You Know How I Know You're Gay?

Yeah, hold that thought because we'll get to the Coldplay!

First, apologies for the delay. I've been busy doing a lot of nothing and waiting for a rainy-ish day in which to pen this next exciting installment. So, without further ado, I bring you the blog entry on the wedding of the year!

As you may remember our heroines were looking forward to a weekend away from the grind of not having to wake up and go to work. This doesn't mean we (I am far too lazy to continue in the third person) don't get stressed. We do. Very stressed. It's just that our stress inducers are different. They live in the brown house across the street. They gave birth to us. And in some cases, they wear fur and live with us. They can just sense when we are dreaming of a get away so there is simply no better time to contract HGE or develop a face swelling infection. After three nerve wracking and expensive days, we are finally able to pack our bags and get out of town!

Our chauffeur, let's call him Ron, arrives on time and we are quickly whisked away to Cleveland Hopkins International Airport. As usual there are no lines and after successfully navigating the moving walkway, we deposit ourselves at Gate D9 for our on time departure to Reagan National Airport. I decide that I should get a coffee and as I drop my bags, I look up and see the co-pilot for our flight walking out of the jet way. I notice that he is tall, dark and handsome with the added advantage of having some fairly piercing blue eyes. A combination that since Randolph Mantooth, has always grabbed my attention. I alert Stacey but she is too busy texting some dude who is not tall, dark or handsome. I shrug. What more can I do. After waiting far too long for a cup of questionable coffee, we board our express jet and are immediately informed of various safety precautions by our flight attendant, Natasha. Now I don't think her name is Natasha. I only call her Natasha because she has a Russian accent and as soon as she makes her announcement, Stacey runs to my seat (I am two rows behind) to say "Moose and squirrel". Yeah, it's going to be like that. The short flight is uneventful and we soon arrive at our gate. I tell Stacey I will meet her inside as she has gate checked her bag. A few minutes later, she bounds up the jet way, bag in tow, with this silly smirk on her face. She says, "Oh man, the co-pilot is hot! Did you see him?" Whatever...

The Metro ride to the hotel is fairly uneventful other than we thought we'd be smart and by an "all day" pass only to find that the "all day" pass doesn't work until 9:30 a.m. and it's only 9:15. After purchasing a one way ticket to get to the hotel, we wait on the platform until a little after 9:30 at which time our "all day" pass would have worked! We check in and call Hallie and agree to meet her at a restaurant that is not open but we do hook up and head on out to the Mall. As we depart the Metro station, Stacey manages to fall over some crates. That's one. At least two guys come to her aid. It's all very gallant but it's like 95 degrees with 98% humidity by this time and we need to hit the WWII Memorial before we melt. After navigating the morons and very fat sweaty Americans (see left), we arrive. It's lovely but I can't help thinking it looks like Albert Speer designed it (see right).

At this point, we are melting so we head to the National Gallery to lay on the marble floor. We end up spending a very lovely, cool afternoon amongst some of my favorite pieces of art. We are the only people laughing and having fun. Everyone else walks very quickly and then takes pictures of the important pieces of art that they were there to "see". I can say that the one place they do stop is in front of the grossly overrated portrait of Ginevra de Benci. I can only assume they believe that there is a secret code buried somewhere in the small, drab piece. I look around and notice no tall albino monks but still decline to look at it professionally. It's kind of like when The Cure play Love Song or the Bunnies do Lips Like Crack and I dance ironically. But soon we are off to the Boticelli's, the Rosso's, the Bronzino's, the Hals', the Ingres', the Whistler's (yes, I love Whistler). The day is full of classic art history one liners: "Sir Jeffrey, get that monkey off your back", "Boy, that's a really ugly baby Jesus", and the instant classic, "And how can you miss a Rodin!". Well, you can't. We view some of the recent acquisitions, including White Bread by James Rosenquist (sublime) and Bagpipe Player by Hendrick ter Brugghen (one of the loveliest paintings I have ever seen) and the Munch exhibit (how uplifting). Stacey runs into two of her favorite men, Napoleon and the Security Guard from Louisiana. Sadly, the afternoon must end as we have to return to the hotel and wash off the afternoon's stank as we are attending the pre-wedding BBQ at some swanky private club in Georgetown established in 1796.

Refreshed and redressed, we get in our taxi only to find that our cabbie is not real happy about driving from Dupont Circle to Georgetown at 6:00 pm on a Friday night. I can understand. The traffic sucks, it takes forever, and the fare is low. It is one of the worst cab rides I have ever had and I have had a cabbie fall asleep on me. Stacey doesn't agree but then she was on the phone with her mother discussing Charlotte's personal habits. As we descend from our coach, whiplash now fully developed, we are met at the door by Joanna (the mother of the groom) and Rhonda (the step-mother of the groom). Now, I know a lot about Rhonda even though I've never met her so it requires all my social skills to not make faces at her. Luckily, we head right to the bar and then meet up with Tom (the step-father of the groom) on the patio where our evening transpires.

It is here that we meet Joanna's siblings, her nephew Fauxhawk, and the future Attorney General of West Virginia (in the yellow pants). Smashing! We meet Fauxhawk's brother who has been living in China and has brought his Cambridge educated English girlfirend to the wedding. She asks Stacey and I if we are "business partners". Now, I've spent a lot of time in Old Blighty but I've never heard it called that before. She gets away from us as soon as possible as it's "catching" I hear. At some point I notice a waiter who keeps darting in and out of the tables. He intrigues me. He looks like the D-List version of Stephen Dorff and even though I try desperately to get his picture, he eludes me. At some point, Stacey stops him and chats him up. He's French (what else?) but from some town she's never heard of so I determine that he is actually Belgian. Stacey attempts to explain the "Stephen Dorff" thing but it goes nowhere and she dubs him "The Dorffmunder". You know, like the beer Dortmunder, a pale blonder lager! The allusion is sheer perfection so we call it a night.

Saturday is a big breakfast and a day by the pool. Delightful and uneventful. Refreshed we shower and dress for the wedding. We hit the bar for a pre-ceremony refreshment and then cross the street to another private club. This one is swanky as well but only dates to the mid-19th century. Still, it's nice. We take up our seats for the ceremony and admire the artwork. Stacey calls that the bride's niece will have a temper tantrum during the ceremony. She does. Now as ceremonies go, it was fine. I can't say I paid much attention to anything other than the music. The had a nice five piece (I am guessing here as I never counted) that was playing assorted Beatles songs as people filtered in. The songs for the ceremony included The Verve's Bittersweet Symphony, the Bryan Adams "classic" Everything I Do I Bloody Well Do For You" (during which I kept looking around for Alan "The Sheriff of Nottingham" Rickman) and finally, Coldplay's Viva La Vida. At which point, I knew they were gay.

After the ceremony, I move to get a closer look at my sassy dude. He is sassy isn't he? Joanna's brother joins me. He has no idea why I am staring at this painting until I tell him he's my dream man, "Romantic, poetic, and slightly syphilitic". I think he believed me. We then move on and grab drinks and run into the lovely Joanna and Tom.

We drink some more and then mosey on in to the ballroom area. Stacey and I don't know we are supposed to sit with Joanna and Tom so, like a couple of good Sicilians, we find a table by the wall and face the door. We are soon joined by a friend of Bart's (the groom) who is from New Jersey. Another Sicilian! He is attending a girl named Allyn who makes it very clear that she is not with that guy but a guy in the wedding party. We chat. We scare Allyn. We are her worst nightmare: over 40, not married, and with another female at a wedding. Once I make a crack about Stacey giving me cancer, she leaves for good. Easy peasy.

What else can I tell you about the wedding? The band was white and played Motown classics. We dubbed them the Below Average White Band. Visits to the bathroom were thrilling, especially as Stacey and I had apparently donned cloaks of invisibility. Other than Joanna, Tom, Joanna's family, the Italian kid and Allyn, absolutely no one saw us! On Stacey's trip to the WC, she encountered one young woman who felt strongly she should be on American Idol. To prove her point, she sang "Isn't She Lovely" (performed earlier by the BAWB during the Father/Bride dance). On my trip to the loo, I learned that one of the girls had a brother who was "hot"! In fact, when I found out that not only was he "hot" but that he was the "Dean" of the English Department at some prep school, I knew the girl in stall number three was correct when she said the sister needed to introduce them. I mean, she was an English Lit major! Of course, I agree he'd have to shave that beard if she wanted to take him to her "club" but that's okay because it was only a "vacation beard"! Whew. Crisis totally averted. After all this excitement, we called it an early night.

On Sunday, we hit the Mall again. This time we went to the Korean War Memorial. I find it quite stunning even if some of the people there admitted out loud that they "don't even know how that war started". Oh, I don't know? WWII and that whole 38th parallel thingy? We then hoofed it over to the Vietnam War Memorial where we actually overheard some whiny teen tell his mother that he was "hot, tired, hungry, and thirsty". For some reason, his mother did not smack him in the face. Stacey and I did so in our heads.


Over heated, we went to the airport a little early because it would be cool and there was a bar right across from our gate. Before we could get there, I had to get in the security line behind a lady with a very big behind. She was traveling with some breathing equipment in a suit case so this caused some issues for TSA. To make matters a little more complicated, she decided to pack a can of bean dip. Apparently she didn't think this would be an issue. It was. She made it out of security as we were sipping our first drinks, for which Stacey was carded. We both laughed and I said, "do you want to see mine as well?" Our less than charming waitress said, "No, I don't think so". My lovely buzz was ruined when on the flight home. I was across the aisle from a young lad who had crossed that threshold of puberty but was still unaware of the fact that this meant his feet now stunk.

And now the rain has cleared and the sun is out and I have come to the end of my tale. I am sure I missed something but I lost my notes as the airport bar. I blame the waitress!

Am I Pleased to See You or Did I Just Put a Canoe in My Pocket?

"WOOF!"

First let me get this out of the way, "I was right"! I just knew it was going to be a boy. Perhaps it was the agita (a sure sign there is another man in your life!)? Perhaps it was the early arrival of the pot belly? Perhaps I am a witch who can see the future? Most likely it was the luck of the draw and for once I was on the winning side of a 50/50 wager. I have been rather lucky since receiving my Wee Little Garden Gnome (yes Stef, he is sitting on the fake grass right next to the one you sent years ago).

In honor of Baby D (aka Larry Larry), I thought I should host a "Flash By Name, Flash By Nature - Name the Baby D Contest" because I just think the kid is going to be pretty Flash*. I haven't decided what the prize might be - Perhaps I can interest someone in some Indians tickets? How about a LeBron James Cavs jersey? - but we'll cross that bridge when someone really impresses me. To get you started, I thought I'd provide you with some little known facts about the Baby D:

• Baby D's father, maternal and paternal grandfather, and paternal great grandfather are/were all Larrys so he hails from a long line of Larrys.
  
• Baby D's mama was born and raised in West Unity, Ohio, a town with a stop light. This means you can reach into the Palin lexicon to come up with some really creative names based on geographic locales. So go forth and utilize the "Google Maps" for delightful locations in Northwestern Ohio and please, don't forget your favorite fair food!
  
• No one in Baby D's family has yet employed a bar sinister (that's for you Anglophiles out there) so don't forget the "Thompson"!
  
• Baby D's father spent his youth listening to Rush, AC/DC, KISS, and Judas Priest. He was one of the many few who "didn't see that coming". Feel free to pillage lyrics, song titles, and band member names.

• Baby D's maternal grandmother has an irrational fear of Biblical names so don't be afraid to pick up the good book and peruse its contents for spiritual guidance.
  
• On the other end of the spectrum, Baby D is due the first week of December so that makes him a Sagittarius. According to the "stars", Baby D will be ruled by Jupiter and the Ninth House, his favorable color will be Purple (so go for the Prince), his key body part will be his hips and thighs (perhaps Elvis), and his lucky gem is Topaz (Alfred is going old school but also the name of Baby D's daddy's favorite stuffed dog).
  

In conclusion, I just want to offer a hearty congratulations to Larry and Chris and also to remind them that parenting is a serious business. You need to be cruel to be kind, to know when to give them an inch and when to yank on the leash (literally), and finally, when to say yes to the fauxhawk but perhaps no to the tattooed eyebrows and horns.

Is it just me or does this guy look a little like George?

*If you don't know your Flash, for shame! Watch this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DYNlcLx91PA

And Here in the Bar the Piano Man's Found....

Okay, I had this really great title for this post but I've forgotten it so I've made a "note to self" to start taking notes! Perhaps as I write this it shall come back to me but I really honestly doubt it. My apologies as it was brilliant.

The night starts as each HOB night starts, at Flannery's only tonight Flannery's smells like a frat house (sour beer) and there are gnats everywhere. There are only two empty stools at the bar and those are next to a couple of other empty tools. They are playing some really bad music. One of those stations where every band sounds like Creed or Staind or one of those bands in that genre. I can't tell them apart. At some point the obligatory "If you could only see the way she loves me..." song comes on. As soon as I hear the song start I make the "this might be the worst song in the world" comment and then it happens, Stacey asks if there is a band playing. I look at her, perplexed. It turns out the tool on the stool next to her is singing along to the song, Bud Light can in hand. Well, there's nothing for it but to order the Irish Nachos and move on. As if to somehow apologize to us, they add a side of BBQ sauce. It works. That is the missing piece to the puzzle.

At about 7:30 or so we figure there should be no line at the door and we head over to HOB. We were wrong. There is a line and we have to stand there and find some way to amuse ourselves. To our right, we had images from the "Bodies" exhibit. This is creepy but also amusing because everyone looks Chinese so we begin speaking in our bad Chinese accents. Yes, "we been here for hours" a la Louie Anderson. After that loses it appeal, we start scanning the crowd. Meet Cheap Trick I. Sadly, her friend had back fat poking out of her tube-ish kind of top but I did not get her photo. I determined that she was "at her heavy weight" (copywrite My Mother - she actually made this comment about me earlier in the day - I guess she has relaxed). Actually, now that I think about it, most folks in the crowd are now at their "heavy weight". As we get closer to the door, we feast our eyes on this vision in blue. Cheap Trick II is a very cheap trick indeed. I've always thought that if you have cankles, you don't want to wear shoes that accentuate your (c)ankles. Boy, as I wrong! Short little piggy legs really do look good in lace up cream wedge sandals, especially when paired with an empire waist dress. It's kind of like Jane Austen meets Prospect Avenue (for the non-Clevelanders, that's where the hos are).

We are wrist banded, scanned, and stamped. We use the Ladies Room where I lose my balance and some people think I am drunk. I am not but if I amused them, then I am happy. We get a couple of drinks and find a place to stand to the right of the stage. We have determined that this is mostly a Cheap Trick crowd and not just because the first people we saw were an entire family in black and white Cheap Trick t-shirts. They announce the line up and apparently, CT is on first. This is good news because the floor will clear out but bad news that we have to listen to the entire CT set.

The CT set. Stacey and I are the only two people within eye and ear shot that are completely and utterly bored. Not smitten. "Lips Like Sugar" indifference. "Love Song" indifference. That said, even Stacey can't meet my level of indifference. She dances a bit during "I Want You to Want Me", "Dream Police", and some other song that was a hit that I can't remember. I mostly pee a lot and get us another drink. That is once I have had a chance to drink in their visage. Sadly, we are not close enough for you to get a great view but I can say that they really haven't aged all that well. At certain points the blond guy holds his bad back which really kind of blows the whole rock n' roll image if you know what I mean. I then get so bored I fixate on horrible mental images (does this guy have white pubes and other things I know feel uncomfortable sharing) and what does this dude look like naked. (Please note the "little doggie steps", you know the ones they make for little dogs to jump on your bed, on the black and white platform at the edge of the stage. Apparently these guys can't jump anymore. Oh, wait! Speaking of jumping, the guitarist only gets about two feet off the ground on his split leg jumps.) There is a lot of gratuitous guitar changing, throwing of picks, and creepy smiling at the crowd. At this point you may be asking yourself, "what does a Cheap Trick groupie look like?" Well, there are three "groupie" type chicks at the front of the stage who all have very bleached blond hair and the same hair cut (i.e. David Bowie in Labrynth), bobbing their heads in unison with left or right arm raised in a rock n' roll salute. In fact, it's all very rock n' roll. I always considered CT to be a bit power pop but they're not. It was kind of like a bit of power pop which then morphed into Rush from the Snakes and Arrows tour but without the hope that they will play Working Man or Fly By Night. I will be listening to the Vapors today.

As CT leaves the stage. the floor swap begins. Stacey and I wade the massive exiting crowd - in fact, I haven't seen such a crowd swap this massive since Bauhaus' Coachella appearance although I don't remember who was on before them - maybe Weezer - and make it to the floor. It's relatively pleasant until these two porky lesbians show up. Think purple windbreaker girl if there were two of her, they were fat, and they were hanging all over each other talking very loudly. Very quickly, they annoy everyone in their general vicinity, especially Stacey. When she asks them to keep to their own personal smelly space (it's hotter than hell down there), one comments that "this is the floor so what does she expect". Well, when there is space, you expect people to stay in it. This is not like expecting personal space on the floor for Social Distortion, which I have seen dudes try to make for their bitches. On to Squeeze.
They are so British, so cute, and they have aged well. Chris Difford (left) is adorable with his glasses and his music stand with lyrics and Glenn is snappy in his orange suit and white, white shoes. The guy on keyboards is great despite not being Jools Holland (who is?). The Lesbots have now moved ahead of us and begin to writhe to Black Coffee in Bed. Thankfully, after they offer me some Nicorette, they clear. The set is marred by a couple of things: a new album and the omission of one of my favorite songs. Nonetheless, Stacey and I soldier on and dance our asses off. As usual, I am sweating from the head like nobody's business. No one around us does more than sway occasionally. They play a new song which sounds like something any band at any Holiday Inn bar would play (I am bitter about this as you will see below), Goodbye Girl (it's awesome), Slap N' Tickle, that crappy Temptation song (I really don't care so much after Jools left), Cool For Cats (we did sing it loud and proud for Dean), Up the Junction, and on and on. I assume we will get Pulling Mussels From a Shell and Another Nail from My Heart for the encores. Well, we got the Mussels but not the Nail. I leave, drenched and slightly heartbroken but with the knowledge that I will always have the Rib Burn Off!

We decide that we must do our bit to keep them in the style they deserve and buy over priced t-shirts. Stacey gets the one with the Squeeze logo (see above) and I get a bright mustard yellow number with red ketchup letters that says "I Quite Like Squeeze". Yeah, baby.

Time to go home. It's hot, the top is down, and we are blasting "Another Nail From My Heart" on the stereo. As we stop at Superior and East 9th, there is a firetruck. As one we shout, "Hey Firemen!" and then realize the top is down and that was our loud outside voice. We laugh and then as we turn the corner, we get two honks from the Firetruck! Take that Cheap Trick hos!

Marley & Me

So there it is. Herr Doctor removed the Steri-Strips yesterday and for the first time, I cried "Ouch!" Not once during the four radioactive injections in my face, the needles in my arms and hands, the 100 stitches or their removal but only when the good doctor pulled those little strips from my neck and face. Hey, it hurts when those little hairs are pulled out of your head!

Okay, it's kind of ugly but you can't see it head on and it's only been sixteen days since the surgery. I am told that the lumps and bumps are normal and I believe they should subside as everything heals. But I am jumping ahead! I had a female resident who came in and checked things out in general and talked to me about how I was doing. I decided not to mention the whole Ferengi thing as she didn't look like she liked the Sci-Fi. So, I told her fine and that I really wanted these damned strips off and to work out again. She promised Herr Doctor would take them off and that he'd probably give me the okay on the exercise. She then left and I sat bored out of my mind for about 10 minutes.

When Herr Doctor came in, he had the same resident plus another. The first thing out of his mouth was "Oh, what happened there?" I explained the body check and that Doctor Woodhouse (yes, I will always go to him even if he spells his name wrong) didn't like the one on the side of my nose. He said it was odd but not in a bad melanoma kind of way. He kind of just smiled and shook his head. When it rains it pours. I gave him the Godiva chocolate from my mother and said, Now you have to share"! He then starts pulling off this strips (insert ouches) and says, "You don't mind if I talk about you..." "Like I am not here" says I. "No, knock your socks off" I tells him. He then describes how the skin on my cheek used to be all the way over there as I think "and it feels like it wants to go back". He tells them that it was odd that I had this on my cheek so young and then refers to the man they had just seen who had one in the same spot (this would be the guy who had surgery two days before me) but he was twice my age. I then shout, "He was 100?" Herr Doctor says, "Wait, how old are you" and we all laugh. The man was like 92 so they gave me a few years. Ta.

He then gives me the drill. Lumps and bumps. I can buy expensive creams for the scar but he suggests using Vitamin E capsules (which I have just done) and tells me to always wear sunscreen there to protect from scarring. I can work out (I did forty five minutes on the treadmill this morning) and I don't have to come back for two months. He still wants to see me regularly even though I am in a very low risk group (in fact, it is 97 out of 100 people in my group will never have further issues).

So now it's Marley & Me. Had he had that toe checked out sooner, he'd still be smiling, smoking, and fathering children. Scars suck but it's a lot better than the alternative! Ride natty, ride!

It's Benign, Bitch!

So this post is a little late but I was just too happy yesterday. From now on, I think I shall always celebrate June 25. Why not. It was a good day.

I still have Ferengi ear and I feel like a 75 year old on my left side but all my facial muscles work. Who's complaining? Not me.

BSpot tomorrow night and Squeeze is 7/11. Hopefully I can dance by then.

Out with the Old, In with the Glue!

Meet my new face! I went to see Herr Doctor this morning and he removed my stitches - all 100 or so of them. I believe that elevates me to the NHL in terms of sheer number of stitches in my face. It pinched and it felt like he was pulling out my hem, which he was because I guess it was all one very long thread. I am glad they are out but everything is throbbing a bit.

After he took them out and cleaned the area, he put some glue on the incision and added the lovely steri-strips you see here. So I feel less like Frankenstein and more like a crafts project. I keep these for about two weeks.

He didn't have the biopsy results back (Thursday most likely) but he went over the information he gave me after the surgery - 100% of which I didn't remember - and told me a little bit more about what they did. The surgery went very well and they did remove a portion of parotid gland and tested that during surgery. That was clear. I asked if that was a good sign and he said "yes". My ear is huge because they detached it from the rest of my face and replaced the skin with some from my neck. The tightness is from the mini-face lift. They did move muscles so that is why I am sore. I've got some severed nerves that will eventually re-attach themselves and begin to work so it will feel like my face again. Eventually. He said I had beautiful skin (charmer) so it should heal nicely but there will always be a loss of feeling.

I can't work out yet because I can't get my heart rate up so that kind of sucks but I can go back to working in my garden.

It's Just a Flesh Wound!

So there it is. I am stiff, my ear hurts a little bit, my throat is sore from the tube but I am oddly okay. I'd like to think of myself as the best patient ever.

Admissions did not have the information to send me to Nuclear Medicine (that's just wrong) so I told them and went down there. This was by far the worst part of the day. I had to get four injections of that radioactive stuff in my left cheek. It really did feel like I was being assimilated by the Borg and I had visions of blue veins growing on my face. I was told to then pretend like I was chewing to move the stuff around and I got under the camera. This lasted for an hour and forty-five minutes to no avail. They could not identify the sentinel lymph node and I was now fifteen minutes late for surgery so they sent me up without pictures. So I was still not having much luck with this thing.

In pre-op, I was told I'd need to pee in a cup because UH requires pregnancy tests for females of child bearing age (at least I am sill in that group). I then told them about Aunt Flo and we all had a good laugh. I get into my lovely gown and they whisk me away to my chamber where 30 people descend upon me. They've been waiting for me. All of them. Everyone asking me the same questions. The nurses are struggling with the new software and I giggle as they apologize. I tell them what I do for a living. Anesthesia sticking IVs in my hands, nurses sticking sticky things on me, residents telling me about the surgery and that depending on the size of the "flap" (see above), I might have to stay the night. I am bummed but one night is better than two days. Herr Doctor pops by and sits on my bed. I apologize for being a problem but he says, "It happens" and they had a guy with one in the same place yesterday - although his was 4 mm! - and it was hard to find the SLN. They would try a couple of different probes in surgery and if that didn't work, he'd wake me up and we could decide whether to just watch the area or take out all the lymph nodes. I am still waiting for a break here but I remain cheerful. One of the anesthetists asks me if I want the relaxation drug before I go and I say, "hell yeah". It's awesome. They drag my mother and godmother in so I can wave to them and were off to the OR. I don't remember why or how we got on the topic but as we arrived I was giving everyone in the OR my favorite drink recipes, including an electric lemonade. They put on the oxygen masks and Laura went sleepy time.

It was sunny. And green. I was in my garden and someone was calling "Laura. Laura." I woke up and it was three o'clock. I was drowsy for about 15 minutes but after that, fine. I had more really nice nurses struggling with the software, giving the IT people the vendor sent the stink eye. I told her she shouldn't let it keep her up and night and that they (the nurses) would work it out together. The male resident stops by and tells them they are sending me home. I beam and say "sweet". They ask me to rate my pain level from 1 to 10 and I say "1". I am the happiest girl in recovery until they bring Dennis out of surgery. He doesn't want to wake up and his nurse is yelling at him and yelling at him. Now I might be a little delusional but when I heard "Laura", it was just someone calling out to me. Not like Dennis. He does wake up but then moans and moans and moans and moans! I have a Coke and some Lorna Doone cookies and then my nurse tells me she is handing me off to someone else (on the other side of recovery where they discharge you) and that I have been the best patient. See, I am not just bragging.

I am so happy to be away from Dennis that I munch delightedly on my cookies and smile as I meet my new nurse. She is also great. I am enjoying the relative tranquility and then Neil comes out of surgery. He makes Dennis seem like a champ. Not only will he not wake up, he is in distress or so it seems. I could tell the nurse was alarmed. She was checking to make sure he hadn't had a stroke. He didn't. Then he told them he was in pain but he wasn't. This went on for some time. They sent in my mother and godmother and we chatted while they found my clothes. I finally got to use the bathroom and when I looked in the mirror, my hair looked perfectly Flock of Seagulls. As I walked out, I told the nurse at the counter that I thought I'd leave my hair like this. She laughed.

So that is about it. I get my stitches out in 6 days.