Just call me Grumpelstiltskin.  I’m crabbier than Lindsay Lohan’s couch cushions and I can’t seem to break out of my funkagawea.  Even reading a slew of vagina-related comments this morning on yesterday’s post didn’t pull me out of my funk.

Well, that’s not exactly true.  Apparently I’m just not in a vagina mood.  When Britt introduced the term “fruit cup” I accidentally spewed green tea all over a sleeping Mildred as I guffawed.  Oops.

After Bieber’s performance on American Idol last night, my brother Thom decided to send me a link to this lovely site.  So of course I had to scroll through the whole damn thing to make sure he hadn’t sent in a picture of me.  So far, so safe.  But now I feel like I can’t randomly submit other people’s pictures for my own amusement.  That just made me crabbier.

I’m about 900% sure some of my crabbitude is in anticipation of Tuesday – when I’ll get pumped full of radioactive dye, shoved into a long metal tube, and scanned for signs of the creeping death.  Add some Rod Stewart tunes to the mix and you’ve pretty much created my own personal hell.

Today though, I’m heading out to the new house for the home inspection.  It’s a little surreal to be looking at the place I hope to live for the next ten to twenty years, while simultaneously anxiously dreading a visit with my oncologist, fearing what my immediate future holds.  It feels a little like planning a fishing vacation to New Orleans  – strange timing.

The scan will be clean.  I know it will.  But I’ll just feel much better Tuesday afternoon when Aloysius smiles and tells me I’m just fine.

As is the way of life, a friend of mine (another Lymphoma survivor) sent me this video yesterday.  On the one hand, it’s the worst possible timing.  I’m a freaking ball of nerves and the last thing I need to see is a bunch of people talking about their lost loved ones.  On the other hand, it’s the absolute best timing.  That’s me in the green flowered hat at around the three minute mark.  That’s me looking healthy and happy and triumphant.  That’s me after kicking cancer’s ass.

I did it once.  Worst case?  I can do it again.

But I won’t have to.  Because Tuesday my scan will be clean, damnit.  And I’ll have an offer on my apartment.  And the oil spill will have somehow stopped.  And John Leguizamo will be the governor of Arizona.  And cheesecake will make you lose weight.  *sigh*  A girl can dream…


  1. Hey, if my neighbors are finally moving, ANYTHING can happen, believe me. I don’t think you look like Bieber, but if I had his haircut, I think I would have immediately started growing it out, or dyed it blue or something. The whole phenomenon of Bieber look alikes is just weird.
    .-= Aunt Juicebox´s last blog ..I Never Thought I’d Say This….. =-.

    1. Sweet! I will now shower the people waiting at the bus stop with only slightly set lime jello from my window three stories up! Hazah!

    1. You SHOULD like saying that. I tried whipping that word out at my home inspection today. However, the inspector was a Rush Limbaugh fan and generally confused by me.

  2. I started tearing up at the 38 second mark, so there we go. You look lovely in your green hat. But I do think you could use a theme song for this scan. What shall it be?

    A few options, though this is in no way a comprehensive list: Indestructable by Disturbed; Enemy by Sevendust; Eye of the Tiger by Survivor (duh); Fight For Your Right by Beastie Boys; Ain’t Nothing To Fuck With by Wu Tang Clan

    Or maybe something by the Bee Gees? 🙂 Get ’em, Elly!
    .-= Andrea´s last blog .."You Don’t Know What Love Is [You Just Do As Your Told]" =-.

  3. that’s it i’m starting my clean scan dance tonight! my clean scan dance makes me look like a balloon when you when you blow it up and let it go without tying it and it flies all around crazy through the air and then crash lands as soon as it’s all pooped out.

    but that shit works and your scan will be clean! sorry, i got nothing for rod stewart: that’s one cancer that just won’t die.
    .-= patty punker´s last blog ..perfect couples bore me =-.

  4. It’s going to be clean, of course, and then you can work on replacing all the effing dye with something worth having in your blood – like alcohol.

    Now would be a good time to yell at someone who totally doesn’t deserve it, like, “OHMYGOD, STOP BREATHING IN MY FACE. YOUR HALITOSIS SMELLS LIKE VAGINOSIS, AND I’M GOING TO LOSE MY COOL!!”

    And then, later, after she’s cried for a while, you can be all, “Sorry I snapped at you. It’s just, I was sick before? And I have to go get all the stupid tests? And I’m a little nervous. You understand, right?”

    And she’ll be all, “Of course. Oh, I’m sooo sorry. It was totally my fault.” And then, she’ll give you hugs, and feel like a jerk even though it wasn’t her fault.

    Also? She’ll always think her breath is really bad and obsessively chew gum and mints, and whenever you get sad, you can look at her minty paranoia and smile at your own wickedness.

    (WTF? Sometimes, I just start writing and then stuff like this happens.)

    My point is you got this.
    .-= Sarah P´s last blog ..Attack a racist and win! =-.

  5. Holy sweet fucking hell, I haven’t laughed so hard since I read Sara P’s automatic vagina comment. The crabby couch cushions…epic. I love you so much right now. Now, hope everything is well with the scan…my mom and grandma had cancer.
    .-= mepsipax´s last blog ..Clown Car Vaginas =-.

    1. Is it inappropriate for me to drive out to South Hampton and hug you this weekend? I’m ok. I have Rocco and my lorazapam…and if either of those fall through, I’ve got three more people on standby. Well, I guess four now. Smooches.

  6. I’m coming with Ry. I can be in Jersey in two hours if I don’t stop to pee. I’ll bring liver and an assistant to demonstrate how it’s done.
    You probably need to supply the vice and the police escort that will help me understand that this type of thing is actually against the law. I think.
    You are going to steamroll Tuesday with epic Maximum Overdrive chutzpah and I, your pal, am going to applaud you.
    .-= Kelly´s last blog ..Self Absorbed Nincompoop Starts Blog and is Stunned to Find No One Cares About Her Opinion =-.

    1. If you find the right police escort, I’m pretty sure he’ll be able to double as the demonstrator of the proper way to use a hot liver in a vice.

  7. I was just loading the dishwasher when I had the idea of the century and thought, “I need to go directly to the Internet and find Elly Lou and tell her right now, because I think it’s an idea for her.”

    And then I remembered that I live in the real world and think about Internet stuff too much and should probably spend more time with actual humans.

    Anyway, the idea is … the invention of the Vulvatini.

    I would like to know how to make one. Please advise. Thank you.
    .-= Sarah P´s last blog ..Attack a racist and win! =-.

  8. Cancer should SO not fuck with you. I can come over there and help you kick its ass if you need me. I’m from Philly, too, which means I can eat some cheeseteak- I mean kick some ass..

    Hang in there, chica! (I hate Rod Stewart too except maybe the pregnant runaway teenagers one but that is IT.)

    thanks for the bday greetings! 😉
    .-= marymac´s last blog ..40something =-.

Comments are closed.