Sometimes, you get to experience something so awesome and so pure that you completely check out: there are no bills, there is no stress, there is just that moment, that one experience, and nothing else. Thank God for those times, those moments of absolute perfection.
Maybe I’m glad that aren’t more of those moments, because perhaps if they were commonplace I’d take them for granted, instead of being completely blown away.
As an alarmingly pale person, I see the dermatologist once a year to check any little moles and whatevers, make sure all is right in the world. I’ve been reasonably good to my skin as an adult, but as a kid who played soccer three seasons a year every year from age six or so into my twenties, starting back in the days when no one used sunscreen…well hell, back then people slathered themselves with a weird concoction of baby oil and iodine and would lay out on aluminum foil like salmon fillets on the grill. In those days that lacked sunblock, I remember getting a burn on the tops of my feet one year at the beach that was so bad I couldn’t walk for two days without bursting into tears. I remember burning so bad I blistered all over my chest and shoulders every single summer.
Nowadays, I sunscreen the hell out of myself and I wear a hat of some kind if I’m gonna be out in the sun for any substantial length of time. Some of you have mocked me for my uncool random baseball hats (these are also known primarily as “hats I stole from my Dad”), but who was whining about their sunburn a few hours later? Not me and my scary hat hair, nope.
But still I go to the dermatologist each year and generally all’s well…except just ahead of this scheduled visit, I noticed a little teeeeeeeeeeenytiny mole was different, it was changing. Suddenly it was darker. And then it was spreading. And then it wasn’t flat anymore. And in the span of just a couple weeks tripled in size from being a tiny speck to being a topographic map of Florida. It is still fairly small, but the changes in it were rapid and obvious.
So I pointed the mole of doom out to the dermatologist first thing at my appointment today and he squinted at the spot (smack between my boobs) and said, “Oh that’s gotta go. We’ll want to test it for skin cancer and we should just go ahead and remove it. We’ll punch that out for a biopsy and stitch you up. Sign a surgical consent form and we’ll get you scheduled ASAP.”
His friendly nurse then explained how they’d use a “cookie cutter” tool to remove the mole and depending how deep they had to go to “get it all out” would determine if the stitches involved would dissolve on their own or if they’d have to be removed at a later appointment. She went on to say that they would call me with biopsy results whether they were good or bad, then she shooed me off to get on the appointment book for this procedure.
Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Biopsy. That’s a scary word, a word they use on a lot of really sick patients on episodes of House. I know it’s routine for every questionable anomaly that’s removed from your skin, they wanna test it and know all about it, and I’m sure this will be fine, especially since I’m on top of it so quickly. But still. Yikes.
There’s been a lot of pondering and reflecting on mortality and the fragility of life and seizing the day in the last 18 months or so for me. A dear friend was murdered, my best friend flatlined a couple times in the hospital and my first serious high school beau has colon cancer. I’ve made many changes in my life since early 2007, purging toxic people from my social circle who were causing me more harm than good…I’ve said no more often to things that drain me (no, we’re not selling cookie dough door to door) and said yes to more of the things that I love (a hot bubble bath and a glass of wine are good medicine). I’m not perfect, but I’m doing better on giving more attention to the real life meaningful things and letting the rest of the nonsense of the world go on by. So…….what, Universe? What? What do I need to know? What are you trying to tell me? Have I not pondered my own mortality enough that you have to throw a biopsy my way to shake things up? I feel like I’ve seized the hell out of some days in 2008, that I’ve lived and loved and so what now? What am I supposed to learn from this exercise? It remains to be seen, I suppose.
My “procedure” is Monday. Ouch in advance–I’m poking the spot right now where they’ll punch a hole and put stitches, right on my breastbone, not a squishy soft spot with lots of cushion, nope. So on Monday, send flowers and money and a pony and jewelry, I like jewelry, and dark chocolate from The Chocolate Fetish…but in true Kat form, I will point out that sending me “feel better” gifts on Monday does not excuse you from buying me a Christmas gift.
I took a bit of the money my office had collected for the foster kids we sponsor at the holiday to do some shopping; I needed to track down some shoes, a coat, stocking stuffers and a “Fur Real” Friend toy. Minime goes with me to do this shopping each year, and she tells me every December that it’s her favorite part of Christmas. Even though she’s well-versed in this exercise, I reminded her as we went in the door o’ the local ‘Mart that we were shopping for the kids in need, not for ourselves.
Minime nodded as the second set of automatic doors opened, and then her eyes glazed over as the retail buzz hit her system…I didn’t even have a shopping cart in hand before she’d run off to a display of pajamas.
“Mom, we’ve got to get these soft flannel pajamas. They are so cute!”
“Yes, they are cute, and yes, we love pajamas, but number one, you just bought new pajamas two weeks ago and a new robe last week, and number two, we are not shopping for ourselves tonight.”
Minime pouted only briefly before she was distracted by a display of shiny satiny sequiny holiday tops.
“Mommmmmmmmmmmmm, you’ve got to get me one of these! In blue! And in green! And maybe white. Can I get one?”
“No.”
I pushed the cart onward, resolute and determined that we were getting what was on our list and only what was on our list.
We would make it about two steps before I had to hear “I’ve gotta have…” or “This is so perfect for me…” or “Get me one of these…”
By the time we made it to the toy department after I “no” “NO!” “NOOOOOO”ed my way through the shoe department and the selection of winter outwear, I thought my head was going to spin all the way around as I growled “nooooooooooooooooooooooooooo” through clenched teeth at the request for an IDog, then an IPenguin, then a stuffed animal that is just “too cute, ohhhhh it’s so cute.” I got a reproachful glare from another mom pushing her sleeping toddler around in a cart, and I thought, “oh honey, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet–you wait til that tike of yours is asking for Dolce and Gabbana couture in addition to every damn thing in the local retail superstore, see how much zen-like calm you can muster up then, sister.” I smiled at her through clenched teeth, which in hindsight probably made me look rabid, but whatever.
Minime and I both lived through this shopping experience, even though she continued to ask for things all the way through the checkout line…”gum? can i get gum? what about skittles? you like skittles.” ACK!!!!!!!! We made it to the car. When I sat in the driver’s seat, I turned around and just gave her a look. THE LOOK. The scary evil parental look of I am so pissed I am out of words, child. I turned back around and off we went into the night. Kiddo didn’t utter another peep all the way home.
…i thought i’d blog a wee bit. yes, i said i’m baking an apple cake. because i cook things. all the damn time. just moments ago, i was chopping up apples on my pampered chef cutting board with the built in measuring cups, because i’m so hardcore i need my measuring cups right there on the board, yo. so i will reiterate that i am not single because of my inability to cook. i am single because the universe is flippin’ twisted and difficult, but not because i can’t feed a man. bite me, but don’t bite my apple cake; i’m takin’ that to work in the morning.
So I had a lunch meeting today…one of vendors was buying lunch in exchange for my dazzling technical expertise, so we walked down to Doc Chey’s. On our way, we passed a street musician, a guy and his guitar……………and he was singing Every Rose Has Its Thorn! The Poison song! Don’t you lose all street cred if you cover Poison songs? I dunno. But I was compelled to sing along even louder than the musician, and apparently that was horrifying to my lunch cohort. I think he wanted to fling himself into traffic. When we passed the musician on our way back, I tried to sing along a little more softly to whatever it was he was playing at the moment…but boy, if it weren’t so darn cold, I think I could’ve stood there and been his uninvited backup vocalist all afternoon! I don’t know if I would up his tips or cause him to be chased off from that street corner, but geez it was tempting.
this morning, my youngun and her sleepover guests were told that the reason i am single is because i have no idea how to make biscuits or anything else that involves cooking. i know this info, because of course immediately upon hearing this tidbit the girls came stampeding into the room where i was watching the illusionist (good movie, btw) with the cookbook they’d been perusing in hand to give me the report.
that’s a buncha crap. i can make biscuits and any number of awesome things! if all i had to do to get a decent man and keep him was cook then i’d have snared a man by the ripe old age of ten, since i was preparing dinner for my entire family at that age. the next person who wants to list off the reasons why i’m alone this holiday season is going to get a punch in the mouth since this is the second time in less than a week i’ve been treated to such a discussion. so fa la la la bite me.
One thing I know to be true with my girlfriends over the years is that there’s hardly a problem that can’t be sorted out with cake and long talks.
Good thoughts to those that need them this weekend.
we’re talkin’ Santa ’round here tonight……..and who better to sing about santa than brian setzer? Zat You, Santa Claus live… (tell Santa I’ve been good this year and deserve every little thing on my list, oh yes I do)
and in case i haven’t mentioned lately how much i friggin’ love brian setzer, let me tell you…MAN, I FRIGGIN’ LOVE BRIAN SETZER! love his rockabilly stuff, love his big band stuff, i friggin’ love brian setzer. Drive Like Lightning, Crash Like Thunder (brian and that gretsch guitar are one, it’s a beautiful thing)
calgon, take me away…………………
i have a weeping tweenager, positively sobbing, and really the drama is enough to make me want to run away from home.
minime earned some money on tuesday of this week selling some of the jewelry she made, earning around 20 bucks. she made it all the way to today, 2 whole days, before asking me to take her to kmart to spend it when i picked her up after work. i really didn’t want to go to kmart since i was feeling pretty tired and exasperated with the universe, but sure, why not, it won’t kill me, so off we went.
we looked at shoes. we looked at clothes. my feet hurt. we looked at doodads for her hair. my stomach was growling. we looked at markers. i wandered off to get some stuff i needed for work, and then we looked at clothes again. she picked out a dress, but then put it back when we were on our way to the checkout. while i was in line at the checkout, she took off, came back with a very cozy robe and some kind of lotion and put it on the counter.
we finally came home. she put on her new robe and used whatever lotion and all was well, until bedtime. then the boohooing started.
why are you crying?
because i spent all my money. i don’t want this robe, i want something else. (insert wailing and weeping here)
well, next time maybe don’t hurry to spend it so you can really think about what you’d like to do with it.
i’m sad because i don’t have any more money and i want something different and now i don’t have any choices left. (more weeping)
i’m sorry. your birthday and christmas are coming up soon, so just don’t worry about it.
but i ammmmmmmmmmmmm worried about it. (more sobbing, sniffling and wailing)
ok, ummm, ok. i love you and just try to rest.
………so that brings us up to now. i can hear the crying while i type. this moody tweenager stuff is horrible. i’m just going to pull the blankets over my head and will someone wake me when the hormones and mood swings have subsided?
Ambiguous
Open to two or more interpretations, often intended to mislead.
As in:
His last five sentences in a row were ambiguous, each more vague than the last, leaving Kat to bang her head repeatedly against the nearest wall in frustration.
Common synonyms and related words include unclear, fuzzy, perplexing.
Antonyms include clear, specific, definite.
Kat likes the antonyms best.