I don’t know why but I just want to take Britney home with me. Last night at the VMA’s I sat there watching her “big comeback” and thought, either she is completely drugged up and is afraid of falling over or she is terrified and out of practice. Either way, I can do a better job falling out of bed in the morning than she did lip syncing and awkwardly standing on stage. It’s unanimous, her “comeback” actually put her back a little further. It was painfully sad.

I think the best quote of the evening was when Sarah Silverman said it was amazing to think that at this age Britney “has already accomplished everything she is going to accomplish in her life.” This will be true if someone doesn’t wake her up. And that’s why I want to take her home. Educate her. Snap her out of this crap. Not that I think she has any talent, but she is a money-making commercial queen that only has to get her shit together, sound a little more intelligent, and pump out pop music to stay successful. For someone whose idol is Madonna, she sure isn’t catching on to the queen of pop’s brilliance and business sense.

The other sad bit though was that MTV was touting this amazing new format for the VMA’s and was promoting it like it was the new breakthrough of the decade. But in actuality it felt sloppy and commercial, gasp! What’s even more laughable is that they are a music industry, thereby specializing in audio and video, yes? So why did it seem every time you turned around the microphones weren’t on and the videos were hiccuping? Sick. My high school video yearbook was better produced.

Update: I figured out what they thought was their “new format.”  Much like TRL has ruined MTV by only showing bits of videos and then letting people scream “shout-outs” in the middle of the snippets, the VMA’s only showed clips of live perfomrances happening at multiple Vegas parties and then when the stage performances were going on, they would advertise and talk over them.  MTV has officially ruined every aspect of music and videos.  At least our very lovely and multi-talented Justin Timberlake (won the Quadruple Threat award) gave an acceptance speech that said something to the effect of “I’m calling out to MTV to play more videos!” 

When you read about how the US Gov’t is most likely ‘disappearing’ children.Truly, my hatred of this Administration has gone beyond the Satanic.

In the spirit of the Stanley Cup playoffs, I thought I’d a few hockey related posts might be appropriate. Here is the first. I know it’s not football, but bear with me here.

My hockey fanship was already firmly in place on March 22, 1989, but it was about to be cemented forever. That evening, when watching the news with my Dad, we saw a story about Buffalo Saber Goaltender Clint Malarchuk. The anchor warned that the footage we were about to see was gruesome and that people with weak stomachs should not watch the segment. Of course, this made me have to see it. The footage showed a Blues wing and Saber defenseman colliding skate first with Malarchuk who was down to cover the puck. The skate blade slit Malarchuk’s throat and blood poured onto the ice. I watched in horror as they showed the clip again and again. Miraculously, the Saber’s trainer reached into Malarchuk’s neck and pinched his vein closed while they waited for the ambulance. This saved his life. Malarchuk remained conscious through the ordeal and left the ice on While they waited, fans in the stands fainted, two had heart attacks, and countless (including some teammates) vomited.  He was rushed to the hospital where he received 300 stitches.

Thanks to the power of Youtube, you can view the accident. Watch at your own risk. It is horrific.

Then the game continued. That’s right. They kept playing. With a five foot pool of blood on the ice. Two weeks later Malarchuk came back to the team. I believe he resumed playing the next season. He played in the NHL for three more seasons before obsessive compulsive disorder brought on by the incident sidelined his career. How could this man, who nearly died on the ice, come back and continue to play? Somehow he did it, but I don’t know how. It seems like this would be an extreme test of conquering ones mental demons.

Goaltenders have always been my favorite (especially Olaf Kolzig and Grant Fuhr), but since the accident I have always looked up to Malarchuk for his athletic ability and how he handled the emergency. Not surprisingly the NHL changed it’s requirements on neck protection for goalies after this incident.

Thinking back on it today, I decided to google it to see if could find out what became of Malachuk after he retired. It seems he had stints as a goaltending coach for the Florida Panters and the Columbus Blue Jackets and he is also a horse dentist. I was surprised though to find a custom made action figure depicting the accident. I’m late in the game as Deadspin covered this last year. The fan-made figure was made using a McFarlane Toys goaltender action figure and was for sale on e-bay.  Part of me thinks it is pretty disgusting to profit (albeit in a small way) off of this man’s tragedy, but the other half thinks it’s an amazing piece of craftmanship in tribute to a part of hockey and NHL history.

And that’s the best part of having cancer — getting to spring it on people. I found out in February that I have cervical cancer — carcinoma in situ — which means, basically, that I have cancer but it hasn’t broken out of my cervix yet. I tried to hang on to the fact that what I have is not truly classified as frank cancer because it hasn’t invaded the surrounding structures, but my doc assured me that the cells appear cancerous under a scope. I gots the cancer, even if it is only in one of my reproductive organs. So, I go to have the better part of my cervix removed next Wednesday.

It would be a fair assessment to say that I am kind of devestated about this because I’d really like more children. And while having carcinoma in situ doesn’t preclude fertility or successful pregnancy, the procedure that I have to have done to get rid of it will negatively impact my ability to maintain a pregnancy, were I to release a mature egg that became magically, magically fertilized and then mysteriously implanted itself into my endometrium.

So, girls! Don’t be a prodigal daughter — get your pap on and get it on once every calendar year! I missed one annual exam (2006) and let me offer you my most resolute assurances — I wish I hadn’t. I’ve had “abnormal” paps before and even had to have some biopsies, but I never expected to have carcinoma in situ at 26. The crazy thing is that I tested negative for HPV — the prom queen of carcinogens. Sure, lots of things can predispose one to cervical cancer, but in my demographic, I think HPV is assumed with that diagnosis. My doctor said that, in all likelihood, my prediliction for the tobacco had something to do with the change in the cells. This, of course, came as a huge surprise, since I had no idea smoking was bad for you. </deadpan>

So, there that is. I have cancer but I won’t have it in a week or so because, with any luck, I’m going to have it all removed on Wednesday.

Kisses!

I got my wisdom teeth out today, all four impacted beauties. I do not expect it to go nearly as well as Zandra’s and this is because I fully expect to have at least one dry socket. And despite my vicious come-downs from the hydrocodone, I have really tried to keep a sense of humor about this. In fact, when I was writing the check for the procedure, in the “for” section of the check (you know, the memo section?) I wrote: the exact price of human agony. I also thought of a funny exchange I really wanted to have with my dentist, but I got too groggy to remember to have it. It was going to go like this:

Doctor: Well, Melissa, do you have any questions?

Me: Yes, a few. First of all, how long until I can eat solid foods?

Doctor: About a week.

Me: Okay, and how long until I can workout?

Doctor: Also about a week.

Me: Brush normally?
Doctor: A few days.
Me: Chew gum?

Doctor: A few weeks.

Me: Fellate?

Witness

There have been some sad things happening in my life lately, some of you may know of them, but by far the most private unfortunate event has been…the infection that is my bedroom. I’m not too sure how it started, perhaps some horrible event that required dressing up which always leads to a tearing apart of the closet for something that I don’t even own. Or perhaps it was my bimonthly attempt I made to do laundry (and let’s be clear that bimonthly in this case means every two months, no kidding) only to carefully lay the clothes on my bed to avoid wrinkling. Behold! Weeks later I have carved a little nook in the corner of my bed for sleeping instead of actually putting the clothes away. Don’t misunderstand. This is not just about clothes and junk. The bathroom indicates that some boys have been using it. Discoloring of the toilet, ring around the bathtub, grime coating the sink. It’s disgusting. But for the life of me, I can’t remember bringing any boys home this month. And upon further investigation, I pulled out enough of my hair from the tub drain to fashion a wig for Locks of Love.

I have begun to feel about my room much as I suspect I would of my yard if I were in some backwoods family with a ktichen sink snuggled up against a collection of junker cars on blocks and an old couch. I fantasize that one day I’ll come home and someone with an absurd love for crap will have taken it all away or better yet, a teenage pyromaniac will resolve the matter for me. My sister has asked me every day for the last month,

“How’s that room coming?”

“Great, I think they’re working on it right now.

“Who’s that? The gnomes?”

“Yeah, they cost a lot and they tend to play too much, but I think they’ll do a good job.”

“But the trouble with gnomes Kate is that they like to undo their work when they’re done.”

“Ya know, that’s been the problem. Every time.”

So today is miserable. It’s true Seattle weather, drizzly and grey. I got a brand new patio table late last night that I was looking forward to using today, but alas, the weather has dictated that it is a day for cleaning. So I’m kicking the gnomes out and I’m braving the mess.

I thought for fun though (and as a way to procrastinate further) I would post some pictures and we could play a game called, “What embarrassing crap has Katie been tripping over in the middle of the night?” You may even be able to see a couple cats lost in amongst the mess because every so often Mad will send me in on a recon mission to find a missing kitty. Although, I think they are convinced I created the mess for them to play with. In the dead of night. Loudly. Thus the gradual rotation of things into the bathroom that I lock up at night (e.g. I have determined that the sound of a cat playing in a paper bag literally triples in volume between the hours of 2-6am).

Update: Maddy thought I should show the little corner where I’ve been sleeping.  You can see Xander has a little bed next to me, but what you can’t see is that where my legs would be is where Anya sleeps so I really only have half of the space you see here.