Happy Birthday to me...

I'm 36 years old today. Woo hoo! I'll give you some lovely linky largesse so you can entertain yourselves whilst I revel on my natal anniversary. Cor, that sounded almost Garfer-esque, no?

In other news, I presume our dear Sniffy made it across the Atlantic to visit our dearer April Pissoff. (ta very much for the Odeo, April. It was much appreciated!) Sniffy posted a couple of days ago about traveling to Canada in a Boeing 767 and being very nervous. I hadn't the heart to tell her about the Gimli Glider and the disaster that befell it. Oh well, enough codeine to knock her on her arse and she'll get over her nerves...

Cute wee Piggy, whose blog is never safe for work, is probably sitting in front of his webcam, as he's been for the last 3 days. Oooh, his poor piles, I don't wonder! Yes, Piggy, Budweiser is shite. Their commercials, however, are ace. I love the Clydesdales the most.

If you have not yet visited Whinger this week, I recommend you hie your heinie over there now and check out her new look. It's faaaaaabulous! (Y'all, that's a shout-out to anyone who attended the Parade in San Fran this past Sunday, 'kay?) Now, normally, I wouldn't bother making an annoucement about someone changing her blog format - because, if I did, I'd be alerting you all about Piggy & Tazzy's site changing every few hours... But I really like this one. It's very clean and graphically appealing. Go visit! Dog might even make an appearance. (so cute!)

The Mincemeat Vixen's casual and creative use of profanity never fails to make me giggle like a nervous, repressed teenager afraid of my parents finding out I just said "fuck." It also doesn't help that whatever she writes is already funny enough to have me spewing my tea all over my laptop. Here's one of my personal faves from her. It probably tells you more about me than her, but really, she should be a regular read.

Another regualar read, the lovely and very pregnant Portuguesa Nova has been shopping for baby clothes and it's all been coming up pink and precious. Head on over to congratulate her and oooh! and ahhh! over the gorgeous baby clothes. The post that made her a regular read of mine, and gave me the expression "You are 10 kindsa crazy!" should not be missed.

I've avoided my political blogger friends, because there should be no FIGHTS on my birthday, dammit! Can't we all just get along? Just for once? Stop the violence! Gaaaaah!

All the rest of you, please hoist a glass - preferably brimming with frozen sour mix and tequila - and wish me happy. And then get shit-faced, because I'm not allowed. I'm off to watch Gordon Ramsay bollock the hell out of his new recruits on Hell's Kitchen. Have a good one!

Mommy Dearest

My mom just left - she came to spend the day with me. God bless the woman, but Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, she could irritate a Saint.

First, Mom, the house is not going to be clean. I've just spent 4 days in hospital, during which I left it in the care of my husband and daughter, neither of which are neatniks. Add to that the "dirt problem" that I have normally as housecleaning after a full day's work is about as appetizing as shit pie. The WCM is about to discover this - I'm not allowed to lift anything that weighs over 5 pounds, so hefting about the giant laundry baskets will be his responsibility. As will be wielding the mop, shifting toys, and general fetch-and-carry work. The worm turns, my friends, it turns.

Second, Mom, when I have to go potty now, there is no waiting. Nature has called, woman, so NO, I CAN'T "just do this one little thing first." There's another little thing that needs doing, and it takes priority. Never mind the fact that without the lovely pain medication it was really difficult accomplishing certain post-defacatory cleansing rituals...

Third, Mommy Dearest, I don't need help taking a shower. You can just stay somewhere else. Sure, you've seen everything I've got, but not in about 30 years now, so bugger off! Of course, I couldn't manage to shave my legs, but I've decided that the gorilla look is in this season and have been wearing pants.

Fourth, for fuck's sake, pepper is not bad for you! It does digest. My mother is a sweet lady, but kind of wifty about believing urban legends. I want pepper in my egg salad! She relented and put it in there, but it was an argument, and who wants that? It was kick-ass egg salad, though. One egg was plenty. I even left a bite in the cup because I couldn't eat it.

And fifth, when the pharmacy finally calls and says I can come get my pain medication after nearly 24 miserably cranky hours without it, don't ask if it's something the WCM can do in a couple of hours when he gets home.

I'm back!

New and improved, sort of.

One thing I didn't count on was the magnitude of the pain involved in this surgery. I mean, sure, I'm a complete and utter pain wimp, but JESUS FUCKING ROOSEVELT CHRIST!!!!! Motherfucker, this shit hurts.

Basically, I had 7 small incisions all over my abdomen where doctors poked long hollow metal tubes containing scalpels, sutures, scissors, and other nasty sharp objects into my vital organs.

And you're thinking, Bronwen, you dizzy bitch, you signed up for this treatment. No one held a fucking gun to your head, you daft bint!

And so I was thinking the day after surgery.

It's better now though. I'm getting lots of lovely prescription pain medication, so it's all good, bitches. It's all good.

I'll tell you the stories about my crotchety roommate and the demented beeyotch down the hall from me tomorrow. I'm wiped.

Oh, a quick request

Listen, people.

I installed this ODEO button months ago and have yet to get an ODEO message. So, if you'd care to leave a message while I'm convalescing, please, please, please, send me an ODEO.

This goes double if you're one of my overseas readers with a charming accent (Piggy, SID, Garfer, et al).

Triple, if you have a partner from a foreign country with a charming accent who will also wish me well.

Go on! Have a go. I'll send you one in return when I'm back from la-la-land.

Chinese Water Torture

So this is the first of two days of following a regimen of clear liquids only.

Luckily Jello counts. Unluckily, red food coloring is verboten. This leaves lemon, lime, and blue raspberry. Since I hate lemon and lime jello, I'm giving you all three guesses which one I'm currently enjoying. Bet you get it in one.

Guess what flavor Gatorade I'm enjoying, too. You got dat right, baby! Blue raspberry.

No red food coloring, no cola, no milk.

Woo woo! I'm livin' large.

Update

Clearance for surgery - check
Childcare arranged - check
Bag packed - check
days to go - 4
freaking out - in progress...

I can only relate this to childbirth, as it's the only other major medical event I've experienced:

There was lots of fun had, which got me in this state - conception
There have been months of work, planning, and preparation for this event, while getting fatter and fatter - gestation
There have been myriad invasive medical tests and procedures - the many doctor visits
There will be a short, painful stay in the hospital, where I will enjoy lots of pharmaceutical pain relief while I am relieved of my burden - childbirth
There will be an acclimation period, where the small new being will only consume liquids and soft foods and will require constant care and monitoring - infancy

So, 'scuse me while I break out my blankie and teddy bear, while I freak out for 4 more days.

Martha, revisited

I've poked fun at Martha Stewart in the past, but never have I felt empathy toward her. And goddamn it, I hate feeling empathy for her.

But ever since I've started wearing this enormous pedometer around my ankle, I've felt for Martha. It's huge and unsightly, and everyone knows you've got it on. Granted, I could take mine off for a couple of hours, but that would be cheating. Had Martha tried that, she'd have been arrested. Just thinking about that makes me want to do a retroactive "nyah nyah!" in the general direction of Connecticut.

Plus, I feel the need to identify the pedometer to everyone that sees it - like, hey! I'm not a felon on house-arrest! I'm just a fat chick wearing a pedometer! Really! Wanna see me take it off? Huh? Do ya? Do ya?! I should print up some t-shirts with that on them, but I don't think CafePress carries my size range. Bitches. Would it kill 'em to tailor up some pup tents?

I suppose I could wear pants, but it's summer here, and wearing pants just screams "she's hiding something under there!!!" Sure I'm hiding stuff under my pants - cellulite, flab, and cottage cheese dimples. Whoa. Sexy.

Martha would never have stood for that. She'd have exercised her bony ass to the nub to avoid what I'm hiding. She'd have dieted until her stomach thought her throat had been cut. Then, if that failed, I'm sure ol' Marth would have designed a gorgeous range of flowing caftans in light fabrics and summery prints. I guess that's why I hate to feel for the woman - really, I envy her self-discipline, drive, and determination.

That and the ability to design and market caftans. Goddamn you, Martha Stewart.

Revenant

Today's word of the day is revenant, or one who returns after a long absence. Kind of like me, huh?

Hershey Park was fine - it rained though, so I couldn't go on all the rides I wanted. I was mortally embarrassed twice that day, though. More on that later.

School is out for summer - yay! I have some great pictures of my 8th graders. I'll miss most of the little boogers. Any of my students currently reading this, well you know who I'll miss and who I won't. OK? Of course I'll miss you. You know you were my favorite.

I drove up to New York City today to participate in a research study. It's for people that are going to have weight loss surgery. Yes, I'm out of the surgery closet now. I'm having weight loss surgery - more specifically, the Biliopancreatic Diversion with Duodenal Switch. Most people just call it the DS.

Why surgery? Oh, I have my reasons. Trust me. Let's just say that once I heard that someone of my BMI has a 5% chance of losing weight and maintaining the loss with diet and exercise alone, I decided that surgery wasn't such a bad option. I was at the end of my rope at the end of last year, when I started researching surgery. I was horribly unhealthy, with hypertension, sleep apnea, and serious joint fatigue. I still am horribly unhealthy, but more optimistic.

Hopefully, on next year's Hershey Park trip, I won't be asked to get off of any rides because I don't fit proplerly in the seat.