Today I’m seeing my gynecologist for my 4 week post hysterectomy exam. Which is just a fancy way of saying my doctor will have both of her hands and a couple of salad spoons shoved up my vagina. For medical purposes of course.

Which is awesome.

I’m *really* looking forward to it.

You know what this means though, don’t you. I have to shower. For obvious reasons. And if it’s *not* obvious why I must shower before going to the vag doc, then you’re a man–or a disillusioned woman.

Anyway, I’m over at Aiming Low today. Go there and read about how women misrepresent themselves. Thanks, Nazi Trainer, for the blog fodder. It’s nice to see you’re good for something other than inflicting Japanese water torture on innocent blondes.

Oh, and just for fun, I thought I’d share what Monday night looks like at the Glenn house.

Don’t judge me.

Sometimes pie *IS* the answer.

the other day i was with nazi trainer. we’re not working out together anymore–now he works on the various parts of me that are strained/tight/hurting. apparently there is such a thing as working out too much. so he’s taken it upon himself to *fix* me. oh, also he thinks the name ‘nazi trainer’ no longer applies and would like a new nickname. after a couple of sessions with him working on my various muscle groups, i think the name ‘torture specialist’ fits. but you know it just doesn’t roll off the tongue like nazi trainer, so i’m inclined to keep calling him that.

i was lying on the table and he pressed into my side.

“YOWZA!”

“does that hurt?”

“um, yeah, like a mo-fo.”

he laughs and presses harder. “how’s that?”

“well now i feel gassy. like i need to…you know.”

“oops. i’m pushing in the wrong place then.” moves hand an inch down. “how’s that?”

“OUCH! sweet jesus that hurts.”

“be quiet and breathe.”

“i can’t.”

“breathe!”

“i can’t. it hurts too much. why do you hate me?”

“BREATHE!”

i inhale. pain. i exhale. pain. but after a few more breaths, the searing pain lessens. i can relax again. then he moves more to the left. stabbing pain, stabbing pain, stabbing pain. i fight the urge to cry out your mother is satan’s life coach! he releases his deathgrip on my side and moves toward my head. side note: nazi trainer would say it was hardly a deathgrip. in fact, he would go on to say that if he was trying to hurt me, he could kill me with his thumb. (me, rolling my eyes).

so now he’s got his fingers pressed on both sides of my jaw. my eyes begin to water from the pain.

“jeez, shauna, your jaw muscles are the tightest i’ve ever felt on someone.”

“i bet you say that to all the girls.”

he laughs and says, “so, you say you’re a buddhist right?”

“well, i’m officially nothing, but i’d like to think of myself as zen-like.”

“then you’re the most stressed out buddhist i’ve ever known.”

ignoring his comment i say, “isn’t the dalai lama the cutest, sweetest man you’ve ever seen. he’s seems so peaceful.”

“yeah, and i would bet anything he doesn’t clench his jaw either. you should try meditating.”

“meditating is for people who have nothing to do. i’m busy.”

“you’re not a buddhist.”

“and you have extremely long nose hair.”

presses harder on my jaw.

“YYOOOWWWW!! MOTHER FU…..”