Happy Freaking First Anniversary

or the greatest way EVAH to celebrate baby's first year blogging

Okay, so believe it or not I've been rambling, ranting and running on incessantly here in the blog-o-sphere for one year.

You, my throngs of adoring readers (well, okay all three of you anyway): Get OUT!!

Me: I know, right? The year sped along like the Road Runner after the Coyote bungles, like

the simplest of schemes only to have a ginormous Acme Anvil fall on his head because, you know he's not the brightest bulb in the pack. In fact I think maybe he has dyslexia or ADD or dementia or something because he is totally the SLOWEST of learners. Seriously. He's constantly standing around with a singed face or shot off hand from holding onto TNT too long or a...

Yinz guys: Get to the point, round eye.

Me: I...I don't remember. Wait. What were we talking about?

YG: *sigh* You were mentioning how quickly the year has passed. Which, you know, maybe for you. Reading your crap...er, thoughts have honestly dragged the universe down by a few years.

Me: Wha? Come on. There were a couple that were entertaining, right?

Yinz: Meh. Maybe a few.

Me: You guys are mean. I'm crushed. Really. You suck. Wait, don't leave. I love you... *flutters eye lashes*

You: Whatever, Dude.

Moving on...

So what does one do in celebration of a milestone such as this? Me? I hop on over to the nearest hospital for a ceremonial core sampling of my girls.

Hooo Doggie! It's a regular Hootenanny! Good times had by... NONE!

(Side Note: Speaking of "None", I just read the infamous OctoMom is dressing up as a Nun for Halloween. Yeah. Ponder that for a minute. Okay, it is sorta funny.) But I digress...

You may recall from one of my last posts that I have to go through the same mammary mambo every year. My less-than-bodacious lady berries get smashed then further photographed using ultrasound. My girls have been snapped so much, they're like the Christie Brinkley of boobage. They even have a good side and an agent. Work it, girls. Work it!

This year's added bonus for playing along is a... biopsy! But wait! If you act now you'll get two for the price of one! Don't let this offer pass you by. Call now 1-800-DRL-MYBOOB!

So, yeah. Do I know how to party, or what?

Last time my girl pillows got this kind of special attention, I had no idea what to expect. I went it alone, which I have to admit kinda sucked. This time my ever-loving Geo came along for the moral-support ride. I will always love him for this. I really needed his big, fat, rib-crushing hug afterwards. Besides, Geo has a vested interest in making sure his little buddies are healthy. If you know what I mean, and I think you do. :D

Anywho....

So I get into the procedure room, dawn the lovely, high-fashion gown and meet the woman of the hour, Dr. Chaffing, as in dish. Luckily for me, she has a great sense of humor and an even greater sense of professional skill. Dr. Chaffing-Dish preps my tender TaTa, whips out a 12-inch needle and proceeds to numb that puppy up. That done, she then turns around, rifles through her Sear's Craftsmen tool chest and whips out a Makita power drill with a hollow bit.

Aaaaaaand .... that's when I closed my eyes.

Okay, it wasn't exactly a power drill, but it sure sounded and felt like it. Seriously. There was whirring and circular vibrating like she was installing a molly bolt to hang a 300 pound mirror on the living room wall. I swear there was more drilling going on below the surface of my fun bags than a John Holmes film fest.

Six core samples later, I got to flip over and do it all again on the OTHER SIDE.

Thank you sir. May I have another.

Yay me!! Apparently the tissue in my right yabo is made of teflon, because Dr. Dish had to open the vault to the Medieval Interrogation Tools and pull out the gun-powder charged pistol to break through that tough candy coated tissue to get to the creamy chocolate center of the cyst. Thank goodness that worked, because I swear I saw her prepping a stick of dynamite to toss in as a back up. "Fire in the hole!!"

(I said hole. he he)

Now I get to spend the day cradling my cleavage with bags of frozen peas. Mmmmm. Dead Sexy.

This is why I drink.

But seriously. Do I know how to party, or what?