This Post is NOT Sponsored by Oreo


Good news: I found a place to live!

Grace Helbig raises one hand slightly and admits, "I was gonna lift my arms all the way up but I forgot I didn't shave my armpits"


Did this stop the brain crabs?


Hell no!



Grace Helbig does pinching crablike hand motions and says, "and they're just gonna pinch some butts!"


But I don’t have time to get into any of the thousand things they’re screaming I got wrong.  I’m sure you can guess anyway, those of you who have also suffered from brain crabs.  And if you’ve never had them, fuck right off.  Ooh, but first—tell me your secret ways of adulting with confidence?


The reason I’m not going to talk about all the things I’m probably doing wrong is that all packing and moving prep has ground to a halt while Husband is in the hospital.


Grace Helbig, holding her phone and grasping her chest, sobs in fear/sorrow/internet feels


Hold your sympathy for a minute while you hear what happened: he’s been complaining of stomach pains for three goddamned weeks—pain so bad it sends him to bed, pain that keeps him from eating or sleeping—along with occasional vomiting. 


How many times do you think I suggested he see the doctor?  Or go to the ER?

Grace Helbig leans into camera and says, "don't get me started."

Too late.


How long did it take him to finally go to his doctor?

Grace Helbig is on her phone, hair up and with a facial masque on, says, "I really thought bananas cured aids..."

Still better than his plan.



And in front of that medical professional, did he mention all of his symptoms? 

(from This Might Get) Grace Helbig says, "NOPE!"

Of course not!



Right, so there we were in the ER at goddamned midnight because I’d been telling him all day that if he was that bad off we should just go in—as opposed to his treatment plan of laying down and waiting for it to go away on its own.  And while we were at the ER, he casually mentioned that for the past three weeks he’d noticed—forgive the visual—his poop was completely black.

Grace Helbig series of reaction shots: shocked/disgusted "Uck, really?" and "Oh, my..." and flailing "Seriously?"



HIM:  But that’s happened before and you said it was nothing!
ME:  Okay, but that time you’d eaten half a pack of Oreos!
HIM:  (grinning)  Yeah.
ME:  Did you eat half a pack of Oreos?  For three fucking weeks straight?
HIM:  No.  That would have been awesome.
ME:  (deep breath, prays for patience)
HIM:  But I mentioned it to Dr. M, didn’t I?
ME:  … No.  You did not.
ER DOC:  It seems… unlikely that he would have dismissed that symptom.
ME:  It’s a red flag, hon.  You’re bleeding into your stomach.
HIM:  Oh.
ME:  Yeah.



So they checked him in and the gastroenterologist said he’d never seen anything like it.  Normally, said he, a person with such giant ulcers would be complaining of constant pain.


Fibro.  Everything hurts, all the time, and he’s used to people telling him to ignore it.  He has to ignore it.


Okay but, Gastro counters, he would be having symptoms.  Like, for a long time.


I think back.  Oh, like all that stuff I told him to mention to a doctor and he dismissed as “just how he is?”


Gastro is stunned.  His jaw is on his lap and I’m sitting on the hospital bed in front of him while we wait for my husband to be returned to us.  Yuh, he agrees, symptoms like those.  Good catch.


I am pleased.  Husband will hear about my excellent wifery and also how I am right about everything and should never be gainsaid again.

Grace Helbig quietly smirks and shakes her head


So now you know how I spent my weekend—running back and forth from the house to the hospital, soothing anxious animals who want to know where all our stuff went (in boxes!  They watched it happen!  It’s why they’re upset!) and entertaining a bored Husband, who made a full recovery and is now sulking about the fact that he has to avoid basically all his favorite foods for three whole months

Grace Helbig, in the kitchen, earnestly addressing a package of canned dough, "I can't trust you"



HIM:  (via text)  I’m bored…
ME:  Do you want me to come back?
HIM:  You don’t have to…
ME:  I was going to try to get some packing done.
HIM:  I mean, if you want to come back you can.
ME:  I’ll be there in a few.
HIM:  (as I enter his room)  I got bored enough to call my parents.
ME:  You didn’t give them our new address, did you?
HIM:  (appalledNO.  I told them about my poop, we didn’t talk about anything personal.




* All gifs today are of the incomparably funny Grace Helbig.  Who doesn’t know I exist, but I want to be her when I grow up, and she’s my spirit animal in the kitchen.  



10 comments on “This Post is NOT Sponsored by Oreo

  1. Jeffy says:

    Oh wow. Moving, upset pets and a sick husband in hospital (and being from the US of Russia I imagine that’s not cheap).
    Get your full contingent of Ham hugs is all I can say.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Losing the Plot says:

    Sniggering here. It’s hard to be totally sympathetic when they don’t bloody listen.


    Liked by 1 person

  3. I kind of get it. The thing I hate most about having an autoimmune disease is never knowing for sure whether a particularly bad symptom flare is disease-related or an indicator of some other problem I should be addressing.

    That said, if the pain is that lasting and that bad, GO TO THE GODDAMN DOCTOR AND TELL THEM EVERYTHING.

    My dad tried to be stoic for almost a week when he had appendicitis, and go figure, by the time he finally caved and went to the doctor, his appendix had ruptured, everything around it was inflamed, and he ended up having a way more difficult recovery than if he would’ve just friggin’ gone to see someone after a day or two.

    This is the same guy who used to act like the world was ending if he caught the common cold.
    He needs to work on his priorities.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Yes. This is my exact complaint: the man will ignore ACTUAL INTERNAL BLEEDING but when he gets a headache he needs to spend the day in bed. A case of the Man Flu brings the actual Red Cross to our doorstep.

      I’m not perfect at taking care of my shit, okay? I sometimes let migraines go too far because I’m sure I can magic them away with sheer determination and hatred of my drugs. But when I had debilitating mystery pain that came out of nowhere and kept me from functioning? That wasn’t in my life for 14 hours before we rushed off to the hospital to get my everything scanned and demand answers.

      Liked by 1 person

  4. josypheen says:

    Erm, so I do feel bad for him, but I LOVE the final line in this…” NO. I told them about my poop, we didn’t talk about anything personal.” Bwahahaha. 😀

    Liked by 1 person

  5. KathyG says:

    As far as brain crabs and “adulting with confidence” are concerned: you might try telling the brain crabs that EVERYONE gets buyer’s remorse (i.e., it’s NORMAL) so STFU (I know, but it’s worth a try); and most of us are just making it up as we go and faking the confidence part.


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