State of the Union

Forget the Super Bowl. In our house it's the State of the Union that has us jumping up and down screaming at the TV. Especially since we aren't big fans of the current team.

I've heard that the dubya is going to formally introduce us to his new mistress: Consumer Driven Health Care Plans. I'm sure he'll have some kind words for his old lover, The Iraq War.

What a stupid fuck. I get mad just anticipating the drivel that will come out of his mouth.

Little Dog, start icing down the beer!!!!


A Little Bit of Rain in the Living Room

Saturday morning I noticed Little Dog's shoes were in the middle of the living room...wet.

He claimed no knowledge of how they got wet and immediately accused the cats.

Now our cats have done some strange things and, in fact, have peed in some really annoying places. I still could not imagine why one of the cats would have peed on the top of Little Dog's Vans.

That was when I noticed it. The small wet spot on the ceiling. I stood on the coffee table to get a closer look and to touch it. Yup, definitely wet.

Now if I still owned and lived in the "hundred year old money pit" I would have cried. But, since I now LEASE from Bob, the best (and cutest) landlord in the world, I simply picked up the phone.

I can't blame him for being a bit skeptical. I did once call him because I had no hot water and the pipes were making a funny noise. That time, all he had to do was come over, walk into the kitchen, turn on the water and immediately I had silent pipes and scalding water.

Like I said, he is GOOD.

This time, however, I assured him it was not a figment of my imagination and I was not overreacting. I must add that he does take me seriously every since that carbon monoxide incident.
So, Bob came over armed with a flashlight and a stethoscope. Now even on a bad day I wouldn't turn down the chance to play doctor with Bob, but, alas, after a brief inquiry he explained that the stethoscope was for listening to the pipes in the walls.

The next hour consisted of me turning water on and off while Bob listened downstairs.

No drip.

We checked the shower, the sinks and the washing machine - none of which were anywhere near above the leak in the living room. We took turns listening at the walls.


Bob wore a serious expression.

"You really have no idea at all do you?" I asked him.


He left me with instructions to keep an eye on it and let him know of it got worse. Meanwhile, he was going to take a look at the plumbing schematics on the blueprints for the building.

I think he was happy to be able to use the term "plumbing schematics" in everyday conversation.

That night it began to drip again. No one had used any water upstairs, but the drip was back nonetheless. I called and reported as much to Bob.

The next day was uneventful in the drip department. The dampness on the ceiling had grown and now included the drywall panel next to the drippy one and the paint had bubbled a bit.

On Monday Bob called me for an update. I told him not much change.

It's funny how calm I am now. If this had happened at the "hundred year old money pit" I would have been though all the stages of grief by now. I would have cried. I would have been angry. And I would have taken to bed for at least 24 hours.

When things like this happen it serves only to remind me that selling the house was a very good decision.

So now it's Tuesday and the drip has become constant - still just a drip, but it's kind of like a ticking clock in its regularity. I have even put a bucket underneath it. Oh, and some of the paint has actually bubbled up enough to break and hang in strips from the ceiling. It's really pretty ugly looking right now.

Bob came by tonight and we made plans to tear into the drywall tomorrow.

Until then, I am not bothered at all.

I Luuuuuurve being a renter!!!!!!


Just Give me a Hint

Okay, so they told me to call for my test results on Tuesday.

Today is Tuesday.

I waited until 10:30 to call. Faye, the nurse, apologized, but said they did not have the results yet and to call back after noon.

I called back at 1:30. Faye apologized again because they did not have the results yet. She suggested I call back after 3:00

I called back at 3:30. Faye apologized for the third time. She did say that Dr. Smith had already left a message for me … AT HOME.

“But I am not at home! I am at work!”

“I am so sorry. I wish I could tell you something, but only the doctor is allowed to discuss results. I’m sure she’ll call you back.”


So it’s about an hour and a half before I can head home. By this time all kinds of crazy thoughts are going through my head because I tend to be a worrier.

When I check the message at home I hear, “Hello, this is Dr. Smith. I am calling to discuss your test results. You can reach me at my office.”


I call the office back and Faye, who recognizes my voice by now, laughed when I told her what the message had said. “I really wish I could tell you something, but I can’t.” She sounded genuinely sorry. By this time it was close to 5:00. “I am sure the doctor will call you back this evening. She has had an extremely busy day and has been overbooked with patients, but she WILL call you back.”

Sooooo…I stayed close to the phone for the next two hours.


I convinced myself they were all stalling in order to give me a few more hours of unburdened life. Eventually, the Doctor would call with the news that I was dying. I was very sure this was what was going to happen, so I set about enjoying my last night alive.

Finally I had forgotten all about it and was deep into watching American Idol when the phone rang. Dr. Smith called me back at 8:30 to tell me the biopsy had shown no malignancies.




So I had my first mammogram and it wasn't nearly the painful experience I had anticipated. While not exactly comfortable, it was pretty straightforward: left one on the tray, turn; right one on the tray and turn. I left with my dignity intact.

Two days later my Dr.'s office called. It seems there was a lump they weren't sure about, so they wanted me to go back for another mammogram and more x-rays.

A quick poll of co-workers and friends my age indicated that this is pretty common. Nothing to panic about here.

The following Monday I went in to do the drill again. I sat in my well worn hospital gown, reading Reader's digest, waiting for the okay to dress and go.

The Tech came back in and informed me that I needed to be taken to ultrasound.

Okay, so they want to make sure this lump is...what? Just a "lump?" After about a 30 minute session with the ultrasound tech I was finished.

I went back to work and before I could even get involved in a project my doc, herself, was on the phone. Docs never call with good news, right?

She informed me that the lump in question is far to suspicious to ignore and I was being referred to an Oncologist for a biopsy.


Not a doc I like having on my short list of providers.

Two days later I met the Oncologist, who is an extremely kind woman. She told me she needed to do a a "hollow core needle biopsy."


I asked a few questions and then agreed to the procedure.

So, that is why today, I am nervously awaiting the results of a biopsy. My gut tells me it's much ado about nothing, but still.

I mean, two mammograms, an ultrasound, a personal phone call from my doc... all culminating in a needle in the boob.

Its hard not to worry.


Girly Girl from Out of Nowhere

I have never been a "girly girl" by any stretch of the imagination.

A bar of Dial soap, some cheap shampoo and conditioner are pretty much all that's in my beauty arsenal.

So, it is quite surprising news that I am now addicted to Bath & Body Works. Or, more specifically, the line of Tutti Dulce products that they sell.

It all started innocently enough with a trip to the mall to burn the last $20 of the Christmas gift certificates. I passed Bath & Body Works and remembered having received a pretty cool candle from there once.

That was my plan. A single pear scented candle.

Once inside, however, my senses were assaulted by colours and scents and, most importantly, very large SALE signs.

Suddenly I had become my mother and felt compelled to sniff every bar of soap; to smell every flavour of lotion; to inhale every aromatherapy offering and to check every deep discount!

But I lingered at one particular counter for a very long time. They had lotion that smelled like creme brule, lip gloss that smelled of Tiramisou, and fragrance spray that smelled of a chocolate dipped strawberry.

I was in heaven.

See, while I don't have a sweet tooth at all, I am very scent driven. The smell of a baking pie is almost orgasmic for me. I don't want to eat it, mind you. I just want to repeatedly open the oven door and stick my face in the steam while inhaling deeply.

So, here, Bath & Body was offering me the opportunity to walk around smelling like a dessert ALL DAY LONG. And not just easily baked country type desserts, but rich complicated Italian desserts!

I hardly noticed the hour and a half that passed as I sampled the whole menu offering.

I put the lip gloss on in the car and then licked my lips. IT TASTED EXACTLY LIKE IT SMELLED! Delicious! I decided right then and there I had to go back!

The next day I returned and purchased three more flavours of lip gloss, a large pot of "body souffle" in the scent of amaretto, and a bottle of fragrance that smelled of creme brule.

This was in addition to the previous day's purchases of lip gloss, Chocolate body souffle and fragrance spray of Apple Torte.

What have I become?

I have basically spent like $30 just on lip gloss...TO EAT! I am going to smell like a freakin' restaurant dessert cart! Ants will try to carry me off; flies will hover, and perfect strangers will maybe, just maybe, be compelled to try and lick me!

Ahhhh, but being a girly girl is very fickle business. I was at the bookstore in the square yesterday when I passed a store advertising a different line of girly products.

That night I bathed in vanilla ice creme scented bubbles and moisturized with cupcake scented lotion. Don't tell anybody, but the lotion had just a hint of sparkle to it.

When I went to bed I was a birthday party personified.

And I slept gooooooooood.


Some random thoughts...

Who the hell did Penelope Cruz piss off to get that crappy picture on the cover of Marie Claire?!

Is there ANYONE who believes the Holmes/Cruise pairing is for real? I mean, look at any freaking picture of them. There is not a single genuine emotion there. Is anyone that stupid?!

I think I want a Honda Element.

Why does a single man with no children need an SUV with a DVD player in it?

Speaking of cars, did I ever mention that I CANNOT STAND HUMMERS or the people who drive them? Seriously. I see one next to me at a stop light and I truly want to make obscene gestures to the owner. I see one on a parking lot and I want to throw large rocks through the windshield. A guy I worked with was actually looking into buying one of the "smaller" ones. I told him that we could no longer be friends if he drove such a stupid and unnecessary car. I am serious about this!

I probably need to chill a lot of the time.