Author Archives: classygallie

What’s This: Round Two

I had an OB/GYN appointment the week after I posted that blog about my weird undercarriage. I wasn’t planning on asking my doctor what’s the deal with my pachink, but curiosity got the better of me. After my doctor smeared my pap—aka stuck a double-sided shoehorn in my cervix and scraped it with a chimney brush—I gently broached the subject.

Me: Hey, um, so… I’ve got a weird question.

Doctor, stepping out of her HAZMAT suit: Cool, I like weird stuff. ‘Tis why I spend all day checking in on strangers’ downstairs. What’s up?

Me: When I finished pushing my baby human out last year, the doctors said something about my… flaps? They was like, “What’s that? IDK but I was gonna snip it off lol.” Any idea what they were talking about?

Doctor: Hmm.

Me: Yes, hmm! That’s effed, right?

Doctor: Pretty effed. Maybe it was *some medical term I don’t remember.* If I’d been there, I probably would’ve pulled that out with a pair of forceps.

Me: OK thank you for that information SEE YA LATER BYE.

That’s actually what my doctor said: that she didn’t know either, but it was probably some indecipherable medical term, and then that she would have “pulled it out with forceps.”

This seemed absurd to me. That a doctor might nonchalantly pluck an extra bodily appendage off a ho with a set of forceps. I asked my mom if it seemed absurd to her too. She hemmed and hawed for a minute, then told me that her doctor once found an extra pachinkal part on her too.

“Oh yeah,” says my mom. “After I gave birth to one o’ y’all, my doctor mentioned some dangling hangle or another. She said I could ‘tease it out’ later on. So that’s what I ended up doing. Not that hard.”

DID YOU KNOW THIS?????? THAT FAJINAS REGENERATE LIKE MUFUCKIN LIZARD TAILS?!?!?!?!??!?!?!?!?!?!?!??! WHY HAS NO ONE EVER TOLD ME THIS BEFORE???????????????????

I’m so sorry for the overabundance of passion and punctuation but holy shit, why did I not learn about this in health class? I know all about gonorrhea and, like, wet dreams (gross) but ain’t no one ever told me that at some point during my life I’ll probably grow a couple extra haginas.

Who knew!

What’s This?

I haven’t written anything in almost a year because I don’t think I’m funny anymore. I once thought I was kind of funny, maybe even actually funny, and now I do not. I’m just your average awful middle-aged mom, wiping down countertops and changing diapers and being unfairly demanding of my loved ones and judgmental of my neighbors. I’m a boring ole biddy who can’t live up to her older, funnier self.

At least that’s what I thought. But I just went back and read some random posts from 2011 to 2015 and HOLY. Not good, not funny, only embarrassing. Do you know how grand a relief that is? To know that I was never that funny at all?! I feel liberated. Free to blog to my heart’s content, with no fear of failing short of any expectations. Congratulations to me!

With that happy news, I’d like to finally share a story I’ve wanted to tell for a while. The point of this story is strictly to bring shame upon my family—particularly my brother-in-law who was embarrassed by my last post about my boobs. IF YOU THOUGHT THAT WAS BAD, YOU’LL BE ESPECIALLY UPSET TO LEARN THAT… 

I have a weird vaghina.

Quick editor’s note: I’m mostly going to use euphemisms and made-up/misspelled words to refer to my *downstairs* because I don’t want this post to show up in too many questionable Google searches.

OK, again: I have a weird vaghina.

I only found this out about a year ago, which is very surprising when you consider I’m a 30-year-old who’s had countless OB/GYNs check me out over the past decade or so. Actually, I will try to count them.

  • Blonde lady gynecologist who only ever made small talk about ticks
  • Old man gynecologist who told me I had a VERY COMMON, NOT STD rash around (not on!) my nether regions
  • First obstetrician who had hideous clavicle tattoos and talked to me with a mouth full of food, the disgusting idiot
  • Second OB, excellent and extremely tiny
  • Random OB when the tiny one wasn’t available
  • Another random one
  • One more random one
  • Dude OB with a nose ring who confirmed my water broke

That’s eight doctors. Eight doctors who have all seen hella pachinkos in their lives. Eight doctors who spent many years and hundreds of thousands of dollars studying them. These mofos probably take continuing education courses on, like, labias and pubic hair every year. And yet not a one of them ever told me that my pachinko looks different than most.

It wasn’t until moments after pushing out a small human, while simultaneously trying to attach his squirming mouth to my nipple and also getting my shredded undercarriage stitched up with a needle and thread, that anyone ever thought to mention it. 

And the only reason I learned about it then is because there were two doctors down there—the resident who was practicing her backstitch and the incredibly mean on-call doctor who was teaching her—and they remarked on it amongst themselves. Here’s an excerpt from that moment in time:

Nurse, helping me breastfeed: OK, now, pinch your tiddy like this and shove it in there just… like… that! Oh, poo. Your nipple’s inside out.

Baby, crying: Who are you? Where is this? What is that? Why is world? When is how?

Doula, taking pictures: *Snap* *Snap* *Snap* We can crop out the blood! Your boobs look huge! *Snap* *Snap*

Baby Daddy, losing steam: Great job! You did so good! Cool if I take a nap before the Pats come on?

Doctor, instructing: All right, now stick the pointy end right through that dangling piece there.

Resident, stitching: Oops!

Doctor: No not that piece, this torn one here.  

(What follows, unfortunately, is verbatim)

Resident: Got it. And what’s this?

Doctor: Not sure. I was going to get rid of it, but since she came with it I figured we’d leave it.

Resident: OK.

Let’s repeat that one time: NOT SURE. I WAS GOING TO GET RID OF IT, BUT SINCE SHE CAME WITH IT I FIGURED WE’D LEAVE IT.

And that’s it! That’s how I found out I have something extra down there? I have no idea. I wanted to follow up on that fun revelation but I was distracted by, u know, my brand new human and all the sharp instruments and hands poking around my ripped apart fajina.

I never even thought to follow up with my own doctor (the tiny, good one) when I saw her a few weeks after that for my post-delivery checkup. She took a gander down under, called it “beautiful” (HAHAHAHAH I wish I were kidding; she was talking about the healing but still, wicked gross), and then sent me on my way.

I finally got brave enough to take a mirror down there a couple months ago and I gotta say it is, um, pretty weird looking. Like, maybe a rogue flap or two? Or just heavy-duty asymmetry? I really, truly don’t know. I’m not interested in doing a Google search to compare it against more conventional hoohas. I mean—mine works, right? I got a really, really excellent baby out of it. We good!

Confused with mountains

Big boobs.

Dog, my boobs are so big. They were pretty big before I had a baby, and then I had a baby, and holy smokes. I would say I had mom boobs before I became a mom, and since becoming a mom they’re more like grandma boobs. My boobs look like Mrs. Doubtfire’s except approximately six thousand times saggier. I wish I had Mrs. Doubtfire’s boobs.

And breastfeeding! Most of the time breastfeeding is messy but convenient, until you go a little longer than normal without nursing and suddenly your boobs fill with coal and shattered glass and your nipples erupt and you have to spend a full 24 hours nursing, pumping, punching, squeezing, and burning your boobs.

There’s so much I want to say about boobs and breastfeeding. But I have a little baby and I don’t sleep that much, so I have neither the time nor the brainpower to form like, a cohesive story or anything. So here are several unrelated boob thoughts—

1.

Like I already said, my boobs are rather saggy. They’re also really dense. The lactation consultant at the hospital actually called them substantial, as in: “You can’t expect that baby to hold up those substantial breasts up on his own! You got some heavy, floppy tiddies, girl.” But because they are so heavy, and so floppy, I can stick a lot of things underneath them.

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Here’s a list of actual things I have successfully carried between my boobs and ribs, and the difficulty rating in doing so (1 is easy, 10 is hard).

  • My cell phone – rating: 1
  • A TV box (also known as a remote control) – rating: 1
  • A 350-page novel – rating: 1
  • A can of diced tomatoes – rating: 3
  • A half-full bottle of wine – rating: 4
  • An L.L.Bean boot – rating: 6
  • An acorn squash – rating: 5

Things I could not carry:

  • A whole pineapple (hurt pretty bad to try, actually)

2.

My baby and I read Dr. Seuss’s One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish a lot because it’s a dope book. I re-wrote the Gox poem (“I like to box. How I like to box!”) to be about breastfeeding.

I need to pump. 
How I need to pump!
So, every day,
I pump my lumps.

Then I dump.
I pump my lumps.
I pump and then
take a lump pump dump.

This poem is symbolic of my need to pump out my oversupply of milk every day, and how also breastfeeding makes me poop. I come so, so close to pooping my pants most days now.

3.

When my milk came in a couple days after giving birth, I felt shaky and achy and had a low-grade fever. I called up the doctor and we agreed that I couldn’t have mastitis (infected tiddy) already because my boobs didn’t hurt and I barely had any milk yet.

Turns out I had milk fever, which is when you get a little feverish when your milk comes in. But if you Google “milk fever,” you will find that almost all of the results are about cows and goats and other barnyard mommas.

Screen Shot 2019-04-07 at 8.13.09 PM

“…and shuffling of the hind feet”

Milk fever is primarily seen in dairy cattle but can also be seen in beef cattle and ALSO ME, YER GIRL.

4.

When I lie flat on my back, my boobs flop to either side. I could easily nurse two babies at the same time. Send your babies to me, I’ll nurse em.

(For real, why not? Pumping sucks, I got too much milk, and wet nurses used to be a thing! But your babies probably won’t want me milk. We went away for the weekend and I didn’t bring my pump, and my baby slept the entire time, and my boobs went out of control. I tried to get my niece babies to help an auntie out and they tweren’t having it. When I offered my boob they were.so.creeped.out. It was kind of funny, to see such confusion and terror on the faces of sweet babes. Also a little insulting. LIKE WUT, MY MILK AIN’T GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU??)

5.

Actually, I tried my own milk and I think it would’ve been perfectly good enough for them. I’ve drank the milk of thousands of cows I don’t even know—why wouldn’t I try my own!?! It was fine. Sweet and watery.

I may not love the way these boobs of mine look, but I’m pretty thankful for the sweet and watery melky cabrera that comes out of them and feeds my baby so good. So, thank you, flopping tiddies o mine.

 

Bunny Killer

The other day at the vet’s office, I ran into a woman I used to work with at a college. I was in line with my newly toothless dog* and she was at the register, waiting to check out.

“Oh, Amy? Amy my former colleague?” I asked, knowing full well that it was indeed Amy my former colleague.

“Hi…” she said HELLA tentatively, very clearly not remembering who I was.

“Amy!” I admonished. “I get that I’m 3.5 years older than the last time I saw you, and many, many pounds heavier, and my face has not quite held up to the past year’s emotions, but YA KNOW ME. I took photos of you for the alumni magazine! I endangered two of your children by taking them off-roading in a golf cart! I helped your husband, the staff farmer, wrangle sheeps!”

She still ain’t recognize me, but she tried to be friendly.

“Yes, right. How are you?” she asked.

“Great,” I answered. “The vet just pulled a bloody broken tooth out of me dog’s smelly head. What’s good with you?” As I asked, I noticed a very petite cat carrier at her feet and deduced there had to be a very petite cat within. I bent down and confirmed it.

“YOU’VE AN ADORABLE KITTEN!” I screamed.

“I do!” she nodded, now friendly for real. “Eight weeks old. She’s a bunny killer.”

Chico, my dog, was sniffing the cage and the kitten hissed at him. I pulled him back like, holy shit, that is a goddamn bunny killer in there. I’d never heard of such a thing.

(Note: Most of the previous dialogue was made up, but the following conversation is verbatim.)

“A bunny killer?” I asked. “That’s crazy! How many bunnies has she killed?”

Amy looked at me but didn’t respond, then turned back to the woman behind the counter to finish checking out. I waited a few moments for a lull in their exchange before continuing my interrogation.

“Like, full-grown bunnies or baby bunnies? How does she get to them?”

Again, Amy just looked at me. She seemed confused and I realized that I’d misunderstood her. I was acting as if it was a bad thing, this bunny-killing kitten of hers, but she and her husband were farmers. Bunnies were a nuisance in their world. They probably got this cat specifically to kill bunnies, so they could eat them or something.

“Oooh, did you get this cat specifically to kill bunnies?” I asked.

Again, she looked at me. At this point—maybe three minutes into my questioning—I could tell she definitely didn’t feel like talking about it. BUT THEN WHY BRING IT UP AT ALL, AMY?!?!?

“Wait, so, has she even killed any rabbits yet?” (This time I used “rabbits” instead of “bunnies,” to sound more professional.)

Finally, she answered me.  “You… you keep talking about killing bunnies. But all I said was ‘she’s an itty bitty kitten.’”

“OoOoOoOoOohhhhhhhhhhh,” I said, very embarrassed. “Yes, she is a small cat.”

She finished paying her bill and nodded goodbye and left.

*Here’s a picture of Chico’s mouth.

IMG_9537 copy

People are sharing what happens when you try contacts and it’s somethin’ else*

Before I get into this story—which is really only about my experience with contact lenses (sorry if my title tricked you; that was my intent)—I feel like I should address my nearly yearlong hiatus. There’s usually a point in every blog’s life where its blogger apologizes for not blogging often enough. I am not apologizing, because who the hell cares! Just thought I should mention it. Gonna try to write more, because it’s a better hobby than rewatching blooper compilations on YouTube, but I’ll probably give up pretty quick.

Here goes—

My first introduction to contact lenses was in 2012 or 2013. I’d only been wearing glasses for a year or two when my eldest sister decided it was time I try contacts.

“No thanks, sister,” I said. “I only wear glasses for driving and watching TV. I don’t need contacts.”

“I think you do,” she said.

“I think conversely to the way you think.”

The conversation didn’t go much further because at that point, it had been decided: if I didn’t want to try contacts, then I don’t need permission, make my own decisions, that’s my prerogative then my sister would force me. Which she did. My sister, WHO IS AN EDUCATED, PROFESSIONAL, WORKING MOTHER, chased me around the house, ~grabbed me by the back of the shirt, and stabbed a pair of her contacts into my eyes.

Not surprisingly, the trial didn’t go well. Beyond the fact that she had jabbed plastic into my eyeballs, they were her prescription instead of mine. So not only did they make my vision worse, but—since I have an astigmatism and she doesn’t—they also hurt like a mothertrucking buttcheek on a stick.

Since it’s 2018 and I wear glasses all the time now, I recently decided to give contacts another go. They still suck so much. Why does anyone wear them? It makes me mad that they do.

My problems with contacts:

  1. Very uncomfortable
  2. Very, very hard to put in. It should be easier
  3. Everything is blurry. Stuff should look better
  4. Can’t swim in them (according to my doctor. SO THEN WHAT IS THE POINT!?)
  5. Can’t rub my eyes as intensely as desired, which I would say is medium-intense
  6. Have to wash my hands more often than desired
  7. Can’t wear my glasses and I like my glasses because they’re like jewelry except useful
  8. But when I do wear my glasses, I now notice how the frames push into my face and that makes me pissed

Maybe next my sister will decide it’s time I get Lasik and she will slice off my corneas/burn them with lasers. Will let ya know.

*I plagiarized this blog’s title from a Buzzfeed article because I’m lazy and I think clickbait is funny but maybe also effective? We shall see.

My take on the news

I’ve decided to start blogging about current events. I have a journalism degree PLUS I recently started reading/subscribing to The New York Times. I believe that makes me the most qualified person in the world.

Thinking I’ll do this every day, or a couple times a week, or whenever I feel like it/only this one time. For the inaugural post I’ll do the lead story on nytimes.com. And I’ll always try to do that (the lead story), but I’ll reserve the right to choose something else when I want to.

The all-new Audi S5 Coupe.

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My take: The car looks very shiny and blue, which is excellent, but I’m not sure that’s a real road it’s driving on. This is most likely fake news.

Celebrity sightings

Quickly, and before I get into the very important business of celebrity sightings, please remember that your senators and House representatives work for you. You can call them up any day (and every day) and ask them to support the causes you care about, and stand up against policies that concern you.

For instance, you could find your Senators’ phone numbers and call them up this very minute and ask them not to confirm Betsy DeVos for Secretary of Education, who doesn’t believe in providing free and appropriate education for children with disabilities.

You could call them up and tell them you’re concerned about the president’s order to ban refugees from Muslim countries from entering the U.S.

Or you could call them up and complain about traffic in your city, or that the water tastes gross, or whatever. But remember to call them and to keep caring. That’s how democracy survives.

(BTW, it’s better to find the phone numbers of their local offices and call those.)

OK, on to the very important post:


Earlier this month, my oldest, sweetest, kindest sister took me to see Hamilton in New York. I can’t even begin to articulate how wonderful an experience it was. Michele Obama called it the best piece of art she’s ever seen in her life, and a bigwig at the Public Theater in New York compared Lin-Manuel Miranda, its creator, to Shakespeare. Nothing I could say would add anything to what’s already been said. It was really, really, really, good. I cried a couple times, and laughed a lot, and smelled more farts than I care to remember.

(For real. Those seats are packed seriously tight in the Richard Rodgers Theatre, and someone’s booty was working overtime. They smelled like the farts of a child, as a note.)

So instead of trying to review the best piece of art ever created, by Shakespeare’s successor, I will tell you about the other great part of trip to New York City.

I
SPOTTED
SO 
MANY
GOTDAMN 
CELEBRITIES

Celebrity-spotting is my favorite hobby. I love it. Holy moly do I love it. I don’t know why—I don’t read gossip magazines, I don’t write fan mail, I don’t even ask celebrities for pictures or autographs when I spot em out and about. But for some reason, I sure do love spotting em out and about.

And that’s important, that they’re out and about. When I worked at a radio station I got to see musicians fairly often. While it was fun and I loved it, it wasn’t nearly as exciting as spotting celebrities in the wild. When you see them at a radio event, you know they’re going to be there. You expect it and it takes no effort. But when you catch a glimpse of Constance Shulman, voice of Patty Mayonnaise and actress of Yoga Jones, walking down the avenue, that takes work.

I didn’t see Constance Shulman when I was in New York earlier this month (I saw her about a year ago, and it was fly as hell). But here are the three (3!!!!!) celebrities I did see earlier this month. You may not know any of them. If that’s the case, be even MORE impressed by how good of a celeb-spotter I am.

In chronological order of sighting:

Nick Kroll

He’s in The League and dated Amy Poehler for a little while. We were standing in line for Hamilton, and Nick Kroll goes strolling by. I says to my sisters I says, OH SHIT LOOK WHO IT BE. NICK KROLL THE KING.” They laughed because they thought I was kidding, and then they looked and saw freaking King Kroll.

Not sure why I’m calling him the king. He good but no, he no es royalty. 

Nick Kroll

Oh, you must think I’m losing it, putting Nick Kroll on this list twice. YOU WRONG I AIN’T LOSING IT. I truly did see him two times. After the show was over, and within ten minutes of leaving the theater, Mr. Nick Kroll goes strolling by again. I says to my sisters I say, OH SHIT LOOK IT’S NICK KROLL AGAIN.” Once more, they laughed, thinking I was bluffing. Once more, they realized the reason in my words and bowed to my skill and greatness.

It seems like maybe he saw Hamilton with us, but I’m not convinced. Apparently he’s got his own Broadway show right now, and he was walking in the wrong direction for leaving the theater. I don’t know, but I do know he looks far more trustworthy in person than he does in movies and on television. Not that he looks untrustworthy on TV, he just looks exceptionally trustworthy in person.

Oh and very quickly: those eyes of his. Pretty big, right? They look so sticky, Nick Kroll’s eyes do. I bet they’re cat fur magnets. My mom had an employee who once claimed to have 100 cat hairs in each eye. That’s a total of 200 cat hairs. I bet Nick Kroll has had 200 cat hairs in his eyes before. He king tho.

John Magaro

Have you seen The Big Short or Carol? Or Orange is the New Black? He’s in those. We were heading back to the car after the play and I looked my right and saw a familiar man in a beanie, carrying a paper bag.

“Ooh this beanie-wearing playa,” I thought. I know I seen this beanie-wearing playa before.”

I was carrying my niece and so he got ahead of us, but I ran back to my sisters and told them, Hey go chase down that man, I swears to Dog he famous.”

So they chased him down. He couldn’t see them, on account of walking direction and eye placement on human heads, but those two sisters of mine jogged up right behind him. They got a good look at his grill, shrugged, and came back to tell me they hadn’t a damn clue who he was. He was on to us by then, and ducked into a building’s vestibule for eluding purposes. It was a terrible escape plan, because when he left the vestibule he again had to pass us. I got another good look, and knew for sure I recognized him, but couldn’t place him. I could picture him being sad, and being someone’s boyfriend, and having an Italian accent.

It was really bothering me so on the way home from NYC I pulled up a list of the top box office movies for 2016, and then the top box office movies for 2015. The second I saw The Big Short, I knew I had my man. I texted my friend about it and she remembered he was also a little New York Italian man in OITNB

Abigail Breslin

She was the little dancing girl in Little Miss Sunshine. My sisters missed her, because they’ve got TERRIBLE celeb-spotting abilities, and also she’s an adult now and it’s hard to spot child celebrities when they become adults. But me, YA GIRL, I seen her and recognized her so A$AP it was a miracle.

Whoa, I didn’t realize she’s Spencer Breslin’s little sister. That’s the kid from The Cat and the Hat. He also played the adult-child elf in The Santa Clause. Neat.

Anyway, she was smoking a cigarette and was walking with two people. Actually I just found her Instagram and this is almost exactly what I saw.


Please comment below with your best celebrity sightings. I love to hear about them as much as I love to live them.