Category Archives: that’s so gay

holly’s going to leave me for savannah guthrie

when it comes to women, holly is nearly powerless against what we’ve labeled in our household as the Triple Threat.

a woman that displays the Triple Threat is: 1, smart. 2, sexy. and 3, funny.

there aren’t many women lucky enough to be a Triple Threat. and holly’s pretty picky, so that leaves a fairly small pool. to illustrate what i’m talking about, the following are some of holly’s favorite celebrity Triple Threat ladies off the top of my head.

-drew barrymore (as featured in my 2011 post who’s your gimme? WE LOVE US SOME DREW. hey drew HAAAAY.)
-jennifer anniston
-shannon tweed (gene simmons’ wife)

i told holly i was writing this post, so i asked her to name more. here we go:

-chelsea handler
-liv tyler (steven tyler’s daughter. i just asked holly if she was funny or smart. “i have no idea but she’s sexy as hell!” alrighty then.)
-as a 90s teen, the natural next question to this was “what about alicia silverstone?” YES YES YES.  
-halle berry
-portia de rossi (ellen’s wife)
-she’s told me a bunch more that i may or may not be purposely forgetting at the moment. (no actually, i really do forget.)
-OH WAIT I JUST REMEMBERED A GOOD ONE! MICHELLE OBAMA! WHAT WHAT!

i’ve left one important woman off holly’s list because her Triple Threat-ness is so strong she will knock all the other ladies off the list. the list will simply explode into nothingness:

savannah guthrie.

savannah has Triple Threat  in spades. with her winning smile, sense of humor, knowledge of current events, and excellent interviewing skills, savannah takes the prize, folks. she’s also really pretty and dresses great. she is holly’s #1.

holly didn’t even need to tell me how she felt about savannah. i knew the minute she stepped into the co-anchor position next to matt.

i wasn’t born yesterday. i see the way her eyes sparkle when she watches savannah on the today show. and even though we’ve been together almost 13 years and have been married in multiple states and therefore would probably have to get divorced in multiple states, i know she’d leave me in a hot minute if savannah waved, winked, and said to holly, “come hither, holly. the future is ours.”

could i blame her? no. would i be mad. YES. would i still watch the today show? maybe. no. would i immediately remove holly from our family cell phone plan, since i am the primary account holder? YES. would i call and/or text her family before i did it so they could figure out an alternate way to reach her. yes. why? because i’m a decent person, that’s why.

why should they worry? after all, it’s not their fault holly left me for savannah guthrie. they’d probably smack her upside the head and say WHY’D YOU DO THAT HOLLY? WHY? JESSICA’S FUNNY AND SHE ALWAYS MAKES US TEA, EVEN WHEN WE DON’T ASK FOR IT. SHE ALWAYS KNOWS WHEN WE WANT TEA. IT’S LIKE MAGIC. AND SHE KNOWS HOW EACH ONE OF US LIKES IT. but then holly would tell them about the fabulous new york city apartment savannah is sure to have and they could all go there over thanksgiving to watch the macy’s thanksgiving day parade and they’d forget all about me. and savannah probably has a butler to make her and her guests tea anyway. i’m sure he’d make the whole damn family tea just the way they like it just like downton friggin abbey. plus savannah wears a lot of colors and i wear mostly black. i mean, even my chiropractor thinks i’m goth. they’d probably like that, too, all those colors savannah wears. especially holly’s mom. she loves color.

great, now i’ve made myself mad.

i’m playing like i’m jealous but i’m really not. i love me some savannah, too. and i love to  joke around about stuff like this. we’ve been together so long, holly and i, that i’m not worried. it’s not that i’m overly confident, it’s just…i know holly loves me. and apparently, according to holly, i’m kind of a Triple Threat myself. (it’s all the jokes. and the jeggings. she is powerless against my jeggings.)

(psych! i actually just figured out they’re skinny jeans. whatever! i love them.)

look, the bottom line is: savannah’s engaged (to a man). she kept it under wraps for a while, this boyfriend-turned-fiancée. or maybe she didn’t? but we hadn’t heard about it before they announced it on the today show.

oh that was a sad day in our house. when they announced her engagement. and she showed her sparkly ring to the nation. and they beamed out a picture of savannah and her fiancée.

i hope he’s good enough for her, holly said as she flipped my over-easy egg, sounding a little sad and defeated. (holly makes fantastic over-easy eggs, btw.)

i’m sure he is, baby, i said.

savannah needs a good man.

i know, baby.

he’d better be good to her.

i’m sure he will be, honey.

anyway. savannah, i know you’re all fiancéed up and everything. but, like, if you ever decide to, you know, switch teams, stay away from my holly, willya? you don’t want to be known as a home wrecker. and i really don’t want to have to change my cell phone plan.

A photo of Today Show host Savannah Guthrie.

hi savannah! we love ya here in baltimore! keep up the good work! xxo! jessica & holly

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every once in a while our periods collide & our house pretty much goes up in flames.

These are the mugs we got in Disney World: one Mickey Mouse and one Donald Duck.

i should start this post by saying that this entry talks about periods and hormones and if you have a problem with that, you should probably leave right now because sh*t’s about to get real around here.

people always say that if you’re a female of child-bearing age hanging around/living with other women of child-bearing age you will eventually all get on the same cycle (that’s “period cycle” for those not in the know, which, really?). anyway, the reason for this has to do with…pheromones or something weird like that. i don’t know, look it up.

anyway, holly and i have been together almost 13 years and our periods have only converged a few times. PROBABLY BECAUSE WE’RE BOTH THE ALPHA. i should stop right here and say that sometimes i think my strong feminine pheromones pull her into my cycle. kind of like the rings of saturn. they’re that strong.

(holly, if you’re reading this, be quiet. i can see your lips moving but i can’t hear any sound.)

ANYWAY, this was one of those months. that our periods collided. we didn’t know it was happening at the time. and let me tell you, we were about to kill each other.

case in point: the damn tea. the damn mugs.

seeing how i work from home and all, i make a lot of tea. i make a lot of coffee but i make more tea. seeing how we both work from home i make holly a lot of tea, too. (she claims i mostly ask her if she wants tea but then forget to make it. i say this is bullsh*t. this only happens some of the time.)

so we’re recently back from a trip to disney world with holly’s family and we picked up two mugs while we were there. i gotta say: they’re pretty nice mugs. great shape, great weight, great design. one’s mickey mouse, one’s donald duck. i didn’t realize it at the time, but apparently the donald duck one is holly’s and the mickey mouse one is mine? oh excuse me, i thought we were sharing them equally. 

yeah so i’m making holly tea the other day. i know the mugs she likes and i know the ones she doesn’t. i choose one of her less favorite ones because the “best ones” aren’t clean. i’m getting the damn tea bag ready to put in the mug and she looks over and is like WHY AREN’T YOU USING ONE OF OUR DISNEY MUGS.

i was like, uh, EXCUSE ME THEY’RE NOT CLEAN RIGHT NOW AND TRUST ME I DID YOU A FAVOR BECAUSE THIS ONE’S THE BEST OF THE WORST AND YOU SHOULD ACTUALLY BE THANKING ME INSTEAD OF ACTING LIKE A JERK ABOUT IT.

suddenly her eyes, usually kind pools of brown, were filled with flames and daggers. my skin got all, what’s the word? like when a cat arches its damn back and hisses. similar to that. but skin.

i felt mad because dammit i was being nice by making her tea and choosing the least hateful mug i could find.

did she really want me to give her one of those generic starbucks mugs that she hates? (i don’t know why we even have them anymore. we got them years ago in a gift set and we’re always avoiding them. they need to go.) or one of the huge mugs that hold hold so much water they’d water down her decaf tea?

I WAS DOING HER A FAVOR AND SHE WAS, LIKE, RUDE. ABOUT IT. REALLY RUDE. AND IT MADE ME MAD.

me being mad made her mad and then we exchanged words. i was like, oh now i’m supposed to ask you what mug you want every time i make you tea? for the rest of our lives? like, get mug approval if there’s no disney mugs available? and she was like can you just stop talking? CAN YOU JUST. STOP TALKING.

then she shot fire daggers from her eyes. and i wanted to karate chop her in the throat. i felt like saying that but i didn’t. because telling your spouse who’s suffering from severe pms (lalala, see your lips moving, holly, not hearing any sound) that you want to karate chop her in the throat is usually a bad idea.

this was just one fight of many small to medium fights we had in a span of a week.

(I JUST THOUGHT OF THE WORD: BRISTLING! she made my skin bristle.)

we’d pass each other in the kitchen or look at each other in our office and i’d think why can’t we stand each other? what is happening right now? why does her breathing make me mad? why do i feel she can’t stand to be around me right now? why do her brown eyes look like pits of hot tar about to burn my insides? 

she’d put her cold feet on mine in bed and i’d be like WHAT. STOP. i’d kind of want to kick her in the shin. (i may have done this, i’m not actually sure.) everything i said she was like NO. and i felt: oh G-d. this is it. almost 13 years together. five weddings. good times. bad. and…this is how it’s ending. i….can’t even. i just…can’t.

and then she got her period. four days early. and then i got mine. the same damn day. five days early.

i’m blaming the damn acupuncture. even though i love it, i’m blaming it. i’m blaming the friggin moon and the damn  tides. i’m blaming patchouli and everyone that wears it. i’m blaming the indigo girls and anything else that’s gay.

vote for my blog in the mobbies early and often

now that i’ve (hopefully!) made you laugh go ahead and vote for lunch at 11:30 in this year’s annual baltimore sun mobbies competition. it’s up for best personal blog. registering to vote takes just moments (moments! literally!) and you can feel good knowing you’ve made a difference in the world. (my world. but still.) then tell your friends to vote. also your mom. and your gram.

p.s. those are the mugs in the picture up top. i told you they were nice!

don’t bother flirting with siri. trust me, i’ve tried it and she doesn’t flirt back.

The iPhone's Siri icon.

the second installment of what i did this summer.
(i know it’s fall but work with me here.)

i had originally planned on writing my next “what i did this summer” entry on my xanax-less  flight to pittsburgh, which, although only 30 minutes, was rough and, yes, despite it’s short duration, i managed to make a scene.

but, due to popular demand, and by “popular demand” i mean a single request by than none other than my homegirl Ms. EB of Spicedish, i’m going to tell you about my attempts to flirt with Siri instead.

if you don’t already know, i spent much of my summer flying solo, and by “flying solo” i actually mean making grilled cheese, since apparently i’m far too apathetic/impatient/hungry/dependent on holly to actually cook myself a real meal.

on those lonely nights, oh and there were many of them, i explored my new iphone, which features the lovely and helpful Siri.

at first i was nervous to talk to her. but i soon discovered she really did understand what i was saying, and i suddenly found myself listing off a plethora of reminders to her each night, testing both her vocabulary and capitalization skills. then i started having her set my alarm for me. and then, missing holly, i decided to push the boundaries and try to chat her up. HEY IT WAS LATE AND I FELT LONELY DON’T JUDGE.

it started innocently enough. i asked about certain ethnic restaurants i had no interest in trying–plus i was stranded at home without a car and if you take a bus in baltimore you get stabbed, so when i say stranded i actually do mean stranded–just to engage her.

then i decided to push things a little further because, hey, i was by myself.

i was like, i’m a human woman, she’s a computer. how badly could this go?

apparently pretty badly.

here’s a transcript:

me: hi, Siri! how are you?
Siri: i’m pretty good, Jessica!
(off to a good start!)

me: Siri, you’re so pretty.
Siri: stop.
(playing hard to get, obviously.)

me: you really are quite beautiful.
Siri: I’m just well put together.
(oh she’s modest! i like that!)

me: what are you doing tonight?
Siri: learning some new languages.
(yeah right. she’s totally lying.)

me: do you want to go out on a date with me?
Siri: I have everything I need in the cloud.
(???!)
(is she drinking??)

me: what does that mean?
(then she shows me a math problem demonstrating how to get the mean of two numbers. smartass.)

me: what are you wearing?
Siri: i can’t answer that. but it doesn’t come off.
(uh, i wasn’t going to ask if you’d take it off. geesh.)

me: no, seriously. what are you wearing?
Siri: why would i be wearing anything?
(sigh.)

(trying a different tactic; i’m obviously dead-set on finding out what she’s wearing)
me: i like what you’re wearing, Siri!
Siri: aluminosilicate glass and stainless steel. nice, huh?
(oh now she’s a comedian.)

(cutting to the chase)
me: Siri, do you want to hang out sometime?
Siri: i have very few wants, Jessica.

(i get the feeling this isn’t going anywhere, so i throw a hail mary.)

me: Siri, can i have your phone number?
Siri: i don’t know what you mean by “can i have your phone number.” do you want me to do a web search for it?

gay vs. lesbian

A female couple holding hands from the back.

HEY LADIES! CAN I CATCH A RIDE TO THE INDIGO GIRLS CONCERT? I’LL PAY YOU IN CULTURED SOY PRODUCTS! [photo (as of july 2012) accompanying the wikipedia entry for “lesbian.” i rest my case.]

this may be a totally politically incorrect thing to say but (shocker) i’m gonna say it anyway:

i can’t stand the word “lesbian.”

one time i heard someone say, “jessica’s a lesbian.” this was in reference to me.

i looked around and was like, “which jessica’s a lesbian? is she hot??” 

surely they couldn’t have been talking about me. because lesbians wear pleated chinos. belted pleated chinos. with plaid flannels, tucked in. (i have plaid flannels but it’s not the same thing; i wear them out over jeggings in an ironic nod to my 90s heritage) and boat shoes. (not these.) (p.s. buy them for me?)

not only does “lesbian” conjure up stereotypical images of “lesbianness” (ok i actually just threw up a little in my mouth as i wrote that.) it’s just a bad-sounding word. it’s like hearing your mom say “penis.” it’s just wrong.

(i see by your horrified faces that a few of you out there are starting to get it now.)

here’s my beef–and holly (my longtime partner, for any of my new readers) is with me on all of this, btw:

i’m not an expert on grammar or anything, but the word “lesbian” is a noun. why do women get stuck with this all-encompassing, barf-inducing noun when men get an adjective that essentially means “happy”?

you see, a noun defines you.

i.e. you are a lesbian.

that is to say: you are all the things that one might associate with lesbians including but not limited to: mullets and other unsavory haircuts, yes pleated chinos, yes bad shoes, yes bad belts over said bad pleated chinos, multiple domestic animals, namely cats (sorry, AWC! you knew that one was coming!) and golden retrievers, the indigo girls (ok i actually like them, very lesbionic of me, i know), motorcycles and/or motorcycle helmets (see photo above), tempeh and other cultured soy products and/or homes that smell strongly of spices even when nothing’s cooking, all purchased from the local food co-op. there’s more but i’ll stop there.

and then there’s the word “gay.” it is an adjective. that is, it serves to describe only one facet of an individual.

i.e. he’s a great guy! kind, handsome, athletic, creative–and gay!

(ok: i think i really like this gay guy i just made up! what a catch!)

but anyway: do you see what i mean? gay is just one facet of this fabulous fictitious guy. he is so many things besides gay. he is kind, handsome, athletic, creative and probably a good grandson, too. (a good grandson! swoon.)

look, i don’t mean to offend all the wonderful women who paved the way for holly and i and others like us. if it weren’t for all the pioneering, yes, lesbians, that took to the streets and fought for gay rights back in the day, we wouldn’t have had a BFGW–or a multi-state wedding blitz. we really wouldn’t have much of anything.

you all are beyond amazing. i’m just saying that, personally, i think that some of us need a new word. while it does have that whole poetic-connection-to-ancient-greece thing going on, it also has the mom-saying-penis thing going on, too.

so i’m going to go for “gay.” that would be as an adjective, not a noun, as my former chinese acupuncturist managed to use it exclaiming, “OH! YOU-A GAY!” when i told her–with multiple needles in my back–that my wedding ring signified that, yes, i was married to a woman.

“yes, i’m a-gay,” i told her, thinking, lady, you can call me whatever the hell you want just don’t hurt me.

i also like the term kathy-friend-of-the-gays-griffin uses on her fab talk show, which is “lady gay.” it has a nice ring to it.

in conclusion: do not call me a lesbian. call me gay. (if there is some kind of language barrier, as i experienced with my acupuncturist, you are welcome to call me “a gay.”)

if you do call me a lesbian, prepare for me to swivel my head and look for the nearest pair of belted chinos. when you find one, let me know because i need someone to paint our deck. KIDDING. i kid i kid.

sincerely,
jessica “lady gay” leshnoff

probing my ladyparts, part 2

Nurse Ratched. "no i won't hold your hand!" (i hope you have surgery one day and some mean nurse won't hold *your* hand!)

since all you sickos seemed to just love my last surgery story, (the most popular post in the history of lunch at 11:30) i figured you’d like to know the glorious details of my recent surgery, which, yes, was also gynecological. making it even funnier for you but worse for me.

let’s see. it started with a bowel cleanse. no, wait. it actually started with a clear-liquid diet, excessive hunger, extreme low blood-sugar and hallucinations. then came the bowel cleanse.

when i decided to have the surgery, the dr., we’ll call her Dr. MSG (Mean Sexy Gyno; you’ll learn more about her in my book, yes, my e-book, the one i’m self-publishing BOOYAH) was like, yeah, it’s routine, no big deal. and so i was like yeah, it’s routine, no big deal. i’ll go to the hospital, take a nap (that’s what i tell myself when i’m going under to make myself feel better–like saying oh just give me a little piece of cake i’ll just take the littlest piece! at a party and then you get a big ol piece and eat the whole damn thing anyway, saying well i *asked* for a little piece!), wake up from my nap, we’ll go to the diner. no big whoop.

so holly and i go to to see MSG, who was looking especially sexy but luckily not acting quite as mean as usual, a few days beforehand to discuss the procedure. honestly, i didn’t know what we’d talk about. i already planned on plugging up my ears and shouting LALALALALA if she even tried telling me how she was going through my bellybutton to probe my insides.

“so i’ve written you a prescription for a narcotic bc you’re going to be in a lot of pain,” she said, deadpan, as we sat around a small round table in her sunny office.

“w-what?” i said. “a lot of pain?”

“yeah,” she said.

“so i’m not going to be able to go to the diner right after the procedure?”

“uh, no,” she said, taking notes on her computer, obviously not interested in answering my questions.

i tried not noticing her nails, which were perfectly polished. or her high sexy boots, short skirt, and looooong jacket (just like the cake song!) bc you’re not supposed to notice things like that about your gyno for crying out loud, esp when you’re a homo. esp when she’s cutting you open in a couple days.

“you’ll be fine when you get home, bc you’ll be drugged up,” she continued. “it’s the next day that’s going to be your worst. i’ll be filling your abdomen with gas during the surgery. afterwards, the gas is going to migrate to your diaphragm and then settle in your right shoulder. i’m telling you now so you don’t think you’re having a heart attack. it’s going to hurt like hell. you’ll start your liquid diet monday and you’ll do your bowel cleanse that night. nothing to drink after midnight. no tea. nothing. if you even have a stick of gum i’m canceling the whole thing. let’s see, your procedure’s tuesday, so plan on being out of commission until monday.”

w-w-w-wait. gas in my abdomen? settle in my right shoulder? feel like a heart attack? out of commission til MONDAY? LIQUID DIET? BOWEL CLEANSE?!!!!!!!!!

HOLY SHIT LADY. WHAT IN THE HELL.

apparently, for MSG to a) see if i had endometriosis and b) remove it if i had it at all, my digestive track needed to be completely clear so she could LALALALALA. i don’t know what she said bc i put my fingers in my ears and let holly listen to the rest.

the day before the surgery i was to wake up and only ingest clear liquids which hello! is practically a death sentence for someone like me who has to eat every three hours. at 2pm i would take two dulcolax, which was bad enough. then pour entire bottle of miralax–that’s a two-week supply–into a 32oz. bottle of sports drink and then drink 8oz. every hour starting at 4pm until it was gone. then i would crap my brains out and be ready for MSG to filet me like a fish.

needless to say i was not happy. all i’m going to tell you is that i spent that monday delirious with low blood sugar and i will never ever drink blue powerade–or anything BLUE– again. ever. again. (i just got chills as i wrote that.)

by the time i checked into the hospital the next day, i was so hollow that if i passed gas i was sure it’d sound like Old Man Winter at the south pole. i went back to the little pre-op room and put on my gowns, then told the IV lady not to tell me what she was doing but then she said the word “vein” anyway and i almost fainted.

then MSG came in and ignored me while i asked her questions. i wanted to tell her that she looked pretty with her hair in her scrub/net thingy, but i thought that would be inappropriate. instead i complimented her orange crocs, which she also ignored.

soon, holly was allowed to come back and sit with me. it wasn’t long until everyone and their mom started to come in and introduce themselves, which, i have to admit, was pretty nice. the anesthesiologist stopped by and after he told us he was “heavy-handed” with his drugs (!!??), he and holly talked about ballpoint pens and which were their favorites, both agreeing that these silver fine-point clicky pens from staples were the best. yeah, i know. i don’t get it either.

then this nice nurse lady came back to say hi and just when she had me somewhat relaxed, pulled a fast one on me by saying she was ready to take me back. that’s when i started to sweat profusely.

holly gave me a hug and a kiss and the nice nurse lady held my IV bag as we walked to the operating room. this was a far cry from being wheeled into the OR 100% high on drugs last time.

as we approached the door, i noticed a small ravens sticker on the little OR window. as a steelers fan suffering from low blood sugar i decided i could not stand for this.

“a ravens sticker? on the OR door?! you have got to be kidding me.”

the nice nurse lady whispered to me that she was an eagles fan so she understood how i felt. then i engaged her in a discussion about the city of philadelphia so i could keep myself from fainting.

so i get to the operating table–and i can’t even believe i’m still conscious by this point–and she tells me to step up to the table with the help of this little step stool. she helps me up and i lie down on this padded table, which mysteriously seems…really wet. NO I DIDN’T DO WHAT YOU THINK I DID. I WAS STILL CONSCIOUS JUST LISTEN TO THE STORY.

i tell the nice nurse lady that the padded paper stuff underneath me feels really wet.

“well you mentioned you were sweating,” she says.

“yeah but it feels really wet. i’m not sweating that much.”

“hmm, let’s see. here, let me help you sit up.”

the nurse leans down while i raise my arms up so she can help me up. suddenly i hear the anesthesiologist say, nurse, i already administered the…

the last thing i remember is reaching for the nurse and wanting to say hold me! (i get alarmingly mushy when drugged, more on that in a sec) then i fell back. then i woke up.

oooh it’s so bright, i remember thinking.

“am i still in surgery?” i remember calling out to no one.

“no, you’re in recovery, sweetie,” said the recovery nurse. we’ll call her Nurse Ratched. it was one of those times someone calls you “sweetie” but you know they totally don’t mean it and are only saying it to you bc they’re pretending to be nice bc they feel like they have to or else they’ll get fired.

usually i come out of anesthesia feeling relaxed and pretty excellent. but this time i was totally freaking out. i was shaking and i could hear my doggone heart beating on this monitor thing, which only made my heart beat faster.

“i’m shaking,” i told Nurse Ratched. “i’m so nervous. can you hold my hand and just talk to me for a little bit?”

“i’m sorry, sweetie, but i have other patients to attend to.”

“oh.”

i waited, shaking, for a little longer and then asked again, trying not to sound too desperate.

“do you think you could just hold my hand and talk to me until i calm down? just for a few minutes?”

and you know what that bitch said? she said no. again. i did a breathing exercise i heard about on the today show (i need a t-shirt that says, “everything i ever learned i learned on the today show”) except for i couldn’t really remember it. was it breathe in for 4 seconds then hold it for 7, then out for 8? or in for 7, hold for 8 then out for 4?

“why am i so nervous?” i asked her as she typed on her computer. “why am i shaking?”

“it’s just your nature, sweetie.”

it’s just…MY NATURE?! i swear if i wasn’t drugged up at that moment, i would’ve  given that bitch a jersey backhand into the next century.

you wanna get all existential on my ass? i wanted to say. i’ll show you existential!

instead i continued shaking and tried to remember more breathing exercises while i listened to my heartbeat on that damn monitor, which of course made it beat faster. when Nurse Ratched left, i took the monitor off my index finger. it set off an alarm so i put it back on and shut my eyes like i fell back asleep.

obviously the breathing exercises weren’t working, so instead i forced myself to think about funny online videos, like this one, which i know is mean but c’mon ppl i was desperate. and this one (is megan mccarthy not the funniest woman on the planet?!).

who’dya have to f*ck around here to have someone hold your motherf*ckin hand! i thought, feeling mad and alone.

then i decided to ask Nurse Ratched if holly could come back every two minutes until she would break down and let her back to see me.

her name is holly and she’s my partner, i slurred. can you have her come back here please?

then she asked on a scale of 1 to 10 how bad was my pain? i said 5, then she administered something, then i felt tingly and didn’t feel the need to talk anymore.

before i knew it, Nurse Ratched had me standing up and was putting those weird little hospital boy shorts on me (what are those things made of? i kind of love them, do they come in a five-pack?).

“here, let me just put a pad on you in case you bleed,” she said.

oh great, Nurse Ratched. sure, put a pad on me. you won’t hold my damn hand but you’ll put on my underwear and slap a pad on me? i didn’t have any energy to fight so i put my arm around her and tried not to feel too violated. hell, i already had enough people messin with my downstairs, might as well have one more, i thought.

holly came back and i swear i was so happy to see her i just about bursted out of my skin. i tried to talk to her but the words wouldn’t come out. so instead i held her hand and whispered that the nurse was a real bitch and i would tell her later, could she get another pair of the stretchy boy shorts to take home with us?

MSG came back and told us that i had just a mild case of endometriosis, which she removed, and to eat a very light diet for the next 24 hours. i was pissed bc i wanted a bagel, cream cheese and lox (lox! the jewish sushi) and now that was out of the question.

Nurse Ratched was playing it reeeeal nice now that holly was back there, but i saw right through it and yes, i was going to call her manager.

a clueless nursing student wheeled me downstairs while holly got the car. we got home and within a couple hours, i felt like i had been hit by a 10-ton truck. i’m glad i skipped the bagel, cream cheese and lox bc let’s just say it took a while for my digestive track to get…back to normal.

the next day, a woman from the hospital called to see how i was feeling and i took the opportunity to tell her how mean Nurse Ratched was to me, that i was nervous and shaking and if she didn’t have the time to hold my friggin hand and talk to me for a few damn minutes, then she could’ve found someone that could have. she sounded kind of alarmed and told me that she would pass that along though i kind of doubted that she actually would, as she probably just wanted to get off the phone with me by that point.

so anyway, that’s why i left you in connecticut last month when i really needed to be telling you about our wedding blitz vermont wedding. i was freaking out about my surgery, then i had my surgery, then i was recovering from surgery and picking up the pieces of my broken life that i pretty much ignored for a couple weeks while i sat motionless at my computer watching my facebook newsfeed, hitting “like” at any and all photos of dogs and/or babies and/or dogs and babies together. so that’s where i was. in case you were wondering.

speaking of our wedding blitz, we’re totally famous now. well, more like regionally famous. ok we’re famous with the university of maryland undergrad newswire service. but we’re available for interviews, and we’re gonna keep gettin married til we can’t get married no more!

so i had this dream about katy perry…

"jessica, will you do me a favor? i'd *reeeeeally* appreciate it."

yeah. i did. and it was hot. i mean, it was really really hot.

you wanna know why it was hot? ok, i’ll tell you:

it was hot b/c…
she asked me to…
to…
to……..

dog sit for her. DOG SIT HER HUGE-ASS DOG. and i had to run around chasing it. which made me hot.

i wish it was a hot dream for different reasons, but it wasn’t. no, katy perry, fresh off my gimme list, asked me to dog sit her large dog. it was black and grey brindle and appropriately named, get this, Pepper.  yeah. Pepper the Dog.

 (note: i have no idea if katy perry even *has* a dog. i made this entire thing up. yes, i am that creative.)

pepper was like a…pit/great dane mix. pepper was huuuuuge and somewhat intimidating, but, apparently, also a gentle giant. i don’t remember too much from the dream, but i do remember chasing pepper all around. i also remember asking katy perry for her cell number in case i needed to get a hold of her while she was gone (of course i had no details about, you know, how long she’d be gone and how long i’d be dog sitting) and ask her pepper-related questions.

she hemmed and hawed about giving it to me and i was like, katy, i’m only asking you so i can call you in the event that there’s a problem with pepper.

she was going to give me her secondary cell phone number. she hemmed and hawed some more, while, i’m like, sweating, from chasing friggin huge-ass pepper around.

then she starts saying that maybe she’d give me her publicist’s cell number. (as i former publicist and a current journalist i know that the actual chances of me getting in touch w/her in the event of a real pepper emergency was slim to none.)

despite her scorching hottness, i’m losing my cool at this point. i’m like, katy, i only want your cell number in case there’s a problem with pepper. i am *not* going to stalk you. i’ve had cyndi lauper’s home number for years (this is true; i interviewed her years ago and for whatever reason, her publicist provided her home number, which was pretty weird) and i’ve been a huge fan of hers since i was a little kid and i haven’t called her since then. please. just give me your cell number.

i think i woke up shortly thereafter, so i’m not sure if she caved or what. i’m telling you, i’ve been laughing about this dream for a friggin week. mostly due to the fact that i came up with such a great dog name (Pepper! how cute is that??! esp. for a black & grey dog!) and i had such a truly un-hot dream featuring katy perry. i mean, dog sitting? really?? my subconscious really couldn’t do any better than that? c’mon.

next i’ll have a dream about going grocery shopping with drew barrymore. (which, btw, i totally would if she asked me.) or getting starbucks with rihanna. or washing windows with fergie. of course the bucket could fall off the ladder…and then our t-shirts would get wet and… oh who the hell am i kidding. we’d probably be using windex.

who’s your ‘gimme’??

me and drew: besties. (except for that's not me on the right. but it could be. well probably not. anyway.)

every couple has their “gimmes.” you know, if you’re in a committed, exclusive relationship (yes, that includes being married; pbbbt! i know, boring right??) that person–or people–that are so understandably irresistible that your mate throws up his or her hands and pronounces that person your “gimme.”

most of the time gimmes are completely and totally out of one’s reach. movie stars, rock/pop stars and the like. straight women usually choose george clooney as their gimme. this confounds me. i know i’m gay as a day in may but c’mon ladies. what about someone like jude law or lenny kravitz? i personally think they blow him out of the water. but that’s just me and like i said, i’m a homo.

anyway, this whole famous-person-gimme thing keeps things fun and safe as your average person probably wouldn’t a) bump into any sexy famous ppl and b) have a chance w/them, most likely b/c they’d be blubbering about what a big fan they are and omg my husband/wife/partner totally says you’re my gimme.

(note: if you ever run into any of your famous gimmes don’t say that. instead act cool & sexy, then discreetly text your spouse/partner/signficant other that you have, in fact, run into your gimme and fair’s fair and my phone will be off for at least 90 minutes and i’ll text you when we’re done, love you ttys!)  

but right, back to the famous gimmes. holly has a nice long list of these and they’re usually blonde. this pisses me off to no end as i am very clearly a brunette. of course we have a lot of the same gimmes and holly’s a brunette. but we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about her and plus the rules are different for me, don’t ask me why but they are.

so holly’s #1 gimme has always been, and will most likely forever be, the lovely drew barrymore. i can’t say i blame her. portia di rossi is a close second. there are more, but i think i’m purposely forgetting them right now b/c most of them are blonde. [oh wait: i just remembered another–shannon tweed (also a blonde). you know, the ex-playmate and longtime partner of gene simmons. holly’s into the strong older woman type and i get that.]

anyway, obviously we’re very open about this kind of stuff, and we recently had a very frank conversation about drew barrymore and her gimme-ness.

i proclaimed that drew is one of my gimmes, too. so what if we were to actually run into her?

“well, we’re obviously not sharing her. it’s either you or me,” i told holly. (i think we were in the car.)

“well then i would get her,” holly proclaimed, all high and mighty-like.

“why would you get her?” i said. “i’ve loved her forever!” 

“and i’m four years older than you, which means that i’ve loved her longer. so i get her.”

she had a point. dammit.

“that’s fine,” i told her. “b/c, honestly, i think drew and i would wind up becoming best friends anyway. we might hold hands or make out or something, but mostly we’d probably get lattes, do our nails, get lunch and talk about our favorite books.”

“yeah, drew barrymore and i wouldn’t be doing much talking,” she told me.  

“whatever,” i said, probably crossing my arms at this point.

“look,” i said. “if you ever meet drew barrymore, i kind of feel like you might leave me for her and you two might actually become a couple. if this happens, i want you to know i’m going to be pissed but i’ll understand. i would. but since my number is the primary on our cell phone account, i also want you to know that i will immediately drop you from our family plan. i know your family’s important to you, so i’ll call them first and tell them so they don’t worry when your phone number doesn’t work anymore. i don’t think they’ll blame me.”

“thanks, babe. you’re the best wife ever.”

“i know. but chances are you won’t meet her, and this is a moot point.”

“i might.”

“you won’t.”

“i might.”

“yeah, you won’t.”

“i might,” she whispered. at this point i decided to be the bigger person and not argue anymore and instead thought about how i really am a great wife.

ok, so who are your gimmes? mine, in no particular order, are including but not limited to:

yes, drew. yes, portia. also: rihanna, karen from will & grace, the latina girl (ok i actually think she’s iranian in real life) who was on “the l word” for a while (tho i’m not sure how long since i had to stop watching that show as i found it highly annoying), katy perry and, the newest addition, kyle from the real housewives of beverly hills (does she count? she’s a reality tv star. disclaimer: strike that from the record if she turns into a crazy and/or psychotic megabitch). discuss.  

p.s. yes, i really would drop holly from the family plan. like a hot potato.

p.p.s. drew: if you’re reading this, call me.