I was absolutely, positively not worried about Mother's surgery. In fact to the point I thought something was wrong with me, but the truth was/and is that I trust Dr. Swartz implicitly -- it was in his hands.

Unfortunately I truly wasn't prepared for "after surgery".

Moments after my surgery the only pain I recalled was my back and the nausea from the anesthesia.  I swear once I got up to my room all I did was sleep till eleven at night, then the nurse had me get up and walk and I bounced outta bed.  Mainly I was just cranky to be stuck in the hospital and the bed bothered my back. When I got back to the hotel we never even bothered to fill my prescription for the liquid Lortab -- I honestly experienced hardly any pain.

But Mother was fit to be tied; she was restless and stubborn with her blood pressure shooting through the roof.  She was in an extreme amount of pain and discomfort.  I've seen this woman go through two separate total knee replacements -- she ain't no wuss.

She's hardly a few hours outta surgery and wants to sit up which right away Russ and say, "Whoa! Whoa!  I don't know if you should do that yet."  But she's uncomfortable, her back is killin her so the orderly gets in there and between the three of us we get all her apparatus to one side and help her up.  She did sit up very well for an old gal who just had one helluva major surgery, and that gave me a bit of comfort.  I kept reminding her to smack the pain button, in the hopes it would knock her out cuz that's just what she wanted.

Then we're introduced to drive-by nurse for the evening who says, "Hi", then breezes outta the room.  The way Mother was positioned Russ was concerned that under all the drugs she might not be aware of hurting her knees.  Drive by nurse takes a quick peek and says, "Oh she's on her side, that's a good position."  Then she went off to spread wisdom and joy elsewhere before her shift ended.

She was worthless, but we were very fortunate to have a very attentive orderly.  He was always in there checkin on her, because he knew she was havin some difficulty.

But I just felt helpless and guilty as all get out.  I said that the surgery part itself never bothered me much.  And there's nothing I can do to make it better.  Usually it's whip outta book, run to the drugstore, prop her legs up, rub cream on her back.  There was nothing I could do to just poof make it all better.

She was so bloody determined to sit up all the time.  Well this meant that the compression booties had to be taken off.  Well then when she chose to lay back down we gotta go find someone to get 'em back on -- unless of course everyone is down with blood clots.

I guess several times it looked as though I was about to burst into sobs.  There was a nice lady waitin on her friend, she must have noticed this cuz she kept pattin me on the back and trying to reassure me.

In one sense I wanted to stay there, in fact I felt it was my duty.  Make sure she's comfortable and make sure some damn nurse is paying attention.  Then again I was also literally coming outta my skin and just needed to leave.

I' m serious.  There was this gaggle of ill-behaved Asian children who seemingly kept multiplying out of nowhere.  I was ready to start chuckin Asian kids through 3 story windows.  In fact, work me up enough and I can chuck 'em through 3 story windows on ground level -- that takes talent.  At one point I said, "Jesus! There's more of 'em?"  Russ tried to tell me to shhhh, but I said, "It's not like they speak English anyway."

My darling Judith asked me the other day, "Can I have just two weeks without some needy sick person depending on me?"

I laughed at her and said, "Good luck!"

I'm getting really tired and snappish and Mother, it doesn't help that my period is scheduled to start any second now.  I do feel bad because I know she's just scared.

Then we got Russ here who can't even figure out how to turn on the damn lamp in the hotel room.  This most assuredly is not rocket science.

Oh I just want this to all be over with.

Onna brighter note: The Residence Inn here is really bitchin.  I mean we even have a fireplace.  Although who really needs a fireplace in Fresno?

I dunno if this was annoying, a lil forward and rather pushy, but while Mother was pre-registering yesterday I honed in onna guy who I'd seen in the meeting at Dr. Felix's.  He was a big guy like I was and also in one of those electric wheelchair dealies.  I just kinda plopped down beside him and shared that Dr. Felix operated on me nearly a year in a half ago.  Anyways he seemed to feel comfortable and asked me a lot of questions which I was happy to answer, plus I was able to give him and his wife some more hotel information. 

I' m certainly never the type to run up to someone on the street and say, "Say, ever heard of gastric bypass?"  How incredibly tacky, but I swear there are folks who do this.  It's such an unbelievably personal decision.

Anyways I just hope I was able to give him some needed info and help him out without being shockingly pushy or annoying.

There’s no real reason why I’ve chosen that particular spot – just do.  

I find myself saying all the time in my head, “I love you Allie.”  Not loved, love; like I’m actually talking to him.

I was actually able to laugh today.  My therapist gave me this neat Native American quote about death:


A very beautiful poem, but as I was thinking about it today I realized that Allie was a bit of a cranky and whiny puss – he’d be purty pissy if we didn’t grieve for him.  In fact, if we didn’t, I truly believe he would come back and haunt us and keep peeing on the carpet; only this time it’s Blessed Holy Pee.  Where ever he is, he would be pleased to know that I am prostrate with grief.  

My therapist said that Allie and Byron are probably up there comparing notes right now:

ALLIE: I used to make her watch me eat every time.

BYRON: Really?  I used to make her get up at three in the morning just to carry me outside to go potty.

ALLIE:  Wow, I’m impressed.  Did you get your saline bag heated also?

BYRON:  What? I didn’t know they could be heated.  That stuff was damn cold.

And ol’ Al just looks smug.

I love you Allie.

After Allie had gone he was so warm; in fact he seemed to have even heated up.

I coulda sworn I heard him today; felt him jump on the bed and see his lil snaky tail everywhere.

I’m struggling to beat back the overwhelming sense of irrationality.  For instance: Selling one of my kidneys in order to procure $32,000 to have Allie cloned.  It wouldn’t be him though, just a look-alike.

I just wanna hit the floor, beat my fists and throw one helluva tantrum.  

I made the final decision; I’m the one who signed his death warrant and I’m the one who held him when he went – I did this so, for once in my life, I couldn’t blame it on anybody else.

I ache for him.  If he were here now he’d be curled up by my desk.

I thought yesterday would never end, I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to make it and now that it’s over it seems so very far away.

I feel more relief than I could ever feel yesterday, yet now that I do all I can feel is guilty about it.  What can ya do?  

I just wish I had a signed in blood and notarized guarantee that Allie knew I loved him more than anything else on this Earth.

About eight years ago my Mother was living alone in St Louis, and after being in a house with family and two Siamese cats she was mighty lonely.  Our hairdresser (Yes Mother made trips back to Kansas to get her hair done) had a friend with two cats named Kate and Allie.  Unfortunately for the last two years they had been virtually prisoners in the basement while the house was being renovated, and their owner's job description had changed so now he traveled most of the time.  Our hair dresser felt this situation was inhumane so she kept a picture of Kate and Allie on her mirror and would tell their story to all her clients.

Oh yeah, she knew Mom was a softy and would snap 'em up inna heartbeat.  I was against it and felt these cats had probably become feral, and would never adjust to her.  Fortunately Mother ignored the crap outta me and took 'em.

Allie is an enormous beautiful cat, with green almond shaped eyes, grey and black tiger stripes and a freckle on his nose.  Kate was smaller with lil white feet -- she would walk around as if on her tip toes.  I called her Lil Diddums.

For the first week Allie hid under the bed and then started to come around.  It took Kate a lil longer, but one night while Mother was sitting at her computer she felt something rub up against her legs.  She reached down to pet her and Kate made a lil chirpy sound and stood on her hind legs to meet Mom's hands.  

Unfortunately Kate had health problems.  There would be days where she would puke over 20 times.  You could go out for a day, come back and the living room looked like a mine field.  We took her to the vets and had every known test run on her.  They never could figure out the problem and actually said, "We've helped you people enough." Then cut us off.

Two years down the line after moving to another apartment in St Louis just six weeks prior, Mother has a new job in sunny California.  I have to go back to Kansas and consolidate cats.  By this time Kate's brain was a lil fried and we were certain she could never get along with the cats at home.  After all, her and Allie fought all the time.  

I don't lie very often.  One I'm not good at it and two there just doesn't seem to be a point.  Kate is one of the very few things in my life I lie about, but I'll tell you the truth.  Between her puking and increasingly erratic behavior I honestly didn't even think she'd make the 4 1/2 hour trip back to Kansas.  I should've been the one to put her down, but my cat at home that I had since 9 just died of kidney failure and I lacked the courage to go through it again.  Instead I took her to a shelter and left her -- knowing she had never let another person besides Mother and I touch her.

That night I squalled like a mashed cat.  I cried non-stop from evening to five in the morning.  All I wanted to do was run back to that shelter and bring her home.  

Although Allie had grown accustom to us, he never was big on the lovey dovey stuff.  Oh sure he would sit next to ya and hang, but he was never a lap cat and still was a bit standoffish.  That fateful night I was sitting in front of the computer, staring at the screen with tears streaming down my cheeks.  There was a barstool beside me because Allie liked to hop up and sit next to ya, and that night was no exception.  As I sat there I felt a furry paw on my leg and it was Allie stepping off the barstool to sit in my lap.  

He's been my feller ever since and sat on my lap while we drove cross country to here from Kansas.  We sit and have complete conversations.  When he's snugglin with me and I coo at him Mother calls it, "The mutual admiration society."  I call him my Hunny Bunny Sugar Booger.

Two years ago, late at night, Dad and I heard this distressed meow.  Well it certainly wasn't Allie, he was asleep.  There is a wild cat that hangs around our house, known as White Cat, but its meow is barely above a squeak and this was rather vocal.  So we turn on the light, look outside and find a lil tortoise shell kitty.  I went outside to talk to her and she was just as sweet and friendly as one could be, not even remotely scared.  I gave her a lil food and water and that seemed to satisfy her.  The next night she came back, and the next and the next.  There are tons of wild cats around here and she just didn't fit the mold.  For the next two weeks I combed the lost and found ads and asked around the neighborhood, but came up with zilch.

Now Allie is a persnickety old fart and likes to be the only one.  As much as I love cuddlin the kitties at Petsmart I know I could never bring one home cuz he'd be pissy.  But this cat was different.  At first sight, of course, Al hissed at her but instead of retaliating she just backed away and said, "Oooo?"  Truth be told, she was madly in love with Al and just thought he was beautiful.

Well time passes and sometimes I let her in the house for the afternoon. I also start callin her Molly cuz she needs a name right?  The rainy season is upon us so we set up a lil cozy place for her in the garage.  But on those cold stormy days I just couldn't stand her bein out in that cold garage and would always big her indoors.  She loved hangin with folks, incredibly respectful of The Boss and was a lap cat.  Because if I ever had a complaint about Al it was that he wasn't much for gettin on yer lap.  One rainy night she was curled up in Mom's bed and then... She sneezes.  Mother quickly begins to fuss and says that we can't put her back out in that garage tonight cuz she'll catch a cold.  Needless to say Molly has never seen the garage since.

I never have forgiven myself for Kate and I probably never will, but I do feel that saving Molly was a bit of atonement.  And we always like to think that Molly is the reincarnation of Kate.

Last night I kept thinking of the silliest things: I should’ve taken more pictures; I should clean his water dish but I didn’t have the strength, yet once he was gone I knew I wouldn’t be able to do it.  Allie always had his lil rituals: He’d stick his paw in the water dish till it made the glub glub sound he liked, then there would be lil wet paw prints all across the hardwood floor.  Although we had a water filtration system it didn’t take into account that his feet would always be in it, thus I would have to clean it out for him as he preferred his water pristine.  

Towards the end I started to nickname Sir Winksalot, but now I wish I could hear him wink one more time.

A year ago Allie was diagnosed with kidney disease; they would slowly diminish and finally shutdown altogether.  To slow this process we gave him subcutaneous fluids every night for three months.  But in the past few days he began to vomit and lost his appetite.

This morning we went to the vet’s and brought him a can of tunafish – his favorite.  He lapped up his favorite meal, we pet and loved on him.  Then I held him in my arms while the doctor put the injection into his IV. He jerked because he always hated feeling of sedation and then went limp.  I asked, “Is he gone?” The doctor checked his heart and said that he was. I buried my face in his fur, rocked him back and forth and said, “My lil guy.”  Mom cried, Russ cried, the doctor cried – we all did.  I held him for a lil bit while he was still warm, and then Russ laid his body on the table.

I think I need to add one more to my definition of love list: Love is also the willingness to bear a loss, and love is also the bravest one can do as we know one day they’ll be gone.

The older I get the more I realize the idea of a soulmate isn’t necessarily a significant other that you poke onna regular basis.  I pity the people who stumble through life waiting and searching for that musical cue, locked gaze and that one person who will make your life complete.  They’ve based their happiness on this unattainable idea, and so they moan and groan through life that love for them is forever elusive – ignoring what may be directly under their noses.

I loved my Grandpa madly but bless him; he based his happiness on others and their actions.  It’s a wonder he was so depressed throughout his life.  I admit at times I’m guilty of the same, but there’s a difference between loving someone and depending on them solely for your satisfaction in life.

I believe there’s deeper feeling for love of one’s child, parent, sibling, friend, etc.  Certainly the bond between a Mother and her child is a nearly impossible relationship to uproot.

What is love?  The serenity I feel when curled up in bed with Mom.  The tolerance for Allie’s many eccentricities such as I have to watch him eat and his pissing on the carpet.  The sacrifice I make every night I stick a needle under his skin to give him fluids.  Later when he’s feeling less fussy I tell him that as incredible as it sounds, I hate it more than he does, but I do this because I love him.  Love ya madly; Need ya badly.

Mother seems to think she can drive back after her surgery.  Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope!  Not happenin; you’re sitting in the backseat with your legs up.  And since you managed to weasel out of those air compression devices, you’re still getting the compression stockings.  I snap because I love.  Love ya madly; Need ya badly.

Bless Russ’s heart, there are times I’d like to kill him onna daily basis, but that also proves when you feel so strongly about someone’s actions you love ‘em madly; need ‘em badly.  

Although I have little faith in religion, I still try and listen because I realize how much it means to him.  Instead of beating him over the head with a blunt object for leaving the lids of the jar of peanut butter and jelly, I compose myself and patiently ask him to do so.  Why? Because I know if ever a crisis or terror he’s the first on the scene to protect me.  Love ya madly; Need ya badly.

When I learned my best friend Snookie had found a man who shared my feelings in believing she was the best person ever; my heart filled with glee and not an ounce of jealousy.  Why would there be? Love ya madly; Need ya badly.

How bout the pride I feel when I see my cousin growing from a boy to a spectacular young man?  And the need I feel to protect him from harm. Love ya madly; Need ya badly.

I don’t believe love should include doubt and anguish.  I didn’t say it was easy, there must always be compromise, but in the end there will be nothing left but tranquility and certainty.  


Love is tolerant
Love is sacrifice
Love is serene
Love is patient
Love is unselfish
Love is forgiving
Love is comfort
Love is boundless
Love is unconditional
Love is transcendent

Finally!  I  got my damn list.  Now let us proceed.

                                                                                                                                                    

I'll be seeing you in every lovely summer's day	In everything that's light and gay
I'll always think of you that way	I'll find you in
The morning sun	And when the night is new
I'll be looking at the moon	And I'll be seeing you...

So I never get to talk anymore on ObesityHelp – doesn’t matter what I say.  And all this over changing my handle to Pope Square Pants I.

I made a post to the following thread:  http://www.obesityhelp.com/morbidobesity/amosforums/wls_singles/postdetail/7981.html?vc=0  As I saw the other replies being pathetic and whiny over never finding that true love.  *rolls eyes*  Anyway my reply was smashing and simply a list defining love.  It’s just as much my fault for not saving it to my hard drive, because as sure as the sun will rise it never bloody showed up.

I worked hard on that; even had a deep conversation with my Dad about it.  I’d love to elaborate on it, however my mind races a mile a second and if I don’t quickly get my thoughts down on or recorded, I’m more than likely screwed.  Now if they do become recorded then it’s automatically erased in my brain to make room for new fodder and what not.

I’ve written the “Member Services” numerous times and even the gal who started the thread to no avail.  I hope they all die.

Oh by the way Obesityhelp.com makes at least 1.5 million from the surgeons who are listed with their site.  This amount doesn’t even include the income from advertising.  I have documented proof that they charge surgeons $997 a year for a premium membership and $847 quarterly for a forum membership.  A couple nights ago one of the “Member Services” posted about how you could help this site out by clicking on banner advertisements, shopping at their store or donating to the site.  Even though my posts never show I asked this question anyway: “Isn’t it also true you charge surgeons $997 a year for a premium membership and $847 quarterly for a forum membership?  And are plastic surgeons subject to the same fee?”  By morning the thread was gone.

So why dontcha wander on over there and ask ‘em about it.

My therapist’s dog Byron (a sweet ol Pekinese with spunk and a tude to match) passed away Wednesday.  She asked which one of us deserved the award for worse day ever.  I said that hands down the award went to her although I dunno if it’s something be happy about.

A moment of silence for sweet lil bug-eyed Byron.

My first driving lesson was death and carnage free.  Course we just drove around the rural streets of the neighborhood.  There were a few times where I completely spazzed out and put on the brakes where as the teacher said, “Ok, we need to get going now as this is incredibly dangerous."  At one point *gasp* I reached speeds of up to 30 miles an hour – my pants weren’t even wet afterwards.

I have trouble combining all the steps, ie: turn on signal, look at all the mirrors, check the blind spot then go.  There were a few times he had to slam on the brakes.  Still he was a very patient man and restrained from beating me with a heavy blunt object.  In turn I managed to steer the car more to the left so’s the plants wouldn’t scratch up his car.

In the very beginning I turn out of our driveway and, “Oh dear God!  It’s a UPS guy!”  Later on I became a bit more comfortable at passing cars and here came that UPS guy again.  “Oh no!  It’s that UPS guy again!”  I bet he’s saying, “Oh crap! It’s that gurl again!”

Halfway into the session he says, “Well we’re halfway done.”  

“Shit!  That’s all?”  So we parked and took a lil break.  I was considering wimpin out and going back home, instead after about five minutes I started the car again and proceeded.

I still can’t say for certain if I can do this, but I do have more confidence than before. *thumbsup*

After such a stressful day a gurl needs a snuggle from Ma then a nap.  I woke up from my nap to find Mother rolling around on the bathroom floor.  She wasn’t hurt, but had slipped off the bed.  Getting Mother off the floor is a trial indeed.  The weight factor is obvious, but she cannot get on her knees, not only that but they’re in very bad shape as of now and she can barely move ‘em, plus she has absolutely no upper body strength.

We managed a plethora of failures for about an hour.  I suggested 911 but she was too embarrassed and mortified and begged me not to.  I told her she was lucky I couldn’t drive yet as I’d hop in the car and just leave her there.  Finally we get Dad up and he jimmy-rigs a way to get her back on her feet.  What a Xanax filled day.  

The next day our housekeeper came over and we went through the dreaded Tupperware pantry.  Three full bags of Tupperware for the recycle bin and there’s still a ton of it.  I’m considering hiring out a hit man to off the person who invented this vile food keeping device.  Life in plastics is certainly not fantastic.

Yes Howard Keel my new pretend boyfriend of the week who also happens to be dead.  I was watching Kiss Me Kate last night, as ol’ Howard was serenading the unimpressed Kate I added, “Didn’t you check out my package?” And my goodness when that lad turned around in his tight tights; baby got back.

I also have another favorite show and this pretend boyfriend just happens to be living.  Joel McHale from The Soup; *tear* I love that show.

Oh I forgot to add this the other day: Now that Tiger Woods has won yet another Masters he can go home to his vacant eyed Swedish Barbie Doll of a wife and give her a nice poke while wearing all four green Masters’ jackets.

ME: Cries of joy fill throughout the world as we learn Britney Spears is indeed pregnant.

MOM: Well there’s another hairball in the gene pool.

Which means in about four minutes I have to go drive.

Seriously, just consider it: A yearly salary of $1.5 million.  First of all who makes a $1.5 yearly salary?  Well doctors certainly, and some lawyers it all depends on the area of expertise.  Celebrities, movie stars, blah blah.  Some real estate agents do very well for themselves.  Others own businesses, hotels, casinos; owning entire shopping malls perhaps.  Oil definitely.  Bill Gates is doing very well for himself, as are other CEO’s of different software and hardware companies; although not even remotely as well as Bill.

Websites though, they can’t possibly be making that much, especially if they don’t have a product to sell and must rely on advertising alone.

So what would you do for $1.5 million a year?  Who do you believe makes $1.5 million in a year – besides lottery winners of course. It has to be an actual job, you just can’t sit about or take a world cruise – you must work for it.

Tomorrow I’ll have my first driving lesson.  For some reason I thought sure it was on Thursday.  I’m hoping for a bout of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome tonight.  Ya never know when SIDS could strike.

The day started out painfully annoying; crankiness as far as the eye could see.  And now?  I sit here with my mouth slightly agape with a tad bit of drool rolling down my chin.

Ya ever noticed that Blog Critic button over yonder?  Well I wrote a couple of critiques; one being my beloved book A Treasury of Royal Scandals.

You’ll never guess what the hell just happened.  Seriously, go on, try it!

The author just wrote me.

In your face you bitch from Alexandria, Virginia!

Alright, it’s not exactly an attack but a negative response, still I quiver with delight.  Everyone wave to IP: 69.143.44.110  otherwise known as Alexandria, Virginia.  Admittedly I can’t quite figure out who this person is.  But I ask you this: If someone so clearly dislikes me, why would they spend countless hours (and I mean countless; we’re over the 24 hour mark here people) on my website?

Aren’t website trackers neat?

Oh but where are my manners?  Here is the aforementioned comment.

I guess you’re supposed to make a fancy original design that’s appealing to the eye, but I just want to write.

My writing is involuntary, like the beating of my heart: my constant erection. –The Marquis De Sade, From Quills

According to my site tracker I have folks from the federal government and Washington DC who frequent my site.  What better venue then to discuss my theory on how to correctly counterfeit money.

First of all you can’t possibly counterfeit the new dollar today to perfection.  You’ve got the paper, that lil tracking device, all them lil numbers and the watermark.  It’s hopeless.  Get over it.  You’re a stupid greedy bastard for believing you can counterfeit fives, tens, twenties or if you’re a complete jackass; hundreds.

If you can actually manage a decent counterfeit, which I dunno, maybe it’s possible; please to tell what exactly you paid for all the damn equipment to make counterfeit money with.

Now if I wasn’t so worthless and lazy, here’s what I would do:  It won’t even remotely make you a millionaire, but overnight millionaires tend to send up several red flags anyway.  You can’t live inna trailer and become the proud owner of a brand new yacht.  So not a get rich quick scheme, but it could make you a bit more comfortable.

Are ya ready?

Counterfeit one dollar bills.  They’re the only money that’s yet to have all this tracking crap on it, and who would really care?  It’s just a damn one dollar bill.  A few here, a few there.  I’m telling ya, you’d skate right under their noses.

Last week Mother and I watched Mad TV.  The opening was a parody of a commercial for those annoying lil alarms you attach to doors and they squeal at you.  The best part was the hocker of this product was incredibly Australian. The barrage of screeching phrases all in an incredibly Australian accent was absolute chaos and bloody hysterical -- ever since I’ve been trying to teach Mother Australian.

She tries a phrase or two, but fails miserably.  “You have to speak through your nose.” I told her.  Her next attempt is a bit better by I suggest, “Try to sound a bit less educated.”  Still having trouble I explain, “Look an Australian accent is merely the melding of a Kansas and English accent.”

And now she has it down pat.

Theories abound.

I’m not the kinda gurl who always believes men get a free ride.  However, if I had a penis I believe people would be more apt to accept me.  Not that I have penis envy, I’d just like a detachable one.  Remember that song?  Detachable Penis.  Like Superman I duck into a phone booth or alley and emerge with a bulge in my pants announcing, “I have an opinion and also a penis.”  To be followed by many Oooos and Ahhhhs.  In fact I could even use it as a gag at parties; stick the detachable penis in my eye socket and say, “Crap! Poked my damn eye out!”

Alas no penis; detachable or not.  Well there’s the cute factor.  It’s impossible to be respected and purty at the same time.  So perhaps I should opt for a reverse facelift and dye my hair a depressing shade of brown.  Uglier gals, like feminists, seem to have an easier time voicing strong opinions without an immediate stoning.

The fat obstacle will never do.  It just doesn’t matter who you are; I’m better off being a drug addict.

There’s also the glaring reality that in some venues of life I’m completely fearless.  While I may be an absolute pussy in others I make up for it by not caring about society’s views.  I’m painfully honest and don’t care if it upsets people on multiple levels.  Unlike everyone else in the world I allow my skeletons to roam free as opposed to being stuck in the dank closet, and even on special occasions I allow folks to play with ‘em.  This can also be summed up as envy.

Oh and one more thing: Yes I’m also completely and undeniably selfish, but I think I should receive points for at least being honest about it.  I do care about a few folks on this planet and sometimes empathy for the forlorn rears its ugly head, but for the most part I don’t give a crap about anyone else.  It’s not hatred, just merely indifference.  The salivating mob brandishing pitchforks has the same effect on me as does the mob delivering tissues and hugs – I find no discernable difference in the two.  Don’t take it personally, I’ve just never been one for groups or ever had the ability to juggle a gaggle of friends.  

What can I say?  Alone time rocks and perhaps this is why.

I’ve been reading about the Plantagenets, but admittedly I’m stuck.  For nearly a week I’ve been avoiding the book, The Three Edwards by Thomas Costain.  There’s no denying it, Edward II was a piss poor king at best; in fact he made Henry III look competent.  Edward the Poof could kindly be referred to as slow.  He was boorish, uncivil, and made poor choices in his advisor and companions.  If it weren’t for royalty, Edward II would have made a superb jester. It’s easy to hate him simply for the way he treated Isabella and how he never carried out his Father’s (Edward I, Edward the Great) wishes after his death.

But did he truly deserve such a brutal and grizzly demise?  So here I sit, reluctant to read about Edward the Poof’s gruesome ending

 I’m about to lose control and I think I like it!  For the proper effect try to imagine the cartoon character Droopy singing this.

Well… There are things to be done.  Mother once again has a surgery date for Gastric Bypass: April 28^th.  She’ll take all her pre-op tests on the 26^th.  This means we’ll be driving over there on the 25^th, thus leaving the 24^th for packing, checking last minute items etc.

*sigh*

Happy Birthday to me
Happy Birthday to me
Happy Birthday dear me
Happy Birthday to me

Yes, it’s incredibly selfish but you can’t stop me.

Things that need to be done:

Book hotel room
Find Mother compression stockings
Gather vitamins, protein drinks etc.
Laundry and packing
Go buy carpet remnants
Get enough medical supplies for Allie for at least two weeks – yes he’s actually coming with us.  I can’t leave him here and I won’t board him.
Pack for Allie
Figure out driving situation as I’m sure I’ll still be incredibly inept in that area.
Probably have to change the stupid cell phone plans
See if we can rent a recliner for our stay
Oh cancel my doctor’s appointment for the 25^th

I’m sure there’s so much more to add to the list.

Ya know, I love sleep but that only means when I wake up I’ll be one more day closer to this oncoming train wreck.

If it’s 2005 then why do they call it the 21^st century?  If it was 355 why did they call it the 4^th century?

Mom explains, “Because the first century started 1-99 A.D.”

Ooooooooh.

Yes I am an idiot.  Pass it on.  

It’s some sort of option on this site and has something to do with syndication.  I clicked on it once and all I got was the HTML page.  Is it supposed to do that?  I dunno, didn’t seem right to me so I turned it off.  However everybody keeps suggestion you add your RSS feed to search engines.  

While I’m at it; what the hell are trackbacks?

If someone out there can explain this to me in English I’d be eternally grateful, or at least for the next five minutes.

If you read my entry about Hypatia, and if you didn’t you should be bitch slapped, then you’ve already experienced a sample of Elbert Hubbard.  This is my new pretend boyfriend of the week, although it’s unfortunate that he’s long since been dead, but then again perhaps dead boyfriends are the best.

Note: Don’t wig out; this is in no way a relation L. Ron Hubbard.  I know, I was scared too, but then it dawned on me that Scientology has nothing to do about the truth.

Elbert Hubbard and his wife perished on the Lusitania, but before this he published more than seven million words and founded the Roycroft Press who are still around to this day.  He had written many an essay and short stories but was having great difficulty in getting them published.  So he said, “Fuck you very much,” and started his own.

I’ll have to raid Amazon for some of his compositions, but for now here are some quotes to tide you over.

A conservative is a man who is too cowardly to fight and too fat to run.

A pessimist? That's a person who has been intimately acquainted with an optimist.

An idea that is not dangerous is unworthy to be called an idea at all.

Die, v.: To stop sinning suddenly.

He who does not understand your silence will probably not understand your words.

If you can't answer a man's arguments, all is not lost; you can still call him vile names.

It's pretty hard to be efficient without being obnoxious.

Live truth instead of professing it.

Responsibility is the price of freedom.

So long as governments set the example of killing their enemies, private individuals will occasionally kill theirs.

To avoid criticism, do nothing, say nothing, and be nothing.

This will never be a civilized country until we spend more money for books than we do for chewing gum.

There is something that is much more scarce, something finer far, something rarer than ability. It is the ability to recognize ability.

The greatest mistake you can make in life is continually fearing that you'll make one.

Life is just one damned thing after another.

Fuck you.

The absolutely convoluted ideas of grammar according to Microsoft boggle the mind.  I swear this program was devised by a busload of illegal immigrants dodging the border police.

I miss that one guy.  No, not him – the other guy.  

I fell in love once with a guy who was a . . . musician. *hanging my head in shame*  I know I know, but do try to remember that I make the poorest of choices.  That was more than eight years ago and I haven’t talked to him in ages, and despite it all, I still miss him.  Isn’t that funny?

When I was in ninth grade I was placed in a behavior disorder class simply because it was the only possible way to get me to school.  Fourteen years old and 300 pounds, would you wanna go to class?  But the BD class was great, there were perhaps four students in there tops.  I had the delightful pleasure of sharing this tiny insignificant class with one of the most fun guys ever.  *fanning self* Not only that but he was smart to boot.  What the hell was he doing stuck in that class?  I dunno, why the hell was I there?

I’ll never forget the day he introduced me to Monty Python.  He absolutely could not believe I’d never heard of the infamous Parrot Sketch.  It was one those days where there was absolutely nothing to be done; boredom would’ve engulfed us all if Kevin hadn’t come to our rescue.  He proceeded to perform the entire script from Monty Python’s The Holy Grail.  It was spectacular; he could mimic an English accent like no other.  To this day even the movie itself has never made me laugh so hard than his own interpretation.

He later dropped out of high school and virtually vanished off the Earth.  The last I heard he was working onna shark boat in the Gulf of Mexico, but even that was nearly nine years ago. It wouldn’t surprise me to learn that he was dead now.

But what a way to gurl’s heart eh?