I Ruined A Def Leppard Song

At the moment, I am still not allowed to do much. I can drive, as long as I’m not on pain meds and I can do light things like empty the dishwasher or move clothes from the washer to the dryer.

I’m still not allowed to soak in my swimming pool. Yes, I know I’ve written about the “joys” of owning an above ground swimming pool, but the one decided advantage is the ability to go soak on a hot day when I feel like it.

Not this summer. I can stare at the crystal blue water but I can’t soak in it, which really sucks when it’s about two thousand degrees outside.

I also still can’t push, pull or lift anything heavier than a chubby newborn baby.

Do you know how many things weigh more than a chunky newborn?

On a recent trip to Wal Fart (no, that’s not a type-o) with The Husband Dude, I became increasingly frustrated when I realized I could not lift the case of water, a twelve pack of soda (that’s pop to you Oklahomans and Midwesterners), or bags of cat food. And once they were in the cart (that’s a buggy, to my fellow Texans and southerners), I realized I could no longer push it (that’s Salt n Peppa to you 90’s kids).

It’s not an easy thing to realize you have very little independence and very little control over things.

Now I know why toddlers have temper tantrums.

Anyway, here is some of what’s been going on while I commiserate over the lack of control in my life.

Why, Why, Why?

Somebody please explain to me why the males in my house would rather not actually try to use the last drop of something, but will continue to leave the bottle with one drop of something in the refrigerator along with the brand new bottle they just opened?????

I could open my refrigerator right now and show you two bottles of Ranch Salad Dressing (one almost empty and one just opened), two bottles of tartar sauce (one almost empty and one just opened), and two jars of dill pickle spears (one jar has one pickle in it and the other was just opened).

Nobody ever takes credit for it either. It’s like the Condiment Fairy just wants to fuck with us, and instead of cleaning out the empty bottles/jars and tossing them in the recycling bin, she just cracks open a new one and stuffs everything into the door of the refrigerator so it won’t close properly.

I’m going to catch you one of these day, you little pixie bitch. And your weirdo cousin, Elf on a Shelf, too.

Creepy ass motherfucker.

Hysteria

So I kind of went to a concert a couple of weeks after my surgery. Shhh…don’t tell anyone.

It’s ok, though. I asked my doctor and she said it would be fine, provided I felt up to it, which I did.

We bought the tickets months ago, and after the price I paid (and the fact that it’s one of my favorite bands, Def Leppard), I was not about to miss it.

If you’re familiar at all with Def Leppard, their biggest selling album is called Hysteria. There’s a song on the album, also called Hysteria.

Being the weirdo that I am, when they played the song, I actually changed the words in my mind. Everytime they sang the word “hysteria” or “hysterical”, I changed it to “hysterectomy”.

Let me just say that the words to the song take on a whole different meaning when you change “hysteria” to “hysterectomy”.

Don’t believe me? Check it out for yourself. Here are the lyrics, but I’ve substituted “hysterectomy”: