If Emeline could talk, she would say it. Because she's a greedy, selfish little thing. We want the people we love, the ones who are our suns and true norths and the steady arms of our crazy looping compasses, to live forever, and we want them to love us more than they love their smokes and their booze and their chicken-fried steaks.

I've already given Hec permission to get medieval on my ass if my doctor ever gives me any kind of ultimatum and I blow it off. I mean, I love my curly fries and my runny Brie as much as the next shit-eating American, but I love the way I fit into Hec's arms and the peace there -- just there, with my chin resting snugly in the little hollow above his clavicle and my lips on his neck and breathing in the faint sweet scent of his hair -- much, much more. If my doctor told me I could buy myself six extra weeks of enjoying that sweet homely peace in relatively decent health by eating twigs and acorns, I'd do it.

And also, while my friends and family and general loved ones are allowed to say, "I love you. I don't want you to get cancer, etc please quit." it drives me bugfuck for strangers to do it.

Granted. Full acknowledged. But you know what? Let's not slide over to the Righteous Anger Of The Repressed Smoker just yet. Let's stick with the loved ones for a minute, because I don't think that gets as much play around here. I want a minute for the people who are distressed as they watch people they love treat their health carelessly. If your health were a child, I'd have CPP on speed-dial. I'm not talking casual negligence.

And woot, vw! That's great -- and amazing. I know how incredibly, insanely stressful the past couple of years have been for you, and if any smoker on earth deserved a no-scolding pass on account of too much other shit to worry about right now, it'd have been you.

And I love Deena's spicy brains, and I want them around and working at top capacity for as long as I can get them.

But, ucch. Judgy strangers are creeps, and I kick them in the shins. kick kick. Like such.

Let's not slide over to the Righteous Anger Of The Repressed Smoker just yet.

No, no. Not wanting to slide. Just sayin' is all.

I give full range for the people who love me and want me to stick around for quite awhile to weigh in. It keeps me not smoking. Mostly.

ION, while we were in the doctor's office, the doctor asked if any of us were vomiting or nauseated or had diarrhea.

Yeah, I'm wondering if what I had was really food poisoning. I've heard of many cases recently (Cindy included, I think) of major stomach wrenching.

(ION, I'm going through my message book looking for a fax number of a tenant and I keep finding little notes from various calls to my dr during pregnancy. "5:00 Dr Feit Ultrasound", "Benadryl, cortisone, pills or cream". Feels like a million years ago.)

No wonder I'm still single. I've not met the one I'd eat twigs and acorns to live for, yet.(Of course to get them to...well, to get them to, I'd promise to and manage for a week or so, but once we'd...the temptation would be there to eat garbage again.) I did offer to go on a funky diet if Mom wanted to after the tumor, even admitting I'd probably be weak, but she said "Hell no," so that was that.

Smoking is one of the more addictive things there is, and there's certainly anecdotal evidence that it's harder to quit than alcohol or heroin. It contributed to my father's really ugly death at 68, though, and I wouldn't wish his last years on any of you. I didn't even wish his last years on him, and he was not nice person.

STILL NO EMAIL. Does she just want to screw with my head, by saying she'll go out with me, but then not talking to me? WAAAAAH! Have called, left message on voice mail. Now to be tortured by TWO electronic devices, email AND cellphone, not ringing.

YAYAYAYAY RAQUEL! Also, v. amused by Mr. Raquel. Atomic mass units of baby? Hee!! And I suspect that there's some stories to be had, of giving birth in a foriegn land...

The fact that they ALL haven't died from cheese-filled arteries is a freaking miracle, I tell you what

Mmm, cheeese....

How about...DADD: "Dads in Denial about Diet"?

Ooh, I'm in--my dad has a belly so big he's looked like he's 9 months pregnant for the past 20 years. He's got diabetes and high blood pressure. And he still won't exercise, and loves him a bowl of butter pecan. My mom and siblings and I figure he's going to keel over one of these days--we're kinda hoping it's quick, rather than long drawn out failures and shit.

The man ate bacon every morning and loved sausage gravy and biscuits with fried eggs and fried apples

Ooh. Now that sounds yummy!!

got a prize in the Grilled Cheese International that Kristin posted about

mmmm, Grilled Cheese. (I think there should be a lot of gratuitous cheese mentions, in my post. Just because Cheese is Good)

She says he's (Aidan) going to be brilliant.

Aww, Deena. That's good, at least! So sorry you have to keep having shit happen!

I think my sister's still not smoking. She quit around Christmas. I don't nag her about it because I know that mother nagging her about it just makes her try to be sneaky about it when she is smoking, but she went on the patch this time, which is good.

My brother smokes, but that's the least of his bad habits, and I'm not close enough to him for nagging to even cross my mind.

I'm an ex-smoker who would occasionally have a social/drinks cigarette, but probably won't go back to that post-baby.