Jacqui (jacqui) wrote,

April Winchell's Web Site and Surgery Woes, and Kids, Weed and Computers

Hello My Little Pudding Pops,

I stole this phrase from April Winchell -- well, sort of, I was at her site, getting depressed about her possibly having to shut it down because of the high cost of bandwidth, when this word just popped out at me. If you haven't been there, you should go soon because as she says;

"For some reason or other, this site remains extremely popular. I don't know why. I'm not particularly interesting, I have a very bleak outlook, and my life and career have been circling the drain for the last year or so. But God love you people, you just lap it up. Maybe I make you feel better, if only because you aren't me.

So basically what has happened is that my bandwidth bill is now beyond my reach. The more you like the site, the more it costs. It's the exact opposite of how a business model is supposed to work, unless you're Disney.

The point is, it's now too expensive for me to keep this thing up and running. I don't know if I'll be able to do this much longer, so I would suggest that you rape the site now, and take all the mp3s and everything else you want. Just pretend you're in South Central and the Lakers won the playoffs."

She is the funniest writer so naturally her entries are a blast to read in a kind of dry morbid sort of way, heh, and she has the best sense of the absurd and her MP3s and links are to die for. I really don't want to see her shut her site down, but if she is planning on doing this, I guess we'd better take her advice and grab her links and toys, sniff, sniff. Scott and I did what we could by buying tickets to her sushi party and then chickening, (or should I say raw-fishing), out at the last minute. : ( Hey, at least she got the money and we didn't have to stand around and try to be social with everyone but the one or two people we would actually like to get to know. I'm shy, he's shy, what're you gonna do? *shrugs*

After we came home from dinner last night, and while I was dutifully trying to load all of Scott's pretty pictures, (Well, pretty for him, because even though he is a gorgeous man, we are neither of us at our best visually right now, due to aging and weight gain -- these thinks happen, Goddamnit), so I could select my favorites for recommending to Daniel, Beau's friend Phil called. Poor Phil, he's caught in the middle between Beau and Steven and me, (oh Shit I just spelled out the S., oh screw it, it's not like you couldn't ' have guessed), in this whole teenage pot-smoking drama. You see, Phil was my friend first. I have no problem making friends with anyone from ages zero through infinity, bugs and animals as well, and when I saw him sitting all by himself, or well, sitting with a bunch of naked men and Burners, under the info tent at Burning Man, I couldn't help but want to bring him home and love him up. I thought he'd have more fun hanging out in an air-conditioned, video-game-equipped RV, with people his own age in Kidsville, than sitting on a dusty couch in Info-Land helping every Internet-starved-cyber-junkie like me who came along looking for aid.

So, that's how we became friends. But then that's how he became friends with Beau as well. See Phil is lonely because he spends way too much time at home. He's too smart for his own good and after he hacked his school's computer system, mail bombed it, and sent termination letters to, and resignation letters from, every teacher in his entire public school, they just "decided" it'd be better for him if he did his learning from home, and far, far away from them. So there he is, far away from people his own age, living with his kind, super sensitive, depressed and a little too hippy-gal-left-back-in-the-woo-woo-New-Age-seventies Mom, in the foothills of the Sierra mountains.

He's lonely and he needs playmates and the phone never stops ringing at our house. He's so smart that at sixteen he's already got his own hosting company, and is supporting himself selling electronics on eBay, building computers for people, and getting paid a thousand bucks per, designing corporate web sites. If only Beau would/could do this, instead of draining me of every last real cent in exchange for these crap game dollars that you need in order to buy things in his alternate reality gaming worlds.

Basically he's caught between friendships, and gets confused. He got caught in the middle with the whole S. weed smoking thing, and I had to protect him and play go-between for about an hour last night in order to clear things up for all of the kids who were fighting over who ratted out who because S.'s Mother couldn't keep her yap shut. Yuck. I thought I'd left this stuff behind back in high-school. The hardest part of all of this for me is that it's driven a small wedge between Beau and me. I've always prided myself on our closeness and how open we are with each other or well, with how open Beau feels he can be with me. But now, inevitably, he's got secrets, and it makes me sad.

Okay, that's about it for now. I have small white fluff creatures to take to the vet, and nasty-ass-freeway-traffic to try to beat.

Big loving hugs,

PS: What's Your Papal Name? I'm Pope Honorius V -- apparently a very indecisive Pope.

Oh and for any of my fellow weight-loss-surgery pals, or anyone considering the post-surgery-tummy-tuck-boob-lift thing that I'm putting off, here's what she wrote about her own surgeries behind the cut;

"Adventures in Plastic Surgery

Well, I'm back. More accurately, parts of me are back. Other parts are in a landfill, while still others are on their way to Lever Brothers, where they'll be made into bars of Caress.
<<< ----- Come on now, you've gotta admit that's funny.

I don't really know where to begin this update, and I don't know how far I'll get. I have a lot to tell you, but sitting here is extremely uncomfortable. I took some Percocet a few minutes ago, and when that kicks in, anything could happen. This could turn into a novel, or I could leave in mid sentence and go stare at my hairbrush. It's a crap shoot.

I guess I'll start by saying that this has been a pretty awful experience so far. All those happy nights of watching Extreme Makeover did not prepare me for the reality of having a full body overhaul. It's brutal, painful and expensive.

But as my best friend Mick put it, I "had no choice". I do think that's true. After having lost about 130 pounds, my body was really damaged and I couldn't repair it.

So I decided to get it all done. I had my breasts lifted, I had about a gallon of fat sucked out of my hips, waist, back and knees, and I had a tummy tuck.

I think the use of the word, "tummy" is misleading, as it implies some kind of cuddly procedure performed by Care Bears. It's not. It's more like something they did to heretics when they didn't want to kill them all at once.

A tummy tuck is not just snipping off some extra skin and putting Bactine on it. Your entire abdominal infrastructure is stitched up so tightly that you can bearly breathe, and after two weeks, I still can't stand up straight.

I didn't really grasp this until my boyfriend Patrick took me in for the surgery. While signing the waivers, the nurse casually mentioned that the extreme tightening of the stomach muscles, coupled with the drugs, would result in very shallow breathing. Unless I "remembered" to take deep breaths every hour, I could get pneumonia.

And that's when it all went south.

I was already tense in the days leading up to the surgery, and by that morning, I was just brittle. The idea that I would have to remind myself to breathe was so scary to me that I started to have a full blown panic attack.

I wouldn't go into the operating room. I sat on the couch with Patrick and just wept. He sat there patiently with me while I lost my mind.

Finally I looked at him and and asked, "Should I do this?" I barely got the sentence out before he said yes. I then tried switching the question around to see if that would get a different result. I asked, "Should I do all of this? At once?" And once again, he said yes, because he really wants me to be happy, and he really felt this would help me get there. Either that or he was just sick of the whole fucking thing and wanted to go to Starbucks.

So I got up and went into the operating room. So good for me.

Of course, I refused to lie down. That was a problem. They don't like doing surgery on you when you're sitting up. Finally the nurse said, "Why don't we start the IV while you're in this position?" which was a good idea, otherwise we might all still be there. I might be under the supply cabinet, hiding from a Forest Ranger with a tranq gun.

All right, that's all I can do right now. I have to go watch TV. I have about 15 hours of Judge Mathis saved up on Tivo."

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