Yet another, "how is it this crap always happens to me?" story...
Today, I had surgery. Long story short, a couple weeks ago I found a lump in my breast, and having a family history of cancer, we opted to go ahead and have the lump removed and biopsied (needle biopsy was out of the question because the lump too close to the chest wall). Anyway, so today I go in for surgery and...
I'm being wheeled into the operating room, still not sedated, and I start hearing all the nurses and surgical staff talking about how, alas, today is Friday the Thirteenth.
Um...this is the LAST thing you would like to hear just before they CUT YOU OPEN. Thanks, guys! It was awesome!
Actually, they did a great job, were very kind to me, and everything went fine. We'll know back from the biopsy next week, but they said by the look of it, it looked like a benign something or other. Dang, boobs are a pain in the ass. Well, technically, they are a pain in my chest at the moment, but you knew what I meant.
And please excuse this post- if it turns out it was totally incoherent. It seems okay to me right now, but then again, I'm under the influence of pain medicine so I might find out later that I wrote about flying lions and clown cars.
Then again, I was telling people earlier today I could taste orange juice in my arm, so I guess you never know. And I called the nurse anesthetist "My BFF Mark." He loved me. I know it.
Hope you guys have a lovely weekend!
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Monday, November 9, 2009
Method and/or Madness
'ello, Blog Club! Well, I'm now back from my trip to Virginia to visit family. It was lovely, and I got to meet my cousin's husband and baby for the first time, which was amazing! I missed you guys! *hugs*
But, while I was there, something odd happened to me...
One night, we went and had this awesome dinner at a nice restaurant, but there was something troubling about it. When it came time for me to order my side of type of potato, a strange choice was presented. "Would you like the baked potato or the smashed potatoes?"
Wait...excuse me...did you say smashed potatoes?
Maybe it's just because I'm from the South, but around here, I've always heard mashed potatoes. What is the difference between a smashed potato and a mashed potato, exactly? I'm not sure, but I am thinking it has GOT to do with the way they mash--erm--pulverize the spud. It has to be the method...smash makes me think they put the potato in the middle of a pedestal and then take a mallet to the darn thing.
OR, alternatively, it the difference between smash and mash could refer to the level of hatred you put into destroying the potato. Like, for example, maybe most days you mash them, but this particular day you got a speeding ticket, had to talk the Monkey out of committing suicide because he hates his life of violence, AND you found out your boyfriend was f****** Matt Damon...THAT day, you SMASHED the potatoes.
What do you guys think- is it the method or the madness?
But, while I was there, something odd happened to me...
One night, we went and had this awesome dinner at a nice restaurant, but there was something troubling about it. When it came time for me to order my side of type of potato, a strange choice was presented. "Would you like the baked potato or the smashed potatoes?"
Wait...excuse me...did you say smashed potatoes?
Maybe it's just because I'm from the South, but around here, I've always heard mashed potatoes. What is the difference between a smashed potato and a mashed potato, exactly? I'm not sure, but I am thinking it has GOT to do with the way they mash--erm--pulverize the spud. It has to be the method...smash makes me think they put the potato in the middle of a pedestal and then take a mallet to the darn thing.
OR, alternatively, it the difference between smash and mash could refer to the level of hatred you put into destroying the potato. Like, for example, maybe most days you mash them, but this particular day you got a speeding ticket, had to talk the Monkey out of committing suicide because he hates his life of violence, AND you found out your boyfriend was f****** Matt Damon...THAT day, you SMASHED the potatoes.
What do you guys think- is it the method or the madness?
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Teaser Tuesday
It's Teaser Tuesday for a lot of my fellow writers, today, so I thought I'd join in the fun. So, without further ado, here is an excerpt from my current work in progress, The Donor. This particular chapter is told from the point of view of Parker, my main character Abby's (20) childhood best friend.
“Where the hell are my pants?” I screamed into the darkness. Of course, there was no one there to hear me, answer me, help me, or any combination of the three, but somehow yelling at an unknown entity made me feel less helpless. I remembered then that I’d stuck a load of laundry in earlier, so most of my clothes had to be in the dryer. Shit. I didn’t have time for this.
I thundered into the hallway in my bare feet and boxers, thinking it was a good thing I’d thought to shut the blinds before going to bed so the friendly Gladys Cravitz who spent half her time with her nose pressed up against her window watching the neighbors wouldn’t see me running around in my underwear yelling at someone who wasn’t there. I grabbed the elusive slacks from the dryer and pulled them on as I walked out the door.
Hopping into my cruiser, I wondered if I should hit the lights so I could fly through the streets without encountering any stops along the way. I knew it was against protocol since this wasn’t official police business, but this was an emergency. Who would know?
I flicked on the blues and pulled out of my driveway, all the while hearing Abby’s voice in my head.
“Parker! Please come! It’s an emergency!” she said.
“What’s wrong?”
“Just come! Quick! I need you!” Abby’s shrill cry emitted through the phone.
But, then again, I had been out of the bed even before I’d had the chance to ask her what was wrong. I’d heard the panic in her voice, and my feet had hit the floor the second she’d said my name.
“I need you.”
It was the story of my life—of hers—she needs me, I run.
“Where the hell are my pants?” I screamed into the darkness. Of course, there was no one there to hear me, answer me, help me, or any combination of the three, but somehow yelling at an unknown entity made me feel less helpless. I remembered then that I’d stuck a load of laundry in earlier, so most of my clothes had to be in the dryer. Shit. I didn’t have time for this.
I thundered into the hallway in my bare feet and boxers, thinking it was a good thing I’d thought to shut the blinds before going to bed so the friendly Gladys Cravitz who spent half her time with her nose pressed up against her window watching the neighbors wouldn’t see me running around in my underwear yelling at someone who wasn’t there. I grabbed the elusive slacks from the dryer and pulled them on as I walked out the door.
Hopping into my cruiser, I wondered if I should hit the lights so I could fly through the streets without encountering any stops along the way. I knew it was against protocol since this wasn’t official police business, but this was an emergency. Who would know?
I flicked on the blues and pulled out of my driveway, all the while hearing Abby’s voice in my head.
“Parker! Please come! It’s an emergency!” she said.
“What’s wrong?”
“Just come! Quick! I need you!” Abby’s shrill cry emitted through the phone.
But, then again, I had been out of the bed even before I’d had the chance to ask her what was wrong. I’d heard the panic in her voice, and my feet had hit the floor the second she’d said my name.
“I need you.”
It was the story of my life—of hers—she needs me, I run.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
(Semi) Serious Sunday: Break It Down Now
Well, I've had what some people would call an "eventful" (Side note: and by "eventful" I mean "mildly torturous" weekend. I spent Saturday night in the emergency room! (Can I get a "hip, hip, hooray!"?). I have decided for this (semi) serious Sunday that I will recount that fascinating trip and the events leading up to it. Let the games begin!
So, Saturday afternoon at my current show's rehearsal, I was choreographing a waltz (Side note: out of all the things I do, it was a WALTZ. A freakin' slow-moving, sickeningly elegant WALTZ.) when I took some kind of a mis-step. Well, for a minute I didn't think anything was wrong. I knew I'd taken a strange step, but nothing awful. Until about five minutes later, my foot began to puddle the color of Ice Blue Raspberry Lemonade Kool Aid, and then I knew we had a little bit of a problem.
So, despite my protests of, "I'll be fine," my foot's imitation of Smurfette wasn't fooling my dance partner, who insisted we go have it x-rayed. Off we went. Upon entering, I notice all the folks wearing surgical masks, and I think to myself, "Oh great. My foot is going to give me swine flu." They are pretty quick to wheel us (Side note: well, they wheeled me into a room...my friend walked.) into a room, then the doctor x-rayed my foot. After they sent me for x-rays, we waited for three airborne-virus-filled hours in the emergency room for the doctor to give me news.
She came back. "Good news! It's not broken!" YAY! "So, why is it blue?" I ask. "Well," she says, "it could be a torn ligament, it could just be sprained. It could be broken blood vessels, but it could also be that you pulled a tendon. Or, there's a slight chance it could be a tiny fracture that don't show up on xrays right away."
Um, so basically what you're saying here is...it's not broken. Maybe. Ish. But, even if it's not, you have no idea what's wrong with it, how bad it is, or whether or not I should be concerned?
Great! Is this the part where I pay two hundred bucks for the ER visit, or is that when they kick me in the ass on the way out?
Hey...at least I don't have swine flu....yet. Maybe. Ish. (Side note: H1N1 just sounds like a robot zombie virus hellbent on destroying the world. Don't tell me that H1N1 sounds "better." Why don't they just call it "Get this and you're doomed because it's a pandemic" disease? That would be more efficient.)
So, how was your weekend?
So, Saturday afternoon at my current show's rehearsal, I was choreographing a waltz (Side note: out of all the things I do, it was a WALTZ. A freakin' slow-moving, sickeningly elegant WALTZ.) when I took some kind of a mis-step. Well, for a minute I didn't think anything was wrong. I knew I'd taken a strange step, but nothing awful. Until about five minutes later, my foot began to puddle the color of Ice Blue Raspberry Lemonade Kool Aid, and then I knew we had a little bit of a problem.
So, despite my protests of, "I'll be fine," my foot's imitation of Smurfette wasn't fooling my dance partner, who insisted we go have it x-rayed. Off we went. Upon entering, I notice all the folks wearing surgical masks, and I think to myself, "Oh great. My foot is going to give me swine flu." They are pretty quick to wheel us (Side note: well, they wheeled me into a room...my friend walked.) into a room, then the doctor x-rayed my foot. After they sent me for x-rays, we waited for three airborne-virus-filled hours in the emergency room for the doctor to give me news.
She came back. "Good news! It's not broken!" YAY! "So, why is it blue?" I ask. "Well," she says, "it could be a torn ligament, it could just be sprained. It could be broken blood vessels, but it could also be that you pulled a tendon. Or, there's a slight chance it could be a tiny fracture that don't show up on xrays right away."
Um, so basically what you're saying here is...it's not broken. Maybe. Ish. But, even if it's not, you have no idea what's wrong with it, how bad it is, or whether or not I should be concerned?
Great! Is this the part where I pay two hundred bucks for the ER visit, or is that when they kick me in the ass on the way out?
Hey...at least I don't have swine flu....yet. Maybe. Ish. (Side note: H1N1 just sounds like a robot zombie virus hellbent on destroying the world. Don't tell me that H1N1 sounds "better." Why don't they just call it "Get this and you're doomed because it's a pandemic" disease? That would be more efficient.)
So, how was your weekend?
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Dance 'Til You Drop
*Giggle*
Today, I read a conversation about myself on facebook. (Side note: to my gals who were talking, I LOVED it! So, no worries...). We're getting started on a new show I'm choreographing at the theatre, and one of the new gals was chatting with one of the ladies who has done several shows with, and I quote, "The Choreographer of Doom," and she was, let's say, giving her a heads up of what to expect from me. Well, I couldn't help but laugh (Side note: lest anyone think I'm picking on her, she's one of my AWESOME students! I'm only writing this story because I knew she wouldn't mind at all-- she's that type!). The conversation went into the zone of the new gal saying (not verbatim) she'd heard I was tough, and my student saying, I do believe, "...do what she asks or she'll make you wish you were dead."
I was almost rolling on the floor laughing. I am a tough dance coach, I suppose, but it's only because I push my dancers to their maximum dance ability. I don't accept "I can't," and I don't accept halfway. It's what makes them good ;-)
This student is actually a member of my dance team, Green Envy (regardless of Envy's hiatus). Recently, our studio flooded, I had my wisdom teeth taken out, and pretty much everything under the sun was causing dance team practices to be postponed. So, per her request, I will now present for the Blog Club the Top Ten Reasons Dance Team Could Get Cancelled:
10.) The coach has been trampled by a rogue herd of llamas, who were angry when they heard (haha, herd) that their name was being used for a writer's benefit. For those of you who aren't aware, llamas can't stand the written word. They don't like what they can't understand.
9.) Dance has been made illegal in the state of Georgia for one day due to mass panic caused by the plans for participation in "The Macarena" at a wedding. We just can't let it come back.
8.) A flock of geese has built a nest at the studio, and they are now attempting to peck to death anyone who enters without bread crumbs.
7.) Colby is buried under her manuscript edits! HELP!
6.) Coach is busy arranging new curriculum involving annoyingly religious encouragement. "Let Jesus pirouette through you."
5.) Two words: noxious fumes.
4.) Two more words: Matt Damon.
3.) We must construct more tin foil hats due to the announcement that the Duggars are expecting their nineteenth child.
2.) I'm having to give the wildebeest a pep talk. He's been really down on himself lately, what with being at the bottom of the food chain and all. Perhaps I should let him beat up the Monkey just to raise his self-esteem?
And the number one reason dance team could be cancelled:
Because Kanye West called and interrupted it.
Happy week, everyone! Hope your weekends have all been as stellar as mine has!
Today, I read a conversation about myself on facebook. (Side note: to my gals who were talking, I LOVED it! So, no worries...). We're getting started on a new show I'm choreographing at the theatre, and one of the new gals was chatting with one of the ladies who has done several shows with, and I quote, "The Choreographer of Doom," and she was, let's say, giving her a heads up of what to expect from me. Well, I couldn't help but laugh (Side note: lest anyone think I'm picking on her, she's one of my AWESOME students! I'm only writing this story because I knew she wouldn't mind at all-- she's that type!). The conversation went into the zone of the new gal saying (not verbatim) she'd heard I was tough, and my student saying, I do believe, "...do what she asks or she'll make you wish you were dead."
I was almost rolling on the floor laughing. I am a tough dance coach, I suppose, but it's only because I push my dancers to their maximum dance ability. I don't accept "I can't," and I don't accept halfway. It's what makes them good ;-)
This student is actually a member of my dance team, Green Envy (regardless of Envy's hiatus). Recently, our studio flooded, I had my wisdom teeth taken out, and pretty much everything under the sun was causing dance team practices to be postponed. So, per her request, I will now present for the Blog Club the Top Ten Reasons Dance Team Could Get Cancelled:
10.) The coach has been trampled by a rogue herd of llamas, who were angry when they heard (haha, herd) that their name was being used for a writer's benefit. For those of you who aren't aware, llamas can't stand the written word. They don't like what they can't understand.
9.) Dance has been made illegal in the state of Georgia for one day due to mass panic caused by the plans for participation in "The Macarena" at a wedding. We just can't let it come back.
8.) A flock of geese has built a nest at the studio, and they are now attempting to peck to death anyone who enters without bread crumbs.
7.) Colby is buried under her manuscript edits! HELP!
6.) Coach is busy arranging new curriculum involving annoyingly religious encouragement. "Let Jesus pirouette through you."
5.) Two words: noxious fumes.
4.) Two more words: Matt Damon.
3.) We must construct more tin foil hats due to the announcement that the Duggars are expecting their nineteenth child.
2.) I'm having to give the wildebeest a pep talk. He's been really down on himself lately, what with being at the bottom of the food chain and all. Perhaps I should let him beat up the Monkey just to raise his self-esteem?
And the number one reason dance team could be cancelled:
Because Kanye West called and interrupted it.
Happy week, everyone! Hope your weekends have all been as stellar as mine has!
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Serious Sunday: Old Faithful
Good Ole Reliable Colby...that's me.
Do you ever have moments when you feel like you might be too reliable, though? The past few days I've felt in a lot of aspects like I'm that girl. You know the one...the one who's time isn't respected, and people just kind of think, "I'll get to her when I can, because she'll be there when I get the chance...she's not going anywhere."
Just a rough day, but that's what I feel like...good old reliable. Sometimes I wonder if maybe I should start being a little less reliable, because have you ever noticed the people who aren't seem to demand their time is respected, that you work around their schedule. And you know what? It works. Why is that?
But I think I'll always be good old reliable even though I wish I could not be. Why? Because I care too much.
/End rant.
Do you ever have moments when you feel like you might be too reliable, though? The past few days I've felt in a lot of aspects like I'm that girl. You know the one...the one who's time isn't respected, and people just kind of think, "I'll get to her when I can, because she'll be there when I get the chance...she's not going anywhere."
Just a rough day, but that's what I feel like...good old reliable. Sometimes I wonder if maybe I should start being a little less reliable, because have you ever noticed the people who aren't seem to demand their time is respected, that you work around their schedule. And you know what? It works. Why is that?
But I think I'll always be good old reliable even though I wish I could not be. Why? Because I care too much.
/End rant.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Sure, I'll Sleep At Your House in the Woods!
So, because I haven't blogged in over 5 days, I will now do a five part post to make up for my absence. I have noticed commercials for Disney's Snow White, which has recently been released from the Disney vault (Side note: Ok, can we just say it? F*** that damn vault. F*** it like it's Matt Damon. It really ruins everyone's day when they want to go get a copy Beauty and the Beast on dvd at Walmart, but NOOOO. The Disney vault rules all!!). And this has caused me to realize, however, that Snow White is by no means the beautiful princess I remember her as as a child. In fact, she is quite scary. Which brings to...The Disney Princesses: If They Were Spice Girls:
#1- Scary Princess-- Without a doubt, Snow White wins the game. Not only is her voice freakishly high like a woodland creature, but she looks as though she has inhaled share of helium and her eyes are squinted like Dopey when he's pissed off. Oh, and that's another thing: she's not only scary, but she lives with seven random men she met in the woods. So basically, we're not just talkin' scary, we're talkin' whore. Well, give it up, girl, cause those workin' men have big appeItites for more than gooseberry pie.
#2- Baby Princess-- This on is definitely Sleeping Beauty, otherwise known as Princess Aurora. She IS babied...she doesn't even know she's a princess until one day, her three fairy godmothers (Side note: whose sexual orientation is still yet to be determined), have to tell her in the woods on her sixteenth birthday. But NOT before they've made an awesome dress and a cake. With magic.
#3- Sporty Princess-- I think the closest we're going to get to this one is Pocahontas. I mean, let's face it: she runs around leaping into canoes and paddles down racing rivers (Side note: with her best friend...a raccoon.) She doesn't want to get married, and I'm pretty sure that deep down, the reason she doesn't want a man is because she knows she would just emasculate him with her mad sports skills. You, go, Pocahontas!
#4- Posh Princess-- No contest: Jasmine wins the Posh title. She has jewelry to rival Ivanka Trump, and she's rockin' the popped hip anytime she's standing still. And COME ON. Her best friend is a freakin' tiger. Grrrrrrrrr, Baby! Very Grrr!!!
#5- Ginger-- This would have to be Ariel. She's too good be a princess...she wants MORE! She must break away from her princess birth. But just like Ginger spice, Ariel found that when she broke away to leave being a princess, she only ended up being a different KIND of a princess. (Side note: The only difference between the two was that Ariel lived happily ever after with Prince Eric, and Ginger ended up worshipped by a bunch of techno-dancing, acid-tripping guys at the gay club dancing to her one and only hit, "It's Rainin' Men.") Oh, and she has red hair.
And there you have it, ladies and gents, the Disney Princesses as the Spice Girls. Now, I ask you...where else could you find such a mind-stimulating blog topic to read about?
Hope you have a great weekend! Who's your favorite Disney Princess?
#1- Scary Princess-- Without a doubt, Snow White wins the game. Not only is her voice freakishly high like a woodland creature, but she looks as though she has inhaled share of helium and her eyes are squinted like Dopey when he's pissed off. Oh, and that's another thing: she's not only scary, but she lives with seven random men she met in the woods. So basically, we're not just talkin' scary, we're talkin' whore. Well, give it up, girl, cause those workin' men have big appeItites for more than gooseberry pie.
#2- Baby Princess-- This on is definitely Sleeping Beauty, otherwise known as Princess Aurora. She IS babied...she doesn't even know she's a princess until one day, her three fairy godmothers (Side note: whose sexual orientation is still yet to be determined), have to tell her in the woods on her sixteenth birthday. But NOT before they've made an awesome dress and a cake. With magic.
#3- Sporty Princess-- I think the closest we're going to get to this one is Pocahontas. I mean, let's face it: she runs around leaping into canoes and paddles down racing rivers (Side note: with her best friend...a raccoon.) She doesn't want to get married, and I'm pretty sure that deep down, the reason she doesn't want a man is because she knows she would just emasculate him with her mad sports skills. You, go, Pocahontas!
#4- Posh Princess-- No contest: Jasmine wins the Posh title. She has jewelry to rival Ivanka Trump, and she's rockin' the popped hip anytime she's standing still. And COME ON. Her best friend is a freakin' tiger. Grrrrrrrrr, Baby! Very Grrr!!!
#5- Ginger-- This would have to be Ariel. She's too good be a princess...she wants MORE! She must break away from her princess birth. But just like Ginger spice, Ariel found that when she broke away to leave being a princess, she only ended up being a different KIND of a princess. (Side note: The only difference between the two was that Ariel lived happily ever after with Prince Eric, and Ginger ended up worshipped by a bunch of techno-dancing, acid-tripping guys at the gay club dancing to her one and only hit, "It's Rainin' Men.") Oh, and she has red hair.
And there you have it, ladies and gents, the Disney Princesses as the Spice Girls. Now, I ask you...where else could you find such a mind-stimulating blog topic to read about?
Hope you have a great weekend! Who's your favorite Disney Princess?
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