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Thanks Celine Dion

SO my Mom had open-heart surgery on Monday. Aortas, valves, aneurysms-it was all so technical and unreal just two weeks ago and now it is all we think about. I was completely unprepared for how awful it was.
Before they took her into surgery John, my mom and I were joking about the “signs” that would let us know the outcome. We had Lilo with us (yes, we took our dog to my mother’s heart surgery-don’t ask) so we said that if Lilo suddenly started howling we would know she was gone. Fortunately there was no howling, the geese flying over were not harbingers of death. Animal wisdom we were prepared for, but who would have thought Celine Dion would have been a moment of comfort? At the halfway point in her epic surgery somewhere in a distant room the sounds of The Love Theme from Titanic came wafting through-“And I know that my heart will go onnnnnnnn”. I announced to our tribe that now I knew she would be just fine.
And she was. I had brought my camera in some naive idea that I would take photos for the blog-again, read the first paragraph where I was in complete denial about how awful this was. Which is why I am using the photo from her wedding to Jack about a year and a half ago. She was slow to come to but is on the path to recovery.
But this all leads me to a discussion on just how unreal Grey’s Anatomy is. I discuss each weeks episode with two girlfriends, one of whom is a nurse. Last week Carrie asked Jan how realistic the show was from a medical perspective and Jan explained that it really wasn’t. Now I can contribute to that. In Sunday’s episode a guy is diagnosed with an aneurysm, just like my mom. It bursts and he has some surgery and a few hours later he looks just fine, is talking and worrying about the heartless bitch who just left him. WRONG! That man would have been in at least 8 hours of surgery followed by hours of critical care. There would have been a tube going down his throat helping him breath. Several tubes would be thrusting out of his chest sucking out the excess blood that was leaking out. He would look waxy, wired up and half dead. He would barely be able to speak let alone discuss how his bitch fiance had left him. And by the way-I still feel sorry for Meridith, like McDreamy more than McSteamy and am glad Addison got poison oak.

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It started out so smooth. Race from our meeting-car service waiting outside-smooth ride to LaGuardia Airport. The flow comes to screeching halt at that point. We were scheduled on the 8:05 and were hoping to stand by on the 7pm. Instead we spent the next 6.5 hours trying to entertain ourselves in one of the crappiest airports.

Observation Number 1.
Basically LaGuardia is surrounded by water and if there is so much as a light breeze the planes can’t take off.

Observation 2
Does it seem like a good idea that the smallest beer at the airport Jetway Bar is 24 ounces and the average size was 32oz?

Observation 3
In theory, watching Law and Order, the olympics, CNN and ESPN with out sound at the same time is ackward and dull. But with enough beer and good company it’s not so bad. Oh who am I kidding. It kind of sucks.

Airport Delay games inspired by the Winter Olympics!

Olympic Commentary Karaoke with the close captioning is not as fun as it sounds. Chris and I made a valiant effort but no go.

Luggage Cart Bobsleddy type thing. We were pretty damn sure we could get the guys at the bar who were doing tequila shots to participate but I didn’t want to get arrested for disturbing the peace.

The Security Check Point Dash-
Who can race through security with out stopping-score based on how far you got past, how many staff it took to take you down and extra points if you are shot.

Finally made it home at 2:30am. I love you too United Airlines.

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New York New York

I am in New York. You would think that after 28 hours in the Big Apple I would have something awesome and exciting to report. I don’t.

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Sweaty Swan Lake


Tonight I went to see Matthew Bourne’s Swan Lake. A.K.A the Gay Swan Lake since the swans are all male and there’s a whole lotta man love. I like man love. I was looking forward to hot, shirtless Swan Men. But the fantasy hot, shirtless Swan Men were not so hot in reality. They became sweaty Swan Men. Who hissed a lot. The lead swan guy was sweaty and hairy and everytime the prince touched his wet naked chest my neice and I would shudder and go “eeeeeewwwwwww”. The dancing was cool but the story got to be a little over the top. At intermission a good chunk of the people around us left and by the end many of us couldn’t help laughing out loud at how goofy and absurd the whole thing was.

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Katherine is still my American Idol

She made me proud! Even my boyfriend Simon agrees!

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And what did YOU do tonight?

Blue Man Group made surprise appearances at Crobar. It was a 3 day weekend, gay night and Victor Calderone was the DJ so it was packed. Here was the set up. The performance was not advertised so everyone was dancing/groping and then the music changed to a special track and the Blue Men were on the dance floor and making their way to a set of paint drums on a catwalk. They performed to the special tune and then they were off. I had fun taking pictures because people assumed I was taking photos for something cool- I think it was the fancy camera combined with my awesome AC/DC Back in Black t-shirt. I felt pretty %*&^$#@! cool. Now it’s 3am and I feel *&^%$#@! tired.

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My Papa

My Dad wanted to be on the site. This is from the summer before last when a butterfly decided that my dad and I were quite tasty!

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The Silver Tongued Devil

Last night I was having a bizarre dream involving snowmobiles, assorted members of my family, Karin, bikers and the best part…Kris Kristofferson. Hot, 70’s Kris Kristofferson. I was trying to use all of my dream powers to make it turn naughty, but I kept waking up. It was just not meant to be for me and Kris.
I can trace my obsession back to Convoy and the Rubber Duck. Now there was a man. He always plays hot, kind of screwed up guys. I love that. He wrote Me and Bobby McGee. Did you know that??
The other night A Star Is Born was on television. That’s the beauty of replay tv. You can fast forward through all the Streisand crap and just focus on hot, drunk, coked up 70’s Kristofferson.

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