No, I want to thank you!

Since we're into winter now, I usually bike home after the sun has set. I use lights and I follow the rules of the road because I am a Safe Biker. But sometimes people can't see me anyway.

The other night I was gunning it in the bike lane toward an intersection with a notoriously quick-changing stoplight. After a few weeks/months/years, you begin to learn the light patterns and whether or not you have enough time to make it, so I slowed down a bit. The light was green on my side, and for the oncoming traffic, it had just turned to green.

As I entered the intersection, an oncoming van carrying two dudes swerved into the left turn lane, and then cut across me.

"THANKS A BUNK, DOUCHE BAG!" I shouted. (Because I am very brave at night, on my squeaky little bike, in my helmet.)

Wait, you say. Didn't you mean to type THANKS A BUNCH, DOUCHE BAG? Alas, no. Apparently when I am hopped up on Bike Helmet Bravery and Rules-of-the-Road Righteousness, I also forget how to pronounce certain words. Those guys knew I was thanking them, so I guess that's the important part of the story.

Still more important was the natural thought progression:

And not just ANY Bunk. THE Bunk. Douche bags.

Conclusion?

It's obvious. I certainly can't read that word on the right (or the previous five captcha iterations) so? I am a robot.

Woohoo

Good news! The weebly wobbly not-a-flare is finally, finally dead and gone. I am once again crapping like a normal lady.* I think it may have something to do with my leaving the state for a quick summer respite.

(pic courtesy of A.)

The pup liked it, too.












*Which of course means NOT AT ALL, right, ladies? Bahahahaha

Fun with wool. Really.

If you want to save some cash because you're paying out the nose to the gastro/doctor/therapist/cable television or broadband provider (hey, treatment takes many different forms, judgers!) then check these out.

Wooly Dryer Balls from With a Tangled Skein

Before you start snickering, I'll show you a finished product. My first attempt:



The little stem/tail/[insert phallicky joke here]thingie is not standard, but I can't bring myself to clip it off. Anyway, these babies are supposed to work just as nicely as dryer sheets while decreasing your overall drying time. So far I've only dried one load of clothes and I forgot to time it. Whoops.

WaTS has other cute crafty things on her site, including multiple Doctor Who-themed projects.

- Tardis MP3 player cover

- Blanket of Rassilon

Just warms the cockles of my geek girl heart.

The Big C (for real this time)

Prep was as advertised, like drinking thick, greasy saltwater. We're getting ready to leave. Hope this place is better than the last at dispensing the sedatives.

-

And we're back. Am both very drowsy and giggly-buoyant, which is a weird combination. I finally managed to let some of the drowsiness take over by popping in Star Trek VI and pouring myself a cup of Sleepytime.



The procedure went amazingly well, especially when I compare it point by point with my first colonoscopy. Perhaps it's unfair to compare the two, because for the 2003 one, I was a hot mess of pain and bleeding from My Very First Flare, and for this one? My guts were as quiet as a bowl of farina. But still - in the interest of POSTERITY:

2003: Nurse no. 1 spends five painful minutes trying to get an IV into the back of my hand. "Do you tan?" she asks in frustration as she pokes the crook of my arm instead. "Er - no," I reply, not sure if I really need to explain why I'm dehydrated when she has my freaking chart with my freaking symptoms on the bed.

2011: Nurse A warns me, "this will sting," and then gently threads a needle into my arm. Easy peasy.

2003: Nurse no. 2 explains they will be using a combo of Versed and Demerol. This turns out to be a partial rather than full sedation, and I wake up halfway through the procedure and see my guts on the TV near the bed. Neat! And ow, ow ow ow, like the worst gas you've ever had, if you feel like imagining along.

2011: Nurse B explains that we will be using "the Michael Jackson drug" or propofol. Apart from the really terrible moniker, it sounds preferable. The anesthesiologist, Doctor Dude, comes in and assures me in a monotone that it will be AWESOME.

2003: I sit drooling in a chair (from what I now think was an OD of the V/D combo) and the nurses try to get me to sign some form. I can't remember if I signed. Eventually after what felt like an hour, my folks came back and picked me up.

2011: "Oh, you're going to Branson?" I say to Doctor Dude as he puts electrodes on my chest. "I have a friend who works at Silver Dollar City. You should go there."
"I will," says Doctor Dude, and he starts the anesthesia. I can feel and taste it in my throat, it's like sulphur, and I tell him so. "But yeah, Silver Dollar City..."
"What are you talking about?" asks A.
"Oh, Branson. I'm telling the doctor he should go to Silver Dollar City - " Wait a minute. A. is here. "Did they start yet?"
"It's already over," A. says, and laughs at me. We get really giggly for a few minutes, and then my gastro comes in with pictures of my colon. Apparently it was remarkably clean in there.* She points out where she found some tiny bumps and clipped them out for testing, but it all looked nice and healthy.**
"So it looks like the drugs are working!" she chirps. A. and I giggle some more and she signs me out. I get dressed, the nurses walk me out to the car, and we go home. I'm not even sore. THE END.

TL;DR/In short? It went better than I could have hoped. The worst part was the prep.

And now, because I threatened it back when I first started this blog, and although I no longer possess a scanner, I am not deterred, ladies, gentlemen, and all the rest of you, the pics:

*
*
WARNING
*
*

(Intestinal pics ahead.)
(They're really not that scary.)
(In fact, they're pretty blurry since this is a secondhand job.)
(And I also edited them a little bit.)
(But if colons are not your thing, no problem - you may want to skip the rest of this post.)
(Sorry, A.)

*
*
AND....SHOWTIME.

Hurray, it's over.


^{* Damn you, prep.}