Geaux Geaux Gadget Liver Function!

So, last weekend I went to a wedding in Baton Rouge! Laissez le bons temps rouler and all that!The wedding was actually at a (beautiful) historic plantation outside of town, but we made the required pilgrimage to LSU to eat and soak up the local (drunken) culture. Oh, and we saw the tiger mascot too! Mike, or Mark, or whatever? The tiger's name escapes me at the moment. It wasn't TONY, I know that much. THAT I would have remembered.

In our hotel room before the wedding, still totally respectable and barely even drinking AT ALL. The four of us SHARED that room, I'll have you know, which we are way, WAY too old to be doing. Fun fact! From left to right, we have: the infamous "Darla", me (just in case you DIDN'T RECOGNIZE ME you JERKS!), tragically blogless frequent commenter The Woz, and poor, saintly, 8-months-pregnant Erin. You could not PAY me to attend a wedding with three drunken idiots if I was 8 months pregnant, much less share a ROOM and even a BED with them. Gah! Talk about taking one for the team.

At the reception with the lovely bride! Yeah, there was a WEDDING in there too. Whatev. We felt SO BAD for our friend, because the wedding was at this gorgeous plantation, and they were supposed to have the ceremony on the front porch of the mansion, and she was supposed to make her entrance across the front lawn, where there were flowers and fountains and everything...and it RAINED THE WHOLE TIME, you guys. So sad. Ah, well. It was still gorgeous. Fun fact! How many CPAs do you count in this picture? If you said FIVE, OMFG...you are correct, sir!

Ruh roh. The eligible drinkers are going downhill with the quickness here. I predict that Darla is going to say that she hates this picture, but whatev. I think she looks happy and awesome. Do you like how I insisted on wearing the $9.95 sports watch to complete the ensemble? Horrifying. Also, I had to have someone else tie my "sash". I should NOT be allowed to dress up. AT ALL.

The rain DID clear up long enough for our friends to make their exit from the front of the mansion, which was so very pretty. I like the sparklers thing a lot, even though it was TOTALLY inadvisable to give them to the vast majority of us by that point.

And then I woke up the next day and prayed for death. The end.

Incidentally, have you ever been suffering through a hangover and thought to yourself in an irritable voice, "Come ON, liver! Do your THING, man!"? Ugg. That was totally me. (Tangent: guess whose regenerative powers ALSO extend to the liver, ensuring that he NEVAH, EVAH has a hangover, no matter HOW much he drinks? ARGG!)

I'd like to go back to Baton Rouge sometime when we have more than a day, especially to tour some of the other plantations in the area when it wasn't, you know, POURING RAIN. Of course, I'd ALSO like to go back in TIME and skip that last glass of wine, but due to the laws of physics and the space-time continuum and whatnot, I'll probably have to stick to that first one.

P.S.-Is Google et. al moving WICKED SLOW for anyone else today? Has Swistle crashed the Internets?

FYE

Okay, so, when I went out for lunch I saw the actual daycare memo glaring at me from the passenger seat, and while I'm waiting to read more people guessing Swistle's real name, I may as well publish it for your entertainment:

Dear Parents,

Someone [?] once said, "Family isn't about who's [sic] blood you have. It's about who you care about [sicedy fucking SIC]" I believe that is true and I believe that when you enroll and attend an [Our Lady of the 3rd Grade Writing Level] Center that your family becomes a part of the [Our Lady of the 3rd Grade Writing Level] Family because we genuinely do care about each other. We all do our best to look out for each other and partner in this journey of life [seriously! hork!].

We have no greater responsibility in life than to care for and nurture the children that have been given to us as precious gifts. [Edited to remove TWO MORE PARAGRAPHS of this ass-kissy Precious Moments/Chicken Soup for the Overpriced Daycare Soul bullshit! Get to the goddamned point!]

Unlike most companies in our industry, we have never charged a meal fee of any kind [other than the THOUSAND DOLLARS PER MONTH] but we are forced now to reconsider that decision and charge a small fee as a result of our economy [DIE DUBYA!]. We had hoped to be able to continue to offer this as a free [except for the THOUSAND DOLLARS PER MONTH! The BALLS on these fuckers!] service to our customers [what happened to FAMILY?], but the rising costs of fuel have just made it impossible for us to continue to do so.

Beginning May 1st, we will charge a small fee for lunch and dinner. We will continue to comp [except for the THOUSAND DOLLARS PER MONTH] breakfast and all snacks at this time. The meal fee will be .75 [sic] for lunch and .75 [-edy SIC] for dinner. Please understand that our meals now cost us $3.25 a day per child [not my problem]. We are only asking parents to help us offset the rate increase; [sic] not cover the cost of the meal [except through the THOUSAND DOLLARS PER MONTH].

Thank you for understanding and for your continued support.

Sincerely,

[COO of the effing company]

*SIGH*

Also: *HULK SMASH!*

Three Things: NICE MOOD Edition

*Lasah update! I had a check-up this morning, and I'm seeing 20/15 in my right eye (the one with the flap smoothed), but my vision is actually getting a little WORSE in the left! BAH! It's 20/30, down from a "soft" 20/20 two weeks ago. It looked a little inflamed to the doctor, so I'm going to take some anti-inflammatory drops and go back on Friday to see if that's the reason and if things have improved. It's possible I'll have to have an adjustment on my left eye too, which will obviously suck, and is getting a bit old if I'm being honest. Ugg. Is this boring? This is boring. I just thought I should update in the interest of full disclosure. I should add that BR's eyes are just fine and dandy, OBV. He's seeing 20/15 in both eyes, and in true freakish-regenerator fashion they can "barely see" where the flap was made. Whatever. Can I just say that his rampant hypochondria and fretting is made exponentially more annoying by the fact that none of these dreaded complications ever comes to fruition? Yet he just keeps on keepin' on. STABBY STAB GAH.

*We got a note this morning informing us that AD's daycare is now going to be charging $.75 per lunch (and dinner, although that doesn't affect us) due to "rising fuel costs". Hmm. Also, HUH? I don't actually care (that much) about the 75 cents, since what's an extra $15 a month when you're already dropping ONE THOUSAND US DOLLARS for the privilege of drinking your coffee in peace, but why would you not attribute the increase to oh, say, FOOD COSTS? Weird. Also, is it me, or is 99% of the writing that takes place in a childcare setting truly HORRIFYING? I can barely get THROUGH some of the memos we are given without wanting to give myself a giant paper cut across the eye flap in frustration! Says the blogger who uses OBV and GAH as Totally Real Words. Whatev. Ruin the rant, why dontcha.

*The moms at AD's gymnastics class are driving me mental! I took her to a makeup class last night, since she missed her usual Saturday class, and it was a totally different and wholly unacceptable crowd! The Saturday class is usually full of DADS, actually, and most of them are pretty cool, in that they stay far, far away from me and barely make eye contact unless strictly necessary. DIG. But the Monday Moms! They asked me how old AD was, and did she usually do x, y, and z in her regular class, and what DAY in July was her birthday and all of this clearly (clearly!) for Purposes of Comparison only! Jesus. Compare in your HEAD like normal people, will ya? You don't have to make it so OBVIOUS! AND, two of the moms had the balls to complain about the teacher, and how she "just wasn't very good", and "wasn't teaching any advanced skills" and THIS IS A MOTHEREFFING GYMNASTICS "CLASS" FOR MOTHEREFFING TODDLERS! As long as the kids all get to run around and wear themselves out, and no one gets hurt, then I think we should consider that SUCCESS! I don't even care if there IS a teacher! I can talk in an irritating baby voice to my OWN child, THANKS! Ugg. I am beginning to fervently hope that AD only wants to be friends with ORPHANS when she gets older.

Marathon, Hair, Etc Etc

Man, I have got to shed all of these friends and family with the quickness. They keep asking me to take part in their lives and shit! GAH! We are back from Baton Rouge, and in theory I'll have some pictures of THAT soon too, in which I'll no doubt appear to be an altogether different person entirely, according to you fuckers! BAH!

Semi-related tangent: there is apparantly BUZZ at my workplace about how I am looking different these days, since cleaning up my act via the lasah and lack of chronic hair mismanagement. According to one coworker, "everyone is saying [I] look like a totally different person!". Ugg! This is HORRIFYING! Also, vaguely INSULTING! Why can't everyone I work with just think of me as a (ginormous) brain in a jar, like the good lord intended? DON'T LOOK AT ME! And if you MUST look at me, don't pass your thoughts down the chain like some goddamned game of telephone! BUZZ. Honestly.

Anyway, this post is not actually about my apparent Extreme Makeover! It's about the promised PICTURES:

At Boston Marathon Expo. This is actually a sort of shitty picture of BR, but I look decent, and this is my blog, so...Sorry Charlie. You can see the basic gist of my haircut here, although you can't tell that it's longer in front due to the whole unfortunate sunglasses-as-hair-accessory thing. BR and I meeting Bill Rodgers, wicked famous runnah and four-time winner of the Boston Marathon. He was SO NICE. Also: skinny. He was wearing a suit with a t-shirt and running shoes. Hee!
Lance Armstrong and crew running by us, around mile 16 of the marathon. What's that? You can't actually SEE Lance Armstrong in this photo, and furthermore it's taken FROM THE BACK as if I didn't even REALIZE it was him until much, much too late, but took a panicked half-assed photo anyway, knowing BR would be pissed if I totally spaced? Oh, shut it.
BR and AD around mile 16. He INSISTS on wearing that Army shirt at races, even though it's so old and worn that you can literally see right through it. It does encourage spectators to cheer for him, though. In one race we ran together, he wore that shirt, and I wore a shirt with my name on it, and nearly every spectator called out, "GO ARMY! GO JESSIE!". ARGG!

At Hampton Beach in New Hampshire. AD declared all of the waves "bubbles!" (?). I declared myself a fan of fried scallops eaten on a patio on the boardwalk. Mmmm.

Fun Fact Friday: Still No Pictures And I'll Thank You Not To Mention It!

*In a shocking high-maintenance turn of events, I'm wearing this dress today (uh, it's not that short on ME! Picture it if her legs ended just below the knee!). This morning:
BR: Ah you wearing a DRESS?
Tessie: Looks that way, doesn't it?
BR: RETRO

*Last night I made English Muffin Pizzas for dinner (in the ghett-ooooo!)

*I have six employees who report to me at work (FRIGHTENING). They are all older than me.

*I never, ever answer my phone calls at work, unless they come through my direct line. This is because I get a ton of solicitor and recruiter calls. The call I get most often is from companies wanting us to change credit card processors. CEASE AND DESIST credit card processors!

*I've never met anyone else named Tessie before. I've met plenty of Tessas, and Tesses, and Theresas. But no Tessies.

*Tessie is my given name. Most people refuse to believe this. The name I am most commonly called incorrectly is Tessa.

*My favorite hymn is How Great Thou Art. It reminds me of my great-grandmother. Her name was Gertrude.

*Traveling with AD was actually much easier this time around. It's gotten easier and easier to travel with her the older she gets (except for the newborn stage, of course. That's the easiest).

*I always thought that I would be a baby person, but it turns out that I like each older stage better (so far).

*I'm going to a wedding in the Baton Rouge area this weekend with some girlfriends (impending wine shortage, cajuns! stock up!). Do we have any LSU alums in the house? What attractions do you recommend (we're looking especially hard at FOOD and DRINK here) if we only have one day? We won't have the kids with us if that affects your decision (it BETTER).

Picture(less) Page

Hey, you know what would be the cat's ass? If I had some PICTURES of this alleged trip to Red Sox Nation to share with all of you fine people! ARGG! Instead, they languish on the camera as usual, no good to either of us. I briefly considered trying my hand at the whole downloading thing last night (ruh-roh), but then I saw we still had a couple of beers left and that was that. Out of my hands. You guys understand.

Anyway, you are all so sweet to ask about how BR did in the race (even though this is MY blog, you BR-loving fuckers!). He finished in under 4 hours, which is a respectable time considering the difficulty of the course (high) and his level of preparation (shockingly low). Do you guys know any natural athletes whose bodies seem to regenerate ala the cheerleader on Heroes, and if so do you have an intense urge to punch them square in the nuts? Just wondering.

Speaking of punches to the nuts, guess which of these things happened on the return trip?

• Flight from Boston to La Guardia delayed TWO HOURS, all of which is spent sitting on the runway with a pissed off toddler
• La Guardia gate agent has nasty standoff with The Steamrollah featuring funny accents and pissed owahf screeching about "attitude"
• In a rare lapse of Thinking It Through Foah the Love Of Gawd, BR forgets which of the FIVE airport terminals houses our car, resulting in hour-long investigative effort ala CSI: OMFG He Would Have Shot Me Dead If I Had Done This
• Tessie declares day "the worst of her life, and that includes the day her childhood dog Sammy got run over in front of her"

So, yeah. Good times. Pretty sure we're out of beer now, so I'll get on that picture thing shortly (slash whenever).

Things I Am Behind On

• Posts in Google Reader (217)
• Emails in work inbox (102--WHY GOD WHY? Is there no respect for the out-of-office notification?)
• Loads of laundry (7)(ish)(GAH! Cannot think about this right now)
• Identification of mysterious house smells (2)
• DVR'd shows (DVR 87% full!)(Half of that fucking COPS but I digress!)
• Daily chowdah quota (bowls so far today--GIANT GOOSE EGG)

Things I am NOT Behind On:

• Ending sentences with prepositions
• Emails in personal inbox (priorities! also: despair lifter!)
• American Idol (DUH)
• Coffee drinking (GAHGAHGAH)
• Blog posting (What am I DOING?)

CHOWDAH EVE

So, tomorrow we are flying to Red Sox Nation for the marathon! Uh, I mean, the marathon is MONDAY (weird), but we are LEAVING tomorrow. You know, to soak up the cul-chah and whatnot. And by cul-chah I mean CHOWDAH. WOO! Oh, I cannot WAIT.

I am not even lying when I say that approximately HALFISH of my excitement about visiting BR's family is food-related (the rest is DRINK-related). Chowdah! Lobstah rolls! Clam strips! Sam Adams! Dunkin Donuts!

Incidentally, do you know what food BR most looks forward to having when he goes home? Steak and cheese sandwiches. Which, fine, I guess, except do you know where he likes to GET his favorite steak and cheese? D'ANGELOS! What! The! Fuck! This is like saying that your favorite food on earth is a meatball sub, and that your favorite place to get it is fucking SUBWAY! It's like that episode of The Office where Michael goes to NYC and gets pizza at SBARRO! ARGG! Don't even get me started on what kind of East Coaster doesn't eat SEAFOOD. Actually, that's probably for the best. I'd be eating my chowdah at Long John Silvers or some shit.

And, to pump me up even MORE for my coastal adventure, the new season of The Deadliest Catch started last night! EEEE! Who watches this show? Oh my god, I love it SO MUCH. When they start up the theme song (Bon Jovi's Wanted Dead or Alive), I defy you not to do a fist pump. I seriously think my dream job is to be a cook on a crab fishing boat. (Aaaand, we're back to food).

Jesus H, I am positively CHIPPER today, aren't I? Don't worry, I'll be sufficiently bitter and crabby by the time BR runs the marathon. The chowdah high is blocking my jealousy receptors at the moment (also blocked: memories of flying with a toddler). I haven't started packing yet either, which is sort of a downer. Dude. I am harshing my own buzz here.

CHOWDAH!

Mentioning These Two Topics Together Courts the Wrong Type of Googler

Well, the note scrawled on my Post-It today says "spray lube story", and don't worry, we'll get to that, but first I have to tell you that I had the shittiest morning with AD today! ARGG! She is still being a BEAST about getting dressed in the mornings (slash EVER). First, she didn't want me to unzip her pajamas (when I got the zipper partially down she screamed "NOOO!" and held it together with her hands as if I was violating her modesty in some way). So, I was like FINE, her hands are busy (being annoying), so I'll use the opportunity to put her hair in a ponytail! WRONG! She THREW OPEN her pajamas like she was onstage in Vegas and immediately snatched the elastic! She screamed when I took her diaper OFF, but she didn't want a new diaper ON, either! FUCKING GAH! Anyway, it went on like this until I finally just had to take it to brute force and dress her while she screamed and thrashed and I wanted to DIE, you guys. AND, I had to put her in a dress for like the 17th day in a row because I just could NOT deal with trying to get her in pants.

I feel like I am getting overly worked up about this, and it's obviously normal(ish?) toddler behavior, but I feel so bad about overpowering her and physically forcing her to do shit. Might means right! Now there's a life lesson! SIGH. The thing is, we have to leave the house at a certain time and I can't just wait around all day, calmly giving out options and Giving Peace a Chance and DOING THE RIGHT THING and shit! And I'm not going to wake her up early just so she has more time to torment me and gleefully plot my demise! Fuck that!

I don't know. I think this is actually an EGO issue for me, since I pride myself on being able to deal with Difficult People, and that talent does not appear to extend to The Toddler. Because they are not PEOPLE, can we all just agree on that? JESUS! I am overthinking this. The End.

On to the spray lube!

So, I bought some cosmopolitan-flavored spray lube for the bachelorette party I went to on Saturday, right? Did you know they sell cosmo-flavored spray lube at TARGET? Well, THEY DO! Anyway, I was totally in "gift mode", and when I mosied on up to the checkout counter I was all, "Oh! Can I get a gift receipt please?". You know, because I was buying A GIFT! Of SPRAY LUBE!

It wasn't until the cashier CHUCKLED that I returned to my body and remembered that I was buying SPRAY LUBE AND ONLY SPRAY LUBE. Gah! I'm sure the cashier thought I was requesting the gift receipt as some kind of Embarrassment Coping Mechanism! Not to mention the fact that returning spray lube is sort of frowned upon, or at least it should be.

Ugg. So that was like the worst moment of my life. It was a GIFT, Target cashier! YOUR LAUGHTER MOCKS ME!

And on the 356th Weekend, She Did Not Suck

So, this weekend I did stuff and stuff! Like with OTHER PEOPLE OUTSIDE MY HOME. Whoa. I'm on a crash course with SOCIAL here. Book now to get your spot on my busy calendar! The Deadliest Catch is starting again soon so that's going to make things tight.

Anyway, on Saturday I went to a bachelorette party and I STAYED UP UNTIL 2 AM, you guys! I even partook of the inadvisable Fourth Meal of Taco Bell fame! You know you've taken a turn for the worse when three taco supremes at 2 am seems like a good idea. Uff. Obviously I'll be needing like a WEEK to recover from that. Do you know that there was a time when I wouldn't even get ready to GO OUT to the bars until 11 pm? Oh god, even THINKING about that now makes me want to DIE.

Then, yesterday BR and I went to see 21, the movie about the MIT students who counted cards in Vegas. I loved it SO MUCH. I am OBSESSED with card counting now. I must learn how to do it! I want to read this dude's book and see if he explains more about how it works than they did in the movie. Seriously, this shit is right up my alley (fun fact: one of my running coping mechanisms is doing multiplication tables in my head)! I can totally DO THIS you guys! Well, except for the Nervous Tummy. Whatever, I'll be a spotter, not a big player.

Incidentally, BR thought the movie was "slow" and "boring" and "not THE FUCKING MOST AWESOME THING EVAH". Pffft. Whatever. The thing about BR's brand of smaht is that he's great with logic and mechanics and figuring shit out. But, if something requires focus or intense concentration for any length of time, or you know, CALMNESS AND/OR KEEPING YOUR SHIT TOGETHER, he's out. He's so not the big playah. You have to be an Emotional Cripple to keep the count, baby.

So, in summary:

Fourth Meal-Seriously inadvisable
Card Counting-OMFG SO AWESOME WHO IS WITH ME?

And The 200th Post Is...A RECIPE! Downer.

So, here's the deal with banana bread pudding. It's not bread pudding with bananas, it's bread pudding made with banana bread. Um, which is clearly something totally, TOTALLY different. Whatever. GET OFF MY ASS, Fussypantses.

Anyway, you can use any kind of bread you like in this recipe, and other quick breads like pumpkin, zucchini, cranberry, or lemon are really good too.

The recipe is courtesy of my favorite cookbook, How to Cook Everything by Mark Bittman.

Banana Bread Pudding

1/2-3/4 (I tend to use more like 3/4) loaf banana bread or other bread of your choice
3 cups milk
1/2 stick butter
1/2 cup sugar
2 tsp. cinnamon (or to taste)
3 eggs, beaten

Preheat oven to 350. Grease a dish (I use an 8x8). Cut up bread into cubes and place in greased dish. Heat milk, butter, sugar, and cinnamon in a saucepan just until butter melts. Pour milk mixture over bread, pushing the bread cubes down every now and again so they all get nice and saturated. Add beaten eggs and mix well (if you don't, you get little puddles of cooked egg--DISGUST). Sprinkle a little extra sugar and cinnamon over the top so you have a nice crunchy crust. Nummy. This is totally key.

Bake at 350 for 45 min-1 hour or until set. It should be a little wobbly in the center, so don't go too nuts with the cooking. Keep in the fridge.

I served up a MASSIVE portion of this for BR last night, and after he was finished he was all, "is that ALL of it?"

Um, NO, I didn't give you the whole BATCH as if that was the proper serving size, but who am I to judge if you want to eat the whole thing! (there's just a tiny square left sadly in the corner today).

Jesus. How he is not in a diabetic coma is beyond me.

Fun Fact Friday! Um, This Again Edition!

*The majority of you would like to punch the name "Isla" square in the nuts and that's cool. I was intrigued by the name at first glance, but your points about pronunciation and such are well taken. I enjoy these types of discussions and will never be the kind of person who is all secretive about name selection.

*I'm not pregnant for the love of god! Do you think I'm going to be all shady about it if and when I am? I can't be trusted with a secret of that magnitude, skimmers! DAMN!

*This is my 199th post. Coming up with post ideas is so much easier than I thought it would be.

*BR has a running shirt that says "My Kenyan Legs Are In The Shop" on the back. He thinks this is HILARIOUS.

*I went on a date with a guy once who BROUGHT A FRIEND along on the date. Without telling me first. I ended up dating the friend for over a year.

*In a fit of...something, I signed up for that Gevalia coffee service this week. Does anybody do this? What came over me? I do not know. That free carafe sure was shiny.

*I can't wait for the Sex and The City movie.

*I made Banana Bread Pudding last night. This is one of BR's favorite foods on the planet.

*I stopped reading Dooce. I realize that as a result I'll no longer have my finger on the pulse of the internets or whatever, but it got to the point where I was totally skimming, and then one day my finger was hovering over "unsubscribe", and...I just DID IT, you guys.

*BR was a professional soccer player. Many of you submitted guesses, and of those my favorite by far was Professional Boxer. Hee! You Fake Hispanic racial profilers, you! In my head his robe says "THE STEAMROLLAH".

Three Things: Basically The Same Shit as Yesterday Edition

*High-maintenance update! I'm happy with my haircut, of which I have exactly ZERO pictures at the moment. What, do you think I'm followed by fucking PAPARAZZI all the live long day? I think it's basically a variation on the whole Katie Holmes thing (slash that exact thing). Complete with mental hottie husband and world's most beautiful baby, less about two feet of height! Score! Anyway, I know this cut is like, SO YESTERDAY or whatever, and to that I say SUCK IT HIPSTERS. I spent the entirety of the 90s asking myself WWJAD? (What Would Jennifer Aniston Do?) so let me assure you this is an improvement.

*I totally could have done without that flap smoothing thing though. BAH. They had to lift the flap THREE TIMES and use a little IRON on it, and the whole thing took over twice as long as the whole original lasing procedure, AND I wasn't even offered any Valium, not that it would have helped anyway. So, in the interest of full disclosure, fuck that shit. Although I am seeing 20/30 this morning, so there's that. Still, I would avoid wrinkling your flap, if at all possible. Um, we're still talking about eyes, right? Okay. Moving on.

*While I was waiting for my haircut, I happened upon an interview in some magazine featuring Isla Fisher, who is...somebody we are all supposed to care deeply about or something. I don't know. I wasn't really bringing my reading comprehension A game due to eavesdropping on the crazy ass mofos who work in the salon biz (not MY stylist of course, he is a perfectly nice flaming gay man, just as the good lord intended hairstylists to be). Anyway, the point here is: what do you guys think of the name Isla (pronounced EES-lah) as a Fake Hispanic girl's name? Tell the truth now. I'll tell you what I think after the results are in.

Three Things: High Maintenance Edition

*I have a haircut appointment in, oh, 4 HOURS, and I have...no plan whatsoever. Seriously. No. Plan. It's been over a year since my last haircut. Am I the only one who goes in and tells the stylist to just "do whatever you think! I don't know, just give me whatever the kids are into these days"? I've been doing this for YEARS, and I've never had a horrifying cut. Then again, I'm not fussy about hair (REALLY Tessie? YOU?), and my hair grows quickly, but still. I'm getting the sense that this is a Unique and possibly Insane tactic based on the reaction of my coworkers (all accountants, so control for that factor, obv). The last time I told my stylist to do "whatever" I got this, which I liked a lot (although in a shocking turn of events I can't be trusted with upkeep of highlights):

Bonus cameo of HUGE hunk of meat! Sorry meat-avoiders! Although I'll have you know that's a $75 Chateaubriand, right there. Talk about Good Eats.

So, do you guys go in with an artist's rendering and step-by-step directions, or WHAT? And if so, there's still time to email me the document!

*I also happen to be sitting on a $200 spa gift card that I've had for about 6 months now. Unless you are a total skimmer, you may have deduced that I am not really the target demographic for $200 spa gift cards. A $200 gift card to the local liquor store with attached Chicken and Waffle House is more my speed. Nonetheless, I feel I must come up with something here. I'm thinking pedicure(s)? I've never had a massage either, but I was thinking that I could get a whole SUMMER's worth of pedicures for $200, whereas as at this particular spa $200 is only worth about two massages. Anyway, I'm talking out of my ass here, so the point is: what do you recommend? Besides a tall glass of STFU, SPOILED BITCH? (Also: the first person to use the word "pamper" is BANNED. I cannot STAND that word. It makes me think of BUTTS)

*AND, I'm getting my wrinkly flap smoothed this afternoon! JESUS! This is the most high-maintenance day OF MY LIFE! First lasik, then spa services administered by professionals, and a haircut too! What is next, permanent eyeliner? FACE LIFT? It's like goddamned Dr. 90210 over here! Apologies to all of the REGULAR FOLKS reading. We'll be back to ignoring our appearance and general well-being shortly.

Was Blind But Now I See

Well, it looks like BR will have to return the various braille reading material he's been squirreling away, because we are not blind, internets! We were both successfully lased! Well, so far so good anyway. If you ask BR, we could still totally take a turn for the worse and end up blind/crippled/dead as a doornail. In fact, when we both finally die in our sleep of old age, it's likely he'll find some way to blame the lasah (BR, circa 2072: "I knew it!"). But I digress! I was supposed to be meticulously documenting and shit for you guys! (bonus digression: could there be anyone less suited for meticulous documentation? If you are using this blog for...informational purposes, I deeply apologize)(suggested uses: schadenfreude, feeling superior re: parenting, marriage, grooming, and geographic location)

Anyway! Back to the action! Our surgery was at 11:00 am on Friday. We arrived with my MIL in tow, and BR immediately began sending mass texts to everyone in his address book in order to "say his goodbyes". I was ignoring so hard that I failed to recognize the upgrade in potential complications from "blindness" to "death". Jesus. The text recipients probably thought he was lying in a ditch somewhere instead of kicking back in a cushy armchair leafing through Sports Illustrated.

Eventually, they brought us back and gave us each a series of numbing drops in both eyes. After those had taken effect, they MARKED our eyes with some kind of EYE PEN, you guys! Like, they WROTE ON OUR EYES. Awesome. At that point, predictably, BR was starting to get squirrelly, and so it was time for a Valium! Score! They gave us each one, and I have to say I was sorely disappointed with the whole Valium Experience. I don't know if it's my fine genetic heritage of substance abuse, or what, but even after about 30 minutes, I felt...not much. When I got up, I felt the slightest bit weird in the legs, and that was IT. BAH. Damn you, off-the-charts drug and alcohol tolerance! Foiled again! BR was, uh, slightly more affected, but that's a story for another paragraph.

BR went under the lasah first, so as soon as his Valium kicked in, they brought him back to the lasah room and I sat outside to watch. They put his eye under the lasah and a picture of it came up on a huge flat-screen TV in the viewing room, so I had an awesome view of the whole procedure. I wish they would have allowed pictures because it was really pretty cool. Anyway, I could tell the Valium was really working on BR because they didn't have to strap him in or hold him down or shoot him once in each leg or ANYTHING, which was a goddamned miracle of pharaceutical science. You could tell the nurses were even surprised. Heh.

The first thing they did was to clamp his eyelids wide open with a metal speculum-looking deal, which looked like it would hurt, but didn't. Then, they put a metal ring down onto the eyeball and sort of suctioned it up a little bit, to pull the eye taut and keep it still while they did the lasing. In my opinion, this was the only uncomfortable part of the whole surgery. There was pressure, and it just felt WEIRD. Um, since they're suctioning your eyeball and all.

Once the eye was in place, they cut around the metal ring to make the "flap". During the cutting, neither of us felt anything or saw anything (you just look at a little red light the whole time). After the flap was made, they flipped it up, and that's when we lost our sight briefly (everything went fuzzy and then black). Then it was time for the lasah! The actual lasing only took about 20 or 30 seconds. We both definitely heard it, and we could smell it a little, although I wouldn't describe the smell as BURNING FLESH THE HORROR OMG or anything. It was more like singed hair, or a bad firewood smell or something.

After the lasing, they flipped the flap back down (we could both see again right away), and then they sort of flattened it out with a little paintbrush-type thing, and that was it! On to the next eye! Watching it onscreen, everything looked like plastic. I mean, there's no blood or anything so it's not really GROSS to watch. I wouldn't have wanted BR to watch first, but if you're not a fussy fretter slash overthinker slash TOTAL SPAZ, it's pretty cool.

Anyway, next it was my turn, and blah blah blah lather lase repeat. Since BR miraculously held his shit together and didn't pee himself or anything, I didn't even get any bonus Most Favored Patient treatment. *POUT*. After we were both through, they took a quick look at our eyes to make sure the surgery took or whatever, put in some antibiotic drops, and then we were on our way.

I have to say I was surprised with how well we could see right away. I guess I was thinking it would be totally foggy, or we wouldn't be able to see AT ALL, but we could both see pretty well immediately after the surgery. We probably could have driven ourselves home, if we HAD to. Well, except for the whole Valium thing. Speaking of which, BR + Valium = TRULUV4EVAH! GOD. We went through the Wendy's drive-thru on the way home, and he was all loopy and mental, whispering from the passenger seat asking if they had M&Ms for the frosties and how many were they going to put in there and fucking GAH. Since by this point I was feeling exactly NOTHING, it was like trying to drag home your drunk and obnoxious buddy from the bar. Good times. What was the DEAL with that? Was it psychosomatic or what? Because last time I checked, BR weighs TWICE what I do, and we had the same dose! What a fucking lightweight! I think it's high time I challenged him to a game of Valium Pong for all the marbles!

As long as this post is fucking LONG AS HELL anyway, I might as well tell you that this reminds me of the time in college when our accounting class went on a field trip to a company that made those "drunk goggles" that they use for education and training and such (the ones that distort your vision and simulate intoxication). Anyway, we were all trying them on and getting a laugh as people fell over and crashed into chairs and such, and then I put them on and PERFECTLY WALKED A STRAIGHT LINE. Man, if "impervious to intoxicants" turns out to be my One True Talent, I am going to be SO PISSED.

In conclusion to the LONGEST POST KNOWN TO MAN, we went home and slept for a few hours (BR fell asleep in the car holding the coveted frosty), and when we woke up later Friday night we could both see pretty well. On Saturday morning we went in for a check-up and BR was already seeing 20/20, that fretting bastard. I was seeing 20/40 (my vision was much worse to begin with), and they expect me to be seeing 20/20 within the next couple of weeks. The only minor complication in my case was that I have a small wrinkle in my "flap", which they are going to smooth out tomorrow (just involves numbing drops and lifting the flap, no lasing).

Overall, I think we were both pretty happy with the procedure, although I'm still not seeing quite as well yet as I would be with my glasses so I'll withhold judgement until I get to that point. There really was no pain, or even really any eye irritation, which I was totally expecting. Of course, we did sleep for the first several hours after the procedure so that's probably the window when you would feel it, if at all. We're both still seeing "halos" or fuzziness around lights at night, but that is expected to get better with time, and honestly even if it doesn't, I don't think it's that big of a deal.

Executive Summary Skimmers!

Lasing: Recommended! If BR can do it, anyone can, people.
Valium: Eh.
Valium if you tend towards Giant Pussy: Two thumbs and an M&M frosty way up!
Incessant Fretting and Worst-Case-Scenarioing: Still makes me want to lase BR's head clean off.
Chances of Cease and Desist on Fretting: ZERO

Lasah Eve!

So, tomorrow we go under the lasah! Aren't you all so glad that I meticulously document my impulse-purchased and largely unresearched medical decisions on the internet? Man, the defense attorney is going to SALIVATE over this blog when preparing for our blindness lawsuit.

On Monday we had our pre-op appointments, which consisted of measuring our eyes and also putting in numbing drops so that someone could TOUCH OUR EYEBALLS with a little pen thingee, like right there in the CENTER you guys! It was AWESOME. Then they dilated our pupils (how does a DROP do this? Total mystery, mostly because I didn't ask) which is important to check the whatsiwhat and so on and so forth (also: to see into our SOULS). Anyway, the main take-away here is that BR IS A GIANT PUSSY.

During the whole numbing drops/touching the eyeballs debacle, they actually had to have two people HOLD HIS HEAD while a third sucker pried his eyelids open and did the pen thing (fun fact: this measures the thickness of the cornea, I guess? No word on whether our corneas are Skinny or Fat).

They actually MARKED HIS FILE with some kind of "patient from hell" code or similar (Notes: patient appears to be requesting eye surgery not involving any "icky eye-touching". Diagnosis: Giant Pussy. Prognosis: Good Luck With That).

GOD. So embarrassing. The good news is that he's going first tomorrow, so I will totally be a Model Patient in comparison. They'll probably lase some off my nose or my ass or something, free of charge, just as a thanks for being so awesome.

How Sad Is It That I Have to Assure You This Is NOT an April Fool's Joke?

One of my favorite bloggers and commenters is Emily of Captain Hambone. Her blog is hilarious and smart and I was lurking there long before I had a blog of my own and you should all commence adding it to your RSS Feed Readers immediately. Is that clear?

Anyway, Emily has a post up right now that I knew she was going to write. I saw it in my Google Reader this morning and I immediately felt a nervous feeling in my tummy (you know the one I'm talking about). I avoided the post all day. By early afternoon, it was the only post hanging out in my "daily reads/comment" folder. Updated: 1.

I was avoiding the post because I knew it was about Emily's friends and their 16-month-old baby, who recently went through the removal of a baseball-sized cancerous tumor from her tiny, sweet head. The family has had to relocate across the country, while still paying their bills at home, and has no income to speak of while their baby is being treated. They are struggling just trying to be with their baby for the remainder of her life, whether that be 60 days or (PLEASE GOD) 60 years.

I knew that would be hard to read. But then, I got to the part where Emily wonders if the entire reason for her blog, and the reason she's met and connected with so many people just through doing something she enjoys, was so that she could one day use those connections to help this family. And I felt so uplifted by that comment. I'm so glad I read that post, so I could realize that there are people like Emily out there, trying to help by just doing any small thing they can, and hoping those small things add up to Big Things.

Listen, I can't help but notice that many of us are overwhelmed, or in funks, or just feeling shitty for one reason or another right now. If you're feeling that way today, why not go on over and see what Emily's doing? I know your boss is an ass, and some dickhead cut you off in traffic today, and somebody hit your car and didn't leave a note, but there ARE lots of good people out there, and some of them read this blog. Actually, LOTS of them do, and that's why I know I can count on you guys to help this family.

And as an incentive, I will offer up my most valuable commodity: BITCHING. If you decide to donate to help baby Emily (any amount helps), send me an email and I'll send you an EXCLUSIVE, NEVER-PUBLISHED work-related post. The theme is DIVERSITY DAY people. For the love of god, you don't want to miss that.

Even if you don't decide to donate, I hope you'll help baby Emily out with your positive thoughts and/or prayers if that's how you roll. You guys are awesome.

(Diversity Day!)

GAH!

Holy SHIT I am behind on stuff, you guys. When I fail to blog and even to READ BLOGS (200 unread posts AND COUNTING!), you know it's bad.

Things that have totally harshed my buzz in the last week:

*AD's plague. She's feeling much better now, but thanks to our friend the Fever-Free-for-24-Hours Rule, I had to stay home with her two days last week when I was ALSO supposed to be out of the office for Dork Conventions. Several of you asked whether AD is the sweet, cuddly kind of sick kid, and I would like to punch you all in the face, skimmers. Okay, fine, not YOU. But SOMEBODY.

*Dork Conventions. I did make it to Friday's Dork Convention (CPA Conference), which featured a speech on the topic of "Economic Outlook for 2008". UHH. That was CHEERY. I hope none of you were planning on selling a home/buying a home/selling investments/buying gas/relying on the US banking system anytime this year. JESUS. The speaker's opinion was that this will be the worst recession since the 80s. So that's awesome. The good news is that Texas, in the words of this economist, "may choose not to participate" in the recession. Heh. That is just like you, Texas. Well, this time I approve. BEST OF LUCK TO THE REST OF YOU.

*Mothah in Law. BR's mom is staying with us for about two weeks before we all travel to Boston together for the marathon (and so we can get lasahed). I know what you THINK I'm going to say here, you crabby fuckers, but this is actually wicked awesome. She's a nice, low maintenance kind of mother-in-law and also AVAILABLE TO WATCH OUR KID. This is a totally new experience for us, since we don't have any family within 1000 miles and therefore typically have to watch our OWN kid, which I think we can all agree is so, so lame. Also, observing the life of my mother-in-law, who is retired from working at the welfare office for 20 years (GAH!), is sort of encouraging. She doesn't do JACK SHIT and it is AWESOME. She drinks coffee, and smokes, and watches bad tv, and reads cooking magazines, and sits around outside. Now, my mother-in-law has raised FOUR loud and insane children, so if she can achieve this kind of life, SO CAN I. It will be mine. OH YES. IT WILL BE MINE.