Things That Are Pissing Me Off

Any Wal-Mart commercial, but particularly the Wal-Mart commercial which tells you the heart-warming reason why pro football players love their mommies - because their mommies were able to give them junk food bought at Wal-Mart and wash their tighty-whities with laundry detergent bought at Wal-Mart. It ends with the incredibly dumbass sexist comment "and they say moms don't know anything about football." I had plenty of reasons to hate Wal-Mart but they keep making sure I never run dry.

Trying to get out of the house for a bit and take myself to Target or the grocery store, only to find after about 20 minutes in the store that I am suddenly lightheaded and worn out and need to get my pathetic ass back home.

The look and feel of a healing abdominal incision. The look and feel of my abdomen around the incision in general.

Capitalizing on an interception that your rock-star defense snagged for your team, by throwing the ball right back to the other team. And by capitalizing, I mean eating the opportunity with flaming habanero salsa, causing it to come shooting out the other end in fiery stanky horror to be flushed down a toilet.

The fact that I can fully sneeze again (for a while after the surgery I couldn't) and the fact that I don't seem to be able to stop fully sneezing now that I've started. My incision is ill-pleased.

Thankfully, my kitties and a small supply of 3 Musketeers Mint with Dark Chocolate minis are helping me get by, otherwise I'd be trying to choke a bitch right now. Just as soon as I get up the energy.

All Things Ghetto Fabulous (Including One Extraordinarily Dumb Cat)

I've decided I need to get in on the do-crap-and-get-paid-for-it action. I want Food Network to air my new show, Ghetto Fabulous Kwizeen. An entire episode will be devoted to spray cheese. I will probably need an entire week to cover the glory of Spam. And the myriad ways to tart up ramen noodles and Hostess pastries will probably carry me into early retirement. Believe me, you'll thank me when the Velveeta Dinty Moore Ramen Bake episode airs.

Speaking of trash, I received a bag of circus peanuts from John and Laura this weekend. Now, in my humble opinion, circus peanuts join forces with Peeps and candy corn to form the Unholy Candy Trinity. Every ten years or so I get the urge to taste one or the other of these candies, just to remind myself why I hate these candies. The last time I ate circus peanuts was in college, and I distinctly remember chewing it with my mouth open, as though I could possibly release the circus peanut evil back into the wild that way. It does not work. And it did not work this time. Circus peanuts = horrid gritty fake banana awful. As Laura cited in her blog earlier, Bad-Candy.com waxes highly poetic on the subject of circus peanuts and how gritty/horrible they are.

I have yet to meet a person who loves circus peanuts. But yesterday, I found out I own a cat who loves circus peanuts. Yes, my feline badonkadonkdonk Molly was presented with a circus peanut and proceeded to lick and chew the crap out of it. And this morning when I came downstairs, what did I find on the floor but the open bag of circus peanuts and a partially masticated peanut next to it. I think with Halloween so close I'm going to pick up some candy corn and Peeps and see how she takes to those. I have a feeling she'll be able to guest-host Ghetto Fabulous Kwizeen for me.

In more boring news, I started working from home today. It went mostly ok, I had to lie down flat on my back for a few minutes during the day to relieve the pressure on my incision, sitting upright all day doesn't do it any favors. I think in a couple more days I'm going to try driving (doctor's orders = no driving for 2 wks).

The Crap People Get Paid Good Money For

So in the course of my enforced post-op inactivity, I've been napping, knitting, reading, and surfing the largely desolate landscape of daytime TV. Today I flipped past Food Network and was accosted by Sandra Lee, who in my opinion is the biggest no-talent ass muppet to hit food television, and that's saying a freaking lot considering how much airtime Rachael Ray and her EVOOMGSTFU gets.

So anyway, this woman was making what she called Vanilla Cranberry Can Cakes



What are they? They're blueberry muffin mix without the blueberries and cranberries stirred in, baked in used food cans. Tarted-up used food cans by the time that pic was taken, but used cans all the same.

And she got paid who knows how much to show me this shit on TV.

I feel insane.

Powering Through

Slowly getting better. Still haven't used my vicodin, I think I am going to stick to the copious ibuprofen unless things take a turn for the worse. Yesterday and today both I managed to get out of the house and take a walk around the block, but each time I felt pretty drained on arriving home. But I do feel better overall.

Daytime tv sucks festering balls.

And I'm Back

Surgery went A-OK on Thursday morning, and I came home from the hospital on Saturday morning. For anyone considering major abdominal surgery as a form of entertainment, well I really cannot recommend it. For the gruesome play-by-play, keep reading.

I checked in for surgery Thursday morning, got blood taken, and got hooked up to my first IV line. My surgeon and anesthesiologist both came in to talk to me. Because my parents showed up 40 min early to pick me up, we were doing a lot of thumb-twiddling. I was inspecting my IV line and asking the anesthesia guy if bubbles in the line are normal (apparently they are). I got wheeled over to anesthesia guy (AG) and he puts a sedative in my IV before administering what I think was some kind of spinal block which I would later find out is totally totally awesome. AG tells me I don't have to look as he injects the IV but of course that made me look anyway.

Next thing I know I wake up and think - freaking-A, I hope I'm not still waiting for surgery. I feel faint pressure and hear a kid screaming on the gurney next to me, so I ask "Am I done?" and a nurse chirps "You're done, sweetie!" Then I get wheeled to a room. Yay! No roomies. All for me.

Thanks to Totally Awesome Spinal Stuff, I feel no pain. Thanks to General Anesthesia, I am feeling hella nauseous. Thankfully the nurses got right on putting an anti-nausea thing in my IV. Phew. I cannot imagine that puking at this point would be a Happy Fun Time. My parents come in, and after hanging up clothes for me, putting my bag within reach, and fumbling with the controls on my bed and tv, they figure they can do much less damage elsewhere, so they leave.

I discover that Totally Awesome Spinal Stuff has the unfortunate side effect of making my nose, face, and chest itch like an evil dirty disease. Between this and getting my vitals taken every hour or two by one of a procession of kindly care techs, I'm only able to nap on and off for the next 40 hours or so. Luckily the Pope cancelled our weekend meeting so I had nowhere I had to be.

I get some jello down but am still feeling a bit queasy so I don't risk anymore. Totally Awesome Spinal Stuff is still working, so the rest of the night is spent napping and getting vitals taken. Also, instead of the old-school surgical stockings you used to have to wear to prevent blood clots, I had this contraption wrapped around each of my legs. The best way I can describe it is a shiatsu massager for my legs...a really annoying shiatsu massager that would have made sleep impossible all by itself.

Friday morning comes along, and the nurse takes away all the annoying stuff that is keeping me in bed except for the IV, which she temporarily disconnected so I could try and get out of bed and test my sea legs. I successfully use the bathroom which was one of my criteria for getting my release ok'ed, so that's a plus. And then around 24 hrs after the surgery, that rotten bitch Totally Awesome Spinal Stuff takes off forever, and in her place she has left Indisputable Pain.

I have never been one to complain much about pain - I don't see much point in complaining about it. But after walking around my room a bit, moving stuff in my bag, and my bed tray and lunch tray, my incision informs me that I have tried to do too much. Thankfully the nurses came to the rescue with liquid ibuprofen in my IV, so I never had to be on narcotics at all. I know some people were looking forward to the kinds of crazy I would be able to come up with under the influence of morphine, but alas you will have to settle for my ibuprofen musings.

Saturday morning I get a new nurse, and it turns out she went to my high school and graduated the same year as I did. Crazy small world. I get discharged Saturday and my parents took me to breakfast and then home, where Mom commenced her orgy of cleaning as her way of helping me out. I ended up sending her home on Sunday afternoon, as there wasn't much she could do to make my incision comfortable, and I was getting by ok on my own otherwise.

So far it's been mostly bearable, and a test of my creativity as I figure out new ways to do the basics like getting in and out of bed without using my abdomen. Taking it easy on my midsection means it's been a lot harder on my back, arms, and legs, so they're starting to get sore. I've been using my toes to pick up a lot of things. I was given a scrip for Vicodin which I did fill, but so far have been powering through on copious amounts of OTC ibuprofen. I'm also getting tired pretty easily - I've had one nap today and am thinking about taking another. But from what I hear everywhere this first week is the toughest. I'll be back on hopefully soon if the enforced inactivity starts to bring out the blogging genius in me.

Toodles,
D

My Cats Imbibing Treats

Today I gave the cats some Feline Greenies treats. Even though Guinness is my thin cat and Molly is my chunky monkey, the following is and always has been an accurate depiction of their approaches to the arrival of treats.

Guinness: ZOMG TREATS TREATS OH MAN TREATS FUCKIN' RULE *chompchompsnorf* *gulpchompsnorf* TREATS ARE SO AWESOME THEY ARE TOTALLY THE SHIT *chompsnorfsnorfinhale* BITCH ARE YOU GONNA EAT THOSE TREATS OR WHAT??? (directed at Molly)

Molly: Who am I? What are these? *sniffsniff* Hm, I think I can eat these. *crunchcrunch* Bit hot out today, don't you think? *crunch* What is math? *crunchcrunch* Why do I even care what math is? *crunch* Jigga wha? HEY. (directed at Guinness who has come to commandeer the treats that Molly was too slow to eat because she was pondering math.)

Almost There

So I'm just about 36 hours away from surgery and I cannot wait. Seriously. I would so much rather charge in and make the unknown into the known and be experiencing the road to recovery instead of wondering how it's going to be. Still have a bit more cleaning to do, a load of laundry tomorrow, and then pack my bag and go to my last bellydance class. Mom is coming to stay with me after the surgery and of course I will never get the house as clean as she would have it. Such is the nature of moms.

I'll be back sometime next week hopefully, check y'all later!

A Dream for the Hall of Fame

My favorite dream of all time probably has to be the one where Jimmy Stewart and George Clooney were fighting over me, using Jello and ball point pens as weapons. But the other night I had one that seriously fights for the top spot.

I was at this year's Chicago Marathon, which will be about 4 weeks after my surgery, cheering on a friend of mine who will be running it for the third time this year. I was sitting in a chair on the sidewalk when Fatboy Slim's Weapon of Choice (see the video) starts blasting in the background, so I got up to dance because I love that song. LO AND BEHOLD, who starts dancing right next to me but CHRISTOPHER FREAKING WALKEN. So we danced together (nope, no flying and dancing off the walls though) and at the end of the song, he dipped me, at which point the excitement and the post-op fatigue combined and I passed out. It was totally worth it. Best dream ever.