This Full House Archive

Tag: this full house

On Pandemonium, Pneumonia and Piss-Poor Plumbing
If you were to ask me what pandemonium meant, B.C. (before children) I would have suggested that it sort of sounds like a digestive aid for pandas.

Panda. Ammonium. Get it?

[sound of crickets, chirping]

Beeeeeeeecawse, you see, although I had a weird sense of humor (okay, have) I still would NOT have fully understood what pandemonium meant (literally) and probably even spelled it incorrectly as pandamonium, anyway.

Then I had kids, someone invented spell check (PHEW!) and, well, I can safely say that…YES!…we NOW live in a constant state of:
1. any scene of wild confusion or disorder.
2. the abode of all demons (also see: Hell)
Aaaaand, I am NOT even exaggerating. Not one bit.

For example, last February: our new-ish dishwasher broke. I called for service and then had to cancel the day they were scheduled to come and fix the darned thing, because I ended up in the hospital with a kidney stone.

[A whole lot of other stuff happened, since then, but I'm going to just go ahead and fast-forward right by March, April and May, in and effort to save you some time, or perhaps take a quick pause for a bathroom break, or something, you're welcome.]

Fast-forward to this week: our new-is washer broke (oh, and yeah, dishwasher is STILL broken, see note regarding March, April and May) soooo, I made an appointment to have both of them looked at, because I am REAL good at multi-tasking like that.

An hour before the service call: this guy comes knocking and tells me, "Water main down the street is broken, we'll have to turn your water off for 5 hours!" and I burst into tears. Luckily, he was a very understanding fellow (had a wife at home AND knew something about piss-poor plumbing) and even offered me a tissue or twenty.

Half an hour before the service call: called to cancel service (AGAIN!) and repair people were all "We have NEVER had to cancel service due to a water main break," and I was all, "Of course you haven't," and "This sort of sh*t only happens to us!"

The next day (Wednesday, of this week, to help you keep up): service guy calls me, while parked in my driveway (sort of like my husband does, so I was okay with it) to ask if our water is on.

During the service call: Doctor's office calls to tell me that the results of my youngest daughter's radiology report from two weeks ago confirms — Hope has pneumonia. Aaaaand, the service guy is all like, "Don't cry!" He didn't have any tissues and I was all, like "It's okay, I still had some from the other guy."

Flash-back, two weeks ago: I was scheduled to work the last day of school in Hope's 5th grade class, except she got sick. Good thing my husband was home from work (took day off for oldest daughter's h.s. graduation, later that afternoon) soooo, he took Hope down to the emergency walk in place. They took an x-ray, said she sounded fine and probably had an upper-respiratory infection and sent them home with antibiotics.

[Note to Self: emergency walk in place does NOT read x-rays taken at emergency walk in place, okay, good to know.]

Yesterday: I called our pediatrician, apologized for cheating on her and took Hope in for an emergency follow-up appointment.

Today: I am happy to report that Hope is fine (she's well onto the road to a full recovery, thank goodness!) and that the parts for both the dishwasher AND washing machine should be here by this weekend.

A few minutes ago: the phone rings, I get a text message AND an emergency email ALL at the same time saying,"Water company has experienced a significant pipe failure…"

I don't know what the rest of it said. I sort of stopped listening after pipe failure.

Morale of the Story: I wasn't lying when I said this sh*t happens to us ALL the time!

Ummmmm….can I use your bathroom?!?

EDITED TO ADD (6/30): Believe it or not, right after I blogged this, Monmouth County (that's us!) issued a state of emergency. A temporary bridge (courtesy of Hurricane Irene) collapsed, damaging some pipes and contaminating our water supply = boil our water until next week, maybe. Seriously, karma is PISSED!

© 2003 – 2012 This Full House
June 29, 2012
Because Some Things Just Shouldn’t Be Shared on Instagram
Alternate Blog Title: Happy 11th Birthday…OH YEAH!…and congratulations on that OTHER thing, Hopey!

It's not like I'm worried about embarrassing my kids or anything (recap: 3 of them are teens, enough said!) still, I think to myself…SELF!…think before you blog:
- Okay, so this cool/funny thing happened.
- Or that would really make an awesome story.
- OH YEAH! The other thing? Totally blog-worthy, right?
Self: Okay, great, but maybe people don't give a flying rat's tail about this, or that…OH YEAH!…and that other thing too…and, well, there's always Instagram, right?

BAH! See what I mean? All this thinking? Makes my head hurt. So, I'm just going to go on faith here and share with you this really blog-worthy thing that happened.

Aaaaand, by blog-worthy I mean:
- I messed up in some way or another and lived to tell the tale, regardless of the fact that you may or may not give a rat's tail whether I did so or not.
- I feel someone may benefit, by my messing up and then telling the tale, in some way or another and no more talk of rat's tails, okay?
In fact, if you've been reading me for any length of time (glutton for punishment, eh?) perhaps you've already benefited by my messing up in some way or another and, well, you're welcome!

Still, I promise NOT to go into any great detail (no, it's my pleasure, really!) because, well, it is somewhat of a sensitive subject and I wouldn't want to embarrass anyone or anything.

WARNING: We are about to head into female territory and the occasional mention of bodily functions may or may not be shared.

(more…)
June 25, 2012
A Blog Post NOT About Graduations, Celebrating a Birthday, Anniversary or My Kids

Because everyone loves a good pirate story, right?!?

I know, I know, though it is sort of a BIG DEAL when your oldest kid graduates high school (d'oh, sorry, won't happen again)!

I sort of try to put myself into your shoes (as difficult as it may be, seeing as your feet are so gosh-darned adorable and all) whenever writing one of these here blog posts.

Aaaaaand, all bad grammar, misspellings, incorrect use of puncuations and run-on sentences aside (because, you know, I have GOT to get this stuff out of my head, like, real fast and sometimes the fingers sort of just take over) I figured some people might get sick of hearing about this sort of stuff.

Like, having a kid old enough to grad…d'oh…you know…then again, I think to myself…SELF!…this here blog has never really been just about my kids…uh, that is to say…Those Who Shall Be Named People Living in This House (PLTH, for short).

On the other hand, PLTH have provided me with some pretty gosh-darned good blog fodder over the years.

In fact, one could argue that, if it weren't for PLTH, this blog would probably not exist.

How it survived THIS long (9 years, this September, to be exact) is beyond me and — considering that everyone and their mother is now an expert in social media — just your being here defies all logical explanation, really.

Thank you for that!

So, without further ado (sp?) I bring you a blog post NOT about graduations, celebrating anyone's birthday, anniversary or my kids.

[moment of silence]

1/3 of PLTH and we're STILL smiling.

SNORT!!! I mean, really, it is MY blog and everything. Besides, that one (up there, minus the pirate mask) is NOT a kid…not anymore…DAMMIT!

© 2003 – 2012 This Full House

Freshly-brewed Elsewhere: I am very honored to be working with Hallmark as a Life is a Special Occasion featured blogger, which allows me to share personal stories, insights and inspirations in enjoying simple, every day moments like this month's post about growing up on the Jersey shore (no, NOT THAT ONE!)

June 22, 2012
Happily Ever After, Everything!

She’s quoting her favorite Dr. Seuss: do you like my hat?

Although it seemed like a good idea at the time, the trouble with having so many kids born 2-3 years apart, I never really did sit down and do the math to figure out that perhaps one day we would be celebrating…a couple of major milestones…THAT SAME FREAKING DAY!

Watch out middle school, here she comes!

So, I thought to myself…SELF!…why not throw one GIANT graduation party the following weekend or something and just be done with it?

Self: Okay, ummm, but what about Hope’s birthday?

Me: Ummm, what about it?

Then it suddenly occurred to me (thank you, Self!) this year Hope’s birthday happens to fall on the SAME day as the graduation party, tentatively speaking of course.

Coming to America (these 3 escaped Hungary, as teenagers): my dad (far right) together again with my adopted uncles.

With Father’s Day that Sunday (I think, wait, yeah, I’m pretty sure) then the 4th of July (which, as a 1st generation born American, is really a BIG DEAL at our house) a few short weeks after, well, the rest of the family might as well just sleepover, right?

“Don’t make yourself crazy, Mom!”

I have a REAL bad habit of thinking out loud.

“Just make it ONE BIG HAPPY EVERYTHING PARTY!”

BRILLIANT! Further proof that my kids are SO MUCH smarter than I am. Really. Then, it rained almost ALL week and I started freaking out (because, I am freaky like that) about having to be stuck indoors with 20+ people.

We have 2 seasons here in Jersey: hot and cold.

So, we broke down and ordered a tent just in case. Still. People might want to use the bathroom, or something. So, I tried to pace myself and spent 3 days cleaning and/or rearranging the house.

Her future looks bright, let’s eat cake!

Then, it stopped raining and, well, at least the house is Thanksgiving clean and thank goodness I won’t have to do THAT again…not until…well…next Thanksgiving.

Happy 11th Birthday, Hopey!

Which reminds me (thank you, Self!) I owe this kid a “Happy Birthday” post, but decided to save it for another time (you’re welcome!) because, well, I’m still trying to recover from…you know…EVERYTHING!

Oh, and looky what else I made (DID SO!) courtesy of many, many lost hours spent on Pinterest.

Enough said. In the meantime, if anybody needs me, I’ll be upstairs, trying to convince my kids to help me bring ALL the clean laundry back down from off of my bed.

Our own private little after party.

Once they wake up, of course! Considering today just so happens to be the first day of their summer break…as well…YO!

The end.

© 2003 – 2012 This Full House

June 18, 2012
Barbie the Verklempt Killer

Having been married for nearly 22 years (wait, that makes me sound way too old) or the entire life span of an average college graduate (ugh, never mind) I feel it safe to say that one of the reasons our relationship works is that my husband Garth (not his real name) and I are total opposites.

One of us is emotional and the other more of an intellectual. Guess which one? Go ahead, I'll wait.

If you guessed me as the emotional one, CONGRATULATIONS!!!

[hugs]

You are ABSOLUTELY right in thinking I am less apt to intellectualize feelings and most likely bringing attention to myself (right now, even) showing off my non-verbal communications skillz…in public.

In other words, I'm probably hugging someone…who does NOT like, let alone even wish to be…you know…hugged…right now.

[hugs]

Sorry. I just canNOT help myself. It's in my genes. In fact, I'm raising a houseful of emotional empaths, we're ALL verklempt up in here.

"You want to come into the school's office with me?"

My oldest girl is graduating high school and my youngest is graduating elementary school this week.

[hand to heart]

Aaaaand, I'm trying really, really hard not to be all…you know…verklempt.

"Maybe you'll see some of your old teachers."

My two oldest girls were home from school (I forget why, although it doesn't really matter, considering these days it's a chore for me to remember their names, moving on) and we (okay, mostly me) thought it would be fun to see if they…you know…remember how much fun…school used to be.

"Look, there's your music teacher, Mrs. B!"

We've gone through many, many teachers in the 13 years my kids have attended this school (at least 13, please don't ask me to name them all) however, Mrs. B is definitely a favorite.

"Are you guys still in high school?"

My middle girl pointed to her oldest sister.

"I am, but she's graduating!"

[eyes go wide]

"Now I feel REALLY old!"

I just stood there, nodding my head, not so much because I couldn't think of anything to say (I know, act surprised anyway, okay?) however, teenagers embarrass rather easily (see previous parenthesis) and, well, they're probably already annoyed with me (right now, even) so, I turned my attention to the office staff.

"I wanted to thank you ladies for all of your…"

[cough]

"…for all of your…

[choke]

"…support over the years."

[clears throat]

"Seeing as it's our last year at this school and everything."

[fans face with hands]

"Thank you…[cough]…all…[choke]…for all that…[clears throat]…you do."

This time, it was Mrs. B's turn to put her hand to her heart.

"Your getting ME all verklempt!"

And so it goes. I do that to intellectuals.

"Want to watch a movie together, like we used to when you were little?"

My oldest was exempt from all but one of her finals this week (yes, I know, she does NOT get it from me) so, she offered to help sit with my youngest (she's home sick from school, it's how we roll) and then came running back into the kitchen.

[places hand on heart]

"She…[cough]…picked…[choke]…a Barbie…[clears throat]…movie!!!"

Funny, I always thought her more of an intellectual, she MUST get that part from her father.

© 2003 – 2012 This Full House

June 11, 2012
Sometimes Bonding With the Dentist, Alongside Your Sister, Can Be a Happy Experience

March 2010 (a.k.a. the year they stopped smiling)

Not that I have anything against dentists…personally. I feel it takes a special sort of something to actually choose a profession that involves looking into and/or tooling around in other people's mouths…on purpose.

In fact, I have personally supported many dental professionals, my ownself — I've had several root canals, as well as gum graphing and reconstructive surgery in my mid-twenties, due to a long lost and previously unforeseen baby tooth exploding in my sinus cavity (you're welcome!) — I've helped hone their dentistry skills AND achieve their long-term financial goals.

In other words dentists, or pretty much anyone involved in any aspect of oral healthcare, absolutely LOVED me!

Then, I had children and, well, nowadays, dentists are also very knowledgeable in creating really cool balloon animals and even allow younger kids to play with Mr. Thirsty (a.k.a. the spit sucker) or have several video game systems set up…in their waiting rooms…you know…for siblings to play with…on purpose.

In other words, my kids LOVED going to the dentist.

Until, they got older and, well, there are many different levels of "It's like a pinch, really" when kids hit double-digits.

Then, they reach teenhood and, well, I swear pulling teeth has GOT to be easier than getting a teenager to smile.

Trust me, having spent a little more than a third of my life waiting in a dentist's and/or doctor's office, I know — especially, with my oldest girls.

Holly and Heather have endured two years of having their teeth pulled, prodded and realigned to look like "drunken railroad tracks" (their words, not mine) and I had my doubts the Orthondontist would EVER be able to…you know…pull it/them off.

Two years ago, the Orthodontist promised to make my girls smile and boy did she EVER deliver.

BONUS POINTS: for being able to do so…3 days before Holly's senior prom…the Orthodontist happens to be a mother, of teens, as well.

© 2003 – 2012 This Full House

June 6, 2012
Last Week, Before the Last Week, Of the Last Week of School

Another typical Memorial Day weekend at our house, with more birthday cake!

We opened our pool yesterday and by we I mean Garth (not his real name) did almost ALL the heavy lifting, bending, or basically anything requiring any sort of physical effort, the ability to use BOTH hands (at the same time) or a superior range of motion, while I ran (by ran I mean limp, with style) and got him stuff he asked for, from the shed, or the garage (either of which, turns out, would prove to be a scavenger hunt) in an effort to make me feel…you know…useful.

It's the last week, before the last week, of the last week of school and, well, my kids have already checked out…mentally…as of last week…me, too.

This year, however, is a little different.

My oldest is…[cough]…excuse me, but my first born baby girl…[clears throat]…I cannot wrap my head around the fact that…[swallows HUGE lump in throat]…UGH!

You see? I can't even admit I have a daughter old enough to graduate high school…[clears throat]…without manufacturing mucous the size of a grapefruit (you're welcome!) so, it stands to reason, I should not be allowed to speak, let alone trusted with doing something…you know…useful.

Like, actually start planning stuff for Holly's high school graduation party and Hope's 11th birthday which happen to fall on the same day (GAH!) instead, I beat my head against the wall and try to figure out how I am going to pull it ALL off?

"Don't make yourself crazy, Mom!"

I know, too late, still, my youngest is also graduating 5th grade this year…[cue mucous]…and, well, after 13 years of complaining about the parking and stuff, now what am I gonna do?!?

"Just make it ONE BIG HAPPY EVERYTHING PARTY!"

[blink-blink-blink]

BRILLIANT!!! I mean, it's not like we haven't done it before (see: The Seven Years of Mommyblogging and Happy Everything) and gosh but I love my kids!!!

"Why are you wearing your brother's boxers?"

So, I'm going over my "Ignore this stuff any longer and you will live to regret it, if you haven't already, trust me on this one!" list when my youngest stumbled into the kitchen this morning and, well, I really should know better to ask, but am not in my right mind…remember?

"Beeeeeecause, they don't fit him anymore?!?"

Guess what just made the top of the list? Go ahead, I'll wait!

© 2003 – 2012 This Full House

May 29, 2012
The Sad World of the Misunderstood Euphemism, and Zombies
My husband, Garth (not his real name) is a good guy. I mean, like, Eagle Scout good and anyone who knows us (IRL) would most definitely agree adding, "Well, the man IS married to you."

Aaaaand, I'm okay with it (the fact that he's married to me AND the aforementioned euphemism) because, trust me, I am WELL aware of my own limitations.

Like, my inability to withstand the mechanical forces of the earth's gravitational pull (I fall down, A LOT!) or, my penchant for breaking things…okay…wait…for…it…A LOT!

Then, my lack of patience (see also: previous paragraph) is legendary, which makes me simultaneously annoying and popular with the customer service set.

Oh, and the fact that my husband left the house feeling a bit hacked-off (sorry, had kids home sick this week and have Harry Potter and The Deathly Hollows Part II on the brain) and I'm sitting here, acting all misunderstood and everything, with a bazillion OTHER THINGS I SHOULD BE DOING, LIKE:
- Clean the house: but, it's raining and the vacuum is very-nearly-dead.
- Wash the dishes: dishwasher is…wait…for…it…broken.
- Fold laundry: don't want to disturb the cat.
- Wrangle the killer dust bunnies: I believe in raising 'em free range.
- Go grocery shopping: although, I did find some hot dogs and sandwich bread.
- Get my oil changed: in the car I mean, mine is fine (I think).
- Continue ignoring the fact I've got a kid graduating high school in, like, 2 weeks: enough said.
- Prepare for the Zombie Apocalypse: it's coming, y'all.
Aaaaand, this is the part where you guys should be all…like…dude, is your husband ever coming back?

I hope so. For as much as he thinks I hate him, at the moment, truth is I love Garth (not his real name) more than my Dyson (may it rest in peace) and can't imagine celebrating another day (above ground) without him.

He is my good-er half.

Also, our niece is getting married next summer and you know the part where the officiant happily declares the newly married couple as man and wife?

It's going to take ALL of my strength NOT to holler out: brace yourselves, it's gonna be a bumpy ride!

Besides, NO ONE is better at putting their hand over my mouth, without ruining my lipstick, than Garth (not his real name) and…wait a second…I really DID mean that, literally…although, on second thought…um…never mind.

I can hear the zombies now, "No brains! Move along!"

You are safe here, my friends, stupid euphemisms.

© 2003 – 2012 This Full House
May 25, 2012
At Our House, It’s Called a Blood Drive-By

As a mother of 3 teens, 1 kid in double-digits and Supreme Goddess of All Things Domestic (in my house, anyways) I feel it safe say that there is NOTHING worse than battling a foreign object, invading your child's body, that you canNOT see.

3yo Heather: Hey…wook…isn't that where you gave bwud, How-wee?

Unless, you have to take said child to have their blood drawn and, well, game over dude!

5yo Holly/How-wee: I didn't give it…Heatherrrrr…THEY TOOK IT!

Even years later, my two oldest daughters would play out this same conversation, every time we'd drive by the building, where they each got their "bwud tooken" and, well, How-wee…I mean…Holly will tell you…YES!..it was THAT traumatic.

[pulls up sleeve]

Me: Dude…they won't take your blood here.

I took my son to the doctor, yesterday. Long story, short (you're welcome) he's got a nasty case of some sort of creeping crud she couldn't quite identify and, well, now it was his turn to have his "bwud tooken".

Me: We have to go…you know…[whispers]…to that OTHER place.

[eyes go wide]

This is the kid that doesn't get sick. He's only heard stories, from his oldest sisters, whenever we would drive by the place where they had their blood…you know…tooken.

Receptionist: Name?

Me: Glen [whispering] he's never had his blood…tooken…I mean…taken.

The receptionist just nodded her head and, thankfully, the place was empty. Except for this one kid, going ALL ape sh*t, and his sh*thead father:

Kid, going ALL ape sh*t: BWAAAAAAAAH!!!! NOOOOOOOO!!!! NOOOOOOOO!!! NOOOOOOOO!!!

His sh*thead father: SHUDDUP!!!! SHUDDUP!!! SHUDDUP!!!

So, my son and I just sat down and…you know…covered our ears.

Medical Asst.: Glen?

It was funny to watch the receptionist's face, as he stood up and she handed my son a cup. I swear, you could actually hear her neck muscles pop.

Medical Asst.: You can leave it on the bathroom sink and then go right into Room #1.

[eyes go wide]

Medical Asst.: Oh relax, your friends probably hit you harder than this is gonna hurt!"

Thank goodness for kind-hearted medical assistants, right?

Glen: Buuuuuut, no one said ANYTHING about peeing in a cup!

[blink-blink-blink]

Me: Well, I didn't think it would be SUCH a big deal.

[voice cracking]

Glen: Buuuuuut, it's a really small cup!

Judging by the way the she was laughing…I guessed correctly…the medical assistant was a mother AND happened to have a teen boy at home…too.

Stupid blood tests, dumbass creeping crud.

© 2003 – 2012 This Full House

FRESHLY-BREWED ELSEWHERE: I'm over at PlaydatePlace.com this week, confessing not teaching my kids how to ride a bike. Also, sharing a recipe for Angel Food Cake that does NOT suck!

May 15, 2012
I do not have a pain-management problem, I have a pain problem and maybe a slight case of Trypanophobia.
Blog title inspired by House. Picture, just because.

I had my second doctor’s appointment scheduled for today.

That is to say, I showed up when I was supposed to.

Just like last week.

Me and about a dozen other people (I think maybe I even recognized a few of them, could be they were still waiting, from last week) staring at Fox News.

(HURL!)

Me? I watched the day float right on by and…you know…give me the finger.

Now that I think on it some more, it’s sort of ironic, really:
- We ALL had appointments
- We ALL sought treatment for various neurological and/or spinal conditions
- We ALL just sat there, way passed our appointed time(s)
- Patiently listening for our respective names to be called
- Shifting from one cheek, to the other
- Or, in one guys case, shoulder blade
- Came in an ambulance, wheeled in on a stretcher
- He still complained
- We were all, like, dude, at least you’re laying down
- Shuddup
Aaaand then, I swear, you could hear our collective spinally-impaired selves breath a heavy sigh of “WTH?!?” watching some other schmuck limp in ahead of us.

Fast-forward 2 hours.

“Elizabeth?”

[cue choir of angels]

“THAT’S ME, THAT’S ME!!!”

Schmuck.

Basically, the MRI confirmed what I already knew….my lower back…she is fubar.

“You have substantially moderate damage to discs at L1 and L2.”

In other words, less clinical like…my lower back, she is fubar…good news is, however, there are two options…other than surgery:

Requiring either a) an undisclosed voltage of electrical current or b) a sharp implement, jammed deep into my spine.

Ironically enough, they call it pain management.

So, I’m considering my options (needle, electric current, skewered, or fried?) while washing the dishes (dish washer, she is broken too) when I hear:

“SCREEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAMMMMMM!!!!”

It was my 13 year-old son. I sent him upstairs for the laundry basket because, you know, my back, she is fubar.

Only it was more of a screechy sort of undulating: “SCR-UHHHHHHHHH-EEEEEEEEECH!” because…you know…he’s 13 and his voice is changing…SNORT!

[eyes go wide]

Howwwwwever, I was much, much more, “WTH?!?” at the time, as the laundry basket comes flying down the stairs.

“EYE-YEEEEEEE, MOM, COME HERE, QUICK!!!!”

But…I…can’t…get…passed…the…

“A BEEEEEEEE STUUUUUUUUUNG MEEEEEEEEE, EYE-YEEEEEEEE!!!!”

…laundry…on…the…stairs…wait a minute…a bee…seriously?!?

“Come on down Bud and I’ll look at it.”

Now, I’m hearing heavy panting.

“I…I…NO…YOU…COME…UPSTAIRS!!!!”

Fast-forward 2 hours…just kidding…but, the bee was sitting on the laundry and he didn’t actually see where the bee went, after it popped him and, well, it took a while for him to come downstairs.

“Wow, it popped you…twice!”

Go figure, the only one in the house to ever get stung by a bee…5 times…would find the one bee…that got in the house.

“Dude, calm down, it’s only a bee.”

Mind you, as I’m scouring the floor, on my hands and knees, with a flash light, looking for the damned thing…beeeeecause:
- The boy is nearly 6 feet tall
- There is NO MORE ROOM in my bed
- I have to get up at the buttcrack of dawn
- To take my parents to the hospital, tomorrow morning
- Mom’s arm, she is fubar
- Dad’s back, she…I mean…he is fubar
- Aaaaad my back hurts
“FOUND IT!”

[get that choir of angels back here, STAT!]

“See, it doesn’t have it’s stinger and woulda died anyways.”

I know, I know, the boy is 13. Still, he’s been stung 5…no, wait…make it 7 times…can you blame him?

I’m just happy he did not puke.

“I…[sniff-sniff]…feel like…[cough]…someone jammed…[sniff-sniff]…a couple of needles into my body”

[eyes go wide]

Aaaaand, then I puked. The End.

© 2003 – 2012 This Full House
May 8, 2012