I swear this is linear

I have got the world's worst headache right now, and there is nothing here that I can take because I cannot take ibuprofen or aspirin or naproxen blah blah because they are all ulcerative. I am only allowed to take Tylenol, forever and ever amen except I HAVE NO TYLENOL. So instead I am suffering with a poundy, achy head.

Why am I only allowed to take Tylenol? Oh, that's because I am having The Surgery on July 9th. Which is like...1 week + 2 weekends away. So I'm in my pre-op phase which kind of sucks because of the no ibuprofen/super restricted and mostly liquid diet aspect, but at the same time is kind of awesome because my god, FINALLY, it's almost here.

Of course, the protein drink I am drinking right this very second is a wacky ass green which looks like Listerine but tastes like both apple and melon. Admit it, YOU ARE JEALOUS of me and my liquid lunch.

In other news, my husband is officially sterile, which means that I am officially never taking another birth control pill in my life. Hooray! Now I will only have 10 pills a day to take instead of 11! And also, maybe I will get my normal moods and libido back because those fucking pills were killing both of those things. La la la, TMI, I know. Whatever.

Also, my friend used his considerable charm to convince me to join him on the Logistics Committe for the American Heart Walk here in San Diego, and so now I am The Parking Czar. Which basically means I get to spend 7 hours (some of them VERY EARLY IN THE MORNING) corraling people, herding them onto buses and yelling at the parking attendants we are hiring. Oh, and also being one of those crazy ass people with the radio on her head and the clipboard on her hip who runs around being bossy.

And then I shall collapse in exhaustion, and swear to never do it again. Until next year, of course.

Apparently, people are starting to panic about me not being here for a few weeks (because surgery=disability, baby). It's flattering and all but come ON people, do you really think I'll just leave you high and dry? I mean, I did that one time when I fell down and broke my wrist but that was UNPLANNED. As opposed to this, which is PLANNED. I was complaining about these whiny butt people to one of my coworkers and she said "Don't let them make you feel guilty."

I told her I don't feel guilty, I feel annoyed. Big surprise there, huh?

Other things that are annoying me:
-The baby shower I have to go to this weekend.
-The blanket I have not yet finished, which is a gift for the baby shower.
-My friends going to the movies without me tonight.
-The stupid bridal shop telling me that my awesome bridesmaid's dres (in Truffle!) won't get here until 2 days before I leave for Measi's wedding.
-This stupid headache. But you already knew that.

Apparently, I left my happy pants at home today. Oops.

A little bit of something, a whole lot of nothing

We went camping this weekend, sprained ankle be damned. But I'm glad we did, because nothing will make a person appreciate their tiny ghetto apartment more than having to hike to the bathroom combined with a complete inability to get clean because of the sheer amount of dirt that is involved in camping. Oh, and s'mores are infinitely better when made with dark chocolate instead of milk chocolate.

Only we would make the highlight of a camping trip a drive down the mountain to go to Julian for lunch. And also pie. Because it's like...a rule or something that if you go to Julian you have to have pie. Apple-boysenberry crumb for me, apple-cherry for Kevin, eaten while surrounded by weekend warriors whose motorcycles lined the streets, glinting in the sun in direct opposition to the Old West feel of the town.

We hadn't been back to Julian since we got married, which was ages ago (ages and AGES). I'm glad it got so hot on Saturday that we had to get into the car and drive around in the air conditioning to cool off, because I will miss Julian apple pie in a few weeks. Only for a little while though.

There are roughly a million things I should be doing right now, and I really have no idea how I'm going to get it all done. It's times like this when I realize that I really need wife. And also a secretary.

In which I ask you once again to open both your hearts and wallets

As you probably already know, in 2004 and 2005 I walked in the Breast Cancer 3-Day here in San Diego. You would think that twice would be enough for me, but it has proven to be addictive!

This fall, I am once again going to be walking (or limping, if need be!) 60 miles over the course of three days, for a cause that is both devoted to helping women discover breast cancer early enough to beat it and committed to finally finding a cure. As a condition of participation, I must raise at least $2,200. Proceeds benefit Susan G. Komen for the Cure and the National Philanthropic Trust Breast Cancer Fund. Since I can't think of a better group to raise money for, I'm setting my own personal goal above and beyond that $2200 and am hoping to raise $5000 this year.

So, yes, this is a plea for your emotional and financial support. A dollar for every mile that I'll be walking would be wonderful. I thank you in advance for whatever you can give.

Just click RIGHT HERE to go to my personal fundraising webpage and donate online. This certainly promises to once again be an unforgettable challenge, and it's already been kicked off well (thanks Lisa-Marie!!).

RICE, RICE Baby

Tonght I took my Little Sister out for dinner, at that very fancy restaurant whose initials are JITB. Good old Jack is the biggest corporate sponsor of Big Broters/Big Sisters, and they give all new pairs of Bigs/Littles (because that is what we are called now, Bigs and Littles) these little coupons for free food so we can hang out and get to know each other.

(And let me tell you, that little girl can put it away. She straight ordered an Ultimate Cheeseburger and ate pretty much all of it. I think she's about to have a growth spurt or something.)

Anyway, after dinner we decided to walk over to the grocery store and see if they had any cool nail polish colors for us to stock up on for future nail poilishing adventures. And I was not paying attention to where I was walking and....oh, you can guess what happened next.

Yep. Stepped in a pothole and fell. AGAIN. Scared the daylights out of my Little Sister, too. Didn't break anything this time, at lest, but I seem to have sprined the heck out of my right ankle.

The ankle which happens to have been my GOOD ankle. Because my left ankle, the one I broke 5 years ago? It has been bothering me off and on over the past couple months.

Luckily for me (and my ankle) I've been through this often enough that I was able to come straight home, dose myself with some Aleve, and kick back in the recliner with my foot up and covered in ice, followed by digging out my ankle brace and putting it on. I am a total RICE Protocol Expert. I'm a good person to have around when you hurt yourself, because I have had to take care of my own self so many damn times.

But hey, at least I didn't break my wrist again, right?

Right.

Case Study #32957061

I have a very funny story to tell tonight, my lovelies. And it's nice and long,so enjoy it.

I've been jumping through a Byzantine maze of hoops trying to get all my ducks in a row for the surgery, and one of the things I had to do was go and be evaluated by a psychologist. A little chit chat, a couple personality assesment, nothing too big. So my surgeon gives me a referral to this guy we'll call Dr. D because his last name starts with a D and and I am not creative enough to come up with something else.

First of all, the dude is the same age as me. THE SAME AGE. Second of all, fucker makes $325 an hour doing this stuff. (And yes, I am now really starting to regret giving up on the whole being a psychologist thing.) So I went in there one afternoon after work, after having fought my way through traffic and trying desperately not to get lost. And I discovered that Dr. D's office was inexplicably in a pediatrics office. Seriously. It was very strange, sitting there waitig for a shrink in an office full of small, ill children and a bunch of toys. It was even stranger to find that this guy, this doctor who performs enough bariatric pre-surgical evaluations to be referred by my surgeon, had tiny chairs WITH ARMS that my ass would barely fit into. And you know, I have a big ass, but in the world of bariatric patients, my ass is on the small end. So if I had a hard time with it, I cannot imagine how other patients fit in there.

Anyway, Dr. D and I had a nice long conversation and he was enthusiastic about me being perfectly okay for the surgery. In fact, his exact words were "I see no problems here." So he shuffled me off to another room so I could sit and complete my required personality assessments, one of which was the MMPI. Now, I have a BA in psych and some master's work in education; not only have I seen the MMPI more than once, I've even taken it a couple times. And I was wondering what part I'd score high on this time; I had my money on anxiety, what with my worries about my ass getting out of the chair and all.

Fast forward a couple weeks to this past Monday. Dr. D calls to discuss my test results. And the conversation went something like this:

"Yeah, I got your results and they were valid but I wanted to clarify a few things with you before I write my report."
"Okay, what's up?"
"Well, you answered true to this question: 'I sometimes want to do harmful or shocking things.' Um, could you explain that?"
"It's mostly the shocking things. My friends and I are kind of exhibitionistic and we do goofy, shocking things around each other."
"Okay, well how about 'I am afraid of losing my mind'? Could you tell me about the situation that made you feel that way?"
"There wasn't a situation, that's just one of my general fears. Like, I'm afraid of being homeless. I'm afraid of dying. I'm afraid of losing my mind."
"Oh, well that makes sense. But see here's the thing. Your test score came back with a really high score in the anti-social section. Like, REALLY high."
"Anti-social? Really?"
"Yeah, it was so high that I sent it back and asked them to rescore it because it just didn't jive with what I've seen from you so far."

Commence laughing, because apparently I scored high enough that on paper, I am the next Unabomber. Or as I told the lovely Suzanna Danna, my profile should now say I am a Unabomber trying to get skinnier so as to fit into a smaller shack. So yes, my MMPI score indicates an inability to have a steady job (wrong), limited social circle (wrong), limited education (wrong) and lack of close relationships (wrong). In light of the 5 years I've had with my current company, the almost five years I've been with my husband, my rather large social circle and my current volunteering activities, my actual life is a direct contradiction to my MMPI results. And it kind of broke Dr. D's brain.

I think that maybe, just maybe, Dr. D should write me up as a case study about how the MMPI can be totally, completely wrong. He could totally get famous for it I think.

Oh, and for the record, his report was totally favorable. We're at all systems go for the surgery.