You know that pilot in the second "Airplane!" movie that fell to pieces? Literally?

[apocalypsos]

That would be my mom.

Mom: "Are you working tonight?"
Me: "Yeah, why?"
Mom: "Oh, then I guess you can't hang out with your brother tomorrow."
Me: "What, at the movies?"
Mom: "No, at the hospital for five hours while I have the blood vessels on the side of my head biopsied."

See, there's a reason why I never freak out about this stuff -- because we have conversations like this every time she gets sick. (See: "Hey, guess what? I have skin cancer!" in quite possibly the most cheerful tone of voice my mother's got.) I'd worry, and God knows I have good reason since her side of the family craps out medically all the damn time while my dad's side clings to good health like leeches, but ... well, look at the conversations I have with this woman over her health. Seriously, most of the time I'm too busy wanting to throttle her.

In retaliation, I cracked and told her she might be a great-grandmother in three months. Her main reaction was, "Well, aren't they supposed to not like each other if they're different sexes?" Which, well, if that were the case then I wouldn't be waiting for baby chinchillas to possibly pop out.

In news less likely to make me commit matricide in annoyance, note to self -- if you ever get some fucked-up idea that you are fat, you are the same size as Katie Heigl. So shut up, dumbass.

EDIT: Yesterday was Ash Wednesday and I completely forgot. Well, this weekend I'll just have to celebrate the way I have since I gave up Catholicism -- drink booze, eat candy, watch porn, and have myself a roast beef sandwich.