I was on my death bed.

Holly from 300 Pounds Down July 19, 2012 at 11:12 am

I’m so sorry you’ve been sick but I laughed through the clinic visit at your description of the guy decked out in full Harley gear driving a Corolla. Kind if hilarious. My flip flops weigh 25 lbs at the doctors office. I loathe their scales too. And speaking of the hot doctor…the last time I took my kids to the army base for a Dr. Appt the guy that walked in was named Major Stud..for real! hahaha…he didn’t unfortunately live up to the name. I also have a PA dealer. What’s up with that? Maybe they just have more sympathy for us!! Well I hope you feel better soon and now I must go back and read archives that I missed to find out about the new man!
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Carrie July 19, 2012 at 11:47 am

Major. Stud?

Are you serious?!? Girl, I would have taken that and RUN! That’s just too good not to have fun with!

I love my PA. He looks like a worn-out Santa. Long, white beard and everything. But I love that man. Probably because well…he’s my dealer.

And who doesn’t love their dealer?? =)

oliveoyl64 July 19, 2012 at 2:01 pm

Carrie, I am right there with you on the grossness of snot. I can blow and wipe my own nose, but if I see a “hanging chad” or “bubble boogers” I AM DONE. If you want to clear me out of a room, just blow me a booger bubble or sneeze and let it run down your chin. SORRY if I just made you throw up in your mouth a little 🙂

You are being quite secretive about this male companion. Meeting the daughter is HUGE!!!! This little dangling carrot keeps your fans coming back for more.

Carrie July 19, 2012 at 2:11 pm

I am right there with you. And my sister will walk right up, throw that tissue up to her nose, blow like a friggin foghorn, then have the gall to say, “Oh, sorry. Had to blow. There’s your warning. It’s late.”

She loves doing that.

Let me tell you…he is really making all the losers I’ve gone out with worth it. I kept thinking there HAD to be just one nice guy left. And well, I do believe I’ve found him.


Anne July 19, 2012 at 2:04 pm

Being sick when you live alone is a special kind of hell. I hope you’re back in fighting shape soon!
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Carrie July 19, 2012 at 2:12 pm

You are so right. In one minute I want to be left alone and in the next minute I want to whine, “Get my medicine please!”

It was really to the point I was thinking I’ll never feel human again.

Anne July 19, 2012 at 2:14 pm

Exactly! It’s like, you don’t want anyone to see you, but you still want to be taken care of. It’s times like that I want a Rosie (the robot maid from The Jetsons).
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L.Hewitt July 19, 2012 at 2:23 pm

Well damn honey, I would bring you soup if I was closer. Don’t worry about that scale thing, they do that on purpose to weed out the anorexics. (3 weeks and nothing jackassy – sounds like a keeper). I am currently pissed at the hubs and men in general, so that right there is high praise from me today. Funny and sick and working and blogging. – you should rest, tell the boss I said so.

Carrie July 19, 2012 at 2:56 pm

Yep. THREE whole weeks. And nothing stupid. I don’t think I’ve rolled my eyes at him even once.

My boss is good to me. I’m saying that and he doesn’t even read this. Thank God. If I told him that, he’d probably say, “She’s right. Get out.”


Maggie S. July 19, 2012 at 2:27 pm

And you are absolutely sure your flip-flops are to blame, and not any stray bling of any kind. I mean the tiara and all.

You met his daughter? I just can’t tell you how excited I am.
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Maggie S. July 19, 2012 at 2:31 pm

Sorry your sick. It would be better time management if you could get the hot one to be your pusher, too.

Get well.
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Carrie July 19, 2012 at 2:57 pm

It had to be the flip flops. Or their jacked up scale. I don’t care though…I’m going by mine.

Yes. The daughter. Sweet, sweet girl. The second time I saw her she gave me a pair of earrings.

Now you tell me that’s not some good raising there. =)

Fashionista Era July 19, 2012 at 4:59 pm

Awww honey!! I can imagineeeeeeee how horrible you must be feeling about your health :(( I made this trip a month back went to my hometown unfortunately i have this severe dust allergy prob and thanks to which i had cold and cough for a while :p luckily as i got busier and stuff it went away lol. Go figure :p

So good to hear your feeling bette.r…oh and ths guys sounds fab 🙂 keep sharing details and its lovely for u…so happy!!! hugssss
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Carrie July 19, 2012 at 6:22 pm

You have been such a busy little sweet bee lately!! I’m jealous…keep it up and love hearing about where all you go!

Love, love, love. =)

Liz @ A Nut in a Nutshell July 19, 2012 at 5:28 pm

Oh, you sound like you’re in a pretty bad way. I hope you heal up ASAP! And yay for the great guy in your life!
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Carrie July 19, 2012 at 6:23 pm

It’s the cough that won’t go away.

But it has to. Sooner or later. It has to.

Or one of us is gonna end up hurt…and well, I’M the one who pays the rent around here.

Barbara July 19, 2012 at 6:29 pm

You poor thing! Summer illnesses are the worst. You feel like death AND it’s 104 degrees outside. No fair!

Yea for the new guy still being great!!! Fingers crossed for you!
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Carrie July 19, 2012 at 6:45 pm

That’s exactly what was so bad about it.

The morning I went to the doc’s office? Beautiful blue skies. Not too humid and not too arm-pitty.

But let me get to feeling better? 412% humidity and clouds.

Kirsten/Comfortably Domestic July 19, 2012 at 9:30 pm

Oh, Girl! Summer sick sucks. I’m right there with you, minus the hacking up of organs…so far. What I wouldn’t do to curl up in bed for a day with back issues of People magazine. I hear a healthy dose of celebrity gossip cures most anything.

And if super-cute-non-annoying boy brings you chicken soup? Hang on for dear life. Of course, I hope he has the sense to bring it when you’re feeling better, and can get mostly dolled up but still wear yoga pants.

Hope you feel better soon!
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Carrie July 20, 2012 at 6:37 am

Thank you, sweet girl. This really has been no fun.

But well…he did offer. Just that. But of course, my romantic reply was, “Are you friggin crazy?!? I haven’t washed this head in 2 days and my lungs are on their way up!”

But I did tell him I appreciated it very much…but that I was ok.

So, see? He’s so far pretty fab. =)

Connie Weiss July 20, 2012 at 1:24 pm


Sorry you’ve been sick!

This reminds me of the time I got weighed at the doctor and it said that I lost 25 pounds. Turns out the bitch was doing it wrong.

Pissed me off!
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Carrie July 20, 2012 at 1:34 pm

Oh. Dear.

I have junk punched for less than that.

I’m afraid the doc might would be looking for a new nurse after that little episode.

angelika July 20, 2012 at 1:24 pm

UGH! That sounds um…lovely.

By the way – you don’t HAVE to weigh at the doctor. I just flat out refuse. I know how much I weigh – thanks. I don’t think it has any bearing on whether or not I’m coughing up a lung or barfing my brains out. They usually try to convince me and I just say “No I weigh once a week at home on the same scale, at the same time. You can come over next week at the appointed time, but please be advised I weigh in the nude.” That usually shuts them right up.
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Carrie July 20, 2012 at 1:35 pm

HAHAHA!!! That is, without a doubt, the freaking BEST ever!!

God I hope I am conscious enough to remember that next time! You are totally my new hero now.

Friggin brilliant!!

katie metzroth July 20, 2012 at 8:54 pm

I’m sure he didn’t feel good and his Harley gear cheers him up OR his Toyota gear was dirty OR he likes to wear really heavy clothes (boots) and as many as possible (rag) so he can rationalize with himself when the scale says he weighs 10 pounds more than he expected. just sayin’ 🙂
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Carrie July 21, 2012 at 8:38 am

You absolutely could be right in any one of those cases.

However, I’m gonna choose to go with the Toyota gear was dirty.

Because visualizing anyone studding around in Toyota gear is better than cake icing. =)

Krystyn July 30, 2012 at 9:22 pm

Oh, I hope you are feeling better so you can have more dates and dinner.

good to know I need to warn you. I tend to do a nose blow without warning!
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Karyn September 9, 2012 at 9:30 pm

wait, what? There’s a MAN! How did I not know this? I simply cannot get so busy I forget to stay on top of your social life…. Have I missed MORE posts about the hunk? I need to search!

(Oh yeah, and bummer about the sickness thing, it sucks to hell and back, and FYI scales at the doctors have more gravity pull than in our homes. It’s something to do with the science of building offices VS homes.)
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