Pubic Service Announcement.

Ok, I want to take a moment to point out that in between my last two poop entries the unthinkable happened.

I lost a follower.

Maybe my butthole hijinx are too much for some people's fragile eyeballs, but I don't think I really ever write about anything TOO weird or unacceptable. My point in sharing these stories with you is partly (hopefully) to give you something to laugh at, but also just to share my random experiences. I'm not getting paid to go out and look for weird shit to blog about- this weird shit is just my life.

(Important Note: I'm totally open to getting paid if anyone out there wants to commission my work.)

Maybe my honesty is too much for certain readers, in which case that's fine. Unfollow. I only want followers who enjoy my writing and stories anyway. -That's actually not true, I'll take followers whether they like me or not. But seriously folks, it's fine if this isn't your thing.

Now that I got that shit outta the way, I want to tell you all about Studio30Plus. It's like a social networking site for bloggers over 30. I only just recently joined (the website and facebook page too) and I'm still totally new to it all. So imagine my surprise when I saw I was nominated for the BEST FEMALE BLOGGER AWARD!!!!!!

Dudes, I'm not even shitting you right now. People like me (I use the word "people" loosely. I really only needed one vote to make it through to this round.) I'm totally not expecting to win because I'm way too new to this game and haven't worked up nearly enough PR to rig that shit in my direction. But I'm soOoOoo excited to even be nominated. In honor of making it this far, I'm going to celebrate this weekend by wearing one of my fanciest dresses and eating banana splits while watching tivo'd episodes of Millionaire Matchmaker.



So go to their website and vote. And maybe even send them messages on facebook harassing reminding them how great I am. (I don't even know if that would hold any credibility, but it's worth a shot.)

File this one under B for "bragging".

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Another One About Poop (Part II of II).

Remember that one time I couldn't eat for a long ass time and nearly went insane in the membrane because of the starvations? Yeah, I do too. In fact, I'm still having 'Nam flashbacks to it. Every time I see a commercial for something delicious and greasy I start rocking back-n-forth in the corner. And then I realize my test is over and done with and I can eat all the non "clear liquids" my heart desires. And I immediately run to the kitchen and eat my weight in Ritz crackers and Hickory Farms cheeseball.

So the last time we left off, I'd basically blown a hole right through the bottom of my torso where my butt used to be. That night I tried to stay up as late as possible to avoid any middle-of-the-night disasters. I ended up waking up a few times throughout the night, which was totally okay with me because at least it meant I wasn't doodooing all over the bed.

The next morning I was feeling pretty good and looking forward to getting this test (of my willpower and strength) over with. By the time I got checked in at the hospital, my stomach was basically eating itself. Boyfriend and I hung out in the waiting area for a few minutes (I was the youngest person in the room by at least 100 years) before they called me in. The nurse asked me some questions, handed me a gown, and I waited on a gurney for probably another twenty minutes.

TILTE weak from the starvations.

Finally, a nurse came in to set up my IV. This broad must have been new to the game, because she couldn't manage to get her act together. First she tried my wrist. "Try making a fist... hm... Ok, relax your hand... hm... ok... I can't seem to get it to thread... let's try your arm instead." So she poked my arm and then gave me the same old song and dance about not being able to get it to thread. At this point my brain was imagining the needle doing a window-wiper effect, scraping back and forth inside my vein. She ended up calling another nurse over and they finally got me hooked up.

They rolled me- on my gurney- from one room, through a hallway, and into the "official" room. This was the first time I'd ever been on a gurney and it felt weird. Like, real weird. I was pretending I was starring on an episode of ER and I felt like some really top secret doctor shit was about to take place.

I was in and out of sleepiness for the rest of my visit, but from what I remember, it went something like this:

Nurse: Okay, we're going to start the drip.
(five seconds later)
TILTE: UhhHhHhHh... I feel totally wasted...
(and scene.)

Next thing I know, I'm waking up and it's all over with. There was some farting taking place, which the doctor had warned me about. (Not to mention I got to experience the symphony of flatulence from other colonoscopy patients when I was first waiting for the nurse to turn my arm into swiss cheese.) Boyfriend came into the recovery room and I'm pretty sure I thanked him a million times and told him how much I loved him and probably daydreamed about an Arby's Beef n Cheddar.

Once I had become lucid enough to go home, they sent boyfriend outside while a nurse helped me get dressed. Thankfully, I was still like 80% loco from the meds so I wasn't even embarrassed when the nurse wiped my butt not once, but twice. After I was dressed, she put me in a wheelchair and wheeled me out to boyfriend where I greeted him with a "Oh hai! What are you doing here?" (I don't really remember this, but boyfriend said it happened.)

TILTE being "...sooooo wasted..."

As soon as I got home, I fell straight back to sleep for another hour and a half. Boyfriend woke me up to let me know I had to eat (Waking me up because I need to eat?? Match.Made.in.Heaven.). So where did I go for my first meal in a lifetime two days?

THE OLIVE GARDEN.

What. I wanted delicious, knock-off Italian food, okay. Sue me.

HellooOoOoOo all-you-can-eat salad and breadsticks.

And for the piece de resistance...

OhhHhHhhh Tour of Italy. You'll never do me wrong.

So that was my experience with a colonoscopy.

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Another One About Poop (Part I of II).

So the last time I was at my doctor's office we had a conversation that went something like this:

DR: I'm giving you a referral for a colonoscopy.

TILTE: Nah, I'm cool.

DR: A colonoscopy might be able to give us a better idea of what's bothering your stomach.

TILTE: Ugh. Another test involving my butthole? AND I have to drink rancid laxative juice?? Is it going to make me nauseous, because if so, I don't want any part of it.

DR: No, just get the Miralax kind and mix it with lemonade Crystal Light. Usually sour drinks calm an upset stomach. Anyway, the specialist's office will call to set up your appointment.

:::Two weeks later:::

SPECIALIST: Colonoscopies are great and they will show us if you have endometriosis, ulcers, colitis, abnormal growths, or cancer and here are your instructions and I'll meet you at the hospital in two weeks!

TILTE: Oh. Uh. Cool. See you then...

Now flash to the present. Today I've been prepping for my big day tomorrow. For anyone who's never had a colonoscopy, it's loads of fun. And by fun, I really mean misery. My diet has consisted of clear liquids ONLY (with NO red, orange, or purple dye). Do you know what that means? Let me tell you what that means. It means I fucking starved to death today.

To add insult to injury, there are special "pre op" instructions to follow the night before the procedure. They involve laxatives. Lots of them.

Basically, this is what my day has looked like:

7:30am: Wake up.

8am: Decide it's a bad idea to watch anything on The Food Network and/or The Cooking Channel today.

8:30am: Have plain tea for breakfast.

9-11:30am: Chug water and gatorade.

12pm: Pig out on lunch (aka broth).

12:30-2:30pm: Chug water and gatorade.

3pm: Have some more "lunch".

4pm: Take two Dulcolax pills.

4-6pm: Watch a movie and try to forget how suicidal you are.

6pm: Drink 8oz of Crystal Light mixed with a shitload of Miralax every 30 min. until all 64oz are gone.

7:42pm: Have first asshole explosion of the night.

7:53pm: Have second asshole explosion of the night.

Note: It's important to note right here that at NO time is it safe to fart. Stay close to a toilet because diarrhea will be so Niagara-Falls-like, you'll begin to wonder when your butthhole stopped pooping and decided to take up peeing.

8:30pm: Start to seeth at the sight of a lemon flavored drink.

8:30-10:30pm: 100th asshole explosion of the night.

Also, throw in about 500 "Think about what you're going to eat today, remember you'll only be eating water all day, then proceed to cry" intermittently throughout the day.

All in all, I guess it could have been worse. I could have taken the other type of laxative that the specialist originally perscribed (GoLYTELY), which I've heard tastes like shit and makes everyone nauseous. In which case, I would have had firehose-like liquids spewing from both ends.

Fingers crossed nothing crazy happens at my appointment tomorrow. -Like the specialist accidentally piercing my colon with her fancy medical camera.

I'll keep you posted.

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I Don't Get Picky Eaters.

This is boyfriend's daughter. We'll call her Pearl.


Like most four year olds, she's a picky eater. Most of the time, there's at least one food per day that crosses her path that will send her hands flying up to her mouth like she's about to fro up all over the place. If given the option, she would live on plain bread, plain spaghetti noodles, and dry cereal for the rest of her life. Oh, and throw in a plain hamburger every now and then for good measure ("bun-meat-bun ONLY, please.")

Now, I'm not one to shun my precious little carbs. And if given the choice, my own personal menu wouldn't really stray too far from little Pearl's. But I just don't understand picky eaters. Especially when they feign vomit looks over a slice of cheese or a serving of mashed potatoes. (Pssst- By the way kid, those two items are mother fucking delicious and if you don't end up loving them one day, then my name isn't Julia Child.)

Yesterday, Pearl and I were playing with Biscuit. She was giving commands and offering a treat every time Biscuit obeyed. At one point Pearl looked up at me with funny thoughts behind her eyeballs and said "Can I have a treat?"

Hmm.

Thinking back to 5 minutes before when she'd first opened up Biscuit's bag of treats and said "Mmm... These smell good" I knew she wasn't referring to a Danimal or some Cheez-Its. So I was like "Um... one of Biscuit's treats?" And she was like "Yeah." :::cue giant green eyeballs staring up at me::: So I was like "Um... no, these treats are just for Bisc-" (realizing I've smelled these same treats before and they really do just smell like crackers and this inquiry was coming from the pickiest eater on the face of the planet) "-Ok. I'll take a bite if you will."

So we split one of Biscuit's treats. Just one little heart-shaped, oat-flavored treat.


And then the unbelievable happened.

Pearl asked for another one.

This time I said no. But I want you all to know, telling a picky eater they can't eat more (especially coming from a food lover extraordinaire) made a little bit of me die inside.

Later that night I consoled myself with a bag of Lindt White Chocolate truffles and a cookie shaped like a cow.

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Shit on My Phone.

I got this idea from Debs over at Fashion Plate. She had an entry about photos on her phone. So the other day when I was clearing out some old shit on my phone I came across some goodies (and some not-so-goodies). But whatever, I'm still sharing.

While uploading the photos, I noticed some running themes so I grouped them together by category. However they pretty much all fall under the main category, DOING ANYTHING BESIDES PAYING ATTENTION TO THE ROAD.

Cars That Make Me Stop and Take Pictures Like I'm a Psycho Stalker:

I SWEAR My Car Has the Best Lighting for Self-Portraits (also known as Time for an Intervention):

I Used to be a GD Genius:



Seriously, I used to be able to understand this shit. Today, I can only assume it's hieroglyphics.


Options for Robbing a Bank:






Cool Sky Stuff:

Chats With TILTE:



Click picture to enlarge lols.

And I'm just throwing this one in because I like to brag about my friends in high places.

That's right. Read em and weep.

I know this entry was a creative copout. I'm totally okay with that.

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2011: Let's Get This Party Sharted.

I don't know what it is about the new year that makes everyone decide to throw their money down the nearest 24Hr Fitness' toilet, eat nothing but water and dust (<-- that vid made me lose my shit the first time I saw it), and swear up and down how they're going to be a better person.


It seems like I've come across a bevy of emo blogs lately that are all about how shitty life is. I get it, sometimes life reeeeeally sucks. Mine included. But if there's one thing I don't want to read about when life hands me shit it's someone else's unhappiness. I lurk on other people's blogs because I like to read hilarious/ interesting/ gossipy shit and I assume that's why other people come to my blog. So I'm not going to bore you with sad tales from yesteryear.


Instead, I'm going to share my master plan for 2011 and why it's going to rock my fucking face off.


1. Being proactive about my guts. I'm taking vitamins, Lactaid, and Oil of Evening Primrose RELIGIOUSLY. "Oil of Evening Primrose? What's that for, TILTE?" Well, all symptoms seem to be pointing to endometriosis up in my shit and since I don't want to pay the $300 copay for a Colons Gone Wild video, I'm just going to assume that's what it is. Oil of Evening Primrose is supposed to help ward off that fucking monster that rides the party train all around my insides every month and makes me want to hari kari my brains out. So far it seems to be doing it's job. Fingers crossed, mother fuckers.


2. Staying on top of my blog. Shit happens all the time that I take pictures of and have a good chuckle to myself while saying "Ohhhhhh man! I can't wait to share that with my best friend, Blog!!!" And then one tivo'd episode of Judge Judy later and it's forever erased from my memory bank. This year I want to up my facebook group members, get some commentary going (don't be escared- I LOVE facebook comments) and DEFINITELY get my blog followers to the big fucking 100 milestone. (To all you secret lurkers- I see you stopping by. I see your visits from Prior Lake MN, Ridgecrest CA, Mcminnville TN. It's time to join the club already. Unless you've already joined. In which case, thanks for joining.)


3. Experimenting in the kitchen. No, I'm not referring to crazy shit like drugs or placentas. These past few months I've really enjoyed trying out new recipes. Some have been winners, some have been losers, and some have been WTF's, but I realized that I fucking love cooking, baking, eating, sharing, and repeating. This is going to be the year of TILTE in the Kitchen. In related news, it may also be the year of Small Kitchen Fires, Accidental Food Poisoning, and Antacids: A Hero in the Making.

2011, I'm ready for you, you sonuvabitch.

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