Shut up, Shut UP, SHUT UP!

Gah! Can somebody PLEASE make this blowhard shut the hell up? I mean, seriously. Unless he wants the sun to suddenly get colder, there is honestly not a whole lot we as humans can do. Well, except perhaps stop EVERYTHING that we do, and then hope, just hope! that perhaps the climate will change.

My sheep contribute much more to the whole CO2 emissions thing than do all of my vehicles put together. Well, maybe not as much anymore seeing as how our herd went from nine down to four this weekend. But still - when ANIMALS FARTING has as much impact as it does, there's not all that much we humans can do, realistically, beyond not raising so much livestock. And frankly, the bell was truly rung more than a hundred years ago when all those smokestacks were belching out pollutants at an astounding rate. That stuff is still hanging up there, and I would bet still has a lasting impact on what is happening today. B ut do we think about that? Noooo. It's all us, and how we're all bad, all the time.

And please. Don't forget about the sun. Perhaps we can tell it to change its temperature for us, so that it won't heat things up too much and create more of a problem for us. Please? Pretty please? No? Well, okay then. I guess we'll deal.

Or not, if shrill Mr. Gore gets his way. Nobel Peace Prize my ass. It was a complete political gesture by the "committee." He did nothing for world peace. NOTHING. The prize hasn't had a worthwhile recipient since Mother Theresa and Ghandi. It's all politics. Why anybody thinks that prize has meaning anymore is beyond me. Feh!

Edit: THIS article only further cements my opinion. Scare tactics rule the day, logic does not. Go figure.

Differences of Opinion

One of the things that has always bewildered me about the WLS online communities is the seeming antipathy between the different "camps" for the different surgeries. Over the last few months or so, the tensions between the RNY and DS camps over on the Obesity Health boards have gotten so thick you could cut them with a knife. The words that shoot back and forth between the harpies on both sides of the fence are just out and out ridiculous, and a complete waste of time for supposed "grown-ups." And then let's not forget about the infighting on each side. It's ridiculous!

Some people are very passionate about the type of WLS that they got. I know that I am! I will sing the praises of my DS all the live-long day. But I'm also smart enough to know that people that have the other surgeries can be just as successful, if not more so that I am - and reap the same benefits. The problem for me becomes when outright wrong information - about which surgery it doesn't matter - is put forth as fact on these message boards for those initially seeking WLS and trying to find out which one fits for them. And I know that a lot of these fights that have been cropping up on the boards lately are because of wrong information being posted, as well as the whole "pay it forward" mindset of the DS community (getting the word out about a lesser-known surgery in a world dominated by the RNY), but as always happens, black and white words on a screen are taken in ways the author never intended and BLAM! Hate and discontent all over, which some people just can't let go.

Anyway, one of the ladies over on the DS board made an interesting post the other day. It really crystalized for me how the mindsets between those who get the two different surgeries are commpletely opposite yet they led us all to a common solution - having a form of weight loss surgery. I had been having issues with a blogger that I know over her very rigid and regimented approach to WLS (she had the RNY and is successful with it). I thought that she was out of her mind with her obsession over foods, never allowing any sort of temptation to fall into her path, seeing those who did as being "weak" and not "worthy" of having had WLS if they weren't going to do all that it took to make it to goal and stay there. But seeing this post by the lovely Lola really gave me peace in what is being advocated by the blogger. It's not that she's wrong. Because I already knew that if you were going to have the RNY, yes, you needed to follow that set of rules and that I knew that I did not want that for myself. The point is that she's following a different path that leads to the same goal that I have as well.

And while I may not be a completely stellar example for my surgery (my, ahem, exercise regimine leaves MUCH to be desired, thankyouverymuch), I have achieved the measure of success that I wanted for myself. I have decided to take down my weight tracker because the scale hasn't moved in at least two months - and I find that that doesn't bother me in the least. The other day, I used the special features on my scale and discovered to my delight that I am now 32% fat and 46% water. Not bad considering that my fat percentage used to be somewhere between 50-60%. Yes, I could be less "fat" but if I never do get there, I'm happy with the me that this has produced. For the first time in years, we took a family picture, and if I do say so myself, I look damn good.

Anyway, enough of my rambling. Here's what Lola posted as well as some additions that were made as well. The answers that were used for the RNY comments actually came from a conversation on the RNY board of Obesity Healthy under a post of "Why did you get an RNY" that was made recently. Please do not think that I am denegrating anyone who has had an RNY - I have several friends who have been VERY successful with their RNY and would never think badly of them for their choice. They simply chose to live with different rules and went into it with a different attitude than I did - but wanted the same goal.

Please keep in mind that obviously not all of the DS reasons apply to every DSer just like every RNY reason does not apply to every RNYer.


US vs THEM - or, Why I got My DS

RNY - I got the surgery so I'd dump and the fear of that would keep me away from sugar.
DS - I got the surgery so that I wouldn't dump.

RNY - I needed the restriction to correct my relationship with food.
DS - I didn't want the restriction because I want to enjoy my relationship with food.

RNY - I wanted/needed to change my eating habits.
DS - I've dieted my whole life -- I want to quit dieting.

RNY - I'm sick of dieting and failing.
DS - I'm sick of dieting and failing.

RNY - I want a tool that I can work.
DS - I want a surgery that does the work.

RNY - I didn't want to be able to cheat the surgery.
DS - I want to be able to 'cheat' from time to time.

RNY - I want to be healthy.
DS - I want to be healthy.

RNY - I didn't want someone cutting off my stomach.
DS - I didn't want a blind stomach.

RNY - I don't want to have to eat massive amounts of food.
DS - I want to be able to eat what I want.

RNY - I needed to change my habits.
DS - I've been trying to change my habits my whole life!

RNY - I never want to eat sugar or fat again!
DS - I don't want sugar and fat to be 'off-limits'.

RNY - I didn't want to risk that much malabsorption.
DS - I knew that I needed the added malabsorption to keep off the weight.

RNY - I took the best choice that was offered to me.
DS - I got what I wanted.

RNY - I want the convenience of a close by surgeon.
DS - I want the convenience of a one-time surgery.

RNY - My insurance would only pay for the RNY.
DS - I fought my insurance long and hard for what I wanted.

RNY - I need to not eat fat because of my high cholesterol.
DS - I need to not absorb fat because of my high cholesterol.

So similar, nay, identical in some instances, and worlds apart in others. That, my friends, is the world of weight loss surgery. So, if you're on this rollercoaster, remember that like most things in life you're going to come across differences of opinion. Doesn't make either one of you right or wrong, but it does guide you down the path you need to follow.

Enjoy the ride!

Holiday Madness

I swear, I think we have gone out of town for something or other every single weekend for the last month or so. It has been so busy and so hectic, I don't know if I'll know what to do with myself once it actually, you know, stops. Sheesh!

For example, this week, we have Thing One's Winter Concert on Thursday; dinner with our church's new associate pastor on Friday' sheep slaughter in the morning and Christmas Musical dress rehearsal in the afternoon on Saturday, and then two performances in the morning of the Christmas Musical on Sunday and another possible trip down to the mall in the afternoon. Nevermind the final bits and pieces of costuming that I'm doing before Saturday's dress rehearsal hits. And it's going to be like this until Christmas and has been this way since, oh, the middle of November.

Oh, and time off around Christmas/New Year's? Ha, ha! 'Tis to laugh! The rest of this year is not going to be a good year for rest in any way, shape or form.

But we'll get through it, right? Because we have to. If it doesn't kill us first.

With all apologies to Lewis Carroll

Of Shoes

Never before in my life have I actually appreciated having cute shoes. I mean, I've always been the girl with the widest feet on the planet. At my highest weight, I had to buy size 11W shoes just to fit into things. Needless to say, on my budget, not much in the way of "cute" was able to happen. And boots? Hah, hah! Tis to laugh!

Now that the excess fat has drained away from my feet, I am still left with my width and my impossibly high arch - both of which conspire to keep me out of certain types of shoes. But they didn't stop me when I set out to find an absolutely adorable pair of red shoes.

It was inspired by a shopping trip to Mervyns. There was this pair of gorgeous red satin peep-toe heels. But of course, nothing in my size. An 8 was as high as it got. Feh! But a few days later I was in the mall and stopped at Payless and managed to find a pair of deep burgundy red pumps with a kitten heel. For $10! Score! I finally had a red pair of shoes. I could finally FIT into a pair of cute red shoes. Eeeeee!

I wore them the other day with a pair of dark washed jeans and a nice sweater. The compliments on my footwear alone? Out of this world. Who knew that a simple thing like red shoes gets you noticed? Not me. Well, at least not until now, that is. I forsee many more pairs of red shoes in my future.

Of Ships

This summer The Husband and I purchased one of those pick-your-date cruises that are good for two years. We probably need to actually, you know, get around to picking a date so that we can actually get off our duffs and go enjoy a cruise. Before hurricane season? During hurricane season? After hurricane season? When, oh, when, oh, when?

And what's this I hear about the rampant tipping - you have to tip about a bazillion people on a ship, I'm told. WTF is that all about? I mean, if they serve me, sure, they'll get a tip. But I'm not handing some dude a $50 for standing at a door and greeting me every night. Serve me a drink or four, get me my food, get my desert, yeah, I'll tip you. But for doing nothing but smiling? I don't think so, bub. We have gotten to be a nation of obsessive tippers and I'm just sick of it. I don't mind paying more for my food or more for my hotel if I didn't have to worry about how much I need to tip the server. Pay them a damn living wage, people! Aaargh!

Of Sealing Wax

We sure could have used some Sealing Wax this weekend when we discovered the cause of the $200 electric bill that was run up by our communal well. The tank? It has sprung a leak. Right at the bottom. *thunk* Sigh! Well, there goes all the money that we were going to spend on a 1973 Chevy Impala that we were going to fix up for Thing One to drive when she gets a license.

This tank is one of the newfangled green plastic well tanks that manufacturers replaced the older style metal tanks with. It's supposed to last twice as long as the old ones and be ever so great. This one lasted about four years. Yeah. That. Possibly the reason why it failed was because the damn thing was installed shoddily by the people that work on our well. They failed to level and border the gravel properly, and the tank listed to the North from the very beginning, or so we were told by the Pervert who was present when the tank went in.

Oh yes. The Pervert. Yes, we live next door to a convicted child molester. Yes, he knows that he will lose his life if he goes near the girls. Yes, they know how to do bodily injury to him should he ever try anything with them. Yes, he knows that we mean business. Unfortunately, we have to deal with him from time to time, and seeing as how he owns a portion of the well, this is one of those times. But we're going to have really good luck if we get a penny out of him to pay for what we need to to replace things. Which at this moment includes a new pressure tank, a new pressure tank pump and other small items in addition to the new main tank that we will need. 'Cause he's low income, don'tcha know? It's called the cost of home ownership, buddy! We can put a lein on your property for the money and don't think that we won't, okay? Grrrrrr!

Anyway, that's life down here in the Land of Sheeple. It's just grand, ain't it? *sigh*

Well, now. This is a new one for me.

Ummm, how do you tell a guy to knock it off with the wooing? Especially when he's trying to, um, woo your HUSBAND? Especially when he's a long-standing friend. Who knows damn well that we're very happily married and that The Husband doesn't, um, lean that way, you know?

What once used to be a very good friendship has now devolved into . . . this. It hurts that this friend of ours puts so little value on our actual friendship and more on his desire to get laid. It was a big deal for The Husband to get over his homophobia when our friend came out to him about his bisexuality, and now it's all being blown to pieces.

I guess we should have started reading the writing on the wall when our friend insisted that The Husband not tell me about this state of affairs in regards to his sexuality. He still doesn't know that I know. And now he has crossed a HUGE line, once again asking that I not be told about it, and once he obtained forgiveness from The Husband for it, this pursuit began.

So . . . Listen, buddy. Forgiveness does not equal an invitation into bed, okay? It means that the incident is forgiven. It also means that The Husband has no intentions of ever being alone with you again because he doesn't want to take the chance that you will take it as an invitation to try again. I mean, seeing as how you now think that it's now open season for you with MY HUSBAND.

We listened to your tales of woe with your ex-wife. We empathized with you because she was, frankly, the world's biggest bitch ever. We know because she affected us as well. We have been there for you through thick and thin as you have been for us. We have all helped each other through good times and bad, fixing up houses together, watering orchids together, drinking and eating together. We are quite possibly the only friends that you have at the moment because of your tendency to insulate yourself from life.

Are you really willing to throw it all away just so you can try to get it on with The Husband? Is it worth it to you? Because if it is, we will not hesitate in the slightest to cut you off.

And to think. The Husband thought that he would have to beat guys off of me with a stick once I lost the weight. Hah! I don't know whether or not to be insulted or relieved that it's not me on the hotseat. Or maybe I'm just covering how heartbroken I am that we may have to end a friendship because of someone's selfish lust. I truly hope it doesn't have to come to that, but I suppose I have to prepare for it.

Halloween Foibles

Halloween. A pretty neat day by all accounts. You get to dress up and go to work in things you never would dream of at any other point in time - stuff that's left to your fantasy life.

For me, this means that I get to drag out some of my costumes that I've made either during my time with the SCA or ones that I made for various plays/operas that I participated in many, many years ago. This year, I decided to drag out my Gibson Girl ballgown I made in 1993 when I was the lead in The Merry Widow. It's blue taffeta with black trim and is beautiful. Kangaroo bodice, slim front profile skirt spilling into a gored and flared back. Gorgeous. *sigh* I would wear an outfit like this every day if I could. Corset and all.

I haven't been able to fit into this dress in quite a long time, and with my weight loss, it finally fits again. It's kind of cool because when I made it, I only weighed about 160 and it was fitted perfectly to me. Now at 190 pounds, it fits again and is actually a bit loose in the waist when I wear my corset. Hah!

I was kind of cruising for a let-down, however. While people may ooh and ahhh over your outfit, they are more excited about those who wear something shocking, like the guy dressing as a cheerleader complete with fake rack, wig and outrageous makeup or someone dressing ghoulishly. Obviously, most people have no clue about the era the dress represents (Renaissance? Umm, try a couple of centuries later, my friend! Princess? WTFF? I'm not wearing a tiara, honey.), and let's face it, nobody in the modern workforce is used to dealing with women in trained skirts. *sigh* It did get me more doors opened for me than usual, though. Chivalry isn't dead when a man sees a woman in an evening gown!

I dress for me first and foremost, my husband second. Everybody else can fall in line afterwards and I could care less. But for some reason on Halloween, I want my efforts to be noticed, even though I am dressing for myself, and I want people to think that my costumes are the neatest thing they've ever seen. I may have spent weeks making this costume all those years ago, but people don't care when it comes to a costume contest. They want the cross-dresser, or the guy dressed as Jack Sparrow. Guess I'm just a costume snob. Sucks to be me, eh?

So, I'm relegated to the costume dustbin again. Everybody around here knows that I dress spectacularly on Halloween, but it's not what they like to see. It doesn't matter if I weigh 315 pounds or 190. Some things never change. I need to get over it and put my big girl panties on, don't I? After all, it's pretty silly to get upset over a stupid contest.

But it just goes to show you. Some things don't magically turn around if you lose the weight. I still get inferiority complexes over the simplest of things, things that I perceive as a rejection of me, when they're more than likely nothing of the sort. My weight has nothing to do with it. Never has and never will. This may be one of the more freeing revelations I have come to of late. Doesn't take the sting entirely away, but it wakens me to the realization that yes, my perceptions of things control my reality by bringing me up or taking me down. The choice is mine.

Which choice will you make?

It's The Little Things That Matter in Life . . .

The Husband and I are a very interesting mix of high-maintenance and low-maintenance in the items that we purchase around the house and for ourselves. For instance, we could care less that our carpet has the appearance of a moth-eaten rag, but by all that is holy, we MUST have a very large TV, preferably projection and definitely widescreen - the current one is 52". We shop for the vast majority of our every-day necessities at Wal-Mart or KMart to pinch the pennies, but we HAVE to have whole milk mozarella cheese to add to our pizza. None of this low-fat crap on our pizza pies, dammit! Mayonnaise must be Best Foods brand. Ketchup? Eh, every brand tastes the same. Get whatever's cheapest. You get the picture. I love a bargain, but some things are worth their weight in gold and when we need it, we spend the Benjamins if necessary.

One area that we have always been very, very picky is our bedding. For years we had to order the satin sheets that we loved so very much from Fingerhut of all places because back in the 90s, there was just no where else that we could find them, aside from driving out of town and going from place to place irritating ourselves to no end. Same thing with our comforters. Must be satin. It's totally a texture thing, and we admit that we're high maintenance about it.

In the year before I had my DS, we were unable to find satin sheets ANYWHERE for under $200 just for a flat sheet, so we condescended to get a high-quality 400 thread-count cotton sateen sheet set. It met the softness that we craved, but didn't have the true slippery quality of satin that we like. But since we had to get something new, it would do. For now. We didn't replace our comforter because we hated everything that was out there.

But this weekend, I had had enough. Enough of a miss-matched sheet and comforter set (dark plum sheets, blue satin pillowcases, blue satin comforter, enough of a ripped comforter to boot. It was way past time to search something out. So, I went shopping. And found the motherlode.

At Mervyns, they are FINALLY shaping up to our reality and have actual full sets of satin sheets for sale! Whoo-hooo! And look! They come in California King. Bonus! But now, for a comforter. Hrm. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Oooh! Pretty! That's nice too, but not the right size. Sigh. Ugly. Ugly. Ugly. Tah-dah! We have a winnah!

And look at this. It's all ON SALE! $500 worth of bedding for the price of $200! Can't beat that with a stick, people! So we are now the proud owners of all new scarlet satin sheets and a deep scarlet and gold embroidered comforter set. And boy, howdy, are they nice and toasty warm. They will be the perfect weight for summer as well - the benefit of satin is that it feels so nice and cool in the summer, which is a huge help for us with falling asleep.

I'll be honest here. We have never, EVER had a bedding set that has looked as nice as this one. Ever. I'm a little bit stunned, but a little bit giddy. I love my bedding. We didn't want to get out of bed this morning, we were reveling in it so much. Now I just need a bedstead that would actually look nice with this new bedding, rather than the converted waterbed thing that we've got going on. (Remember what I said about being high maintenance in some places and low in others? Yeah, it's laid out for you right there on our bed. *sigh* We're so wierd.)

I think I'm going to head back today and pick up another satin sheet set for a backup. Perhaps in black. You can NEVER have enough good satin sheets. Because who knows when they're going to take them away from us again!

I fit into WHAT?

I am in that lovely inbetween stage. The one where I have to buy clothing to fit the larger parts of my body instead of the smaller parts. The reason for this? Excess skin. Ugh. This has led to much aggravation in shopping and made me just flat-out give up until such time as a lovely scalpel can take care of the problem (hopefully soon! Eeee!). I mean, who wants to buy something that's two sizes too big for your chest because it's what you need to keep your upper arms happy? Gah. Frustration abounds.

But there have been some happy lights in the clothing department, I have to say. If I use a body shaper, I comfortably fit into a size 12 skirt. Yes, a 12. One size smaller than my goal size. Not too bad if I say so myself. And once I get rid of this excess stomach, I will be fitting these things without the body shaper in an even smaller size, and who can complain about that, right?

Getting into the size 12 was, of course, accompanied by the usual mind-fuck that those of us who have lost a lot of weight go through. I mean, I can't possibly fit into that. Come on. You're kidding me. WHAT? It FITS! Huzzah, etc., etc. and accompanied by trying on every size from 18 down to the final 12. It is coming easier as more time goes on, thankfully. I would hate to be doing this same spiel over and over and over again for the rest of my life. It gets tiring to say the least, and mentally exhausting, having to beat myself up every time I go shopping.

Time, however, hasn't stopped the comments from coming. Now that I have moved back into the main building, my visibility level has gone WAY up. The time I was over in the trailer encompassed all of my weight loss up to this time, so to some people they are shocked at seeing literally half of the me that they expected to see. And once again, the explanations of how I lost it all are being trotted out. It's nice that everybody here has seen several other people go through WLS, so they are not condemning at all and have only seen successes, and not failures with which to nag me. I feel very lucky to be in a culture that is as understanding and supportive as this one and was a big part of my decision to do this. I knew that I would have built-in support both in the "been there, done that" kind and in the "we've seen what this can do - good for you for doing this!"

The downside of moving back into the main building, however, is the overabundance of treats everywhere one looks - including the community candy dish located right. In. My. Cube. Gahhh! Just keep drowing "hunger pangs" with Crystal Light is my mantra. If I'm not hungry, I won't eat. We'll see how long that lasts, however.

Eh, this is why I got the DS, right? Occasional treat and all that. Just not all the time. Must remember. Jerky is my friend!

Diary of the Disgruntled

Between last week and this week, it's been downright crappy. It's a combination of general malaise along with some family drama that could rival what gets shown on Jerry Springer. Add into that a nice dash of work stupidity and there you have it! A serious case of the blahs.

To wit:

• I have to move my office. A year and a half ago, they moved me from the main building into this smaller building because they "didn't have space in the main building." Now, they are moving me BACK into the main building - the same room even! - because "they need my space for program people." Nevermind that the main building had empty cubicles the whole time I was gone. It's an exercise in futility, I tell you.
• Because of Ehn Ehm See Eye, I am not allowed to move my computer myself. And because I was scheduled to have a tech come out yesterday at 3 p.m. and move my computer (oh, but not the monitor! It's not one of our pieces of equipment!), I have moved most of my physical stuff over there. Who didn't show up yesterday? That would be the tech. We are now sitting at 24+ hours late for the appointment. We are fuming.
• I will be sharing a cubicle for the first time in, well, ever. This is really disconcerting to me. I like my space. I like to not have someone breathing down my neck in my space. My new cubemate is actually a lovely person and I'm sure we'll get along fine, but I just hate the idea of sharing my space. Plus, I am messy and will have to shape up my act. Ugh.
• I ended up dumping my motorcycle in soft sand while looking for Thing One and Thing Two on Sunday. Since I had been riding on the pavement, I wasn't wearing my usual offroad gear and my shin got banged up by the foot peg because I didn't have my boots on. Ow. And hello bruise! So nice to see you!
• Two of my dogs are right pissing me off. The Aussie Shepherd and Cattle Dog have discovered that, hey! My legs? They are vaguely spring like. And the fence? We can just jump right on over it! Because those nasty Labradors that belong to Stupid Neighbor? They are encroaching on our territory and We! Must! Defend! But how do we get back over? Ooooooo! I'll just howl over here until the humans come out and get me. Stupid twits.
• Thing Two has developed an annoying habit of glossing over the instructions for her homework. This leads her to make silly mistakes. When said mistakes are pointed out by me and she is told to fix them, she bursts into tears. This makes my blood pressure skyrocket and just want to scream at her. I am having to take mommy time-outs to get myself under control. But I totally lost my shit on her last night because it kept happening over and over and over again. I am a horrible mommy. Crap.
• A silly Auntie who doesn't know how to keep important information from a disreputable family member who is not trusted for various and assorted reasons. Information that had been kept confidential for a very long time and has caused much consternation amongst family members now that we know that he has it. Worry wart city, here we come!

At least there is a couple pieces of glitter amongst all the ick. The office move that I am dreading will get me away from Annoying Cow-worker that always 1) asks me how to do the same task (copying and pasting from Excel into Word) over and over and over and over again, 2) cannot stop himself from exclaiming "Boy is it quiet in here!" because obviously he needs it to be very loud for it to be a real workplace and 3) has an obsessive need to keep track of where everybody is and keep his fingers on whether or not people should be taking vacation or actually have leave. I am soooo happy that I will not have to deal with his crap on a daily basis. It's the only thing that I have to look forward to at this point.

I know that it will all get better, but I had to whine somewhere. Getting it out is good for the soul, eh?

Outsmithing the Wordsmith

Have I been sucked into a vacuum? I'm beginning to wonder if my brain has been completely drained of all grey matter and only dust and detrius is left in its wake.

I am attempting to read the Gormenghast Novels by Mervyn Peake, a contemporary of JRR Tolkein. I was perusing an article that bemoaned the fate of modern writers and how they are just not up to snuff. The article writer mentioned that these books would appeal to those who liked both Harry Potter and Tolkein. I thought to myself, "SCORE! New stuff to read!" and tottered off to Amazon and bought all three novels used for under $10.

I am finding it as hard to get through as Tolkein's Silmarilian. I have tried to read that book on four different occasions. I can't get as far as page 100. Bah!

The problem with the Gormenghast novels is that every. word. has. meaning. And that meaning must be expounded upon by more meanings. Because the meanings make it all meaningful and worthwile. *sigh*

Don't get me wrong. I like to be challenged in my reading. But this? Is beyond tiresome. Adding to the brain drain fatigue this is giving me, I'm honestly not interested in the story. The characters are not interesting at all, all their little idiotic idiosyncrasies included. They are dull, inscrutable, and completely un-relatable. Not that I think that all characters in a book need to be relatable, mind you. You do need some inscrutable things going on to make a book interesting, IMO. But this is a bit ridiculous.

I'm going to keep pressing on, however, and see if I can't make a breakthrough here. I mean this is supposed to be a great work of fiction, on par with the whole Lord of the Rings etc., etc. And I love those books and re-read them frequently. I wanted something epic but above the level of Harry Potter. Well, I got that, didn't I?

On the subject of books, I also recently picked up Stardust by Neil Gaiman. It is utterly charming, sweet and a very quick read. They did a good adaptation of it for the movie, IMO, but like most things, the book was better. However I do have one quibble. The book is marked for the YA market. That means the 9-15 year-old set. There is one very noticeable and graphic sex scene in the book. And this makes it appropriate for children just how? Am I becoming a curmudgeon in my dotage? I remember sneaking my romance novels when I was 15, but that was at 15. Sex scenes don't belong in what is supposed to be a PG-13 market. The moral slide continues as I get more and more grumpy about these sorts of things.

Watch Out World!

'Cause I've got a motorcycle permit and I'm going to use it. Eeeeeee!

Yes, I passed my test yesterday. Perfect score. Yessss! So now it's on to the safety class, which luckily for me is going to be free for me because our Navy Base requires that all who are going to ride motorcycles on base must take a safety course and then repeat it every two years to continue riding on base. And since they require it, according to state law, THEY have to pay for it. Whoo-hooo! Hopefully I'll get in the one next month. Then I can start riding to work. Just in time for the cold weather to hit. Blargh. Oh well. That's what cold weather gear is for, right?

Now that Thing One and Thing Two are in public school, I get the lovely pleasure of fundraisers. Yes, that's right. The bane of every parent's existance. Because now they don't allow the children to go door-to-door like they did in my time, nooooo! Because there are all those nasty, evil people out there. Nevermind that they were out there when I was a kid, but that's besides the point. *sigh* We're so paranoid now.

Anyway, Thing One has to raise money for her choir trip to Disneyland. She has to raise $100 (or we/she has to pay the rest) in order to go. But since we live out in the boondocks, and really have no neighbors to speak of (except for the child molesters that I may have mentioned before), guess who gets to do the actual selling. Riiiight! Mom and Dad. Feh.

Look, I did my time. I stood for hours on end outside our local supermarket hawking World's Finest Chocolate Bars. I went door to door selling them as well, and the magazine subscriptions too. For YEARS. I had a cute spiel down. I smiled. I asked graciously. Totally unlike any of the snots you see now-a-days - which is one of the reasons why I've stopped buying World's Finest Chocolate Bars.

But now I'm groveling with my co-workers: Please! PLEASE! Buyyyyy this stuff for my chiiiilllddd! They MADE me do it! FORGIVE ME! I HATE MYSELF! *sob* So, whatcha gonna get?

Tomorrow it goes with The Husband to HIS work. Let's see how well he fares with this. There's a couple people he has to "get back" because they constantly hound him to buy Girl Scout cookies for their kids. And he always does.

Turn about is fair play, right? Pony up, suckers!

Monday Minutiae

It seems that I was incorrect in the model number of the motorcycle we have purchased for my use. It is just a TW200, not a TRW200. No biggie, but what, pray tell, does the "R" mean when it is present in a motorcycle designation for Yamaha and many other brands? Why that would be "RACING," which The Husband let slip when I referred to my motorcycle incorrectly this weekend. And precisely WHOSE motorcycle has the "R" in its model designation? Yeah. That would be HIS FJR1300. Yeah. Racing. Funny how he snuck that by me, pulling the wool over my eyes, so to speak, isn't it? Harrumph!

And speaking of pulling the wool over the eyes . . . the girlies and I went to have our eyes checked this weekend at Lenscrafters. Thing Two needed to be checked to make sure that she *really* needs glasses (she does, and has an astigmatism to boot! Feh!) and Thing One needed an update and new pairs of glasses. I needed my routine annual checkup, including the check for glaucoma, seeing as how I have inherited a double-whammy from both my mother's and father's sides the equations. Eye pressure is normal, as it has been since I was a teen, which is good. Not that I'm paranoid about glaucoma (which I am), but I really don't want to be in the situation my mother was where they didn't catch it until it was pretty well progressed and she has chunks that are missing from her vision as a result and has also had to have surgery to DRILL HOLES in her eyeballs to relieve the pressure so things don't get worse. Ahem. Not my cup of tea.

No, the surprise of the visit is that the last time I had my eyes checked (about a year and a half ago - before having the DS) my prescription was -1.75 diopters in the right eye and -2.25 diopters in the left eye. It's been that way over the last seven to eight years or so. This steady prescription put me smack-dab in the category of "people who are able to have LASIK surgery because their prescription has remained stable." Yay! A life devoid of glasses! Sign me up!

This visit, however, dashed my hopes entirely. A full half diopter change in BOTH eyes. Aaargh.

But wait. I'm not finished yet. The change? It's not that my eyes have gotten worse, it's that they have gotten BETTER! Yes, my prescription is now -1.25 and -1.75, right and left eyes respectively. Holy cow! My optometrist was stunned. She's never seen something like this before. People always get worse, not better.

Could this be a result of having the DS? Did my excess weight also put a strain on my eyes that I had no way of knowing about? I mean, this prescription is what it was when I was 25. And here I am at 37 years of age with IMPROVING eyesight.

Is this improvement going to continue? Is it based on my weight loss? Is it based on my change to a high-protein diet? Have there been studies of WLS patients studying this phenomenon? WTF is going on here?

All I know is that I will put this down in the column of "good things that happened to me after weight loss." Who cares that I need to wait another three-to-four years to have a steady prescription. I'll take glasses for a while with these kinds of results.

She Loses an Entire Other Person and She's Taking Up WHAT?

Motorcycles. Yup. You read that right. Motorcycles. I am now the proud owner of a Yamaha TRW200 - a dual sport that has a little bit of getupandgo and is still lightweight enough for me to feel comfortable actually maneuvering.

I held off quite a bit on this one, insisting to The Husband that it was a scooter or nothing else at all. I mean, my grandfather bought one for me when I was 16 and I used that throughout highschool so it was a comfort factor for me. But he somehow maneuvered around me, convinced me that it would be a marvelous training motorcycle for me because of the larger back tire and easy clutch (Just like driving a Volkwagon Beetle again! Yay!) and then as Thing One got older, it would make a great transition for her as well as she got her driver's license. Plus we could take it off-roading, and with me on the motorcycle and Thing Two on the back, that would mean all FOUR of us could go on a ride on the street.

Well, with logic like that, what woman can withstand it? Let's face it. He snowed me. Oh well! I wasn't complaining much. :-P

I went and took the motorcycle test today. And didn't pass by one point. Gah! I hate it when I do that. At least the questions I got wrong were wrong because I don't have much experience on a real motorcycle, and not because I don't know how to drive safely. The one that would have tipped me over the edge into passing I got wrong because I read it wrong. Blargh! Leave it to me to speed-read an important test.

Oh well. Next Monday I shall conquer the DMV and obtain my motorcycle license. As a bonus, I get a driver's license with a NEW PICTURE on it! One of my gripes about losing all this excess weight at this point is that NOBODY recognizes me anymore in my old picture. I mean, I nearly got denied access to my bank account at the place I've banked with since birth. WTF? And there was NO ONE around who has known me for years - an actual first. I had to remember both my mother and mother-in-law's maiden names to get access. They nearly wanted a blood sample it seemed. Aaargh!

But, I guess this means I've done relatively good, eh? If that's my only gripe at this moment, I'll take it. And I'm keeping my old license, come hell or high water. I want to keep that reminder around that I'm no longer that person who was uncomfortable in her own skin.

Incongruity

I heard on the radio and then read on the 'net about Russia's new, more "environmentally friendly," non-nuclear bomb.

In what alternate universe does "bomb" equal "environmentally friendly" I wonder? Hmmmm?

One of these things is not like the other . . .

What a Difference a Day Makes

Less than 24 hours after my last post, my father-in-law was dead. It was a peaceful passing, filled with family and song, so they tell me. At least the pain is over for him, and we can begin the healing.

Sunday we held the memorial service for him. It was very long, but filled with wonderful remembrances of him, his life, and what he meant to us. It ended with the American Legion Color Guard giving a 21 gun salute and the presentation of the colors to my mother-in-law. It honestly felt more like a wedding than a funeral. All in all a very good thing.

Grief is such an odd beast and people feel it and show it in different ways. For me, there is no grieving to be done. My FIL was a wonderful guy, but now he's gone. I'm sad that I will no longer receive calls from Dear Old Dad, as he liked to call himself, I'm sad that his sense of humor won't be around, but I'm not going to grieve his loss. Him being in the pain that he was in caused me to grieve. Now all that I can find in this is a blessed relief and yes, a happiness that he is asleep and knows no more pain.

So, hug your loved ones and gather them around you. Waste no time in doing what you must do to live life to the fullest. One of the best parts of this last year for me was having my FIL talk to me about my weight loss and how he, a blind man, could see that I was being filled with so much more joy in life, even as his was slowly being eked from him. He was so happy that I was getting back to who I was. It amplified my own joy as I found my old self again. I will never forget him and the love he showed me even when I was the new stranger in his youngest son's life.

God speed, Jack! We will miss you. But we'll see you again. Until then!

It's September Already? Really?

Cripes. I let life run away with me and this is what I get. *sigh*

Between the stress of getting the children sent off to public school for the first time ever, my medical issues and family crisis, I haven't had time for, well, anything.

Thing One and Thing Two have settled quite nicely into their school routine. Thing One wakes up at O'dark-thirty so that she can leave the house by 6:15 a.m. to get to the bus. Yikes! Thing Two wakes up around the time Thing One leaves and then I take her to a neighbor's house so that I can make it to work at a reasonable time. Both girls get home by bus and are now latch-key children. I am SUCH a bad mother. Gah! What else am I supposed to do? Both The Husband and I work, and paying for childcare is an unneeded expense at this point in life. They haven't killed each other yet, so I'm counting my blessings. Hopefully things on this angle will go well.

I had a second ultrasound to check out Fred my cyst. Turns out, Fred the cyst, well, isn't a cyst. Color me confused. The cyst that was found on the first ultrasound was probably part of my normal cycle, seeing as how a similar, but much smaller cyst was found on the right ovary. But, I wasn't having this damn pain on my right side. It was still on the left.

So where does this leave me? Endometreosis or an adhesion is most likely. I'm going to put my bet on the first part. Because those cysts my mother supposedly fell prey to that made them remove all of one and all but 5% of another? Yeah, it wasn't cysts but endometreosis. *sigh* Thanks, ma, for the brain cells that have just been killed as a result of this stress. And thank you, dad, for actually remembering this information. Cocktails all around, people!

I have to get in touch with the OBGYN in Delano about the results so that we can figure out where we go from here. I still have left side pain occasionally, so the site has not changed. It just is very frustrating to *think* that you know what is wrong and whoopsie! Now it's something else. Aaargh. These are the days of our lives, right?

Now for the family crisis. Last Sunday, August 26, we received a semi-frantic call from The Husband's older brother. My father-in-law was being admitted to the hospital because he was bleeding out through the colon. Considering the man has been fighting prostate cancer (his fourth battle with it!) since May of last year and was given 3 months to live at that time, this was not unexpected. The ER doctor was giving him hours, maybe days to live. He wanted to admit my FIL to get him stable and then would release him to hospice care since my FIL does NOT want to die in a hospital bed.

This sends The Husband into a tizzy. We knew this was coming, especially since they kept delaying and delaying and then finally denying the last round of chemo because of his blood levels. We've known that he was bleeding internally because he kept having to have transfusions in order to get his blood counts back up. But now what do we do? His other siblings were flying in from Ohio and Idaho, so The Husband decided to ride his motorcycle up there and then I would follow with the children on Friday.

The Husband made it up to Carson City relatively unscathed. Well, with the exception of the rain storm and hail that he drove through and then was chased by. Yikes! He comes into a situation where his father is going down hill, but is still mostly lucid and is still eating. We're uncertain of what is going on, how fast he's going, etc. He sees all his children around him, plus the husband of one and the wife of another and says, "Well, you all are here. Now where's Sarah?" So now I'm torn. We decide to yank the kids out of school a day early and I make haste to leave on Thursday before he completely goes. No matter what happenns, we have to return on Sunday because the children have to go back to school on Tuesday and we know we're going to need Monday as a recovery day.

Guess who's still kicking as of today? My father-in-law. Doctors don't know shit. They can't predict death. He's still lucid, albeit very weak. He needs help to get up and down, and has more and more moments of morphine mania as we call it. But he's still got his humor and knows how to yank our chains and make jokes.

Just yesterday, my SIL, who happens to work in a nursing home and is very used to dealing with the elderly and the dying, kept asking him if he wanted to do the transfer to the wheelchair so that he could move from the bed to his recliner. "Nope. Not right now," he said.

"You ready now, dad?" she asked a few minutes later.

"No, not ready yet."

Lather, rinse and repeat a few times.

Just as SIL decides to sit down and rest a bit herself, FIL says, "Okay, I'm ready now." SIL moves over to him. "No, I don't think so. Let's wait a bit," FIL says.

"Are you yanking my chain," SIL asks him.

"What, you finally noticed?" he said, grinning.

The old man's still got some spunk in him yet. Gotta love that!

Depending on how things go, I may head up again later on in the week as I'm the one in the family with leave left. The Husband used all his up by going all last week unfortunately. But we shall see what we shall see. Pray for us!

Affair-licious

I haven't been an overly fat fatty most of my life. It was only within the last 8-10 years that I really started putting on the weight. And since I have lived in the same town for my entire 36 years, that's really not that long of a time to be heavy. I've always been big, mind you, but not grossly overweight like I was before having the DS.

So basically I have gotten back to being the same size woman that The Husband married. I'm almost the same size I was in high school. How righteous is that?

Anyway, the change in size hasn't been all that big of a problem for people that have literally known me all my life. To them, it's just the old Sarah back again. Different hair color, yeah, but the same ol' gel that I always have been.

The Husband and I have been married for 13 years. He has worked at his current jobsite for 14 years. So the vast majority of his co-workers have known me for that long and have seen me go up and now back down in size. No big deal. But those who have only known The Husband in the last four or five years have only ever known me big. This set us up for what went down on Monday.

Monday was the jobsite's 40th anniversary celebration. Spouses weren't invited, but former workers of the jobsite were and they were allowed to invite a guest. The Husband was desperate for me to come out to the celebration, so we hit up an ex-roommate of ours who used to work there to bring me along as his guest. Sweet! I was one of the few spouses that attended, but I was actually working the celebration helping The Husband with the food and whatnot so it's not like I was just out there for giggles and grins.

Anyway, one of the guys out there we've known for years. He's a flirty thing, and has been open with his appreciation as I've been losing the weight. Heck, he's been appreciative of me no matter what my size. It's okay with The Husband because the guy has a hot-as-hell wife who is also great friends with us and it's just this guy's personality. He's appreciative of feminine beauty and lets it be known. At one point during the day, he crept up and whispered loudly in my ear so that The Husband could hear it as well, "Damn, I don't know how much you've lost so far, but let me tell you it's fucking H-O-T!" We both just grinned. It was great. I don't like a lot of attention being thrown on my weight loss in public, but this friend of ours is just so engaging, you can't help but giggle like a schoolgirl when he does something like this.

The day wound to a close and I left with our former roommate to go back to my normal work. I was introduced to so many people, my head was spinning. Some I knew by name only, others were old co-workers. A good time was had by all. I even got to introduce The Husband to the mother of one of my ex-boyfriends. That's a story for later, though. Hee!

When The Husband got home that evening, he had a dazed look on his face. This was partly because he was standing around all day with an injured ankle (he had rolled it the night previously and was why I was helping out at the celebration), and partly because of things that happened after I left.

The Husband: "Did you know that I'm having an affair on you?"

Me: "Whaaaat? The hell?!?"

The Husband: "Yes. I'm having affair on you. Or so say some of my co-workers who came to verbally beat me up after you left. They were quite angry with me. One might say royally pissed off. They wanted to know who my new companion was."

Me: *dissolves into giggles in a pool on the floor*

This, my friends, is possibly the best thing to happen since surgery. I thoroughly intend to take it as a compliment. I don't care if it was my change in haircolor or the change back to who I used to be. It's all good in my book.

Never, ever underestimate the power of Three

Especially when the three in question happen to be The Husband, The Mother and The Surgeon.

As I notated here previously, I have had an unpleasant visitor upon my body. One who at the drop of a hat can make my day miserable. But do I want to get rid of this foul beast, the one whom I call Fred? Well, not really because that would mean more surgery and I'm just iffy enough about more surgery until I have plastics.

Evidently, The Husband has gotten sick and tired (And Tired always follows Sick) of my bitching about Fred and wants something done about him. Preferably involving getting him to go away. Permanantly. And during a conversation a week ago Sunday with The Mother about her taking Thing One and Thing Two for the next week, The Husband happened to make noises to her that he was unpleased with my decision to keep on keeping on Fred and so thusly I got an earful from her. Something about my being an utter loon and shouldn't I know better with our family history of cysts, blah, blah, blah. Right.

So, being attacked in both the right ear (The Husband) and the left ear (The Mother) I gave in and said that yes, I would make the necessary appointments to see about removing Fred forever from my body and condemning him to wherever it is they send bodily waste, preferably next to the majority of my stomach that's in its little Ziploc baggie somewhere.

The trifecta came when during last Wednesday's visit with The Surgeon for my year follow up that hrm, maybe my wonky iron levels and hrm, perhaps my funky periods might, JUST MIGHT, MIND YOU, have something to do with Fred. Which means that yes, he must be gotten rid of post-haste thank you very much. Oh, and please start taking some iron pills already so you don't get anemic because the numbers if they continue their trend will lead to that destination. The Husband thought that The Surgeon wanted to slap me silly. It was very amusing.

I gave my usual grumble about how I had been wanting to wait to get rid of Fred until plastics, and The Surgeon said, "Well, why didn't you say so! We can take care of it all at once. After all, you really are at a good weight for it at this point." And the next thing I know, I'm being drawn upon with a black sharpie, pictures are taken, and an appointment made for the OB/GYN the next floor down to assess me is made.

Whew! Talk about a whirlwind!

In reality, this would be the best of all worlds. Get rid of Fred and possibly other parts of my female anatomy that I really have no more use for anymore, and thus have insurance pay for some things leaving us only to pay The Surgeon his fees for reconstruction. And maybe insurance will help pay there as well. Stranger things have occurred! And possibly slip in some boobies and do the arms as well.

Again. Talk about a whirlwind! I'm barely over a year out, and we're already talking plastics. Guess I've done good even and lost the weight in the right places even though I'm barely under 200 pounds. I didn't think we were going to be doing this for at least another year. Not that I'm complaining, mind you.

So Thursday I have an appointment with the OB/GYN in Delano and I have all my medical records about Fred ready to present for his opinion about The Trouble With Fred. He and The Surgeon have worked together many, many times in the past, so this would be old hat to the both of them. Plus I've seen The Surgeon's work when it comes to plastics, and for someone who didn't specialize in them, he does a damn fine job IMO. And the stuff that I've seen is on some of the first ones that he did them on. The man has only gotten better as time goes on.

Thursday will begin the plot for the demise of Fred (definite), the removal of skin (highly probable) and the lifting of some sad things sagging (probable). Not too bad, eh?

Actually, I do love the news some days

From the Associated Press:

KETTERING, Ohio — Romeo slays Tybalt for killing his friend, Mercutio.

Ah, Shakespeare.

Police in this Dayton suburb responded to a report of a swordfight in a public park Tuesday night. They found actors rehearsing a scene from "Romeo and Juliet."

"Nobody was hurt, except for us from laughing so hard once we figured out why the police, an ambulance and a fire truck pulled up with sirens flashing," said Dawn Roth-Smith, co-directer of the outdoor production by Playhouse South that opens Saturday.

"Somebody driving by must have seen our rehearsal but missed the big green sign we have up for our play," Roth-Smith said. "I apologized to the officer for bringing them out for no reason. He told me I should tell my actors they're doing a great job."

Beware reports of witches in the park when the same group rehearses "Macbeth" next summer.

Spinning, spinning, spinning

So, my little community is making a big splash in the news. You've probably already seen it if you're on the West Coast. Yesterday, a 75-year-old man went a bit bonkers because of bloodwork that needed to be done for labs, then went and got his shotgun, and THEN went and tried to rearrange parts of the medical office with said shotgun. When he turned his gun in the direction of the police, they did what was necessary and shot him. Dead.

And what, praytell, are the headlines saying?

"Elderly Man Gunned Down by Highway Patrol Officer"

Bullshit. Man, this whole "if it bleeds, it leads" shit is exactly why I got out of the newspaper/media business. I mean, I had a tough time sometimes coming up with headlines for some articles. Really, what kind of a headline can you come up with that is tactful when a man is arrested for having marital relations with his favorite dog? It's hard. Trust me. BTDT. Have the t-shirt.

But leading with a headline with the words "gunned down" gives you all sorts of wild impressions that are vastly misleading. This wasn't an elderly man going about his business. He had terrorized an office of people, slammed one employee in the head with the butt of his shotgun, lit off a few rounds wildly, and was now pointing said shotgun at police officers and wouldn't put it down. What other option do the police have? We don't have those lovely non-lethal shotguns that more metropolitan areas have. All our guys have is their baton, an Asp if they're lucky, pepper spray and their gun. And three out of those four don't work against a ranged weapon, folks.

It's been a sad day for us as a community. A man who was loved had a fit of insanity and was killed as a result of his actions. Another man, just as loved, had to make the decision to fire his weapon in the line of duty to save the lives of others. A no-win situation for all involved. Why don't the headlines show this?

Gah. I should quit spewing about this, but my coworkers are tired of my raving mania over this by now I'm sure. But enough with the sensationalism already, people! How about Elderly Man Shot After Rampage, Standoff? That more effectively conveys what happened, and actually fits better into the space you have for the headline. But it's not as catchy, now, is it?

And people wonder why the media isn't trusted. Feh.

Happiness is . . .

Having your eight-year-old child come up to you, give you a ginormous bear hug, look up at you with her angelic face and say, "Mommy! I can reach all the way around you!"

Let the Navel Gazing Begin!

Yes, I know, I've been a bad girl. No updates but once a week. Sorry. I'll try to be better. Now back to our regularly scheduled programming.

It's kind of hard to believe that it has been a full year since Dr. K went in, rearranged my insides and changed my life upside down in many ways. I can't say as I have minded, though. It's been wonderful rediscovering the old me and finding some new bits of me along the way.

I decided to title this post the way I did because I honestly feel that blogging about losing weight - heck, blogging for the most part - is simply an act of self-servedness, building oneself up, and essentially doing the whole "Look at Me! Look at Me! I'm IMPORTANT, DAMMIT!" thing. And it's something that I don't particularly enjoy. Never have, but I think I kind of got swept up in the whole, "You must catalogue these changes. You need to have a record of it all so that you can look back and see where you were in misery and how far you've come. If you don't, you'll just forget about it and NOT FORGETTING is important. You must remember your FEELINGS!" mentality.

But why? Why must I remember these feelings? I have to remember the feeling of despair that made me want to take a carving knife to myself to just get the damn fat off my body? Thanks, I prefer not to remember that. It was depressing living through it. Why would I want to re-live it? Even though I will always remember that particular psychosis of mine. But you get my drift.

Maybe I think this way because this journey along the DS garden path has, up until this point, been 95% a bed of roses. De-thorned roses with nothing but lovely scents and soft petals to cushion my fall. And now that I've said that, I will promptly be struck with bad luck that will have me in the hospital dealing with strangled bowel lengths and other nasty things like that. Because karma is a bitch that way.

So why do I continue to blog? Well, because I like to tell stories about what goes on in mine and other people's lives. I have about 25,000 words that I want to use a day and because I just don't talk to many people during the day, I usually have about 15,000 words that go unused a day. Blogging gets it out of me.

Here I sit, a hypocrite at her finest, telling you about all the lovely things that are happening to ME. Hey, at least I'm honest about it, right?

Anyway, in the past 12 months, I've managed to go from 315 pounds to 199. This despite eating all the wrong things at times, but still sticking to eating the right things because they actually taste good, you know? Life is a smorgasbord. I'm here to eat the delicacies from it. And I'm not going to apologize for it.

I have yet to take all my measurements. I'll probably be doing that this evening and I'll post the differences for you then. I'm sure it's going to be something utterly mind-boggling to me.

I have gone from a size 26/28 jean to a size 14/16. Technically, I am at the goal that I set for myself. If I could get rid of this damn pooch of a tummy, I probably could go lower. If I do, marvelous! If not, size 14 was my goal from the beginning and damn it if I'm not there.

On top, I have gone from wanting a 30/32 shirt (the girls needed their room!) to being quite comfortable, thank you, in a regular XL t-shirt. They're even a little bit *gasp!* baggy!

Dresses are a whole other animal. I used to wear a 26/28 from Lane Bryant. I really haven't actually tried any on since that size simply because I don't like most of the stuff I see. But the dress I sewed for The Husband's and my vow renewal started out at a 20 (equals a size 16 in regular clothes) and I had to chop a bunch down because I would have been swimming in it. So who knows where I am on that front. I haven't had the time to go to Mervyns and just pick out a bunch of stuff and try it on to see where I'm at but I probably should just for research purposes, you know?

Bones I never knew existed have been making themselves known to me. I have shoulder blades and collar bones for once. I also have sagging skin that makes me almost as depressed as the fat that formerly filled it does and makes me want to take aforementioned knife to it as well to get rid of it. At least a good foundation garment can take care of the ick factor for the most part, but still. Plastics will be a must at some point. Ugh.

I had my lab work drawn this morning before coming into work. Nine vials (Vampires those phlebotomists are, I tell you. Vampires!) of dark red blood that will be furiously spun in a centrifuge and subjected to testing to discover if I've been naughty or nice. To figure out if something Terribly Wrong is going on with my supplementation regimen and absorption levels. We shall see what we shall see and make adjustments from there.

All in all, it's been a wonderful ride this past year. Once the healing was over, my life has gone on, and it's been better than I even expected. I won't deny the hiccoughs, but that's all they've been so far - minor irritants in the great scheme of living life to its fullest. Hopefully this journey will continue that way for a long, long time.

Thus endeth the navel gazing of the day. Now commenteth! Validate me, please! Or not. It's all good. :-)

Summertime Life

Yeah. Well, life has been shooting by at about a million miles per hour. So what else is new, right?

Let's see if I can catch y'all up.

• We spent the majority of last week traveling to see my father-in-law in Nevada. Who knows if this will be the last time we see him. I'm glad we got to spend quality time with him, though. The Husband drove his motorcycle up and I followed later in the day with the truck and a trailer for the trip back down. Good thing we did. Several small wildfires were burning after lightening strikes on our way home. Would not have been fun to breathe in all that smoke.
• The new pairs of jeans I purchased two weeks ago? One of them is already sliding off my ass. I should have gotten the size 14 instead of the 16. Who knew? The cacklings of glee you're hearing is from me, by the way.
• Thing One and Thing Two are proving to us that they can actually be alone together without killing each other. This is astounding. And hooray for not having to pay for babysitting anymore! Whoo-hooo!
• On said trip to Nevada, all four of us dyed our hair. I am now in possession of ebony tresses tinged with blue, Thing One is washed with nutmeg and paprika, Thing Two is raven-haired, and The Husband first bleached the hell out of everything but eventually settled for light brunette with blonde highlights. Nothing like giving the elderly parents a shock when you come for breakfast one morning, eh? Hee!
• And saving the best for last. The scale this morning? 199. Hot damn!

The 501 Blues

Sunday we're getting ready to go to church, and I decide that it's about high time that I actually, you know, tuck my shirt into my jeans. A simple concept, true, but one that I haven't done in nigh a decade because you have to hide the fat somehow, right?

I tuck my shirt in, and look at myself in the mirror. I grouse that I'm not going to bother because the jeans that I'm wearing are too baggy at the moment and they "need to be tighter."

The Husband looks at me quizzically. Says "Take those things off. I'll be right back."

So I do. And he comes back into the bathroom. With his jeans. Size 36 waist Levis. 501s.

"Put these on."

Holy shit. They fit!

So yeah, my shirt stayed tucked in for once, and we hit Mervyns after church to pick me up my first ever pair of Levis that I have owned.

Life is good.

Eleven Months

Yesterday marked the 11 month anniversary of my Duodenal Switch. In that time, I have lost 114 pounds - something I would have never believed was possible. Words cannot describe how happy this time of watching the pounds drop away has been.

This all being said, I know that my weight loss to this date has not been on par with what it could be. The reason? Simple. I eat too many carbs. But I balance it with eating enough protein first and since the weight has been coming off slowly but steadily, it's been a trade-off that I was willing to make.

But no more.

This weekend, I decided to get down and dirty with this weight loss thing. No more dinking around. Carbs will be allowed, but only in complex or multi/whole-grain form and must be eaten in combination with protein. Case in point - my latest snack. Herb and garlic goat cheese piled high/slathered all over a wheat thin cracker. Five of them is enough to satisfy me. I get tasty protein as well as my hankering for a cracker all in one package.

My day has always started off with either a protein shake or an omelete loaded with cheese and bacon. That's staying the same. However no more cheating with getting the occasional sausage egg muffin or bacon egg and cheese biscuit (double the bacon, please!) even though I throw away the top half of the muffin or biscuit. Too many simple carbs there for the beginning of the day, and I always end up hungry too soon afterwards because of it.

I will be adding another protein shake at some point throughout the day, either as a morning snack or as part of lunch. Today I've already had my 50 grams of Isopure chocolate for breakfast but I've also slammed down another 25 grams of Isopure Mango Peach. This will be my new habit because it also helps me get in more fluid which brings me to my next resolution:

Double up on the water. Despite having something at my elbow all day long to drink, I need to up the consumption, especially as summer is now in full swing here and it's hotter than hades. I will be keeping a checklist to mark off how many 20 oz bottles of H2O or Crystal Lite that I drink. And if I don't have at least five before I go home from work, then I know that I have to drink at least four more at home. If I do drink the five, then I only need two to drink at home. More is always better.

Increase my fat consumption. I know that some of you will be saying "Whaaaa?" to this, but I'm serious. This seems to be the way I lose weight. Every time I loose a chunk of weight it seems to be because I am using the fat malabsorption this surgery provides the right way.

For example, this weekend, we went down to Lancaster to see the Fantastic Four Rise of the Silver Surfer. We also went to the mall, which meant that we went to Famous Dave's for lunch. I always eat their ribs as well as their beans. Which means I get a high fat content even though there is a high sugar content as well. And for the first time, we actually ordered desert because it was Thing Two's birthday. The Husband and Thing One shared their Chocolate Brownie confection, and the Birthday Girl and I shared a Bread Pudding. Oh my. Orgasm on a plate. I love bread pudding. This one is smothered in caramel sauce with pralines and ice cream. So worth the price, but you had better share it with at least one, if not two other people because it's monsterous. We left at least a third of it on the plate because to eat any more would have been so bad later on in the gas department. But don't think I didn't look wistfully at it sitting there - I'm not that good of a girl. Then again, I didn't WANT anymore, so that was good, too. Before surgery, I would have wolfed the rest of it down, full stomach be damned!

Anyway, the combination of the high fat and the protein levels that I had consumed earlier that day (42 gram bullet in the shower plus 50 gram shake on the way down) plunged me down the scale a full three pounds the next morning, where I've sat at since. The simple sugar for some reason, made no difference, but I'm not going to allow that to give me a free sugar pass. That would be the height of idiocy.

The key for me seems to be high protein plus high fat. Yes, I end up with poop that looks like styrofoam and tons of it. It's not explosive thankfully. But every time I do this combination, I promptly drop three to four pounds the next day and it stays like that until I dip down again.

Seeing as how I am now well and truly flirting with going under 200 lbs (this morning's scale read 200.8) I am determined to push this for all it's worth eating wise. For lunch today, I'm going to have my leftovers of Cheddar Chicken. It's made by sauteeing chicken pieces in a tiny bit of bacon grease along with olive oil and butter. Then you sautee the onions and garlic, add the cooked bacon back in, mix it all together with shredded cheddar cheese and cook in the oven until the cheese is melted. Heaven. Pure heaven. And good fats. The last time I ate the leftovers, I lost two pounds.

The DS is certainly a Your Mileage May Vary surgery. Everyone has to find what's right for them eating wise because no one can predict what your body can or cannot handle. Mine seems to have a cast-iron stomach (at least up until now) but needs the extra push of fat to get the pounds a-droppin'.

Who knows what I could do with this if I actually, you know, started exercising for a change? I mean, farm work can be tough, but it's not consistant to be sure. I need an aerobics class, preferably step. That's next on the list.

One hundred and sixty pounds? You will be mine before Christmas.

The Old Bait-and-(non)Switch Game

There is something afoot in the Duodenal Switch world akin to the strange things afoot at the Circle K. And it's something that I believe to be wrong.

More and more of the various DS boards that I peruse are getting posts from potential DS seekers saying that the doctor they consulted with is recommending that they get their DS in two parts - one surgery to perform the gastric reduction, a.k.a. sleeve gastrectomy, and then a second one, later on, to perform the "switch" part of the surgery on the intestines. Okay. Fine. I can see the benefits if the person weighs upwards of 500-600 pounds. Get some weight off of them before you go mucking with their intestines. Do the easier part first and then follow up with the trickier, more dangerous part later when the patient is healthier and more able to move around. Sounds reasonable. To use a visible example, the one woman that was profiled on the Discovery Channel during her plastic surgery quest was given a two-part DS by I believe Dr. Anthone. She weighed at least 600 pounds and needed a bunch of it to come off first before the intestinal switch could safely be performed.

But a lot of these people aren't weighing that much. They're weighing 250-350 pounds on average it seems from the postings I've read. So what's up with that? Why are you selling both them - and their insurance company - the DS but saying that they'll need a two-parter, which the insurance company may not be willing to pay for the second part of later on. This may leave many of these people in a ditch so to speak because the insurance companies will come back saying that there's no need for a "revision" (and that's what it will be) because they've lost some weight and no longer need the surgery. Aren't you really baiting and switching them?

If these surgeons (Prachand and Gagner seem to be the two most frequently mentioned at this point) are really wanting to sell these people on the vertical sleeve gastrectomy - a viable WLS alternative - then why aren't they up front about it? Don't go promising a person a full-on DS when you know that they'll more than likely have to pay out of pocket for the second part, which means that many will not be able to "complete" their surgery. Tell them that you recommend a VSG and be done with it!

What's even more disturbing is that some these surgeons are promising people the full DS, but are then going in and only performing the gastrectomy. The patient wakes up, and is astonished to learn that they didn't get the full-on surgery and always seem to be placated by being told that there were "problems" in the abdominal area that made doing the switch more dangerous than they needed to be - one happened before I had my surgery to a girl who flew all the way to Belgium for Dr. Himpens to operate on her. The patients are stunned. Devastated even. The girl I mentioned was given the run-around for days about why it wasn't completed and she was so upset and angry, feeling alone in a foreign country and being completely discounted.

These people didn't get all that they had bargained for. And considering that WLS is an elective surgery, their choice as to what they get should be given more weight (pardon the expression) than it would be for another type of surgery.

Now, before I get jumped on, let me say that yes, there are times when complications arise and it is just not possible to complete the switch. It is the doctor's discretion in the end, and there is a reason why we choose who we choose to operate on our bodies. But that level of trust that we have in these men and women should not be breeched just because they want to perform medical studies with these people by going with what they (the doctors/surgeons) want to do regardless of patient wishes. And it seems to be happening more and more often.

Yes, I just said it. I believe that some of these doctors may be doing this strictly to be able to gather research information. Why do I assert this? Because I had "complications" in my abdominal area and instead of simply taking the shortcut and only giving me the gastrectomy, my surgeon went ahead and painstakingly removed all of the gnarly adhesions that were in my abdominal area so that he could give me the full surgery that I had requested from him. Only if my life had been in danger would he have not completed it. He didn't betray my trust.

If these doctors want to offer their patients the VSG as a stand-alone option, please, go right ahead. But don't go selling someone a surgery and then fall short of expectations for your own personal agenda. It violates every ounce of trust these people have put in you, your skills and your ethics. If you want to set up a medical study on the benefits of doing the DS in two stages versus one, then give people the option of joining it with a guarantee that the original fees they and their insurance companies paid will pay for EVERYTHING - i.e. both surgeries.

This is our lives they are mucking around with. Most of us make serious, informed decisions about WLS before we step into the arena. We're not stupid. Don't try to pull the wool over our eyes, because it may just backfire on you.

Yes. The Naked One Over There. That One.

I finally got off my bony (heee!) ass and got around to getting a shearing machine so that I can give my herd a much needed clipping. I have been imagining coming home and finding one of them keeled over from heat exhaustion and it is not a pleasant picture to imagine. But we had been putting it off seeing as how The Husband is still a member of the walking wounded from our last sheep wrangling adventure (twisted/sprained/cracked ankle) so he is not up to helping in gathering them up for the task.

Because getting the darned things shorn isn't the hard part. It's the catching them that's hard. Very, very hard. They're quick, and heavy, and damn but their kicks hurt. But I was determined - I have a machine and by God I'm going to shear a sheep come hell or high water!

Thing One and I developed a plan. The smallest female, Oreo, was going to be our target. Seeing as how she was the easiest to 1) grab, 2) hang onto and 3) keep positive control over, she was our logical choice. This of course means that we're leaving the most difficult one, Rambo, for last. By then, we'll probably need to call in reinforcements, but for this first foray I just needed to figure out if I could actually shear the sheep on my own.

By sectioning her off from the rest of the herd, it was actually easy to capture Oreo, and the new halter I had purchased made a huge difference in getting her to where she needed to be and tethering her in place. Then I turned the machine on, and lo! within about 45 minutes, she was shorn! Success! Only a few nicks to her skin in some of the common trouble areas, no big gushing of blood, so only a liberal application of betadine was necessary for treatment. Not to bad for my first time ever doing this. I think I could actually get the hang of this!

We turned her loose back in the pen, and her baby (now nearly as big as mom himself) was in a frenzy because mom? Well, she just didn't get a haircut, she went totally bald! I have never seen a more confused creature as this lamb. Bleating and carrying on, sniffing at her, running away from her and then coming back. It was a fascinating sight to see. I've never really paid attention to what happens when one sheep comes back to the flock significantly altered before. At first they're rejected, but then recognization dawns, and the lost one who has obviously been tormented by The Humans comes back to the fold. Just like dying your hair chartreuse or something shocking like that.

A friend came over later in the weekend and we were looking at the sheep and I was commenting on how I felt like I had actually accomplished something by shearing just one of the herd. "So now which of the sheep did you do?" he asked.

"You mean you can't tell which one it is?"

"Oh, I suppose that it's the naked one, right?"

Yep. We've got a naked sheep running around at the Sheeple Ranch, people. And it is a very pretty sight. (Picture to follow this evening!)

Everything has a spin cycle

So I have discovered Jennifer Government's Nation States. It's an interesting little place, you create your own country, run it by your own set of rules, and you get to see if it fails or flourishes. Not too bad, eh?

The way you get it to work is you make decisions on various issues, such as taxes, laws, civil rights, etc. Your decisions formulate the policies the government takes.

For example, on my plate right now is an issue about public nudity. There are three stances - one, the hippy who wants public nudity laws to be banished; two, the liberal professor who wants public nudity to be mandated; three, the accountant who admonishes us to "think of the children" and reserve nudity to the privacy of the home because he doesn't want to see a naked person walking down the street dangling the fruits and berries. Fairly simple and straightforward. The country of Sheeple Rage is going to think of the children in this instance.

You also have the option of dismissing the issue. I have no idea what that will do for the government, but I guess I'll be finding out soon because there have been a few that I have dismissed. But more important was why I dismissed them.

One was about taxes and the other was about healthcare. There was two options for healthcare and three for taxes. All of the options were either so extreme on either side of the equation as for them to be unpalatable to me, or the middle opinion still left much to be desired. Since I had no desire to go in any of the directions, I dismissed the issues. We'll see if they come up again.

But even in a game like this, there is always a definite spin put on the prickly topics of the day. I was actually a bit put out that my viewpoints weren't even represented in such important topics as healthcare and taxes. In fact, they weren't even touched on, at least not in a way that I could swallow. In the taxes issue, I was given a choice of taxing the rich to give to the poor in the name of "evening things out," leaving taxes the way they were but giving subsidies to big business, or increasing taxes outrageously. Nothing that I find appealing as I'm a flat tax person. A straight 10% across the board, no deductions or adjustments allowed. That's all you need, and more importantly it's fair to every IMO. No more loopholes.

Maybe the topic will eventually come up again and I'll get something that tickles my fancy, but I somehow doubt it. It will be interesting to see how this shapes out. In any case, welcome to my new interest. Hope I hooked ya.

Because I only wish I was this witty

I present to you: Fucking Sweet Potatoes

Tempus Fugit

We lost a dear friend this past week to a freak off-road quad riding accident. He leaves behind a wife who is too young to be a widow, a teenaged son, and a young daughter who was the apple of his eye.

Pappy lived life to the fullest, enjoying every moment, never having a bad thing to say about anyone. He loved children, and was the coach for our high school's wrestling team, coaching his son and all his friends. He was active in our church and was a friend to all.

We will miss you, my friend. Godspeed until we all meet again.

Television, Telly-vision!

"Hey Mr. General Public do you realize,
That we've got a generation here of staring eyes?

Anybody else remember that Stan Freeberg song? (Yes, I'm dating my humor. Sorry!) It's one of my favorites and is hilarous to boot. There's just something about having a burglar come into your home and have grandma throw him down with wrestling moves she learned from the TV (The step-over toe throw to be precise!).

Anyway, last night was the beginning of just one of my summer TV obsessions - So You Think You Can Dance. I love, love, LOVE this show. Mainly because I'm not a dancer but yeah, I like to dance. I would put my abilities to dance on about the same par as the couple on last night's show that they were broken up but still dancing together and did the ballroom type stuff. Except exchange "ballroom" for "ethnic and American folkdance" and you've got where my talent lies. Yes, I can dance a mean Aluenul around you, by God! The Maple Leaf Rag? I'm your girl.

But because I'm aware of where my abilities lie, I would never, EVER in a millionbilliontrillion years try out for one of these shows. NEVER. That's because I am fully aware that my abilites come nowhere near any of the others, and why waste my time and the judges' time, and end up getting humiliated to boot? Unlike that fool last night who tried out for the second year in a row. "Sexy." *shudder* I took one look at him, and just cringed. Because either there is something wrong with the boy (a mental retardation of some sort, autism, something of that nature) or there is something just WRONG with him. And if the latter is the case, then ew. Just, Ew.

He's 33 years old, and obviously still living with his mother. His "dream" is to become a "dancer" and last year's effort involved him doing the world's most awkward jumping toe touches I've ever seen. This year's effort showed that yes, he has been taking lessons, and yes, he has actually improved himself because while he's still awkwardly bad, he's not puke-worthy bad. But to come on a show to find the best amateur dance talent out there? I don't think so. And of course he and his mother have decided that he is the best. THE BEST, people! And no one can take his dream away! Especially not mean, nasty Nigel. Oh, no. The judges are all wrong and mean and nasty. Only to fools, my boy. Fools.

But last night we also saw some awesome dancing - especially from the ballroom dancing front. There were two girls that just sizzled (Stanislav's sister and the other girl) that were of course put through immediately. There was also the krumping guy who attempted the most hilarious and ingenious swing dance I've ever seen in order to prove that he could do other types of dancing. The Husband and I were crying with laughter it was so good and fun and spectacular. Talk about being inventive. This guy took the cake. I would have put him straight through to Vegas after that.

I think they're off to a good start. And I can't WAIT to see Benji again. He was so good and deserved to win last year, totally.

SYTYCD is only the first of many, many shows I intent to watch this summer. After my spring breakups with both Jack Bauer (I just couldn't take the intensity anymore. Can the poor guy just get a break? He needs to be able to go home with the girl for once.) and Lost (I am way too frustrated with that show to even begin to discuss it.) I was a bit adrift in my TV schedule. I filled my time with Dancing with the Stars (Apolo totally rocked it! Whoooo!), Deadliest Catch, Criminal Minds, CSI, The Amazing Race and some of my other long-standing favorites.

The next on my list of "must sees" in the coming months is the totally cheesy, totally awful "Pirates" reality show from the king of reality TV, Mark Burnett. I know it's going to be stupid. I don't care. I want to see people have to learn how to sail a masted ship and actually, you know, get callouses on their hands. I want to see drama. I want to see digging in the dirt for gold. Everybody wandering around saying "Arrrrr!" all the time. All those good and nasty things that make up good cheesy reality shows. I live for it!

Then there's Hell's Kitchen. I love Gordon Ramsey. Love him. Love his attitude. Love the little shits he roasts on the spit demanding they make a better risotto. Awesome stuff.

These are only the starting point for my summer obsessions. Anyone care to share theirs? Maybe I can pick up on some new crap to watch.

Whale Tales

I suppose most of us here in California and the West Coast have heard about the two Humpback whales who have been "stuck" in the Sacramento River and who have only just decided to make their way back out to sea. Apparently, we tried to lure them out with sounds of other whales feeding but it didn't work. But then they decided to go ahead and go by themselves.

I have just one question for these whale experts. How in the hell do you figure that these whales got lost? I mean, seriously. Whales of all types have been going up the Sacramento River for years. YEARS. All types. All sizes. Mostly Humpbacks in recent years, true, but why do you figure that they're getting lost when they do that?

How do we not know that these whales have like some giant bet going on between them, that it's all just a ploy to frazzle us and see how much we do to encourage them to go back out to sea.

"Hey, Martha. Psssst! Martha! Take the kid on a stroll up the river this year and get the humans all riled up. Then when you get back to tell us all about it, we can have a huge laugh! It'll be a riot! Then next year we'll get one of the other species to do it because it's their turn already. Man I love doing this!"

We've already proven that dolphins are highly intelligent. And I firmly believe that any animal that has the ability to carry on for over an hour singing a song that is so complex yet perfectly repeated from whale to whale is just as intelligent. They're not freaking lost. They're exploring. They know precisely where they're at.

So quit saying they're lost already. Just because we humans have no real places to explore anymore doesn't mean that other species on earth can't do their own explorations. Let's admit the truth. We just don't want them in "our" territory. They need to be "protected" from us so they have to be out in "their" ocean, not in "our" estuaries.

The only way that's going to happen is if you put up a fence. To keep the rest of the world out of our backyard. How sad.

The Monday Morning Mish-Mash

Or, how Sarah has so many things going round in her little head it's hard to squeeze them all out in one cohesive and logical bundle, thus having to resort to a bulleted list.

• I cannot even begin to tell you the delight that I am currently experiencing knowing that Mr. Fred "Son, the Ruskies don't take a dump without a plan" Thompson is throwing his hat into the ring for the Republican nomination for president. I am totally squeeing over this. And I don't squee much over politics these days because it's just too damn depressing. Finally, someone I can actually vote for and not feel like I'm "settling" for the lesser of two evils! The Husband and I were wistfully wishing for this only a few months ago and by God he's done it! Hooray!

• A huge congratulations goes out to my friend A who had her DS last week. I'm so sorry that I forgot the date because I would have been there at the hospital for you, but call me any time for anything, okay? I'm so happy for you! *mmmwah!*

• Smog checks suck right out loud. That is all.

• It's been 10 months since my DS. And I am honestly starting to forget when the anniversary is. Just two months ago, it was an all-important day to see where I was at, how far I'd come, how much I'd lost, etc. Now, I forget the 19th is even an important day. It's because I'm happy, no, strike that - ecstatic - with me where I'm at right now and know that if it never changes I will still be very happy with my results.

• Yes, I know that the scale hasn't moved in about a month. But considering in that month I have lost TWO INCHES from my waist alone, I will totally rejoice over that. I now have a fucking 38-inch waist, people. Smaller than The Husband's! Holy crap! Can you imagine how much smaller it would be if I corseted on a daily basis? Hmmmm. Maybe I should make me an underbust corset. Hmmmmm. Possibilities, possibilities.

• It's time to re-design the sheep pen. I MUST have separate stalls for lambing season next year. Chasing the babies around the pen is dangerous for them and I can't stand it anymore. Too damn frustrating. Thank goodness I have a teen-aged boy for hire who will be helping me with it.

• And speaking of the sheep, I must get off my ass and find either a shearer or buy a set of sheep shears myself. It's gotten too hot too quick and I wouldn't want that wool coat on me.

• I am running out of patience with the Australian Shepherd. I have to find some way to calm her behavior down because it's affecting the other dogs and in a bad way. She needs to realize that she's not the alpha. I am the alpha female, whether she likes it or not. I'm tired of her riling up the perfectly well-behaved Queensland Heeler and Akita. Nevermind the torment she visits on the Mini-Doxie. I'll either find the answer to this myself, or I'll find a good trainer. She may be a puppy still, but she will learn to behave, by God.

• School is almost out for the girls. At last Thing One will be set free from the torment of a demented teacher. Having to put up with his nit-picking has driven us all to the point of insanity. I mean, have you ever had a teacher insist that you use a straight-edge to draw the lines in division problems? I can understand for graphing and other line problems, but for division? Yeah, that would be him. And that's just the tip of the iceberg. Between that and her new hormones (puberty is hitting her hard - name that movie!) it's been a tough year for her and we just want her out of that situation.

Well, that's life in a nutshell around here. I'm vowing (yet again!) to post more often. Hopefully I'll stick to it, eh?

Of Bombs, Blood and Motherhood

DISCLAIMER: To any agencies that would flag this blog due to the use of the words "bombs" and "blood" in close proximity together, don't bother. I wouldn't know gelignite from jello if you whacked me over the head with them. All I'm doing is rounding things up from last week, which is why there is a kluge of seemingly related yet unrelated words in the title of this post. Thank you for your understanding.

Ahem. Now that that's over with. . .

So Monday the Seventh of May found The Husband and I waking up in our spa suite on the 30th floor of the Luxor hotel. Anybody remember that date? Yeah. That Monday. The Monday a backpack bomb went off on the top floor of the parking structure killing one man and severely wounding a woman.

As we looked out that morning upon our lovely view of the parking structure and the freeway beyond it (so much for the fucking view of the Strip we were promised), we were startled to notice all this yellow tape. And hey, was that a pool of blood we saw next to an open car door? Holy crap! CSI vans! A staging area! Dude! So cool!

So we sat for about half an hour in our various states of undress watching the scene below unfold before our eyes. At first, we thought that someone had run through the parking lot shooting at somebody, because they were canvassing an area (you know, with a line of people about two feet apart from each other looking for stuff) that was really far away from where the blood pool was. Perhaps there were shell casings they were looking for.

We left the room for a few hours, and by the time we had come back, we noticed that they had abandoned the area they were searching previously entirely and now there was a whole slew of little orange evidence markers clustered around the open car. At least two dozen. Damn. That's a lot of shell casings we remarked. And damn, this is taking a whole lot longer than just a normal shooting. Something really bad went down. Whoo-nelly are some people going to be pissed that they haven't been able to get their cars for this long. Is that one of those stupid neon-y green Chargers down there? I can't believe that somebody actually bought that thing. It is soooo ugly! Ours is totally a stealth Charger and is obviously MUCH better than that. Have they added yet ANOTHER CSI van? Whoa! Oooh! They're towing cars now. Wow. There must be a lot of them with bullet holes in them. (The conversations Husband and I have can leap wildly from subject to subject in case you haven't noticed.)

Did we bother to turn on the TV to look at the news? Find a newspaper? Ask somebody about it? Nah. We prefered to speculate to ourselves about it. It was much more fun. It wasn't until we left the hotel that we discovered all the details about the event and the bomb. I have to say that I'm glad they caught the people responsible. They should rot for the rest of their life for this. All over a girl! Sheesh! Oh wait! Nevada has the death penalty. Buh-bye boys! Good luck with the trial, then.

*****

This past Saturday was a motocross event sponsored by our church. It was held at our local fairgrounds and was open to all comers. We figured that about 100 people would show up, so we planned for food for 200. Over SIX HUNDRED people showed up over the course of the night. Wowzers. Talk about being under prepared!

We were pretty well organized. The plan was that participants would divide up into their different ability levels. The pros, the amateurs, the novices, the beginners. There were three tracks - the baby track for the little ones just learning on their 50s, a middle track for the 80-90cc crowd, and then the big monster track.

The girls were going to stick to the middle track for the most part, although there was a period where the beginners and novices got to ride the big track, with parental units in tow if necessary. I followed Thing 2 around the track because after my turn around the big track with the quad group, I knew that she could get into trouble really easy. The big track was way too much for me on my quad, mainly because I prefer to ride trails and the track was all big jumps and tabletops - not many soft hills and turns like I like. And it seemed to go on forever. So when I followed Thing 2, I switched to the The Husband's Grizzly and it was much more forgiving. Thank God. I was banged up enough already from my go-around on the Trail Boss.

After we got done with the big track, the girls of course wanted to keep riding, so they went back on the middle size track and I went to lick my wounds and get some hydration. Just at about the time my mommy senses began tingling that it was time to insist the girls come in for a drink break, I got distracted by something and put it off for about 10 minutes. By the time I was getting ready to go back out and grab them, a friend came tearing up to me to tell me that Thing 2 had rolled and was down on the track. Fuck.

I hop on the Grizzly and dash out to the track. Thing 2 is shaking and crying, a blood everywhere. The culprit? A couple of small gashes on her chin, making everything look a whole lot more gory and worse than it was. She had taken a jump a little bit too fast, landed too hard and ended up hitting her chin on the handlebars and falling off the quad as it rolled. Fuck, fuck fuck. She's more scared than hurt, I'm being calm and collected but demand that somebody go relive The Husband from his flagging post on the big track so that he can be here too. He gets there in time for us all to head for the medic trailer so we can get her cleaned up and assessed further. The EMT on scene had already looked at her for possible concussion and her eyes were good, and all extremities were working fine, so we went ahead and moved her. The back of her head was a mess of dried blood, so we showered her off a little bit and off to the emergency room we went as a precaution. The Husband stayed at the track to hurredly pack up all our gear, then bring a change of clothes for Thing 2, and deliver a car for me to drive home in after we're all done. I wasn't about to make him stay with her after he had been out in the hot sun all day flagging for the track. He was more exhausted than I was at that point.

SEVEN FUCKING HOURS LATER at 2:30 in the morning, I manage to take my child - who only needed a bit of superglue to shut one of the wounds - home so that she can fall asleep exhaused. And thus began my Mother's Day. Whoo freaking hoo. At least mine was better than the mother of the 16-year-old kid who did a stunt jump off one of the big jumps on the big track and came off his bike down onto his forearm and snapped it like dry tinder. She had the joy of driving down to Loma Linda so that her son could be put back together. Luckily, he got one of the best orthopedic surgeons in the area to do it so I'm very sure he'll be just fine.

But damn. Is nothing easy in this life anymore? Guess not, or else it wouldn't be exciting, now would it? But personally, trips to the ER that could have been avoided by following up on tingling mommy senses are totally off my list of things to do ever again.

At least she still wants to go quad riding again. That's my Tank Girl. Gotta love her!