I started this blog to chronicle my surgical journey to normality. Notice that I haven't written in a week? That's because yet again, little change. So, I've been depressed off and on, off when I was doing something fun like visiting with my friend Chuck, on when getting dressed in the morning. Week 5 ends as of Friday, leaving me one more week before my swelling is supposed to be gone for the most part. I don't see it happening.

The thing is, I can't help but wonder if there is something I should be doing to help myself heal. Should I be icing my face down? Should I sleep on my back with lots of pillows under my head? Am I drinking too much? In all honesty, I know the answer to that question...I drink too much regardless of swelling. The stress of my job, plus quitting smoking, trying to get into school, and planning for this surgery made me drink to relax instead of socially like I used to do. It can't possibly be good for the swelling, not to mention for this weight issue I'm having, so I may have a few on the weekend in a social setting, but for a good long while, for my own good, any other drinking is out. I don't think I have a problem, but drinking to de-stress is probably not the best judgment call.

Of course, if I still look like this come Friday, I'm liable to go get good and hammered!

So, now I need to be in denial of my issues and discuss some silly things:

1.
I used to think that the reason Hermione is my fave Harry Potter character is that like her, I was a wee bit of an annoying know-it-all as a child (thank goodness I grew out of that...shut up, all of you!). Now I know the true reason: http://butterbeer.ytmnd.com/. Oh wait, there is my drinking issue again!
2.
In a sign of pending apocalypse, Anna Nicole Smith appeared before the U.S. Supreme Court. One can almost feel Justice Ginsberg's boobie envy from here. As if that isn't strange enough, she may be the woman to set precedent for federal control over probate law. When asked how she felt about her potential shining moment in legal history, she responded, "TrimSpa baby!" before passing out in a pool of her own vomit. Oops, excessive use of substances issues, and weight issues to boot. Let's try again.

3.
I was going to make a comment about the impending alien invasion, but I realized between the fucked-up surgery and gay sex (at least the gay sex her husband is having), showing Star means I just pretty much covered all my psychological issues bases. As it turns out, celebrities really are just like us.

So, while I'm poking at my cheek marveling at how stiff it still is and thinking to myself that it MUST be swelling and not tumor because the tumor couldn't possibly be that stiff, I will leave you with a picture of a face even more stiff than mine...

It takes some hardcore Elvis money to pay for that much botox.

Reading is Fundamental

I had sent my sister Karrie the link to this blog because I thought she might find it funny, and because frankly, I am fascinated by the fact that she is able to get high-speed internet access in Webbville, Kentucky. So a few days ago, I was talking to my mama, and she told me Karrie had shown her the pictures this page. I was briefly embarrassed, wondering what naughty things I may have said that I wouldn't want my mom to read. Then I realized that between my brother and me, there are few things that could embarrass my family. And of course mom said she saw the pictures...did she actually read the text?

In the interest of science, let's see if mom notices this terribly true and utterly shameful story, inspired by the story told today on my favorite blog, The Faggoty-Ass Faggot (http://www.thefaf.com): Way back when I was doing all sinning out in Albuquerque, I met this guy, older and kinda sleazy with a late model BMW. He looked like the sort who probably has chopped-up Cub Scout under his front porch, so at the time I was naturally attracted to him. As happens when one is young, perverted, and frequently under the influence of multiple substances, we ended up back at my apartment. And as happens when one isn't particularly observant, he turned out to be a bit married. I discovered this piece of information after we finished our calisthenics, when he announced his wife would probably be missing him soon.

I should note that at the time, I was still in possession of an exceedingly ill-tempered white cat named Warhol. Warhol was far more observant than me, and he made sure Mr. Adulterer's wife would notice his absence. When retrieving the clothing strewn hither and yon across my apartment floor, we discovered Warhol had made his mark by spraying the trick's pants. And when I say spray, I mean he soaked one entire leg of the pants.

Warhol was just a touch moralistic, I suppose, and figured I had broken one too many commandment in front of him. Oddly enough, much as he hated everyone and everything, I have to say in our time together, he never once sprayed any of Craig's clothing. I'm not exactly sure what that says about Craig, other than that he is the kind of boy you can bring home to your mom.

No More Hate

I'm in a funky mood today because all progress seems to have stopped. I can't tell a difference between how I look today and how I looked last week, and it is seriously pissing me off. And that's all I'm going to say on that subject.

In other news, I have decided to issue a worldwide ban on the use of the word "hate" as a verb. Seriously, this has to stop immediately. Get out of the habit of using it now because in about five minutes you are going to sound like the 2000s linguistic equivalent of Ricki Lake's 1990s "Don't go there! Talk to the hand!" It is officially over, people.

UPDATE: I say this in the comments, but to clarify, usage of "hate" as a verb in forms such as "I hate Parasite Hilton like I hate a severe case of genital warts." is still acceptable. The form used in sentences such as "Don't hate on me." is now banned, as is the noun version used as "Don't be a hater." You will be fined by the hipster police for usage of either of these. Fines will be doubled for anyone over the age of 30 for trying to use hip language as a way to sound younger while not realizing that the language they are using is already out of style.

Talk amongst yourselves

Here are a few topics:

1) "Project Runway", the show that single-handedly finished Bravo's transition into the unofficial cable network for fags and their hags, is on tonight. Oh how I hope that boring Kara will be thrown out by the Cat Pack that is Michael Kors, Nina Garcia, and everyone's favorite Teutonic Temptress Ms. Heidi Klum. I also hope that someday I can find a life, and thus invest a bit less of myself in the fate of these exhibitionist strangers. Until then, please oh please oh please let Daniel V. win the Olympus Fashion Week finals!!!
2) How soon is wow? The new single by Morrissey, preceding his upcoming new album, is on iTunes as an exclusive. Brilliance for a mere $0.99. Thank you Steve Jobs, you may well be the living incarnation of God on Earth.
3) There is no change in the status of my face today. I'm sure this has nothing to do with the fact that Craig and I got absolutely hammered last night on our anniversary, having a bottle of a very lovely chardonnay at dinner, then a couple of cocktails before and during our....ahem....private anniversary celebration.
4) The official homo cable network (as opposed to Bravo, which as I mentioned is merely de facto homo) is airing "Morrissey Put the 'M' in Manchester", the film of his homecoming concert in England last year. Watch it, and love it. If, on the other hand, you don't "get" Morrissey, then you were likely a popular kid in high school, and frankly I am rather amazed we are friends.
5) Pamela Anderson is boycotting the Kentucky Derby. Health officials in The Ville who track STDs collectively breath a sigh of relief. Now Pam has been to the Derby more than once, and claims that her boycott has nothing to do with the new sponsorship of Churchill Downs by Yum! Brands (owner of KFC, a company to which she has been vocally opposed). Rather, she is boycotting because she believes horse racing is cruel. Ummmm.....you've been here for Derby several times, and you've just now figured out it a horse race? Every time she opens her mouth, it becomes a bit more clear why she found it necessary to get those volleyballs implanted in her chest.
6) If you ever get the chance to eat at Napa River Grill, I highly recommend it. We went last night because we always find out where Danny is taking Holly for V. Day and go there. He is so metrosexual, he makes Ryan Seacrest look like Larry the Cable Guy. Get the calamari, and ask for advice on wine because they are quite helpful. Look at the wine list on the back of the menu, not the one in the separate leatherbound book...you can't afford the wine in there, otherwise we would be much closer friends. If you can afford the wine in that book, please feel free to give me a call and be my Karen Walker.
7) I wore my black suit last night with a white and pink Michael Kors shirt and a hot pink BCBG tie. Why is this important? Because I bought that suit a few years ago around the time I quit taking drugs and got up to the heaviest I have ever been. I've been meaning to take that suit to the tailors for some time now. Last night, I couldn't get into what I wanted to wear as I have been gaining weight again after quitting smoking. I tried on the suit, and it fit perfectly. It occured to me, what if what is left on my face is not swelling, but is actually just fat? Dammit. I probably shouldn't have ordered that pizza this evening. I'm fairly certain I shouldn't have eaten half of it in one sitting. I swear the scarring along my jaw line is the only thing keeping me from sucking down a pack of tasty nicotine treats this second.

Slave to Love

Today is the five-year anniversary of my relationship with Craig. My attention span is such that, aside from elementary school, I have never done anything for five years, and the idea that anyone could tolerate me for that long is simply amazing to me. I bitch and moan about Craig to my friends often, complaining that he can be so irresponsible with money and never does anything around the house unless I stomp up and down and scream. Today I would like to note why I am with him. Craig has an amazing capacity for not judging people for their very obvious personality flaws. Let's face it, I am not an easy person to live with, and yet most of my craziness seems to just roll right past him. My husband is kind, loving, and patient, and accepts people for who they are. That is why despite the fact that we have our issues at times, he is and will always be the great love of my life.

Awwwwww! You aren't used to me being sweet, are you? I didn't think so, that's why I'm going to share a short funny story today as well in honor of our anniversary. Craig and I are together for one reason: I am a manipulative bee-yatch. That's right, I manipulated Craig into falling in love with me. When I moved away from New Mexico in 2000, I drove my Uhaul to the casa of Dirty Debbey, who was kindly putting a roof over my head while I got my stuff together. The night I pulled up to her apartment, Craig was sitting at her kitchen table, making him the very first person I met when I moved to The Ville. I met him a few more times after that and developed a bit of a crush, so I had Debra plant the idea of a date with him (actually, she was kind of working both of us, which is why every year on our anniversary, she gets flowers). Then, just to make him think I'm a considerate guy, when I heard he was home sick with a horrible cold, I showed up on his doorstep with a gift bag filled with cough drops, candy, movie magazines, and porn. Nothing says "date me!" like a copy of "Powertool 2". A few more gestures like that and the first date was soon had. The poor boy didn't stand a chance!

And for the record, we broke virtually every rule of building a long-term relationship, yet we are still together. We slept together on the first date, moved in together after dating for less than five months, keep our finances completely separate, have our own individual social circles, etc. The moral of this story is, if you have a first date tonight on Valentine's Day, feel free to behave like a tramp...you just might find the love of your life too.

At two weeks

Actually, it has been two weeks and a day since the surgery. Here's the deal: The part of my face where the actual main part of the tumor was is smaller, but other parts are larger. It all just looks strange to me, watching my face change shape by the day. I think I look worse right now than I did prior to the surgery, mainly because I'm still so swollen around my mouth that it sort of just hangs down in the corner. My neck is still swollen too, though significantly less than before, and that side of my face in general is swollen. Two weeks...I thought I'd be further along than this. It is frustrating as all hell. My mouth may actually take longer than the six weeks because at some point in there, there is still some of the fluid that is supposed to harden and dissolve the vascular stuff we don't want. And after all these years, it will probably be lopsided, requiring some additional cosmetic surgery (at which time I may just have to see about getting a few other things done too!).

I did, however, shave off the beard yesterday. My mom asked me why because she wanted to see it, and I told her I did not go through probably $100k worth of surgery to heal up and end up looking like my Uncle Kevin! So, for those of you out there thinking after hearing me say they got everything that I must look normal by now, I don't, and here is the pictoral proof. Why the shades? Because whenever anyone takes my picture, including me with the camera phone, my eyes go all wonky and I look insane. I got tired of discarding pics...I hate photos, and imagine I probably will continue to even after I heal totally.



At this point, I am beyond giving a damn what people think of how I look post surgery. Seeing someone swollen and then seeing the gigantic incision on the neck and face is understandably a bit disturbing, but I have cabin fever something fierce and have to go take care of business. I called my doc's office on Friday morning begging them to let me return to work on Monday, but they never called me back. We'll see what I look like on Tuesday when Craiggers and I hit Napa River Grill for our anniversary dinner (5 years!)...I hope I can get a tie around my neck!

Meanwhile, the infamous Dirty Debbey is coming over tonight for some wine and dishing. I am so excited to have company that I might actually put on clothes other than pajama pants and a bathrobe! I was supposed to drive to Grayson today for my nephew Caleb's birthday party, but I just don't quite have the energy for a roundtrip car ride of six hours.

In other news, I received small scholarships from UK and UofL. I've decided to take the UofL offer, though after sitting down and doing a serious evaluation of my finances, I've realized that I'm going to have to borrow $24k per year at least in order to pay the rest of tuition and to live. I am, needless to say, scared out of my mind at both borrowing that much money and of living on that little. Not as scared as I am by, say, Teri Hatcher in any red carpet event, but still quite scared nonetheless.

Where is Rush Limbaugh's maid when you need her?

I just returned from getting the stitches removed, and it was not comfortable, to say the least. The funny thing is, my psycho streetperson beard got in the way, and half the time I think he was plucking hair instead of sutures. I've had so much hair taped over and stitched over in the past two weeks that I would have done well to have gotten waxed from eyebrow to hip before I got all of this started. I never realized I am quite so hairy. Anyway, this should be the last painful thing in the process, it is all healing from here. And the good news on that front is, I'm starting at last to be able to tell a difference, even if it is a small one. I'm just a wee bit smaller in the cheek than I was to begin with, or rather it is a different shape and is becoming clear that it is indeed swelling rather than tumor. Two weeks down, four to go in the full healing process.

On another note, the kitties are locked up in the bathrooms because I have an electrician here doing work that will allow me to get the stuff I've had planned finished without burning the house down. Sly seems okay, but I'm fairly certain that Truman is in the process of plotting my downfall. If I am found dead and it looks like an accident, investigate that cat, that's all I'm saying.

I'm going to have a vodka and vicodin for lunch...I'll check back with everyone when I'm conscious again in a few hours.

I'd say, 'HEY! You get your bitch ass in the kitchen and make me some pie!!!'

If this week has taught him anything, I would think Craig would be searching for a job that makes up for my pay so that I can stay home permanently. In my homebound boredom, I've been cooking up a storm. To that end, I got my new Fiesta mini pie bakers in the mail today (I ordered them with mama's birthday gift...don't tell!), and had to use them right away.


So this evening, Craig will be coming home from working on the set for the show he's directing to find homemade vegetable pot pies, chock full of potatoes, celery, corn, beans, mushrooms, onions, carrots, and all sorts of flaky goodness. Monday he was served salmon croquettes and corn pudding casserole. Tomorrow is either going to be chili and cornbread or linguine with pesto. And since I had extra pastry dough, there is also an apple crumble pie tonight for dessert.


I think it goes without saying that he would be the biggest fool on the planet to ever leave me.

White Lines

Q: Kate Moss, Boy George, and Whitney Houston go for a drive. So who gets behind the wheel to drive?



A: The cop.

*courtesy of The "Lady" Bunny

Court Dates & Contest Winners

I was pulled over on New Year's Eve for expired car registration. No biggie, I just took my insurance in and got them updated. The problem is, I was supposed to show that I had done my duty by January 31 down at the courthouse, and I kind of never got around to it. So, I went down today, flashed them my big-ass scar, and played the pity card. It worked like a charm, and I'm not getting taken away any time soon. I am not above working my condition for a little sympathy.

My doctor will not release me back to work until next week, so there is just enough time left to plant the rumor as to why I'm out of the office, as the rumors are flying already from what I'm told. To that end, Trading Faces would like to congratulate Blake Paris as the winner of the Office Rumor Contest. Rhoda will be dropping to a few people that I picked up something resembling the bird flu while travelling. I like this one because it is silly enough to be fun, but you can almost believe it is true. Blake, the next time you're in the States, I owe you a batch of what is without a doubt the best cookie ever created (and I'm not exaggerating...I found this recipe, made them, and nearly wept they are so unbelievably good).

Today was supposed to be the day I got the stitches out, but my primary care doc decided they are a wee bit too detailed and tiny for him to handle properly, so he scheduled me with someone else. Poopie.

It is nice to be wanted

I just received my letter of acceptance from University of Kentucky College of Law, so that's two of the three so far. Not too shabby, and UK is a bit harder to get into than UofL, so I'm pretty flattered. Still no word of financial assistance from either school as of yet, though. Is it really asking too much that they get down in the jello and fight over me?

No real change in condition today, at least so far as I look. I woke up feeling kinda under the weather, but am fine now, and I feel a bit silly that I'm not in the office. Still, I think my appearance at the moment might be a bit distracting to others and to myself. I'm trying to get a tiny bit of work done from home today, the first day I've really put in much of an effort. I've had my fun laying around, but I think the leisure time is going to get to me before too much longer, and I'm going to snap like a postal worker.

Product-free

I realized today that it has been 11 days since I've used product...no hair product, none of my concealer stuff to cover up the blue spots under my eye and on my lip. After my shower today, I wondered if I could tell a difference in the health of my hair and skin, especially since it has also been more than 4 months since I've had a cigarette. Let's see!


Nope, it looks like so far I'm still going to be converting to Orthodox Judaism to cover this spot.


And no change in my pores either. Dammit.

I'm still not really feeling ready to post updated pics. I promise I look a million times better than those post-surgery shots. I have to admit to not having posted in a couple of days simply because nothing is changing at this time, and I'm getting frustrated. The doc predicted I would get this way, but that doesn't make me feel the least bit better. Honestly, I look for the most part EXACTLY how I looked prior to the surgery, just with neck swelling, a scab on my cheek, and a massive scar. Oh, and the beard. I really dislike that, as does Craig, but honestly, there really isn't a point in getting rid of it yet. I'll decide on Tuesday after the stitches come out. I want to start seeing some results, and I want them NOW! If only my empress powers still worked....

Pictures so far...beware!

I thought it would be appropriate to post some photos of before and just after so as the swelling starts to subside, we can enjoy the progress. Warning: the latter photos on here might be a bit difficult to view considering they are almost immediately post-surgery. Let's take the tour, shall we?



Here Craig & I are this past summer at Amy & Melanie's Derby party. Craig is in the process of growing out his hair at my insistence. It looks a bit like a mullet here, but I swear it is great now. I am not entirely certain, but I believe that I am in the process of stepping right past that fine line of how how much wine one should have.


This is my adopted dad Chuck and me at the Homer Laughlin China Collector's Association (a.k.a. fabulous Fiesta dishheads!) conference in July 05, posing with a very festive industrial baron of the early 1900s.


Here is my with my grandmothers at a wedding over the summer. This is the sort of picture I would receive and destroy under previous circumstances...it makes the VM too visible for me to handle, especially in the paper version of the photo. Very few closeup pictures of me even exist if they have ever passed through my hands.

AND NOW FOR THE REALLY SCARY STUFF!!!!

Taken a couple of hours after being put under on Wednesday and being pumped full of sclero solution meant to harden the tumor so it could be easily separated from healthy tissue. Someone really decided to fill it to the rim. It actually looks far more uncomfortable than it feels at this point.


Sometime after I woke up from surgery and was hitting my morphine pump, I took this with my phone. I could not tell you when as I don't actually remember taking it. This hurts, and is my jumping off point for the swelling reduction marathon. I'm actually so swollen you can't see the very long incision going from in front of my ear to under my chin. It is still swollen pretty far forward around my mouth especially, making it hard to eat at the moment, but I'm actually getting along fairly well now. I can say I look much better than this at the moment!


And just as a palate-cleanser after that horror, here's Truman, looking remarkably slim (the photographer is clearly a genius), disdaining the Fiestaware dish his papa purchased for him.

If I have some more good progress, I'll post some new stuff in the next day or two so you don't all think I'm still suffering as badly as I am in the above pics. Really, right now it looks mostly like it did before surgery, just in different places...strange indeed. And of course you'll get to see my developing beard!

Close Encounter of the Stupid Kind

I've been resting quietly today...having a bit of pain, but trying not to dose up because I need to not be on narcotics. They're no fun without vodka anyway.

I forgot to mention that yesterday on my way out of Jewish Hospital after getting the drain tube removed, I was waiting on the elevator where a toad of a woman in hideous shoes and a trenchcoat actually gasped at me. Seriously, she clutched her pearls and gasped! I mean, certainly, I look a bit, shall we say, extreme at the moment. If I saw someone who looks like he's been bashed in the head out shopping at the Kroger, I might accidentally lose composure. But, as I mentioned, we were AT A HOSPITAL! Doesn't a reasonable person expect to see some jacked-up looking folks? She's quite fortunate that I was feeling very nauseated at the time, and did not see fit to get annoyed with her little display of foolishness until I made it to a seat in my car because on a normal day, I would have told her, "Stare all you want, heifer, because swelling is temporary, but tacky is forever!"

I wonder how long it will to take me, if when the swelling goes down everything really is gone, to stop thinking someone is staring at me, or to dread talking to strangers because they ask questions I don't feel comfortable even hearing? (A brief aside: I choose my friends carefully enough that I don't know any of them who are ignorant enough to ask a total stranger about what is clearly a personal medical condition. In case others read this blog, don't do it. If a kid has a purple spot, don't ask the mom what is "wrong" with her child, and if an adult has something unusual that looks like an injury, don't ask what happened to them. It isn't friendly banter, it is rude and intrusive, and leaves you open to be Zsa Zsa'ed by any sensible person.) I can't imagine I ever will at this point in my life. Perhaps I'll always expect a really chatty checkout girl to share that she looked just like me after her wisdom tooth extraction since it has happened to me virtually every day of my 32 years on this planet. My grandmother tells me I often expect too much of people. I don't think it is too much to expect that you don't ask about someone's medical issues until you've known them for a bit. I also don't think it is too much to expect someone to have the IQ of a sea sponge, but then again, I'm a bit of a bigot in that arena, and I would probably be a better person if I opened myself up to those who aren't as smart as my friends.

You realize, of course, that item is going on my priority list somewhere below getting Truman in shape to run the Iron Kitty Triathalon.

I decided long ago never to walk in anyone's shadow

No, at age 13, Bobbi Kristina Brown is stepping out on her own by changing her name to include random punctuation as evidenced here on her MySpace page, courtesy of The Guilded Moose (http://thegildedmoose.blogspot.com/2006/02/bobbi-kristinas-dramatic-myspace.html). Then again, given her parents, I would change my name too.

Yes, I'm digressing, but my close friends know I have an ever-so-slight obsession with the Whitney Houston Crack Attack. I'm just happy Bobbi Kris is starting to look a bit less like her father. Bless her heart, apparently no one at child protective services has cable television.

You're In

I just got the letter in the mail...University of Louisville Brandeis School of Law accepted me for the fall 2006 term. They just processed my app last week, so I guess I got put in the accept pile quick, which means a good shot at some money too (they put you in a pile right after reviewing the application as accept, pending, or decline...the pending can make the process go for a couple of months). I also applied to IU and UK, and while IU would be my ideal school (top 30, great faculty, facilities, and incredible students), I had all but decided that outside of an insane offer from them, I would be going to UofL if accepted.

Wow, I can't believe I am actually in and am going back to school! Now I know how the contestants on "Project Runway" feel when Heidi Klum tells them they are "in"!

MSG, BMs, the Dolls, and a Fabulous Reader Contest

Is it perhaps cause for concern and a sign of my advancing years that today via e-mail with a group of friends I was discussing booty in the non-sexual medical sense? My friend MSG is undergoing radiation and chemo right now for colon cancer (and yet he still let me pity party myself a bit even though his issues are so much larger...that's a great friend!), and booty discomfort is a major issue for him at the moment. I had a gross and uncomfortable medical episode this morn, but mentioned at least my booty is comfortable if not entirely active since surgery. When you start discussing bowel activity, I think it means you are officially no longer a bright young thing. Or perhaps it just means you spend far too much time with Ed (http://thenetdog.blogspot.com). He does always say that everything always leads back to poopie.

So like I said, I went in to Jewish Hospital this morn to have my drainage tube removed. Craiggers took off the afternoon to take me, but they said they could get me in immediately, so I took off on my own. Mistake. First of all, it wasn't seriously painful, but it was uncomfortable and gross. And now I'm sort of nauseated and tired...I wasn't up to venturing out much yet I guess. The plane trip home must have whipped me. So, I plan to spend the afternoon on the sofa with my pills and soap operas like a well-behaved diva. It sure would be fun to recuperate in Lexington with MSG, though. We could lay around in maribou-trimmed robes on fainting sofas, bitching, moaning, and popping pills like "Valley of the Invalid Dolls". That would be brilliant!

And now for our first ever Trading Faces Name That Excuse Contest! I e-mailed the sups at the office letting them know I'd be working some from home because I'm out for medical reasons (they all thought I was out of town on bid-ness last week). According to my trusty sidekick Rhoda, the rumors are flying now. Apparently, I either got mad on the bid-ness trip and am home pouting, am going to be working from home permanently, or have had some sort of stress-related incident. So your task is to come up with a fabulous reason as to why I'm not in the office. It must be believable, yet outlandish enough to entertain. I'll plant the winning rumor with a couple of trusty accomplices and see how far it spreads. I will say I think it needs to involve some sort of mental episode since they've been expecting that from me for so long. Bear in mind, this is the same office where, when my grandpa died a couple of years ago and I went on bereavement leave for three days, everyone thought I had been fired and was escorted from the building in tears by my boss. They're an easy target audience, I promise! I'll rummage around and see what kind of prize I can find for the winner.