Plastic surgery and a new wonder drug. Semen!

I have to go to a plastic surgeon next week.  For the fall I took a few weeks back.  My face hasn't healed 100 percent.  There's a bump on my right cheekbone. I haven't a clue what it is, but when a friend felt it she said, "You need to see your doctor right away."  I am a little vain, (it is my face) so I scheduled an appointment immediately.  My doctor took one look, felt it and said, "I am going to refer you to a plastic surgeon."  I was so shocked, I didn't ask one question.  Such as, "What the fuck is wrong with my face?" It's just a consult, but I am a bit of a wreck.  I told my mom I had to go and she told me I better go to a good surgeon. "It's your face.  Be careful."  she said.  I hope Mexico is good enough.  I was thinking that when I go, I should see what else they think I "need" done.  Just to see what they say.  I imagine this, "Oh, you should definitely make another dimple.  You only have one."  "Um, your breasts are the size of tater tots, why not add another cup?" Or, "You're only 26, you shouldn't have a FUPA"  They can be so mean. 

Any chance that anyone has read Cosmopolitan lately?  I bought an issue for my gym time on Saturday.  When I brought it to the cashier, he gave me a look and said, "Cosmohhh."  I think he thought his negative judgment would change my mind and cause me to grab a Newsweek instead.  No chance.  I know Cosmo is total crap,  but I like to read the embarrassing stories and the advice columns.  I just love advice columns.  Dear Prudence is my favorite.  She's definitely not in Cosmo.  The cashier was right to judge.  I should have swapped Cosmo for an OK! magazine.  I came across an article with the headline, "Semen: A Wonder Drug?"  The last thing a girlfriend needs to hear from her boyfriend when she's not in the mood is,  "But, baby it's good for your health."  There were some other articles that I had to skip over.  I didn't need the guy next to me thinking I wanted to learn how to give myself a Brazilian without crying.  Shit, no.

 

I should really stop reading this magazine.  An ex of mine used to read it more than me.  I say "an ex" like I have tons.  He would read it cover to cover and say, "Mere, did you read that article about..."  It pissed me off.  Recently, a friend saw my ex's girlfriend gardening outside his house.  When I learned this, I shrieked.  I was so happy to learn that he found someone who liked gardening.  When we lived together, my after work routine was to nap and then watch One Tree Hill on Soapnet. I hated when he came home early, because he used to make me feel bad about my habit.  "It's such a beautiful day.  Why don't you go outside and garden?"  he'd ask. "Because I hate dirt!" I'd reply.    There are worms in dirt.  There are not worms on Chad Michael Murray's face.

Chad Michael Murray - Click here for another funny movie.

After the workout and learning about semen's health benefits on Saturday, Gram called.  I didn't tell her about the potential need for plastic surgery or that sperm is good for a gal's health.  She would worry too much.  About both things. She told me she moved to a new room.  "I love it Meredith!  I really do!"  She told me she has slept better now that she doesn't have to hear "Anna Maria shuffling around all night long". "When ya comin' home honey bunch?"  I told her in a few weeks.  "That's great!"  It was so nice to hear Gram in better spirits.  I thought she might actually talk for more than a minute.  However, about 50 seconds into our conversation she told me she had to get going.  "Love ya honey bunch!"  I tried calling her tonight, but I assume she's back to her old routine.  It's baseball season.  She'll never call me back. 

"You've never been near a golf course."

April Fools Day is one of my favorite days of the year.  I love practical jokes.  Last year, I announced on Facebook that I was pregnant.  Congratulations came out of the woodwork.  Someone even "chatted" me that I have not spoken to since high school.  "congrats girl, how far along r u?"  That was an awkward explanation.  This year, I called my father at 8:30 in the morning.  "Dad, I have something to tell you."  He said, "What?"  I said, "I am one of Tiger Woods mistresses and it's going to be on the news today."  He replied, "You've never been near a golf course."  We laughed and he was happy I reminded him of the holiday.  I saw my mom's friend and relayed the prank and Bill Lang's response.  She said, "Never been near a golf course?  How about never been near a dick?"  Is it so hard to believe that Tiger Woods would sleep with me?  I attempted to fool other people in my life by telling them I had a date.  Each one replied, "April Fools."  I took that as a sign that maybe I should go on a date.  That, and I broke up with my cashier boyfriend from Trader Joe's.  In my head anyway.  I was there a few weeks ago and I actually heard him speak.  More like screech like Nathan Lane in "The Birdcage".  I don't think he would have been interested. I am still not going on a date.  They are too high maintenance.  Thank goodness for my Netflix account.

I took the Peter Pan home two Friday's ago for the Easter weekend.  I don't enjoy sharing my seat with strangers. It's bad enough that I have to take the bus.  I like my space. I was solo until we stopped in Worcester.  A woman decided to sit next to me.  Even though she could have sat in an empty seat across from the aisle.  My hung over sprawl must have looked welcoming.  She sat down and proceeded to eat what I assumed was a rotting muffin.  A few minutes later, she started humming. Loud enough to hear with my earphones on. It was funny so I offered her a piece of gum.  She declined.

After the relaxing bus ride, I visited Gram later in the day and brought her a caramel Cadbury egg.  She must not have been watching her weight that day since she didn't admonish me for bringing her a treat.  I told her I was tired from the night before and she said, "Were you on a date?"  I said, "If a date with my cousin counts, then yes."  Gram rolled her eyes. I noticed that Gram had a metallic Catholic looking egg on her nightstand.  "What do you think is in there?" she asked.  I opened it to find mini candy crosses.  They tasted like sweet tarts and I kept popping them in my mouth.  Finally, Gram yelled.  "You're gonna eat 'em all!"  She then asked me to turn her TV on. Her eyes lit up at John Wayne's presence. 

I hate westerns.  They are almost as boring as church. Kath came to pick me up and we left Gram with her western lover. The following day, mom and I took Gram to lunch.  She tried ordering a sandwich, but mom and I yelled at her and told her to order a real meal.  Once we reminded her of the food in rehab, she changed her tune. I asked Gram if she was full.  "I can't eat another thing." she said.  I told her that I couldn't either.  "You want to split dessert?"  I asked a moment later.  "Sure." she replied.  We split a cannoli. 

On a side note. We all know I didn't make it through Lent without eating salsa con queso.  Kath survived 40 days and nights of "no dramas".  Kudos. I thought our sacrifices were ridiculous, but then my mom told me how my nephew gave up kitty cats for Lent.  I know he loves his stuffed cat, but I was concerned a 7-year-old chose to give up a baby animal.  The next day my mom repeated the story to someone else.  The little guy gave up Kit Kat's.  Much to my relief.

Here's a video recommended to me.  How can you not love Tina Fey?

Prom and sex rehab

Gram called yesterday.  Under my mother's orders.  "MEREDITH. Your mother told me to call you."  I told her I was so glad to hear her voice and asked what she was doing.  She never disappoints, "Talking to you!" she replied.  We talked for 30 seconds when she told me she was going to hang up on me.  At least she warned me.  We will be taking Gram out to lunch this weekend and I cannot wait. Mom called me after Gram pulled the same trick.  I updated her with Webbie Debbie.'s fan count and told her about "LMVO".  She asked what it meant.  When I told her, she laughed, and said, "That's sick." And laughed again.  LMVO.  Maybe I will tell Gram what that means this weekend.

I came across an article today about the new trend for prom.  It's slutty chic. http://shine.yahoo.com/channel/beauty/slutty-chic-is-new-trend-for-prom-dresses-1237609/ If your daughter wears any of what is seen below, she will most likely sleep with Tiger Woods or Jesse James.

The thought of prom brought me back almost a decade to my prom experience.  Who enjoyed their prom?  I am curious.  Should I ever be with child, a female one at that, I am not going to tell her that she can't go to prom, unless she plans on wearing a "slutty chic" dress. (Fingers crossed my daughter isn't a whore.) But, I will tell her that it sucks.  It certainly wasn't anything John Hughes made it out to be. (Watch this video.  It made my day.)

First, my prom date was not Andrew McCarthy.  Swoon. I was a slightly deeper shade of orange than my dress (from tanning), I had brassy blond hair that puts me to shame and I went to a personal trainer.  To make things worse, I had fake french tips.  I was Lindsay Lohan with braces. I cringe at the memory.  My mom should have shot me.  That's drastic, but she should have at least made me look in a mirror.  A 115-pound girl going to a personal trainer.  To look her "best" in a prom dress.   My prom date and I could barely stomach each other. I vaguely remember telling him not to open his mouth at pictures so Kath wouldn't see his tongue ring.  Charming.  Surprisingly, I didn't drink before the prom, but I do remember wishing that I had.  In 17 years, I will be saying "Honey, don't go to prom.  But, if you do, drink."  I hope I made people think I was pregnant for a second.  April Fools if you're reading this tomorrow.  I learned something today. I have lofty goals as a mom.  Keeping my daughter from going to the prom and keeping my son out of sex rehab.

BINGO

Two weekends ago, I saw Gram.  Last week was a bit of a wash. Sorry for no updates.  Unfortunately, Gram was not her usual feisty self, so not much to blog about with that anyway.  However, we did participate in my favorite game. When I arrived at rehab, with green carnations  in hand in honor of St. Patrick's Day, Gram had just started a game of BINGO.  The employee leading the game asked if I wanted to take Gram to her room for a visit.  "Pfff.  We are staying here." I said.  Gram smiled and organized her chips by color.

I never knew how cutthroat Bingo can be. Each time a resident would yell "BINGO!" A particularly small woman would say, "You better take her name down.  We deserve to know the names of the winners."  Have you ever read contest guidelines and at the end it will say, "For a list of winners, contact.."  I always wondered, "Who the hell cares?"  Now, I know.  Gram had awful luck, no quarter for her this time.  I did however, bring her four Cadbury creme eggs, only to find out later that I brought the wrong kind.  I will be bringing a truckload of the caramel eggs home for Easter. 

Since Gram wasn't up to providing material, I'll make a confession.  I caved.  I am sure you know what I am talking about.  I won't be wearing that "I Survived Lent" t-shirt on Easter Sunday.  This is how it went down. 

Sunday afternoon, I was watching "The Big Lebowski" (for the first time) and was hungry.  I started to go through what I had for food.  My Kashi cereal and apple slices did not appeal to me.  I knew what I wanted and started to reason with myself why I should just have what I wanted.  I started with Thursday's events.  That day (the day after St. Pat's) was the worst day of my life.  For a few reasons.  I won't divulge too much information, but to sum it up, I typically don't go out on St. Patrick's Day because I don't care to celebrate Irish people getting wasted.  I am of Irish descent, but not the kind that takes pride in wearing green and drinking green beer.  If Gram was that kind of person, that would be one thing, but she's not.  This year, again, I didn't wear green or drink green beer, but I definitely drank beer.  Late that night,  I took a bit of a fall.  And it shows.  I woke the following morning embarrassed and mad at myself.  To feel better, I went to check celebrity news.  This was the headline:  "Sandra Bullock Has Left the Family Home"   http://www.people.com/people/article/0,,20352494,00.html  I was devastated.  After she won the Oscar, I kept thinking, "They are the greatest couple.  Jesse is so sweet, the tears in his eyes..I love him, I love her. Yay."  After reading that this douche-bag cheated on my favorite actress, it felt a little personal.  Now I hope that Ryan Reynolds breaks up with Scarlett and sweeps Sandra off her feet.  She deserves that. 

It's so upsetting to talk about that I almost forgot where I was going with this.  I needed more reason than that to break my fast (not much), so I thought, "I'm not even a practicing Catholic.  They don't like gay people and make nuns live together, why would I give something up for them?"  Lastly, I looked at my face in the mirror.  I mumbled something to my roommates about having to get milk and was out the door.  I didn't gorge myself, though.  I had one serving, and I haven't had any since.  But, I didn't survive the 40 days.  Next year I will give up one night stands. 

For your viewing displeasure:

No Dramas

I've only spoken with Gram briefly these past few weeks.  She did leave me this message last week.  "Hi Meredith.  I'd like to take you up on your offer.  Give me a call."  From that message it sounded like I had offered her to make a "hit" on someone.  Turns out, she wants a phone for her bedroom.  When I called her to discuss, she said we could not talk about it over the phone.  "When ya comin' home?" she asked.  "We can discuss it then."  I asked why we couldn't talk about it over the phone and she replied, "I'll leave it to your imagination."  That was a terrible clue.  I will see her this weekend, so I am looking forward to hearing her reasoning.

I have not eaten salsa con queso for those who were wondering.  It's been a trying task, but I can't imagine it is harder than what my mom gave up.  When we spoke tonight she said, "I haven't watched a drama since the start of Lent."  "That's what you gave up?"  I asked.  "Dramas?" I said. "Yes, I haven't watched NCIS, CSI, none of it."  she replied. I am still undecided over whose sacrifice is more ridiculous.

This is turning into a "Kathy is My Hero" posting.  Sorry Ma.  My mom asked what Webbie Debbie has been up to lately. To ease into that answer, since she's been rather "busy", I asked if she knew what part of the anatomy the word beaver was used for.  "Yes." she replied. I told her that Webbie said, "OMG! Leave it to my beaver. LMVO!"  She attempted not to laugh then said, "Honey, does beaver mean near your bikini line?" 

In lieu of salsa con queso for dinner, I have actually had to go grocery shopping.  I discovered that Trader Joe's is close to my apartment and that I enjoy my cashier.  I get him every time.  He's a dapper fellow . The last time I was waiting, I thought, "I hope I get my cashier.  And if he says 'paper or plastic' I will be ballsy and reply, 'latex'."  Then I felt my face go red.  I probably won't be able to go back to Trader Joe's on the entirely impossible chance that he reads my blog.  Webbie Debbie's thoughts are a terrible influence.

I must get going.  I have to wake up for a 6 a.m. gym time.  No new video of Phyllis (I'll get some soon). I just like this guy.