Okay! Kitchen is done!

Now on to the next thing, which is all the things. You know, the Thanksgiving/Christmas presents/performing/baking extravaganza that makes late November-January go by in a blink.

Stress may or may not also be a component; I’ll have to let you know in a week or so, now that all of the whatchamacallit has hit the fan of my life.

I also did something which may or may not end up being the stupidest thing I’ve ever done: I had my huge lip mole removed. It used to be a little brown mole, but then when I was a teenager, I bugged my Mom enough that she let me get it snipped off at the dermatologist. Easy peasy, except that the little brown mole wasn’t the real mole. There was a big flesh-colored bad boy brewing underneath there, and a few years later, that thing came out, and the dermatologist was like, “No way, José.”

I don’t think she actually said that; it’s just the way I’ve built up the story in my mind as I obsess over the massive wad of skin hanging out by my mouth and generally making me look like even more of a weirdo.

Also, I had convinced myself that my unborn conjoined twin was inside that mole. Not so, but it made a nice back story to tell myself.

Anyway, I finally went to a plastic surgeon, it was completely covered by my insurance, and so it got cut off on Friday. Except that it made a way huger cut than I’d imagined and now I’m paranoid about looking like the Joker for the rest of my life.

So, yeah, holiday parties and singing with a ginormous three-sided square right in the middle of my face should be fun. I’ve already done one gig, and I’ve seen the pictures, and whoa. Good call, me. 18 stitches. Six little ones on each side. Yeah, it looks pretty phenomenal.

But maybe, just maybe, it’ll turn out okay.

Or not. Just in case, I should probably get started on a sweet nickname. I’ve already decided that I’m gong to tell people I got in a knife fight with a puppy over a piece of cheese. That sounds pretty cool and tough, so I can at least keep my street cred.