Exciting Amazing News!

No, I am not mobile or anything major like that.  But today DOES mark my sixth day without Diet Coke!!  Yes, I once again kicked that silver-canned devil off my back.  As all DC addicts know, that stuff is harder to beat than heroin and there are no treatment centers for this kind of addiction on the beach in Malibu.

Note:  This is the 5000th time I've quit Diet Coke.  I am like the abused girlfriend that just keeps taking the violent horrible boyfriend back.  NOT THIS TIME THOUGH!  I am done.

I have been drinking water with lemons or limes and we also bought a SodaStream water fizzer upper.  It's pretty cool.  I'm going to do a whole post about it soon with pictures and stuff so please hold your horses.

This is Cooper after I tripped out on caffeine withdrawal and hit him with an ax handle.  Just kidding.  Please don't call PETA.

I have also been cooking a ton.  I really do have to start taking pictures of that.  Homemade salsa, granola, lasagna, Brazilian cheese bread... the list goes on and on.  My sainted mother carries everything over to the kitchen table and I chop stuff up and she carts it to the stove.  It's sad, but it works for us.  The Vatican is reserving a place for her right next to St. Peter's corpse in Rome.  I just hope it's not a time share.  But anyway, I'll write up some recipes and stuff soon.  I've been eating really healthy and feeling great.

Now I know you are all on the edge of your seats waiting for news about my hip.  Wait no longer.  I had an appointment with my hip surgeon, a man who looks very much like Uncle Joey Gladstone from "Full House."  I was just waiting for him to ask me if my hip was made of... wooooo-ooood or do a Bullwinkle impersonation or get stabbed by Alanis Morissette.  Bad news:  Hip is still really effed up.  Good news: Next week I am having a controversial and experimental procedure that may help, fingers crossed.  It's called Platelet Rich Plasma therapy and it is usually done on high level athletes like Tiger Woods, Kobe Bryant and of course, me.  They're going to take out a bunch of my blood, separate the plasma and inject it into my muscle tears.  This is hopefully going to stimulate the muscle to grow back onto the bone.  Being a narcissist, I am mostly excited about my own blood having super healing powers.  Please keep your fingers crossed.

If that doesn't work, I'm going to have hip surgery to repair the tears.  This wouldn't be good because it's a difficult surgery both to perform and recover from, and because that muscle is used so much in walking and moving in general, it's hard to have a completely successful outcome.  Basically I'm cheering for my own blood to kick the crap out of this thing.  I should start eating steak and liver and spinach to psych it up for this fight.

And here's a little slice of how life goes living with my mother.  I say about six hundred things a day to try and get her all worked up.  She mostly ignores me, but every once in a while, something gets in her craw.  Last weekend I told her I wanted her to take me to see "The Smurfs."  She reacted very strongly, as this video which I illegally secretly taped will show.

By the way, she was right about Grandma Smurf.  I think Papa Smurf must have smurfed in her underoos as a child or something.  Sorry, people of Belgium, my mother is no fan of your little blue creatures.