Disclaimer: I started this blog awhile ago. I'm not even really sure of the date on which it began it's short and not-so fruitful existence. And then I got distracted by life, a shiny object - something - and I forgot all about it.... So this blog will sorta be like Pulp Fiction - in no discernible order, lewd at times and chock-full of large black men and ball-gag harnesses (only kidding!). And minus that annoying Bruce Willis girl with the high pitched voice who brushes her teeth all the time. She annoys me. A lot. Anyway, consider yourself warned:

I love Halloween. It's such a fun holiday. You know, if you can look past all the evil doers, pumpkin throwers and the sluts dressed like devils and nurses and such (I mean, slutty Sponge Bob? Seriously?). And you know those mean, children-hater types who put razor blades into candy bars and then try to give them out to unsuspecting trick or treaters. I'm such a fat ass food addict, that I think if I got a snickers bar with a razor blade in it, I would just nibble around the razor blade. I mean, it's not the creamy nougat's fault some lunatic stuffed it with a deadly weapon. It shouldn't be punished. Plus, how much damage could eating a razor blade covered in creamy and delicious white chocolate really do? A torn windpipe? Punctured colon? I mean - whatever. Modern medicine can heal all that. We cloned a sheep for crying out loud!

On a related note, if I lived closer to Hershey, PA - I would go on the chocolate tour a few times a week just for the free candy bar at the end. It's only a fun sized, milk chocolate bar, but it's FREE. FREE CHOCOLATE. That's practically unheard of. My two favorite words combined into one sentence. (If only it had penis in it, then it would include all three...) It doesn't even make sense... it's UN-American! Well, unless you consider the addicting power of chocolate, combined with the dopamine released in your brain as you're stuffing your face while simultaneously walking into a gift shop filled to the brim with - you guessed it - more delicious goodies on which money can be well spent. And then the candy precedes the cavities and the weight gain, precedes the open heart surgery/gastric bypass/cholesterol medication and VOILA! Someone is making bank at the expense of my health and greater well-being. It doesn't get more American than that, folks. That should be America's slogan:

"America. Land of freedom, equal opportunities and the chance to get ripped off at the expense of your own greater good". Catchy no? It's a bit long. Maybe it needs to be shortened up some.

"America. Home of the free* (*only $4.99 shipping & handling, plus applicable taxes. Does not include gratuities, restocking fee or the service charge of 1100.99 billion)"

Yeah, - we're not gonna see THAT embroidered on a pillow at the airport giftshop. Oooo, ooo, I got it:

"America. Get Fat. Hand over your cash"

OK. I'm done. seriously. It's late and I'm running out of witty comments. I'm also starting to sound very anti-America, which I am not. For the record. I just sometimes get discouraged at the shitty economy/social justice system/school system/health system... well, you know - you get what I'm sayin.

Tomorrow I have volunteer training at a really awesome place called The Shepherd's Clinic in Baltimore. A great place that does great things for others. Everyone should get out there and volunteer. I'm serious. It's bullshit when you say you don't have the time to do it... you do. Don't lie, Chester - Santa is watching! You do so have the time. Ya-huh! You just choose to do other things with your spare moments, like lay on the couch naked eating peanut butter right from the jar while watching the View on your DVR. You could so be helping someone! But seriously... I decided that life is too short to not give back. So I'm giving. Back. Maybe it will reverse some of my bad karma and send some good luck my way. I could use a little of that these days. Good luck. Good karma. Copious amounts of money. Intimate moments shared with someone who isn't me. Sorry. Went to far. I tend to do that.

So, the timing is off on this thing because Halloween is long gone and I've already volunteered a few times at the Shepherd's Clinic. Just tonight in fact. Super great place. Seriously. Everyone there is so nice and polite and helpful. Little do they know I just volunteer there so I can get discounted yoga classes and time away from my children. Ha! Turns out I am a shmuck!! Jokes on me! I found out today that discounted pharmacy programs cover the cost of Viagra but not the cost of birth control. Does this seem fair to you? Or at the very least - counterproductive? If you're going to encourage erections, you should encourage the non-formation of small unplanned people. Common sense people! Go get some!!

Where was I? Yes, distraction. See how easy it is for me.

So I have Multiple Sclerosis.

There it is. I wrote it down for all to see. Some of you probably already know because you're inquisitive like that (or you stalk me on a regular basis on facebook, or you're my neurologist - Hi, Dr. Bajaj!) I was diagnosed a few weeks ago. Everyone has a different opinion on it when I tell them, but mostly I get the sad look and the nod. Or a story about someone with MS that is a friend of a friend of a sister's roommate and they are (pick one) doing well/not too bad/barely sick, etc. Then, of course, there's my mother - who (sorry for the metaphor Urban Jess-Blog Fans) threw it out like an old black lady at a young person's funeral. I'm talking the "Lordy, Lordy's!" and the falling out and everything. While I sat there wondering if she'd heard me right.

"You do know I said MS, right? Not Brain Tumor. Not Cancer."

"Besides, think of all the pain meds I can get for you!"

Ok, I didn't say that last part. I wanted to though. I wanted to say "this isn't about you, ya know. It's about me." But I didn't have the energy.

So, aside from being dizzy most of the time (and the 11 white spots on my MRI) - oh, and the demolition of my dreams of being an trapeze acrobat in the circus - I feel exactly as I did pre-diagnosis. I mean, I'm a little sad. Sure. Of course I am. But stressing about it and throwing fits about how unfair it is won't make it go away. It certainly won't make me feel better. Plus, I can now use this as an excuse for everything I could possibly think of:

"Sorry Mom. I can't make it to Christmas dinner at Uncle Pete's. MS is acting up again"

"You should definitely pay for lunch, friend. I've got a $200 deductible on drugs. Stupid MS"

"Yes, I'm 100% sure that's how you straight cath someone! I have MS *and* I'm a nurse. Of course I know. Now take off your pants"

Poor taste? Yes. But funny nonetheless. And that's all that matters in the end. How funny you think I am. And also, how much money you will send me in the mail. Those two things are what matter most.

Well, I feel like we haven't talked in ages, blog friend. I could reminisce forever with you - here in this dimly lit bedroom under the blankets with my laptop resting on my naked stomach. But alas, I should go to sleep. And I promised a blog and I need to finish this one before I start to drool on my keyboard. Goodnight my love! Whatever you do - don't feed it past midnight.

- Oh, on another sidenote: I had my 15 year high school reunion and I promised I would write a blog about that. But I didn't write about that in here. So apparently, I'm really good at breaking promises. But I promise my next blog will be chock-full of reunion-esque stories and some photos of me from the 90's when I was a dirtball with zero fashion sense. Ta Ta!

I'm sorry for the delay in blogging. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me. If it makes you feel any better, I had a big St. Patty's Day blog planned out in my semi-vacant brain. It had leprechauns and shamrocks and a recipe for a drink with Irish cream, corn beef (and Guinness), also a photo of me wearing only shamrock pasties and a red beard (run away with that one)...(or not) and every other Irish stereotype you can think about regarding the holiday. I even talked about the history of St. Patrick and how Americans take any celebration remotely religious and make it a secular season of excess potable consumption and debauchery. It was a classic, really. It's too bad I can't have a blog with sound, because I could have totally included a recording of my Irish accent that very much resembles a drunk pirate from the Middle East with a bad lisp.

Alas, I was/am lazy and the aforementioned blog was never even created. So what's new? I'm queen of the slackers. Besides, they say it's the thought that counts and I *thought* about writing it for you. So, there's that.

That's such a crock isn't it? "It's the thought that counts"? That's totally not true. I mean, at least not as far as gift giving is concerned. "I thought about getting you a diamond ring, but instead I just napped. I thought about it though". Super! Can I wear that thought on my finger and brag about it to my friends?? Maybe for Christmas this year, I will just write down some thoughts of gifts on a piece of scrap paper. Then, instead of sending Christmas cards (which I don't even bother with anyway), I will just send you my thoughts. Ooooo, a post card even. With a picture of me on the crapper wearing a santa hat. Yes, yes - this idea is getting better and better. And then on the other side of the card, I will put what I thought about getting you but then never got around to purchasing (or an equally disappointing secondary gift that in no way lives up to the thought itself):

"Merry Christmas & Happy New Year; I thought about getting you wall-to-wall carpeting for your basement. Instead, here's a carpet square I stole from my kid's preschool". Love, Jess.

"I thought about getting you a $200 Gift Certificate to Ruth Chris. Instead, here's a recipe I made up just now for Salisbury Steak". Happy New Year. Love, Jess.

Man, this will be the best Christmas for me, ever. Well, for my wallet, anyway. Not a great Christmas for you though, Chester.

You ever take a shower and then you have to poop not long afterwards and you think "man! What a waste. My butt was clean for like 10 minutes". Yeah, me neither. Ever. I don't ever think that. I probably talk about pooping and farting a little too much for most normal people to handle. But it's seriously a fact of life that everyone does it. Even Angelina Jolie poops. She does. It's hard to picture, isn't it? Cause I know you're trying to imagine it right now (or now you are)... True Story: There was this kids book called 'Everybody Poops' that I first read sometime in high school. I think a friend got it for me as a joke since even back then I was crude and disgusting. At any rate, the book was all about how everyone and everything living in this world poops. It was disturbing, but mostly entertaining. (hey! like every show on Vh1!) I've thought about buying it now for my own kids, but I can't decide if Wesley would like it or think I'm a weirdo. Or he'd laugh and want to take it to show and tell next week at his catholic school. Where (I'm not even kidding) they have a whole list of rules about what you can and cannot bring for show and tell, lest you provoke some child to commit a horrible, horrible sin. You know, nothing with guns or blood/guts... or Satan. There goes half my kids toys right there.

I'm kidding, geesh. He doesn't have anything with Satan. They don't even make Satan toys anymore. Those Bratz dolls came pretty close though.

Man, I'm so glad I don't have any girls. Have you seen the clothes they make for girls nowadays? Everything is super slutty and borderline trashy. I saw a prom dress last year that was a halter top with the ENTIRE BELLY exposed. Really? For a formal? Nothing screams 'I'm losing my virginity' on prom night like a half-bikini ball gown. I hope they sell it with an IUD and an antibiotic. And one of those chastity belts. I'd totally make my daughter wear one of them on prom night (can you imagine *that* argument?). And if she's even remotely cute (which, she would be - come on, look at how gorgeous I am), she's getting some thick braces and bottle cap glasses. Even if she doesn't need them. I'm TOTALLY SERIOUS. So yeah, maybe it's for the best that I have only boys...I mean, I sorta want one so I can play dress up, slather on the make up and do up her hair up like my own personal human baby doll. I mean that in a non-sicko way. But if I were truly being honest here, girls are so caddy and horrible... emotional little monsters. I mean, I know - I was one once. A girl. I mean, I'm still a girl - I'm just an old, old girl. Elderly girl, even. I think you get what I'm saying. At least you would get it, if you would focus on me for a change and stop getting distracted by the shiny stuff near your computer.

Still with me? Oh, goodie.

I probably should get to bed soon. It's taken me two days total to write this blog and it's not even a masterpiece. Today at work we had to 911 an old crazy broad out because she couldn't breathe. She came into the center that way! I swear, people just like to get rid of the crazies they live with, ya know? They're all 'Grandma is so crazy... and she's near death! Send her to that day program so she can die on their watch!!' Which essentially means I'm just passing the buck to the EMTs and the hospital, because - let's face it - once you've done psych nursing for more than a year, you barely know how to open a band-aid without assistance, let alone resuscitate someone back to life. I had to turn the oxygen tank on today and it took me almost an hour (while reading the handy pamphlet provided by the wizards at the oxygen tank company) to do it. Sad, no? I'd be wallowing in my lack of advanced nursing skills if it weren't for the fact that I never again have to do nights or holidays or operate a vent. Or change a poop bag. (Except, you know - for when the time comes and I get my own, I suppose. I'm hoping that by the time I'm in my 100's, they will have invented some magical pill that you can take and the poop will just evaporate before it comes out. It could happen! It could! Hey - wait, how did I get back on the topic of poop?)

If you have any ideas about a blog topic on which I should write, feel free to tell me. And stop yer whining about how you can't leave a comment without signing up, blah blah blah. Just figure it out, ok? Do it for the orphans! Maybe I'll write about Easter next time and keep up the generalized theme of holiday ruins. Easter's my birthday this year, ya know. (So much for subtle hints). Not much time left for gift-buying, so you'd better get on it. And instead of putting a lot of thought into it (see above), just put a lot of cash money into it instead. It says "I care" without the hassle of emotions and love and stuff. You know what I mean....