Fresh, Hot Wastes of Time

I made the appointment. I’m having surgery on September 10 to take out the calcification or whatever it is. Technically it’s called an excision biopsy, which means that the surgeon is going to remove the whole thing and a little bit of surrounding tissue in an outpatient procedure (although I will be in an operating room in the hospital). They’re going to knock me mostly out with what he called a souped up twilight sleep, meaning that I might be a little responsive but I won’t remember anything.

Now that’s a little gruesome, isn’t it? I might be awake while they slice into my body. Even if I won’t remember it, I have to wonder if it will affect me in some subconscious way. I’ve read horror stories about people who wake up in the middle of surgery.

Biopsy is a very scary word. I’m pretty terrified, but it will be nice once it’s over with.

Hummus gives you gas. I’m just saying is all.

There was a boy (in San Antonio) named Charles whom I had an off-again, on-again crush on from second grade through middle school. I had it so bad at one point that when I answered a question in class and the teacher misunderstood me, and Charles clarified what I said referring to me as “she”, I obsessed about it for weeks. Good lord, I thought, he realizes I’m female. We are obviously destined for each other.

We took the same computer science class in sixth grade. I was one of maybe 2 or 3 girls in the class, and a little dumbstruck to be around all those boys. One day we had a homework assignment that required a calculator. Charles told the teacher that he didn’t have one. I had an extra one at home, so fighting off terminal shyness I told him to borrow mine – a credit card sized brass calculator that came in its own little brass carrying case. I think it might have even done square roots. Fancy.

Knowing that one of my belongings had gone home with him, had probably spent the night in his room, almost made me swoon. The next day just before class started he came over to me and gave me back my calculator. I was so disappointed – we had no tie, now; there was no material thing to behold him to me. As he handed me the calculator, he leaned over and whispered in my ear, his warm boy-breath making goosebumps crawl down my arms and back.

“Ghadsufbish.”

“What?”

“Smurdmofrig.”

“Oh, ok.”

To this day I have no idea what he said. It has been 22 years now, and not a month goes by that I don’t wonder. Did he ask me to a dance? Tell me that the calculator broke? Ask to copy my homework? Tell me I was beautiful? Say thanks?

My only hope is that he will do a vanity search on his name one day and see this post and answer me. He’ll know who I am – I’m the one whom Mrs. Wilson threatened to tie together with him and dangle out the window in second grade.

Well they still don’t know what the thingie is in my boob. You know what? I’m tired of worrying about it. I have a followup appointment scheduled with the surgeon on Tuesday, and I’m going to set a time then to have it removed. I don’t give a damn if it’s just a “harmless calcification (probably)”. It’s a damned lump and it bugs me and I’m tired of wondering about it every night before I go to sleep. Life’s too short to deal with this crap.

I go in for my followup mammogram today. Positive thoughts appreciated!

I’m planning on going to the Austin blogger Meetup tonight, if I don’t wear out before then. Gotta take the cat to the vet first to make sure he isn’t deaf because of earwax or something.

Here are the stats on the haircolor poll:

1.) Brown: 18 votes, 47%
2.) Blonde: 6 votes, 16%
3.) Red: 7 votes, 18%
4.) Grey: 0 votes, 0%
5.) Other: 7 votes, 18%

Interesting. I read a stat that said average on red haircolor is something like 5%.

I noticed enormous diversity in the blogs of people who have linked to me – from right-wing Christian to left-wing Pagan. It piqued my curiousity and I put a new poll up about political leanings. Please choose just one of each concept.

I’ve gained 5 pounds. I’m pretty sure it’s just a monthly thing, but still. Damn.

Tonight I drank rosewater and ate pomegranites and when the dancer twirled her gold scarf there was a breeze across my shish kebob.

We went to see Signs after dinner. I really, really enjoyed (really!) but I can see why some people didn’t. I’m going to spoil it, so if you want to read about it, highlight the blank area below –

This is not an alien invasion movie. It’s not about humans beating back another race (Independence Day), it’s not about cagey humans getting the better of the naughty aliens (Aliens), it’s not a moral about the dangers of nuclear war (The Day the Earth Stood Still), it’s not about some aliens are good and some are evil (Fifth Element), and it’s not about benevolent aliens trying to further the backwater humans (Contact). This movie is not about aliens in any way.

It is about Christian faith. Mel Gibson’s loss of faith when his wife died and subsequent reaquisition when his son doesn’t die is the sole focus of the film. It’s the cake, the substance, and all that alien stuff is just icing. It’s a beautiful story and gave me goosebumps and made me cry and pump my fist in the air when I saw him in his collar at the end.

The only problem I had with the movie was the gaping, yawning plot hole. Why would an alien intelligence mass forces and resources to invade a planet that was 70% water without first ascertaining that they are deathly vulnerable to it?

M. Night Shyamalan is a genius, as far as I’m concerned. He doesn’t shove points down your throat. You simply must find them out in the due course of events. He leaves you wondering until the time is right to reveal details. There’s no expository “once upon a time” other than a shot at the beginning establishing who the family is.

There are tons of jumps as well as some belly laughs in the movie. Just don’t go expecting “Independence Day”.