The Big Fucking Sigh Of Relief

The breast lump is NOT CANCER.

I REPEAT: NOT. CANCER.

Still waiting on results from the uterine thing, but on the day of the surgery my mom's doctor was all, "Pfft. Is nothing. Is FINE." So I'm thinking we're okay there too.

There is still entirely Too Much Fucking Cancer out there, but for now, it's gotten the hell off my lawn. And for that, I am extremely happy.

Thank you so much, sweet Internet people, for your thoughts and prayers and crossed appendages during this scary time for us. I believe with all my heart that it made all the difference in the world.

Yay!

The Blog Equivalent to Tapping My Foot Impatiently While Glaring at the Phone

Two lessons I have learned about myself this week:

1) I do not function well while waiting for family members' biopsy results.

2) I not function well at all no sleep baby crying every night what is his problem oh my GOD.

Actually, I know what his problem is. Or what his problems is. Are. Whatever.

1) Friday night: Thunderstorm. Stupid nature.

2) Saturday night: Strange Pack-n-Play in strange room in strange house and AAAAHHHHH GOING TO DIE HATE IT HERE HATE YOU HATE LIFE DON'T YOU DARE MAKE ME SLEEP IN THAT THING I KNOW IT'S REALLY A HAMPER AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH.

3) Sunday night: Is the new Saturday night.

4) Monday night: Back home, just when he was starting to really LIKE that damn Pack-n-Play.

5) Tuesday night: Um. Teeth? Heat rash? Ear infection? Typhoid? Air? Existance? Payback for all the yakking I've done recently about his amazingly predictable sleep habits?

(DING DING DING. We have a winner, Bob.)

(OH MY GOD. WHY DON'T WE HAVE BIOPSY RESULTS YET? IT HAS BEEN WEDNESDAY FOR HOURS NOW.)

Anyway, I am feeling very listy today, which is fortunate because I have apparently been tagged for some sort of...listy thing. I don't know. No one ever tags me for memes, or they tag me and don't tell me and then send me a nasty email a week later about how I am a snob because I didn't do their meme and what, I think that makes me better than them? I think that makes me special or something?

(You think I am kidding about that? Because: no.)

But when someone in a karate outfit tags you for a meme, you do their meme. Am just saying.

SIX WEIRD THINGS ABOUT AMY THAT HITHERTO HAVE NOT BEEN COVERED ON THIS BLOG, WHICH REALLY NARROWS THE FIELD:

1) I had a fairly massive panic attack on the Las Vegas strip while watching the "volcano" "erupt" at The Mirage. For those of you who have never been to Vegas, I would like to point out that the "volcano" is a big lump of fake rock and the "eruption" is a series of blinking red lights and some fountains. And some fire. And smoke. And then the ground kind of shakes and oh my God, I don't want to talk about it anymore.

2) I have spina bifida occulta. I am missing part of a vertebra in my lower back. I found out in the seventh grade when my back was x-rayed for scoliosis. I never would have known otherwise, because I have no symptoms whatsoever. However, after finding out I was immediately stricken with a host of complaints and phantom back pains, all of which prevented me from participating in gym class, especially dodgeball, and man, what a fucking shame that was.

3) I have the auditory equivalent of a photographic memory. I remember everything I hear, like a tape recorder. Mostly this means I can recite entire chunks of dialogue from bad 80s movies and drive people crazy by quoting Simpsons episodes. Also, if you tell me something but later try to claim that you told me something different, I will know. And I will do that Monty Python Man With A Tape Recorder Up His Nose bit and recite word-for-word what you told me, possibly with my finger up my nose because I think it's funny.

4) I can't snap my fingers. Or roll my Rs. And I can only whistle one note, sort of.

5) I can, however, get my big toe in my mouth.

6) I am extremely extroverted, but will sometimes overcompensate for nervousness at parties by busting out my double-jointed fingers or (thanks to Weird Thing #3) reciting the entire superfast "suck it in suck it in suck it in if you're Rin Tin Tin or Anne Boleyn" verse of Hook by Blues Traveler, which was actually a pretty damn cool party trick back in 1994 or whenever the song came out and people cared, except that I'm thinking now that nobody really cared, they were just drunk.

Now is the part of the meme where I am supposed to tag six other people. And man, this is hard, because what if I tag people and they're all, FUCK MEMES. I AM TOO GOOD FOR MEMES. MEMES ARE FOR THE WEAK. And then I will feel silly because they think my website is obnoxious and stupid.

But! It means I get to type one! Last! List!

PEOPLE I AM NOW TAGGING, WHO ARE FREE TO IGNORE ME COMPLETELY BUT WHO I ALSO SENSE HAVE A LOT MORE THAN SIX WEIRD THINGS TO WRITE ABOUT:

1) Nothing But Bonfires
2) Sarcomical
3) Frema
4) Wacky Mommy
5) honestyrain
6) Yvonne, because she can't make fun of me, because that's another rule of Meat Club that I just now invented.

Can roll his Rs. And get his toes in his mouth. Said "dada" this weekend while reaching for Jason. Is now dead to me.

(FYI, NOAH: DADA IS THE ONE WHO VOTED TO PUT YOU IN THE POT. SO THERE.)

khfkshyl! and also zzzzzzxyiaf

We're home after a super-extra-exhaustifying weekend in Pennsylvania. My mom is doing extremely well, considering.

We'll get biopsy results on Wednesday. Then we shall all breathe a big fat collective sigh of relief, because I think everything is going to be FINE.

(YOU HEAR THAT UNIVERSE? FINE. FIIIIINE. HOP TO IT.)

Right now, I must go sleep for a few dozen hundred hours, because the child, the gorgeous golden child light of our lives, did not sleep all weekend. AT ALL. NO SLEEP. He screamed instead. He screamed for so many hours that Jason and I were sent back in time to those horrific first days home with a newborn when we sang lullabies with the words baby baby baby why won't you fucking sleep already and then we walked into walls during the day in desperate hope of knocking ourselves into a nice blissful coma.

Also: Do not permit your in-laws to buy your child this toy. DO. NOT. Walls will not be enough. You will soon contemplate sticking the silverware into your ears.

Anyway. We're home. We're tired. But...honestly...

Even when it's bad, it's never that bad, you know?

Avant Bloggarde

OR, THE MOST RANDOM BUNCH OF CRAP EVER THROWN TOGETHER FOR THE SAKE OF UPDATING AND KEEPING MY MIND OFF MY MOM'S SURGERY TODAY, INCLUDING TRANSITIONS FROM AN IMPROMPTU EMAIL SHOUTING MATCH YVONNE AND I HAD YESTERDAY REGARDING THE NAMING OF VARIOUS MEAT PRODUCTS

I am out of clean clothes. OUT. My dry-cleaning pile is large and fierce and has taken over the floor of my bedroom AND the Pack-N-Play, which honestly I'm finding more useful as a hamper than I ever did as a bassinet, and I'm frankly a little scared to disturb the pile because I think the proteins from the spit-up stains sparked with some static electricity and created life -- life that has just entered the Industrial Age and invented a cotton gin. Also: spiders.

I am not kidding about the pile.

Just one of the many things I trust our babysitter not to reveal to the Internet regarding the way we live, like the fact that we have no toilet paper roll dispenser.

To: Yvonne
From: Amy

HAM. I love that word. It just makes laugh.

HAMMY!

To: Amy
From: Yvonne

HAM. 

Pork. Sausage. Beef.

Come to think of it, I think all meat related terms are funny.

And now, I present what may be the worst photo of Noah ever taken.

I am posting it because the child has decided that TWO teeth are a good idea. I am very mad at him about this.

The first tooth kind of snuck up on us all, and really wasn't too big of a deal at all (one morning: hello tooth nub! welcome to the mouth! take a dip in the slobber pool and stay awhile!), and I was confident in my Smug Assholeness that once again, I don't know WHAT some people are complaining about, these baby things just raise themselves!

The second tooth is bad. The second tooth is evil. The second tooth will destroy us all.

The first tooth. The second tooth cannot be photographed, much like a vampire's fang.

To: Yvonne
From: Amy

BACON

To: Amy
From: Yvonne

WEINERS

Look at how pretty and artistic! It's really amazing what you can accomplish when you still have NO FUCKING CLUE HOW TO OPERATE YOUR GODDAMNED CAMERA.

To: Yvonne
From: Amy

POTTED MEAT PRODUCT

To: Amy
From: Yvonne

CHOPPED LIVER

To: Yvonne
From: Amy

HEADCHEESE

And now, a pimping interlude...

Y'all would not believe the amount of email I get from various companies asking me to plug their goods and services on my site. And I don't think they really read my site because otherwise they MUST know that a She's the Man poster giveaway is probably not something I can seamlessly weave into an entry about sofa poop.

I'm usually too chicken to email these people back to kindly request that they BUY A DAMN AD, because while my content is about 99% not for sale, my sidebar 100% is.

But! Today I am going to pimp a few things.

My buddy Brandon has asked for our help with a survey he's conducting for a new business venture, because (as he put it) you minions are his target demo. Go please click here and take a short survey for him.

NOW. MEAN IT. This entry isn't going anywhere.

To: Amy
From: Yvonne

CARNE ASADA

To: Yvonne
From: Amy

BEEF FUCKING BRISKET

Next up is my fellow Snarkywood contributer Jen and her new book: Bitter is the New Black. She sent me a copy because her heart is not actually made of jelus-Olsen-twin-hating tar. Or maybe it is, but she's just nice occasionally. Anyway, the book is hilarious and you should all buy it.

NOW! AM BOSSY!

To: Amy
From: Yvonne

*wonders if our competitive nature is taking over*

CHITTERLINGS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

To: Yvonne
From: Amy

BRRRRAAAAAAAINNNNNNNSSSSSS

*and also yeah, I think so*

And lastly, reader Amy and her line of fleece clothing at peanutpie.net. Amy actually did do the nice thing and bought an ad, and then introduced herself and offered to send Noah some clothes. And while I am usually kind of horrified to have any interaction with my advertisers because I feel badly about taking their money for SIDEBAR PIXELS, how could I resist free baby clothes?

Especially free baby clothes that look like this:

Look out behind you, Noah! Mama's baring her scary teeth in preparation of eating you whole!

Lord have mercy, people, is this stuff ever cute. And available right here! HOW ABOUT THAT.

To: Amy
From: Yvonne

HAHA. I'M LAUGHING SO HARD, BUT ALSO VERY SERIOUS because VICTORY WILL BE MINE...

OMG. TURKAAAAAAAYYYY.

To: Yvonne
From: Amy

I HAVE TO GO PICK UP MY CHILD.

AND YET.

TURDUCKEN.

Would anybody like to see a blurry picture of my cat?

You are welcome. Poor Max deserved some airtime, I think.

At one time, I would have spent 20 minutes trying to get him to look at the camera and snap the perfect shot. Now I don't even bother fully charging up the flash.

To: Amy
From: Yvonne

You leave, I WIN!

MUTTON.

To: Yvonne
From: Amy

LAMB CHOPS.

ALSO, THERE ARE NO WINNERS IN MEAT CLUB, BECAUSE I AM POSTING THIS WHEN I GET HOME.

This Entry Mentions Vaccines and Chickenpox but Not Daycare

Fear not, gentle readers, as I now have chickenpox antibodies COURSING through my veins.  Noah's pediatrician also talked me into a pertussis/diphtheria/tetanus upgrade, although I did say no to the meningococcal undercoating and a LoJack.

I am pleased to report that I handled my shots like a champ, unlike SOME PEOPLE, who honestly can be such babies about a couple of needle sticks, GOD.

He also wouldn't trade his Snoopy bandaids for my Tweety ones. Brat.

Six-month stats
Weight: 17 pounds, 15 ounces
Height: 27.5 inches
Head Circumference: 18 inches
Brilliance: Obvious
Pediatrician's Awareness of this Blog: Oh, crap

The Other Very Important Things I Do With My Time

From my company's employee newsletter, April 1, 2006 edition:

Haaaaa. I'm so funny. Geese! Paparazzi geese! Brilliant!

(The type of brilliance that only comes from a board room committee meeting for discussing work-appropriate humor-related strategies and deadlines for said humor strategies and morale-boosting synergies.)

(The box. We are outside of it!)

But you know what? Those geese really are nasty little fuckers.

(This goose was NOT a fan of me OR my camera phone and totally charged after me with naked honking aggression after I snapped this picture. I would have taken another picture of the actual charging, but I was too busy SHRIEKING AND RUNNING FOR MY LIFE.)

(I fucking hate geese.)

(To be fair, they started it, way back during a second-grade field trip to Amish Country. I was just standing there with my little hands in my pockets and this punk-ass crazy-ass stupid-ass goose stuck his head through a fence and BIT MY ARM, ripped the lovely quilting on my coat from Burlington Coat Factory and BROKE SKIN, OH MY GOD. And then my teacher yelled at me to stop taunting the geese, and then I cried, because my teacher thought I was the type of girl who taunted geese, which was probably reconfirmed a decade later when I accidentally cut this same teacher off in traffic and she gave me the finger and I haven't stopped thinking about that since because I felt really bad although she was also the teacher who kind of lost it the one time my classmate lost a dollar and made us all keep our heads down on our desks all day EVEN DURING RECESS until one of us copped to stealing the dollar and then five hours later she found the dollar in the trash and never apologized but seriously, the goose totally fucking started it.)