Who would ever think the worst part of having a total shoulder replacement would be heartburn. But that’s what’s going on over here. Peter went into the hospital at 5:45 on Tuesday morning and came home with a brand new shoulder just 8 1/2 hours later. A whole new body part and you don’t even stay over night!
He had a nerve block, so he was feeling no pain when he got home, and we were all really happy about that. But 18 hours later, the nerve block’s expiration date, still no pain. What woke him up yesterday morning was heartburn. Like, really bad heartburn. We quickly realized the mandatory 325 msg of Aspirin, given to prevent blood clots, was probably the culprit. He got it under control, and we even took off the sling to have a little sponge bath and to change clothes, and still no pain. Until last night when he got that heartburn again. Remedied by all the classics like Tums and Prilosec and a bread my neighbor made us that has made my list of “The Top 10 Things I Want In My Mouth At The Time Of Death. But shoulder pain? Nope.
i have been having some trouble with my hip for several months and it appears I’m probably feeling more pain than a man who just got a body part replaced! Gratitude for medical science. I mean really, you just gotta love the idea that long ago, my husband would have had no choice but to learn to live with pain and impairment. Say whatever you want about surgeons always wanting to do surgery, but boy, when you need it, it’s like real life magic.
Maybe it’s because I’m all vaccinated, or maybe because it’s just time, but I’ve come here to resume my role as resident fashion critic of the Oscars. Who better than someone who’s scarcely been out of yoga pants in a year and is currently, as I write, wearing flannel pajamas with dogs on them.
It was a weird show, with none of the jokes, pomp and circumstance or fun that’s usually playing out on Hollywood’s uber (means very, not a car service) big night. The red carpet was hardly even a thing on ABC. They kept making us watch the nominated songs instead of making the stars tell us what they were wearing? Awe, c’mon, we came for good time.
Once inside the small venue (I’ve been in bigger restaurants), things got serious pretty fast, while Regina King’s open focused on our weird year and the George Floyd verdict. And that’s pretty much how it went–intros to the awards were little bios of each nominee and how they got interested in their craft. At this point, I was longing for the disaster that was Rob Lowe at the opening of the Oscars 1989 (Snow White was involved).
Let’s get on with it.
You’re the worst.
what the Halle did you do to your hair?
The thing is, I like this dress. In another color it would be one of my favorites, but this hair is so profoundly bad and off and all things horrible that I couldn’t get past it to even THINK about the dress. Once when one I was little, one of my neighborhood friends didn’t feel good (at age 6) she went into the bathroom and had her hand on her forehead because she felt so hot and got so bored in there during her epic stomach ache, she took scissors and cut her bangs above where her hand had been and that’s what I feel might have happened here. Did you get bored int he bathroom, Halle? Or did you run into a lawn mower, or did you let one of your kid cut your hair, or one of your enemies. Anyway, this just goes to show the power of hair, because I think Halle is one of the most beautiful women in the world and even she couldn’t pull off this little Dutch Boy bob.
2. Andra Did you realize what Day it was?
So, I subscribe to the Nora Ephron “Put on a bikini and don’t take it off til you’re 35,” theory, so you know, this girl’s body is amazeballs and she should enjoy that thing, because later on, well, things go to shit. So, everything’s good, with the whole midriff thing, it’s just the ass cheek being three sheets to the wind that’s the problem. If there was just a whole skirt there at the bottom, the top would have flown, and I’d have loved it.
3. Laura Dern skirts the issue.
So, is this an hommage to Bjork’s swan dress? Did she have on a simple black clingy number,and ran into an ostrich on the way to the show? Is she wearing a skirt of white fluffy cats (everybody loves a cat)? It’s kind of mystifying how wrong this looks. And it’s time to cut your silly hair, Laura, which looks like a wig, but which I know is your own beautiful and thick hair, but this do is so done.
4. Glenn Close, but no cigar (for the eighth time)
The thing here is that Glenn’s face looks so good, which it doesn’t always. From her head up, things are fab, but from the neck down, we got problems. Was this really supposed to be an Indian sari, because that would have been really gorgeous, but instead this just looks like a gown that has no relation to the pants, except that they are both fabric.
5. Erica RiviNOja.
This is like, a perfectly nice dress, but then it’s like someone put a bib on her because she was about to have lobster. I think this is a plausible story, because she’s carrying a shrimp handbag,
And the good ones.
Carey Mulligan, more than a promising young woman.
Oh, the perfection, the sheer and utter amazingness of this crazy good blend of modern (bandeau) and ballgown (big ol’ skirt). I absolutely adore this whole look. And I’m guessing the color and iridescence in person was probably bananas.
2. Zendaya looks like $6 million.
Yellow always catches your eye, but what about this look doesn’t? I love the proportion of the dress with her long hair, too. And she has on $6 mil in diamonds. And, something you just can’t plan for, the wind kept catching her, making this whole situation even dreamier.
3. Regina King. The strut, not the dress.
So, Queen King began the whole proceeding with a walk from outside to in with an Oscar in her hand. It wasn’t actually a walk, it was a strut. To music. And she did it so perfectly, I put her on the best dressed list, because of it. I love the fabric, and the way the light hit this blue number, but I hated the Sister Bertrille sleeves, because I thought she could easily fly away at any moment.
4. LA’s Union Station
Sadly I cannot find a better picture of the way Union Station was decked out last night, but it was all sorts of stunning. Every tree was covered in fresh flowers and there were lots of paper lanterns hanging all over. The effect was a high class drug induced grandeur. I loved it. I’m sure hoping when I die this is the heaven I go to.
In the next few weeks things are going to change around here. I am getting my second vaccine next Monday, Ally is getting her first. My son, who’s already gotten his one and done J&J and hopefully because he does not have a vajayjay, he will not be subject to blood clots, will be home in 8 days and my husband, my husband will be getting a brand new shoulder in 11 days.
I have been having some hip issues, which I will be getting imaged for next week. You know how in college they have different houses for kids to live in–the music house, the soccer house, the poetry house–we over here, are the orthopedic house, um, yeah. The lot of us have had more ortho issues than ER, Scurbs and Grey’s Anatomy put together. But, ah, thank God for modern medicine.
I am ridiculously grateful for all the scientists and every single medical person who has missed breakfast, lunch, and dinner for months on end to make vaccines that are helping us out of this pandemic. If you haven’t gotten one yet, please consider it a must-have. We need to lift ourselves up and out of this craziness and that little shot wlll allow that to happen. And whoever created a shoulder replacement, well you are bananas amazing and I am more thankful than the alphabet has words for.
Yup, things are going to change around here in the next few weeks. More freedom, less pain, and new body parts. I’m ready.
I am a flower junkie. The more the merrier. So for me, spring is a kid in a candy store kaleidoscope of mood enhancing drugs. When my dog and I hit the neighborhood every morning, I get to monitor what’s happening in the plant world. Who is crazy enough to take the risk to put out window boxes and containers during this unpredictable weather time of year (me), where the magnolias are (out), how many battalions of daffodils there are, heads held high, rooting for the sun to come out and warm them like the heat lamps I see in so many patios that helped keep us social through the winter months of the pandemic.
I keep tabs on what’s about to bloom, where the natural world in our little corner of the world is at. It buoys me to know that no matter how harsh the winter might have been, the flowers come alive again, up and out from black soil, pushing aside dead brown leaves to make themselves known, to say brightly, loudly, “I’m still here.”
This year, more than any other, nature’s reliable rhythm, feels like a lifeline. We too are beginning to step our vaccinated selves out of our forced hibernation, dipping our ratty pedicures into the waters of an unknown new world, none of us quite certain how far we should go, how safe it is. This spring, watching the flowers bloom, the trees leaf up, it’s not just a celebration of the end of winter, but the beginning of a new part of the pandemic. Yes, we’re still in it, yes, we won’t be putting our masks away for a while, but yes, there is a distinct possibility that we may be a good way through this historical chapter. Or not. I don’t want to hear about the deadly and super contagious variants that might force us back down (but of course, I listen intently to the news on this). I want to believe that Covid will be a story we regale at parties and family gatherings. I want it to be the past. But whatever happens, whether we must crawl back into our shells or get to begin again soon, you know we’ll be like the spring flower crowd, we won’t give up. And as Arnold said in The Terminator, “We’ll be back.”