Wednesday, June 28, 2006

Godspeed, Harvey

And, now--my therapy. There is only one way to debrief and that’s by talking about it. Well, Harvey the one-boob wonder died last night. I was privileged to be with her when she passed away.

You know, I’ve seen a baby be born and I’ve seen a person die. I’ll take watching a birth any day over watching someone die.

No one should ever have to be as sick as Harvey was, as I stated in my previous blog about her.

Harvey made me smile until the very end. My favorite moment of the night was when she asked for “more heroine, please.” (Now, THAT would be a real pain killer!) She had to settle for morphine.

I can’t tell you much more than that, not only due to confidentiality but out of respect to Harvey. Suffice it to say she died a true champion.

Sometimes, people are put in our lives to teach us lessons. I truly believe Harvey was in my life for that reason. Anyone who thinks you can’t learn anything from a person with schizophrenia and terminal cancer is sadly mistaken.

Harvey, I hope you are up there kicking God in the shins and demanding to know why you had to suffer so much in this life. Give him a kick for me. Heck, give him two kicks. After you are done kicking him, enjoy having two boobs and no pain. Enjoy being free of the voices that tormented you for so long. Enjoy thoughts of your cutie-patootie oncologist. Enjoy being free of all this nonsense.

Thank you for all the laughs. You really did crack me up. Thank you for dying so calmly, so quietly, so nicely, so peacefully for me, for your father. I’m sorry your life was cut so short but I’m glad you had those three extra years. Gave you three more years to teach me things, and for that I am very grateful.

Godspeed, Harvey. Now, go enjoy those two boobs.

Monday, June 26, 2006

Random Self-Serving Babbling on a Monday

Thought I'd start by posting a picture of Madonna so you didn't think I was truly over my obsession yet....

...I've started attending 12 step groups for the Madonnaholic types....we admitted were were powerless over Madonna and that our credit cards had become unmanageable...

MJagger reminded me to post her newest diet idea so she can be ready for the next Madonna tour. She is going on the "Nicole Richie-one-pea-a-day" diet. MJagger figures if she only eats one pea a day, she'll be as thin as Nicole Richie in three years. (Can I have my pea chocolate-covered?)

The birthday went swimmingly, complete with a new yoga mat from the wife. More McYoga for everyone! Unfortunately, I have another yoga injury--feels-like-it's-broken-chicken-wing-thing--but, I can still do all the poses with the rest of my body--I'll just leave out the right arm. I spent the morning of my birth watching Madonna's "Can I tell you a Secret?" DVD (released last Tuesday). Then, I truly did have a Blizzard for dinner, just as I wanted. Life is good. (The only way it could have been better is if Lucy Lawless sent me a birthday card and Jodie Foster called to sing. Those would have been big bonuses. You can't have everything in life.)

Yesterday, my thrill was removing the stitches out of the wife's back. She had this pre-cancerous mole thingy removed and needed three stitches taken out. Boy, was she wimpy. You'd think I was trying to kill her. I wasn't even touching her and she was already whining. Being the brainchild that I am, I had her keep an ice pack on it for 30 minutes so she wouldn't be able to feel what I was doing. I took out my brand new, shiny $9.99 pocket knife and ripped those puppies right out of there. I should have been a surgeon! The wife is fine, thank you. No worries about the skin cancer. I've got to go to the dermatologist next....you know I'll write all about it when I do visit....

Today's exciting Monday activities (besides talking about one-pea-a-day) included throwing out ANOTHER damn plant from my office, as this one had a disgusting, unidentified yuck covering it. I mean, it looked like ashes from a cigarette or snow from the sky or fuzz from an alien being....I've never seen anything like it...it covered all the leaves and stems....it happened over the weekend. How can something that disgusting happen so quickly? I've seen mushrooms, I've seen fungus, I've seen bugs...but this.....this was unimaginable. And, those damn bugs are still flying around the office (previously described in some old blog). I can't stand it! I'm trying to do email and listen to Madonna with all these bugs flying in my face and trying to fly up my nostrils. I don't think the bugs are related to the white crap on the plant, but I suppose I don't know that for sure. I didn't get a very good grade in botany...I'm not even sure I took botany in college...maybe it was zoology....it's all a drunken blur. I remember getting mad at my zoology partner who punctured the ink sack on our squid--that was a mess. Botany...maybe I missed that one....

As a student of Reiki, I thought it would be fun to combine the Reiki principles with Madonna obsessing. See if you can see which part is the actual Reiki principle and which part I added: (1) Just for today, I will give thanks for my many blessings and Madonna albums. (2) Just for today, I will not worry about how to pay for the Madonna tickets. (3) Just for today, I will not be angry that Madonna didn't drip sweat on me from the stage. (4) Just for today, I will do my work honestly, except for the time I spend at work writing this blog, cuz that's not very honest but being honest about being dishonest is a start. (5) Just for today, I will be kind to my neighbor and every living thing, as long as they agree to eat chocolate, watch Xena reruns and listen to Madonna music....

...wasn't too hard to decipher the Reiki stuff from my bullshit, now was it?! happy Monday.

Saturday, June 24, 2006

Halfway There

Forty Four! Forty Four! Forty Four! Well, I am indeed forty four years old today and I just LOVE that number. I can't say it enough. I've been jumping around all week holding up four fingers on each hand while exclaiming, "forty four!" (I have this weird thing with numbers. All numbers--time, age, receipt amounts, etc. Forty four is a great number in my weird number thinking. All the forties have been good. I'm not fond of 47 or 48 but we'll deal with that when the time comes. I wouldn't set my alarm to 4:44 am or pm, because that wouldn't be as "good" of a number as, say 4:49 am or pm. Go figure. Ha! Pun intended.) 

As I believe I will live to be 88 (or beyond--I'm just saying not less than 88), I'm halfway there. Like that chef on TV says, it's time to "kick it up a notch!" In honor of this momentous birthday, I cut up all my charge cards, as illustrated in this photo. (Now, don't you be sitting around trying to piece together my account numbers. You'll go to hell if you do that. You've been warned.) 

I thought this would be exciting for the wife, but she just scowled and told me I'd just get new cards. 

Ye of little faith! 

The Madonna concerts put me in credit card purgatory and thus they must go until the bills are paid in full. (I plan on this being before I am 88.) You have to understand that the wife has NEVER paid a finance charge on any of her charge card purchases--she pays the balance off in full each month. I cannot make this claim. 

We have differing views on money and on credit cards. Let's just say that I have a more laid back attitude. This is not a good or bad thing--just a fact (well, unless you are my wife; then it is a bad thing). So, the cards are cut up and the charging is at a stand still. This means I will not be able to have a frappacino until sometime in 2009. Okay, so maybe 2008. (I should clarify--we are not talking thousands upon thousands here. I'm not in that much hot water. It's just enough to make the wife very unhappy. I can't blame her. It's not her mode of operation to live the way I do. I'm glad she doesn't sell me to the gypsies or something....)

Unfortunately for the wife, I continue to profess my love for Madonna and insist that the money spent on the concert was worth every single penny. Every Penny! And, being the dumb shit that I am, I continue to say that I'd do it again. I know she'd like me to answer differently, but that would be lying. (I'm already in trouble for charge cards; I don't want to add lying to the mix.)

So, today I will walk around exclaiming, "Forty Four!" and I will eat copious amounts of ice cream and I will listen to my new "I'm going to tell you a secret" live Madonna CD and I'm going to have a great time. I'm halfway there...and this is no time to start behaving...

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

Final Confessions of a Madonna Whore

First, I think I’ll grovel for donations to the “Addi WP-is-broke-because-she-is-such- a-Madonna-whore” foundation (checks, cash, Paypal, direct payment to my credit card gladly accepted world wide).....then, I’ll yip about how the whole buy-tickets-for-the-concert thing happened, then I’ll tell you about concert; then I’ll tell you how much I lust her “Madge-esty.” Rest assured, this will be the last babbling about Madonna for at least a few hours. Okay, weeks.

It is all MJagger’s fault…or, at least that’s what I’m going to tell the wife. I was innocently sitting in her office yesterday morning when the insanity began. Had we been doing our work like we were supposed to be doing, this might not have happened, so I think I’ll blame my employer, too.

There were only a few tickets on ebay for the Monday night concert—quite a contrast from the other concerts where there were a bazillion auctions. But, there the tickets were—row 1, seats 1 and 2. Madonna would literally drip sweat on you. MJagger and I looked at each other, looked at the computer screen, looked at each other. Somewhere in the back of my brain I heard a voice yelling, “NOOOOOOOO!” Somewhere in the front of my head, Grover was saying, “do it, do it, do it, do it.” (He’s all about concerts.) The problem? The tickets were $1400/pair. Now, $700 for the best seats in the house really isn’t that disgusting, but my credit card is already smoldering with need of payment, I have no cash to my name and I’m not even able to have a frappacino these days without giving up some basic need. But, Grover continued to pound in my head; MJagger was salivating. Salivating! These were the tickets she had dreamed of…..I got up and left the room. Why? Because I may be dumb but I’m not stupid. Had I stayed there, I know we would have purchased those tickets. I listened to that voice of vomit that was telling me $700 was not mine to spend, not even on Madonna. (And yes, I could visualize the death stare I would receive from the wife. It is a good deterrent to doing really dumb things.) . I was so distraught, I basically went home for an early lunch and paced back and forth for 30 minutes and kept thanking myself for leaving MJagger’s office.

We finally settled on purchasing tickets the legit way—off Ticketmaster. Incredibly, there were these two awesome seats on the floor, right by the catwalk, still available. Who I am to say no to destiny? I charged those puppies faster than you can say, “Interest fees are going to kill you.” MJagger reminded me that we might be hit by a bus tomorrow, so we should go to the concert tonight. Damn, I hate when people use my own reasoning. I purchased the tickets, giddly with delight. I was too excited to take a nap, too crazed to eat lunch, too energetic to sit around and wait for the concert. I took a shower (why, I don’t know—something to do, I guess), took the dogs to Mc Donald’s for a “Freckles-birthday-hamburger” and paced around some more.

The trip to the United Center went smoothly and we ended up getting there way too early (if there is such a thing as being too early for Madonna). We stood around and made fun of peoples’ clothing choices and noted how many old, crusty white people were in attendance. We ate, we peed, I watched MJagger drink a beer, we peed. MJagger took me to our seats—I could have peed again. We were RIGHT BY the end of the catwalk!! Praise Grover, we were gonna see Madonna’s eyeballs, being as close as we were about to be. The money for these tickets no longer made me want to vomit—this was going to be more orgasmic than our first outing on last Wednesday!

Suffice it to say, we almost gave birth when Madonna came out of that disco ball to open the concert, because we WERE RIGHT THERE! RIGHT THERE!!! Dear god, we are SO THERE! There stood Madge, only feet away from us. I could see the color of her eyes. I could see she didn’t have any crows feet (bitch!) and I would have been able to see a booger in her nose had she had one. It was love! MJagger and I danced our way to fame and glory. We really didn’t need to try and sneak in to better seats because we had kick-ass seats. (Don’t worry—Mjagger tried to uphold her reputation by sneaking closer to the front of the stage, but her efforts were repeatedly thwarted by evil ushers…..I don’t think she was trying as hard as she already had great seats and thus lacked motivation to go forward with her seat hopping needs.)


Not that the majority of you care (I can’t believe you are still reading this dribble), the set list included: (Disco ball opening) Future Lovers / I Feel Love (Medley); Get Together; Like A Virgin; Jump; Live To Tell (the disco cross/crown of thorns song); Forbidden Love; Issac (with the guy who actually sings the song in some other language); Sorry (MJagger, I am still sorry); Like It Or Not; Sorry Remix (Video Interlude); I Love New York (still sucking George Bush’s dick); Let It Will Be; Ray Of Light; Drowned World/Substitute For Love; Music / Disco Inferno (Medley, complete with roller skates); La Isla Bonita; Erotica/You Thrill Me; Lucky Star; and, of course, Hung Up. Toward the end of the concert, Madge has a plethora of gold mylar balloons fall from the sky. I wanted one (MJagger had grabbed several at previous concerts) but none fell my way. Oh well. Suddenly, MJagger is standing next to me, handing me a balloon. What a true friend! I think she knocked over an usher to get me that balloon (which I shall frame and keep forever).

At the end of “Hung Up,” MJagger yelled for us to go, as we knew the concert was over and there would be no encore. I found this strange as MJagger is not one to leave in a hurry. As I chased her up the stairs, I yelled, “WHY ARE WE RUNNING?” but couldn’t hear her answer. It was like a sprint. Turns out, she was running to the bathroom, cuz she REALLY had to go. No lines for the toilet, so that was a bonus. (I had to hold the balloon in my teeth while peeing because you need both hands while hovering and I didn’t want anyone to steal my balloon and I didn’t want to put it on the floor so it would become pee-soiled.) Once she relieved her very full-of-beer-bladder, she was back to her old walking self.

The car ride home was hilarious, with MJagger talking the whole way. I really enjoyed it. It’s nice to have someone who is as obsessed with Madonna as I am and who is crazy enough to go to the concert THREE times (and you thought me going two times was bad). I bet we’d go again, given the chance. Thankfully, Madge has moved on to Canada and our credit cards will have time to air out…..

Thank you, MJagger (for the concert memories), Grover (for the encouragement, albeit naughty) and the wife (for not throwing me out after spending all this money on Madonna tickets). Thank you, blog reader, for indulging my obsession.

I’ve got three years before I will be as old as Madonna is right now—that gives me three years to practice McYoga and to get in shape…..by then, she’ll be doing her “I’m 50” tour and god knows we’ve got to get ready for that.

Monday, June 19, 2006

Freckles and Madonna get into the groove Today is Freckles' 6th birthday and you know what that means....it means I should go see Madonna again!!! So, I'll feed her a McDonald's hamburger in her honor and then zip back to Chicago to visit Madge and Company. Ah, the wife's away, the madonna fan will play..... ...the wife is doing her annual "Tour of Wisconsin," where she goes from one town of Cheese to another.... ....Riley the German short haired pointer neighbor dog brought some gifts over for Freckles birthday. Freckles liked the squeaky ball so much she played with it until she puked. Really. (The photo is of Freckles licking the squeaky ball while hoarding the second squeaky ball. True heaven.) Lucy stole one of the presents for herself; Freckles didn't mind as long as Lucy stayed away from the squeaky ball. Abu and Raja, the friendly felines of our friends Master Reiki and Blue Eyes also sent over some birthday goodies--more squeakies to drool on! It is like a toy store in the house right now....

...as for Madonna, who am I to say "no" to the chance to see her again? I gave myself a headache today just thinking about it. For those of you asking why I would go see the same concert twice, I say to you: you have NOT seen Madonna and her 47 year old ass snake up and down a catwalk. If you had, you'd come along with me for the ride.....yyyyeeeeeeeeeee haaaaaawwwwwww!

...whenver the wife is out of town, everything goes wrong. Last night, while I was walking the dogs, this mean (evil!) weiner dog came charging across the street and grabbed on to Lucy's tail. Ol' Killer Weiner Dog had a whole tuft of Lucy's tail in the mouth. This morning, when we went for our morning romp, I saw a tuft of Lucy's hair on the lawn where Killer Weiner Dog lives....Lucy's tail is fine, thank you--just short a few hairs....

Friday, June 16, 2006

Confessions of a Madonna Whore part 37
MJagger called me this morning to talk about her experience at last night's Madonna Concert. Yes, that's two nights in a row for her. Believe me, I would have loved to have been there, too. You can never see too much Madonna. I don't know how she was even out of bed this early in the morning, but she was. (I was so excited for her that I had trouble falling asleep last night. I also must confess that I spent an hour on eBay yesterday looking at tickets for the concert. I found some affordable ones but then decided I was too tired and crusty to drag my sorry ass to the event. I'll check out Sunday and Monday tickets, tho...it's like an addiction, like getting one tattoo leads to wanting more tattoos...)

(By the way, I saw the coolest Madonna tattoo on the belly of this lady with metallic silver hair at Wednesday's concert. We struck up a conversation about the tattoo--people with tattoos are kind of like being related. She had this tattoo for 11 years, so she's a true blue fan.) 

MJagger was accompanied by her sister Bon Jovi for Thursday night's festivities. What a lucky sister! This time, MJagger was much smarter and wore dancing shoes instead of non-supportive flip-flops. They had kick-ass seats...and, since MJagger is the jedi of seat-hopping, they ended up being in just about the best seats on earth--only three rows from the catwalk. She said there was no traffic during this trip to Chi-town and that they had plenty of time to chow on pizza and suck down some beer. Knowing what was coming sounds like it was delightful--MJagger knew that Madge would pop out of the disco ball, would get the crowd boogie-ing during "Music," etc. Sounds like she could barely contain herself. She and Bon Jovi started out in the "wrong" (read: unassigned) seats before the concert and didn't get booted out until during the first song. (What is wrong with these people? Why would they be late? For pete sake, they missed Madonna pop out of the disco ball!) They moved to their assigned seats, albeit only for a few songs. Then, it was off on a mission to move up in the world. You gotta love these two. MJagger found herself a sweet spot next to some dancing queen, who was so happy she was there because she was dancing and he couldn't get anyone to dance with him. He did "the bump" with her and everything--there can't be many better things in life than bumping with a gay guy at a Madonna concert. (MJagger's husband has nothing to worry about--that's pretty safe.) She indicates the crowd was "better" Thursday night than they had been Wednesday, so that's groovy. Neither of us have tickets for the next Chicago shows....but there's still time.....

Thursday, June 15, 2006

CONFESSIONS OF A CONCERT-GOING MADONNA WHORE


You can call her Madge. Call her Dita. Call her Ester. Call her Boy Toy. Call her Madonna. I call her orgasmic!

I have returned from the concert and I am here to tell you that Madonna is orgasmic.

(Before I go on, I want to confess that I am way too old for things like orgasmic concerts. I could barely get out of bed this morning, and I don’t even drink. I feel like I was hit by a truck. My muscles ache. I’ve got to step up my McYoga.)

The contestants in this night of debauchery included MJagger, MJagger’s mom-in-law, the wife and moi. MJagger and I were so excited we could barely sit in the car. I was sporting a smelly-brand-new Madonna ICON fan club t-shirt (smelly because it was new & unwashed), while MJagger was a vision in white—white everything, from sparkly tank top to white flip-flops. What a virginal view of beauty!

The trip to the United Center was harrowing—traffic out the wazoo. A 1.5 hour trip took three long hours—terminal traffic thwarted our efforts to get to the concert early. MJagger is not one to be troubled by traffic. She weaved in and out and did the best she could to get to the concert early; however, there is only so much you can do in bumper to bumper traffic. We parked in what MJagger called the “crack parking lot;” she said it’s where she always parks and that you can buy crack as well as park your car. Gee, crack is right on the top of my list of things I want to buy at the concert. MJagger clarified that we wouldn’t be buying crack (please—neither of us has put our lips on a crack pipe, so don’t start rumors). The lot was cheaper than the official lots and promised an “easy in, easy out” parking. I prayed to the Baby Jesus the car would still be there after the concert. (The wife looked skeptical but said nothing. I think she was still chewing on the whole crack thing.)

Despite the traffic, we had plenty of time—we were in the arena with plenty of time to spare…and, since Madonna didn’t start the concert until 8:45 PM (um, the ticket said she’d be starting at 7:30 PM, but she’s Madonna and she can start her concert whenever she damn well pleases), we had time to pee two times, have a snack, titter about the various fabulous outfits being sported by the fans and meet the fifty zillion gay boys sitting around us.

As MJagger is a professional “concert seat hopper,” I was invited to learn her seat-hopping skills. She NEVER sits where her ticket says she should be sitting—she goes for the best possible seat she can confiscate. Since we all had single tickets, she encouraged me to sit next to her (her assigned seat was much better than my cheaper assigned seat) until I got kicked out. So, I snuck by the usher (some high schooler who was not paying attention—not a hard thing to do) and plopped my sorry ass into the seat next to her. It was very entertaining, as the people around me were also not in their assigned seats—it’s like a game of chance. We found ourselves next to “Kenny Chesney” (a good ol’ gay boy from Kittyhawk, North Carolina sporting a cowboy hat and a tight, no-sleeved T-shirt) and his favorite boy toy. They actually flew in from NC to see the concert—my kind of people—and were very proud members of the Madonna ICON fan club. (They were in their assigned seats, by the way—one of the few behaving at this point.) Surrounding us was a fag-hag supposed DJ (who we think was really a pole dancer), her best gay boyfriend, a Chinese girl (who I do not think spoke English) and two Polish persons (who definitely did not speak English). I worked with the crowd to make sure I’d have a seat to jump to in case the rightful owner of “my” seat showed up. Several people thought MJagger was my girlfriend (one person actually asked me if she was my “bitch!”)— we had to explain that my girlfriend (my “bitch”) was sitting in a different, far-away section while I was sitting unexplainably with my friend.

Only true Madonna fans can understand this. 

(We did, by the way, talk to the wife by cell phone before the concert began. We could see her from where we were sitting, so it was kind of like we were almost connected.)

Enough about us--let’s talk about Madonna. She arrived on stage via a giant disco ball. Now, that’s the way to start a party. She was dressed in her best horse-jockeying outfit and the stage was filled with galloping horses. (Madge is really into horses these days.) Quite to my delight, her second song was an updated dance version of her oldy-moldy “Like a Virgin,” sung while riding up and down on a black leather horse saddle. Yee-haw!

Madge is really, really, really tiny. Very thin these days. She has what the wife and I call “arm legs;” meaning, her legs are so small they are like a “normal” person’s arms. Muscle and bones. Lots of muscles but still very teeny. It’s hard to look good in leotards—especially a white leotard, but she is the exception to the rule. I’m worried about her. Falling off that horse must have led to her being teenier than I remember. She still looked amazing—just teeny weeny and incredible in a leotard. The catwalk made it really easy to see Madge up close and personal—very crowd-friendly.

In my humble estimation, the crowd seemed rather poopy. Madonna even flipped off the front row because they weren’t dancing and having a good time. Geez, I would have taken my clothes off to be in the front row! What is wrong with these people? She chastised the crowd for not showing enough effort—and I agreed. MJagger and I were dancing our little legs off, but others were just standing there. Madge got the crowd going by changing the words to “I Love New York” to “suck George Bush’s dick.” (And, the Dixie Chicks get grief? Good God, she just told the crowd to give a blow job to the president!)

There I was, dancing my life away, when I suddenly noticed MJagger was nowhere to be found. Alas, she had made her break for the floor seats. You go, girl! She weaseld her way in next to two “we-don’t-want-you-standing-her-but-we’ll-tolerate-you” boys. MJagger is the master of getting the best seat possible and she is always successful. I aspire to glean some of her skills.

The show was incredible. The wife absolutely loved the “Saturday Night Fever” part of the show—Madonna came out in the best “John Travolta” white pantsuit with black shirt. She recreated the John Travolta movie solo and did a kick-ass job. Then, the dancers came out on rollerskates—a true 70’s flashback. I was beside myself. (Terri, you would have loved it! You would have been right back in 1979 at the roller rink!) Madonna got the crowd grooving and singing (all except those boring farts in the front role—ass wipes!) and hopping up and down. She even put on a “Dancing Queen” white-disco-lit cape.

For the record, the “Madonna on a Cross” thing was no big deal—although, I suppose being on a disco-mirrored cross while wearing a crown of thorns could be construed as rather sacrilegious—actually made sense in relation to what was happening at the point in the concert. (It was about the 12 million orphans in Africa, orphaned by AIDS. Madonna has always seemed to hold education and prevention of AIDS near and dear to her heart.) Once she got off the cross, the dancing went into overdrive. Madge wanted to dance, and dance she did!

Suffice it to say that most of the songs performed were from her "Confessions on a Dance Floor" album, which was fine with me as I'm a big fan of that CD. My favorite song of the night was "Sorry," which also happens to be my favorite song on the CD. (I dedicate that one to MJagger, because I am very sorry, as well as I should be.) I don't understand, though, why Madonna insists on performing "La Isla Bonita" at every concert. It's not a favorite of mine and she always performs it. Blech. No offense. I'd rather hear "Holiday."

The two-hour sweat-filled concert ended without an encore. Hell, I wouldn’t have given an encore to that crowd, either. It wasn’t a let down, though, as the ending of show packed a punch. Gold balloons floating from the rafters, pounding bass rattling the chest cavity, disco ball a-spinning. I was exhausted and satisfied. The show was as good or better than the other four Madonna tours I have attended.

MJagger is going to tonight’s concert. I don’t know how she does it. I can barely walk today, let alone go to another concert. (Hell, how does Madonna do it? She’s 47 years old and undulating herself all over the place. I got tired just watching her.) I tell ya what, though—I’d go tonight if I had a ticket. Everyone should go to at least one Madonna concert in life. Maybe I can check out ebay and see if there are a few cheap tickets left for tonight’s performance……

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

M A D O N N A D A Y !!



Do I care that someone someone killed that Zarqawi guy? NO. Do I care that Arnold Schwarzeneggar is getting on the "Green Al Gore bus?" NO. Do I care that Ann Coulter is a moron beyond compare? NO. Why?

BECAUSE TODAY IS MADONNA DAY AND THAT IS ALL THAT MATTERS!

Finally, it is time to attend the Madonna concert. MJagger is so excited that she didn't even come to work today. I couldn't sleep last night. Is this a sick display of shallowness? Yes. And I wouldn't want it any other way.

We still have a ticket left, so MJagger and I are inviting the wife to join us. The wife didn't want to go because she certainly didn't want to cough up that much money, she doesn't want to sit alone, she didn't want to spend money on parking, dog sitter, food, etc. Well, we are kidnapping her and taking her along and she'll live through it and she WILL LIKE IT!

So, today is Madonna Day. Nothing but Madonna Music. Nothing but Madonna talk. Nothing but Madonna gossipping. Nothing but Madonna. I can worry about Gitmo and Zarqawi and Ann Coulter tomorrow.

Oh, wait--tomorrow I'll be talking about Madonna. Maybe I can worry about those things next week...

Monday, June 12, 2006

The Sky's the limit...
Thanks to our friends Ms. UConn, Ms. Tennesse & Patty Party Pecs, the wife, Wild Mama and I had a chance to go to a women's professional basketball game last week. We had no idea what to expect--heck, we wouldn't have known Chicago even had a women's WNBA team if our friends didn't keep us in the know. We just hopped in the car, followed the very specific driving and parking directions provided by our friends and showed up as scheduled. (Actually, we got there an hour early--better early than on time, I say.). Our friends are very, very generous--they have season tickets and knew they would be out of town for this game, so they gave us their tickets and even their parking voucher. (Their nicknames for this blog represent their love of women's basketball...well, of UConn and Tennessee. The party pec thing has nothing to do with basketball but is a good nickname...trust me on this.) We thank them for the generocity and for the fun that was had. (They were having fun in Oklahoma City, watching the college world series of Softball. Are these sporty kind of gals or what? Happy Birthday, by the way, Ms. Party Pecs.)

The team is called the Chicago Sky and their logo features the skyline of Chicago. I thought that was pretty clever, but I wasn't very enthralled by the t-shirts they had for sale--I'm not big on baby blue and yellow is just not my color. Nonetheless, we ventured toward the arena, giddy with anticipation (or, maybe that was hunger--I'm not sure). We saw where the players park their cars--in the same garage as us!--and, being the nerd that I am, I snapped a few photos (is it illegal to post photos of peoples' license plates? I hope not...):

Pretty schnazzy, eh? A BMW hoop lover and a Lexus Chicago WNBA player. We were impressed.

The best part about the game is that it is an EVENT, not just a game. That's good because we really don't know a lot about basketball. (Well, the wife knows a lot but Wild Mama and I are not well versed in the sport.) There are contests and freebies and entertainment and spirit sticks and food and music and dancing...who needs the game when you have all this other stuff going on?!! Wild Mama was lucky, as the lady seated next to her knew a whole lot about basketball and explained the finer details of what was going on. I liked the spirit sticks the best--you know, those plastic thingies you blow up and slap together to make obnoxious noise? Wild Mama and I spent more time hitting each other with the spirit sticks than smacking them together in basketball appreciation. I'd show you a photo of me and the Wild Mama with our spirit sticks, but someone would probably steal it and put us on some porno site, so you'll have to use your imagine about us spirit-sticking at the game. Personally, I was hoping for more tattoos on the players but it was not to be. Matter of fact, they were down right-tattoo-impaired. It was a good game, although the Sky got spanked (their record is less than impressive, but hey--it's their first season). I highly suggest attending a game and showing support for our lady hoopsters.

It's hard to take photos at a game with but I did my best. If you look, really really closely, you can see some friends of ours who were seated across from us on the other side of the stadium. It's a small world. Well, I can see them.

Next on the list is to go see a Chicago Bandits Women's Professional Softball game. I feel so sporty. Wild Mama, get your sunglasses and sunscreen ready. Here's hoping Ms. UConn, Ms. Tennessee and Patty Party Pecs can join us...who needs the Cubs or Sox when you've got the Bandits?

On the MADONNA front, only TWO more days until the concert. MJagger is going to let me wear her new Madonna Confessions t-shirt to the show. That's mighty generous as it is a virginal shirt (meaning, it has yet to be worn). We still have one ticket left but I'm feeling confident that it will be utilized for the full asking price.....

As for the DOGS, they are peachy. Still fighting over the hedgehogs, still licking their parts every night, still thinking they are in charge of the house. (Oh wait--they ARE in charge.) I'm a little pissy with Freckles, as she is refusing to eat the very expensive organic food I purchased for their daily dining pleasure. Ah well, maybe I'll go back to the really cheap unhealthy food. We took them to Madison this weekend--it was delightful, especially the part where Freckles got to drive her own Escalade:

Did you think I was kidding? Not!

Thursday, June 08, 2006

Not every day in the Addiverse is filled with fun and games…

My client is dying. Again.

She was supposed to have died three years ago, but she was too stubborn to die back then. Talk about a cat with nine lives.

For purposes of this blog, I’ll call her Harvey. She’d know why. That would make her laugh.

Anyway, Harvey has breast cancer—the kind that has metasticized all over the place. Three years ago, she was having a hysterectomy….when the opened her up…all they saw was cancer. They sewed her back up and called it a day.

Harvey, the one boob wonder, was full of cancer. That pissed her off. She didn’t want chemo again—this would be round three—and she didn’t want to lose her hair—this would be round three of that, too. Harvey didn’t want any more pills or doctors or surgery or mammograms…but, she finally agreed to try round three of chemotherapy, mostly to shut all of us up.

So, the hair fell out, the hair grew back and the cancer seemed to shrink back to a size that left her alive.

It’s a cruel world that first deals you paranoid schizophrenia and then deals you breast cancer. It’s an even crueler world that lets your mental illness ease up as your medical condition falls apart. You might think that any decrease in the severity of mental illness would be a blessing. Sometimes it is not--Harvey had insight she probably wished had never come….

For some reason, through the muck of paranoia & delusions, Harvey has trusted me. She let me take her to chemo and to doctor appointments, she let me watch as the doctor examined her one remaining boob, she let me talk her in to blood work when she didn’t want blood work. In return, I’ve been through many a drive-through with her. Who am I to deny a cancer-ridden client of a Frosty or a large order of fries?

Harvey is stubborn beyond compare. She never complains about pain, lies through her teeth about how she is feeling, refuses to take pain pills and basically denies anything is amiss, even on the worst of days. It’s the stubbornness that has kept her alive, I’m sure. But even terminal stubbornness cannot stop terminal cancer.

So, I watch Harvey waste away, legs refusing to work as they once did, eye floating around in her head, weight leaving, appetite dwindling, color fading. And yet, she plugs along, saying, “I’m fine, I’m fine.”

She is not fine but I smile anyway.

Last week, Harvey complained of pain. This is very unusual for her and thus we sat up, taking notice. She started taking pain pills—something I had never seen her do in the seven years I have known her. She stopped eating pizza at 3 AM. She has all the signs of a bowel obstruction and that is not a good thing. At this exact moment, she sits in an emergency room, waiting for someone to tell her she can leave and go outside and have a cigarette. I will return there in an hour or two to sit with her and to tell the doctor that she is not “fine, I’m fine.” I will sit with her because no one who is dying should ever have to sit alone in an emergency room.

Harvey may pull through again. Maybe she’s a cat with ten lives. On this day, it does not look hopeful. The Addiverse is a place of hope…but, also full or reality. The reality is that she is on borrowed time.

My client is dying. Again.

And that is not a happy thing.

Saturday, June 03, 2006

Summer, Madonna and LOHASians
Summer must officially be here. How do I know this? I finally put away my long underwear this morning and am back to shaving my legs more than once a month. Those are SURE signs of summer. Another sign is that the wife is mowing the lawn on the hour….

The Madonna Event (aka the concert at the United Center) is only 11 days away and counting. I just don’t have a thing to wear yet. (I don’t have the money to buy anything to wear but if you think that will stop me, you are sadly mistaken. I’d forgo food for a week if it meant having a mean outfit for the Madonna. You can’t be a true Madonna whore without a new outfit. Go back and read my two previous blogs on being a Madonna whore.) I can’t wait to see her in her “Jesus Christ on the Cross” pose. I’ll start praying for her right now.

On a spiritual note, I’ve finally found my ‘peeps!’ (No, not the sugary Easter candy—my people.) They are Lohasians, as defined in the June 5, 2006 edition of NEWSWEEK (see page 10, for those of you who are into references). Lohasians, according to this article are weirdos like me who “are dedicated to personal and planetary health.” LOHAS stands for “Lifestyles of Health and Sustainability.” There’s a mouthful.


Like a true Lohasian, I read the “Celestine Prophecy” when it came out (way back in 1993--I read it while riding a stationary bike-I don't suggest that mode of reading), I adore the Dan Millman “Way of the Peaceful Warrior” books, I own “What the Bleep do We Know” and I voted for Al Gore. "Contact" is one of my all timer favorite movies (and not just because of Jodie Foster). I shudder when I have to trim my houseplants (they’re living things that I just know don’t want a haircut), I’m a vegetarian (call me granola, crunchy girl), I want to kiss Oprah, Marianne Williamson and the Dali Lama. I hung up a wind chime in the garage to improve our feng shui, for god’s sake…

Just to prove my lohas-iousness, I’ll quote the Newsweek article and put my comments in (red parentheses). I would have posted some photos of LOHASians but for some reason my blog will just not post photos this AM. I'll work on it. (Besides, I need some more photos of Madonna, don't you think? )

--73% of Lohasians buy recycled paper goods (we’re queens of recycling--go ahead, check our garbage. We buy recycled products whenever possible. The wife is all over the whole landfill thing. She's still upset about all those hotdogs and disposable diapers sitting in there...)


--71% of Lohasians buy natural or organic personal care products (oh my god, I just washed my hair with organic shampoo & brushed my teeth with organic toothpaste. I bet you didn't even know they made organic toothpaste. No more flouride for me. If I get a zillion cavities, I'll let you know...)


--Lohasians pay more to get foods without pesticides (I don’t want any of that genetically modified or sprayed with chemical foods, either and I could pay for a new outfit for the Madonna concert if I'd stop buying all that expensive food. At least Woodman's, the cheap store around here, has a large selection of organic foods. Where is a Whole Foods when you need one? Why doesn't Rockford have one of these stores? I'd drive to Madison to visit their Whole foods but then I'd be wasting all that gas.....)


--Spiritual practices include meditation (Buddha babes--can you say, ooommmm? I'm a therapist, for crying out loud--I'm teaching people how to meditate), yoga (Hindu mamas--can you say "McYoga?), honoring nature (big ol’ Pagans! I want to hug a tree just hearing that), feng shui (Asian, can you say "windchimes in the garage--IN the garage, not outside?)


--Say they are “spiritual, not religious” ("I've been babbling that for years; thought it was just a leftover of Catholic guilt...)


--Do energy healing (I’m a Reiki student, hoping to get my Level II training this month....do you feel the energy? I'll need people to practice on, so send me an email if you need some distance healing....)

Wow. Do I feel like a weirdo with friends or what? Don't be scared, I'm still the poop-loving nerd that I've always been. Now I just have ANOTHER label to slap on myself...

If you need more info on this or are fearful that you, too might be a LOHASian, click on these sites:

http://www.beliefnet.com/story/192/story_19222_1.html or http://www.beliefnet.com/section/quiz/index.asp?sectionID=10007&surveyID=319

Now get out of my way so I can go eat some bark and dance like a virgin.

Thursday, June 01, 2006

Holy Speculum, Batman!



I don't know how to warn you any better than to say, "I went to the gynecologist today."


Be scared. Be very scared. You KNOW I can't go do something like that without putting into a blog. How can I skip writing about all the stories that go with having that yearly exam? Since the doctor talked about poop, too, I was in heaven...

Men, stop being squeamish! Get over it. You wouldn't lke it if someone stuck a big, cold metal thing up your parts and then cranked it open for a Grand Canyon view of your innards. 

Here is a picture of some man holding a speculum. Figures some man would be holding it. He probably invented it AND the mammogram. Say "ahhh!"
I have a lot of gyne stories, none of which will make it in to this particular blog. I'll save them for a rainy day. 

Today, I speak of the colon as related to the gynecologist. You know what they say: the difference between a gynecologist and a proctologist is....about two inches. Tee hee!

Why, by the way, does anyone want to become a gynecologist or a proctologist? Who wants to look at that all day? We don't even want to get into the whole olfactory portion of the job...

So, there I was, freezing and all naked (well, besides that excuse of a paper gown thing, which is just another part of this event), waiting on the table with the scary leg doohickeys--stirrups--I'm not riding no stinkin' horse, so I wish they didn't call them stirrups. I know why they leave you sitting on the table freezing for so long--they are killing germs and airing out stinky parts. 

You freeze and then they come in.

My doctor is a gem. She is a woman of few words and of fewer moments "down there." NO time wasted--it's efficiency times two. Thank god. I don't want to make small talk when someone is scraping my cervix.

So, she's squeezing the boobs and talking about healthy things like exercising and proper diet and calcium with Vitamin D, when suddenly the topic of constipation comes up (not brought up by me, by the way). I admitted to a tendency of constipation (hence, all the poop talk--if you can't poop, you might as well talk about poop). She's talking about fiber and water....when she GRABS my colon. No kidding. Right from the outside of my skin. She grabs that sucker and assures me that most women are constipated. She's PUSHING on my colon and telling me that my colon seems mighty full. No shit, Sherlock--I just told you I am constipated. My poop went screaming back into my small intestines, never to be seen again.

Once I was able to peel myself off the ceiling, I was able to vocalize a few squeaks about having a colonoscopy. (Hey, I haven't blogged about that procedure..more fodder for the future!) She is impressed that I have had a colonoscopy and gives me the good news that I will thus not need a poop shoot exam. Now THERE'S some good news! Even I want to skip that part of an exam. Even tho my poop has been ASSURED there will not be a poop shoot exam, my poop is still hiding under my liver.

And so, I slid myself off the table (literally and figuratively--you know they lube you up enough to slide an elephant in there) and went on with life. I'm happy to report my plumbing is in excellent condition. Life IS good....