Happier Than a Pig in Sh*t

This has been quite a week in our house! Lots and lots to smile about!

First of all, the Gilbert Unified School District Board met and it looks like Kevyn Barton will probably get to walk in the graduation ceremony with his classmates. My most heartfelt thanks to all of you who read my Asshat post and sent an email to the district in support of Kevyn. I'd like to think that it helped. You guys are the best!

Next on the list----very early this morning I went in to have a few more tests done on my heart to see if I need to have an electrical device implanted in my chest. I've really been stressing on this, and hardly slept at all last night.

Tried to keep a cheery attitude during the echo, but kind of dozed off for most of it. The machine puts off a lot of heat, and it was almost like being in a cacoon. Then the tech said, "Bear down really hard like you have a constipated bowel movement."

Huh? Are you serious?

"We need to see how your heart functions when you press down hard."

You mean like Elvis (who died on the pooper)?

He looked at me blankly. Ok, he was probably 10 years younger than I, and I was only about 7 or 8 when Elvis went to the Grand Ol' Opry in the sky. Tried to think of something relevant.

You mean like that mobster who burst a blood vessel on the crapper in The Sopranos?

His face cleared. "Yes. Just like that!"

Thank God I didn't rip ass. With my current diet that includes a boatload of fiber, he would have been REALLY sorry. My butt smells like a bunch of peanuts gone wild.

A couple of hours later I was completely flabbergasted when my cardiologist came into my room and said, "Congrats! All of your heart functions have regained normal levels!"

Waaaa?

My resting heart rate is at 70 (down from 136), my blood pressure is normal, the echo showed good flow and no more electrical issues, and I have no blockages. The doc thinks that I must have had a virus that attacked my heart considering that the left side was only functioning at 30% a few months ago (but admits that a "virus" is sort of a catchphrase for "we don't know wtf went wrong for sure"). I'm no longer considered to be in heart failure.

If I hadn't been wearing that shorty little wrap-in-front-barely-covering-your-hooters thingy, I prolly would have jumped up and smothered the little guy in a huge hug (he stands about boob-high to my Amazonian self and I definitely could have poked his eye out) . Visions of Kim Cattrail in Porky's restrained me.

Instead I broke down wept uncontrollably. When my guys picked me up later at the hospital, Hubby cried a little as well.

Little Guy said, "Are you guys happy crying or sad crying? Can I cry with you too? Should I be happy or sad?"

I'll most likely need to continue the meds for the rest of my life. The hypoxia/oxygen deprivation/altitude thing is a completely separate issue and so I'll have to continue with the oxygen at night indefinitely and manage that with my family doc.

Now I'm celebrating with a bottle of scotch, a pack of cigs and a gram of cocaine. And bacon. I'm eating a pound of bacon. With cheese and butter on top. Just kidding. LOL

Thank you all so much for your loving emails and supportive comments during the last 5 months. We've been very very frightened about this whole crisis, and I can't tell you how much sharing this with you and your kind responses have helped me get through it. I mean it.

Last and certainly not least, we had our last conference about THD late this afternoon. He's all ours and will be arriving in a week. Bless his heart, he's already gotten a job down here. He applied online, had a phone interview, and they asked him when can he start? Hubby picked up the application for the details and faxed it, and they want him to start as soon as he's ready.

It's just a fast food place, but we're so impressed and delighted with his initiative.

THD has been so afraid that something will happen to mess this placement up, so I kind of caught his paranoia and didn't want to post too much for fear that it might jinx it (and you never know who is monitoring the blogosphere ala Dooce).

But now the date is set and he'll be joining us very shortly. Everything is in place---school, doc, therapist and probation (yes he's still on probation for running away). He's going to get here in the middle of our spring break so he'll get a chance to get acclimated and decide what color he wants his room painted and pick out his comforter and room accessories.

I know that's all very basic, and we need to address and be on top of all of his other issues.

But just for tonight we're going to bask in the anticipation of THD joining our family and feeling very blessed for so very many reasons.

Hope you guys have a wonderful weekend. Like I said before, you're the best!

ATM

Life's A Drag

I've always been a huge fan of RuPaul. Not only is he more beautiful than I am, but I like his message about loving yourself as you are and accepting others as they are, and if you hang onto your dreams anything is possible.

Hubby, on the other hand---while he thinks Ru is a fabulous showman/woman---is a bit uncomfortable with drag queens in general. I think the gorgeous ones disturb him. I KNOW the "tucking" thing makes him cringe.

He likes drag queens of the Jack Lemmon/Tony Curtis variety. You know that they're really guys underneath and you'd never be drunk enough to take one home with you by accident.

So last week I was folding clothes in front of the tube and clicking to find something mindless to watch. I came across "RuPaul's Drag Race" on the Logo Channel which I've never seen before. Wooboy! It's a drag queen reality show contest that seems to be a mixture of Project Runway, Survivor, American Idol, Dancing with the Stars, America's Next Top Model and Queer Eye all rolled into one. I was fascinated.

The episode that I caught happened to be the "Girl Group" episode. The challenge for the contestants was to split into two teams, and perform (lip sync) a Destiny's Child song. They had to do everything----sew costumes, choreograph, use unfamiliar wigs and make-up (provided by the sponsor), etc within a limited time.

Hubby had been doing something manly out in the garage and strolled through the living room while one of the groups was performing their final product. "Whatcha watching?"

They're lip-synching, I said distractedly. And they had to make their own costumes from scratch. Aren't they beautiful?

He watched for a moment, agreed and went off to whatever destination he had originally been heading.

After the performances, RuPaul and the judges critiqued them. Then Ru asked each who they'd vote off the island.

I simply don't remember all the names, so I'm making them up. But it went a little something like this:

Ongina (ok I DID remember that name): Since I'm the team leader, I couldn't vote any of the other girls off. This challenge was my responsibility so I'll throw myself under the bus and vote myself off.

Cinnamon: I don't want to vote anybody off! I love everybody! I'd vote off Clara because she has immunity.

Clara: Do I have to pick somebody? I love everybody too, and I don't want anyone to go!

RuPaul: Yes you have to pick somebody. Who would it be?

Clara: Uh, uh. I guess I'd pick Shanelle. (Shanelle looks shocked) I'd pick Shanelle because she's so beautiful and talented and I know she's going to be fierce competition and will probably win, so if I HAVE to pick anybody I'd pick Shanelle. (turns to Shanelle) I'm sorry sweetie! (the two give each other a big warm hug and air kiss).

My mouth was just hanging open. A couple of minutes later, Hubby came through the living room on his way back to the garage.

Wait, wait, you have to see this! I rewound that portion of the program.

After it was done, I said, Can you believe how caring and supportive they were instead of clawing each other's eyes out?

"I wonder where they found so many kind girls, " he replied. "They're not like those ferocious b*tches on The Bachelor".

snarf.

I didn't have the heart to tell him they were doods. ;-)

Well at least not for a couple of days.

________________

Weee! I found a clip of the performance. The whole thing is about 5 minutes long and it's near the end.

Random Aiigghhh!

I used to think that eyeballs were the creepiest thing in the world.

Now after my foray into heavy-duty diuretics and the world of public restrooms, I've changed my mind.

It's a toilet seat that's been warmed up by someone else's bare butt. Aiighhh!
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I've been putting together a rotating chore schedule for when THD gets here (Little Guy is thrilled that someone else will get to take a turn emptying the dishwasher) and it occurred to me that this "citizen of the household" thing is kind of stupid. The theory behind it is that since we all contribute to the mess in communal areas (we all eat, track in dirt, generate garbage, etc) as opposed to personal messes (the only one who cleans Hubby's bathroom is Hubby), we all take turns cleaning it up as "citizens of the household".

This is something we've done as soon as the guys were big enough to empty a bathroom-sized trashcan, so it's nothing new. I've never been June Cleaver---following my family around with a Hoover.

I realized that all the guys (even Hubby) expect effusive thanks and praise when they've taken their turn, as if they're doing me a huge favor. Has anybody ever said, "Thanks Hon for doing a nice job on the dishes"? No. But if I'm not there with the "atta boys" I get treated to pouts and pointed silence.

You've come a long way, Baby! Not! What have I done? Aiighhhh!
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A few weeks ago I reached under my pillow to pull out the end of my nose hose (I tuck it in there to keep it from falling on the floor) while I was getting ready for bed. My hand closed around something crackly and I pulled out a ginormous squirming spider.

Now I have to tear the entire bed apart every single night before I get into it. Aigggggghhh!

Got Aiiggghhhh!!!? Love to hear it!

It Could Always Be Worse...

Yesterday a friend sent me a really funny website. I think its been around for awhile (tons of readers and contributors) but it's the first time I've ever seen it. Wasted about an hour on it laughing my heinie off.

It's called "F*** My Life", and no, not safe for children. People write in anonymously and tell about an awful experience they've had and readers vote about the horribleness of it all.

A few cringeworthy and funny ones that caught my eye?

"Today, I was a TA for a history class and the class was taking a test. About halfway through, I noticed one kid had a small piece of paper in his hand. I ran up the row, grabbed his test, and ripped it into four pieces. Then I took the note from him. It said "I believe in you, -Mom." FML"

"Today, I went to get a condom because my boyfriend and I were going to have sex for the first time. When I opened the drawer, I saw that every single condom had a Jesus pin stabbed through it, and a note on top of the box: "love mom." FML"

"Today, my brother joked that our dog was more attractive than I was. I looked to my mom for support, and she said "Well, she is pure bred." FML"

I think I'm going to save this just for bad days. Then I can be reminded that somewhere out there, there is somebody having a crappier day than I am. ;-)

My FML moment(s)? There have been plenty, but one stands out:

When I was in high school, I was in the cast of Grease. We were having a dress rehearsal, and some classes from the middle school came over to watch. During the slumber party scene when the character "Marty" was singing "Freddie My Love" I slipped off the bed during a tricky bit of choreography. The audience roared. I thought it was because of that impromptu bit of sketch comedy. It wasn't.

My jammie pants had caught on a bolt that was holding the footboard together and had gotten yanked down a bit.

I wasn't wearing panties. FML

You got any moments you want to share?

Breaking News...

The former Richard Cranium award contender wrote a lovely apology and has removed the offending post.

I figure I'd be a real dickhead myself if I didn't do the same. :-)

Hope you guys have a great weekend!

We Interrupt Our Programming....

I know I've been totally off the grid this week, but things around the Attila house are happening much more quickly than anticipated.

It looks like we'll be getting THD within a few weeks instead of a few months. So, I've been running around like a doof who lit a fart on fire trying to get everything in place. Paperwork, paperwork and MORE paperwork.

Will fill you all in during the next day or two. :-)

In the meantime...

If you're in the east, have a little extra room in your house and a little bigger room in your heart to host a child---the Fresh Air Fund people sent me this and asked me to post it on the blog.

Asshat of the Week

This week's Asshat goes to Gilbert Unified School District superintendent Dave Allison.

Kevyn Barton is an 18-year-old student who has disabilities in the Gilbert School District. This May, when his peers walk down in their gowns for commencement, Kevyn won't be with them. Why? Because he's in the transitional program for special-needs kids and will receive services until he's 22.

What a crock of doody.

Here's how it works. Although Little Guy "could" have graduated with his peers, the state offers transitional services until he is 21. With those he is learning life skills such as money management and job training. Although he still goes to the high school, he doesn't participate in regular classes any more except for choir (which entailed some extra finagling on our part).

He goes straight to the transitional room and from there either to his apprenticeship job or to the van that takes him into the city to life classes not offered in our particular district. In the transitions room, he is usually working on things like meal planning, balancing his checkbook, navigating the transit system, etc. He has very little interaction with other high school students at all.

They are not his peers.

At any time, we can accept his diploma. When that happens, we are telling the state that their job is done and that Little Guy no longer needs educational services from them. It will be over. Ta-da.

Even though we refused his diploma, as a senior, Little Guy was allowed to participate fully in graduation with his class. The only difference was that the diploma case he received was empty. He got to walk down the aisle with the students and friends he was raised with---the ones he shared birthday parties, school dances and even chicken pox with.

When his name was called, all of these blessed children gave him a screaming standing ovation, sharing their love and recognition as one of their own.

Tomorrow they are going away to college and jobs and their new lives. Graduation night is their very last chance to celebrate as a class.

Gilbert School Superintendent Dave Allison has the discretion to allow Kevyn to participate in this magical rite of passage. But he has refused.

He is "upholding a board policy that exists for consistency's sake and often is enforced with students who, for example, have failed a final exam or a course."

"It wouldn't be fair to say 'yes' to Kevyn and 'no' to the other kids."

So what? What do you think the term "special" in "special needs" means? It means there are extraordinary circumstances.

And who gives two poops about "fair"? Do you think that it was "fair" for Kevyn to be handed these extra challenges in his life that necessitate his participation in a transitional program?

Kevyn will never have another opportunity to experience this rite of passage with his peers.

And yes I say his peers, because these are the kids he has grown up with----not the kids who will be graduating 3-4 years from now. When he is "allowed" to participate in graduation exercises then, who of them will know him? Who will recognize or care about how hard he has worked to get to that day?

Who will be there to give him his ovation?

That's why you, Mr. Allison, are this week's Asshat.

Anyone want to share their feelings with the Gilbert District, you can do so at PJ_Sessoms@gilbert.k12.az.us

I'm going to go kick something now.

A Bundle of Joy

Well, believe it or not, it's looks like I'm going to become a mom again.

Yep. That's right.

Didn't think I had it in me, did ya?




Now that you've picked yourself off the floor, I just have to say one thing...

It's not what you think. ;-)

I used to write about my nephew, The Happening Dude. If you click on the tag you can read what a neat kid he is.

To make a long, convoluted and ugly story short...

THD is my older brother's son. He and his ex-wife adopted THD out of foster care when he was about 6, shortly before they divorced. She got (my brother didn't fight it and had a sh*tty lawyer) sole custody of all of their children and promptly moved them to another state with her new boyfriend. My brother saw them about once or twice a year.

I love my brother, but bless his heart (or damn his soul---take your pick), he is not a very responsible parent.

Anyhoo several years later, ex-wife and new hubby had a baby, and decided that they just didn't have room for THD any more. She called my brother and said, take him or I'm returning him to foster care.

See. I said it was ugly.

So that's how THD came to our family. I'd only ever seen him twice in his life before that and he'd just been a little guy.

At the time, my brother had moved back to our state and was living with our parents, trying to "get back on his feet". THD lived with all of them for the next 3 years, and the majority of the child rearing fell to my mom. To give her a break, Hubby and I would have THD on school breaks and the odd weekend.

We all adore him. He's a delightful kid.

Almost 3 years ago, brother's ex and her new hubby got divorced. Ex decided to move back to her home state, and while her new ex hubby would pay child support, he had no intention of financing the lifestyle to which she wanted to become accustomed. She wanted THD and his adoption subsidy back. She promised him things would be different and that he could come visit us in the summer.

And he wanted his mom and missed his siblings, so we didn't fight it.

It didn't last a year. He stole some cash from her and ran away. I wrote about it here. He was running away to us.

The police picked him up 3 cities over at the bus terminal a couple of days later.

That is the very last we heard of The Happening Dude. Seriously.

Ex refused to come and get him, and demanded that he be in a juvenile center until his case came up (she pressed charges for the theft of money). As his sole custodial parent, she also demanded that none of us be allowed to have any contact with him whatsoever. The only information we've had about him in the last year and a half is that he's been in a juvenile group home. We weren't allowed to write, call, pass on messages or even know what city he was in.

Until now.

Apparently the state has been trying to work on reunification and ex has been resisting. They finally basically told her to "sh*t or get off the pot" already and she informed them that she never wanted THD back. She just didn't want any of us to have him. She'd rather he stay in foster care instead of being in a family if it meant coming back to us.

Nice, huh?

The state told her that if she had no intention of reunification, they were going to contact the rest of the family to see if anyone wanted him. She signed over her rights.

My mom got a call from them 3 weeks ago. They said, "is there anyone there who is willing and able to care for THD?"

And Mom gave them a big resounding YES!

Unfortunately, at her age, my mom doesn't feel up to parenting an active 17-year-old full-time. My brother doesn't have a fixed address and travels with his work. My younger brother and his SO work full time so nobody would be home after school (not a really good idea).

So that leaves us. I'm home, we have a good disability support system up here (THD was born with FAS and has some learning disabilities), and we already have medical caregivers in place, so we wouldn't have to hunt one down to sign him up. THD can spend breaks and the odd weekend with his dad and grandma to give US a break if we need it.

We had a family meeting about it to see what the guys thought. Hubby, was of course immediately on board from the beginning. Little Guy was ecstatic.

I explained it all very carefully to the Big Kid. We're all still adjusting to his move, and I didn't want him to feel like we were replacing him.

"You have to go get him, Mom. We can't leave him there. You should give him my old room."

That's my boy. Coming through when it's needed most.

We have a meeting (phone conference) in about 10 days. If all goes well, we might have THD by May.

I got to speak to him for the first time in almost 2 years a couple of days ago. Told him that we hoped that he knew that we wanted to reach out to him but weren't allowed to, and that all of us---his dad, grandma, uncle, me and my guys loved him and missed him terribly. He would always have a place with us.

"So does that mean I get to come home?"

I hope so, Kiddo.

Young Love aka Gak! Hormones!

Around a year ago, I wrote about Little Guy and his girlfriend Hot Cutie. Even though he's not actually in high school any more, he attends their transitions program and sees her there a few times a week. Twice a week they are in an apprenticeship program together so they get to spend a little time together. They also see each other out of school.

Hot Cutie's mom and I have had to get on them a bit because they make plans without consulting anyone and spring it on us at the last minute. Both of Hot Cutie's parents work down in the city, so sharing driving duties is often inconvenient for them.

Anyhoo, last month, Hot Cutie's mom and I were confabbing about their most recent plans and she suddenly said, "We're only going to be able to have Little Guy at our house on weekends now. I don't think they should be alone here without supervision."

Oh no. Did something happen?

Once in awhile Little Guy goes to Hot Cutie's house after school and hangs out for an hour or so. As far as I know, they walk her dogs and play on her swing set. She also serenades him with her bongo drums and he dances for her. Did they decide to make fondue and set the kitchen on fire? Break into the wine cabinet?

"Hot Cutie told me that Little Guy tried to kiss her. And that she told him that she was going to wait for marriage. If he's at that stage, I don't think they should be alone together."

Ok, to be perfectly honest, my first reaction was of indignance. I sort of felt like she was practically accusing my son of being a rapist. I politely assured her that as always, they were more than welcome to socialize at my house, where I would be with them every minute and keep a close watch on her daughter's virtue. Not.

Little Guy is 18, Hot Cutie is 19. They've been girlfriend and boyfriend for almost 3 years now. They are legally adults. What's the harm in a little kissing fer pete's sakes?

What could be a problem is if he was trying to force kisses on her. Or if the bongo drum dancing was done nekkid in their front yard and alarming the neighbors.

So I tried to investigate. Had a talk with Little Guy and tried to impress on him that if he wanted to kiss Hot Cutie and she said "no", he had to respect that.

He looked at me like I was insane.

Hot Cutie came over to hang out last week. As usual, they played pool up in the loft, and watched Judge Judy (she's the boss, applesauce!). Then they went into Little Guy's room to listen to music and dance.

After a while, feeling like a sneak, I crept down the hall to do my due diligence and make sure there wasn't any panty-grabbing going on. I mean the door was open---as always---but I felt that the whole "checking up on them" thing is invasive and shows a lack of trust in Little Guy's ability to be independent.

When I was a couple of feet from the door, I heard Hot Cutie.

"But why can't I kiss you, Little Guy?" she asked plaintively. "You're my boyfriend!"

"Because we're supposed to be married", he answered crossly. "My mom said if I say no, you have to respect that!"

I snuck back down the hall, and went directly outside to the front porch. Where I just about laughed myself into a stroke.

I simply couldn't help myself.

Boy is HER mom going to be in for a big surprise!

After this incident I realized that I am in way over my head and contacted the Independence Center. Luckily, they have a social relationships class starting next week, and the school will provide transportation. Sign us up!

You Got What?

Yesterday was a really good day. I went to see my cardiologist and everything is looking great. The tests show that my heart has regained a significant amount of function on the left side. I won't have to see him for 6 weeks and I'm going to have another echo so he can eyeball what's going on electrically and decide whether or not I'll need a defibrillator implanted. So far, it looks like I won't need it. Woohoo!

The doc doubled my dose of one of my heart meds and cleared me for moderate exercise. With all that water loss and restored oxygen I've been itching to go out and walk on the nice days. I have more energy than I've had in years, and really need to burn some of it off.

To celebrate, Hubby brought home ice cream and brandy. With all that's been going on, it's been a really long time since we've been able to run around nekkid and scare the dogs. ;-)

Little Guy stayed with a friend.

Needless to say, a good time was had by all. Except the dogs. They spent the night incarcerated.

When we woke up this morning, Hubby snuggled up to me and growled in my ear. Feeling mighty frisky, my man was. I'm pretty sure that wasn't a gun in his pocket, because well...you know...he wasn't wearing pockets.

Oh crap! I sat up. I forgot to use the oxygen last night!

I'm still at the point where I feel like if I don't follow the doc's directions explicitly, I'm going to suddenly wake up dead one morning. I'm supposed to be on oxygen all night while I sleep. Does that mean I should walk around with my nose hose for 5 or 6 hours today, or could I just skip it and wait until bedtime? I reached down to the floor and groped around for the hose.

"Leave it." Hubby tried to pull me back. "Another 30 minutes won't kill you."

I muttered something that he missed because my head was over the side of the bed. 50 feet of hose has to end somewhere, doesn't it?

"You want to play "Naughty Nurse"?" His ears perked up. "Are you going to take my temperature or am I going to take yours?"

I rolled back onto my pillow with the end of the nose hose in my hand.

No, I said why don't we play "Naughty Nursing Home"? I can be the invalid with the nose hose and you can be the dirty old gray-haired man from down the hall who sneaks in my room to ravish me.

He turned 10 shades of red.

"Oh God," he groaned as he flopped back on his side of the bed. "You really know how to kill a mood!"

Awww c'mon, I wheedled. You don't even have to pretend that you still have all your teeth!

Ok, we're demented. But that's what passes for entertainment in the Attila home.

And it's nice to see that I can still make my old man blush. ;-)

Melancholy Baby

We've spent this week prepping for and finally going to court yesterday on Big Kid's disability hearing. He was so nervous and scared that he burst into tears. My poor baby boy.

It was so very very hard to testify about why we had to make him move out and about his rage attacks when he's manic. Basically I had to say on the record what an unbelievable sh*thead he can be. It hurt him. It hurt me. We've tried to accentuate the positive all of Big Kid's life and to help him have good self-esteem. And to let him know---even at his worst---that we will always love him very much.

There's only so many times that someone can spit in your face and scream that you're a "f*cking c*nt" before it starts killing something inside you, I told the judge. I know it's his illness, but it has devastated our entire family.

Then I cried too.

He seemed sympathetic, and we have the medical affidavits from the doctors and therapist who have treated Big Kid for years. Plus an affirmative affidavit from their OWN expert. How a pencil pusher who has never met him could take a statement he made to his therapist over a year ago out of context to deny his original petition (his therapist asked Big Kid what he saw himself doing in 5 years, and the kid flippantly replied, "Laying on my mom's couch and playing video games" because he didn't want to discuss it) is baffling to me.

He's trying to live in his own place and is taking college courses. The point is that he is trying to make a life for himself. Unfortunately his health insurance will run out in a year, and if that happens, who knows what we'll do.

Keep your fingers crossed, would you?

xoxo

ATM

Oh, Stress Your Lil' Stinking Heart

Well this round of tests are done, and I just gotta say it:

I'm starting to feel like a 3 dollar ho.

Every time someone in a white coat or scrubs walks by I have an uncontrollable urge to flip my shirt up and show them my chest. Pavlov's dog and all that...

One of the tests I took was a stress test.

I don't know if it's the lazy person's stress test, or the physically impaired person's stress test or what, but it doesn't actually involve any treadmill running or jumping jacks or whatever they used to make you do. Which is good, because my right foot is still very tender and wouldn't look kindly to being jumped up and down on.

What they do now is basically give you a 5 minute push of adrenalin and halfway through give you a shot of radioactive isotopes that light your blood up so they can see how the blood flows through your heart at a stress rate and at a resting rate. The adrenalin will exit your system about 45 seconds after the push is done and the isotopes will continue to light you up like a Christmas tree for a few more hours or so. Because the adrenalin has such a short shelf life, they have to specially order the dose one day before the procedure.

While the medical assistant was wiring me for sound (I.V. in my arm, electrodes all over my chest and ankles which she attached to cables) she explained what the side effects of the adrenalin could be. Headache, nausea, difficulty breathing, rapid heart beat, pain or pressure in my throat and/or chest. Most patients experience one or more of these effects. Risks included me falling down dead of a sudden heart attack.

"But not to worry", she added cheerfully. "You're in an excellent cardiac facility!" Then she handed me a clipboard and told me to sign.

I read it and stopped. Uh, we have an issue. I don't weigh xxxxx (not telling, none of yer business! LOL).

She took the clipboard back. "Well you said you weighed this when we set up the procedure on December 11th."

Nooooo---What I said was that at the rate I was losing weight, I could possibly weigh 10 to 15 pounds less by now.

"I have to go get the doctor." And she left.

I started to get scared. Visions of a mouse in a microwave (me being the mouse) were racing through my head. You know me and what I mean. Ping...ping...ping----SPLAT!! From the inside out.

The MA came back with a doctor.

"It shouldn't be a problem if you're within the 10% range", he said. "What do you weigh now?"

I'm not sure (with all the weight I'd been losing I wasn't stepping on the scale every day. It was all freaking me out a bit).

So we had to go down the hall to a scale. Me with a shortie wrap gown covering my boobies, and the med assistant and doc carrying the wires that were attached to the electrodes trailing behind me like attendants at Dr. Octopus' wedding.

Whew. I was within the 10%. Barely. I calculated what all the wires might weigh and signed the form (with trepidation). Then I got back on the table.

The technician who was going to administer the adrenalin push and isotopes came in.

"Did the medical assistant explain all of the possible side effects?" he asked.

I assured him that she had.

"Let's go over it again. Headache, nausea, difficulty breathing, rapid heart beat, pain or pressure in your throat and/or chest. Most patients experience one or more of these effects. Risks include falling down dead of a sudden heart attack."

"But not to worry", he added cheerfully. "You're in an excellent cardiac facility!"

Gah!

Then the cardiologist who was going to monitor the whole procedure came in and introduced herself. Asked me if I knew what the possible side effects of the procedure was going to be.

I assured her that I knew.

"We just want to be sure that it's clear. Headache, nausea, difficulty breathing, rapid heart beat, pain or pressure in your throat and/or chest. Most patients experience one or more of these effects. Risks include falling down dead of a sudden heart attack."

"But not to worry", she added cheerfully. "You're in an excellent cardiac facility!"


I was seconds away from bursting into tears. From all the warnings, at this point the image in my mind of my heart (ok you guys know the weirdness that passes through MY noggin) was of the baby monster thing bursting through the chest of its host in the Alien movies. I was scared to death.

There was sort of a countdown. The I.V. was on my right side, the medical assistant was on my left with a blood pressure cuff on that arm. I turned my head to the left and focused on the medical assistant.

She took my blood pressure.

How is it? I asked.

"Good", she said. "Are you feeling ok?"

I'm fine. When are we going to start?

"We're already one and half minutes into it. I need to take your pressure again."

Whaaaa?

There was nuthin'. Really not a thing.

Ok, during the very last minute, I felt a little tightening at the base of my throat. The MA, the tech and the doc kept exclaiming that I was one of the "lucky ones" ---with what I thought was a little disappointment---who didn't need a crash cart and an extraordinary save. Could be my imagination. You know how overactive it is.

Anyhoo, they unwired me, but left a few electrodes stuck to my chest for the next phase. I had to go sit in the waiting room for 30 minutes to give the isotopes a chance to circulate before taking a bunch of pictures.

I promptly fell asleep from the adrenalin crash and had to be physically woken up when it was time. I was dreaming about having wild hot monkey sex with my hubby (seriously!) and had a little drool on my chin. Gak!

Got the results back. There's good news and bad news (in my opinion).

The good news is that everything is clean and clear. No blockages whatsoever, so no bypass surgery or rotorooting needed.

The bad news?

They still don't know why my heart is failing.

So that means in two weeks, more tests. Argh.

Peace.

ATM

TLPWSFB

I know I've had a bug up my behind lately about the AOL Welcome Screen headline writers (who I've come to think of as TLPWSFB---The League of People with Sh*t for Brains, courtesy of my old blogfriend Ma Titwonky).

For some reason, my inner editor just howls when I see what they post in order to lure the reader into clicking on the link (which usually takes you to a slow-loading 30-page pop-up montage where you have to click "next" to read each paragraph). When I read something particularly inane, I refuse to click on it---well most of the time---but it's as bothersome as a rotten tooth and rattles around in my noggin all day.

Here are some that have been noteworthy lately:

Big Man Loses it During Game

Loses what? His mind? His lunch? His bus pass? His virginity? And what does being "Big" have to do with it?

Cheap Way to Hydrate Face

Hello? Tapwater?

Keep the Juices Flowing;
How Parents of 17 Keep the Spark Alive

First of all, ewwww! Secondly, in my opinion, the last thing they need to worry about is keeping the spark alive. Somebody needs to buy them a freaking fire extinguisher and tell them to call it a night.

Are Breastfeeding Pics "Obscene"?

Well that depends. If the picture of the person being breast-fed is an infant, then I'd have to say no. If it was a picture of Larry, his brother Darryl and his other brother Darryl, then I'd go with "probably".

What Turns Men Off

Since they don't actually have an on-and-off switch, I imagine a cattle prod might be rather effective.

5 Ways to Become Truly Sexy

Do we really have to go there? Obviously farting in his face isn't on the top of the list.

Everyone Wants Angelina's Lips

What would they do with her lips if they got them? Pin them to a corkboard with the rest of the butterfly collection?

Sheesh!

Hope you all have a great weekend!

Time to Clean Up

Holidays are over, time to put it all away for the new year ahead...

Spanx For the Memories...

New Year's Eve was our wedding anniversary. Well, one of them anyway, because Hubby and I got married twice (funny story for another time).

Anyhoo, I wanted to go out to a fancy shmancy local restaurant to celebrate. I'll call it "European Cuisine", because we really DO like this place and the owner, and I don't want to inadvertently bring any embarrassment. Mostly my own, just in case somebody saw me at the end.

We agreed to get early reservations so we could get back home before the drunks started hitting the streets, and made arrangements for Little Guy to have an evening elsewhere.

And in preparation for the big night, I bought myself some Spanx.

For the uninitiated (which I was until recently) Spanx are a brand of shapewear---I guess a newer, trendier name for a girdle---that celebrities like Oprah and Gwenyth and Lindsay are singing praises for. They come in a variety of styles, and I picked the ones that go from waist to below the knee, kind of like long bike shorts.

I wanted to wear a slinky pants-set that I hadn't been able to wear for a skillion years and look sexy for mah man. You know what I mean. It's hard to get jiggy with it if you're jiggly with it.

And if strapping in the hips and tummy and loose stuff meant it would all squeeze down and give me enormous calves, who'd notice? I'd be wearing pants. At least my butt would look good!

As usual, nothing ever goes as planned. We didn't count on Little Guy.

"You know, I've never been to European Cuisine", he said with studied casualness early in the day. Rut row.

I'm aware of that. Hell, we've only been there three times in the last 10 years and had to take out an additional mortgage on the house each time.

"I've never tried French food before, " he said a little later.

You've had French Toast, I reminded him. And besides, I don't think European Cuisine is actually a French Restaurant. I think it's German or maybe Bavarian.

"Oh."

He came back a little while later.

"I don't think I've ever had German food before. Or Bavarian."

I was starting to get a little desperate. He wanted us to invite him to come with us without actually asking to come with us.

Honey, you've had German Chocolate cake. You didn't like it, remember? And you've had uh--Swiss Cheese---I think that's kind of Bavarian. And sauerkraut. You don't like sauerkraut.

"But I might like it now."

This is a grown-up place. I don't think you would enjoy it. It's our anniversary.

"Oh". He went away again.

Then he came back a little while later with the local phone book under his arm. "It doesn't say 'no kids allowed' and you promised last time that I could maybe come with you the next time," he announced. "It's my anniversary too."

Crap.

I called Hubby at the office.

What time are the reservations?

"Uh, I thought YOU made reservations."

Rut row again.

Unfortunately, European Cuisine was solidly booked until 8:15, which is usually the time I'm sucking for air. Literally. But I figured I could take a late nap and everything would be A-OK. Since we had originally planned on being FINISHED with dinner around that time, the things we had scheduled for Little Guy weren't going to work out after all.

So he got his wish.

It's a fancy dress-up place, I warned him. You'll have to be on your best manners.

He was so excited that he was all polished and shined and ready to go at 5pm.

It took me a little while longer to squeeze into my Spanx and adjust everything (had to make sure my butt cheeks were anchored north instead of south). In the end, I was pretty pleased with them, and my silky pants glided up with nary a hitch. Woohoo!

European Cuisine is in a little historic house that was built back when they didn't enrich our milk with Vitamin D and we didn't have Wheaties and if you were 5'6 you were considered tall. The doors are very--um--short.

Anyway, space is at a premium, and there is very little maneuvering room between tables. By 8:15, the dinner crowd had all spread out and the waitstaff had to practically balance trays on their heads to get through.

The first thing I did was reconnoiter the location and path to the restroom. If you've ever been on heavy-duty diuretics, you know once in a while that "gotta go" feeling turns into "oops, I think I tinkled on myself" faster than you can say "Zippity Doo Dah".

The quickest and most direct route would take me past a table for two. He was dipping a bread cube into some kind of fondue pot, and she was poking at a salad. She also had that Nancy Reagan thing going (big enormous head looming over tiny shoulders). I tried to gauge the width of the path and realized that depending on which way I was turned, if I had to get to the restroom in a hurry, I'd probably end up brushing my crotch or my heinie against her humongous helmet of hair. Oy. Not a pretty thought.

I put my hand over my glass when the server came over with a pitcher of water. None for me, please.

15 minutes later, the server brought over the board which had the menu on it and rushed off. It's a limited menu, so it took us all of 3 minutes to decide on what to have.

"See they have Chicken Cordon Bleu! That's French!" Little Guy was triumphant.

15 minutes after that, the owner wandered over and asked if we knew what the specials were. We didn't. He told us and rushed off.

At 9pm, the server came over and asked if we were ready to order drinks. We let her know we were ready to order PERIOD. ;-)

15 minutes later our drinks came.

Little Guy was understandably getting antsy. He kept patting his stomach more and more frequently and mentioning, "I'm getting kind of hungry."

When a busperson came to refill Fondue Boy and Nancy's water, I flagged her down.

Could we please get some bread or something? We've been here for over 45 minutes.

Nancy turned her humongous helmet head around and gave me the hairy eyeball.

Fine, I muttered under my breath. Ass it is, Beyotch.

Turned and asked the server, Could I also get some iced tea?

About a 1/2 hour later, the guys were happily attacking rolls and their soup and I felt the call of nature. Luckily, Fondue Boy and Helmet Head had finished and there was plenty of room to get to the Ladies.

As I said earlier, the restaurant was built in a time when short people were the norm. The actual area the toilet was in was about the size of a linen closet. And there was a window that was waist-high, but fortunately it had a curtain hanging over it so nobody would see me doing my business from the parking lot.

I tried to wrestle with the Spanx in the tiny space between the toilet and the wall. I was getting a little frustrated and afraid that I wouldn't be able to peel them down fast enough, so I decided to give them a good yank. It was like wrestling with a ginormous rubber band so I put some stank on it.

Wham!!!

Next thing I knew, I was sitting on the can and little birdies were circling around my head. The curtain wasn't just hiding the window, it was also hiding a hand-crank that stuck out about 4 inches.

I made my way back to the table clutching my brow and a fast-growing black and blue lump.

The rest of the meal was basically uneventful and delicious, but when I saw a woman teetering from the bathroom clutching HER brow (I could practically see the birdies circling her head), I almost snorted a spaetzle out my nose.

Out in the parking lot, Little Guy jumped in the SUV. Hubby and I put our arms around each other and gazed up into the mountains, knowing that in an hour there would be fireworks shooting from the top. Hopefully by that time, we'd be home enjoying fireworks of our own.

He walked me over to my side of the car and gallantly opened the door. He put his hand out to tenderly help me up into my seat.

I lifted my leg up

...and fell on my face into the vehicle.

What in the hell was wrapped around my legs?

It was my pants! The Spanx worked TOO well and my pants just slid down.

I was flailing around face down on the seat with my butt cheeks anchored north and my slinky pants tangled around my ankles.

Hubby almost had an accident of his own because he was laughing hysterically. Then he was clutching HIS head because I bounced a shoe off of it.

No, not really. I made up the shoe part. The other part was real though.

Guess who spent his anniversary sleeping on the couch?

No, I made that up too. I was nice to him since he left an arm and a leg back with our bill.

Wishing all of you a Happy New Year!

ATM