this is what I feel like:

Can't the Oompa Loompa's just take me off to the De-juicing Room or something?!?

You can drink your own pee.
Seriously.

This may seem like an off-the-wall posting, but (for some unknown reason) this is a topic that comes up quite often in our house. When I used to teach college anatomy and medical terminology, this was a favorite "fun fact" of mine to share with college students. This disclosure was always followed by 10 minutes of hysterical discussion about how and when to drink your own pee (and I often got the question, "Can you drink someone else's pee?" Those wacky college kids). I mean, urine is something like 95% water, so why not?

People have survived in the wilderness by drinking their own pee. There is something actually called urine therapy. When writing this post, I decided to look up urine therapy and see what I got:

"Most devotees drink the midstream of their morning urine. Some prefer it straight and steaming hot; others mix it with juice or serve it over fruit. Some prefer a couple of urine drops mixed with a tablespoon of water applied sublingually several times a day. Some wash themselves in their own golden fluid to improve their skin quality. Many modern Japanese women are said to engage in urine bathing [Hellloooo, golden shower anyone!?]. The truly daring use their own urine as an enema. Urine is not quite the breakfast of champions, but it is the elixir of choice of a number of holy men in India where drinking urine has been practiced for thousands of years."

OK, so the "some prefer it straight and steaming hot" got to even me. *gulp*

Anyway, the most recent discussion on drinking your own pee was prompted when I told my husband that the baby, in utero, will drink it's own pee (or, more accurately, the urine will cycle through the baby's mouth). At which point my husband replied, staring skeptically at me sideways, "You're lying again. You make all of this up in an attempt to, one day, see one of us drink our own urine."

HM. Maybe, maybe not.

So I was watching The Big Idea with Donny Deutsch (shut up) a couple of nights ago. One of the "big money making ideas" was a guy who came up with something called Toilet Tunes (I s- you not. heh heh). Be sure to watch the "commercial" because it's hysterically funny.





I can't believe that they did an entire segment on this with a straight face. I guess when you're making millions covering other people's butt music it's easy to do.

BTW- I LOVE that there's a 6 unit limit on your order and that you can get a free spa pillow. WHAT?!?!

*sigh*

(I'm starting to see a poop-related theme on this site...)

Once I found out I was pregnant and they took the 8OOO pages of family history (apologies to my older brother - I HAD to let them know about the lobotomy), they also did a full gynecological exam including a pap smear (I know, too much information, but this is integral to the story). My exam came back as "suspicious cells" so I had to have a colposcopy. I'll spare you the complete details of THAT.

The day the Girl Friday (aka: $7/hour girl who works in the doctor's office) called to tell me about my "suspicious cells" I tried to get her to tell me what it meant over the phone, but instead I got a sing-songy "OH! The doctor will explain all of that to you when you come in for your colposcopy." I mean, there were so many questions like, What made the cells suspicious? Were they wearing a trench coat, fedora, and sunglasses at noon on a 92-degree summer day? (Because frankly, I'm ALWAYS suspicious of THAT). I couldn't get the Girl Friday to answer any of my questions - she kept repeating "suspicious cells" and "colposcopy" like it had some drooling Pavlovian effect every time someone asked a question. Maybe she was hitting the lever with her little paw and getting a treat each time? I have no idea. Thank goodness my background is in healthcare and I used to teach college anatomy and medical terminology courses. Therefore, I was armed with just enough information to make me dangerous and insane about my prognosis before I had the appointment. That was HELPFUL.

I tell my friend Jeanne about the "suspicious cells" and the "colposcopy" at which time she insists that they'll do a biopsy. Since a colposcopy is an exam where they use an instrument (colposcope) to magnify your cervix and vagina (*lalalalalalalala*), I assured her "...they were just going to take a look. They would've told me if they were going to do a biopsy with it, too." Famous last words.

Fast forward to the appointment:

I get to the appointment and I'm escorted on the walk of shame back to the room. The conversation goes something like this:

Clueless Nurse (CN): Did you take some Motrin?

ME: *confused* UH NO, no one told me to...

CN: *shock, awe & disbelief* YOU DIDN'T TAKE ANY MOTRIN?

ME: *total panic* NO! NO ONE TOLD ME TO!

CN: *sigh* Did you at least take Tylenol?!?

ME: *getting angry* NO

CN: Do you have any Tylenol in your purse?!?

ME: *hellooo? isn't this a doctor's office?!?* UH NO.

CN: *sigh* Should I get you some Tylenol?

ME: Well, I guess it depends on how painful this EXAM is going to be.

CN: *flips open my record* Is there any chance you could be pregnant?

ME: *complete disbelief* Uh, I think that was firmly established about 12 weeks ago.

CN: Ah yes, I see.

Fast forward to next week:

I call the office to verify something about the next appointment. The same Clueless Nurse answers the phone (I'm quite familiar with her voice by now). I can hear her pulling up my record on the computer as I give her the usual demographics.

ME: I wanted to verify something about my ultrasound next week.

CN: Is there a chance you could be pregnant?

...

Yep - no lie ('cos why would anything be easy for a 38-year old pregnant woman with "suspicious cells"?)

Ok. Call me crazy, but I SO don't get CraigsList. I have friends that talk about it like it's the greatest thing ever invented. I can NEVER find anything on it, and if BY SOME SLIM CHANCE I do, it's a complete fluke and I can never figure out how to contact the person with the listing (and I consider myself pretty computer savvy). It's not user friendly and it's not aesthetically pleasing (and I'm ALL ABOUT the pretty things) . In fact, it reminds me of those awful DOS-based program days (and, again, if it doesn't have some pretty pictures to keep my attention then I'm out).


I just don't get it. So sue me.

Is it wrong that I just spent the entire Labor Day weekend unlaboring by watching reruns of Fox's reality TV show Paradise Hotel?

That's OK, right?
right?

RIGHT?!?!