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Sometimes I get songs stuck in my head and sometimes I get words stuck in my head and sometimes I get thoughts stuck in there and here’s one that’s been taking up space periodically over the last few months:

How does one describe the difference between black cherry and cherry?

This isn’t a koan. I’m pretty sure someone could describe the difference, since I can definitely taste the difference and there’s a very real difference. But it’s tough to put it into words. I suppose black cherry is more mellow and cherry is more tangy/tart?

In other news I can’t stand having to wait until Monday to put up another episode of my podcast! I’m so excited that you guys like it!

So pretty much everything cute involving animals almost makes me cry or actually makes me cry. I would attribute it to hormones except I only started taking them a couple days ago (to control endometriosis… might I tell you more about my lady plumbing?) and this crying-over-adorable-animals bullshit has been going on for ages. But back to the singing donkey, or as my dad, Dr. Bruce and Bill Maher say, “dunkey” (I think it’s an East Coast thing).

Behold!

Woofie was the dog I grew up with. People always thought we were saying Wolfie which is kind of tough and cool–and Van Halen-ish–instead of Woofie, which is neither. But he was a good dog and I was fairly devastated when he died many years ago and for some reason I always remember his birthday, which would have been today.

Here are some old posts about him, in case you need to look at photos and read some words, which you do.

In other news, my brand new podcast is launching on February 13th! Cancel all your plans!

So Kevin Smith came on the podcast tonight and he and Adam discussed their conflict and even though there may have been some yelling–or if not yelling, some talking in enthusiastic tones–I don’t think I suffered PTSD. I could say more but I need to change clothes and watch The Bachelor.

Here’s a Keek. I’m embedding a keek. Doesn’t that sound scatological? Pardon my keek. KEEEEEEEEK. Side note: What the fuck is a keek?

@alisonrosen and @thatkevinsmith after an intense show. Download it tomorrow.

Feb 1, 2012 | Source: Keek.com

Certain things are so cute they make me want to cry. Ever since having what I referred to as a “cutegasm” on air while watching a video of a baby bat I’ve been on the receiving end of all sorts of cute pictures and videos.

Here’s today’s adorableness. Bulldog puppies learning to walk!

I love them.

You might have to take my what?

So the chances of the doctor needing to remove my uterus when he goes in to remove the blood-filled ovarian cysts (oh, were you eating? sorry) are very small. Very very very small. However I still need to sign consent forms saying it’s okay if they take my ovaries (chances of me waking up minus one of those are a little less remote since one of them is the size of a hobo’s knapsack and one is the size of a proper London flat) (okay I made that up, one is enlarged and one is more enlarged and the more enlarged one might have to be removed if all the “good ovary” has been “used up”–those are the Dr.’s words–which is delightful) (where was I? the problem with all these parentheticals is I lose my train of thought). So anyway I must sign consent forms saying I’m okay with waking up in a bathtub full of ice with a note saying to go to the hospital because they removed my kidney. At least that’s what it feels like. Or I can refuse to sign the consent forms which means if they go in and find out things are fucked and they need to remove stuff (that would only be in a cancer situation which again, is not what anyone is really expecting but they have to rule it out etc) then they close me back up and give me the bad news and then open me back up again and start the looting of defunct and/or weaponized organs.

Considering how little I’m looking forward to one surgery I really don’t want to have two, so part of me says I should just consent and trust the doctors who are aware that I really want to have children and have promised to do everything they can to preserve that option.

The thing is that I’ve always known I wanted kids but I’ve never felt any immediacy about it, I’ve always felt that it’s something, like everything else, that will happen when the time is right. I just never considered complications.

And while I’m feeling sorry for myself, I have to say that, having watched a loved one go through cancer, this whole thing is reminiscent in that I’m having surgery and they don’t quite know what they’re going to find and after the surgery they will determine a course of treatment (if it’s endometriosis which it most likely is) and it’ll be the kind of thing I’m dealing with/managing the rest of my life.

And if it is endometriosis the treatment will involve (I think) increasing doses of hormones so I will be moody and uncomfortable.

So, yeah.

I know that no one is promised health or a long life and the fact I’ve lived this long without a hospital stay or surgery is the unusual thing–more unusual than something cropping up that I now must tend to–and millions upon millions of people deal with this stuff all the time and it’s like jury duty–it’s now my turn– but I’m the kind of nerd who vaguely enjoyed jury duty and I don’t expect I will enjoy much of any of this.

Update: I should add that the surgery is happening at the end of the month as I realize it sounds like I’m writing this on the way into the O.R.

This duckling also hasn’t been blogging

It’s been too long since I posted so I wanted to say hi. Hi!

Hope you had a good Thanksgiving and black Friday and cyber Monday and fiber Tuesday which isn’t a real thing but should be since why’s it all, “Hey, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Sunday, fuck you!” I left out Saturday since there’s small business Saturday.

Anyhoozerswhatzits, I have to have surgery coming up since I have some ovarian cysts and an elevated CA 125 blood test and a family history of ovarian cancer so you can imagine how excited I am. How excited am I? Go ahead and imagine.

The chances of it being anything dire are very very remote from everything I’m hearing however I’m kind of scared all the same as I’ve never been put under general and prefer my body to be free of needles and scopes and things that cut things and also I like it when my blood stays inside my body as opposed to ends up in vials and wads of cotton and gauze and soups and sauces and glazes and demi glazes. Look, I’m not saying it’s standard practice to use patient blood in haute cuisine but I’m also not not saying it.

Perhaps you’re wondering why I assume it would be haute cuisine and not regular non-haute cuisine? I think that’s obvious.

So, yeah, that’s what’s happening and I’m kind of not into it and maybe I’ll run away.