reallyginnyf

The pathology results for Angela were much better than expected and returned showing stage IIB.  She had her chemo port inserted yesterday, has a PET scan Monday and meets with her oncologist on Tuesday to plan chemotherapy.  We've both been running around like crazy so we've been keeping in touch daily by phone.  But her prognosis is much more hopeful than was originally thought, so thank the good Lawd for that.

I was scared straight into a mammogram because it had been four years since my last.  Results came back normal today.  I'm happy for me but probably won't mention it to Ang, even though she was the one who pressed me to make the appointment.  Or would that be "acting weird" like she warned me against?

I also hauled my anxious butt into the dentist's office for the first time in a year and the news was not fun.  I have to have SIX extractions and a partial because there is not enough bone in my lower jaw to support implants even with a bone graft.  Wow, if that didn't make me feel like a old country hick with one tooth until my dentist said she suspects I have Amelogenesis Imperfecta, or congenitally thin tooth enamel.  Would explain the multiple teeth needing root canals, the discolored teeth that are resistant to any kind of whitening treatment and the early need for extraction of six failed teeth.  Crud.  Now I'm trying to decide if I want to have it done under a local over two separate visits or just be knocked out and have it all taken care of at once. 

Mother's day was...okay.  Russ and Zack went to Columbia to visit his mom, which is fine because she's 83 and not in the best of health so celebrate your mom while she's still around, right?  I hung out at home and had a frustrating talk with my own mom, as per usual.  She was upset that we'd not planned anything for Mother's Day even though I'd called a few days before to invite them over.  "I need more notice than that!' she told me. "At least a week!" Sigh. So when I said, "Then let's get together on next Sunday,"  she responded, "But I never know how I'm going to feel a week from now!  I need to be more spontaneous!"  WTF, mom.  Whatever.

I received my Mother's Day gift a day early, a fire-bellied toad named Merpit.  I love her.  She basks in her water dish most of the day and only hops out when it's time to hunt crickets.  She's starting to learn who we are.   When Russ or Zack walk by her tank, she's like, "Hey. Wassup. Chilling in my dish."  When I walk by, she frantically hops to the top of her rock and waits: "LO, IT IS THE BRINGER OF CRICKETS. SHE APPEARS AND CRICKETS RAIN FROM THE HEAVENS."  Fire-bellied toads don't have the long tongues like other frogs so she stuffs the crickets in her mouth when she catches them. It's delightful to watch her.

And that's my quiet little life.  How's everyone else?

...about my new favorite site but we're having a SLEEPOVER TONIGHT.  AAAAAAAH! (Runs in circles, flailing)  And I'm in the midst of a flare thanks to unseasonably hot temperatures so it's going to be a case of set them up with junk food, video games, Nerf guns and hope no one requires a trip to the emergency room for stitches until Russ gets home from work.  (My new site isn't social, by the way.  It's more about turning off the computer and getting stuff done, but it will have to wait for a while.)  SLEEPOVER AAAAAAAAAAH I HATE SLEEPOVERS

Guess who can't wear red lipstick?  

This girl right here!  I'm grateful I was in the house alone during my little experimentation.  The only things missing from my attire were the gigantic shoes and clown horn.  

Red lipstick leaves a nearly indelible stain, if you're never tried it.  I still look like someone punched me in the lips.

Trying out the new LJ cut:


( And here it is, the new LJ cut )

Hi!  *waves enthusiastically*

I'm still here and I have so much to write about, but I can't seem to gather my thoughts enough to put together a coherent post. I want to write about happy things and how my life is turning around for the better and I want to write about the odd, worrisome things that pop up here and there and I want to write about Ann Romney and Hilary Rosen and how I had a very stern talk with Hilary Rosen in the mirror this morning because I'm kind of strange like that and just, agh, I HAVE SO MUCH TO SAY.

(I swear, if I didn't already know I'm a psychological hypochondriac, I'd think I had rapid cycling, multiphasic bipolar disorder because first I'm WAY UP, then WAY DOWN, then WAY-ER UP but I'm not going on outlandish shopping sprees or screwing random people or buying bolts of fabric to make my very chagrined daughter a dress like Sally Field did in an episode of E.R. and NEVER MIND.  I think I'm actually just very happy and not quite sure how to deal with it.)

Creation and assignment of appropriate card-playing nicknames:  I am Big Money Missy, Zack is Washington Slim and Russ is Sticky Fingers McGurk.  I don't even know where those names came from.

Beatboxing competitions during each hand, after the ante and before the cards are dealt.  Zack is the best beatboxer, but we're all pretty terrible.

Zack, after winning a particularly large pot, shouting "Somebody butter me, 'cause I'm on a roll!"

Zack, after I lost a particularly large pot, shouting, "No wait, someone butter Mom, 'cause she's TOAST!"

Peanut M&Ms.

I love family poker night. 

Happy, happy, happy for three reasons:

1) People are still on LiveJournal!!! Hello, my people!  *waves and blows kisses*

2) My recent blog post about radical scheduling was promoted to the front page of the Secular Homeschooling site this morning.

3)  I found out that the anagram of my internet name, reallyginny, is NEARLY LYING.  Could it be any more perfect? I am seriously contemplating changing my internet handle.

New profile pic, see?  Isn't my hair looking light, as in light colored?  That's not a dye job or a mid-life bid to suddenly go blonde; that is GREY HAIR.  What started as a little skunky patch on my left temple has blossomed and spread and now I have grey patches and silvery threads all through my once dark brown hair.  I shouldn't worry about it, I know.  After all, I have an "Aging Gracefully" Pinterest board with pictures of the beautiful grey-haired ladies I so admire.  The problem is, I have a young-looking face.  I'm not bragging and I don't do anything extraordinary to keep it that way, it's just how my face looks.  It's a combination of good genetics, leaving my face the hell alone except for Cetaphil, avoiding the sun (daylight, hsssss!) and some extra pounds which keep my face plump enough to avoid lines.

So here's where I'm at lately:  

I just turned forty-four and I'm feeling my mortality for some reason.  Forty was no biggie.  Forty-four rocked me back enough that I actually went out drinking with some similarly middle-aged friends to "celebrate."  Not doing that again or if I do I'm sticking to water, enough said about THAT.  

I have the physique of a woman who loves to eat, hates to exercise and had her first baby at midlife when her metabolism was grinding to a halt.  I've accepted it. Whatever.  

I have a baby face, babyish enough that my elementary school teachers who are not senile still recognize me on the street.  

And now I have lots of grey hair.  

I'm never getting back my trim 20-something body. Yes, I could do something about it like exercise or radically alter my eating habits but I'm not gonna. My face is still youthful and hopefully will be for another five or six years until I reach the Age of Invisibility, then I won't care.  My grey hair is another matter.  I can color that, right?  Any idiot can color her hair.  I contemplated having it done in a salon but those shampoo bowls make me pass out.  Never mind that I might have a panic attack in the middle of processing and run back home with the color half finished.  Jamie, who's been doing my hair for ten years, was completely honest with me:  "You know I love you, Gin, but if you leave in the middle of a color job, I will KILL YOU."  

So I bought hair color the other day.  Natural Dark Brown with enhanced grey coverage.  I made all the preparations this morning, laid out the instructions, the supplies, the gloves, a timer, a towel to protect my clothes and a magazine to read during processing time.  I didn't do a strand test.  Strand tests are for pussies.  If the color makes my head swell up, I'll deal with it then.  I donned the gloves, mixed up my color like a boss and started applying it.  Like a boss.

"Hm," I thought. "This is certainly a very light color to be Natural Dark Brown."  

I dropped a blob on the floor because I am so graceful.

"Hm," I thought. "I wonder why it isn't turning our linoleum an instant shade of brown?"

I slopped a bunch down the front of the towel I was using to protect my clothes.  Again because I am so graceful.

"Hm," I thought.  "I wonder why the towel is still it's normal shade of blue and not splotchy brown-blue?"

I gave it no more thought, squeezed every last drop out of the applicator, gathered all my hair up on top of my head, set the timer, then decided I'd better put the tube of deep conditioner in the shower so I wouldn't forget it.  The tube of deep conditioner so handily labeled "3A" in gigantic print.  The very tube of deep conditioner I'd squeezed into the applicator and applied all over my head.  The tube of hair color, labeled "2A" in gigantic print was sitting untouched at the side of the sink.

Damn it.  After twenty minutes of effort, all I accomplished was conditioning my still-grey hair into OBLIVION.  

I'm taking it as a sign from the Universe that I should accept the aging process, accept imperfection, accept the inexorable passing of time and the waning of youth. Either that, or it's a sign from the Universe that I'm an incurable dork.  Thanks, Universe. I think I knew that already.