The Way Things Are



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I was a karma-busting son-of-a-bitch.
2006-05-16, 3:45 p.m.

“Brain all over the place.” Plus goiter.

Again? you ask. Yes, I say. Although I have not had the opportunity to waste time, daydream or wool-gather today, I still have brain all over the place. It’s like a freaking crime scene in here, what with all this brain.

And why might I have brain all over the place? Because we have gotten out of “lurch forward slowly” mode on the big business deal (DOMINATION OF THE WORLD REAL ESTATE MARKET! FEAR ME!) and are going to close the deal by the end of June. So I’ll have a newish job, a new office, a lot more focused scope of work, and God-I-hope a new salary. We are now in “we know where we’re going now, so we might as well run! Run! Fly!” mode on that deal. And really, that’s kind of fun.

In addition to all that fun -- WHAT THE FUCK, THYROID? I was promised – yes, PROMISED – by Jane that it’s just a little thyroid cyst, and didn’t I know that practically everyone who’s cool has one, and it’s no big deal, and blah blah blah. My blood work came back all normal as it could be last week, and so when I went in for my ultrasound yesterday, I was blasé about it. Cavalier. Yes, I was a karma-busting son-of-a-bitch, because I have stuff going on all OVER my thyroid.

Sure, yeah, there’s a cyst on one side, but I also have a goiter. A GOITER. So while Syllie may have gotten the nickname of Goiter because she had a brachial cyst all up on the side of her neck, I’m stealing the Goiter nickname from her because it is rightfully mine.

Y’all just put that Goiter Tiara on my head and worship me. I’m not showing yet, but hopefully I’ll end up with a lumpy neck bulge, and people will not want to sit next to me on the bus, and my goiter experience will be complete. Oh, I don’t ride the bus, but I think a GOITER is just the gateway to bus-riding and possibly muttering to myself, and smelling like cats.

Please sign up in the comments if you, too, have a goiter and would like to join my Goiter Club. It’ll be fun. We’ll drink margaritas with iodine-enriched salt-encrusted glasses. Wait, is iodine good, or is it bad for goiters? Shit, do you see how I ended up like this? I have no idea.

So there’s the goiter.

BUT THEN! there’s a “dominant nodule”. And it’s complex, whatever the fuck that means. Somebody Google that and let me know, won’t you? Dr. S says those are rarely cancerous – like only 10-15% - which YAY. Such good odds.

I have to set up an appointment for a biopsy of my dominant nodule with an endocrinologist, and when I asked Dr. S if they were going to stick a needle in my throat, she said “Actually, eight of them.”

YAY again. Y’all chime in about all your goiters (which I will treat with medication to shrink its big fat ass) and your dominant thyroid nodules – complex! – and let me know how much of a not big deal it all is, OK? And then come tell me that while I have eight needles sticking out of my throat, so I can kick your asses.

****

Onward to much better things.

We took a little trip last week, to sunny, cold North Carolina. You wouldn’t think it would be cold in NC in May, but I guess when you’re used to 90 degrees F and 90% humidity, temps in the 60s and 70s with relatively low humidity is cold. Y’all give me a big fat break on my lack of cold tolerance. I’ve been told (by a black person) that I seem to have a little black blood in me, what with my inability to tolerate temperatures under 80. If that’s a racist statement, so be it. I didn’t come up with it, but I wear my heritage with pride.

But anyway, we had so much fun! When we got there Thursday night, more than an hour after we had planned because of flight delays and rush hour traffic in Raleigh, EB and TB had a huge spread (of food, you pervs) going for us. While we waited for steaks and mashed potatoes (the good kind with sour cream and everything else in ‘em, that you put in a casserole dish and bake) and salad, we ate spinach dip, and chips-n-salsa (they have good salsa in NC! Just so you know), and bacon-wrapped, cream cheese-filled grilled jalapenos. And beer.

That evening set the tone for the entire trip, for we ate, and we ate, and we ate. Friday morning, TB had to go to work, so after fixing us cinnamon orange French toast, EB took us to the beach. How perfect is the name “Surf City, NC” for a beach town? Very, that’s how.

Although now that I think of it, Smurf City would have been good, too.

But anyway, we sat out on the beach, braving the cold 70 degree winds blowing in off the Atlantic, and left around 2:00, taking hot dogs home with us for lunch. Did you ever eat a hot dog loaded with chili, mustard, onions AND slaw? I have now. What was that called, EB? A Carolina Dog?

After that, TB came home, and we played golf. Here’s how that went down: TB and DishWasher and Lil Guy played golf, and EB and I drove our own cart and split a bottle of champagne. That’s my kind of golf. After 9 holes, LG bailed on the big guys, and went with EB and me to the little golf course grill, where we ate our weight in wings and fries.

Didn’t I tell you the weekend was all about eating?

I don’t remember what we did for the next couple of hours, because I was in a coma, but that evening, we went to Blue Water Grill in Wilmington and ate seafood out on the water. It was very lovely and since I had remembered to bring a jacket, I was not cold. I am so smart! SMRT!

Then on Saturday, after eating a ginormous breakfast of quiche (egg pie for you guys) with chilies and cheese in it, we went to an air show on TB’s base.

I have to admit, I was a little worried about the air show. I’m sure there are air shows going on all the time, but you don’t hear about them until there’s a tragic accident, which gets played over and over again on the news. I am happy to report that there were no newsworthy tragedies at this one, or any kind of tragedies at all except that parking was kind of a clusterfuck, and it was really, really cool.

I recommend the air show next time you get a chance, because it’s exciting and loud and kind of scary, and there are lots of guys hanging around in their flight suits. I wanted to scold those trick airplane pilots and tell them “Would you STOP THAT? There is no reason to turn upside down, and you are just going to get hurt. Now stop it.”

What’s not to like about any of that?

SO THEN (I know – the weekend just keeps going, doesn’t it?) we loaded back into the car, and drove back to Surf City for fried seafood and flip-flop shopping. We had lunch at 4:00 in the afternoon at Buddy’s (I think lunch at 4:00 in the afternoon is just the height of decadence), and shopped for flip-flops and t-shirts and whatnots at Wings. Since I spent over $40, I received a free coffee mug, and a free beach tote. Just so you know.

We got back to the house, and after throwing out some ideas for dinner, we decided NOT to do anything other than heat up leftovers and finish off some of the food that was already in the house. Personally, I made a meal of bacon-wrapped, cream cheese-filled grilled jalapenos. And caramel apple cheesecake for dessert.

Did you know my sister is an awesome cook? She is. She’s hot and cute and sweet and fun and wicked funny, she’s crafty, she’s smart, she holds down a full-time job plus going to grad school full-time, AND SHE COOKS things like caramel apple cheesecake and bacon-wrapped, cream cheese-filled grilled jalapenos.

In short, it was a really fun, long weekend hanging out with people we love who know how to do just the right mix of hanging out and relaxing, combined with activities, destinations and fun.

****

It was all over too soon, and LG and I agree that we really did not want to come back to Texas, where everyone throws their trash out on the side of the road, and the ground is dry and the vegetation is crispy and the beach is hours away, not minutes, and the license plates can contain only six figures, as opposed to eight.

OH! And my sister had a bouquet of beautiful roses in our room, with a card wishing me a happy Mother’s Day. Which is more than I can say for the slugs I share square footage with at home. For I received nary a card, nor a luncheon, nor a flower from he-who-shares-my-DNA, and he-who-leaves-his-DNA-all-over-me.

So, thank you, Seeestor, for a lovely weekend, and for your wonderful Mother’s Day wishes.

The rest of you are charged with consoling me about my thyroid troubles, and telling me you can’t really tell I have A GOITER on my long, slender, graceful, pencil-like neck.

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