Monday, January 28, 2008

Attack of the Killer Flaxseed


Those who truly know me know that I am often the master of the disaster—things just seem to jump out of bowls and off tables… explode in a cloud or break with a crash. Usually, I cannot explain how these things happen—they just do. So, it really wasn’t a big surprise when the Attack of the Killer Flaxseed occurred this weekend.

The wife was out of town this particular Saturday (probably a very good thing, considering what was to transpire). I myself was getting to go out of town with some friends and wanted to make a bowl of oatmeal with flaxseed before leaving. (Hey, I’m really serious about this lowering cholesterol thing. But, don’t be fooled—I also put a square of Dove Dark Chocolate in there.) So, I get the one-minute oatmeal a-nuking in the microwave while I get the flaxseed out of the refrigerator....
For those of you who are not familiar with flaxseed, I will describe it to you: the ground stuff looks like sawdust; the seeds actually look like sesame seed kind of seeds.  
The stuff I have in this particular tub is a mixture of both—I’ve ground some into sawdust and left some seedy. I keep it in a big Tupperware bowl in the frig—I’m not sure it needs to be refrigerated, but it seems like a good thing to do, so in there it stays.

The microwave chimes and lets me know the oatmeal is done (for once, I have not exploded it all over the inside of the microwave—that’s always fun to clean) and thus I go to open the flaxseed container.

You know what’s going to happen, don’t you?
 
As I open the top, the lid gets stuck just long enough for me to have to struggle with it and then it goes F….L…..Y….I….N….G off into the air.  
It’s in slow motion.  
The lid flies off, the tub is in the air and me?  
I’m going into the “ooooo-o-o-o-oh noooooooo” mode. 

Despite my valiant albeit non-sporty efforts, the flaxseed container hits the edge of the counter, bounces off into the air and hits the ceramic tile with a sick splash.

Flaxseed EVERYWHERE.

Now, I know some of you are thinking that there is an exaggeration factor to this story. I am here to tell you there is NO exaggeration. You cannot imagine how far or how fast those flaxseeds went flying. I mean they were under the microwave, under the stove, on the refrigerator, on my feet, on all the kitchen rugs, under the baker’s rack, in the dog bowls, under the kitchen table and heading toward the lower level stairs. Flaxseed everywhere, everywhere, everywhere.

Those of you who know the wife know that she will NOT be entertained.

I stand there for a minute, weighing my options. I’m not sure how to approach this project and I do not have the expertise of the wife at hand. Lucy has now entered the kitchen and has begun to eat the flaxseed. I shoo her out and decide to start with the vacuum. 

This turns out to be a bad idea, as the flaxseeds end up shooting backwards as the vacuum brushes spin and the flaxseeds get stuck on the vacuum wheels. This means I have to stop and clean each wheel, one by one. This takes quite a bit of effort as flaxseeds have gotten into the inside rim of the wheels.

I go get my “Shark” vacuum thingy as I figure I have better odds with this. In some ways, this is true. Little golden flakes of seeds go sucking into the Shark, but it is not able to complete the job and I can seek a think layer of flaxseed fluff all over the counters. Damn. 

This is war. I pull out the big guns: “Cinch.”

The wife is in love with “Cinch.” She uses it on everything—the counters, the furniture, the floor, the sinks, the appliances, the dogs, me….there is nothing Cinch cannot do. Paper towels in hand, I try out the Cinch. While it is helpful on the counters, it’s too time consuming on the floor. So, I use a towel and water method but the seeds don’t seem to stick very well. It’s kind of like I’m pushing sawdust around.

I take the rugs outside and shake them out. Seeds speckle the snow. I turn back and see Lucy licking the floor again. Although I know it is not a good thing, I am thankful for her help, as it’s one less spot I have to clean.

It comes down to picking up the seeds, one by one.
 
This sucks. 

After about 30 minutes, I come to the conclusion I have done my best and will just have to leave the rest to the professional cleaner, Queen of Cinch. I write a note about the incident, kiss the dogs good bye and hope for the best.

I am happy to report that the wife survived the flaxseed invasion and although she says she spent an hour cleaning, she insists she would not have noticed the mess "at least not right away" had I not left her the note. 

I take this as a sign of great victory.  

Rock on, Cinch!

Wednesday, January 23, 2008

Sleep tight and....

Update on the wife: she is moving on in her grief about the Packer Loss, but she is still unable to watch ESPN lest she see something about the Packers on the channel....and, she has indeed canceled the NFL package on the cable. The wife has no intention of watching the Super Bowl this year....

Forget football....I am here to talk about bed bugs. (No, I am NOT going to indulge you in why I am talking about bed bugs. Why try to understand anything going on in my brain? I mean, it’s usually about poop or Xena, so be greatful for a change of pace.) Suffice it to say that bed bugs have come into my life and that I am now involved in “The Great Bed Bug War of 2008.”

You know that saying, “Sleep tight, don’t let the bed bugs bite?” Well, I am here to tell you that I will personally SLAP THE PISS out of anyone who says this to me.Why? 

Because bed bugs do bite and they do exist and they are a real bitch to get rid of….

Bed bugs have come into my life. It's a real pain. I’ve been doing a lot of research on the topic and while it is not as exciting as reading about poop or Xena, it is exciting to learn something new about these critters. There is a lot of info on the internet (be it right or wrong--it's always hard to tell with crap on the Internet), complete with pictures and gruesome stories. I personally am all about the photos, although seeing the bugs in real life does lend itself to a higher level of respect for the bugs. 

The wife is understandably quite disturbed about this, as who really wants someone who has been exposed to/swimming with/walking through bed-bugged areas to come to bed with you? 
 
No one.
 
Suffice it to say that I have been stripping in the garage (a really fun thing to do in the middle of the winter), not wearing my coat anywhere (another fun thing to do in the below zero temps) and leaving my shoes in the garage all night to kill off anything that might have hopped a ride….

Thankfully, the Internet suggests that I have little to worry about, as “…..Except in the case of severe infestations, bedbugs are not usually carried from place to place by people on clothing they are currently wearing.” 

I do not think these words soothe the wife but it does help me from completely freaking out. (Don't think that I'm not freaking out, because I am. I'm just a little more reserved in my freaking outness.) 

I appreciate the internet blurb stating, “….However, you may experience psychological effects due to a bedbug infestation, such as imagined itching. This is normal. And understand that a bedbug infestation is nothing to be embarrassed about. Even the cleanest, most meticulous individual can experience a bedbug problem in the home.”

Um, about that psychological thing—it is true. I find myself scratching at imaginary things. It’s not like lice or anything—the bed bugs don’t jump anywhere and I’m not sleeping in places other than home—but, it’s still unnerving.

As I have never been exposed (knowingly) to bed bugs, I found myself very much out of the bed bug loop. Better to be armed with semi-correct information gleaned from the internet than to be in the dark. 

Side note: the thought of staying in a hotel at this point freaks me out. Forget those 20/20 investigations that show the maids clean the glasses with Windex and never really wash them; I am all about the bed bugs that are probably crawling over me and sneaking into my luggage. E-gads! 

Side side note to a few special readers: If only I had a silk cocoon….

I have learned that “…..Bedbugs are very flat, which allows them to hide in tiny crevices. A crack wide enough to fit the edge of a credit card can harbor bedbugs (even in the ceiling). In the daytime, they tend to stay out of the light, preferring to remain hidden in such places as mattress seams, mattress interiors, bed frames, nearby furniture, carpeting, baseboards, inner walls, tiny wood holes, or bedroom clutter.”

I am guessing it is a really bad sign that I’ve seen bed bugs during the day, as if they are out in the day and they are mostly out at night, they must be very, very busy.
I have been very happy to learn that “they are not social insects, however, and do not build or stay in nests. These groups of bedbugs are very often found in beds, usually either in the seams of a mattress (usually the seams closest to the sleeper such as those on the edging of a mattress or box spring), in the boxspring, or within the structure of the bed itself.”

Okay, that I can deal with…but….

“Bedbugs are capable of traveling as far as 100 feet to feed, but usually remain close to the host in bedrooms or on sofas where people may sleep. They feed every five to 10 days. It is important to inspect all adjacent rooms for infestation, as bedbugs travel easily and quickly along pipes and boards. In treatment, it is important to consider the insides of walls as potential places for bedbug infestation.”

Dear god! Who wants to think about bed bugs in the walls?

Perhaps focusing on how to rid the buggers is a more pleasant thing to consider, but I am here to tell you that those guys DO—NOT—WANT—TO—LEAVE! And, killing them is like trying to catch a greased pig—really hard! You just can’t catch them in a jar or anything and it’s not like they die if you stay out of bed for a week or two. Those puppies can go for months without eating. (Kind of like Nicole Richie.)

In the end, it will all be fine and I'll move back to talking about poop and Xena, with perhaps a little dog story here and there. But, for now I am obsessed with the bug of choice. If you really want to know about bed bugs, go to http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bedbug .Why you would want to do this, I don’t know—I’d think you’d have heard enough right here....

....anyone want to come over for a slumber party???


Sunday, January 20, 2008

Pre-Game Warm Up



Oh dear, the wife is one big ball of excitement and anxiety. It's a hard life being a true Packer Fan, born and raised in the land of Cheddar. This isn't a game--it's a way of being. In an effort to help her calm her nerves four hours before game time, I thought I'd post some photos gleaned from the internet. (That and distract her with NFL channel stories of how cold it really is at Lambeau Field right now....Ice Bowl II?) Trust me, I am wearing the exact same outfit I was wearing last weekend because I AM NOT going to mess with the wife's superstitions. I value my life and peace.


My favorite photo I've seen in the past week is this one of Brett approaching his family (especially Deanna, who is on the top of the wife's list). How can you not love Deanna Favre?

NOTE TO BLOG READERS: IF ANY OF YOU HAVE A COPY OF THIS SPECIFIC SPORTS ILLUSTRATED, I WILL PAY YOU TO SEND IT TO THE WIFE. I am serious about this. She has made herself silly looking for this edition. It sold out like in thirty two seconds, which is amazing since we live in Illinois. (What's up with all these wimpy Bear Fans switching teams all of a sudden? Isn't that against the Bear code of honor?) We've been to more stores and gas stations looking for this than I care to count. She'd really love to have one. So, let me know if you'd like to part with your copy and I'll send you a reward. Chocolate, cheese, money.....name your price. I really don't want to buy it off of eBay....and, forget about getting one of those sideline knit caps all the players wear--those are sold out and going for college tuitions on eBay....


Then, there was the "Snow Bowl" last week. What fun was that! If I had to play football in the cold, I would prefer it'd be fun like this: giant flakes of snow and your quarterback throwing snowballs. Of course, as a fan sitting in Lambeau Field it would be nice if you could see the game, but I don't think they really cared as long as their Pack came out on the victorious side....


















Finally, I finally found the Patron Saint of the Green Bay Packers: It's "Saint Vince." I should have known.

Friday, January 18, 2008

God Bless the Green and Gold


I
don't know who is
the Patron Saint of Cheeseheads, but I'm sure there is one. The wife is so nervous about this Sunday's Packer game that I'm not sure she's going to make it. God help me if they lose. She's fretting and thinking and talking out loud, planning her pre-game activities and wardrobe, trying to decide if she should go to Wisconsin to watch the game or remain in the Flatlands, if she should pray now, pray later, pray during the game, say a rosary.....

Since I couldn't find the Patron Saint of Cheeseheads, let me share with you a Prayer that was emailed me today. Sacreligious? Maybe. Appropriate? As good as it gets.

Pray for the wife and for the green and gold. Please. I can't bear the thought of a loss.

Our Favre,
Who art in Lambeau,
Hallowed be thine arm.
The bowl will come,
It will be won.
In Phoenix as it is in Lambeau.
And give us this Sunday,
Our weekly win.
And give us many touchdown passes.
But do not let others pass against us.
Lead us not into frustration,
But deliver us to the valley of the sun.
For thine is the MVP, the best of the NFC,
and the glory of the Cheeseheads,
now and forever.

Amen, indeed!

Sunday, January 13, 2008

Jinxed Jersey, Coughing Canine, The Super Pooper, Favre Faux Paux

I have so much to say that I have to have a four part header. That should scare all of you.
Let's start with the Jinxed Jersey.
The wife purchased a new Brett Favre jersey from eBay, just in time for the playoffs. She was all excited because it was yellow (different), it was Favre's jersey (spelled correctly-- you should see how many people spell it incorrectly on eBay) and it was Packer-licious (just in time for the playoffs). The only problem? The wife is VERY superstitious when it comes to her Packers that she wasn't really sure she should wear a Packer-related item during the playoffs that she had not previously worn during the regular season. "It might be bad luck," she reasoned. I could tell this was a monumental decision. My answer? Leave her at home to make such decisions--I went to my football pool
party instead of participating in the decision making. (Side note: The wife refused to go to the party as she did NOT want to be around ANYONE who might not be cheering for the Packers. She likes to watch the game in the privacy of her own home, with only a small, select few friends. Boy, she STILL hasn't forgiven me for the Packer Party back in 1997.)

The wife decided on trying out the jersey; after all, she bought it for the play-offs. She goes over to Master Reiki and Blue Eyes' house to watch the game, settles in and gets ready for the Cheese Fest.....

.....within four minutes, the Packers were getting stomped, had fumbled twice and were getting trounced. This, as you can imagine, left the wife in a frenzy. There was only one thing to do. Master Reiki yelled out, "TAKE OFF THE JERSEY!" And, thus the wife did. In true superstition fashion, as soon as the wife took the jersey off, the Packers came back in a fury, crushed their opponents and easily won the game.

As you can imagine, the jersey is now safely hidden in the back of a closet, "resting" until next year's season.


As for the dogs, Freckles kept me up all night on Friday night/Saturday morning with awful, disgusting, painful honking-coughing-choking-gasping sounds. I wasn't sure if she was choking on an unidentified object or having a heart attack or having repeated collapsing trachea, but I knew it was a problem. I knew there was a problem earlier in the day, as Frecks wasn't able to walk as "well" as usual--in fact, I had to carry her at one point 'cuz she kept honking. I tried to sleep on the floor with her, patting her and reassuring her as she honked/gasped/ choked, but it really didn't seem to help. (Lucy, on the other hand, was delighted to have me on the floor and kept licking my face and jumping on me. No honking from her.) I went and got our dog first aid book but couldn't decide on what was truly the matter. The only thing I could do is call the vet first thing in the morning. She looked miserable.

I call the vet ("Lots of Cats"--only we would take our dogs to a cat vet) and explain the problem.
As the receptionist can hear Freckles hacking in the background, she tells me to bring her right in. We hop in the car and two minutes later, we're at the vet, Frecks coughing like there is no tomorrow. The receptionist looks rather freaked out and immediately goes to get the vet.....

.....and, what happens? The damned dog stops coughing/nonking/choking the minute the vet comes into the reception area. Figures. It's just like taking your car to the mechanic because of some awful noise and when you get there, the car isn't making the noise any more. She asks us to go into an exam room and explains she'll be with us as soon as possible.

Thankfully, Freckles honked/coughed/choked nice and loud for the two vet assistants. They, too looked a little tenuous and concerned but not as much as the poor receptionist. One of them cocks her head and then asks, "Your dog hasn't been boarded recently, has she?" Surprised, I answer, "Why, yes--they were at the kennel about a week ago."

Duh. I NEVER thought about the possibility of kennel cough. I was too busy predicting the demise of our beloved canine and the thought of deciding how much a dog is "worth" before the cost outweighs the benefits. The vet returns and heart disease is ruled out. An obstruction is basically ruled out. Trachea collapse is ruled out. No temp, good energy, still eating, stong heart, increased coughing when walking....perfect "symptoms" for kennel cough. An antibiotic and a cough suppressant and we are on our way.

You know what's really funny? The wife, the dog and I are all on anti-biotics right now. Maybe we don't have colds--maybe we have kennel cough.
As for the Super Pooper report, rest assured, dear readers, that I HAVE pooped. My motto of "take four, they're small" seemed to be the ticket to success. (Actually, it was "take TEN instead of FOUR.") I do not suggest anyone do this, as (1) it's just bad practice, (2) it's probably not safe to ignore medication directions, and (3) lesser people would probably have experienced their intestines exploding. For me, it's a must. I mean, short of Roto-rooter, there was nothing coming out of there. May I say that I suggest one stay home after taking ten laxatives, as when it's time, IT'S TIME. I was unfortunately in the car when my "time" came. It was the longest drive home in my life. I was talking out loud, telling myself, "You can make it. You can do this. I'm gonna make it." I waddled into the house, not even trying to get up the stairs--I just stopped in the lower level bathroom and let it all hang out. (This is a "non pooping bathroom," but at that point, it became a "OH-MY-GOD-POOPING-BATHROOM.) I will save you of the details but tell you it was delightful.
Finally, for the "Favre Faux Paux." I had received a Packer-Bear slide show/email that I found quite funny. As the wife's family is comprised of HUGE Packer fans, I thought they would enjoy receiving the diddy. I sent it to a whole boatload of friends and family. It really wouldn't have been a problem, but....

...the wife's family is very--how should I say?--Pious? Religious? Prudish? Holy? Super Religious?....

....and, since I didn't delete the last slide (which features a photo of their hero Brett holding a sign that says "Fuck the Bears") and as I didn't realize this until I had forwarded it to EACH and EVERY one of the wife's family....

....I indeed made a life-ruining HUGE Brett Faux paux. Understand, these people don't even think the "F" word, let alone say it, let alone want to EVER see their "man" desecrated....well, you can imagine this did NOT go over well.....

....I'm sure they are praying for my poor, deviant soul rig
ht now.....

Friday, January 11, 2008

Here's the Scoop, Poop!

In honor of Poopreport.com's "Poop of the Year" nominations, I submit to you my story of constipation. If you haven't ever gone to the Poopreport.com site, you MUST do so immediately after reading this blog entry. It's so wrong it's right.

File this one in the "way too much information" department.

I.......

......................CANNOT........................

...............................................................poop.

(Told you this would be way too much information.)

I have not pooped for so long I'm becoming hysterical. I'm dreaming about pooping--seriously. I'm obsessed by it. I even prayed about it. I think about it all the time. "Why can't I poop?" "When will I poop?" "How can I make myself poop?" I'm almost ready to eat a grease-laden hamburger with grease-soggy fries from some dive (that would probably kill me after not eating meat so long, but I bet I'd poop before I died.)

Now, we're not talking weeks here, so don't be thinking bowel obstruction surgery is just around the corner. But, if something doesn't come flying out of my anus soon, I will take a butter knife, slit open my abdomen and YANK something out of my intestines. I would have thunk the homemade three-bean soup would have sent things a-flying, but I am here to tell you that I ate that on SUNDAY (and leftovers on Monday) and I have yet to see one hint of anything from that meal. I don't even know how that's possible.

As I am so miserable, I have made it quite public about my lack of poopness. I have had many interesting suggestions from co-workers about how to alleviate the problem--everything from the greasy hamburger/fries meal to having a shot of tequila. I'm not quite ready to start drinking alcohol to address the issue, but the thought has crossed my mind--is it better to be drunk and constipated than sober and constipated?

It's those damned antibiotics. Last time I took them, I didn't poop til the cows came home--and they took the long way. I have two days to go with the antibiotics and I'm waving the white flag. I just can't take it any more. For god's sake, my eyes are now brown. I know I'm breaking the cardinal rule of antibiotics ("Thou must take all ten days of medication") but I don't care anymore.

I stopped by Walgreens last night on the way home from a meeting. Thought a little medicine might be in order. I stood right under the big sign that says "LAXATIVES," right next to the stock boy who was re-arranging the laxatives. Now, I would usually be too horrified to stand in the aisle staring at products with someone standing there, but you know what? I DIDN'T CARE. I would have knocked him out of the way if it came down to it. So, I stood there, poop-filled as I am, staring at the myriad products. I was stunned at all the choices--and the wide range of prices. I thought it would be a few boxes of Ex-lax and caster oil, but there were shelves and shelves of laxative products. Because I don't know what the hell I'm doing, I had to read a lot of boxes. I didn't want a stimulant, but I didn't want to wait another week to poop. I would have liked some phyllium laden product but that said nothing about pooping "gently in the next 12-24 hours." I didn't want to wait 24 more hours so I needed something a bit "quicker." I certainly didn't want anything to do with an enema. Had I seen any suppositories, I suppose I would have considered them but none were hanging out in the laxative aisle. I didn't have time to research any of this on the Internet and I'm sure the stock boy (who was like 12 years old) didn't have a clue about how-to-poop medications. I settled on a box of something unheard of with ten pills (save money and put out positive thoughts that I will be pooping after only a few of these tidbits).

Well, I am awake this AM and I only feel a faint rumbling in the distance. While I'm typing this, I'm flipping back and forth on the Internet looking for "constipation cures." My favorite so far is "try is a cup of tomato juice mixed with half a cup of sauerkraut juice and a quarter cup of carrot juice. It may not have a pleasant flavor, but it works great!" Okay, I can't imagine drinking tomato juice sauerkraut carrot juice but the thought is getting more enticing as I sit here. I am going to go on with my business, go drink some coffee and go pray to the poop gods......

....anyone have a jar of sauerkraut in their desk?

Wednesday, January 09, 2008

Twist and Shout



I dedicate this photo of a cardinal in our back yard to MJagger, who seems to find it quite humorous that the wife and I are bird watchers.

This week featured something I NEVER thought I'd see in the month of January in Northern Illinois....

...oh, it was weird enough to see worms on the sidewalk and to enjoy 64 degree temps...

...it was quite unexpected to see a slug hanging from Freckles' belly (gained from walking outside along the worms)...

but, hearing of a locally-spotted tornado in January? Never.

A tornado! Seriously. I can't wrap my head around this.

Those of you living other than in winter wonderlands might not find a tornado in January weird. Well, I'm telling you it's REALLY weird in Northern Illinois. It should be snowy and cold and miserable. It should like the photo above--snowy and cold.

I'm at work and it IS decidely winter and it is January. There are no windows where I work, so I have to assume it is still cold and gloomy and wintery outside. A co-worker runs through the basement, babbling about the weather. I wasn't sure I was hearing things correctly, as I was sure the a co-worker said there was a tornado warning and that a tornado was spotted in the county......

The FIRST thing I do? Run outside to look. I can't take this person at face value.

Yup, it's weird and calm and green and humid and warm and....wait a minute, this can't be January. A bunch of us are standing out there, looking at the sky. It's confusing--discombobulating. Someone announces the tornado was seen in the vicinity of my house.....

The second thing I do? I grab a cell phone and call the wife at home--not to warn her to get in the basement but rather to.....

"GET THE CAMERA!"

She does not do this.

Instead, she quotes the Weather Channel warnings and announces that she can hear the tornado warning alarm is going off. She sternly alerts me that she and the dogs are safely placed on the lower level.

My requests for her to go outside with the camera remain unanswered.

This is strange stuff. I head back inside and cackle with co-workers about the tornado. It won't be long before we learn the tornado has done major damage to a beloved apple orchard. We hear that the twister zipped its way east-north-east and headed toward the wife's favorite mall, an hour's drive away.

Thankfully, no one was killed and we can thus make fun of the tornado going to the mall.



After the winter twister, we head to the wife's volleyball game. The tornado talk is still fresh. As we yip with friends, I am totally taken aback when a friend--Bejeweled Cleveland--someone I have known since 1986--announces she was IN the 1967 Belvidere tornado.

My jaw drops. I've known her all this time and I had no idea.

April 21, 1967. 3:50 PM. School was being let out for the day.

Twenty four deaths; over 400 people injured.  


It's not a pretty story.  

I'm hear to tell you it is an entirely different thing to hear the story from a friend who is an actual survivor-- someone you know who was on a school bus, being tossed around, bus rolling and rolling, literally off the ground, seeing a plank of wood speared right into another student's leg, not being able to find her parents for four hours after the twister demolished the school, seeing dead children.

Bejeweled's voice does not betray her and she shows no emotion...but, it's there.

There is no way a trauma of this magnitude doesn't change you. The carnage depicted in photos from the event is awful--to hear the actual story from someone you know who was at that event is unnerving and chilling.

I decide right then and there that going outside to get a photo of a tornado is not such a good idea.
 
I have always been "drawn" to tornados. Once, when I was locked in the bathroom (or, so I thought--I probably wasn't locked in the bathroom but I was probably too hyped up to turn the doornob) at my grandparents' for my sixth birthday, a funnel cloud (or what my creative imagination thought was a funnel cloud) swirled by the party. (It's the same year I got my first alarm clock and this awesome alphabet book. But, I digress.) Tornados seemed glamorous. Fun. Amazing. I always wanted to see one, to take a photo of one.

From Bejeweled's account, I know I am very wrong in my romanticism of such a violent form of nature. Nope, I'm not going outside to take photos. I'm going to take cover. 

No time for worms or slugs or photos. Just go to the basement and call it a day.

Who says the Addiverse isn't a safe place to be?

Friday, January 04, 2008

You Spin Me Round and Round

Part II--the original "You Spin Me Round" was written on January 21, 2006 and has nothing to do with this entry, but you really should go back and read it because it's one of my better stories. Link below in blue.



http://addiwp.blogspot.com/2006/01/you-spin-me-round-and-round-its-nice.html

And, before I forget: CHEESEBALLS! Here's a photo of the view out our door New Year's Day. What would a new year be without cheeseballs? Here we see Lucy inspecting the mystery cheeseballs, ever so slightly covered in snow, perched daintily on the stoop, waiting for the New Year to progress....





So, I'm STILL on the couch, only this time I am filled with medication from the doctor.
Note the photo of Lucy to the left. See how bad she looks in the photo? That's basically how I feel. Thus, a visit to the doctor. Nurse practitioner, actually. My cold has gone bad, leaving me in a spinning mess, worse than any 1982 drunken stupor. Upon my insistence, the wife has gone to the Cheddarland as scheduled to visit her siblings, while I remain on the couch with my two trusted canines and a rerun of "The Ghost Whisperer," which I am sure will be followed with "What Not to Wear." It's not Xena but it's something....actually, I WAS watching Xena episodes on my computer but for some reason, my computer kept throwing me "out" and I gave up, turning to Jennifer Love Hewitt & Stacy London instead of Lucy Lawless. Not any comparison, by the way.

I woke up at 2 am and realized that the room was moving. Hmmm, I don't remember falling asleep on a Tilt-a-Whirl. I couldn't sit up and I couldn't turn to the right when lying in bed. Weird. So, what to do but roll to the left and go back to sleep. When I woke up via a phone call from MJagger to do the newspaper crossword puzzle over the phone (don't ask), I realized the dizziness was still very much still there and I was NOT going to be getting out of bed in any hurry. (Let it be known that it is VERY hard to do a crossword puzzle over the phone when you are dizzy.) I crawled to the bathroom after securing some Sudafed and Dramamine. Why Dramamine? I dunno. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I remember hearing that Dramamine "works" on the inner ear...so, why not? It's not like it would hurt me and I'd be prepared if offered a ride on a cruise liner today.

By some gift of the gods, I was able to get an appointment with my nurse practitioner right then and there. As it didn't seem like a good idea to drive, the wife transported me to the office. I just saw this lady a few weeks ago for my cholesterol level and I was in no hurry to see her again, although I really don't mind going to the doctor except.....

....they weigh you. Sigh.

I am very sad to say that I weighed FIVE more pounds today than I did the last time I was at the doctor and that was only one month ago. Sweet mother of God!

I must admit I spent more time trying to not fall off the scale than I did bitching about the weight gain. I won't even try and describe what it was like to bend over and pick up my shoes after getting weighed.

Now, I didn't need a doctor to tell me what was wrong--my cold had gone "bad" and somehow my inner ear must now be befuckled and my sinuses are on their own mission. I didn't need anyone to tell me what I needed: Antivert. It's what they give you for Vertigo. I can figure out the rest--just get the room to stop spinning. I suppose an antibiotic might be nice as I'm thinking this is becoming and ear and sinus infection, but all I really want is for the room to stop spinning.

So, what do I get? A prescription for Antivert and an antibiotic. Should I be a doctor or what?

The wife graciously takes me to Walgreens to drop off the prescription and then drops me off at home. I plop myself on the couch and pray for divine intervention while she returns to the drug store to get the meds. I don't move until she returns, little pill bottles in hand.

God, I love the sound of pills shaking around in a pill bottle from the pharmacy.

I scoot over toward the frig to get a bottle of water (we're under a water ban so we can't drink our tap water), scoot to the kitchen table and Funny thing is, when I look at the generic name for Antivert and the generic name for Dramamine, I notice the names are EXACTLY THE SAME.

Another gold-shoulda-gone-to-med-school-star for me!

In case you are wondering, the room is still spinning but it's spinning on a much slower pace and on less of a tilt and I am all good with that.

Now, if I could only move on from being the poster child for "What Not to Wear." Can't blame the vertigo on that....

Wednesday, January 02, 2008

Godspeed, Alex

The Addiverse is very sorry to learn of the passing of Alex the Wunderhund of Geneva, IL. I don't have any photos of Alex....but, wanted to express condolences with or without a photo. Godspeed, Alex and much love to your mamas.

In a tribute to Alex, I thought I'd include a few non-Alex photos of dogs....

Alex was a "hot dog," so I thought I'd share M&B's holiday photo of their three hot dogs. Alex, I'm sure you would have loved them!

(I'll have to ask M&B how they got the dogs to sit so nicely for the photo--I can't even get Freckles to keep her eyes open for one photo, let alone get both Freckles and Lucy in the same photo. Hey M, hope you don't mind seeing your kids on some weirdo's blog--all four of my readers promise not to steal the photo.)



Daisy is a killer chihuahua, all six pounds of her....a furry companion in the wife's family. She piddles every time she sees me. I'm not sure if that is good or bad. I took this photo on Christmas Eve. You can see she is ready for some Christmas presents...






And, finally...

I LOVE this photo. It's not of my dogs. In fact, I don't even know whose dog this is--I got the photo in an email today. It made me literally laugh out loud, as I can see Freckles running through the snow just like this. The Warrior Princess loves snow (and winter loves her, as she is no longer a yeasty, bacteria-laden mess of an autumn allergy). This photo captures the spirit of what it is to have a dog, don't you think?

How can you not love dogs?