listen up. i’m alive, leaving for work soon. took a couple days off to rest. my sweet mother-in-law (one of two, both sweet, yes, i’m lucky, lucky girl) is here for long weekend. when did i realize it was a 3-day weekend? last night at 4:30. no kidding. hahahahaHA! what a dope.

i am still sore, moving around a little slower than my usual ZIP-ZIP GOTTA GO SPOCKY! self. You know. Life. It comes at you fast, just like the commercial says.

do you read So the Fish Said? here is her list of books for 2009. this week i’m reading “Literacy with Attitude,” the Michael Pollan book about plant sex, more stuff by the “Wicked” author and… a bunch of kid books, per usual.

miss you, miss you, more later. hope life is good in eastern Canada, Texas, England, Morocco, Happy Rock, the South Side, or wherever you happen to be.

peace & love to Haiti, i’m lighting my candles. it’s not much but it’s all i’ve got. that and this little blog. (private note to U.S. government, Stop Katrina’ing things, how about? Just sayin’.)

— wm

i am. surgery was Wednesday. i’m battered and bruised but alive and happy to be home.

thanks for the concern, e-mails, calls… y’all are very sweet. i appreciate it.

goodbye, uterus, you were worthless. “Spongy uterus,” polyps and fibroids were “official” diagnosis.

kinda funny that word of the day was “pother,” ie:

pother

PRONUNCIATION:
(POTH-uhr)

MEANING:
noun: 1. A commotion or fuss. 2. Mental turmoil. 3. A smothering cloud of dust or smoke.
verb tr.: To confuse or worry someone.
verb intr.: To worry or fuss.

ETYMOLOGY:
Of unknown origin.

1) worried too much about surgery

2) took the kids to the bar instead of doing homework with them and… whatever else we should have done instead of going to the bar. a craft project or something? who knows. and ok, we did do some homework at the bar, but still had to study for geometry quiz when we got home. She’s in fifth grade. I didn’t have any geometry quizzes til I was a sophomore in high school. That’s what happens when your art teacher is also your math teacher. (God rest your soul, Mr. Art M., you were the best damn teacher. i loved you a bunch and you knew it.)

3) Abandoned the kids and slept a lot. (They stay up, on average, one-two hours later than I do, lately.) (Bright note: they’ve been much grouchier than i this week for a change, hahahaha.) Wacky Girl, when I told her I was going to bed, “Yeah, I’ll just be up all night studying for this quiz, go right ahead.” So I stayed up with her. She flew through the pages, “Hey — I know all of this!” Girl is wicked good at math.

4) ate the salad that was intended for the guinea pig.

5) didn’t clean either fish tank (fed them, though)

6) did not pay bills yet.

7) forgot to drink water all week and got extremely dehydrated. wine and coffee do not count as rehydration.

8) made steve do all the chores in the morning (breakfast, lunches, getting kids out the door). typical.

things i’ve done right this week…

1) worked out a couple times

2) my hair looks amazing. cuz i washed it and put it into a ponytail, that’s why. hahahahahaha.

3) i started the laundry.

You? Am I the only one beating myself up around here?

have a fantastic whatever day this is.

xo

wm

ps screw this list. i’ve done a ton of things right this week. the end.

what is it with Mondays around here?

1) i’m home sick from work today and tomorrow, trying not to slip over into bronchitis, cuz The Thing I’ve had for a month has moved into my lungs

2) i’m wheezing

3) i heard from the doc’s office — they found “abnormal endometrial cells” on my cervix. Isn’t the first time for this, but hopefully if I get all better by next month and can have surgery, it will be the last time for this kind of call.

4) if i’m sick, no surgery; if i have no surgery, i’m sick (exhaustion, anemia, cancer worries)

5) doesn’t this all just suck?

6) there has been a big windstorm all day and it’s kinda freaking me out, what with all the crashing and blowing

7) i didn’t get one of the grants i applied for for my library. jury is still out on other two grants.

8) on a bright note — steve and the kids are my favorite thing in life. they are sweet, funny, and know when to worry and when to breathe. (unlike me.) their love and enthusiasm keeps me going every day.

9) i’m really happy that my sis and the Red-Headed Guy are getting married next month. And guess what? My job is to provide the cupcakes for the wedding. With that in mind, they bought me my very own Cupcake Carrier. Do we need the Tree Stand, do you think? Or just arrange on platters? Oh, frosting. Oh, love. Oh, a Christmas wedding, so cool. Magic, magic, magic.

10) i’m also losing weight, cuz i’m worried all the time and don’t want to eat. that’s something. argggggggggggggghhhh. OK. Make it positive, girl. I love the Wii-Fit and the Wii-Fit Plus they are the best, funnest work-out ever. The end.

11) c’mon get happy.

love,

wm

And, because sometimes it’s not:

And, because this one is always true:

I always thought Danny was highly underrated as a bass player, didn’t you?

edited at 7:30 p.m. to say:

* one doctor wants me to come in so they can listen to me wheeze; other doc is on vacation for a week. the cells are probably… nothing. and if they are something? will deal.

* fixed vegetarian meatloaf, polenta and broc, an old favorite, for dinner. kids were not amused.

* climbing back in bed. have a good night, y’all.

“Don’t surrender your loneliness / So quickly. / Let it cut more deeply. / Let it ferment and season you / As few human / Or even divine ingredients can.”
— Hafez, poet (1315-1390)

* can’t talk about some things because. you know. let’s not get dooced.

* can’t write about other things because. you know. i have a 7-year-old, a 10-year-old and a husband who like their privacy. and would appreciate it if i told their side of things, sometimes.

* i can’t. they can just take comfort in knowing that i try, every day, to NOT talk about them — with co-workers, with friends, with family, with Internets. Years of therapy? I’m paying for my own, can’t afford anyone else’s.

* met with my surgeon/doc today for “pre-op” appointment. For those of you not “in the know,” that means “pre-operation” appointment that you go to before they slice into you, where you discuss pain meds; the need to avoid tylenol and aspirin for two weeks beforehand; how you “probably” won’t have to stay the night; how much better you’ll feel, after; how you’re not supposed to eat anything 12 hours prior to surgery. (This means I’m supposed to stay up til 2 a.m. — doc’s words — to have “a little something,” since the surgery isn’t skedded til 2 in the afternoon.)

* i can barely stay awake past 7:30 p.m. This should be interesting.

* also, if you’re me at least, and i know i am, you will discuss how “great” it is that your blood pressure is only 90/60. Haha! I work out! I take beta-blockers! I am a calm, stress-less person! Pop quiz: which of those statements is “fact”? Give up…????

* Two are fact; one is fiction.

* Now can you get it?

* I am probably one of the most tense, stressed-out people you could ever meet. True. That. True, that. True, that, to infinity and beyond. I am not proud of this, i am ashamed of it. I do not wear it on my sleeve like a badge of courage. It’s the reason why I try to eat right, get some kind of exercise every day, write in my journal, have a job i love, spend time with my family and friends who are all really nice, cool people. I don’t have an addiction to deal with, domestic abuse, a terminal illness. I have lost too many people, but honestly, haven’t we all? We all have had our losses.

* So when the medical assistant took my blood pressure, which i was convinced was going to be SKYROCKETING because i had HORRIBLE DAY — well. SKYROCKETING for me would mean 120/80 or something. Maybe 125/85 if I was just furious or something. I have this super-low blood pressure. Which is why i’m dizzy all the time. Also I take a beta-blocker, because I have funky heart condition. Because the thyroid issues and the girly issues weren’t enough, I suppose.

* Imagine my surprise when it was 88/58. The M.A. was a little worried. Said that would explain why I feel faint sometimes. “This, right here? This is the most pissed-off you are ever going to see me!” i told her. “OK, tell me about your day, then we’ll take it again.” hahahaha. I like that girl, she’s funny.

* “And THEN, and THEN, and SURGERY, and etc….” That’s how we got my BP up to 90/60, folks. It is good to have low blood pressure. It is not good to be close to passing out. i remember after giving birth to my baby girl, my BP went TUMBLING DOWN THE STAIRCASE and hit AN ALL-TIME LOW of 70 or 75 or something, over 47.

* Over 47, peeps. The monitor was all BEEPBEEPBEEPSHESDEADCOMEGETHEROUTOFHEREBEEPBEEPWENEEDTHEROOM
FORSOMEONEELSEGETAGURNEY and Steve kept flashing my pregnancy journal at them, w/ all the doc visit info, and the various BPs from throughout the months (we brought it because it was where we were scribbling, when we were timing contractions, i think? who knows.) And poor Steve kept gesturing, Here, here, and here, LOOK! SHE JUST HAS REALLY LOW BLOOD PRESSURE, SHE’S NOT DYING.

* Did I have a point with this post? the bullets? the ranting?

* Yes.

* Doc says tylenol = bad, bad, bad; morphine = good, good, good. Well. That has always been my motto, so I’m glad the Medical Community is finally catching up. Seriously — the “talk-talk” going around now is that we all, right here, right now, have ENOUGH TYLENOL IN OUR SYSTEMS TO LAST US A LIFETIME. Can i make that any CAPPIER for you? All kinds of people (who shouldn’t be, who are otherwise healthy) are showing up with liver disease and failure, cuz of TOO MUCH TYLENOL.

* interesting.

* But it’s okay, while i’m healing up, if i need morphine. only my BP will probably drop even lower, which could be, y’know. Problematic.

* think they’d let me bring one of those handy little machines home with me, just in case?

love,

wm

ps i always feel the need to give this disclaimer: i am no medical professional, go find yourself one if you need one.

pss — “Now, I’m not a pharmacist…” — comedian Kathy Griffin

ppss just remember: tylenol = bad; morphine = good

OK, some of you have been reading my blog for a long time. Remember this little post, from four years ago? Yeah. I’m having surgery for Christmas. Because a girl should treat herself once in awhile, don’t you think?

send. good. thoughts.

stupid uterus. it’s just like with my thyroid — broken. had to go. all broken parts must go, especially once they start torturing me. am being tortured by my own damn body. everyone i’ve talked with keeps saying “night and day.” “Afterward, it’s just like night and day, the difference. You will not regret it.”

but still, i feel like a dog who is about to be spayed. that is just a horrible thought, I need to get that thought out of my head. This has nothing to do with my female-ness. My qi. It will be okay. Giving up white sugar, white flour, stress, you know what? It wouldn’t change things. My body just grows strange growths, that’s all. It’s a little trick it likes to play. I have de-stressed a lot, but life just includes some stress. even a hermit in a cave somewhere has stress. (“Cold in here. Out of food. Damn. And I have cramps again. Damn.”) The cramps go with you wherever you go is the thing.

okay i have to go to work now. and my son is playing Wii-Fit Plus (which rocks, by the way — lots of new games, and you can customize the work-outs so you don’t have to start and stop all the time). It’s the woot-doot-doot-do-do-doot music that is making me a little distracted here. that, and surgery. at least we have insurance. stupid America.

love,

wm

Do you know how to play bunco? Here, let Tricia teach you. I love games. I love my girlfriends. I love food. I love winning money, aka “gambling.” Bunco gives me all of this and more. (I just got home from playing. So fun. Yes, I won in the “roll-off” for the kitty.)

This love of all things cards and dice started when I was a wee little sprout, watching my ma, pa and their friends fiendishly play cards. They liked playing Pit, poker (I coveted the chips. The different colors, the stacks, what did it all mean?), canasta, whatever they all agreed on. My dad’s parents loved playing kings’ corners, caroms, solitaire, Yahtzee, Pounce…

My cousins and I loved Pounce (aka “Nerts.” Why is it named this? I have no idea. All I know is we called it Pounce when I was a kid and Nerts once I grew up). Grade school, high school, college, we went from pitching pennies to obsessively playing (and cheating at) Monopoly to playing 600 and quarters and any other drinking games we could think of.

My friends and I, all through college, were especially crazy for Pounce. We would literally stay up til 4 in the morning playing. We’d take decks of cards to the bars with us, ignore the bands that were playing, and play hand after hand of cards. It was good clean fun. We tried to kick it, oh we did. Because the man I was dating and also one of my best girlfriends, H, hated Pounce. Hated, hated. They were slow is why. If you are slow at cards and dice you just die, okay?

So.

They made us promise we wouldn’t bring the cards out with us in public. We agreed, reluctantly.

Then, there we were at the bar again, and my roommate C asks, all casual, Did you, er, bring any cards? and I’m all, YESSSSSSSSS! and I whip not one but five decks of cards out of my purse and the game was ON and H just crashed her head right down on the table and whimpered quietly.

I did feel bad. Leeeeeeee. I felt badly! But we had to play!

I found this bunco group through church, when I was teaching Sunday school. See how it goes, once you become a Unitarian? Next thing, you find gamblers. It happens every time. Her sweet little adorable daughter was in my class and yelled at me, MY MOM PLAYED BUNCO ON FRIDAY! and I was all, I WANT TO PLAY BUNCO, TOO, TELL HER TO INVITE ME!

I’m low-key and casual like that. So she did, and now I’ve been subbing with their group for… I have no idea how long now. A while. It is so fun. We meet at a different house every month, always on the… what is this, second Friday? There is some pattern to it, I dunno. All I know is that they send me an e-mail and I try to go. Tonight one of the women asked me, Where have you been the last two months? And I thought, Hmm. “Was I not here? Was I at the beach?”

“Yes,” she said agreeably, “you must have been at the beach.” My bunco ladies are sooooooooo much easier than the PTA ladies. We put out a spread of food (another reason bunco kicks ass). Tonight it was…

* turkey, cream cheese and cranberry sauce roll-ups, with toothpicks
* veggie lasagna that was sooooo yummy
* popcorn chicken and those little cheesey bites, whatever they are
* dinner rolls with real butter
* sweet and sour chicken, lo mein and kung pao chicken
* all kinds of drinks (“There are some of those lizard ones. You know! The fancy ones — Sobe or whatever…” oh, yum.)
* bowls of candy all over the tables (our trademark)
* for dessert, my contribution was those pink and white frosted animal cookies that are like crack cocaine they’re so good
* a delicious lemon cake with lots of gooey frosting
* and… someone else brought cream puffs. Yes, they did.

We all save up our Weight Watchers points for like, the whole week, even those of us who aren’t technically on Weight Watchers. We’re sociable like that. We all pony up a little money, play like maniacs, talk and laugh and miss everyone who’s not there that month. They all work together for Large Government Agency. They’ve taken me under their wing, anyway, even though I don’t. I work for Large School District, which is similar, I suppose, in many ways. Then, goodnight. Home by 10 p.m.

Oh, I love bunco and my girls.

OK, I’ll give it a go… Steve did his according to Thelonious Monk.

Pick an artist, try not to repeat any titles, go! Do one, if you’d like, and leave me the link in comments.

Pick your Artist:
Kelly Willis

Are you a male or female:
That’ll Be Me

Describe yourself:
Get Real

How do you feel:
Bang, Bang

Describe where you currently live:
Cradle of Love

If you could go anywhere, where would you go?
That’s How I Got To Memphis

Your favorite form of transportation:
River of Love

Your best friend is:
Little Honey

You and your best friends are:
Up All Night

What’s the weather like:
Whatever Way The Wind Blows

If your life was a TV show, what would it be called:
Heaven’s Just A Sin Away

What is life to you:
Sincerely (Too Late To Turn Back Now)

Your relationship:
Reason To Believe

Your fear:
Fading Fast

What is the best advice you have to give:
Wait Until Dark

Thought for the Day:
Wrapped

How I would like to die:
One More Night

My soul’s present condition:
Happy With That

My motto:
You Can’t Take It With You

Woot. IT’S MY BIRTHDAY!!!! Second of all, my husband and I celebrated by going to Willamette Week’s big ol’ rooftop party gala extravaganza in honor of their new magazine. Why were we invited? I have no idea. It was not on the rooftop of the Hotel Deluxe (aka formerly the Mallory, where we went on our wedding night), but rather was on the rooftop of the Mallory Hotel Deluxe’s parking garage across the street. We ran into Byron and Juan (I love you Juan! OK, Byron, I love you, too, you know it. But mostly I LOVE JUAN, go Basic Rights Oregon) (ps — they could use some donations, y’all, if you have some change to spare)… Byron and my husband compared play-off beards. They both look extremely virile and handsome is my take on it.

We drank a lot of beer. In fact, we just parked it next to the keg line because that way we’d see everybody. Who did we know? No one. Because we’re old and don’t know who all these crazy 20-somethings are, rampaging around. We did see MS, and he and Steve only talked school politics for thankfully a short time. And we saw my delicious girlfriend K and her perfect, flawless boyfriend J. (Suits her, as she is perfect and flawless, too.) (Seriously.)

Also, there was the cutest woof-woof there, begging chips off of everyone. And a tiny Chi-hua-hua, too. (Say it: Chi-hoo-a-hoo-a. That is how it is pronounced.)

OK, back to Byron. He wanted to know, “Nancy, are you that Crazy Mama?” I’m all, Byron, you know I’ve had my blog for like five years now, duh. I am The Crazy Mama.

Then he wanted to know why I hate The Mayor. I don’t care what the man does in bed, just don’t be a big liar like my gay ex-boyfriend is my deal.

me: “You know why I have issues with this.”

Byron: “Mm-hmm.” (because hello, he was my next door neighbor — he totally knows why I have issues with this.)

me: “People think I am having a certain set of issues but I am having a whole different set of issues.”

Byron: “Mm-hmm.” (snaps my picture)

Then, we visited, ate some too-spicy mango habanero salsa which made steam come out my ears, so I had to drink all of Steve’s beer plus some of my fancy, glamorous bottled water. Then I had to pee of course. And I won’t use porta-potties because damn. Why would I? So we ran over to the Hotel Glamorous Deluxe Mallory, where I took a pee in their Deluxe Glamorous bathroom. Then I made reservations for us to stay there in September, to celebrate our whatever anniversary that will be.

A lot is what it will be.

A lot of years, Internets. Poor Steve.

Then (isn’t it just like you’re right there with me?) we had a drink at the Driftwood Bar, where I spent untold hours drinking with my favorite uncle in the world, my dear departed Uncle Chuck, my daddy’s brother, and I’m all — This is not the same bar, while I sipped at my vodka tonic.

“It used to be in the restaurant, right? Not separate like this?”

The dog from the party was there. At the bar. What? OK. Then Steve says, “The girl sitting at the table right next to us is like two years older than our daughter.”

And you know what, Internets? She really was. (OK, now I know Leslie and Zip will be all, Where were the children, Nancy? At grandma’s is where. For the night.)

So we had to leave. Our friends Peg and Mike gave us a lift home and we drank more beers. (I know, I didn’t think it was possible either.)

The End

Yes, it’s my 45th birthday next week, which makes me officially halfway to dead. “If you’re lucky,” Steve sez. (My response: ???. I think, before it’s too late, he needs to take some “hints” from our Facebook friends on how to talk to ladies. Sheesh.) In honor of the big day, we went out for a little birthday dinner tonight at Pizza Fino, over in beautiful historic downtown Kenton, North Portland, U.S.A.

Of course our poor, beleaguered, misunderstood and sometimes, allegedly, drinkin’, drivin’ and cryin’ Mayor of Portland, Ore., Sam Adams, was there with three of his associates, constituents, friends, what have you.

That sentence was too long, I’ll start over.

I’m assuming the associates were picking up the tab, since between lawyer bills and all he can’t afford to make his mortgage payments. (“Portland: We’re So Broke Our Mayor Can’t Afford A Grown-up Boyfriend OR His Mortgage.”)

The staff was playing, as always, a lot of really sucky music that I believe the kids refer to as “techno.” That, combined with the fact that we had to wait an hour for our food, combined with the fact that the mayor was there, combined with the fact that our waitress was so absolutely beautiful and sweet that I couldn’t even hold the whole “food never arriving thing” against her, gave me what I refer to as “fucking headache behind my left eye.” Then, out of nowhere, they played ZZ Top, I’m Bad, I’m Nationwide, I’m assuming in honor of my birthday and the mayor.

Only he isn’t and I am.

“We going downtown in the middle of the night
We laughing and Im jokin and we feelin alright”

You know how old Wacky Mommy was when that song came out? That’s right. I was a freshman in high school and already getting into bars and never getting carded when I bought booze at the store. You poor kids nowadays, I feel for you. Don’t drink and drink, though! That’s bad.

Then they played a bunch more techno crap, I drank a lot of water, tried to figure out if that was our friend Babe across the way, I think it was, why couldn’t they have seated Babe next to us instead of the damn mayor, I love Babe… Finally the food showed up and my son ate an entire large cheese pizza all by himself, Wacky Girl split her pasta with pesto with me and we just chilled.

More techno.

Then again out of nowhere, they played “Low Rider.” Which I’m assuming Steve took as a hint to buy me the ’64 Impala with hi-jackers that I’ve only been wanting my entire goddamn life how many hints do I have to drop?

“I’m dropping hints/
candy for candy-coated tongue”
— Violent Femmes

That Impala, it was born the same year as me. I’m telling you — as soon as we get a garage I’m getting an Impala to put in it. You heard it here first.

Then I heard the lady at the table next to me tell her husband, sotto voce, “She’s 44.” Husband grunts. Wife continues, “She looks old for her age.” I’m sure she wasn’t talking about moi, as I am not just incredibly yummy and hot, but also Bad and not just limited to Nationwide — I’m international, mama. And the mortgage, she is getting paid.