Ah yes, the truth comes out; comparing my weight loss to Mother’s success, Russ said that I wasn’t even trying.  I asked, “What do you think I’ve been doing for these past few months and checking out my revision options.”  He said that didn’t count and that I was just looking for a magic wand.

Oh, I see. 

He then goes on about gal we meet who had a hernia problem after my first month appointment where I lost an astonishing 14 pounds, and that I just need to work on it like she did.  Well if he’d been paying attention:  The past few months I was actually losing weight I rarely ate and when I did, I threw it up, however I did have the courtesy to turn on the fan and sink so’s ya wouldn’t have to hear me hacking up in the bathroom all the time.

This type of opinion is fine coming from a stranger but someone you love is really a low blow.

There’s a gorgeous lil things store just 1 ½ miles from our house and they just happened to be having a 50% off sale yesterday.  Now later when I asked Mother what she found there she said that it was purty picked over.  I kinda thought that was a front, but when I woke up briefly at eight this morning:  No, no surprise gifts or anything; just more running around, working and getting everything ready for company.  Whoopty fuckin do.  We’ve been doing nothing this holiday but breaking our backs.

Last Christmas I had to do everything because Mother was incapacitated.  We did a lil gift exchange but I knew everything was getting cuz I had to wheel her around the store.  We all know what a joke my birthday was.

So… I just overheard, "Make sure ya wipe down the tv trays."

Fuck this.  I think I feel a cold coming on.  It’s bloody hot in this house because these folks are from L.A. and not used to cooler temperatures.  

I even tried my damnedest to throw my back out last night.  I’m not kidding.  I carted my Father’s weight set back and forth (not lifting with my legs mind you) throughout the house for an hour like those poor saps on the Biggest Loser.

Yep, I’m going back to bed.  It’s a shitty Christmas and for the past couple years I’ve been promised better.

Ya know Christmas is actually my favorite time of year, but honestly I just can’t wait till it’s all over.  I think part of the problem is that we chose not to do presents this year.  A large part of Christmas is going into debt from all the presents ya buy folks, then the hours you spend meticulously wrapping them.  You can prove your trailer trash heritage by slapping a Bob’s Purty Good 25 cent bow on your crappily wrapped package, or you can be like me and wrap one so fine people are afraid to open it – and they should be.  Seriously, I would love nothing better than to wrap packages all day; as long as I’m allowed to do it my way.  Too bad there’s not a Neiman Marcus around here.  I wonder if Clint needs someone to wrap his packages for him.

But all this constant baking and cooking is really fucking tiresome.  I don’t want to dip anymore Ritz Cracker Cookies; I’d rather set the kitchen on fire.  You shoulda seen me the other day after making Russian Tea Cakes, I looked like fucking Frankenstein; hunched over, limping and growling.  Once I was finished dipping the lil bastards in powdered sugar again I told Mother, “I’m gonna hobble off and go find a quiet place to die now.”

Unfortunately it wouldn’t hurt ‘em.  It’s now all incredibly clear why natural disasters have upped the ante:  It’s called evolution people; time to wipe out these lil (or rather large) pockets of cesspools – folks backstroking in their own filth.

I’m totally over the suicide things as it’s incredibly obvious I’m not the problem; idiots are.  

 I should start my own fanatical militant group.  Anyone wanna join?  Where’s a good place to start looking for congregating idiots?  I mean besides the South and the Bible Belt.

These are the photos from some of the previous endoscopies just to give you an idea of what a stricture and ulcer look like.

This would be my first stricture; you can read about in detail here.

10/7/2003: About four weeks after my surgery and my stoma had closed to the size of a pinhole. The doctor had trouble getting the scope inside because it was so small.	Because the stricture was so severe and I was only four weeks out of surgery, the doctor was very cautious and only dilated my stoma partly for fear of damaging the still fragile tissue.

Second stricture you can read about here.

10/22/03: This second stricture was inevitable since the first could only be partially dilated.	This time around he was able to dilate the stoma to about the normal width.

Finally we have the fun filled Christmas stricture adventure you can read all about here.

12/28/03: This was a naughty lil stricture that developed slowly.	Ya see that big nasty white guy? That's an ulcer that most likely helped in the process of producing a stricture.
And once again here's a happy and dilated stoma.

Damnit Ang Lee, couldn’t you have picked someone besides the two hottest guys in Hollywood for yer cowboy love film?  Tom Cruise and Richard Gere woulda been perfect, or anyone British; as we all know every British man is at least bi.

Still, I’m able to get over this obvious flaw as harassing Midwesterners and the Bible Belt has proven to be almost too much fun for one person.

I know who The Carver is on Nip/Tuck:  It's Joan Rivers.

Think that's too much?

Extremely disappointing; some guy threw a pointy stick through her head, obviously she was ok.  

Paris Hilton’s pursuit of acting is a joke.  Anybody else see House of Wax?  Ya know starred that guy from the WB and a poor man’s version of Kirsten Dunst.  My critique: the Paris Hilton death coulda been gorier.  Pointy stick through the head is not worth $5.   

Remember those aptitude tests ya took in junior high, then they compared your score to all the other kids around the US and suggested the career choices you were most likely to excel in?  It just so happened to be during American History class when we took the test.  First it asked you to pick the top three career choices you would be interested in.

I sat next to my friend Jandi.  Jandi wasn’t the brightest bulb in the chandelier and had dreams of becoming a singer or actress.  So obviously her first choice was a career in entertainment.  I believe I picked the science field as my first choice and entertainment as third.  

When we received the results of the test she was seriously bummed.  Not only was the entertainment category no where to be found, but according to her scores they suggested agriculture and farming as her top choice for a career.  I felt really bad for her, especially since it suggested entertainment as my top choice; science second and teacher I believe for third.

You know you’re coming up in the world when the nice spam folks start offering you “quality” porn.  That’s right, no more half-assed mundane trailer trash porn for me; it’s only the best from here on out:  Snooty porn.

Stupid iTunes songs only play on the stupid iTunes player.  AND stupid iPod only plays stupid iTunes songs.  See an annoying pattern here?  I’ll be buying some other MP3 player thank you.  

MSN songs are compatible with everything except stupid iPod; unfortunately I’ve yet to find the super secret location where I can enter my credit card.  One more annoyance and I’m headin on over to Napster and shelling out my $10 a month.

My Upper GI is completed; faxed the results to the surgeon; blah, blah, blah.  

Ya know, no matter how many times people tell you that you’re not the one to blame, it never really quite penetrates.  And to be quite honest, I’m a lil cranky over the fact that people don’t seem terribly concerned.  

ME:  Ummm, yeah, hi.  It turns out that having a full fledged revision is a helluva lot more dangerous than your first go around at surgery.  So instead of slapping your knee and telling me good luck could you at least pretend to look a lil worried?

I want some official documents printed up about how I don’t wanna hang out as a vegetable; don’t resuscitate me if certain things go awry; don’t sue if anything goes wrong, and there’s something else but I can’t remember it now.  When I say “certain things” I’m referring to the very rare complications where folks end up inna wheelchair and the like.  Yes yes, handicapped folk can still excel, enjoy life and show off on 20/20.  That’s great, but I’ve been fat all my life and I don’t wanna be tossed another debilitating obstacle.

As the Bible says: Screw that! – Homer Simpson

I’m cranky and wish the following folks would just fall off the planet.  I’m tired of the folks who say, “Well I’m not a doctor but in my opinion…”  If this is how your sentence begins then it’s a good idea to stop right there before you embarrass yourself further.  Or how bout the folks who literally breezed through this surgery and now believe themselves to be floating onna higher plane of wisdom?

PERSON WHO BARELY HAD A BMI OF 40 AND LOST ALL THEIR WEIGHT IN THE FIRST FIVE MINUTES:  I know all!

ME:  Shut-the-fuck-up.

Everyone is different.  Your expertise only lies in yourself.  Please stop talking.

Oh and seriously:  Like a Suburban black man in the South or (ironically enough) the fat kid in junior high; everyone prefers to keep a minimum of at least five feet from the gastric bypass failure at all times – for fear of it being contagious.  

Ya know what’ll cheer me up?  A poinsettia (the drink; not the plant) and watching Paris Hilton die.  

Speaking of poinsettias:  Our nice neighbors brought us one, however it’s currently perched atop the highest shelf as Mr. Patches is one curious lil boy and them be poisonous plants.  This cat gives cat burglar a whole new meaning.  He can pry open any door; he’s like a master locksmith.

Oh and I gotta tell this:  We have one those automated litter boxes.  He was using it and I thought everything was fine until one day he heard it going off.  Of course he had to run in there to see what all the ruckus was about and I thought, “Oh shit, he’ll never get near that box again now.”  He spent a great deal of time checking the box out; walked all around its perimeter and even waved his paw to see if he could get it to move again.  Turns out he isn’t scared; on the contrary he finds this device completely fascinating.  No matter what part of the house he’s in, when that litter box goes off he comes tearing into the room just to watch.  He’ll even run in here when the fax machine is going off because he thinks it’s the box.  He’s gone from scared lil boy under the bed to mildly spooky and yet well adjusted cat inna a matter of three weeks.  

Yes, the Nip/Tuck Carver has his own blog; course he’s not often around because he’s too busy hacking up people I guess.  People are leaving him comments.  Seriously.  Something like 72,000 numb-nutz have signed up as his “friends”, AND you can also instant message him.  Was I the only person watching the upsetting episodes that included the elusive Carver?  He, and/or she, just doesn’t seem like the type I’d wanna strike up a conversation with.

Oh no, I left the tv on and I can hear Seinfeld in the background; the cats have even woke up and started searching for the remote.

Say how come really upsetting things don’t happen to people who are more than deserving of abysmal misery?  I mean I’ve had to put up with a good deal of shittiness in my life, I think it’s only fair I should have the chance to see someone else get royally screwed over.  I guess that’s what reality tv is for, but it’s less fun when you don’t know them personally.  I know:  A watched pot never boils and deserving bastards don’t get what’s coming to them until you’ve practically forgotten all about ‘em.  Like a person you despised from high school dies six or seven years later.  Sure it still gives you warm fuzzies but too much time has passed for you to thoroughly revel in their demise.  Just once I’d like for it to happen when I can REALLY enjoy it.

Just like you said it would be
Life goes easy on me
Most of the time -- The Blower’s Daughter by Damien Rice

As I watch these two kitties asleep in the middle of bed I think of Allie and this most malevolent and exhausting year nearing its demise.  It’s funny and a bit annoying how life keeps going whether it has your permission or not.

Mommy only gets to sleep when the kids do.  Mr. Patches is more than tired of being sequestered in one room and I have to stay on Moll patrol.  Lil Miss Molly, my sweet lil geisha and hoochie momma is NOT succumbing to that sweet lil boy.  I keep tryin to tell her she has one fine lookin man back there more than ready to be buds, and she goes on playing hard to get.  This is the gal who makes friends with a roofer who’s only been in the door for five minutes top; best friends I might add.

He’s such a skinny lil bugger -- a skinny Cajun; an oxymoron if I ever heard one.

I only have time for a quick update as I need to get back to my boy, but we had a very big day today; turns out the way to a man’s heart is through another woman.  Once Patches saw Molly he desperately wanted to become buds.  

Earlier today he briefly rubbed up against and allowed me to pet him ever so slightly.  Later that night I went back to my room to find him cryin at the door.  As soon as I opened it he was rubbin his face all over everything, then he came towards me and rubbed up against my legs.  I reached down to pet him and he just rubbed some more; we had quite the lil love fest.  Then I gently scratched under his chin and found he was purring; I just started to cry and it was all I could do to keep myself from pickin him up.

We had some very positive encounters with Moll (I’ll share the details later), but after an hour rolled he was flopped down in between my legs and purrin up a storm while I rubbed his belly.

I do believe Mr. Patches is gonna be ok.

Hey Marley got adopted and so did Tasha so here are my new kids:

A few days ago I got this email outta nowhere:

Hi there.  I stumbled across your site, and I would like to talk to you.  You seem to be a bit of a smartass (not that I would know ANYTHING about that....).  I wondered where you are from, where you are at, what you are doing and so on.  It would be cool if you dropped me a line.  I chat on yahoo all the time.
 
Jim

If James had indeed bothered to hang around my site for more than two minutes, he just might have found the answers to these questions himself.  I also told him as much, not surprisingly he’s yet to have written back.

I’m personally not really interested in chatting with this lad, but just in case anyone else is his Yahoo handle is parker152.

There are no nude photos of Toccara Jones on this site, or quite possibly any site.  I know it's devastating but just try to go on with your life.