A bird? A plane? A lady in long underwear?

Now that the holidays are zipping by, with only New Year's Eve left to celebrate in 2013, I'm taking a breather and getting to the blog. I hope you all enjoyed a happy Hanukah/Christmas/Kwaanza/ Solstice/Boxing Day. I don't know about you, but I plan on being asleep long before the new year swoops in upon us. As I am on-call New Year's Eve, my plan of being asleep for two hours before the New Year may or may not happen as planned. God help anyone who tries to call off on New Year's Day, as I don't say yes to someone missing work due to a hangover. Don't mess with me, people.

I spent Christmas Day standing, not because I actually wanted to spend the day standing; rather, it was because it hurt a lot less to be standing than sitting. I had an unfortunate "2:30 AM-Freckles-has-to-pee-and-can't-walk-down-the-stairs" incident Christmas morning. Those of you who live in the ice-coated area understand how dangerous (and rather invisible) all that ice really is. Some of us forget that there  might be ice on the steps when carrying a dog outside at 2:30 AM. Dog in hand, donned in old, stretched out long underwear bottoms and a raggedy old t-shirt, I hit that ice and was airborne without warning. Within a milli-second--much before I realized what the hell was happening--I slammed into the ice-coated concrete with such a thud that I think I may have cracked the stairs along with my back. I hit so hard that my glasses literally flew off of my face.

I'm not sure what happened to the dog--she might have been airborne, too but she looks no worse for the wear and can't talk, so we'll never know.

Flat on the ground, I can't say that I was very happy about anything related to this incident and I was in so much pain that all I could do was swear like a sailor (assuming sailors swear a lot) and lie on the ice-coated ground, snow in my butt crack. (Where that snow came from, I do not know, but I do know where it ended up.) I still had the sense to yell about finding my glasses (after all, I'm blind without them) but beyond that, I'm not sure I was speaking the English language. I honestly do not remember what the hell I was yelling; suffice it to say it featured swear words and hate. Thankfully, the wife heard my yelling and helped me find my glasses and gather up the dog.

(Feel free to laugh, as envisioning this event is funny. I wish it had been video-taped, as it would have went viral.)

I have broken my jaw. I have been knocked unconscious. I've had concussions. I've had a perforated appendix. I am here to tell you that NONE of those things hurt even remotely close to how much this thud on the ice hurt. I'm telling you--I have a high pain tolerance and this was an "11" on a scale of "1-10."

The wife asked if I wanted to go to the hospital. I growled out that I most certainly did not. I'm no fool. I knew all they'd do is tell me to rest but keep moving, use ice, take it easy and take some pills. There is nothing to be done if it was deemed a broken or bruised tailbone. If needed, I already had pain pills, left over from the wife's back surgery.....

....but, the REAL reason I would NEVER have agreed to go to the hospital?

While laying on the ice, snow in my butt crack, swearing like a sailor, I realized that I hadn't shaved one single hair off any body part for weeks. There was no way in hell I was going to the hospital unless I at least shaved my legs. And, since I couldn't even walk, let alone bend over to shave my legs, there was no going to the hospital.

And so, Christmas Day was spent standing, hairy legs quietly tucked away to be shaved another day.

Seventy two hours later, I am happy to report that while I remain uncomfortable, I am able to be thankful that I did not hit my head, that it was me and not someone else, that it was at home and not somewhere else. I am grateful that it was not worse and that I am on the mend. I am sore from head to toe, like what happens after a car accident, but feel a hell of a lot better than I did on Christmas Day. I feel like I have a broken butt and my knees ache and I have some mystery bruises. Still, I feel VERY fortunate to have nothing but aches and pains. I still can't pick things up the floor but I can ask for help.

The wife has heated car seats, which are heavenly. I am super-happy about that. It's the one place I can sit and not make weird guttural noises. It's fabulous how the thing heats your back AND your butt at the same time. There is no heating pad that can do that. (Don't start with the "you should be using ice" lecture. I am done with ice and have moved on to heat. One must be comfortable when miserable.) Of course, I'd look pretty weird if I just sat in the driveway in her parked car, smiling because I was sitting on the heated seats. Maybe she'll have to run some errands today and I can ride along. As long as she keeps the motor running, I'd be good to go.

And so, beloved readers of the Addiverse, I implore you to be careful while traversing the ice-covered surfaces of the world. I wish you the happiest of new years and the safest of winters. I'd ask you for a dance this New Year's Eve but I'll be sleeping and I can't dance at this particular time.

....Perhaps I will wear a helmet for the duration of ice issues the winter. One can never be too careful.
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Quack

Since I've had all sorts of people inquiring about my thoughts on a certain duck man and his comments made about sinful queers, I say this:

I don't care.

I've had even more questions about whether or not I'm going to stop wearing my duck pajamas, stop watching the show, stop this or that.  I say:

No. 

Really? Really.

Does this make me a bad homosexual?

I hope not. After all, I support those who don't support me. Does that make me a bad homosexual?

(At least nobody has asked if I plan to shave my beard off.  Heh heh.)

Seriously. It's a fake "reality" TV show of which I find quite humorous. (You don't think those shows are real, do you? Unless life comes scripted--or, at least set up on a pre-planned story line--it's not reality.) I watch it for entertainment purposes only.  If I don't like what is being said or presented or it's no longer entertaining to me or it insults me or I become offended, I do what any good consumer should do:

Change.The.Channel.

It's a show about good ol' Southern boys wearing camouflage. Not to stereotype (well, okay I am stereotyping quite strongly), did I ever think that Papa Duck thought about homosexuality in any other terms than sinful?

No.

Do I know the duck men present as God-fearing men who pray every episode?

Yes.

Do I find this offensive, wrong, insulting?

No.

Here's the thing. TV is full of judgmental nonsense. Heck, all media is filled with judgmental nonsense. All you have to do is peruse the Book de la Face to see the right fighting the left in pretty little photos with quotes. I'm all good with it. That's why I keep my partying with tea friends. Not only do they entertain me (and, they do), I think it's just fine that they post what they post. If I get offended, I can always un-friend them.

The duck men make me laugh. That's all what I want: to laugh.

I find Foxy News to be ridiculous (albeit entertaining--it also makes me laugh). Good news: I don't have to watch it. I don't have to believe it. I don't have to argue about it. Who am I to say no one should watch that channel? My liberal channel might not be any better. I just like it better.

Papa duck didn't say we should kill, maim, hunt, round up all gay people. He basically said we are going to hell for going against the good Lord's book and for doing sinful things, un-natural things. He was expressing his belief, right or wrong as it might be.

[Side note: Actually, I'm not sure he WAS expressing his belief. It might be the most genius marketing ploy. Think about it: we're all talking about this duck show. Some people are incensed; others are jumping for joy. The GLBT population is frothing at the mouth, asking for money to fight this injustice, while the far Right doing the same thing. In the mean time, the TV channel is enjoying all sorts of free advertisement.]

If Papa duck uses Leviticus to argue against homosexuality, good for him. He should probably read the rest of the story before engaging me in Biblical banter, as it suggests all sorts of things that make him a heathen sinner, right along with his gay peeps. Hope that camouflage isn't made of two or more different kind of materials (threads), 'cuz Leviticus ain't having none of that.

God help his son who sports a tattoo.  That's REALLY a problem.

So, I am going to enjoy my TV show and I'm not going to get all riled up about it....which, strangely enough, seems to confuse both my straight and gay friends. No matter the orientation, they look confused, almost disappointed. To all of them, I say: if something comes up that offends me or upsets me or I find ridiculous, I am going to change the channel.....

Better yet, I should turn off my TV and go find something more productive to do...... 

....like get another tattoo, touch a football with my bare hands and feed the wife shellfish.

Quack!     :-)
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Oh Be No Mo Woe

Well, Addiverse, it has come down to this: this morning, I opened my very last box of o.b. ultra tampons.

Not the super plus. Not the super. We're talking the purple-box ULTRA o.b. tampons.

Those of you who have been in the flow of this blog (if you know what I mean) know that this is a VERY serious issue, equal to global warming and war in the middle east.

I had hoped that Mother Nature would "beat" the end of my o.b. ultra tampon supply, but she must have been out golfing with Al Gore or something because those eggs are shooting out to the exact day every dang month.

The wife said, "Aren't you too old for this?

No one tells you in fifth grade that 40 years later you'll be looking for tampons the size of paper towel rolls.

As it does not appear the end of my "friend" (and I do use that term lightly) is in sight, I woke up this morning with one mission in mind......

......find the purple box and start spending money.

I first went to Bay of Eeeee and found that yes, there were purple-boxed o.b.s listed. I was confused as they were cheaper than they used to be.  (Heck, I sold a box for $41.00 way back when they first discontinued them, not because I wanted to, but because I wanted to see how much they'd sell for. Boy, I wish I had that box back right now.) This made no sense--how can something that should be rarer become cheaper? I then went to the Amazonian Jungle and found that they, too had the tampons, albeit a little more expensive than the Bay of Eeeee. This still didn't make sense. There was only one thing to do....

.....go to the o.b. website.

It was there I learned that the purple-box o.b. ultra is BACK IN PRODUCTION!!!!!

I was giddy! I think Freckles (who is deaf and fell down the stairs yesterday and isn't even sure she is still on the planet) heard me exclaim my delight. This meant that I was saved from certain doom!

A web search suggested that these little bullets of love are now on the shelves at places like Wally World, GreenWalls and SeeVeeEss.  (I refuse to give free advertising whenever possible.) Wally World didn't have much of anything to choose from on their site, so I jumped over to GreenWalls....and, there they were....

ON SALE!!!

Oh dear god, I must go out and buy a lottery ticket today because THIS IS MY LUCKIEST DAY EVER!

I ordered six boxes.

I wanted to order more but that seemed a bit much. (I want to encourage my body to stop production by the end of the sixth box. One can hope.) Hell, I wanted to order a dozen boxes but I got a grip and went with a half dozen.

And so, it is a beautiful day in the Addiverse. I don't think you can understand how awesome this is unless you are one of those people who requires the paper-towel-roll-sized tampon. To find them on sale after being out of production makes it that much wonderful. I can open my last box with confidence, knowing that there is more to be had in the world....

....I am going to "like" the o.b. page on Book de la Face. If that doesn't scream "celebration," I don't know what does. Merry Christmas to ME!
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Like the Trinity

If you are a Catholic/recovering Catholic/survivor of Catholic School/fan of the new pope/thinking of converting to Catholicism, you probably understand that some things are a mystery of your faith. I've always liked saying, "it's a mystery, like the Trinity."  So, I named this blog "like the Trinity" because I have faced a few mysteries over the past week.  I thought it was funny.  

BTW, happy 50th birthday to my sister.  I think my fifties have rocked, but then again, I'm delirious.  Also, happy birthday to Wild Mama, owner of her first smart phone.  Let the app loading begin!

BTW BTW, if you are wondering, Packer Tickets are going for BELOW face value.  If you've ever wanted to go to Lambeau, now is your chance to leap.  It's no mystery why the tickets are so cheap....but, don't tell the wife I said that.

This holiday, I experienced a mystery featuring the behavior of wife's family on Turkey Day.  We went to Thanksgiving dinner as planned, speeches of gratitude ready for action.  The wife meditated, fretted, wrote, re-wrote & rehearsed, readying and steadying herself for the annual gratitude-sob-a-thon.  It was a weird day to begin with, as it was the first year that paper plates were utilized.  It was unusual that it was a buffet dinner instead of a fancy-sit-at-the-formal-table-til-everyone's-done dinner.  Strangely to me, the wife's mother read a prayer (grace) from a folded piece of paper, with no one chiming in or professing anything. If I were Jesus, I'd be a little bitter.  He didn't get much billing this year.  Dinner was consumed, dinner was done.  I wandered over to the sink to do the dishes, but it was anti-climatic, with just a bunch of silverware waiting to be washed.

Looking back, I think the mood was crushed by the Packers pathetic performance.  People were screaming and yelling and frothing at the mouth during the game.  It didn't go well and the Packers lost by 30 points. I think that game wiped--exorcised--the gratitude right out of the house.  In fact, it wiped it out so badly that.....

....they didn't do the annual gratitude-sob-a-thon.

I couldn't believe it!  At first, I thought they had forgotten to do it. How you forget an annual tradition like that I have no idea, but it seemed to be a possibility. Then, I thought they were waiting to do it after the game ended and everyone had removed themselves from the post game fetal ball position. Then, I started to wonder what was going on. I looked around the living room and noticed it did not look like anyone was making a move to start the circle.  Heck, they weren't making a move for much of anything at all.  I asked the wife about it, as I had to leave in an hour or so, and this event takes more than an hour.  She asked twice, trying to get it going, but no one jumped in. While waiting, I think I heard one or two family members growl they weren't going to do it, but I'm not sure--it might have been the two dogs playing under the table.  I finally gave up waiting and went home, reflecting on this non-event the entire ride home.

Like the trinity, it remains a mystery: why didn't they complete the annual cry-fest? I'm stymied. I still have no idea or answer.  It's not like they suddenly have nothing to be thankful for.  It's not like they aren't grateful.  It's not like they all became Satan worshippers.  Nothing to the seeing eye has changed.   Maybe they heard I had written a blog professing my gratitude to and for the wife.  I scared them right into submission.

Heck, if anything could be safely (and cheaply) scared into submission, I would like it to be the noise--no, the vibration--of my car. We're talking 747 landing overhead loud and teeth-chattering vibration.  The sound is not from the pipes or muffler or the underside of the car; rather, it seems to be coming from the engine compartment. Talk about a mystery of the Lord.

Imagine, if you will, me standing in front of my car, hood open, staring at the running engine. I don't know much of anything about a car engine, but I can point out things like the battery, oil thingy, wiper fluid. (Points to me for knowing how to open the hood, right?) Picture me standing there in the freezing cold, hood open, sound is rumbling right along, things are visibly vibrating.  Poor little wiper fluid cover, chattering a little song. I take a gander at the engine and easily confirm: Yup, that's where the noise is coming from.  I lean a little closer.  No, nothing looks wrong. Puzzled, I run through a list of ideas....Idle is fine, starts fine, runs fine. The engine itself doesn't sound rough.  It's like the car itself sounds rough.  I kneel down and take a listen.  Nope, it's not from underneath the car--it's definitely something in the engine compartment.

Of course, I don't let a little thing like a rumbling engine compartment stop me.  I shut the hood and hit the road.

I've been ignoring the noise & vibration for weeks, as because after awhile, it isn't as noticeable. Maybe I just become more delirious than I already am and stop noticing.  Or, maybe turning up the radio really has helped me ignore it. Oh sure, it's embarrassing when you start out for the day and it does seem to scare passengers into submission, but what's a little car mystery as long as you keep chugging along?

It's not like the wheels are falling off or anything.

For some reason (another HUGE mystery, probably bigger than the non-sob-a-thon), I came to my senses and decided to have a mechanic take a gander. I took the car at night and left it so it would be nice and cold when the mechanic fired it up in the morning.  I left him a detailed note about my observations: idle is fine, worst when cold, vibration and noise seem to be front passenger side of the engine compartment.  (I'm sure mechanics think notes like that are ridiculous, but it made me feel better.)  I guessed that whatever it was, it would cost $1000, while the wife decided the cost would be $200 to fix.

Turns out one of my engine mounts is sagging a wee bit; thus, there really is a vibration and it really is from the area of which I pointed out and it is the worst when it's cold out and when the cold is just getting started. I took a second, then asked the most obvious question: "Is the engine going to fall out?"

The answer was "no."

I countered, "but, I've had a car where the engine fell out."  (It was the wife's car and the engine really did fall out.)

He assured me that I was safe to drive the car.  "I can fix it, if you want.  I have the parts in stock."

I thought about it.  The price sounded very reasonable--more than the wife's guess, less than mine.  I asked, "if it were your car, would you fix it?"

He indicated that if it didn't bother me, there was no rush to fix it.  "Does it bother you?"  I assured him it does not, but thought to myself "it sure bothers the wife."  I also thought that it probably bothers the neighbors.He seemed to take the approach of if it doesn't bother you, it's all good.  "It's not a safety issue," he reiterated.  "So, my engine's not going to fall out?  I'll wait.  I can always bring it back."

The REAL mystery here? A mechanic who gives me the chance to not spend money. The Trinity ain't got nuthin' on that.
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