Tuesday, July 31, 2007

Push-up Pleurisy and Itching Dogs:
How I spent my Summer Vacation Part II


It's 4:30 AM on the second day of my summer vacation and I'm sitting on the couch, smacking Freckles because she just won't stop licking and had I not removed her from the bedroom, I think the wife might have thrown her out the window. That, and as I have "push-up Pleurisy," it's easier to sit up than lie in bed. Thus, I figured blogging would be a productive thing to do.

Let's start with the pleurisy. I spent the first weekday of my summer vacation in an emergency room. My, there's a fun time. It was all because I had chest pain. Sporty-five is not off to a good start and I'm hear to tell you why.

While we were vacationing with the friends this past weekend, I had a problem--I was having chest pain. Being the good guest, I decided not to say anything. After all, telling people, "Um, I'm sorta having chest pain" while everyone is enjoying a good pontoon ride is rather a killjoy. It didn't really bother me except, well, the pain DID wake me up at 4:30 AM during the visit and I started thinking about how my uncle dropped dead of a heart attack when he was even younger than the age I am right now and how my father had open heart surgery at basically the age I am right now....and my grandmother dropped dead of a heart attack and.... I voted I was NOT going to have a heart attack on vacation. I said some prayers, asked for Grover the spirt guide to intervene and tried to go back to sleep, holding a pillow tightly to my chest. In the morning, I surreptitiously searched the cabin for aspirin, as I've heard you're supposed to take one aspirin if you think you are having a heart attack. Alas, I couldn't find an aspirin so I decided if the pain got worse, I'd say something and get my sorry ass off the pontoon and to the local ER.

To be honest, there were moments of sheer terror. By the time we got home, the anxiety was going and the brain was racing and the chest hurting even more. I took the car, went and bought some baby aspirin and finally decided to tell the wife about the chest pain. I worked myself right up to having anxiety out the ass. I told her we'd wait until morning to go to the doctor. Her answer: get the computer and check out symptoms of heart attack. (I've taught her well.) After many questions, she decided I wasn't having a heart attack and that I could wait until the AM for medical attention.

So morning comes and I vote to go to the doctor. I get the appointment set up and then talk to MJagger by phone. Being the voice of reason, she is like--are you stupid? Go to the ER! I shaved my legs and arm pits, put on my best bra and new undies and had the wife take me to the ER. (The Catholic one, of course. If I'm gonna have a heart attack, I might as well be close to a priest.)

Tell the ER you are having chest pain and things start happening. There isn't much waiting to be had. They basically whisk you in and start plugging things on you and take volumes of blood and they take x-rays and then hand you four baby aspirin. (See? I was right about that aspirin!) They asked all the questions the wife had asked the night before--you go, Dr. Wife!) and prod around. I personally was excited to see my doctor was the guy that had sewn my face when I got beaned in the head during a softball coaching injury. (That's a whole 'nother story.) Then, they disappear and leave you to your own anxiety and devices.

Needless to say I was not having a heart attack (yeah!) but was diagnosed with, are you ready for this: atypical chest pain. Oh, there's a definitive answer! The doctor indicated it was pleurisy--basically an irritation or swelling of the stuff that surrounds your lungs and chest cavity. We're not talking the bacterial or viral kind of pleurisy you're always hearing about. No, we're talking about "push-up pleurisy:" meaning, I actually injured my insides when doing those push ups ten days ago.

I am SO not sport five! I've injured my insides doing god-dang push-ups!

(It's okay to laugh. Really. Only I could injury my pleura doing push ups.)

Alas, there is not much to do about it except sleep holding a pillow, lying on the side that hurts (and yes, that did indeed help) and take medication. His choice was Vicodan but I voted not to fill that prescription unless the pain becomes so bad there is blood shooting out of my eyes. Well--and not do push ups. He tells me to follow up with my doctor and if the pain doesn't stop, I should take a stress test. I'm thinking I'll call my psychiatrist and get some anti-anxiety medication instead of wasting my time on Vicodan....

I will never again make fun of someone with pleurisy because I am telling you it's painful and I'm not one to shy away from pain.

I can't wait to see what today's day of vacation brings.....

Monday, July 30, 2007

Third Nipples: What I grew on my Summer Vacation

There we were, all minding our own business, enjoying the food, fun and comradre when suddenly someone spotted something on Bea Chick's back. It was large, red and...and... well, it looked like a third Nipple. Amazingly like a nipple. Now, we knew Bea Chick did not have a third nipple--after all--we would have know that years ago, so new "appendage" gave us much food for thought. After lots of starting, ooohhing and Ahhhing, we decided it was a bug bit of some unknown variety, even thought there was no bug "mark" and it didn't hurt. In fact, Ol' Bea Chick didn't even know it was there until people started getting grossed out by it. Much discussion ensued about what to do with the said third nipple. A dose of Benadryl and a spot of Afterbite seemed to do the trick...

The weather was absolutely Divine. Lots of time was spent pontooning, with Captain Dan at the Helm (who does indeed have sea legs). A trip to the infamous swimming rock was warranted and although I thought I saw a bald eagle it turned out to be a great blue heron with the sun hitting its head in such a way that it looked like it was white head. Picutred here is the "swimming rock" with the wife and Dizzy (as in dee-zee) were perched casually after a nice swim. (I stayed on the pontoon. I'm not very sporty when it comes to water. Besides, I just got that new tattoo and had to keep it out of sun and water.....) The wife is like a fish. She loves to swim. So, I take pictures of her swimming and I stay on the boat. Works for me.

We didn't go fishing--the only thing we caught was a bottle of Dr. Pepper by a large mouthed bass. Ha ha!








Dizzy and I spent much time creating the Fertility Goddess Mermaid Kokapelli Walking like an Egyptian Medusa-haired Lady of the Sea on the sand in front of the lake house. It only made sense as one of the participants was pregnant this year. (That's a whole nother story worthy of it's own blog. Maybe next time.....) I love sand. It is such a wonderfully tactile thing.

That was Weekend One of the Summer Vacation. I"ll keep you posted with what other tidbits happen along the way.....

Sunday, July 22, 2007

Holy Muggles! It's Book Seven!

(Don't worry. There are no spoilers here. You won't hear from me how the story goes or ends. That would be almost sacrilegious!)

I've been waiting for July 21, 2007 for weeks. Why? Because it's the day Harry Potter's "finale" book was scheduled for release. Many of you may not know what a Harry Potter nerd I am. I've been a fan since the first book. It would be almost embarrassing to admit this except there are so many Harry Potter nerds in the world, I know it's not a bad thing to admit...and besides, I already know that I am a big nerd and I'm proud of it....

In order to prepare, I went on line, ordered the book from Amazon.com and set the arrival of Harry in motion. I could have ordered it at a local bookstore but I thought it would be more fun to have it come to the door. Unfortunately, I ordered the book to arrive at my work--but, my work doesn't get mail or deliveries on the weekend. I almost peed myself for that error. Back on the Amazon site. I performed a little Muggle Magic and changed the delivery address. Shoo! That was a close one. (Thanks to MJagger and Tutu Tony for pointing out the problem with the weekend delivery date. By the way, MJagger, the wife and I are all fighting about which one of us will have Tutu Tony's baby. Growl!)

Then, the wife announced that we would be going to the Land of Cheese on July 21st to help her brother move into his new house. The angst! While I am dedicated to family issues, I was very torn. How could this happen? I made sure I wasn't on call. I made sure to clear my calendar. And now, now I wouldn't be home for the delivery of the book! It took all of my muggle muster to get in that car and do the right thing. I confirmed that Master Reiki and Blue Eyes would be available to make sure the book got off the stoop and into the house--I couldn't leave that box of gold on the stoop while I was in some other State of the Union.

The ride home seemed to take 37 hours. Finally, we arrived and I burst out of the car and toward the stoop. No book! The rat bastards! Then, I remembered I had asked Master Reiki and Blue Eyes to put the book in the house. Duh! I ran toward the kitchen counter and there it was, in all it's glory! (The photo above is staged. I put the book back out on the front porch so I could re-enact its delivery. I wanted you to see how the book looked when delivered. Notice Lucy guarding the book--well, okay, so she's just sitting there with a ball in her mouth but I like to think she was protecting my book.)

The packaging was pure genius. I loved the warning to Muggles--"Do not deliver or open until July 21st!" The box was complete with "owl delivery." This only added to the wonderment of the book. It was almost too much!

I allowed Freckles and Lucy a first peek at the box and book. As you can see, Freckles is VERY interested in what is going on here. "Hedwig, are you in there?"

From the minute the box was opened, it was Harry Potter, All Harry, All day, All night:


I have a confession to make. Don't hate me for it. I indeed did read the last third of the book first. I then read the first third. Today, I'll read the second third and then the third third again. I have a nasty habit of reading the last page first, but I knew that wouldn't be "enough" for this production. The author isn't that dumb--she knew a bunch of us would do exactly what I did--read the last page first. I wanted to wait to read the end, to find out what happens to Harry and the gang, but I was (1) too impatient to do so; (2) too afraid I'd see a spoiler on TV or on the internet and I didn't want the end "ruined" before I got there; and, (3) I couldn't stand the thought of not knowing if Harry was going to live or die.

Like I said, no spoilers here. You'll have to read the book or go on line to find out what happens. Suffice it to say I find this to be the best book of the seven. (I was not a fan of the sixth book--thought it was rather a waste of time setting the stage for book seven--and I thought the fifth book was filled with too much teenage angst. Well, J.K. made up for that in this seventh book, Dumbledore love her.)

I'd like to write more but my book is calling. The second third is awaiting me! Don't bother me or I'll turn you into a toad......

Friday, July 20, 2007

Being Mistaken for the Mouse Surgeon....

I was enjoying a fine dining experience with the wife, Little Debbie Sneezeclumper & Phlange-a-slam when this man walks up to our table. I recognized him from my place of employment-- he had worked there about seven years ago and I hadn't seen him since. He comes over and shakes my hand, all full of smiles and warmth and I'm thinking two things: "what's his name what's his name what's his name?" and "boy, he sure is happy to see me." I can't exactly introduce him to my table mates as I can't recall his name. ("It starts with an E! Emilio? Enrique? Damn, being sporty five is hard!") He is yipping and yapping and he's talking about someone living on Chicago (or did he say in Chicago?). I'm smiling and nodding but I don't really know what he's talking about. I give him a quizzical look, he gives me one back and I'm talking about being from Chicago and he's talking about living on Chicago and then he says to never mind. (Huh. What just happened here? Buttever.) So, we talk small talk, he talks about his injuries and he's going on and on like I'm his long lost friend. All I want is for him to once again shake my hand again and slowly amble back to his table.

Then, it hits me.

He thinks I'm THE MOUSE SURGEON!

If you don't know who the mouse surgeon is, you'll have to go back in blog-dom and read the entry because if you don't read it, it won't make much sense why I would not want to be mistaken for being the mouse surgeon. Let me tell you, being mistaken for being the mouse surgeon is NOT a compliment in my book. (Check out the link below to update yourself on the mouse surgeon) http://addiwp.blogspot.com/2006/02/mouse-heart-transplant-surgery-ive.html

Anyhoo, there I am, not the mouse surgeon but being mistaken for her. Ah, I guess we all look the same, eh? Short hair, men's shoes.....

Now the problem is I can't tell him that I'm not her and I can't tell my friends who he is and this is getting rather uncomfortable. I want to scream, "I AM NOT THE MOUSE SURGEON! I DO NOT THINK I CAN DO MOUSE SURGERY! I ACTUALLY WORK FOR A LIVING!" Instead, I sit quietly and smile appropriately and almost do an audible cheer when he does in fact shake my hand and amble slowly to his table.

I think by the time he got back to his table he remembered who I actually was and that I wasn't the mouse surgeon at all....but it was too late.....and, I remembered his name, but it was too late for that, too. There was nothing else to be done but enjoy the food and take a mental note to get some therapy in the next week over the trauma of this mistaken identity.....

On a different note, I injured myself at work today. Really. I am having sharp pains in my chest--but, I'm talking about my pecs (well, where my pecs would be if I had them). As I am a counselor, you might be asking yourself, "how the hell did you hurt your chest muscles being a counselor?" Well, I shall tell you. I was doing a 15 minute work out with a client (trying to motivator her to lose like 200 pounds) in the early morning and we were only doing "Basic Bootcamp" but Billy Bob or Billy Boot or Billy whoever was having us jump up and down and cursing through push-ups. My problem: while I am a VERY sporty-five, I am indeed FORTY FIVE and 45 year olds should not just suddenly try to do 20 push-ups just because some man on the DVD tells them to do so. I got to 15 and I felt (heard?) the shredding of some poor, unsuspecting muscle. I haven't felt the same since. It really kind of sucks that a 350 lb girl can bounce around and not get hurt but I do some push-ups and basically rip a muscle in two.

Sporty five, indeed!

Do you know how much your pecs are involved in every day life? I didn't. Now, I realize that they are involved from breathing to taking your pants off to pee. This is going to be a long recovery process. Stick shift? Yeow. Carrying laptop? Ouch. Putting on sports bra so I can be extra sporty? Eye-poking-pain.

My only hope? Maybe it will swell and it will finally look like I have a chest.....

Tuesday, July 17, 2007

Spa Grrlz Prep for Vacation: Would you like a Manicure with your Fill Up?

Okay, so some of you probably didn't think I was serious about vacationing this year at the new local gas station. But, I'm telling you--this is the world's nicest gas station and it rivals any spa in the nation.

The photo to the left is technically not from the gas station--it's from our vacation at Miravel in Arizona. But, the gas station makes me think of the Tuscon spa, so I thought the picture appropriate. Those are real quail in the photo--don't you just love the little curly cue thing on their heads?? But, I digress...

My position regarding the "fabul-icity of this hot spot was solidified when I noted that the "Go Girls" in the Rockford Register Star wrote about the mecca of corner markets. (July 12, 07) "We were most pleased with the Shell...this place had everything you could dream of at a gas station....it has a very clean atmosphere inside, looking more like a casual restaurant than a convenience store." See? I knew I wouldn't be alone in my love for the new Shell Spa! Of course, I had a few moments of terror when I read the their diddy as I was afraid that the spa might "sell out" the days the wife and I are trying to vacation there.

So, here's what I'm thinking. We save up our money (don't buy any gas, for god's sake--it's too expensive and besides, we won't need any--the gas station is right down the street). We save up our calories so we can binge on Smoothies, Icees and flavored coffees. We go to Walmart and get new swimsuits (to wear in the car wash). We find dog sittings and then hit the road. I'm picturing myself on a massage table...right next to the cash machine. Ca-ching!

Speaking of vacations, my sister sent me a quick email about the family two week endurance run across the nation. Well, across the eastern portion of the nation. (She really she get her own blog. Her emails are very funny. Remember the blog about the broccoli? Priceless!) Forget picturing me on a massage table in a gas station: picture my sister traveling with her three daughters & hubby in a "rattle-trap" of a van on their way to a Nascar event. (Refer to the "spray painting snakes in the backyard blog entry" for further information on the relations.) When I asked what they did on their , she wrote:

"Here is our vacation in a nut shell:"
Drive, drive, drive, drive, drive, drive, drive, drive, drive, drive, - got the picture?!!"

They actually stopped driving long enough to see Niagara Falls, which is always a good thing to do. I'm all about famous tourist places. The wife and I stopped there once but we only peered over the railings from the American Side...and then we went and ate lunch at the Hard Rock Cafe in Niagara. We are SO tourist-y. Traveling Sister writes: "We spent several days and nights checking out the Falls. Both Canadian and American sides. We went under the falls on the Canadian side and walked under the bridal falls on the American side. Very wet and cool. We also took the Maid of the Mist boat ride which takes you into the mist of the Canadian Falls." (I am SO jealous! I've never been on that infamous Boat! I'll be in a car wash pretending to be on the Maid of the Mist. I imagine that's not quite the same.) She added that her Eldest daughter liked the Canadian side better and that Eldest daughter has announced her intention of becoming Canadian. Well, she does like Hockey and the Canadians seem like a fun lot, so why not? I've got a passport....Oh, Canada!

They spent a lot of time in amusement parks (something I do not do unless lots of Dramamine is involved). Traveling Sister indicated that they also stopped at an African Safari--I didn't know that there were any safaris between New York and Illinois, but there obviously is as she writes, "some they say do not feed the animals by hand, but use the cup, yeah right."

If you've ever been to a drive-through safari, you know this is true. Those animals know you have food in the car and they are NOT going to read any rules, let alone follow the rules. "The deer thing tried to steal my cup (I won) and the buffalo had his head in the car again eating carrots out of our hands. The best was the buffalo or yak or whatever that was huge and had big huge horns. His head came in the windows but the horns/antlers did not fit in. There was some screaming going on then! The girls wanted to save the carrots for the giraffes and I just kept saying feed it so it doesn't eat me!"

Reading that sentence made me laugh out loud. I was very excited to find a photo of a buffalo sticking its head in someone's car window so I could help you visualize this moment. (I once had a hippo bite the side mirror of my mother's brand new car while in a wild animal park. Not quite the same as a buffalo head in the car but fun non-the-less.) I'm pleased to say the family has returned, no worse for the wear.....maybe they can come visit us at the car wash. There aren't any wild animals or roller coasters but there is plenty of Nascar stuff to purchase....

Just so you don't worry, I haven't forgotten about poop talk. I just have been distracted by work, gas stations and women's professional softball. (Not to mention Harry Potter. Dear god! Do you think I'll have time to write about poop when I'll be buried in Book Seven of Harry Potter-dom? NO! Don't call me on July 21st. Yes, I will be reading the last three pages first.) And, there's only a few weeks before vacation, so I don't have much poop time. But, trust me--I'm saving up...both literally and figuratively.....

Saturday, July 14, 2007

A day in the Life....July 2007 style
Well, it certainly has been busy in the Addiverse. I hate to whine--no, wait, I love to whine--so, let me whine a bit about how it's been so hectic that I haven't had time to write much and my brain cells are too pooped to pop and the wife has been out of town and that means I have to do all sorts of things I never have to do (damn, I had to change the dog bowl water more times than I could have every imagined), so I thought I'd illustrate activities via photo journalism....

So, what happened yesterday in the Addiverse?


Time to get up! Here's Freckles doing her morning stretch. Truly the meaning of "down dog."















Do a little yoga....here's Lucy doing a new yoga pose while Freckles really concentrates on her pre-cobra pose.....ooommmmmm!

Watch the Weather Channel. Why look out the window to see what the weather is doing when you can just turn on the TV? How am I supposed to know what to wear when walking the dog if I don't consult with the Weather Channel? What's on the radar? (Remember the old days when you just opened the door and said, "looks like rain--better take the umbrella?" Now it's, "Hey! What's on the radar? Should I bring the umbrella?"

Don't step on the grout. Here's how I set up the bathroom so I can remember what tile has the new grout--I marked it with a toilet paper roll. And, the gate is up not only as a second reminder not to step on the grout but also to keep the dogs out....














Next, I drink and drive. Literally.
Here I am taking a photo WHILE driving while drinking Dunkin' Donuts coffee.

Children: do not try this at home.

I'm driving down Forest Hills Road while drinking, driving and taking photos on my way to work. No one was maimed or injured during this commute.





Below: Spill things on myself. I am telling you, I should buy stock in Tide Stain Sticks. Every "Life is Good" t-shirt I own has some type of stain on it from things "jumping onto" me. Ink marks, food, grease, cleaning products, paint, black gook running out of heated golf club handles, etc. Ugh! These stains from the day are chocolate, BK Veggie grease and dust spray from cleaning at work.









Come home from work and visit the new puppy next door:

I told you she was a cutie pie! Here she is smiling because (1) she's friendly and (2) Lucy is nowhere in site and that means the puppy can remain happy. Ah, there is nothing like puppy breath to help make any day delightful. Really. If you are having a bad day, go find a puppy and let it lick your face. Ahhhhhh! Puppy breath! Makes me pine for the days of having a puppy.

Well, maybe not the potty training part or the whining all night part but the playful, puppy breath part.


Take some leisure time to read about poop:














Go to bed. The end.


P.S. Freckles and Lucy say, "Hope you are feeling better, Mr. Piddles."

Sunday, July 08, 2007

Don't mess with the rules.... and get some Tattoos

Don't mess with the rules.... and get some Tattoos
Praise the baby Jesus, the Tile Man is on the "wife-poo list." Trust me, this is not a place you want to be.

Remember the "don't step on the grout?" from a blog or two ago? Well, the Tile Man had to return to the scene of the crime and remove some grout and tiles, as the tiles were loose & the grout cracked. You can imagine how happy the wife was about this. (I SWEAR to you on my Xena collection that I did NOT step on the grout at all and I didn't step on the tiles until I received the go-ahead from the wife.) I guess the guy was dumb enough to admit that one of his workers had spilled some water on the floor and that might be the problem. (Ya think?) And, the guy started questioning if he should have tiled over the linoleum, so that got the wife's obsessive thinking kicked into high gear. I want to slap this guy. Didn't she pay him to think of those things BEFORE putting the tile down? Well, he'll pay, so it's his bad. I wouldn't have messed with her....

"So, the new rule for the next week is: do not to step on the newly-glued, non-grouted areas in the bathroom."

In order to make sure I do NOT step on these off-limits tiles, I have placed rolls of toilet paper on them--a visual reminder to keep my ass out of trouble and my feet off the tiles. It looks rather ridiculous but I need all the help I can get regarding rule-following. I'm a rule-rebel!


Adding to the wife's terminal case of "tile-floor- fiasco- frustration" is that I did not comply with the "Lawn Mowing Rules" this morning.

I thought it'd be nice for me to use the riding lawn mower while she used the push mower, as I thought I'd do one part so she could be done faster. (Hey, I'm older, so I get to ride, she gets to push. I'm not THAT motivated to help.) It's gonna be 150 degrees out today, so my thinking was, "the faster outside, the sooner inside." Problem is that my plan messed with the "Lawn Mowing Rules." (I know better than that but I felt like living on the edge!)

It was very easy to see how irritated my decision made the wife. I got the "you're messing with me get off my lawnmower" look. I didn't let it deter me--I just threw my flip flop at her and kept moving. (God, I hope the neighbors weren't watching when I was flinging flip flops!) I missed, by the way--the flip flop went wide right.

(Um, I shouldn't have been mowing while wearing flip flops. I know. I really shouldn't have been mowing in my bare feet, either. Alas, I am a fool on all levels. The hell if I was going back to get those flip flops...)

The lawn rules are complicated. There is this whole "method to the madness" thing. My thought is that it's just grass and it's gonna grow back and we don't live at Wrigley field and I'm just trying to help and it's gonna be 15o degrees so let me get going....but this thinking is the kind of thinking that gets me into trouble. (I live my life by the motto: Better to ask for forgiveness instead of permission.)
See, I like to make little circles and zip around here and there. Figure 8's are fun., especially around the trees. The wife, on the other hand, has the master plan of perfectly aligned stripes in a specific order around a set pattern. I messed with the system. I tried to behave as best possible but it didn't help.

No worries--the lawn got mowed and peace was restored in the Addiverse before no time.


Instead of following the rules, I went and got a new tattoo, this one funded by MJagger, god love her. It's the final piece to my back collection. I warn you now—it's obnoxiously large and it's ridiculously tacky. That's only appropriate, as I am one of the most tacky people on the planet. I must profess my love for Isaac, my personal Tattoo Man. (Who needs a Tile Man when you have a Tattoo Man?) When you see my back and get over the initial horror, think of my love for Isaac and my gratitude to MJagger. Then, give your condolences to the wife. The photo to the left shows where the new tattoo was placed--right between Piglet and Spongebob. All my cartoons represent people/four-legged friends in my life. Tacky or not, it all has meaning. I just hope people don't lose the meaning while they are gawking at my back.

And, yes, I realize what it will look like when I'm 80 years old. I'm all good with it.

Work: I sum it up by quoting the wife from this weekend: "I hate your job." Nuff said.

Thunder: Still going to games, still enjoying the team, still making an ass out of myself by cheering loudly in the stands. Last night, I met a little girl who had served as the bat girl the night before. Being the true team stalker that I am, I asked her all sorts of ridiculous questions--did she get a jersey? How did she know what to do? How did she get chosen to do this? You get the picture. I'm sure her mom was thinking, "Oh god, who IS this freak bothering my daughter?" Hey, my dream is to be the bat girl for one game--I hafta know how to apply! Besides stalking the bat girl, the other thing that comes to mind is how a player on the opposing team got beaned in the head by a throw from Mackenzie Vandergeez. It made a sick thud when it hit the girl as she slid head-first into third base.--her helmet went flying off her head and just about into the Thunders' dug out. They took her away in an ambulance. Here's some healing vibes to her. You never want to see anyone get hurt. Haven't heard if she's okay...so here's hoping...I've been knocked silly enough times to know it's serious business....


And, on a final note (which has nothing to do with anything mentioned above): the cutest puppy on the planet has moved in next door. Not the cheeseball neighbor side; the other side. (Um, this photo is not of the neighbor dog but I thought it was really cute so I posted it here until I get some real photos of the puppy.) This new neighbor little cockapoo won big points with me because it nipped ol' Crabby Patty right in the ear!
--> Freckles has met her match and I couldn't be happier--the Warrior Princess doesn't take kindly to other dogs but she seemed rather enamored with this new neighbor—well, until it nipped her, deservedly so. It's kind of canine poetic justice. Lucy, on the other hand, is terrified of the new pup and goes running back into the house whenever the puppy is outside. Never mind that Lucy has ten pounds and five years on this puppy. I'll get some photos of the puppy so I can post them for all to enjoy.

Until then, I'm gonna keep my feet off the tiles, suave on my tattoo and my hands off the lawn mower....

Friday, July 06, 2007

Batter-ed and Bruised

Please refer to Blog Entry about not eating your boogers to learn more about this injury.....

Here is a photo of Master Reiki, her bruise and the ball that gave her the bruise. Notice that the ball is hand-signed...by Rockford Peach Barbara "Bobbie" Thompson!

If you have to get hit with a softball, it's (1) always good to get a bruise as a battle wound; (2) it's always good to take a photo of the bruise; and, (3) it's always good to get the ball autographed (preferably by someone famous and not just some schmuck on a recreational softball league).

We'll be going to another Rockford Thunder game tonight. We'll see who else in the Addiverse can get a bruise....

Thursday, July 05, 2007

Tic Check

As I remain quite busy right now in my real life, I'm just going to alert you of an email I received today. It sounds very important and thought all of you would benefit from the information:

I hate it when people forward bogus warnings, and I have even done it myself a couple times...But this one is real, and it's important so please send this warning to everyone on your e-mail list:

If someone comes to your front door saying they are checking for ticks due to the warming weather and asks you to take your clothes off and dance around with your arms up, DO NOT DO IT!!

IT'S A SCAM!!! They only want to see you naked!

I wish I'd gotten this yesterday. I feel so stupid.

(The addiverse says, "tee hee hee hee hee!")