TMI Thursday: Grind it, Baby

Hold onto your shirts boys and girls! It’s time for TMI Thursday, originally hosted over at LiLu’s page. You should probably go check her out, because she’s the shiz!

And now, it’s time for more information than you probably want to here and a little dose of self-embarrassment …

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As some of you may have known, last Friday was my birthday. What you didn’t really know was that a couple nights beforehand, I had a horrible mental breakdown which involved crying and me telling Kyle that I have no friends. (Basically, picture me sobbing about having no friends the way a 6-year-old would) I even went and cancelled my “event” on Facebook. (Not that anyone was really going to be effected. I had no friends, remember?)

I ended up just going out for dinner with Kyle, the Roommate, C (who’s the Roommate’s girlfriend as well) and my Dad. When we got there, a dear friend of mine from Edmonton (See: a good 15-hour drive away) magically appeared from the upper level of the restaurant. It turned out to be a good night and he and C convinced me to continue on with my original plan to go out dancing after dinner.

After a double Caesar and three double Paralyzers, I was really feeling no pain, despite my non-broken in 4″ stilettos. I danced my face off. And then came the lap dance.

C and I were taking a break from dancing to catch our breaths and quench our thirsts (with more drinks of course) and some random song came on, but it must’ve been catchy, because I proceeded to give C the best Goddamn lap dance of her freaking life. I should’ve been a stripper.

Oh, of course, I didn’t remember this until the next day when Edmonton Friend reminded me publicly on Facebook. Thanks! That was awkward. Let’s hope my grandma doesn’t see that.

Of course, Kyle and the Roommate thought the idea of two girls lap-dancing it up was great. The false promise of girl-on-girl action continues. Sorry guys!

TMI Thursday: I hate needles. Surprise!

LiLu may not host TMI Thursdays anymore, but that’s no reason for me not to share! With that I give you another riveting addition of TMI Thursday!


One would look at me as see a girl with a few piercings and several tattoos. One could then assume that needles don’t bother me at all. Yo ho, me hearties, not so fast!

I have become a huge baby when it comes to needles for medical purposes. No, I’m not afraid of the doctor or even the dentist, but I hate the poking and stabbing of needles, even when it’s for my own good. The tattoo needles? I know they’re not diving down into my skin. They’re just scratching the mother-luvin’ crap out of me and making my skin nice and colourful. Piercing needles? They’re over and done with within seconds. Needles for medical purposes? Ha! They’re evil.

I haven’t always been afraid of needles actually. Back in my Grade school days when we had to get boosters and such I was a champ, laughing at the kids who needed their teddy bears. Now? Sweet Jeebus, get me out of there.

I think it started when I had to have an MRI done on my shoulder. They had to inject dye into the area so the loveliness would should up. Apparently they missed their “mark” not once, but twice, and have to stab at me three times before getting it right. In the meantime, I was crying because it hurt SO BAD (See: I can feel the needle against my shoulder socket) and the nurse didn’t seem too concerned. Cue instant fear. Note that this was also my first experience with medical needles other than for immunizations.

Then a couple summers ago I dislocated my shoulder REAL GOOD and the doctor wanted to knock me out via IV to put it back in. Cue me having a panic attack.

I’ve also had bloodwork done, which wasn’st so bad, except there was no way I could look at the blood going into the vile. I don’t get queesy about blood, but needles are not so great. Ugh.

So yesterday, I went to the doctor because I’ve been getting awful cramps for no good reason (Read: No PMS or gas). He pokes as me, listens to be breathe and then decides that he’d like me to pee in a cup. No big deal, except that the only washroom is out in the hallway outside the actual office, which means I get to walk through a waiting room full of people with a lovely little cup full of the good stuff.

The pee sample gave up no information (I’m not pregnant! A good thing, considered the amount of liquor I’ve consumed in the past month) so what does the doctor order? Bloodwork, and lots of it followed by another appointment in a week. Oh good!

That vampire of a nurse took two freaking tubes of my blood and I’m surprised I didn’t pass out considering I hadn’t eaten anything.  Maybe I went all pale since she asked me at least five times if I was okay. (Which I was, to a point. No one likes having to be told “Oh, go get your blood taken, like, now.”)

So go back to the doctor on Tuesday next week and I’ll hopefully get some answers to what’s going on in my guts. Maybe I eat hair in my sleep and it’s a hairball. Maybe that alien who abducted me implanted me with its spawn. Maybe I just need to let one rip. Until then, keep your freakin’ needles away from me.

TMI Thursday

Hold the phone Batman! It’s funny, I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment to come up to add to the TMI Thursday madness that occurs over on LiLu’s domain, but since she’s pulling the plug on the escapade, I’m just going to have to dig up what I have to give TMI Thursday the best send off it deserves!

And with that, I bring to you my most horrific moment in life ….

It was the Summer of 2008, and Kyle and I were off to a magical lake-side land to visit an old friend of his and the friend’s family. It was fine and lovely, with fresh corn on the cob and Chicken Caesar salads, funny stories and the like. Then, the drinking games began. We started playing card games, which happened to be around the same time as a BC Lions football game. Kyle played card games for a while before retiring inside to watch the last half of the football game.

I, however, stayed with the drinking festivities, downing peach vodka and 7-Up, Patron and Jagerbombs. Did I mention tequila makes me slightly crazy? It’s like whiskey to the Irish (which I also can’t drink). Bad bad bad. Kyle emerged from the house after maybe 20 minutes of football to find me drunker than a sailor, barely able to sit up. And then the show began.

I got violently ill off of the side of the porch, right onto the neighbour’s property (Subway has never tasted the same since then), causing myself (and Kyle) to be rather embarrassed since the friend’s parents had been such amazing hosts. It’s a good thing the friend’s mom is amazingly cool and awesome and has known me forever, because it only got worse.

We jump to me being tucked into bed, head spinning, to where I thought I had to get up to go to the bathroom. Cue peeing on the floor. Coordination fail! I emerge from the house in a drunken splendor mumbling “….I …. peed … on … the floor ….” to Kyle and friend’s mom. “You what???” I repeat. They get up to check, and I hang my head in shame outside while they do damage control. They come back out, “Kara, you’re crazy, there’s nothing there.” Then I decide that it was actually in the bed. They check. Nothing. Oh, did I mention I’m actually hallucinating due to all the boozey sickness in my body? Yeah, none of that happened.

Cue me going to the private RV park bathroom next door and sobbing my eyes out for being so drunk I barely know where I am, and Kyle worrying that I have alcohol poisoning and wanting to drive me an hour & a half to the hospital in Kamloops. Oh, and the awkward moments the morning after were a joy.

But, like I said, the friend’s parents are awesome and they even had us back the next summer. I however, kept in control of my liquor and have not touched tequila or Jagermeister since.

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So there you go! My first and last contribution to TMI Thursday. I must say, the tales of horror I’ve read in the brief time I’ve been on the blogging scene were great. I tip my glass of non-alcoholic apple juice to the TMI’ers who aren’t afraid to go big :)

Bon Voyage TMI Thursday! May your awkward moments live on forever!