I have literally spent the last way too many days, in bed, eating toast, drinking water and shitting my brains out.

It all started Tuesday night when I got home. I wasn’t hungry and ended up only having a bowl of cereal for dinner. Then as I was sitting on the couch, I was FREEZING! It was about 95 degrees out and super humid and yet, I was freezing in my house with the A/C on. Even though it is set to the same temperature every single day.

I was tired and figured I should go to bed early. I was fine until I woke up about 4:30 AM and then spent the next two hours on the toilet. I decided not to go to work, obviously, since 1) I didn’t know if I could drive in without having to stop and 2) I don’t like spending that much time in the bathroom at work. Or any public bathroom, for that matter.

Regan has dubbed ass-splosions “The Kristin Johnsons”, hence the title of the post. And her poor son has been afflicted with The Kristin Johnsons this past week too. But he’s lucky because he wears a diaper and doesn’t have to worry about pooping in a gas station bathroom in the middle of nowhere because he can’t make it home.

I will spare you more poop talk and just tell you that it still hasn’t gone away. I went to work on Friday and attempted to eat something more than toast for lunch. I had soup and a turkey sandwich. You would have thought the soup was laced with Ex-Lax from the reaction I had. I made it until about 4:30 in the office (after several incidents of The Kristin Johnsons at work) and decided I needed to go home. Let’s just say, I barely made it home. It was ROUGH.

So much for no more poop talk, huh? Like calling it The Kristin Johnsons makes the fact I’m talking about loose stool any less gross.

I’M DONE! I SWEAR!

Anyway, the worst part about it? I was supposed to go up to Milwaukee this past weekend to visit Ali and her family. But it’s almost a two-hour drive up there. And I knew it was a big risk, so I stayed home. I was so sad. But I have vowed to kick The Kristin Johnsons to the curb this week and go up there next weekend. Because it has been awhile since I’ve celebrated the Sabbath and I miss my second family.

So that’s what’s been going on with me. And why I have been MIA. And why everyone on Twitter wishes I would just stop talking about poop.

I still have a sneaky suspicion the cats were behind it somehow…

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But this is a different kind of tired. Because I went to my sister’s house this weekend to hang out with my new baby girl, Maddie!

She will be two weeks old on Tuesday, so she’s pretty much the same baby that I met the day she was born. She eats, sleeps, cries bloody murder when she has to have her diaper changed, and poops. Pretty typical for a newborn.

She is a little spoiled. She only likes to sleep while being held. I’m sure she misses the womb she was ripped out of. My sister will probably be a little irritated with this sleeping habit, but as the favorite Auntie, I LOVE EVERY MINUTE OF IT!

One little squeak out of her, and I was right there to pick her up!

My sister needed to run to the mall to get Father’s Day gifts, so I happily offered to watch her while my sister went out by herself. We ended up both napping on the couch while watching TV and it was the greatest way I can think of to spend a Saturday afternoon.

She is a lot more alert than she was the day she was born. She opens her eyes more. So now I have photos of her with her eyes open. All dressed up for Father’s Day!

She had a bit of a goopy eye. Probably just a blocked tear duct, which is common with new babies. My sister was worried and said “I think that is doctor, goopy.” And I have been calling her Dr. Goopy all weekend. She’s my little goopy goober. Goopy gumdrop! The Goop!

And Goopy even got me a present!

It has been so long since we’ve had a baby in the family. I’m so excited to spoil another little niece. I can’t wait to watch her grow up and see what an amazing little person she becomes.

And after spending this weekend with her, I really can’t wait to have one of my own someday. Someday soon.

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So how was your weekend? What? I can’t hear you over that CLOCK TICKING SOUND!

Anyway, I put it out and then realized there was no water in my glass. So I walked from my bedroom to the kitchen (not a far walk since I live in a shoebox) and filled up my glass. When I got back, I saw the pill on the carpet, bitten open and the inside powder spilling out.

In the few seconds it took me to get some water, he did this damage.

So I of course asked Twitter to make sure he would be OK. They all reminded me that some vets give Prozac to pets. And that he would probably be OK. And that he’d probably maybe be on his best behavior and maybe stop puking on my bed.

Hmmm, maybe I could use this to my advantage. Where’s Kitty Kitty?

Well, I will say, I have been busy. Work has been super busy. Then I was in Atlanta. And last week I was just busy and I was also having some, um, stomach issues. (THE TITLE MAKES SENSE NOW, HUH?)

I’m sure I’m telling you all old news, but did you know that taking antibiotics given you diarrhea? Can you believe I’m going to talk about poop on my blog? Rather than just writing  like crap. (Bah dum bum.)

Yeah, so I’ve been on antibiotics for the last 10 days. I just took my last dose tonight. I am very thankful for that because I would like to get my digestive system in order. When I first started having these issues last Sunday (I spent the whole day in bed and slept for 14 hours), I commented on Twitter about my loose stool. Regan then commented that I needed a probiotic because the antibiotics were taking the good and bad bacteria out of my system. So she told me to eat yogurt. But I don’t like yogurt, I said.

That Regan, always such a big help.

It was suggested that I try a probiotic pill instead of yogurt. I figured I was going to the store Monday night anyway, so I would just pick some up and all would be right with the world. But I didn’t write it on my list. And if I don’t write it on my list, I will forget. You would think the stomach pains would have reminded me, but you would be wrong.

But then it got better. I was still having more bowel movements than normal, but there wasn’t the cramping and the pain and I just figured that my stupid ass system just got used to it. It was clear sailing.

Oh, hahahahahaha self! You couldn’t have been more wrong.

Wednesday night came and I think I dropped about 47 Cosby kids off at school. Every time I peed, I pooped. It was a fun night, considering I was out at a BAR. In PUBLIC!

Anyway, Wednesday night sucked and I woke up Thursday morning with horrible cramps and pain. And I figured I would suck it up and go to work. Except, I forgot that since I went out Wednesday night right after work, taking the EL downtown, that my car was sitting in the parking garage at work. Which meant to get to work, I would have to take a bus and a train. And there would be no bathroom for an hour and 15 minutes. And I was pretty sure there was no way I was going to be able to do that without crapping my pants.

So that’s the poop, I mean the scoop. I’ve been keeping the Quilted Northern ladies quite busy with the high demand for their toilet paper. But they shouldn’t complain. It is a recession, they should be happy for the work and that we all haven’t switched to leaves and free newspapers.

It’s probably better to NOT write than to write about feces, right?

So people of the internet, what have you been up to? What other poo euphemisms do you use?

Does anyone really like going to the gynecologist? I mean, I’ve been going for years and while my blood pressure doesn’t spike from nervousness and uncomfortableness like it used to, I still don’t LIKE it. I mean, it isn’t pleasant. I would imagine after having kids and having everyone under the sun staring where the sun don’t shine it isn’t even a big deal anymore. But still, not how I want to spend my time. At least buy me a drink first!

And thankfully, the worst part, the pap schmear, I am now at the age that I only have to do that once every three years. So yay for no more jaws of life opening my who-hah like a cave explorer. (THERE IS NOTHING BUT COBWEBS AND DRIED OUT EGGS IN THERE!)

The worst part is when she’s like “have you had any new partners in the last year? Do we need to do any STD testing?” And with a sad clown face, I told her no. BECAUSE IT HAS BEEN MORE THAN A YEAR! Yes, lady doctor, the most action I’ve had in the last year is you squeezing my ovaries. Thanks for making a girl feel good. But hey! No STDs!

(I probably should have put a warning on this post, huh? Too late now. Sorry mom.)

My doctor’s office has decided that a gyno appointment is now a “specialty” and I am to pay accordingly. So my typical $20 co-pay was $40 yesterday. And I’m not complaining because I am lucky to have a job and insurance and only pay $40 to get felt up. BUT, I wonder if dudes have the same thing for prostate exams, etc. I am going for a well-woman exam. It is preventative care. It is an annual physical. And as far as I know, that’s covered under the normal care, at a $20 co-pay.

And this is the doctor’s office that made the change, not my insurance. So it makes me think they are just trying to turn a bigger profit? By making women and pregnant ladies pay more? Good thing I only go once a year. Want a way for me to stop going to the doctor? Raise the co-pay price.

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So my doctor’s office is in the Playboy Building. No, really. Playboy is no longer there (I don’t think), but when they were headquartered in Chicago, that’s where they were. Anyway, this building re-designed their elevators. It must have cost a pretty penny. I can only imagine what the special assessments were for the residents in the building.

Anyway, these elevators are all automatic. You push your floor number on a large keypad, and it then tells you which elevator (marked with letters) will be coming to fetch you. So you hit 3 and then it beeps and says “H” and you wait outside elevator H.

And then once you’re in the elevator there are no buttons. So if you were like “OH! I meant four, not three”, you’re screwed! You have to get out and go push that button and wait again for an elevator. It is the WEIRDEST thing! I felt like I was in some sci-fi movie.

I do not like these elevators, though. The loss of control of a situation was overwhelming. I didn’t like these robots telling me what to do! What if I want to take Elevator C? WHAT IF I HATE THE LETTER H?

It’s a good thing I don’t go there more often. I should probably not get pregnant any time soon. Or I might have to start taking the stairs. Which would suck as a pregnant person.

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I worked from home yesterday because my doctor’s appointment was at 10:45 and my house is closer to the doctor than my office is. And I thought this would be the most productive use of my time.

I left  to head out to my car to drive to the doctor. I figured since  it was after 10 on a weekday morning, I wouldn’t run into anyone in the hallways. As I was walking out to my car, through the garage, I opened the door into this cute dude. Like I was so startled, I think I yelped! OUT LOUD! And to make it worse? I am pretty sure I was mid-audible-belch at the time!

KEEP IT KLASSY, KRISTABELLA!

Yep, this is why I’m single and only get action from a midwife.

As I’ve mentioned here before, my cats like to puke. They use this as punishment because they know how much I hate to clean it up. So it is not odd to find piles of cat puke when I get home from work. But last night was a bit different. There was quite a but of it and it was all liquid and bright yellow.

After I cleaned up the messes and fixed myself some dinner, I noticed that Kitty Kitty was the one doing all the puking. And she was really kind of struggling and dry heaving. And then I noticed she hadn’t eaten anything. That was when I started to become a little concerned.

As the night progressed, she got more and more lethargic. And if you’ve met Kitty Kitty, you know she’s anything but lethargic. She’s a big hyper furball. When I could even get her off the couch with the promise of treats, I got really concerned.

But this is where kids and pets differ, I would imagine. I could have gone to the Emergency Vet right then. I looked one up. But I knew it was going to cost me a fortune. And in the back of my mind I thought “she’s been like this before. She’s a puker!” So I decided that since I was working from home today, I would call the vet first thing and get her in there sometime today.

Kitty Kitty hates to be held. She will squirm and squeal until you let her down. But as I was going to bed last night, I figured it was better if she slept with me and not on the couch. So I picked her up to bring her into my bed with me. She didn’t even flinch. She just went along with it. I was half-convinced I was going to wake up to a dead cat body.

She made it through the night. The carpet in the bedroom wasn’t as lucky, as it was the recipient of most of her puking. I got us an appointment at 1:30 and then I just spent most of the morning watching her, clearly not feeling well, and assuming the worst. And then I started crying! She’s my baby kitty! I can’t lose her! I was convinced it was BAD!

Long story short because OHMAHGAWD I have spent an entire post (and over 400 words according to WordPress’s word count) talking about my cat! It is no wonder I am single! Anyway, the vet didn’t find anything wrong. They gave her some fluids and took some blood to make sure it isn’t anything serious. I also got some tummy medicine for her that should calm the acid in her stomach. Because apparently I’m not the only one in this household to get attention for acid reflux. This bitch is totally copying me!

Or Rhi mentioned she might be worried about her weight. Which could have some truth to it as she tried numerous times to jump off the scale in the vet’s office before it could read her weight. Guess I should stop feeding her so many treats.

(Seriously? A whole post about my cat? What has come over me?)

So she’s better. I’m better. I don’t know how parents of HUMANS do it because my stomach was a mess all day today worrying about her. Maybe it is better if I don’t have kids.

And poor Simba was waiting right by the door when we got home from the vet because I don’t think he knows what to do with the whole house to himself.

(You know my friend Melissa asked me to go out for drinks tonight. I really should have gone. Maybe I could have had something more interesting to write about. Or at the very least NOT used “my cat is sick” as an excuse. Seriously, just hand me the Old Maid card now. Game. Over.)

But I am really glad she’s OK. And thank you to all my Twitter and FB pals who were with me on this harrowing journey. She may be a puker, but I do kind of love having her around.

Oh, didn’t I tell you? My sister is pregnant! With a little girl! She’s due at the beginning of June! I’m so excited! BABIES! I’m going to be an auntie again!

So I was all set to drive out there on Saturday and go shopping with her and look at all sorts of small, pink, cute, fluffy things! But then she texted me – she fell down the stairs and sprained her ankle. She and Baby Girl are OK, but probably not the best idea to be walking around stores when she was gimpy.

She decided to rest up on Saturday and I went out today and we got all the registering done. She even told me something she wanted that wasn’t at Target that I’m going to get her, so my shopping is done too!

I’m pretty sure it is no secret that I love kids! I WANT to have a child of my own one day. Since this year I’ll be the ripe old age of 33, I have been thinking about it quite a bit. I know that regardless of whether I get married or meet the man of my dreams, I will be a mother. Whether I have to adopt or go to the sperm bank or steal one (KIDDING!), I will have a kid. And if I have to do it on my own, so be it. In fact, I’ve pretty much decided that I’ll probably start going down that road after I turn 35, since hello! CLOCK! TICKING!

Anyway, spending an afternoon in the baby aisles of Target and Walmart will really make your ovaries ache. The stuff! It is so cute! And my sister, who already has a child, is all willy nilly about the registering, figuring she’ll get stuff regardless. Whereas I’m like “YOU NEED TO GIVE PEOPLE SOMETHING TO BUY YOU! ALSO, YOU NEED THIS WHOLE AISLE!”

(Do you see why she took the scanner gun thingy away from me?)

It was a good day. We got to spend some time together, we got to ooh and ahh over cute little pink things and I got to try pizza beer.

Pizza beer, you ask? What on Earth is that? And what does it taste like? Well, I shall tell you. It tastes like you’d imagine. Like someone put a little pizza sauce into your beer. Not the worst thing in the world, but also something I probably never need to drink again.

Apparently it’s “beer so good, it needs its own wine glass.”

I don’t even know what that means. All I know that I’m offended as a wine glass owner and as a wine drinker.

So, how was your weekend? If you’re wondering, I am still fighting the Death Plague. IT IS DAY 12 PEOPLE! TWELVE!

People, I am tired. I really didn’t mean to keep that Neti post up there for so long, especially since I was like “I have the best story and I can’t tell you!” And Ali is all “NICE PLOY TO GET TRAFFIC AND COMMENTS, KRISTIN!” It really wasn’t. It’s just that the story was SO good! RIGHT? So funny! If you know me in person, it’s even funnier because I’m an asshole with no filter and a brain that doesn’t work!

Anyway, I’m tired because man oh man I had an exhausting weekend. One of these days I will remember that I am indeed 32 and that 32 year olds, who still have a lingering cold, need rest. And rest does not mean 1,700 gallons of alcohol.

Like I said, ONE of these days I’ll remember that!

So this weekend, Rhi was in town with her lovely fiancée Bill. It was the first time I got to meet Bill and let me just say, he’s a winner, winner, chicken dinner! He’s nice and funny and smart and will sit around for an entire evening while two bloggers sit around and talk about the internet and Twitter and stuff I’m pretty sure most people who don’t blog, don’t care one lick about.

But we do! And I love, love, love getting together with bloggers. One, because you can Twitter while you are with them and they do not get offended, and two, they GET it. I mean, I understand a lot of my non-blogger friends understand that I have a blog, but they don’t really care about the intricacies and the people. Other bloggers, they care. And it is nice to talk about those things in PERSON, rather than over email or an IM chat box.

I mean, it’s the same with any hobby. Say you’re a knitter. I understand the general concept, but I’ve never knitted anything in my life. So while I would understand your passion for knitting, a fellow knitter would GET it and talk about needle size and knits and pearls or whatever.

Anyway, we three had an awesome dinner and then went to a wine bar (a wine bar that I’ve taken EVERY blogger who has come to visit me to), where we decided to drink 17 flights of wine. Right after having a whole conversation about how we’re OLD now and we can’t/shouldn’t drink like we used to. WE ARE ALL TALK!

Saturday morning we both woke up with horrible hangovers. But Rhi had an appointment to go look at wedding dresses, so I donned my best t-shirt and met her downtown so we could commiserate about being hungover together.

I’ve never been wedding dress shopping. It was fun and Rhi more than likely found her dress and it was beautiful and fit her like a glove and she will make a lovely bride, no matter which dress she chooses! I’m so glad I could be there to help take photos and everything so she didn’t have to do it alone.

On Sunday, I had plans to go to the Bears game. I usually try to go to one a year, generally against a team where I know people. And since my friend Cindy works for the Cardinals, I had an “in” with getting tickets. Be-Tee-Dub, an “in” means that you can buy them for face value and sit two rows from the top of the stadium.

Anyway, there was a group of 8 of us, which included my sister, her boyfriend, my friend Jess, my stepmom, her boyfriend (not my dad), his brother and his son. It was a good group. We met at a bar near Soldier Field to get our drink on that morning. I rode down to the stadium with a cup of half coffee, half Bailey’s. Which turned out to be good because we were at the bar a WHOLE HALF HOUR before they started serving booze. That was a long 30 minutes, let me tell you.

The game was fun. The Bears are horrible. We sat behind the Cardinals head coach’s wife. I think we scared her. It’s probably a good thing the Cardinals won.

My sister’s boyfriend nearly got us kicked out when the beer vendor told him to slide the beer down to the person who BOUGHT it and he has apparently never been to a sporting event and thought that meant to SLIDE IT DOWN HIS THROAT. FOR FREE. That was, um, not cool.

Thankfully the vendor had enough beer for the people who wanted it in the FIRST place.

After the game we went back to the same bar. Since there is like nothing around Soldier Field except a convention center and museums. And a whole shit ton of water. This bar was clearly the best part of the night, as you’ve heard.

The best part of going to a bar that is filled mostly with people who went to the game is that said people have been drinking since early morning. So said people are all wasted and jovial and fun to be around. Seriously, I would like to make it a point to go down on the South Side to watch Bears games in a bar more often when the Bears are at home.

(I’m pretty sure my sober sister didn’t enjoy it, though. Especially when I was constantly saying “is he cute? Do I have beer goggles on? IS HE CUTE?” Which is just weird because our taste in guys is pretty different.)

Anyway, it was at this bar that I met a nice fellow. He’s a cop. And I’m smitten. What is it about cops? I mean, just the fact he was a cop, made him 1,000 times hotter. And let me tell you, he was already very good looking. He’s very atypical South Side Chicagoan and SWOON.

We exchanged digits. He kept telling me that he was going to be in my neighborhood on Tuesday. And being drunk, stupid and completely oblivious (there is a reason I’m still single), I was like “why are you going to be in my neighborhood? It’s so far north! What are you going to be doing up there? That’s so weird!” Until finally he just gave me this adorable look and I was like “Oooooh! OK! We’ll hang out!”

Well, last night was Tuesday. And he didn’t call. Which, is fine. I mean he had been drinking too. Maybe he didn’t remember saying that. Or maybe I didn’t actually hear him say that. Except my friend Jess, who was with me all night, sent me a text this morning and was all “DID HE CALL LAST NIGHT?” So at least I didn’t dream it. And Jess was pretty much sober. And she told me I didn’t imagine him being into me either.

So, yeah. I have his phone number. When I didn’t hear from him last night, I figured maybe I would call or text him. Because I didn’t want to have any regrets and always wonder “what if”. So I decided (with the help of Twitter and like 17 people on gchat) to send witty text! Witty texts! I can do witty texts! And if he doesn’t respond, then I don’t have to leave an awkward NON-WITTY voicemail.

So this is what I sent:

“Crime in my neighborhood seems to be on the rise. I guess you didn’t make it to my neighborhood last night”

Hat tip to Dotty for the suggestion!

I shall keep you all posted. Or probably not blog about it. WHATEVER.

See, I have a funny time of day. A time where I’m more creative and my writing is at its best. This time is generally in the later afternoon and evening. It’s why I write my blog posts at night. Because in the morning, I can’t even speak without drooling, let alone be witty and creative. But come afternoon, boy watch out! I can hit you with the zingers! SHAZAM!

And now I’m sure I’m building the already-written post up to be so awesome, when in reality it probably isn’t and mostly, I’m just lazy and I don’t want to even attempt to re-create it when, oh, IT IS ALREADY WRITTEN. And I took a Benedryl. And Benedryl is a killer of the funny time. Because Benedryl = drooling time.

But stay tuned tomorrow night! I shall tell you all about my drunken weekend! Rhi was in town! And we drank all the wine in Chicago! And looked at wedding dresses (for her)! And I met a cop!

Who I’m totally smitten with! And I may be overly excited about the idea of seeing him in his uniform. WHEN he calls. (See, I’m trying to be positive! No ifs! Just WHENS!) (Also, seriously, what is it about cops that makes them inherently sexy?) (Oh, just me then?)

So instead, you tell me Internet, do you have a funny time? Or a more creative time? Distract me from my phone! And its whole not ringing business!

Anyway, it’s nothing serious (NO, NOT H1N1, but a big thank you to my brother for asking and assuming, even though he doesn’t know my symptoms! You can just have a cold without it being H1N1, asshat!), just a little bit of a sore throat and a stuffy head. But it is just enough to be annoying and make me whiney and complaining. Or should I say more whiney and complainy.

You’ve all heard the term man cold, yes? Because men don’t know how to be sick and there is no worse sickness than whatever a man has. Just like when a man gets a cut on his leg, it is way worse than the time you cut your leg so deep you could see the bone and his is just SUPERFICIAL. (My brother once had a tiny cut on his leg when he was like 16 and then he cried “NO STITCHES, NO STITCHES!” We still make fun of him to this day.)

I have something I’ve determined to be the Spinster Cold. Or Singleton Cold. Or Crazy Cat Lady Cold. See, because I live alone and have no one to take care of me when I’m sick, I find it perfectly reasonable to whine and complain and play tiny violins. Because I’m SICK! SIIIICCCCKKKK! WHERE IS MY MOMMY? HOW WILL I STAY HYDRATED? THE WATER FAUCET IS OH SO FAR AWAY FROM THE COUCH! WHAT IF I FAINT ON THE WAY? WHO WILL FIND ME? I AM HUNGRY AND HAVE NO FOOD IN MY HOUSE! ALSO, I WANT POPSICLES! THAT I DON’T HAVE! WHY AM I SHOUTING? WAH!

I usually manage just fine. I mean, minus the “I’m sick!” texts I send to my mom as a reminder. Because the cats really get tired of the whining and then they hide under the bed so they can’t hear me. Until it is time to get them out so they can lick my forehead and tell me if I’ve got a fever since I don’t own a thermometer and there is no app for that. I’ve been taking care of myself since I left for college, which was like almost 15 years ago. So it’s not that I can’t manage. I just like to whine about it. HOW DO YOU MOMS DO IT?

This cold isn’t even that bad. Apart from the sometimes runny nose and the dry, sore throat, it’s more just being really tired. Like anything more than hitting fast forward on the DVR remote gets me winded. It’s a good thing I sit at a desk, staring at a computer all day, instead of operating large machinery or lifting heavy boxes. The worst part of it is being in that sickness fog. Where your attention span reverts to that of a kitten and you get distracted by shadows and noises and what was that shiny thing over there in the corner, IS THAT A LADY BUG? I LOVE LADY BUGS! YAY! STRING!

For instance, today at work I had an email conversation with a co-worker, like a series of 3 or 4 emails, the whole time thinking she was someone completely different. I was so confused. I couldn’t figure out why this person was asking for what they were asking for. Well, turns out because it was a totally different person making the request. And the only similarity? Their first names both begin with the same letter.

I should go to bed now. Because I don’t even think this was the post I had in mind to write. And before someone tells me to get a damn Neti Pot. Because you know what people? I WOULD DROWN.