Pay The Line

Well, I am in the final countdown here. In ten days, I will be on vacation!

This trip marks the start of my summer of travels, and I am so excited! I have several trips planned this summer, some with family, some with friends, and even one with my parents!

Thursday the 17th, 6 PM, Philadelphia Ginger will be picking me up from PHL airport so we can head down to Atlantic City for a three day weekend. The Harrah's corporation was nice enough to comp me a room at Caesars for three nights. Ya know, since I'm a high roller and all.

I will be child and husband free for a little over 72 hours and I am going to be in heaven! I plan on filling my big gulp cup with Captain and Diet, to take on the plane. By the time we touch down in Philly, I should have a nice buzz going.

The one hour drive to the shore should be enough time for the buzz to wear off so I can start another one.

I am going to play a lot of craps, blackjack and the occasional slot machine. I also plan to get some poker in, in the early morning hours, when the big fish are sleeping, and it's just me and the drunks. I figure playing with a bunch of drunk guys will considerably improve my chances of taking the pot.

Instead of reading message boards and googling high school friends, I have spent the last week practicing my skillz. I got MAD skillz.

This week and next are shaping up to look pretty busy, so the time should fly. I have Dr's appointments, swim lessons for the kids, a soccer game and practices, a haircut, and Lauren's preschool graduation.

Of course, TV is still going strong, with 24, ER, Grey's Anatomy, The Sopranos and Entourage all showing new episodes, my nights should be full as well.

Nothing else to report around here, just life as usual.

OH! I have cancer- again. Or at least that's what I have diagnosed.

If you have been reading me for any period of time B.B.S ( Before blog spot) you KNOW I am a hypochondriac. I have self-diagnosed myself with every disease and affliction out there, so this new diagnosis is no surprise.

I went to the dermatologist today, for my yearly once over. He looked at all my moles and spots and said I looked fine. THEN, he saw something on my back. It was brown.

He said ' I don't like the way this looks- I'm going to take it off and biopsy it.'

Now, let's give the man the benefit of the doubt here. He has only seen me twice before today. He obviously doesn't know that I am a hypochondriac. Had he held this knowledge, I am certain he would have chosen his words carefully.

Saying the word 'biopsy' to a hypochondriac is a mortal sin. Biopsy= cancer. Cancer= death.

After two shots of lidocain around the tumor, he cut it off. He even had the presence of mind to SHOW me my little tumor swimming in its formaldehyde bath. Of course, it was gross. It even had a few black hairs growing out of it. I am not board certified in dermatology, YET, but I can only assume that hair growing out of things equals imminent death.

He casually mentioned he'd call me in a couple of weeks to discuss the results. A couple of weeks!? I could be a goner by then! Shouldn't we be starting chemotherapy, radiation and end of life care? Dear God! I am going to be a mess by the time he calls.

At least I'll have a gambling trip under my belt by then.