I am so going to get lynched by a guy in a sporrin
Thursday, Jan. 19, 2006 at 9:17 a.m.
So I recently had a conversation with my mother. As I�ve mentioned before, Mom is of the MUST BEAT ALL ISSUES INTO THE GROUND WITH A DEAD HORSE AND THE ENTIRE FAMILY OF THE HORSE THEREOF THEN DIG UP THE ISSUE AGAIN AND REVISIT UNTIL ONLY ATOMIC PARTICLES OF SAID ISSUE ARE PRESENT AND THEN SPLIT SAID ATOMS UNTO INIFINITY variety, and we were discussing, once again, my upcoming TAH/BSO surgery. I really don�t remember all the exact words, but she kept asking repeatedly what exactly I was having done, and I kept telling her that, yes, I was having every single female bit removed from the cervix up, and yes, I expected to be recovering for about 6-8 weeks, and yes, I was having every single female bit removed from the cervix up, and yes, it would be nice for you and Dad to come and visit in March when I�m feeling a little better, and yes, I was having every single female bit removed from the cervix up, and yes, this is for legitimate medical reasons because doctors won�t just take out every single female bit from the cervix up on either a whim or the desire of the patient without a legitimate medical reason, and yes, I was having every single female bit removed from the cervix up, and so on.
Yes, this is how my conversations go with her.
Then she started asking about the ILs, who happen to live only 100 miles away instead of 1300 miles away. I kept telling her that yes, we had told the ILs about the surgery, and no, they didn�t seem upset just concerned, and no, they didn�t seem upset just concerned, and no, they didn�t offer to come up and stay from the moment I got home from the hospital, and no, they didn�t offer, and no, we didn�t ask Mary Lou to visit, and no, she didn�t offer, and yes, she does cook very well, and no, we didn�t ask Mary Lou to come up, and no, she didn�t offer to move in with us for the entire duration of my recovery as you so greatly want to do, Mom.
Like it�s some kind of competition with her. The truth is, the ILs will more than likely not show up at all. They�re not that kind. Mary Lou will send a card and they�ll call a couple of times to make sure everything is going okay. Then they will wait for further news. They have 6 kids, for heaven�s sakes, so they learned early on that no news is good news. And they also have their own lives and activities which means they don�t feel the need to get into every aspect of their children�s lives. They just want to be kept abreast of the big news.
Oddly enough, Mom was also sounding jealous that Mary Lou is giving me knitting pointers. Like Mom knows how to knit. Mom, I learned how to do a great many things without being under your complete influence through every single activity. Stop living vicariously through me.
Ah yes, that�s the main problem, isn�t it? *sigh*
Moving on . . . I now have a small beef with bowling alleys. I�m on a league with the Hubster, and we�d actually like to get a bit of practice in because we really enjoy bowling a whole lot more when we�re doing well. But the last few times we�ve attempted to go on a weekday evening for a bit of throw-ball-hit-pins we�ve been thwarted by alleys being completely full with leagues. Not a single lane available. I know that leagues are the bread and butter of alleys, but for the love of Mike, every single lane? I suppose the alley would rather have a guaranteed full lane but please, guys. C�mon. I actually want to spend extra money during the week in your alley, so�s how about limiting your league a little tiny bit???
And I won�t be able to bowl, either, after the surgery because I won�t be allowed to lift anything over 5 pounds for 6-8 weeks. Big fat whirlpool of suck, that is. I even asked if I could use the ramp that they get out for handicapped and disabled bowlers but they said that isn�t sanctioned by league rules. LPHHHTTH! Poo, I say, with knobs on.
Speaking of poo and other toilet issues, I never went to summer camp so I didn�t realize that this is actually true:
So who�s going to clean the couch? Oh, wait. That couch is in either a frat house or a bachelor pad. That�s the cleanest that couch will ever be.
Here�s a sign that�s making my brain hurt:
Um. . . but . . . hey! We can�t have any fun anymore.
Hopefully, those cows weren�t used by this guy, from a previous entry:
It all just reminds me of the great anthem Scotland the Brave:
Bring out the whiskey, mother
I�m feeling frisky, mother
Bring me a sheep, I�m feeling lonely tonight
No, not my elder sister
She always gives me blisters
England is forever
Scotland�s depraved
Oh, NO. No. Those aren�t the lyrics. Forget I said anything. Dum tee dum tee doo . . .