Arr!

Avast, me hearties! Today, I plan to use me considerable piratical skills of deep denial in order to have a good day at the job that's on me last nerve. Updates as warranted, but mostly I'll spare you the gory details.

Quoting misia:

As for the rest of ye scurvy dogs, it's high time ye gave mad Piratical props to kightp, who is the hard-workin' WebWench who makes the Talk Like A Pirate Day website available to us, 24/7/365. Ahoy, kightp! Three grog-drenched cheers to ye!

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Me favorite TLaP post today, so far.

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If 40 years ago today were Talk Like a Pirate Day, then forty years ago tomorrow was Swear Like a Sailor Day, at least for my mom.

Just got off the phone with my mom. Asked her what she was doing 40 years ago today.

She was getting ready to go to the hospital, because I was going to be induced the next day. It was a long, slow labor. My dad was getting greener by the minute, and my mom finally sent him home so he wouldn't pass out. Mom wanted to be allowed to yell, too, and she says she swore like a sailor, and had to spend the next day apologizing to the nurses. At one point, one of the nurses told her she was having "beautiful contractions" and she said, "You like 'em so much? They're *yours*."

Mom tells this story every year. Every year, I learn something new. I already knew about how she got sick after having me, with blood poisoning, and that's why she looked so pale in my christening photo. I knew, too, about how my dad cried because I had such a big nose, and about how the woman in the bed next to mom told her about the "Indian baby" in the nursery, who turned out to be me, with my long black hair and red face.

This year's new tidbit is that I had the best doctor ever, Dr. V______ (pronounced "Vanderslooze," but I have no idea how to spell it). He was gone a lot during my mom's pregnancy. She later learned that it was because he was dying of cancer. The last time she saw him, he was bringing me into her hospital room, petting my head, telling her how lucky I was.

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( quizlet from mich-nyc )

Proud of myself

( Cutting the patting-myself-on-the-back thing; short version is that I rock. )