This is how my weekend panned out.
-Wake up at 7:30am to take Biscuit to the vet. Two hours and $175 later, we have a diagnosis of "fungal infection". The vet mentions something about "contagious" and "ringworm" and my skin literally jumps out the window and runs down the street.
-Boyfriend leaves for Santa Maria. I decide to spoil myself with a mani/pedi gift card that that I'd been hoarding for the past three months. (Since I'm poor as shit, I have to use these special moments sparingly.) Feel good about myself and manage to make Vanna White gestures as often as possible in order to show off my beautiful nails.
Like these except not as nice.
-Bathe Biscuit with special anti-fungal shampoo. The bathroom looks like I wallpapered it in black angora. Decide to leave it for later when it's all dried up and I can easily Swiffer the heaps of dog hair.
-Do 85 loads of laundry, including bed linens and dog beds, due to a certain canine's "fungal infection".
-Proceed to have wrestling matches with both a fitted sheet and a duvet cover.
-Notice that my "splurge" manicure is fucked. Rage out.
-Get awful, binding, diarrhea cramps. Drag myself backwards ala The Exorcist into bed and pass out.
-Wake up at 2:45am with painful, explosive, faucet-butt diarrhea. (You can thank me later for that image.)
-Play hopscotch from the bed to toilet from 3-4am.
-Play hopscotch from the toilet from 8-10am.
-Boyfriend texts that he's on his way back. Drag myself out of bed and attempt to clean the black angora bathroom.
Pretty much just like this.
Which brings me to right now. 2:11pm, laying in bed, guts are sore, exploding butt, haven't eaten anything except Gatorade. I guess the bright side to this ongoing hell (read: endometriosis) and constant stomach problems is that I've lost weight. And if we're going to brag here, I even weigh less than when I got married back in 2007. At least being sick is good for something. At least.
So much for my weekend of maxing and relaxing.