I'm mean and not gonna tell you right now because I can finally take my pain medication now that my dinner's gone down.  Yes I'm no longer terrified of food. 

But seriously, you'll never guess what I learned today; completely floored me and then of course I got pissed.  Anyways I promise to tell ya tomorrow when I'm pain free.

If I wasn’t stuck on the toilet I’d totally be out there kicking your ass.  Huh, maybe all those lil floaters are all my medications zippin on through.  That would explain why I’ve yet to have any relief in my back or abdomen.

Dr. Swartz wasn’t in today so I got to see the pretend surgeon.  First of all, if I hadn’t mentioned the bruising, tightness and pain he never woulda looked at my incisions.  As long as I’ve been going there they use staples on your incision to stop ya up.  Do I have staples?  Do I need something removed?  Would anyone like to share any information with me?  So according to play surgeon those bruises and pain are normal.  When we asked how long the pain would last he said that it’d be anywhere from a few weeks to months.  If you recall (or your own surgery for that matter) I never had much pain and Mother’s went away in just a few days.  Mine pulls on the incisions every step I take; it hurts to bend over, it hurts to reach for something, blah blah blah.  

When it came to the nutritional questions Dr. “I pooped my pants” was completely lost.  

DR. DILDO: Oh no, lots of people have trouble with dairy products.  You were lactose intolerant before right?

ME: No

DR. DILDO: Oh… ummm…  Well you should be fine then or wait and see. *thumbsup*

ME: Is fiber no longer encouraged?  Can I have cooked vegetables or salads?

DR. DILDO: Oh well lots of patients have trouble with salads after this surgery.  If it can’t be digested it’ll just pass on through undigested.  Could you eat salads before?

ME: Yes

DR. DILDO: Oh well I’m sure it will be fine then or maybe you should test it out.

ME: I have a common channel of 100cm; I originally had a 150 cm bypass, so how much small intestines do I have bypassed now?

DR. DILDO: Oh ummm, let’s see.  Well there’s 8 feet of small intestines so that would make it… No that’s not right…

ME: There’s 12

DR. DILDO: Right so 12 feet that would be ummm… 6 feet, 6 feet you had bypassed.

What a moron; let’s play the round it off game and we have 365 cm in 12 feet.  Now let’s all add 150 to 100.  I dunno about you all but my calculator says 250.  Actually I have about 3 ft of intestines left and about 9 ft bypass, or 265 cm bypassed.

I went on to ask him about the constant gas, both belching and down under, and he said that was totally normal with this surgery too.  He actually went through this lil spiel about how gas is just a part of surgery; it was so darling.  So apparently I’m supposed to expect and get bloating, constant gas pain, belching; even from drinking water.  Yeah you heard me; I have all these symptoms after just drinking water.

I finally made him piss his pants and run off, mumbling something about getting Dr. Swartz.  Dr. Swartz wasn’t in the office today; there was no schedule for him to be in the office today.  By this time I turned over and faced the wall.  I overheard his conversation with Dr. Felix out in the hall (I don’t eavesdrop, I’m just an excellent listener); he mentioned me having diarrhea more than 8 times a day and Dr. Felix replied, “Oh no, that’s not good at all.”  Then he completely changed subjects and was talking about how Dr. Dildo liked Fresno and his wife back in Arizona, probably something about golf.  Oh the laughter and the tee hee hees.  

Dr. Dildo prescribed 4 Imodium Advanced a day and more if needed.  On our way out we met up with Dr. Felix in the hallway, all I could think is that if he has any inkling in that smarmy brain of his he will not say a word to me.  Instead he was a moron and said, “Oh hey, how you doin?”  I just hissed at him.  He was bumfuzzled for a moment but then got all uppity and was demanding to know what I said to him to which I replied, “I didn’t say anything to you; I hissed at you.”  Goddamn short lil kike doctor.  I’m beginning to think there was excellent reasoning behind everyone trying to wipe out the Jews, or at least kick ‘em outta their country, for the past couple millennia.

So we’re staying another night and supposed to see Dr. Swartz tomorrow.  

Oh wait I forgot to tell you the funny part!  I weighed 329 for my pre-op appt; the next day in the hospital I weighed 321 (same type of scales and wearing the same exact clothes); this morning I weighed 326; I couldn’t help but laugh when I stepped off the scales.  

By the way, Mother made me some real food because prior I was refusing to eat anything, but I figured if I was to eat and shit it back out it may as well be damn good.  So she made some mashed potatoes with turkey burger crumbled up in some gravy.  Twenty minutes later it was banging on the door to be released, and this was after I had taken all my pills plus the Imodium Advanced before I ever ate.

What idiot would have a revision of the same surgery that managed to ruin their life three years prior?

I’M THAT IDIOT!

No real surprise there.  

Once again the nurses were absolutely fabulous.  There was this sweet anesthesiologist nurse.  The day before it had occurred to me folks in the medical professional that I liked and admired had seen me naked.  This was a very disturbing thought.  It worse when the whole idea of the catheter came about, however this gal was cool and sweet I decided it to allow her to get to third base with me.  It was kinda funny, I didn’t count but I had the oxygen mask on and the anesthesiologist was doin his thing.  She tells her patients to imagine a wonderful dream.  Which she did, but you know me; I’m lying there and I said, “I’m not asleep yet.”  

COOL NURSE: In just a couple seconds you will be.  There we go.  Goodnight Sweetheart.  

It’s true things were getting mildly fuzzy but…

ME: I’m still not asleep.

COOL NURSE: Have a wonderful dream.

ME: I can’t, I still not asleep.

And that’s the last thing I remember.  By the way, everyone was incredibly nice towards me during the day of surgery because I couldn’t stop crying.  They’re rolling me down the hall; I’m staring up at the ceiling thinking of that David Gray song The One I Love:


Now I’m Leakin Life Faster than I’m Leakin Blood
Tell the Reaper Man
And the Stars Above
That You’re the One I Love

It’s actually Tell the Repo Man, but this song has either been used or was originally meant for Laguna Beach.  So change a few words and it actually becomes a much cooler song.

Anyways I’m getting tired so I’ll to tell you all about the surgery and the hospital later; right now we have to get to the reason why I’m on here in the first place.

Things need to be written before they’re forgotten.  Although… there is that story about my raging panic attack and how they wheeled me off for a few tests to which I’ve yet to see the results from (However I’m sure we’ll see the bill. Looks like Clovis will be getting more than just $12,000 – good for them).  Bleh, and my roommate who constantly moaned; loud, not pleasurable but I’m dying type of moan.  It totally kicked ass, but I’ll write about that later.

Unfortunately I was treated and given instructions for a RNY gastric bypass patient.  Yeah these really don’t apply to me; my pouch and stoma weren’t even touched.  When I first got to my room the nurse gave me some ice chips then said I could move up to water but I’d have to sip.  She also gave me a one ounce cup to remind me of my pouch size.  All surgeons will tell you that your pouch will expand to 2 to 3 ounces or a bit more depending on your situation – it’s normal.  I don’t guzzle water anymore, but I pretty much drink fairly normal and like I used to.

ME: But I had a revision and they didn’t even touch the pouch.

NURSE: Well we don’t want you taxing the small intestine they moved.

Dr. Swartz honest to God told me I could have solid food by my second day, which of course floored me.

ME: Huh? You mean mushy type solid food right?

DR. SWARTZ: No I mean solid, solid type food.

ME: Seriously?

DR. SWARTZ: If mushy solids will make you feel comfortable I have no problem with you trying that for a lil while.

ME: Well you are the surgeon here so I guess you know what you’re talking about.

First day was liquids; it’s what Dr. Swartz said so I was expecting it.  Second was also liquids – huh.  This surgery is less dangerous than the first, but they never took me off that fucking IV again until it was time to go home, and believe me when I say: I drank buckets.

During my discharge the surgeon doing his fellowship with Dr. Swartz and other guy told me I was to eat soft foods.  Huh?  My discharge papers said right on the top: Instructions for the RNY gastric bypass patient.  Yeah thanks.  

I’m also not sure if the blood clot was a big threat as it was for the bypass surgery.  Plus!  My lil incision in the middle of my abdomen has grown a bruise the size of Rhode Island.  I never ever got a bruise from my first surgery; got the pictures to prove it.  I also never had any incision pain.  Not only do I have incision pain now, but it’s also hard and painful around the incisions.  Is that normal?  Well I don’t have a fucking clue because noone has bothered to share much.

So for the last couple days I’ve been hanging out on the toilet shitting my brains out; all the weight loss in the world isn’t worth that.  Fortunately my Vicodin and muscle relaxers tend to work in my favor and turn off the faucet.  Besides drinking water my first day I ate ½ cup of lowfat, midget curd cottage cheese and a cup of cream of chicken soup.  Today I had the same amount of cottage cheese, a sugar free popsicle and 1 scrambled egg.  Totally badass foods eh?  I actually wouldn’t mind a popsicle now, but since I’ve taken my pills I’m scared to death to eat anything or even finish a bottle of water.  There are some fat free refried beans in there that I’m terrified to go near.  There’s oatmeal but I’m suddenly unsure of dairy products now.

It’s kinda like that old recycled joke I heard as a lil kid about a polish guy; as the years go by you just change the ethnicity.  So I guess we would use Muslims, Islamics or sand niggers.  Well probably not that last one, how bout this?

How do you make a terrorist nuts?

Tell him to go into a strip bar and find 77 virgins.

Ok that was mine, this one’s real now:

How do you make a terrorist go crazy?

Put him inna round room and tell him to pee inna corner.

I think I see how this surgery works now: I don’t want to live my life on the toilet so I become terrified.  I just went from Bulimic to Anorexic; I’m movin on up!

See you kids on the other side; I promise.

I got to meet Susan from soontobeanewme.blogspot.com She's totally cool and we had great fun chattin. 

Oh, you wanna know what we talked about eh?  Pffft!  Well ya better show up for our pow-wow next time.

It was supposed to be a post about the miracle of health insurance, a surgery date and the wonder of being with a 17 year old young man whose diapers you changed.  And the fun-filled irony of it all is that it still is, but bittersweet.  

We received a thumbsup from Pacific Care who had recently merged with United Health.  Mother has United Health and thus knew I was totally covered.  But too much medication, pain and anxiety created a wall of distrust.  It was Craig who jumped in and became mediator; reminding me that my Mother would always be my ally, and of course him too.  

I’ve been so reluctant to write about this.  I’m afraid if I slit myself wide open and break down the unimaginable gargantuan dam of denial, I’ll bleed dry.  

We’d always had fun during the Summers of past, but this time he was older, more cerebral.  He was so open with me and I was so touched and honored (even though that’s a bloody trite I just can’t think of anything else) that he trusted me so.  Suddenly I sat there across from my dream come true: A brother; a sibling you could talk to that noone would understand.

You recall my mentioning the online computer game he was having trouble with?  Well three weeks into his visit, and after he convinced me to buy a copy as well, I told him he could use my puter to play his account.  I assumed he’d pop on for a couple hours, say howdy and be done with it.

Life’s like an hourglass glued to the table.

I never saw him afterwards, he turned into somebody else.  Where had my boy gone?  Who loved to watch South Park, play with the cats or just roll around laughing so hard till we nearly choke to death?  He spent about 15 hours a day playing the game.

I was in full hissy mode.  

Over just a computer game?

No.  Ever since he was 12 he and we planned on him coming out here to go to college.  Two weeks into his visit while I was in Mother’s bedroom and he was in the living room, she let it out that he told her that he’d already been accepted at Emporia State.  The shock on my face and tears rolling down my cheeks quickly told her that he’d yet to share this with me.  I never said a word and a few days later in the middle of killing each other in Mario Kart he told me and I said that I already knew as Mother had told me.  He pointed out nothing’s final and he might change his mind, and I conceded that I understood how hard it would be to leave his Mother and Sister.  

Then there was silence and he said, “You know, we just had the bummer talk.”  We did what any upset and confused teenager and twenty-something year old does: We hopped in the SUV for a cupcake and potato chip run.

His last week with me.  His honest to God last week, you know he won’t be back last week, and the computer gets him.

We were supposed to drive back to Kansas, but Mother and I suddenly lost all enthusiasm.  In my vindictiveness I was determined to find a reasonable plane ticket, and of course I did.  It was clear he was disappointed our road trip was cancelled and then I just felt guilty about it.

A few days before his departure I sat next to him watching him play this game as if nothing else existed.  In full desperation mode and tears streaming down my cheeks I begged and pleaded.  Even in his supposed betrayal he was completely honest with me.  He knew he was completely addicted to this game and it was wonderful to retreat.  

He had promised to chat with me on the game, but the truth is he avoids and hides from me.  If I happen to catch him his replies are short and often curt, especially if I ask for help.  I stand there inna sea of 5 million accounts onna goddamn game I don’t care for, and there’s only one I care for but he won’t speak to me.

You see, in the end, he never stabbed me in the back; he stared straight into my eyes and stabbed me in the heart.  I’ve left it there because it’s all I have left of him.

It’s a strange and new emptiness I’ve never felt before.

My revision surgery is scheduled for the 14th.  I had decided to stop attacking my doctors, assuming wild conspiracies all against me, but a couple days ago I received a change to my insurance; completely changed.  Remember the joke of an insurance company I told ya about?  This is what my insurance is now.

Everyone’s tired of me and I can’t really blame them.  I’ve cried more the past couple years than I have in the last decade or more.  People tell me to stay positive and then they get this look on their face; that look people get when they desperately want you to leave the room.

Last night, while looking for my MP3 player charger, I was rolling around the cement floor of the computer room.  One of the stupidest things I could do but when I can’t find something I don’t worry about consequences like searing back pain the next day.  Spiders all over the floor and crawling in my hair and I could care less.  Once back in my chair sifting through papers and general junk it occurred to me what would've taken place if that was Craig in the living room as opposed to my Father and his mother.  First of all Craig would make me get up off the floor and then later would hold me down and pick every one of those spiders outta my hair even though he hates them.  Of course my waterworks start gushin at full blast then I over hear the lady, who’s my Grandmother through blood only, say, “I’m gonna go in and see what Brooke’s doin.”  Oh fuck, I’ve got to suck it up and dry my tears.  There was no need to bother, she was completely oblivious and thought I was playing on the computer.  She went on about how those things just scare her and then wandered back into the living were they commenced to talking about how gosh darn hard computers are.

I laughed and cried over the absolute absurdity of it all.

What a dominated fool to beleive you were the Earth and Sky.

How can someone soooo pessimistic always wind up being a naive optimist?

Tell me, how can that be possible.

Fuck you.

There I said it: Fuck you.  And it’s what I should’ve said in the doctor’s and therapist’s office but I was a lil blindsided.  I may like you and respect you and all that happy bullshit, but fuck you.

Now I’ve been telling you black assholes for months that I’m addicted to this goddamn stuff.  However I’ve been managing it and trying to ration the doses myself, but then ya fucked me in the ear by taking the Ultram away.  No I didn’t find the Ultram addictive at all; the best thing about it was that it extended the Vicodin’s life.  So instead of popping them every 2 to 3 hours I could hold out till 6 and sometimes 8.  

You bitch at me that 6 Vicodin are 3000 mg of acetaminophen, but guess what, I have taken that much in one day thanks to good ol’ over the counter Tylenol.  So whoopty shit!

The best part is they want to wean me off and learn to live with the pain.  Wow!  Really?  That sounds great!  Unimaginable pain that causes intense irrationality; well I don’t see how anything could possibly go wrong there.  Perhaps I’ll regularly visit a support group where a bunch of pussies sit around and talk about their feelings, or a bunch wetbacks sit around speaking Spanish – same thing really.  Do intelligent people actually buy into support groups?  I’d like to see the average I.Q. of a support groupie.  

So the drugs were supposed to be hidden and I was only to have my daily allowance; this never came to pass as I’ve yet to niggar in an extra pill.  Even Mother tried to force a couple extra down my throat when I was in agony and I told her to go fuck herself.  And yet after all this all my therapist can do is yammer on incessantly about addiction.  Uh huh, have you been paying attention to what I said to you?  Even after waking from a dream where someone was stabbing me in the middle of my shoulder blades with scissors only to find the pain was still there, and I still didn’t take a goddamn extra pill?  

Fuck yourself gently with a rusty chainsaw then learn to live with the pain.

You wanna talk about someone who needs help then let me introduce you to Martha Fucking Stewart on crack:  My Mother.

We’re having a party tomorrow for the pastor’s birthday and she has been at this thing for months; obsessing and doing way too much.  Think she’s ready yet?  Oh fuck no!  Because she keeps thinking of inane things to do at the last minute:  She bought this huge three gallon glass jar that has break me written all over it, and plans to fill it with homemade lemonade.  Wanna know how many lemons that took?  No you don’t.  I can’t tell you how much useless crap she’s bought just for this party.  Today she wants to go to the store and get raspberries.  Well I didn’t recall hearing that on the menu and thankfully she was insightful enough to order a damn cake.  So what are the raspberries for?  Oh she wants to make lil lemonade ice cubes with one raspberry inside each.  She’d already bought the ice cube trays – there were about 16 of them.  The best part is when I offered to do something to help that wouldn’t cause me to cry in pain.  She was dead serious when she said this:  She suggested I get the ironing board out and iron all the napkins.

I have a good mind not to even get up tomorrow.  My cousin’s not wild about this party either, I’m thinking about telling him to play sick too.

Crap I forgot to mention this.  Here’s the thing:  My liver is in tip top shape, and because of this new onslaught of drugs I rarely drink anymore; alcohol + acetaminophen is where the real problems begin.  Not a complete idiot you see.

Another thing about this party that pisses me off is…  Christ how to put it.  The pastor and church folk are really wonderful and sweet folk; always ready to lend a helping hand, and ya can’t have too many friends.  It’s just, there sits our boy Craig who may as well be my little brother and is the apple of Mother’s eye.  This family is known for shitty birthdays and our poor boy was no exception.  Grandpa loved Craig madly and always made it a point to do something nice for his birthday while dragging Grandma along behind him, but Grandpa’s been gone for over seven years now.  Craig’s Father, John, is a selfish turd; he doesn’t even go down to visit his only son when he’s on home leave.  If Craig wants to see his Dad, he has to drive up.  Craig’s a busy lad with school, part time job and babysitter for his nieces and nephews.  Craig’s Mother, Laura, has been quite busy going through a midlife crisis for some years now.  She really doesn’t have much time for anything else but herself, even though she doesn’t have a job.  Laura’s trapped inna relationship with a man in his 60’s (she be in her 40’s); he brings home the bacon and that’s that.  Randy the step-father from hell treats Craig like shit and often threatens him and is always trying to pick a fight.  Last Christmas Eve Craig ran away from home to a friend’s house after Randy had announced that once he got off the phone he was gonna beat the shit out of Craig.  Craig spent his 16th birthday watching tv, it was only the day after that his Mother realized and told him happy birthday.

I wasn’t eavesdropping, but Laura talks loud over the phone and while chattin with Craig I distinctly heard her ask if we’d thrown a party for him.  Well hell, if that’s our responsibility then why dontcha just hand him over to us.

To sum this all up, it looks purty shitty her thrownin this dinner party for Dad’s church pals while her nephew (her own family; the apple of her eye) hasn’t had a decent birthday party in years.

It just bothers me.  I’ve been doin what I can, but I honestly suck at planning; that’s her forte, and she’s wasting it all on this.

Seriously, how you do think Craig feels?

Yeah I know I said I was buggerin off but everyone’s out and aboot today (I’m busy  withdrawing at the moment – don’t ask) and you know I never shut up anyway.

Ya know noone told me you wind up with one serious spazzed out adrenal gland, and my Uncle is now standing here assuming I wanna hear him talk.

I SAID I DIDN’T WANNA TALK ABOUT IT!

Anyways seeing as how we’ve been at war ever since 9/11, doesn’t it seem only fair that Japan take swift action against North Korea?  Granted noone was hurt, but being pissed at Japan is kinda like threatening to open up a can of whoop-ass on French Canada; what’s the point?  They may seem a lil weird at times but they don’t hurt anyone and guess what?  Since Japan got in trouble a few years back for bombing us and siding with the Germans (hahahaha!  I wrote Jews first; guess we know which side I’m on) and were ordered to cease all military activity – although I think they’re allowed a bit of an army now.  

Japan are our buds; Japan loves America and its culture; Japan has a similar economy; Japan makes kick ass stuff; Japan has a much better health care system; Japan knows more about earthquake proofing than anyone else in the world.  So when Japan announces their resolution would condemn North Korea and the US suggest we try to reason with a fruit-looped dictator, there’s an excellent chance you’re going to piss our good friends off.

Gee, after 9/11 we told everyone in the world:  You’re either with us or we’ll bomb you too.  

Dude, friends stick together.

I ‘member back in the olden days where I spent countless in chat (before the term blog was ever even considered), although I do have an obscene amount of hysterical logs which I plan to throw up here one of these days, but my best friend Snookie and I would arrive at a point where we just needed to push away from the puter and take a break.  We’d still check our email and lil things like that, but… ya know.  So lately I find myself walking by my computer; pondering a surf, screwing around a bit or just checking my email but all I can manage is an uninterested grunt and the only true appeal is my vibrating chair.  

With that in mind my cousin, who’s really like a lil brother to me, is coming to visit.  As a seventeen year old with a less than nurturing home, plus being a young man the poor dear’s hormones are raging in opposite directions, it’s no surprise he’s found solace inna online computer game.  However consequently his grades have dropped, he failed a class (but it was geometry and who the fuck needs that?) and he’s been feeling rather depressed.  So while he’s here we’re gonna work around the house, go out and do things, talk, play games and obviously keep the computer activity to a minimum – and I only think it’s fair that we all back off from the computer as opposed to just barring him.

Poor guy:  Do you know the only person who called him on his birthday was his dad?  (I know, I’m shit too).  His Mother was out of town and didn’t even call him.  He spent his entire seventeenth birthday alone and unimaginably depressed – if not a lil suicidal.  So I’m attempting to throw a surprise party for him.  I’ve already ordered him some cool stuff like a Napoleon Dynamite bobble head and t-shirts from What on Earth; even got him a t-shirt from T-Shirt Hell (a tame one mind you *cough* I got me some that weren't so tame) and we’re gonna buy him a MP3 player like mine so he can upload any of my songs he likes.  I’m gonna attempt to put this altogether, hide the presents and just make it look like we’re going out to dinner; never been to this place before, The Forge in the Forest, but it looks damn cool.  He really loved the Lord of the Rings trilogy and read all the books.  Doesn’t it just look like there should be Hobbits running around there?

To sum this up:  I’ll check my email from time to time and ya may see me nosin around your blogs, but I probably won’t be doin much chattin.

However I am gonna post a few pictures fishing for opinions onna photo contest from the AFRP that I wanna enter.  I’m not gonna bother to put ‘em in lockdown or anything, so no worries there.

The pain in my back is so intense it's now impeading my sleep.

Leaving a legacy of craptacular tv shows and a shitload of money behind.  The only time I've ever wanted to be Toni Spelling.  Ha!  Just realized I wrote Toni as opposed to Tori.  Actually I don't think anyone will notice.

Lucky Jew bastard, wish I was that old or dead.

Alright, got my Visa here; gettin ready to do some shopping on Amazon.

Any requests?

I now know why Brokeback Mountain didn’t win best picture:

It was boring!

How does a two plus hour movie manage such a noticeable flaw as character development?  Brokeback Mountain had four main characters (by the way, if you blink you’ll totally miss Randy Quaid’s bit part; which makes his suing for more money even funnier) while Crash had too many key characters to even list and whose roles were significantly smaller.  Yet somehow you’re able to relate to Crash’s myriad of characters whilst Brokeback Mountain supplied you with two cowboys who said, “Yep”, and two cowgirls who said, “Nope”.  Unless of course it was Ang Lee’s intention to bore you senseless with mind-numbingly drab characters; then he did a fantastic job.

Seriously, it starts out with a couple cowboys doing cowboy type things and saying, “Yup”.  Then one night Heath Ledger’s character says, “What the heck ya doin there?”  Jake Gyllenhal’s character cries, “Kiss me you fool”, and we wind up with the big controversial love scene.  Well that was blown way outta proportion; I’ve seen gayer interactions between Matt Lauer and Al Roker on the Today show.

I kept thinking that it would eventually pick up and perhaps Heath Ledger’s character would share a few words as opposed to pretending he was Clint Eastwood inna Spaghetti Western.  I’m referring to the actors because I honestly do not remember anyone’s name in the movie.  The characters just completely lacked any impact.  

If you’ve yet to see this movie, don’t bother.  I literally had to force myself to stick it out through the entire movie, and that was only because I paid five bucks for it.  If you wanna be bored watch C-Span.

In less than twenty minutes I will finally be able to watch the much talked about Brokeback Mountain.  However I recently became a lil concerned when I learned Randy Quaid was also in the movie.

Nuttin like a good ol’ over the phone medical history interview to send you into a full fledged panic attack.

INTERVIEWER: Would you like me to repeat the question?

ME:  No because I recall not understanding it the first time.  How about English this time and tell me what you mean.

INTERVIEWER: And what is the diagnosis for your back?

ME: Well my physician told me it felt at those two invertebrates were tilted ever so slightly in the opposite direction.

INTERVIEWER:  And is the medical diagnosis for that?

ME:  It hurts?

ME:  Ok, is this still the five year history or just anytime?

INTERVIEWER:  I’m sorry I didn’t understand your question.


Well I totally got the smoking, cancer, race car driver, rock climber, skydiving and rodeo performer questions right but I’m not entirely sure about the rest of the test.

Errr, I see a lack of insurance in my future.

Check this out. 

Yeah they're havin a special again and I wanna go.

Army Corps: La. levees were poorly built

I’m didn’t even bother to read the actual article as the headline is painful enough.

Army Corps: La. levees were poorly built

Duh!  Duh, duh, duh, duh, duh!  Duh?  Duuuuuuuuh.

And it just goes on from there.  I was going to sing a song about New Orleans, duh government and Katrina to the tune used in the South Park episode about Mormons, but I just can’t bring myself to do it.

Let’s find a topic that doesn’t wanna make us vomit with rage.

I want to go to Vegas.  Hey I'll post ya some cool pics from my last trip there.

I sit here writing at a quarter after 3 because moments earlier I just finished a book cover to cover.  Not sure if I’ve ever done that before except for maybe See Spot Run.

Left to Tell is a very painful, powerful, horrifying story of one young woman’s survival during the Rwandan Holocaust.  This courageous lady (Immaculee Ilibagiza) takes you through her life as a happy carefree child, but also determined to study hard and make her parents proud.  However during middle school she learned about racial bias and how being a Tutsi made her a second class citizen.

You’re stomach will roll and you’ll find yourself shaking after reading all the atrocities and horrors noone could ever imagine.  And when you turn to the pages showing the scant few pictures she was able to save, thanks to her lovingly detailed description of her parents and three brothers, you’ll find there’s no need to read the names underneath.

But this isn’t just about genocide and one woman’s story of survival.  While one of the bloodiest massacres is raging right outside a window of a tiny bathroom where 7 (later 9) Tutsi women are hidden; Immaculee Ilibagiza is opening herself up to an extraordinary spiritual journey.

I’m a cynical gal, but I believe in this book.  Don’t let the mention of God run you off or harden your heart.  Having faith doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with religion.  If you don’t have faith, then how can you choose to believe or trust in someone or something?  

Without faith; there can be no hope.

Molly is a compulsive licker; she never has a stray hair to brush she’s always perfect.  Consequently she has trouble with hairballs.  We feed her intensive hairball control food and give her that oily hairball remedy, but she still has problems.  Professional websites also say that cats who don’t’ get regular exercise develop compulsive habits, but we play all the time.  Mommy just got an order in from Dr. Fosters and Smith jammed packed with toys, scratchy cardboard, supplements to help break away plaque and tartar (they think it’s a goodie) and of course Fantasia catnip grown in the Cascade Mountains – only the best for my kids.  Anyway so if I’m not playing with them, they’re playing with each other or they grab a toy and make their own fun.  

The other day she was sitting quietly, looking a lil green around the gills.  Well her poor lil belly was hard as a rock most likely from gas buildup.  When Allie was sick we gave him Mylanta to calm his stomach, so what the hell?  Maybe it’ll at least give her a lil relief, and in about an hour there was noticeable improvement.  Unfortunately all these remedies overwhelmed her lil bowel system and she had an accident.  Poor lil lady was completely mortified.  We’re talking about the gal who doesn’t even like to shit at all; she is just appalled that something so vile would come outta her.

Although it was an incredibly cute story with Patches pulling a Lassie again, but I’m too damn tired to write that much.

Anyway, ever since the high ridge pressure system has moved in poor Lil Toot has scratched and gnawed himself raw.  He was on my lap the other night so I got a great view of all the bald spots, sores and beet red irritated skin.  I felt like the worst Mother in the world.  They have these anti-itch sprays for hot spots, but duh, it contains alcohol and that’s gonna burn the lil boy’s scabs.

I read on the net that a nice cool bath will soothe their skin.  After I got up off the floor from laughing fifteen minutes later I just said, ‘No.”  As far as I’m concerned a cat who took a three to four week bath has filled his quota and then some.  However I did read that Aloe Vera Juice would be very cooling, plus if he licked it off it wouldn’t harm him.  It’s best to come up behind him when he’s asleep, but for the most part he runs away wondering what the hell you’re doing to him.

So tomorrow both kids get to go to the vet.  Actually it really shouldn’t be that bad as having Molly close by always seems to calm Patches down.

That’ll be a load off my mind; finding out what’s wrong and getting the kids well.

Wow it's really great that Mother is no longer a slave to food, instead like every other post-op she's simply replaced it with another addiction.  While some people become alcoholics, pill poppers (*waving*),  ebay addicts, message board addicts, gambling addicts, exercise bulimics, ceramic poodle figurine addicts or fucks everything that doesn't run from them first; Mother's become a shopoholic -- thumbs-way-the-fuck-up.

Gee Mom, seeing as how you don't have a job right now or in the past 1 1/2 years, think it's a good idea to be buying more crap we don't need? 

Mother's new frothing at the mouth obsession are flowers and fucking bird and squirrel feeders -- we must have at least 85 by now.  The flowers are nice but she can't stop.  Once they're all planted she comes back with a car load of more flowers, pots and soil.  Hurray.

Meanwhile Russ frets morning, noon and night over money and constantly talks  about how we'll probably be forced to sell the house and move back to fucking Kansas.  Yours truly is expected to babysit my 59 year old Mother on her many shopping excursions.  So when she comes home with a bunch of crap I get a lecture.  I actually don't accompany her anymore for these marathon shopping trips.  I kinda don't think it's my responsibility and I'm tired of being dragged in the middle.

When confronted about her obvious problem she flies into a rage and becomes bitterly defensive, accusing me of attacking her.  OK, what the fuck, do what ya like.  I'm gonna go have a drink.  You see my pills and sponsoring kitties (which is tax deductable) are a lot cheaper than your daily shopping trips.  Or at least they used to be before my insurance ran out.  Yeah, did I forget to mention that? Good times.  When and if I get accepted there will be a 60 to 90 day pre-existing condition waiting period.  A pre-existing condition can basically be boiled down to:  If you are alive and breathing.

So now she's wrestling with putting together these bookshelves she bought, and she's getting all impatient and emotional about them.  She can't get down on the floor because of her knees.  I finally take the tools away from her, lie down on the floor and do it myself; all the while what I'd really like to do is smash bottle after bottle of wine in her face and asking, "What the fuck do we need these bookshelves for?  Where the hell are you planning to put them when we already have furniture chasing each other around the walls in this house?"

I don't accompany Mother to the grocery store either.  For someone who doesn't enjoy eating anymore she sure does bring a lot of crap home.  I've asked her before to please stop because all I do is inhale it.  Wonder if there's some sort of subconscious behavior of hers that prefers to keep me this way.

I've been in horrible pain the past few days, I'm sure it has something to do with me gaining 10 pounds in the last month.  I truly have stopped caring.  Do you know it's probably been almost six months since I took any of my vitamins?  Funny, I don't feel dead yet.

So I accompanied Mother to her one year post-op visit with the surgeon.  I seriously considered having her drop me off some place while she went to the appointment.  I always enjoy seeing doctor Swartz, plus this would be the appointment where she got to view her before picture in comparison, but let’s face it; I cannot handle going to that office.  Patients breezing in and out bragging how they’ve maintained for two years and how their life is so wonderful, and don’t forget the walls plastered with an inconceivable number of 100+ pound weight loss before and after pictures.  It’s enough to make me stab my eyes out or walk in front of a bus.

Mother’s lost a total of 140 pounds and got to take her cute lil after picture.  She mentioned to Dr. Swartz that she really doesn’t enjoy eating anymore.  She loves to savor the first bite or two, but because she can’t eat much the admiration is gone.  Suddenly a deep and wide canyon grew between us; I had wondered why she just opted for soup all the time but I had no idea that’s how she really felt.  This has always been one of our unbreakable bonds:  We heart food.  But now occasionally I need binoculars to see her and she’s drifted so far away – I haven’t shared this with her yet.

I still love food; damn, hell, ass love it!  Not just one particular dish or variety, but all types.  I still loved food when I was vomiting it up.  You’d think the opposite, but…  I did go through a period where I quit eating but that was just out of desperation.  My admiration is still glowing and fiercely loyal now just as it was before surgery.

So to add a bitter lil bing cherry on top of this fun filled visit, a man came skipping up behind me with the swelling of pride and dick-in-his-eye look of one who’s lost a great deal of weight and can’t wait to yap about it.  I was waiting for Mother to bring the car around and poked my damn eye out started a conversation.

DUMBASS OLD FART: So, you gonna have it done?

I turned to him with a deadpan face and the voice of a soulless possessed Linda Blair, “I had it done nearly three years ago.  It failed.”

CLUELESS OLD FART: Oh… well…  I was really lucky…  Although I was really sick in the beginning.

With the same voice and glassy eyed stare that bore through his faltering happy go lucky expression, “So was I.”

Now slightly terrified dumbass old fart is quickly shuffling away to his car, calls out but does not turn to face me for fear of turning into stone, “Well I hope things work out for you.”

I raised my voice just enough for him to hear, “I seriously doubt you give shit.”  Then I stared at the pavement and said, “I wish I was dead.”

As a gag, the night before, I made an annoyingly peppy cd for our lil trip.  When I opened the car door I begged, “Please, please stop the peppy music; I’m not up for it.”

You'll have to pardon the erratic behavior of this website and yours truly as I'm terribly busy having several emotional breakdowns a week.  The other night I honestly sobbed over some hokey, dripping with sticky sap, Lifetime original movie.  Any other time I would have made raucous fun of the pretentious crap while rolling around on the floor.

I am shamed.

Opening gunfire anywhere, except for insurance company locations or the Screen Actors Guild, is totally ungroovy.  Opening gunfire inna church is very naughty indeed, but opening gunfire while inna church on Sunday during services: You’re in trouble mister.

The original story received a big thumbsup from 80 viewers while the recent story of the assailant’s capture received a less than enthused rating from 45 viewers.

Note the viewers' response at the bottom:

Elvis' Legacy Joining Cirque Du Soleil

Sometimes the headline says it all:

Toni Braxton to Headline Vegas Flamingo

ie, because she’s unable to find work elsewhere.
 

French are rudest, most boring people on earth: British poll

This doesn’t even require a joke.

Germany sells all 640 World Cup tickets for blind fans

There are no words.

Am I the only woman left in the world who doesn’t think this is such a brilliant idea?