Field Day

I swear to God, unless your child is a track and field super-star, "field day" is the handiwork of the devil himself. It is a freaking nightmare for all involved. My child was not built for speed. Or for sudden movement. Well, he can move suddenly if a lacrosse ball is being fired at him but that may be more impulse than anything else. He does not come from track and field stock. He is of Sicilian/Albanian/Irish/Scottish peasant stock. The kind of people that hold onto their fat in case of famine. Long and lean and fast is not in his gene pool. I was really hoping that as he's gotten a bit older he would see that if nothing else, "field day" is a great excuse to be outside with your friends on a sunny day rather than in the classroom. When I walked onto said field, I was hopeful. Jack had a blue ribbon pinned to his chest and was beaming. Sweet. No 4th, 5th, 6th or participation ribbons. We're off to a good start. It was downhill from there. Foot race? Last place. Hurdles errrrr, not so much. This caused him to immediately start inwardly sulking. Which is WAY better than outwardly sulking, trust me. But I could tell. I'm his mommy. I gently explained (YES, I CAN be gentle if the moment requires it) that not everybody is good at everything. I told him quite truthfully that I abhorred field day when I was a kid. I also informed him that most of these fools couldn't play lacrosse if their lives depended on it. Still nothin'. I left shortly before the long jump. I'm not hopeful. What I AM hopeful is that the rest of the day managed to be fun for him. Some generous parents bought his class pizza, they were going to watch movies, etc., etc. after the field day extravaganza had concluded. I'm just glad it's over. Field day is pretty much the closing salvo on all of the freaking madness that takes place during the last few weeks of school. Field trips, carnival, field day, count-down to the last day in the cafeteria. I honestly think their is a conspiracy amongst faculty to whip the kids into the biggest frenzy possible before they turn them back over to the parents for the summer. Kinda like revenge for the condition our kids are in when we deposit them at school on the first day.  All jacked up from a summer of constant stimulation and in no manner ready to settle down and learn.  Revenge is, after all, a dish best served cold.

SubWHAT?

So it wasn't bad enough that I had to suffer the indignation of riding the recumbent bike at the gym because of my knee.  You know, that piece of equipment normally being used by old men in jeans and slippers? Yep. That's the one. While my friends are doing our usual Thursday "Iron Women" class, I'm hanging out with my boy Willard over there in the corner. On the sit-down bike. 'Cause sitting upright is just a little too much trouble when you're 85. At least I still have the stitches in so there's visible evidence as to why this is all I can do at this point in time. That and the fact that I told anybody that would listen that I had just had knee surgery and that's why I was on the dumb-ass bike. I should have a t-shirt made that says, "I'm usually a bad ass but I HAD KNEE SURGERY". So having been sufficiently taken down about forty ego notches, I made my way to Subway. I am a very weird food person. The only thing I'll eat for lunch is Subway, Panera or a Lean Cuisine. My college roomate will confirm that for two years I ate nothing but two slices of low-cal bread with fat-cheese melted between them. This is notable as it apparently gave me some pretty hellacious gas and to this day she will not let me live it down. My point being that my bizarre food habits are nothing new. Anyway today was a Subway day. I knew the minute I walked in the door that I was in for a treat. It was apparently Field Day at a local elementary school and every mother in the vicinity had brought their kid in for a post-three-legged race lunch. Okay. That's cool. What is NOT cool is letting your six-year old order when THERE ARE TWENTY-FIVE PEOPLE IN LINE BEHIND YOU. THE KID IS SIX. HE DOESN'T KNOW IF HE HAS TO GO TO THE BATHROOM LET ALONE WHAT HE WANTS ON HIS FUCKING SUB. There is a time and a place for confidence building exercises. That is not one of them. And how this could not occur to a person boggles my mind. God. Subway person: "What kind of cheese do you want?" Kid: "Italian". Subway person: "Uhhhhhhh". After FAR too long, the mother intervenes and says, "Oh, he means AMERICAN. Hee hee". Hilarious, lady. This goes on through the entire assembly line. I finally got up to the register without doing bodily harm to myself or others during said ordeal (twenty minutes, literally) and asked the manager Bill (who knows my sandwich order by heart.....that's how OCD I am) and said, "Damn, Bill......what are you putting in these subs?" Bill: Crack. No shit. I hope there's extra on mine. 

One Shining Moment

Sorry I've been lame with the posts the past several days. No, I have not suffered a pulmonary embolism due to my refusal to wear those stupid ass anti-embolism stockings. I'd rather take a clot to the lung than look like a dork. Yes, mother, I know.....better an alive dork than a dead dork. Whatever. I've just been busy getting my shit together. I figure that now that I don't really have my knee to complain about, things will be expected of me and I had better be prepared. Although I could probably get Tonya Harding to whack me on the other knee which would buy me some more slacker-time, I suppose. Nah. That sounds painful. Anyway, in spite of my recent surgery, I still had to attend my son's 8 a.m. lacrosse game on Saturday. Field was a half and hour away and he had to be there 30 minutes before the game. If you do the tricky math you'll see that we had to be there at 7:30. Not really a problem as we're an early rising group. Some by default. And by default I mean that if I'm up, everybody is up whether they care to be or not. So we make it to the field without incident. I'm getting around on the knee pretty well and make it to the sideline, set up my chair and I'm good. But this entry isn't actually about me. It's about Jack. Jack is the goaltender for the fourth grade Coyotes Lacrosse team. He's good. I'm pretty sure the reason he decided to play goalie back in second grade was because he noticed the position didn't require much running. He would much rather be hit by a lacrosse ball than break a sweat. In spite of this, he's grown into the position and does what I think is a pretty damn good job. He'd do even better if he would see fit to do some drills outside of practice. The game before last, he was just not on it. Not sure what was up but he let in six goals and his coach pulled him. This is heartbreaking as the goalie's mom. I felt so bad for the kid I wanted to cry. So going into Saturday's game I think we were all a little nervous. First quarter the action was all at our end. He was doing a good job but some of the little fuckers got some shots in. By half time it was 4-2 bad guys. By the beginning of the third, I had to get up and walk over to another field where my nephew was playing because my nerves were on the verge of being shot. Dave calls me. "Come back. We're up by one and Jack is playing lights out". I come back. He is indeed playing lights out. We score again. It's 6-4 Coyotes. Jack makes another spectacular save. Game over. COYOTES WIN!!!!!!!! Jack goes running off the field, stick in hand, arms raised. But that's not the best part. We parents were standing a respectable distance away from the team at their post-game meeting but could still hear. Our coach played lacrosse for the Air Force Academy and while great with the kids does not sugar coat SHIT. He will yell at them, pull them, basically coach them rather than worry about their "feelings". I like this. There are no feelings in lacrosse. Coach Mike: "You guys did a great job out there the second half. You need to figure out how to get your mojo going earlier next game. I also want to tell you that the reason we won this game is because of JACK CHRISTIE. That was his best game ever and you all owe him a personal 'thank you'. Great job Jack". I swear to God, my heart almost burst out of my chest I was so proud of that kid. The look on his face (from what I could tell from under his helmet which was inexplicably still on) was priceless. And then, instead of saying 1-2-3 COYOTES!!!! with sticks in air as they normally do to close out the meeting, coach had them say, "1-2-3 JACK!!!!!" All the kids on their way to the parking lot were thanking him and patting him on the back. Keep in mind that this is a kid that has a really hard time in school and struggles mightily. We've been to those meetings with the principal and the teacher where they hand you a box of tissues. Some things do not come easily to this guy so to see him excel and being praised for it was one of the the highlights of my life to date. I hate bragging mom's but I was so damned proud of the little shit and so freakin' happy I could have, and almost did, cry. For all of the heartbreak and frustration that comes along with being a parent, there are times like these mixed in. Thank God. I'd probably just go ahead and lay down in the street if there weren't. I said in the car on the way home, "Jack, you just gave me a moment". Which he did. Thanks, buddy.

Meniscus Surgery: The Ride Home

Okay, so I'm manipulated out of wheel chair and into Dave's gigantic Ford Expedition. I am so happy that the surgery is over I feel like I'm about to board a private jet to the Bahamas. I was giddy. We had to stop to pick up Grady, who was being lovingly (and bravely!) cared for by my sister-in-law. Load his ass in. He's tired so he's being a (relatively) good passenger. My first request after collecting dog is to stop and get a Big Gulp. Or as it was fondly referred to in college, a "Beta Gamma". I believe I actually went SUPER Big Gulp. At this point I was practically in nirvana. Lived through surgery, have a huge vessel of Diet Coke and am ON MY WAY HOME. Get phone calls from parents and friends who were somewhat shocked that I wasn't all that out of it so soon after said MAJOR OPERATION. It was weird. Maybe it was adrenalin. Or maybe my consciousness is so used to being altered it pays no mind to something as simple as general anesthesia. My body: "That's all you've got? Seriously? Stay tuned for Friday night". But whatever. I am feelin' good.  All of a sudden, I get a bloody nose. Weird 'cause I'm not really a bloody nose kinda gal. But, there were all sorts of tubes and shit up my nose so I'm not alarmed. I check my purse for Kleenex. Or napkins. I have been known to find such objects as underwear, corkscrews and half-eaten Chipotle burritos in my purse so I'm thinking there may in fact be something useful in the event of a blood-spurting nose. Nada. The underwear, providing it was mine, may have been of use but it had long been extracted. So, digging, digging, bleeding, bleeding.......BINGO!!!! A tampon! Super absorbent, even!!!!! So I unwrap, depress plunger and and stick it in my right nostril (okay, ON my right nostril......if it was going to go IN I might have some bigger problems than those already established). Situation averted. So there I am, leg in post-surgical glory and propped up on dashboard, shit eating grin on my face, Big Gulp in hand and a tampon shoved up my nose. I was happy. I can only imagine how this spectacle appeared to fellow motorists. Probably pretty freakin' awesome. 

Menicus Surgery Part One: Terror at the Surgical Center

Well, it appears as though I have lived through my MAJOR KNEE SURGERY. As advertised, the build-up was far worse than what actually occurred. As a public service, because really, what is "Deep Thoughts" if not a public service, I am going to give ya the blow by blow. I know in the week leading up to the surgery, I just wanted somebody to tell me what was actually going to happen without mincing words. A non-clinical explanation if you will. So here you go:

I was told to be at the surgical center at 8:30 for a 10:30 operation. Got there a little early. Made mental note that it's pretty bizarre to walk into a place you know you are not walking out of. Kind of like a bar! Approach reception desk. Even though I have filled out what I thought was all of the paperwork online, I am handed even more. Something about not suing them if I die on the table. Am informed I owe more money. Look in purse. Hmm. Wallet not in purse. Husband is dropping off dog and is not there. NO checkbook, no credit cards. What's a panicked, pre-op girl to do? Call Daddy. Daddy fixes everything. Yay, Daddy. Back to worrying strictly about impending doom instead of paying for impending doom. Go to wait. Feel weird 'cause I am all by myself and must look like gigantic loser-dork that doesn't even have anybody to wait with them prior to MAJOR SURGERY. Fuck around on Facebook. Talk to mom. Talk to Dave who is on his way. See patients get called back, some visibly rattled. Decide to appear calm, cool and collected. Get called back. Manage to retain composure. Am told now is a good time to relieve myself if necessary. It is necessary. Pee like the wind, Bullseye! And make it a good one! It may be your last. Am then led back to to curtained area with gurney and all kinds of scary equipment and pokey looking stuff. Make additional mental note to tell all doctors I know that that leaving that shit out is NOT COOL. Hello, GYNO'S? We know what you're going to do with that stuff and where you're going to stick it. Do you really need to remind us? Seriously? Am told to remove all articles of clothing EXCEPT panties and shorts. They don't want to have to wrassle you back into your shorts post-op. Put clothes in plastic bag. Dress in gown that I had been given with explicit instructions as how to put it on and tie it. Promptly forget all instructions and am later chastised for it. Get on gurney looking decidedly uncomfortable. Nurse comes back and states, "You look uncomfortable". Duh. I'm sitting on a gurney in a paper gown and waiting to be cut open. I'm not exactly in line at Panera. I am then asked to write "Yes" on the knee to be operated on. I am asked numerous times by numerous people who I am, why I am there and which body part is to be operated upon. This makes me wonder if there's been a problem. Write "Oh HELL yes" on knee. After this, the nurse insists that I recline and covers me with a blanket. Like I'm going to get a massage or something. I am not fooled. She then takes my blood pressure. 145/95. Asks if I'm nervous. Apparently. Tells me she's going to stick my hand in a warm compress to "pull up a vein". Blood pressure spikes. Now, in the past, this whole IV thing has caused me a lot of anxiety, frankly because it hurts. Well, nurse tells me that a lot has changed since the last time I had one (when Jack was born 11 years ago). She was right. They numb your vein before they stick something in it. It was NO BIG DEAL. So if you're worrying about that, don't. Shortly thereafter my leg is prepped. Nurse says, "Oh good! You shaved". Me: "Yeah, I'll bet that's better than having to prep some big, hairy man". Nurse: "Or some big hairy woman". Wouldn't you think that if you KNEW a bunch of people were going to be looking at your leg for an extended period of time you might want to make sure you don't look like a female yeti? Okay. All prepped. Anesthesiologist comes in. Very cool girl. Put me at ease. Explained the whole process. Surgeon's assistant comes in. Surgeon comes in. Oh, and at some point, Dave had come in. Dave likes to ask lots of questions. He even asked if he could observe the surgery to which everyone, including me, shouted "NO". So at some point shortly after that, the anesthesiologists nurse puts something in my IV. Instant relaxation. Am wheeled into operating room. Am asked to scoot from gurney to operating table. Am not so out of it that I can't do that, by design I'm sure. Mask is placed over my face and it's instantly lights out. It's that fast. Wake up in recovery room in what seems to be a second later. Momentary disorientation gives way to "Okay......" and relief that it's over. Pain is pretty bad in knee but nurse is really attentive and makes it go away pretty quickly. Have oxygen thingies up nose. Am asked if I would like something to drink. Am given DIET COKE. Want to jump up and kiss nurse (with tongue) I am so happy. Hang out there for a while and then am take to what we were told pre-operatively was known as the "Recovery Lounge". Now to Dave and I, "lounge" infers that there will be cocktails involved. There were no cocktails. I did get moved to a chair though. Chilled for a bit longer. A bit longer than necessary actually because THEY COULD NOT FIND DAVE. I figured he had wandered off. Which he had, of course but it wasn't actually his fault. They told him it would be considerably longer than it actually was. They called him. He came. I was wheeled out to the car and sent on my merry way. Yay. And that's the end of Part One. Stay tuned for Part Two......Fun With Pain Pills!!!!!!  

Booby Prize

Alright. We've got less than 48 hours to go before what I am now referring to as "MAJOR knee surgery" even though it's not. It's kinda major to me as it IS my knee. I'm a little partial to it. Although lately I'd like to kick its ass. Well, I guess I somewhat already did. Oops. Sorry knee. I've been worrying a good bit. I know I shouldn't. It has been as good an excuse as any to booze it up though. "Oh, she's just really nervous about her upcoming MAJOR KNEE SURGERY". Hee hee. I have also had lots of good advice and thoughts about why I should be really excited about the surgery:

A) From Dave Christie: You won't be in pain anymore and I won't have to watch you walk like that. It's excruciating. Really. Uh.......try being the person it's excruciating to watch. Okay. Not my favorite submission. 

B) From my friend Amy: People will have to bring you shit. Like food and booze. I like this better. People are going to have to be nice to me or face my considerable wrath. If I have to endure a MAJOR KNEE OPERATION you had better damn well believe that I am going to milk this thing for whatever it's worth. I want balloons. And flowers. And food and booze and company. 

C) From my friends JPS and JNJ: You will get drugs. I believe this is my favorite. When I had Jack, I had a c-section. Reference the whole "splayed open like a halibut while lucid" thing. I was given a prescription for some sort of narcotic pain killer post-op. I decided that I didn't want to fill it as it didn't hurt that much. IDIOT!!!!! That was before my life unraveled to the point where no mind-numbing substance will be turned down. Knee pain be damned. It's the pain between my ears that needs some attention!!!!! I'm going to put on some Pink Floyd and check out.  

Bottom line, I do believe that "C" is our winner. JPS and JNJ, you will get 8x10 glossies of my post-op knee. Aim, you can actually see the knee in person if you'd like, so consider that your consolation prize. Dave........oh, Dave.......I think that everyone that knows you feels sorry for what you're about to endure. You get the booby prize. No pun intended. An immobilized Mollie. That's a lot of energy to harness and keep still. And I might be extra pissy. My friend Aaron just shook his head and said, "Poor Dave". Hey, how 'bout "Poor Mollie"?????? I'm the one about to go under the knife. Damn.  

Baby Booze Fest

A friend of mine is having a baby. Yes, smart-asses, I have friends that are still reproductively viable. I'm pretty sure I could still pop one out myself in a pinch. I'm not sure what kind of condition it would be in but it could happen. Might have two heads but that may well land me in People magazine. Top that, Octo-Bitch! Although the very thought of going back into "baby-mode" is enough to send shivers up my spine. Even with a one-headed baby. That being said, it's cool when OTHER people have babies. To that end, I went to see said friend at work yesterday afternoon to discuss her baby shower. Long story but her close friend had called me saying that she wanted to throw two showers......one just for girls and another more casual co-ed version. I was involved because my house was a possible venue for the former. When I got to her place of employment, (which conveniently for me is the local watering hole) she looked decidedly uneasy about the whole shower thing, particularly the idea of the chick-fest. Okay, I immediately understood exactly why it is that I like this girl. I HATE BABY SHOWERS. I know I'm supposed to love them but I just don't. I refused to have one when I was pregnant with Jack. That didn't go over very well. It seems that people really, really want to do this for you. So much so that there was a "surprise" shower in the works for me. Now, if you know me, you know that the only thing I hate more than baby showers is surprises. But I digress. The idea of sitting there and playing dumbass games and having to open presents in front of people and ooooh and ahhhhh over tiny little things gives me a mutha-scratchin' rash of epic proportions. Not to mention the guest of honor can't drink, has a human being sitting on her bladder and is probably pretty cranky but has to smile and be all perky and shit. No thanks. Maybe I am just not that girlie. I was once told by a male friend that I'm "girlie enough" which I guess is a compliment. I like clothes but I don't like shopping. I like eating but I'm not that nuts about going out for lunch and chit-chatting. And I am really not a fan of the coffee date, probably because I don't like coffee. The idea of a "girls-weekend" used to be highly unappealing but that was before I met some girls that I would actually care to spend a weekend with. And some gay men. A "gay-men and girls" weekend would be a blast. But anyway, back to me hating babies........errrr.......I mean baby showers. I say we invite a bunch of cool people, (girls AND boys) pour some delightful cocktails (none for you, mommy.....sorry.....baby on board and all that), bring presents and have a big ol' baby booze fest. Now THAT is something I can get behind. Start 'em young. Hey! I may have just created a niche for myself.......Baby Booze Fests by Mollie!!!!!! Genius. 

I Am Not Yo' Momma

Ahhh, Mother's Day. All of the ads I'm seeing and hearing are telling me that not only do I need to get on the stick and send my mother flowers and candy and jewelry and fly her ass up here and take her out to eat, but that I should have very high expectations of both my son AND Dave come Sunday. I get that I should acknowledge my mom and that my son will probably make me a cute little somethin'-somethin'. That's cool. But I'm tellin' ya, unless you came out of my body or I came out of yours, we do not need to exchange pleasantries. I am not my husband's mother. This bullshit about making men feel like they have to fete the mother of their children is ridiculous. And sadly, the responsibility for the success or failure of this day squarely falls on the man. I mean, is a kid going to make brunch reservations for five and then drive his or herself to the local florist for some dumbass corsage? Answer? Nope. So essentially, a man has to not only please his own mother (which he should) but also his wife (or baby momma as the case may be). I feel like grabbing a bullhorn and screaming "RUN!!!! IT'S A TRAP" in front of the local Hallmark store. It's pretty much a no-win situation for most guys. The great part about men is that they are not women. They DON'T know exactly what we want. So my suggestion is that if you must insist that your husband honor you on Mother's Day tell him. Be honest. And specific. If they ask what you'd like to do, don't say "Oh nothing" unless you mean nothing. If you'd like to lay in bed all day with a bottle of gin while your children rub your bunions and your husband cleans the house, say "I'd like to lie in bed and get my drink on while the children rub my bunions and you clean the damn house, fool". This means you, Dave Christie. Oh wait......that's right. I'm not his mother. Damn. DISCLAIMER TO AVOID PHONE CALL FROM MY MOTHER: I AM NOT GOING TO TO LIE IN BED DRINKING GIN ALL DAY ON SUNDAY. YES, I AM AWARE THAT I AM HAVING SURGERY THE NEXT DAY. EVEN IF I WASN'T, EVERYBODY KNOWS THAT IF I WERE TO LIE IN BED DRINKING SOMETHING IT WOULD PROBABLY BE CHEAP WINE OR EXPENSIVE TEQUILA. AND NO, MOM, I DO NOT HAVE BUNIONS. I'M NOT REALLY EVEN SURE WHAT BUNIONS ARE. AND YES, IF I THOUGHT I HAD SOMETHING ON MY FOOT THAT LOOKED EVEN REMOTELY BUNION-LIKE I WOULD GO TO THE DOCTOR. THANK YOU.

Fear Factor

So, the remainder of my birthday went just fine. Awesome dinner made just for me by Charlie at the Blue Cow in Morrison (yay, Charlie!) with good friends topped it all off. Now it's on to full-on anxiety about my upcoming surgery. I've had surgery before. I know what's going to happen. I'm not really sure why I'm freaking out so much about a few little incisions made to my knee while I'm out like a light. Particularly considering the fact that I had an 8 pound baby boy extracted from my uterus while my innards lay next to me and I was completely lucid. "Just a little pressure" my ASS. I know what you're doing down there. If it's "just a little pressure", take down the freakin' screen!!!!! And because I was completely with it, I know for a fact that "Holiday" by Madonna was playing in annoying fashion while I was being flayed open like a halibut on a wharf in the name of childbirth. So really, my fears are unfounded. When you're not giving birth, they give you the shot of whatever it is that makes you so damn happy that you could be informed that your head was going to be lopped off and you'd be cool with it. It's the build-up to the event that's worse than the procedure itself. "What if I'm the one in a million that dies on the table?" Because you know, people die from minor knee surgery all the time. Completely irrational when someone else says it but when it's you, it's there in the back of your mind. Lurking. Grim Reaper and all. And if I do live, knowing that I'm going to have to sit on a couch for a day or two is not all that exciting to me. I don't do well with sitting around. Maybe the pain pills will make me think that loafing around like a stoner is a capital idea. Probably not though. Alrighty then........I've got to go do some worrying. 

Happy Birthday To ME

Today is my birthday. I'm forty three. Whoopdie-doo. While I'm not all that excited about getting older, as my dad says, "it's better than the alternative". Indeed. Having lost a couple of friends in the past year far too soon, I'm thinking I actually SHOULD be excited about getting older. So crank up the ass-shakin' music 'cause I am getting this party started. The day has actually gone pretty well so far.   If facebook birthday wishes were cards, my mailbox would be full. Sooooooo many nice thoughts from every corner of the world made me feel pretty damn good. After checking out the cool sentiments from near and afar, the phone started ringing. Phone calls from two of my best friends, my brother and even Jack's best friend, texts from my sister-in-law and brother-in-law, and then the coupe de grace......the annual birthday call from my parents. Me: "Hello (even though I know it's them)". Mom: "Goobie!!!! Happy Birthday!!!! Bill! Pick up the phone." Dad gets on the extension. They start singing. It's not just your everyday "Happy Birthday to You". Oh noooooooo. We have this ridiculous song that has somehow evolved from one of those personalized 45's you could buy in the 70's. "Hey, Joe....it's your birthday.....". Only this one is sung by an alien. "My name is Zoom and I live on the moon and I came down to Earth just to sing you this tune......Hey MOLLIE, it's YOUR BIRTHDAY, TODAY!!!!". So, traditionally, my parents sing this to me. The best part is my dad doing it. My mom has been singing badly and mangling lyrics my entire life. And she's so darn cheerful about it. Hearing my dad do this, is almost heartbreakingly sweet. My dad is not the sort of guy that goes around singing stupid songs lightly. So that put a smile on my face. I then went to my training class and Pilates. Figured I've got to it in before my surgery next week. Well, not only was I greeted warmly by my friends and instructor, someone arranged to have the WORLD'S hottest man working out in the gym during our class. I was pretty sure that at some point the jig would be up and he would whip off his shorts and start gyrating around and sticking his birthday cake thong festooned crotch in my face. Which would have been just fine but I didn't bring any singles to the gym. There would be no "making it rain". Alas, he was not a birthday present. Just a hot dude working out. He did make conversation though, which caused my friend to suggest that I may need to be hosed down. So anyway, the gym was festive. Festively HOT, anyway. After that, I was taken to lunch at a really great Thai restaurant. Since then it's just been waiting around for everybody else to play. I ran into a couple of friends of mine in the country club parking lot and they threatened to take me out for a couple of beers. And I know Dave and my best friend (who refuses to allow me to name her here which is completely stupid because everybody knows who she is) have been running around frantically. Dave has been in and out a few times and has now officially confirmed that he is not in fact gay. He came home, having been completely befuddled at the party store with a selection of brown, green and white balloons. Dave: "It looks like a football field". The good news is that Brainer is safe as my gay BFF. Dave has inadvertently cleared his name. So that leads us up to now. I've cracked a bottle of cheap jug wine and am just waiting for fun to find me. Whistling a happy tune. 

Ass Dan

Grady, Grady, Grady..........you've been so good lately!!!! To the point that we've remarked, "Who IS this dog?" Well, the honeymoon is over. That dog is not to be trusted. His reign of terror began on Thursday when I left him out (as I had been doing with a large degree of success) only to return to find that amongst the havoc he had wreaked was an envelope filled with receipts that I had needed to submit to my country club and the PTA so that I could be reimbursed for items purchased for each respective organization. Fortunately, the general manager of the club is a cool dude an seemed rather nonplussed by the whole dog spitty, mangled mess I presented to him. Not quite sure what the reaction of the PTA treasurer will be as we, uh.......got off on the wrong foot. To put it mildly. On Friday, Dave had to go to replace the three remote controls that Grady had essentially ingested. I'd like to see him poop THAT out. Actually, I would. Much better to be pooped out than surgically removed. The real clincher came on Friday night. Dave was playing a happy hour show downtown and Jack and I were at a neighbors. I sincerely thought that I had put anything that would look even vaguely attracted to Gradykins and moved it from reach. Well, we got home and he had eaten paper clips. And family photos. Oh, and THIRTY 100 MCG of SYNTHROID. That's right. My thyroid pills. I am in a full on panic, thinking he's ingested a lethal dose of medication. I'm hysterical (which is what is recommended in the parenting 101 manual when dealing with emergency situations that involve children and their pets), Jack is crying and saying, "He's gonna die" to which I responded, "I KNOW!!!!!". Dave is finally reached and calls the emergency vet. I had learned from the world wide web that hydrogen peroxide can induce vomiting. Before Dave got off of the phone with me to call the vet, he said "find the peroxide but do NOT do anything with it". I did something with it. Jack is holding his snout and wrenching his jaws open while I pour the peroxide down the hatch. Of course, this does NOT induce vomiting. Grady is just sitting wondering what the big to-do is about. After what seemed like the longest twenty minutes in the history of time, Dave called back and informed me that he would have to ingest 3 times more than he did for it to be life threatening. What a freaking idiot. We have started referring to him as "Ass Dan" after an character on SNL. I can't think of a more fitting name. 'Cause he really is an ass.

Anesthesia

Sooooooo..........surgery it is!!!!! A week from Monday!!!!! Fortunately it's just arthroscopic and should not be a huge deal. Doctor has a Princeton/Duke education so I'm thinkin' it's going to work out.  He probably knows what he's doing. I'm not really sure why he thought a breast exam was necessary but he's a LOT smarter than I am. So, Deep Thoughts readers, we have a little surgical adventure to gear up for! I'm not that concerned about the surgery itself.  I just sincerely hope I don't say anything stupid when they give me the rather relaxing valium. I think a couple of surgeries ago I may have propositioned the anesthesiologist who was pretty freakin' hot. The next time I saw him I was three weeks overdue with Jack and about to have a c-section. I think he said something like, "Oh boy....it's you again" and rolled his eyes. Were I able to crawl into a hole I would have. However as I do believe I weighed around 200 lbs at the time and was not moving to quickly, a hole was not an option. Anyway, that's the latest on the knee front. I've got other stuff for ya though.......when I return from Jack's lacrosse game, I shall regale you with the tales of Grady's misadventures. Let's just say it's a miracle the little shit is still alive. Stay tuned.