Game Face and Nails....in place

You'll be thrilled to hear, I've gotten my nails done.

As I'm headed into surgery tomorrow, I figured, be on the safe side. Get your talons tamed. Just in case I decide that while this guy is sticking sharpish objects down my throat, in a wholly threatening way, I might just grab hold of his boys, as say, some measure of control over the situation.

So I'll be heavily sedated.

I still think, even Mostly Sedated, I could rip off his berries should the moment of unbearable pain arise.

And, well, can we be candid here? I'm starting to think that perfectly groomed nails and tamed cuticles are essential in putting on my Brave Mommy Face, that I've been wearing for Foxy, and to a lesser degree, M. Cause in reality? While I'm sitting here, staring at the documents one must sign before entering into the Surgical Suite (why in hell do they give it a cutie name? there is nothing friendly whatsoever in there) I've firmly entered into my Totally Panicked I Can Keep Bleeding Out, The Ulcers Are Lovely phase. Perhaps, if I just stick, firmly to my No Alcohol, No Spicy - Nothing Fried, Heavy on the Dairy Diet, it'll fix itself. I mean, sure, we've tried that, and it didn't really work, but maybe? If we try it again? This time? It'll be okay?

And I get why M isn't here......he buried his grandad. His daughter is graduating. We didn't know I was going in tomorrow. But dammit, I wish he was here. I need him here. He's become one of my bestest friends, and I'm scared, and I wish he was here to remind me that everything will be okay, he'll be there to drive me home, put me to bed, take care of Foxy, bring me something loaded with ice cream, when I can finally eat something, and turn on crappy girl tv I like, like.......Designing Women, and Clean House, and some other completely mindless nonsense he doesn't even like. He'd play with my hair, and kiss my head, and make me feel a little better, while laughing at my out of control Freshly Fucked Bedhead, glasses, and jammie bottoms.

He called this morning, from out west, very upset that he's not going to be here, said he'd change his flight...but how can I ever even ask him to pass on his daughters big graduation party? Get real! I'd be soooo pissed if my dad did that to me! But, I do appreciate the thought, and the gesture.....

So. Keep your fingers crossed for me, so I don't end up wide open on an operating room table, and they can fix it with the litte scope-y thing instead.

I'd cross my fingers too, but I just had my nails done, and I don't want to smudge the polish.

Can of worms

2:23 PM

I've been babysitting M's house this am, to get the whole Carpenter Ant issue under control, as well as the carpets cleaned prior to his return from out west, where he is both burying his Grandfather, and, seeing his 18 year old daughter graduate from highschool. Talk about the biggest low and high all in the same week! I'm such a good friend, I even offered to book the appointments for him - okay, so not, technically, THAT good a friend, as clearly, it needed to be around my schedule. At any rate, the carpet guys finally showed - wouldn't you know it, the ONE day in say, a good 50 I'm on time for a change, and they're running late! - followed by the Pest Inspector.

Now, I loved this part: the house needed to be inspected, to see what kind of pests they were going to "neutralize".

So....................................my word that there were "really big ants running rampant, big suckers, who could carry off say, small children" wasn't enough? Apparently not. So this old gentlemen arrives at my door, with a blue hat, complete with large dead bug on it's back on top, antanae in the air, to "inspect". I followed closely on his heels, so he didn't get the wrong ideas, and "neutralize" the large screen tv, and furniture I've selected for the house.

He mentioned we had mice. And three different species of carpenter ants. Who burrow into wood blah blah blah, 250 dollars, blah blah blah...sign here. We should cut down trees, blah blah blah, another grand, blah blah blah.

I made it clear that in fact, I, do not have mice. Nor am I sigining up M for any tree removal, when he isn't here to give approval. He grunted. Said something wholly indecent about my gender as a whole.

I don't think I like him much.

Plus also? I get it that I"ve not showered and therefore changed into something slightly more respectable today. I get that. But somehow, I doubt that the conversation about the species, genus and classification of said ants needs be addressed to my girls. They really don't give a shit about ants. So what if I might have been spilling out of the tank top in the teensiest way, it STILL is not an invitation to OPENLY stare. Do what most people do, wait til my attention is elsewhere, and then stare.

The carpet guy, you might ask, was he any better?

Well, I would reply, yes, and no.

It turns out that everywhere I go recently (could be, as I've finally stopped hiding under my rocks) I run into folks that knew B. First, it was the big fat ugly woman who announced in front of a bunch of other women that she slept with B before and after we were married. I'd say, that makes her not only big, fat and ugly, but stupid, classless and a whore. But no one asked me. This morning, I run into a guy who played ball with B, recalls when we got married, and asks how he is; he couldn't believe that I slept around like B said. I responded, for the first time ever, that I left B for safety reasons - and I shit you not, he says to me: that finally caught up with him, huh? I had no compunction whatsoever mentioning, ever so casually, that he was being committed. To the Funny Farm.

Oh. Yes. And this carpet cleaner also knew M's ex, P. Small world. He made some noises about his friend Mark? Did I know him? He moved up to NH, hasn't seen the guy since....I said I'm sure not, as he's currently with P. Talk about a morning of worm cans opening. He too stared at my girls, but in a less threateningly open kind of way, so I let it pass by.

Now, I'm sitting here, laundering Fox's tee-ball uniform for the six millionth time, wondering if it's worth it to shower, put these clothes back on, just to go swelter in tripple digits, while fighting over the smallest patch of shade to be found at the ball field. I'm thinking, I may just as well go with my Lucille Ball curly hair all up in clippies, my wee little tank and shorty skirt. Who knows. Maybe I'll yet again run into someone from B's past, and they'll at least tell him, should anyone find him, speak to him, or send smoke signals out, that his ex is doing great. Looking hot.

At the very least?

I'm sure they'll mention I've still got my own girls.