Dear Thyroid, I'd Like To Ask You to LEAVE

The only good thing about tonight is that I have the freedom to order whatever food I want as long as I keep it down. It's the last part I am having problems with, oh and as for the first part? Yeah, I live in Montgomery. So... it's either pizza or pizza.

I'll take pizza.

OHHhhhhh, I bet this means I get to order whatever I want ON the pizza. Score.

Which, I mean, I love me some green peppers and mushrooms and all - but I am a pizza FREAK. Like that kid that did whip-its out of the Ready Whip can WAY too many times? My pizzas look like that kid's brains.

True Story.

So, if I CAN order whatever I want - it'd (and now is, since I wrote this before I ordered and now I am editing but you didn't know that till I typed this so I should have just left it alone, but sometimes I type and then don't want to delete...) be thin crust, heavy sauce. I also want pepperoni and PINEAPPLE. Yummers. I am also a firm believe that you can put ANYTHING on a pizza, even if you'd normally not eat those things together - so I'd also like some spinach and banana peppers.

This is actually helping - the "writing out of the food" is.

I have been completely unable to keep anything down for a full 5 days. It's absolutely sickening, seriously.

The insomnia is major, but nothing I haven't dealt with before.

The hot flashes make me think I'm 65.

I am not, in fact, 65.

I'm barely 25. Ok, that's a lie. I'm a "solid" 25 seeing as this is August and that's close enough to 6 months out from my birth month. That's right. I get a whole month.

Wait. That's not true. I'm not a big birthday person. I mean, I'm as "birthday-ey" as the next person, really. I guess I've never expected much from them because my birthday was ALWAYS during either A.E.A. (HAA! can you believe I remembered that abbreviation?) aka SPRING BREAK or it landed on a holy holiday like Good Friday or Easter. Noteworthy: you are hanging out with the wrong people if they are ok with getting you wasted on one of God's extra special days. So. Yeah.

Also, along with not being able to eat OR really drink, and not sleeping... and feeling like an old hag.... my brain is this ball of mush. Woot.

In case you are wondering what the penis I am talking about, post-nursing with Conner, I got in a little altercation with my thyroid. It beat me pretty badly but for some reason or another the cops wouldn't let me press charges against myself. Freaks. Probably hung out with that kid hitting the Ready Whip can...

And now? Well, now post-nursing-Chase, I am down to a number on the scale that would make A) anorexics jealous B) healthy people think I am one of those anorexics and C) me totally freak out because I've felt "off" for several weeks and have been in complete denial about getting on the scale for fear that it would be a number lower than what I deem acceptable (ps - that means it's not near a number that can be comfortably rounded to "95") (pps - I am 4 freaking 10 people, I'm SUPPOSED to weigh 95. Stop doing weird numbers in your head and purging your lunch.)

Thanks to the Phenergran, I am now going to EAT THIS PIZZA OFF THE PLANET. That sounds dangerous. DANGEROUSLY YUMMY! (Amanda, just stop.) (hey! who said that?)

Oh, and don't you think the pizza guy is going to laugh his face off at an 83 pound girl ripping the pizza out of his hands and starts eating at the door while shoving money in his face?

Yeah, I do.

Dear...

Dear El Nino,

I know you get a bad rap (wrap vs. rap) on the West Coast, but that's their problem. I'd like to personally thank you for bringing Canadian air deep in the heart of the South, where my happy little butt can now make it to the mailbox without crack sweat. I mean, seriously, thanks.

Also, I'm a big fan of the rain we don't normally see in July.

My only complaint isn't really a complaint at all: I'm just a weather dork (yes, I'm about 15 flavors of dork), and a birdie/meteorologist told me that your wind shear will break up hurricane activity in the Gulf. Hrmph. I'll still enjoy tracking them here. (Yup, BIG RED, FLASHING DORK SIGN)

Muchos Thank-os (yup, that's Spanish)

(Wait, Gracias is "thanks"... so..)

Gracias,

The Mom Job

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Dear Conner,

Pants kid, PANTS. Lord love a duck, I'm REALLY TIRED OF SEEING YOUR JUNK. Put on the PANTS.

With Pants,

Mommy

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Dear Margarita Glass,

I'm sorry I haven't used you in so long. I really do have a good excuse. It's not you, it's me. Swomise.

Although the medicine helps with the esophageal spasms, it can't handle Mr. Cuervo and his little buddies yet. And vodka-only margaritas are just so Freshman Year at a crappy bar "of legal drinking age" years at crappy bars.

However, knocking me over my head while I fetched a cup for Conner's orange juice this morning was a bit extreme. I mean, yes, it has been that long, but you didn't have to go to such extremes. Are you like that girl who stalks a guy after he makes out with you ONCE and then doesn't remember your name? Because no one likes that girl. Trust me.

I'll get around to using you later. Well, not you now... you are broken and in the trash. But, I'll use your friends.

And then, I might not call them the next day. Wait...

There's a life's lesson in there for some of you who choose to read between the lines.

My Deepest Sympathy's To Your Mexican Familia,

Very Sober Amanda

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Dear Body,

Your little game last week? Not cool dude. Well, girl. But for reals - NOT COOL. You do that again and you go on eBay. Trust me, I know all about putting uteruses (uteri??, eh?) and ovaries and thyroids on Teh Internets. Don't try me.

Just NOT. COOL.

Me (us?)

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Dear Congress and Senate,

That's just one GIGANTIC mistake. Don't go there.

Regards,

The Tax Payer ('s wife)