You can put lipstick on a pig...

I married That Guy. That Guy, who is so not metrosexual that it is a source of humor and sadness for me, at the same time. He's the guy who shops at Kohls for Dockers, or Men's Warehouse, or (ugh) JC Penney. He thinks this is what makes him look not douchey. He has also been saying he's a 50 year old man, since he was 41. Still not 50 dude. You probably got it now, I don't need to mention the bizarre eyebrows.

But what I don't understand is that he works in Marketing. Aren't these usually the guys that know better?

(ps: my cat is munching his toe nails behind me right now as I type, I'm trapped by gross men)

So last week I swear I heard angels singing. Mr. Right was offered a job after his 9 week hiatus (aka playing Call to Duty on the Wii and naps at 6:30 pm). This offer is to work at a European car company, in Marketing...

he came to me and said (I should have been warned here because I actually lost my breath) that he needed me to take him shopping to pick out some more "hip" clothes. Apparently, things are different at EUROPEAN car companies. I decided to downplay it and tell him that the fact he used the word hip, meant it was going to be painful. I clarified "you don't mean 'hip replacement clothes' right?"... "we're talking... Club Monaco, Banana, Nordstrom... right?".

Since that conversation, I have been trying not to scare it. I'm being gentle. Today is the day we should go shopping, but I'm going to wait for him to come and sniff my hand. I'm careful not to look him directly in the eye, just be patient. Sometimes it's best to go slow with the feral ones.

Do cheeseburgers cause tumors?

A while back I wrote about my fear of doctors, and hospitals. I'm not going to link back to it because I'm too afraid to.

At the time, I was having an ultrasound. No extraordinary issues there.

I may have been having some sort of strange insight to the future though because there is about to be some funny blog fodder coming. Or at least I hope it's lots of fun. I am going to have an MRI on Monday which is a prelude to UFE. Heard of it? Uterine Fibroid Embolization. Should be fun.

A very Doogie Howzer looking young man will be performing this procedure. He has no idea yet that I will be refusing the catheter they describe in the brochure. I just got used to the idea of staying in the hospital overnight, getting a brazilian wax before, the cheeseburger I plan to send Mr. Right to fetch for me from the Red Coat Tavern across the street, and the pain meds they have promised me. I was on a roll and they had to go and kill it by mentioning the word "catheter".

Worst word in the English language.

My plan is to not take in any fluids for 3 days before the procedure so that I'm so dehydrated that the nurse takes pity on me.

That's my dream anyway. If I'm up to it, I may blog from the hospital. If I don't grab my fuzzy slippers and escape that is.