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.

Don't Cry for Me Argentina!

Uncle Mike won't allow it. Neither will I. As Homer said last night, "I don't want to talk about it". Maybe later baby but not now.

How y'all are then? I am happy for you to see me I guarantee! I miss Justin. That man could work a pork butt. I feel like Charlotte on a walk....focus!

Okay, where was I. Oh yeah, Indians game 3 and the sun is out. 12:05 start. The smell of fresh cut timber! The crash of mighty trees! My best gal by my side... Uh oh, channeling again.

So I am not a marketing wiz but I can say that if I did promotions at "The Pro", I might make Corona and Dos Equis my beer special on Cinco de Mayo. In fact, I might even open the special Corona/Dos Equis stand on a day such as today and perhaps do a deal on nachos and beer. Alas, the special was some draft ale and a rum drink. Well done my friend whoever you are.

The crowd is sparse (in fact the crowd is so sparse they had to school bus the kids in like a McCain-Palin rally) but as usual our section is full. In front of us are four guys from Parma. Now, I don't know for sure that they are from Parma (in fact, I am pissing in the wind here) but I might bet the farm. My only regret is that I was not able to get Dude Number 2's t-shirt in the photo. It was a lovely number. A souvenir from a trip to Florida. I know this because under the alligator graphic, it says "FLORIDA". It's awesome. He giggles like a girl although he did laugh when I said "where's the Benny Hill music when you need it". We suck except for Choo.

Pornstache was working the game and I tried to get his attention a lot by calling out "Hey, Pornstache". Admittedly, this might not be the best thing to yell at a Cleveland cop but I kind of get the feeling he'd dig it. Still no zoom but I don't feel a Tribe post would be complete without him.

Harry Shine was also there (credit Joanna). He was a lot hairier and a lot shinier in person. It was a sweaty day.


The Indians Hawaiian shirt is apparently what all the guys are wearing this season.


We saw three in our section alone. It's versatile and looks "good" with jeans, khakis, or Bermuda shorts.





At this point, I suppose I should discuss the game. We were in the lead or tied for the majority of the game and then, "it" happened. The bottom of the 8th inning. The Blue Jays (who now wear black - wtf?) were kind of sort of threatening and Acta decides now would be a good time to make a call to the Bullpen and bring in Chris Perez. I start booing. I boo him as he drags his satchel ass (credit my dad) to the mound. I boo him as he warms up. I make disparaging comments as he strikes out 2 to end the inning. I am not impressed. I know that even though Acta should take this as a sign from the heavens that he should count his lucky stars and put anyone else on the mound for the 9th, he won't. I've just lived through the hell that was the 3rd period in Detroit last night so I know it's coming. The fans around me are suckers, nay idiots. They cheer him as the first two batters go down. I don't. I am waiting for it. As everyone stands to cheer Satchel Ass to victory, I wait for it. Oh, look! Down 0 and 2 on the count and he throws up a nice juicy fat ball. It goes to center field for a base hit. A couple of guys a few rows in front of us contemplate the stupidity of the pitch. I yell something like "It's Perez, come on! He sucks!" There is an error and another body on the bases. That's two and we were up by two with the game losing run at the plate. Perez coughs up the long ball. 5 - 4 Black Jays. There is another error and we get out of the inning to not rally in the bottom of the 9th. I now have a special new chant:

Daduh duh duh duh duh! Duh duh duh duh duh! Duh duh duh duh duh . . . Pe-rez sucks!

A Douche

Oh, the Shark, Babe, Has Such Teeth, Dear

This post is in honor of Chip. As I watched the debacle that was the end of the Washington Capitals mighty President's Trophy (a jinx as deadly as an SI cover) winning season, I only had thoughts of Chip. The Chip who considers himself first and foremost a Red Wings fan. The Chip who probably gets all of his hockey knowledge reading John Buccigross. The Chip who lectured me nigh on 2 months ago on the Red Wings lost season ("they won't make the playoffs" he said), on the Red Wings roster ("their time has passed" he said), and on the future of the NHL ("the Capitals will win the Stanley Cup this year" he said). Well, Chippers, it's Thursday April 29th and the Red Wings are in San Jose getting ready to face the Jabberjaws (okay, I stole that reference but I love it) and the Capitals are polishing their golf shoes.

Did I ever mention that I love Bobby Darin?

Bring on the Dancing Arses!

First, allow me to apologize for a lack of pictures because most of them were either too dark or blurry and it's not because I was tipsy either!

The night began early with a couple of Raging Bitches (that's the beer not us) and after some dallying on Kirby's part, we arrived downtown around 7:00. The doors had just opened and there was no line so I knew it would be a light crowd. Awesome. As we head down East 4th on our way to Flannery's, walking towards us (or Euclid Avenue) is a motley group of three rather British looking blokes. The two on the outside are tall and thin with bedhead, pencil leg jeans and pointy shoes. The one in the middle is short and stout with a big nose and a blunt hair cut. I announce to the group that the gnome is none other than Will Sargeant. Kirby says, "Oh, they were looking at us". Of course they were. Will knows me.

As we enter Flannery's (specifically after 7:00 to avoid the Cavs crowd), we see Bob at the bar and notice that the Cavs game is on. As the play moves to the basket area we see "BULLS" emblazoned on the court. Glad we avoided that crowd. Flannery's is without much excitement (other than Kirby scaring the bartender - seriously chick, grow a backbone) so we head to HOB around 8:15. The bastards don't card me! The one time I bring my ID and the bastards don't card me. Stacey flirts with a guy and his wand and we enter.

We head upstairs to the bar and get in line. In front of us is this chick. Stacey and I discuss whether or not there is some female code that requires us to put her tag back in, we feel that there is but then decide not to abide by it because it's funnier this way. As we take our drinks, we notice the opening band is on. It's some annoyingly pretentious dude from NYC (are there any other kind?) whose name I can't remember and have no urge to look up. I can say that he was bald and at some point wrote a song when he was living in Detroit and I yelled out "Let's go Wings"! Hey, it is the playoffs bitches.

As his set is winding down or over, Christine and Tom show up (Tom is wearing a hoodie and this is important so remember it) I head to the bar to get Patron to cheer Kirby up (he hates opening acts) and I end up talking to some guy about hockey. Don't ask me how we got to hockey because we started out talking about how shiny the opening act dude's head was and this led to a discussion on the merits of hats. In any event, he became a Calgary Flames fan after visiting a bar in Calgary devoted to all things hockey and all things Flames. He heard me yell "Let's go Wings". He was a nice guy and we said our good byes.

After depositing the drink, I head to the floor to find Bob and his friend. As I work my way through the crowd, I see Fat Abby and by Fat Abby I mean an obese version of Abby, the forensics chick from NCIS. It's not pretty. I find Bob and pass on by. There is boredom and then the lights go low Joe (well, it is the Bunnies) and we hear Gregorian chants. There is dancing (Mac is dancing a lot tonight as well) and singing and smoking if you are Mac because apparently it's okay if he smokes in HOB but nobody else. There is also some strange nose picking going behind the drums (I'd so hate to be that guy's roadie). The set contains all the classics and one new song, Whatever You Want or whatever because no one really cares. Do It Clean, The Cutter, Killing Moon (sounds awesome), etc. I tell Tom he should shout something to piss off Mac because to this point, there has been no tiff with any member of the audience. This can't continue. He asks me what he should say and I say "request a song he has refused to ever play again...request All My Colours" and then I head to the bar. As I stand there I hear the melancholy notes that are the hallmark of All My Colours. I laugh and say "Zimbo, zimbo, zimbo, zimbo, zimbo".
Then as if by magic, we arrive at that point in time when "it" happens. Someone shows Mac something he has seen before and he tells whomever is showing him their whatevers that not only is he not impressed, but that those are quite possibly some of the worst whatevers he has ever seen. Yes, Mac is still the prat we know and adore. In between all the awesome songs there is Bring on the Dancing Horsemen and of course, Lips Like Drippy Poppy Sugar. They work "Walk on the Wild Side" into the encore. Sweet.

As we get ready to leave, we are instructed by Christine that we must leave together because they don't know how to get back into the BP garage across the street. It is tricky but we wait nonetheless. As we work our way towards the exit, Christine and Tom stop by the bathrooms. A portion of these activities escape Stacey and she approaches some tall thin guy in a hoodie and hugs him goodbye. Kirby and I look on in amazement as does the "hug-ie". Stacey then realizes it's not Tom as Tom has just shown up. As we leave, she then attempts to get re-scanned by the HOB security dude with the wand. She's 0 and 2 at this point but it's not her fault. The fail is all on the guys tonight.

Once on the street, I see Fat Abby and there is some good light. I stand behind this big guy selling roses on the street and ask him if I can use him as cover. "All I want is a shot at Fat Abby" I tells him but he freaks out like he's a'scared of me or something? Like I am going to shoot him or her or something. By then everyone is calling to me as if I lost my way. Would you sympathize? Could you sympathize? (Third lyric placement) So, I have no Fat Abby picture for you and then we listened to Duran Duran on the way home (Planet Earth of course because it is the only good Duran Duran).

Zimbo Zimbo Zimbo Zimbo Zimbo

It is T-4 days to Mac and his Mouth so I've got "All My Colours" stuck in my head. I apparently have a lot of things stuck in my head. If you ever wondered just how many things, this tale may provide some illumination (it'll also explain the Tardis, trust me).

A few days ago, Stacey tells me she bought Armor All (or something that cleans cars) because Kirby's car was so shiny and clean that she felt bad about her car. I said, "Are you kidding me? His car is a mess. It's dirty". No bells.

This morning we had to go to Home Depot to buy a new kitchen faucet. Kirby unlocks the passenger door and I get in. No bells. He starts the car and pushes the key in. Bells. I look at the dash. Bells and bells! There is a screen in the dash and the controls all look different but I entered the Police Box and it looked just like it should but it's bigger on the inside. I say, "Did you get a new stereo or something?" Kirby says "Yeah, something". I say, "Is this the same car? Did you get a new car?" Yeah, he did. When you say? March 31. You can't get anything by me.

The screen displays the Artist List from the iPod that's hooked up in glove compartment, it's got Bluetooth, and you push a button to engage the parking brake. My new faucet is cool too.

And now, I present one of the few Wings who did not piss me off today (I am looking at you, Kronner). I hope Shane "Sucks" Doan is done for the series and that the Wings get their act together.