Not To Be Petty...

But for just ONCE in my life, I want my own crisis or heck, my own good thing all to my self. This time it's a mini-crisis I have to share. But just so you understand the timeline of sharing my life stories...

When I got married, I visited my mom on my honeymoon to discover my sister was getting a divorce.

When I found out I was pregnant with my first child (the same day), my BIL was getting a divorce.

When I was pregnant with my second child, my paralyzed on one side and mentally ill father was living with me until 2 weeks before the baby popped out. I was ready to run away and join the circus after that stint.

Now I am having my gallbladder out--minor surgery, in and out in one day, scheduled nicely so everyone is submitted to the least amount of stress. My DH (and I'm not thinking DEAR here)has severe diverticulitis (which means his tummy hurts like a raging bitch with a knife twisting and all that) and just may be faced with surgery.

Now, damn, that's just plain rude. I'm not sure I should be blaming the poor DH because it's not like he planned to feel icky. He hates going to the doctor, and if he's calling me wanting a doctor's phone number I know he's in a ton of pain. I'm one to go and 'get it checked' sooner than later because I am Las Vegas for germs--once they get going in my immune-free system they're partying like it's 1999 again. It takes a patty wagon of antibiotics to round those naughty suckers up, all the while they're screaming, "What happens in Trish's body STAYS in Trish's body!"

So I'll keep you updated on that.

In other news, we have new fish, Houston. That's really LONG post, but let's just say the Tank Of Death is in prime time, waiting to claim the next victim already. I'll update you on that tomorrow.

I'm going to write a little naughty ditty to sell. I've become a sad, lonely 'ho for money these days. A pathetic, petty 'ho with a nasty gallbladder and a sick hubby. If I could drink, I think I'd be best friends with Jose Cuervo. Night night.