Well, I'm recovering slowly but surely. I now have a tennis ball sized bruise right in the middle of my stomach. Along with the "smiley face" caused by the crease between my top and bottom pouches, my naked front now looks like a grinning Bozo the clown. Which, while one can do nothing but sit and every so slowly and occassionally stand, is kind of amusing to look at in the mirror.

Well, I've emerged from surgery UNSCATHED, except for three holes in my stomach. Which begs the question:

How can slicing through stomach muscle I clearly don't have hurt so damn bad?

Also, welcome Erin and Dan. Tell us more about yourself and I'll give you a cool nickname!

In other news, I'm on PERCOSETS. Which just makes me feel a little woozy, but apparently allows others (i.e. Daddy Petard) to wax philosophical about how when he goes, he now wants his ashes scattered around the oak tree so he can mingle with its roots and lend it his strength and vitality.

That is seriously what he said. It was obviously the Percosets talking.

I have been beset with a weird malaise. Which makes me think of mayonnaise.

Which is beside the point.

I've had the attention and memory span of a gnat for a day or two. As evidenced by the fact I almost spelled gnat "knat."

Which makes sense in a malaisical kind of way.

Anyway, I've been bopping around in an almost dream state, missing exits, and nearly dozing off at happy hour. I'm going to the CANCUN CANTINA tonight, and I do hope I'm alert enough to enjoy it. I've so wanted to go to Dr. Y's favorite pick-up bar for so very long.

I attribute the malaise to either a.) mononucleosis or b.) fear about death inspired by my gall bladder surgery.

Six in one, you know. Half dozen in the other.

P.S. I've thought about it at length, and I'm NOT going to post a picture of the XXX Confederate flag because I don't want my blog to end up on some list of hate group sites.

P.P.S. I LOVE the Union. They're the best.

A few months ago, my neighbor's confederate flag with "She Ain't Comin' Down" embroidered on it did - indeed- come down. I thought he'd had some sort of enlightening experience that used to happen on Diffrent Strokes or Growing Pains. But no. He was making room for the new confederate flag with the silhoette of a naked chick against a backdrops of flames embroidered on it.

Yup. Naked chick. Backdrop of flames.

Today at lunch, I offered to bring 8-month-old Mudslide mix to Waldorf's party Friday night. (Apparently, Mudslide mix is an alcoholic-esque beverage that does perish, even when refridgerated.) Whereupon Waldorf grumped, "Alcohol doesn't save everything. If it did, they'd pour it on dead people." Which was funny.

Here's a picture of Waldorf for all the fans:












Waldorf is the one on the left. Mad bonus points to whoever can name the other guy WITHOUT GOOGLING.

Another Episode in the Dream Sequence

Last night, I dreamed there was a huge, gray snake by the pond where I grew up. It was a very threatening, malicious sort of snake. My father, grandfather, and I put it in a bucket of water, but it released its venom, scarring itself into an even more forminable (and slimy) serpent. So, my father, grandfather, and I tried to build it a hutch, but we couldn't find materials that fit snugly together, so I had to watch as the snake -most evil-y and without trying to hide its intentions- escaped from the hutch.

I described the dream to my father at brunch today. He said, "Well, Jean Luc, if we ever get in that situation we'll just get a hoe and whack its head off."

For some reason, I find that very reassuring.

Proof My Dreams Are Not Prophetic, Just Weird

Last night I dreamed that my Grandpa and I had magic wands, which we used to turn ourselves invisible in order to steal many, many loaves of bread to give to a soup kitchen.

I get a magic wand, and this is what I do? And the crazy part...I was trying to steal only lite, whole wheat bread.

Also, in answer to questions, I don't know who Dr. Y was marrying, but her ring was an oval, navy blue stone with a silver setting. Lov-er-ly.

Just heard that Kanye West has the lead over 50 Cent in the sales battle royale. Is this what we really want?

In other news, I had a dream last night that Dr. Y told my mom and me that she was getting ENGAGED. Watch out!

So, the Battle of North Point and Red's wedding went off without a hitch. Well, I guess there was a "gettin' hitched." But no hitch, hitch.

As for me, due to logistical conundrums, I've been off my meds for three days. Things only got hairy today, when I noticed that I'd taken to contorting my fingers next to my ear like Brad Pitt from Twelve Monkeys. I was in the Food Lion at the time. Not cool.

Well, I'm a snooflee little animal at the moment. Sinus infucktion. Makes me think "just how bad would it be if I didn't have teeth? Maybe I like applesauce and puddin'."

Plans for the weekend, of course, march forward apace. My dear friends have agreed to go to the reenactment of the Battle of North Point (yay!) tomorrow. After, we're off to Red's wedding. Hopefully, the one will have very little in common with the other.