Vanity.... click for Lawrence.com article

So I had a few moments of panicked vanity when this article came out. Why couldn't he have used better pics? Why did I give this guy free rein to my flickr site without approving pics? Why? What if I never get a date again? What if my friends enlarge the belly picture and play "Count how many belly buttons it looks like Kalli has?"
Oh yes, they did that.

Then I got an email that turned my attitude around. Someone wrote: "I wondered why you had such unflattering pictures of yourself up on your web site. I thought it was strange that you gave the guy free rein to use whatever picture of you he wanted." This same person has also said " you really have some weird pictures of yourself on your site."

Huh. Now I'm annoyed. Being sick wasn't pretty, we all know that. It was ugly and pitiful and painful and yucky. But it happened, and it is part of what makes up who I am now. I feel like a very different person now than before all of this happened, and quite frankly, I think I am proud of that.

So yeah, there's some ugly pics of me on there, and my belly is scary. At least it's not an open hole anymore. At least I'm not dead.
And at least I didn't suffer through the ordeal without learning a lot of good stuff along the way.

So I realized that it is what it is. It sucked, it left me scarred, but I think it all made me a better person. And my neither my blog or my flickr site is a "dating resume."
I also realized that anyone who'd see the article, or the pictures, and think anything but good things is an asshole, and probably isn't worth being in my life.

So I've quit being vain about it and am concentrating once again on what this event is... a celebration, an opportunity, and most importantly, a chance to do something kind for someone else. As Rikki always says....Life is good, and don't you forget it.

Click for pictures and such...

Hmmm. a pretty article.


I never really understood the joy and necessity of putting your feet up.

I have understood since about age 30 the need to slow down.

I have understood since about age 32 the need to sit down and catch your breath.

I have understood since about age 35 the overwhelming weakness of serious illness that necessitates occasional long conversations with my brain and my body to get up and just get out of the car, or climb some stairs, or even to walk to the kitchen and back.

I used to sit for 5-10 minutes at a time just summoning the strength to accomplish such feats.

But today, on this warm June day, as I sit here with round pregnant belly and swollen ankles and feet, trying not to dread August, I suddenly GET how nice it is to just stop and put up your feet.

Don't even get me started on napping. I could almost have an orgasm just thinking of it, let alone DOING it lately.

Calm...

Tuesday night I finally caved in to the excruciating abdominal pain I'd been telling myself was "gas" for the previous 2 days. When I didn't feel Grace move all day on Tuesday, I finally panicked at about 10 pm Tuesday night and called St. Luke's again. Of course, they said to come in through the ER and get checked out.

That was a different experience... instead of waiting in the room with all the other sad people, I was whisked by wheelchair straight to "Labor & Delivery" which didn't do much for my level of calmness.

I quickly stripped, not even caring if the curtain was pulled, and begged them to get her heartbeat on screen right away. In the olden days I just would have begged for the IV of morphine.

Of course, the young RN couldn't find the heartbeat.

Jamie, my roommate, and I looked at each other with panicked faces as she squirted more and more jelly on my stomach and kept searching around for the heartbeat. In addition, I was hurting like I had a common butterknife stuck right up under my sternum, and this pain was radiating to my back, leaving me convinced that my trip to Biggs BBQ on Sunday had instigated another attack of pancreatitis and then what????

After just a few moments, the young RN called for help. A lovely older woman came into my curtained area... wearing a scrub top that was black with red chinese characters on it, and written all over it in english were the words "Calm" "Relax" "Tranquility" and whatever.
I like the fact that many nurses choose fun and funky scrubs, it's far less boring to look at than the plain ones when you're a frequent flier there. But the "Calm" scrubs were by far the most appropriate ones I'd seen.

She immediately found Grace's heartbeat. Yayyy!!! So, no morphine for me... I concentrated on the sound of Grace's heart and tried to breathe and relax. They did the usual bloodwork to make sure pancreatic enzymes and liver were ok, and they determined that it was most likely a muscle spasm, or possibly some scar tissue adhesions tearing as I stretch. I knew that was a possibility, although not one I've liked thinking about since this adventure started. The next couple of months will certainly be telling.

Regardless, they gave me a muscle relaxer, w/ a follow up scrip, and after about 2 days it's so much better. I've been eating light and bland, taking the meds, and sleeping. Hopefully it's just a small blip and things will be smooth from here on out.

And if this ever happens again, I want the nurse with the "Calm" scrubs to come take care of things right away.

Brown Dog

In 1993, right before Christmas, I told Scott I wanted a dog. He agreed (as usual) to buy me one. We called the Humane society and asked if they had any puppies, and they said No, but to come look at the adult dogs. About 2 hours later, I arrived there, to be told that someone had just dropped off one runt puppy.

I made a beeline for that cage, pulled out the little brown fluff ball, turned to Scott, and announced that "This is Emily."

She was a good dog. We had no idea how big or small she'd be, or what she was. Becky predicted that she would probably be "just right". I asked Doc Vasey in Stafford what he thought she was when she went to him for shots and spaying. He looked at her thoughtfully for a while, and pronounced her "A Brown Dog." And she was a perfect 50 pound brown dog.

Em and I had a rough time with housebreaking. I hope to do better with my own child. But we eventually figured it all out. She loved everyone who was in my life, she adored going to Stafford for Christmas, had her own stocking, and knew as soon as we reached town after the 4 hour drive where she was and ran for the house to see her grandparents.

She was quite sassy. She had a hound dog bay and conversational tone, she talked a lot. She always had something to say. She tolerated my other pets, but really just wanted me all to herself. She had a mommy complex.

Once when she was under a year old she ate an entire bag of Oreo cookies and almost died from it. It was a stupid move, but who could blame her? Em really really loved to eat. She grew into a sway backed, scruffy hound with the biggest dog ass anyone has ever seen. It's like a basketball, people would often say. Emily had back. I used to sing a special song to her, in a low and off key voice, called "Soft and Brown". It was our song.

For the past week we've known that she had malignant lymphoma, and has gone increasingly blind. She pads around in circles, unsure where she's going or what she wants. She's very sad. She's slept a lot, and had lots of chicken, cheese, and Sonic Ice Cream.

Beck's on her way to pick us up now, we're going to the vet one last time. I plan on holding her until it's over.

She's been a good brown dog.

Happy Flag Day

Lucy T. Beagle has something to say.

She's all down with the general concept of honoring our nation, its' heroes, its' fallen, its' grand history. Believe me, Lucy celebrates independence.

While she, like the rest of us, often questions the furtive motives and actions of our current misguided and mostly evil administration, Lucy sees that the hopes and ideals of our country are quite admirable, usually. Unless manipulated in the wrong hands. Lucy is quite a patriotic little beagle.

However, she's been wondering today why, oh why, is so much planning, traveling, partying, and celebrating done on the dreaded 4th of July?

Lucy's just fine with a good bbq, some folks getting together, having some PBR or some Country Time lemonade, and tossing an occasional burger or brat her way. (Don't get her started on tofu dogs.

But people. The fireworks!! What the fuck is up with that?

For this reason, Lucy would like to remind you all about FLAG DAY. A nice, quiet, celebration of one of the most beloved traditions and symbols of our nation.

Have a happy, quiet, FLAG day, fly your stars & stripes, hell... fly your Kansas state flag, your Jayhawk flag, your Rainbow flag. Fly your freak flag, people.

Just get your flag on today, save your fireworks money for beer and new shoes instead... or my little Beagle may get all Betsey Ross up in your ass.

This Year's BENEFIT...

http://www.kallipalooza2.blogspot.com/

Ashtray Mouse

Things I was worried about last Friday that I'm still worried today...

Getting my house re-financed.

Whether or not I'll have fun this weekend....where to go? What to do?

Will I ever have sex again? I mean with someone.

Is Grace kicking right now?

My blood sugar.

My messy house.

Why is our government so corrupt, and how much more damage can they do in the next year and a half?

Money.

My hair...it's growing too fast.

The price of gas.

Yikes... not much changed from last Friday, although I did finally call some mortgage lenders, I'm carrying my blood sugar testing kit with me to be diligently checking my blood sugar, and I just texted Ames about my hair. Now if the fairies would clean my house, I'd be set.

Miss Gypsy left today for New York with the mystery of the rubber ashtray mouse unsolved. I recall a few months ago when I was driving Mulva the Mercury that there was a rubber mouse in the ashtray, I texted Gypsy and asked her about it and she didn't respond. Last night she called and said TBI had discovered the mouse while on the road late at night, and thinking it was real, opted not to remove it from the ashtray. Now the issue remains, where the hell did the rubber mouse come from? And why would anyone place it in Mulva's ashtray?

I called my dad to ask him about it, remembering fondly the time when I was in high school that he left a black licorice rat in my bed. Sadly, he had no clue about the rubber mouse also. I called Mr. Wrong and asked him about it, and he said that while he did not leave it there, he wished that he had.

I'm all out of ideas...perhaps one of Tod's relatives? Anyway, the mouse must now be passed on, ceremoniously, to some other poor unsuspecting person's ashtray. Maybe YOU will be lucky enough to encounter the ashtray mouse yourself.