A House Divided 

Before I get to "A House Divided," I thought I'd quickly clarify--for the newbies-- some things about the Addiverse. Hint: The inability to understand the Addiverse may be a sign of your good mental health. Most people incorrectly surmise that anything goes in the Addiverse but this is not the case. I've heard the wife lament many a time, "Is NOTHING sacred?" In fact, there are several topics/people that are totally off limits in the Addiverse. Topics totally off limit: Current job (I am going to pretend I am unemployed-- that's how far away I want to stay away from that subject); Real Names of real contacts and real friends (only aliases shall be utilized); Activities of the carnal nature; Specific personal incidents that I actually recognize are not appropriate for publication (I really do have a filter, albeit a teeny, weeny one); subjects that will get me arrested/incarcerated/jailed. Everything else is fair game. 

On to the playoffs. As I am a life-long Cubs fan and as the wife is a life-long Milwaukee Brewers fan, we are a house divided. This makes for very interesting baseball play-off cheering/hoping/ talking/praying. Each of us recognizes that the other has the right to cheering for the team of their liking/choosing/birthright. Yet, each of us wants the other's team to lose. The wife will SAY she doesn't mind if the Cubs win, but I know she is either lying or placating me. I don't say much because I want the Cubs to win but I am too busy worrying about getting my hopes up that I don't spend much time saying anything aloud and I don't spend a lot of time thinking about the Brewers or any other team because I am too busy being consumed by the Cubs and not thinking about them. 

It was much easier when the Brewers were in the American League as that meant less direct competition. The Cubs and Brewers were not in the same division. They wouldn't have met until the World Series and until now, the chances of that happening were slim to none..... 

Now? Now they will end up playing each other if the winning streaks continue. That is something I am not looking forward to..... 

Thankfully, I am surrounded by Cub Fans. Cheeseball Neighbor & ChiSky Grrrl, Across-the- street neighbors, MJagger.....all Cubbies. I will be on my own once we cross the Cheddar border this weekend, tho--the wife's family (substantially bigger than mine) will crush me like a bug with their Brewer banter. 

I like to watch football on TV a lot more than I like to watch baseball on TV, but at times like these, I find myself drawn to the boob tube for baseball. I don't want to watch but I catch myself peeking at the screen. Tonight, the Cubs are on and I am going to distract myself with some Leslie Sansone walking.....I'll catch up with the Cubs in three miles or so. (Beauty of baseball is that it is slow--you can catch up as needed.) 

People are already buying tickets for the World Series. The wife's brother purchased tickets for when the Brewers are in the World Series. Tickets for the Cubs in the World Series are selling for $1600 each......this for tickets that DO NOT EXIST. 

I thought I was crazy paying oodles of money for Madonna tickets. 

But, at least those tickets really exist and the concert exists and the seat I purchased is mine to have and the concert will take place as indicated on the ticket. The World Series? Not so much. You buy a ticket and hope for the best. 

The Brewers lost today. The Cubs are playing right now. Me? I'm going to find Leslie Sansone. If that doesn't work, I'm going to find Jillian Michaels. And, if that doesn't work, I am going to dig out some Xena episodes. And, if that doesn't work, I'll go on Mugbook and look up Cloris Leachman. We live in a house divided. Pray for us. Pray for our teams. Batter up!

Pups for Palin

Usually, I would be in bed by now, not on a computer blogging.....

....and I had sworn I would not speak of "She Who Must Not Be Named......"

....but, when we came home from "Mama Mia" just a few short minutes ago, we were greeted by an eight foot ladder in the middle of our driveway with a big poster that said PALIN'S OUR GAL (as illustrated in this photo to the left).


I swear to god I almost peed on myself when I saw this political monstrosity of a nightmare in our driveway. (Now, when you see the sign in this photo, it doesn't really look that big,--but, trust me--when we turned the corner to come home, we could see that puppy standing there.)

As I don't want you to miss out on any of the fun, here's a close up of what was in our yard all day:

















This political announcement was retribution for me taking a photo of the neighbor's dog in a Brewer's shirt on Friday and sending said photo via text message while said neighbor was at the Cubs game.

In other words, I deserved it.

We love our neighbors. Not only are they good neighbors and good people, they help us with our dogs and we help them with their dog as needed. This does mean, however, that we have access to each others' houses. I should have thought of that once I saw the "billboard" in our driveway....but, I didn't. I was too busy laughing about the "Palin's Our Gal" sign and thinking about what the neighborhood walkers were thinking when they strolled by this afternoon.......

We enter the garage, me laughing all the way....

......when we find this:

PUPS FOR PALIN!

There were photos of our beloved dogs--stumping for She Who Must Not be Named!

The horror! The horror!

Look at Lucy. She looks sick. I hope she is peeing on the photo of Sarah. She's thinking, "But, Mama--I'm a democrat dog. Please make the scary Republican lady go away!"

Pups for Palin, for crying out loud! And, "Freckles Loves McCain."

This is Genius!

The icing on the cake: little flyers scattered about the house--hockey mom fliers, Portrait fliers, Vogue mock-up fliers......and, the ever popular "Support Blind Hatred of Everyone Different Than Us--Vote Republican" poster.

There was also a defaced Milwaukee Brewer's T-Shirt included in the "assault" on our home. This was very disturbing to the Brewers-loving wife but made me laugh harder.

The neighbors swear they are going to put an Obama sign in our yard this week so the neighborhood doesn't really think we are all for "She Who Must Not Be Named." But, I say let them wonder. Let them think we have Republican Puppies (I gasp as I write this). Let them think about why the queers down the street are saying "Palin's Our Gal." That might scare a few of them out of voting for her.....

Take me out to the Ball Game

 Before I start babbling about baseball, let me share a funny tidbit with you. I've been spending a little time on "mugbook" (I'll let you figure out what the real website is called) and have posted the photo of me and Lucy Lawless on my profile page. It is obviously a photo of Lucy Lawless--well, it's obvious to me--and it's marked as a photo of Lucy Lawless and me, but somehow one of my high school classmates thinks that the photo is of me and the wife. 

Me and the wife! 

So, we have had quite the laugh about this and are enjoying the wife's new fame and fortune (without, of course, the fame and fortune). Someday, I'll have to let my classmate know that no, that is not my wife in the photo. (There are no photos of the wife on the site as to protect the identity of the guilty. God knows where photos on the website can show up. Think "She who must not be named" in a bikini holding a rifle..... 

Today, we are going to a Cubs game. The wife says we are going to a Brewer's Game, but she is sadly mistaken. It's a Cubs game (albeit it is at Miller Park, home of the Brewers). But, since we are going with a group of her co-workers on a "CUBS TRIP" and we are leaving from Illinois and since 99% of persons on the bus are CUB FANS ans since the Cubs are in first place and since I am a Cubs fan and since at least 50% of the fans at Miller Park will be Cubs Fans (there's a reason they call it "Wrigley Field North"), we are going to a Cubs game. 

I am proud of the wife as she is going to wear her Brewers Jersey to a Cubs Game (as well she should), as I know there will be lots of razzing on the bus about her choice of sportswear. I'm not worried--she's tough and can take it. I'm not sure what will happen if the Brewers lose, though--it will be a lonnnnng ride home on that bus. I suppose if the Brewers win, she can gloat up and down the bus aisle, doing a happy Bernie Brewer Happy Dance. 

I love Miller Park. I've professed my love for it in previous blogs, but let me profess it again. I love that place. It never rains, games are never canceled, you never freeze to death, you can tailgate and they have veggie dogs. 

I am all about the veggie dogs. 

The wife is very nervous about this whole baseball thing. She gives new meaning to passionate about sports. She's always on the Internet or watching ESPN so she can keep track of the wildcard playoff situation. I'll be in the other room and I'll hear her muttering about what has to happen for the Brewer's to get into the playoffs. It's too much for my peanut head, so I don't follow along too closely. I need simple, non-mathematical information like, "The Brewers are in the wildcard hunt for the playoffs." Save the math for the cheesehead family emails and let me know what happens in the end. 

So, we are off to enjoy our day at the Cubs game. Last time the Cubs played the Brewers, they swept the series. I'm not getting the broom out just yet as I know the Brewers really, really need to win and the Cubs don't and the Cubs are playing their second stringers, so a sweep may not be in the series' future. But, it will be fun and there will be teasing and most importantly there will be a veggie dog or two. Is life good or what?

Cloris, Lance & Clay 

Oh, HERE'S a surprise: Clay Aiken is gay! OMG, I had no idea (tongue so firmly in cheek I am choking on it). What are all the Clay mates going to do? (Um, girls, if you didn't really know about Clay I've got a bridge to nowhere to sell you.) I loved this side by side photo of Lance Bass and Clay (from OKmagazine.com) and thought I'd slap it right here. No, they are not really standing next to each other and no, they are not together but yes, they are both as queer as the day is long. Not that there's anything wrong with that. (Nod to Jerry Seinfeld.) 

 Gay Clay brings me to Gay Lance which brings me to.... 

DANCING with the STARS!!! .

...which brings me to Cloris Leachman....which makes me........ 

Shallow, shallow, shallow. That's me. 

How can you not love Cloris Leachman? Any 82 year old broad who can hike her leg up onto the judge's table, grabs her dance partner's body parts and who swears like a sailor (no offense to any sailors) is all right with me. (Okay, so there are a lot of people that don't love Cloris but those are people who are constipated and probably are carrying "She Who Must Not Be Named" bumperstickers on their cars.)

I won't waste your time trying to write something witty about Cloris or DWTS; I'll borrow from the Internet (more shallowness seeping through). "As Sarah Rogers reports on Show Tracker, "She’s a force! Some highlights included her thrusting her leg up on the judges’ table, sitting on judge Carrie Ann’s lap, and telling people to vote for her because she was an orphan, and being an orphan involves a great deal of sadness. Backstage, when Samantha stated their total score, Cloris ripped a cue card with the number 16 written on it from some intern’s hands and exclaimed, 'They can’t even add up the numbers here, they’re so stupid!' Meanwhile, the rest of the cast appeared to be urinating beneath their sequins. In the end, however, despite the fact that it is extremely impressive to be 82 and dancing (she’s partnered with Corky Ballas, the father of Mark), 16 isn’t that great of a score, and it’s unlikely she’ll last too long, which is unfortunate. She provides an element of unpredictability that the show sorely needs."

Like I said, what's not to love? As loyal readers know, I have a sad, sad passion for DWTS and this season is no exception. I do think that three nights in a row for the season's opener and the new format is a bit much and I really don't like the Jonas Brothers (no offense to the three zillion teen fans) and I'm really upset that Edyta was booted off first (travesty!) but otherwise, it's shallow heaven. (Note to Edyta: don't worry--they'll give you plenty of screen time. Please smile. You look so sad. We love you! Take some clothes off. You'll feel better.) This season, I'm cheering for Lance, more for his partner than for him. She rocks! Not that any of you care, I am all about Warren Sapp, Misty May & Maurice, not for their dancing prowess but for their bravery (stupidity) to go from the athletic field to the dance floor. And, hello! Brooke-I-shot- out- four- babies is out of control. Who can give birth to four babies--one only four months ago--and look like that? Add to that her dance partner is Derek--get out of the way, Gay Clay! No spoiler here: Cloris, vegetarian and eight decades old (whose one son was married to Sharon Stone--how's that for some useless trivia?) had indeed made it to Round three, so hold on to your cajones and go for the ride. And to all you blinded-by-the-news Clay Mates, watch DWTS to take your mind off of it. It'll be okay. Just don't let Lance's presence on the dance floor make you think of your beloved Clay and the loss you have now incurred. Focus on Susan Lucci, cry a sad soap opera tear and be brave. If you were Edyta, you'd have something to REALLY cry about. Gay Clay? Not so much. Now, if Clay and Lance were dance partners on DWTS, THAT would be something to cry about.

Go Cubs, Go

Do I dare? Do I really dare? Do I dare get a teensy, weensy bit excited? Do I dare think this just might be--MIGHT BE--the year? Do I dare let my guard down, open my poor, stamped-on-trampled-on-heart and believe? 

YES! YES! YES! I have been a Cubs fan all of my life. When I'd play ball with the neighborhood boys (playing "against the wall" ball with the pinkie rubber ball and the chalk strike zone drawn on the brick building), I was always Don Kessinger. (I choose not to remember that he betrayed me in the end by going to the the EVIL White Sox and just as painful Cardinals--just like that naughty Brett Favre betrayed his minions in Green Bay). He wasn't a great hitter but boy, could he play shortstop. With Ernie Banks, Glen Beckert, Ron Santo, Randy Hundley, Fergie Jenkins and Billy Williams on the field with Don, what was not to love? I remember my first Cubs game. It was against the Phillies, in the nosebleed seats. But, when one is at Wrigley Field, nosebleed seats do not matter--you are in baseball heaven. A hot dog with mustard only, a bag of Cracker Jack, a crappy camera, a bit of spitting rain and a sign made on corrugated cardboard--heaven. I really wanted to take a sign so I could hold it up for the camera (kids don't understand that the cameras don't exactly pan the upper deck). My father suggested I write, "Give the Phillies the willies." Well, I made the sign despite not having the slightest clue what the hell the willies were or why I'd want to give them to the Phillies. What were the willies, anyway? Were they contagious? Did Billy Williams have the willies? It couldn't be good but what exactly did it mean? I don't remember who won the game but I do remember that I had a great time and that my love affair with Wrigley Field started on that very day. 

  I am old enough to remember the 1969 Cubs, of which I shall not speak at this time, lest I curse the current team. I shall not speak of the damned goat curse, either. I'm more likely to speak of "She who must not be named" than about the goat. 

 Since then, I've been to a bunch of Cubs games--sometimes by bus, other times by "the el," sometimes by train, sometimes (very unfortunately) by car. As Wrigley Field doesn't have a parking lot, it is always good to NOT drive. Those not from Chicago are always astounded that there isn't a parking lot for Wrigley Field. In many ways, not having a stadium parking lot adds to the ambiance of the experience, although it really sucks if you do choose to drive and park. If you drive, take A LOT of money because if you want to park in an "unofficial" lot (read: some gas station or place of business), you are going to have to shell out big money. If you want to park on the streets, leave yourself plenty of time, because parking spaces are almost impossible to find. 

  I've gone to Cubs games with friends, with family, with bus trips, with co-workers, with the wife, with school groups. Each time was special in its own way. I've sat in good seats and seats behind a pole and seats in the bleachers (one time was enough of that). I've eaten many a hot dog (remember: mustard only, lukewarm, from a vendor, Oscar Meyer) and enjoyed many a malted cup. I've sang "Take me out to the Ballgame" proudly each and every time at Wrigley Field. I've heard Jack Brickhouse and I've heard Harry Carey in person. I've purchased one of those little wooden baseball bats and pennants and hats. I wore number 11 whenever I could when playing softball. I've been a fan when they sucked and when they only kind of sucked and when they really didn't suck at all. I've had my heart crushed every time. 

  I've never caught a foul ball but there's still time. I haven't gone to a Cubs game this year but that's about to change as the wife and I are heading to the Brewer/Cub game on Saturday. The fun! (Well, fun for me--the wife is a Brewer's fan and things aren't going so well for them.) It's an easy way to see the Cubs--a bus trip to Miller Park, where they actually have parking and they have a dome (so you know the game won't be canceled). I love Miller Park because of that (and because they have veggie hot dogs) but give me the ivy, the wind off the lake, the frustration of being boxed in at the parking area, the old manual scoreboard any day..... 

  It's been 100 years. That's a nice, round number, so maybe this is the year....after all, a century is long enough to wait for the pennant, don't you think? So, I DO--foolishly??--dare to think "hey, hey!" and "holy cow!" I do have the teensiest, weensiest glimmer of hope and I do find myself quietly thinking, "this is the year!" Do I dare? You bet your Don Kessinger autographed baseball card I do!

End of the Road for the Mold Mobile?

Ah, the poor "Mold Mobile." Our "third car" used to be called the "Pee Wee Mobile," as it's the car we use to drag the dogs around town, but with the advent of multiplying mold growth....

....and with the dripping of water onto the occupants of the car while driving down the road.....

....and with the upholstery slowly sagging down toward the interior of the car.....

....the name had to be changed.

Yes, that's mold in the photo. That's just a taste of what it looks like in the interior of the Mold Mobile. Tasty. Bet that kills a bunch of brain cells and sinus pockets when we drive around town. I'm always terrified when we ride around in the Mold Mobile and have to keep the windows closed.

The problem with the car (well, besides the very obvious mold problem) is that it leaks. I don't mean a little. I mean pours-buckets-leaking. Unfortunately, it leaks in more than one place, without rhyme or reason. Sometimes, water pours in through the roof (leading to mold as illustrated above). Sometimes, it pours through the driver side dashboard area, flooding the foot pedal area. Sometimes, it drips onto the passenger seat. Other times, it doesn't leak at all.

It's enough to drive the wife to drink.

The Mold Mobile has been very good to us....until recently (well, unless you count the mold as not being good to us, but until now, we've tried to overlook the fungus amongus). We now have the "Mystery Beeping Horn Mold Mobile," which is quite irritating to both the wife and neighborhood. For no known reason, the horn will start sounding as if the car is being broken in to by some neighborhood thug. The wife goes outside, turns it off, comes back inside......

.....BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

We realize that it's probably water-logged, moldy wiring that is the culprit but aren't exactly sure what to do about it. No sense in fixing something that is just going to get soaked again and since we haven't stopped the leaking, the water will keep coming and the mold will keep growing.....

Do we shoot the Mold Mobile and put it out of its misery? It runs perfectly and the wife has invested much money in it over the years, so we are wary of calling it a day. We hate the thought of being without the much-beloved third car. We hate the thought of the wife trying to tool around the winter in a Mustang. We hate the thought of putting all those extra miles on our cars. It's not like we can actually sell it (even though it runs well--who the hell do you sell a mold mobile to?). We can't exactly stuff the dogs into the Mustang (oh, the sacrilege!). Yet.....

....who really wants to put money into something called "The Mold Mobile?"

My real question is this: What does one do when they want to "get rid of" a Mold Mobile? Do you donate it to science? Do you try to pawn it off on some unsuspecting not for profit agency? Do you push it out into traffic and hope for the best? Do you spray an anti- fungal product in the interior and wait for the mold to die, THEN try to pawn it off on someone else? Do you give it to a relative or someone who doesn't have a car? Do you use it to harvest penicillin? Do you pull the battery out and leave the car in the driveway, just ignoring it for the time being?

....You know, maybe that's why Freckles has yeast infections on her skin. Her problem isn't allergies--it's the Mold Mobile.......

I'll keep you informed on what transpires with the end of the road for the Mold Mobile. Until then, all suggestions and smart-alecky comments welcomed......

Monkey Business

I witnessed the most incredibly wonderful moment of healing over the weekend. As a counselor who believes in the potential for human beings to experience various forms of healing (unlike MJagger who finds counseling to be a crock of shit...even tho she provides counseling to clients--go figure), it is always heart warming to be part of such a marvelous event.

We were invited to have a little Italian dinner at Master Reiki & Blue Eyes' house. Good friend Diastema Grrrl offered to bring the Italian Dinner while we provided some morsels of chocolate and some ice cream (we all know our strengths). Master Reiki's sister, Souther Sis, was also in attendance, as she had been here for the week helping MR continue on the path to health, so that was a wonderful addition to the evening's low key activities.

It was nice to see Master Reiki upright and not in overwhelming pain. She and her sister had been to the surgeon earlier in the day. The doctor had removed the stitches-- Southern Sis acknowledged that this had indeed been a painful ordeal--and he had dressed her "nubbin" (as she calls it--the now missing ring finger) with some steri strips, while dressing Tall Man in a white sock. While this made it pretty easy to see the "mauled" hand (which I thought looked incredibly better than I ever envisioned), it wasn't scary enough to make the wife go screaming out of the room or anything. While we were talking, Diastema Grrrl arrived with pizza, pasta and salad in hand.....she also had a small gift box and handed it to MR.

Now, at first, I thought the worst. See, when I was a kid, we used to cut a circle in the bottom of a small jewelry box (the kind with the pretty gold lid) and then stick one of our fingers in the hole, surrounding it with cotton. That way, when the person was told to open the box (while you continued to hold the box), they'd take off the lid and see a finger as a gift. I had a moment of terror as I thought Diastema Grrrl was giving MR a finger. Shame on me. I absolutely know better than that, but I confess my shameful first thought of a "finger in the box" as part of my overall rehabilitation in life.....

We all gathered round as MR opened the lid....and inside was the cutest sock monkey finger puppet on the planet as illustrated above--really--that is the exact finger puppet Diastema Grrrl gave MR--I believe made by Lucuma Designs via the local fair trade store. Mama monkey, baby monkey, two tails.....incredibly, delightfully fabulous! We all laughed loudly as Master Reiki took the finger puppet out of the box. I mean, how can you not laugh at a finger puppet sock monkey?

I want you to imagine a lady with no ring finger putting a sock monkey puppet on her hand. Really. Have a visual, because it is a very funny thing to see.

Master Reiki put the puppet on the nubbin. It was hilarious! We hooted and hollered and giggled and snorted......

.....While others continued to laugh, I stopped, tipped my head, held my breath and grabbed on to that one single, beautiful moment when MR unexpectedly experienced the first shred of healing.

It was an overwhelmingly powerful moment, one of which I will not forget. Diastema Grrrl's thoughtful and fun gift had just transformed a world of pain--both physical and emotional--to a place of acceptance, of love, of healing. All in the confines of a kitchen, all through a little mama and baby monkey finger puppet.

There was so much love and laughter and healing in that room that it was almost ridiculous. It left this counselor's head spinning. You can't pay for therapy like that. I doubt anyone else noticed it. This counselor did not miss one millisecond of it.

That little finger puppet was busy all night long. I have a boatload of photos of it on my cell phone (you know, the Horizon phone I hate), so ask and I shall show. Monkeys ate dinner with us, danced around the table, posed for photos, hung out while we visited.

There is much, much more healing to happen and it will be a long, yucky road. From confronting the lawn mower to going back to work to the various therapies, it will be a long, unanticipated road. But, the road will be a little less painful thanks to a good friend and a silly puppet. And so, I dedicate this blog to Diastema Grrrl for this extraordinary gift....and, I'm not talking about the tangible gift...... makes me proud--and eternally grateful--to have such wonderful friends. And monkeys. Thank god for sock monkeys.

Who cares about "She Who Must Not Be Named" when you've got great things like this to think about??

A Dream Come True: Tina Fey as "She Who Must Not Be Named"

I have nothing more to say but: click on the link.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pc3Zxq078ns

TGIF

Ah, that is indeed Nancy, queen of cartoons. She has nothing to do with anything except that she is part of my drawing on the plastic tablecloth (as described in previous blog). Who didn't love Nancy? (That sounds like a funny question coming from the likes of me.) When the wife saw the drawing, she smiled and exclaimed, "I loved Nancy!" So, why not Nancy on a Friday afternoon? 

I am having real issues without using all the S.P. fodder in the world. That would be Sarah....Sarah......NO! I MUST refrain! In true Harry Potter fashion, perhaps I should refer to her as "She who must not be named." It's painfully impossible NOT to talk about her, as she is on the news and all over the Internet, especially in all those emails that come my way. I even had She who must not be named "thrown" at me on Facebook this week (which I loved, thank you very much; now if I could only figure out this whole Facebook thing so I can bitchslap Merry Marketing). 

Of no significant or redeeming value, a recap of the Addiverse Antics this week:

• the grrrrlz got groomed today. We were worried because the "not so talented doesn't cut the pee pee hair" groomer was there today. Thankfully, the dogs looked okay and the pee pee problem seemed a bit less concerning--I suppose the more you practice, the better you get (like in almost everything else, except for me when bowling). Do you know that a clean dog pee pee is very important in the Addiverse? Well, if you didn't, you now know. (Don't you go looking at my dogs' pee pees now. I know you want to. Look at my pow-pow Jillian butt instead.) It costs $80 to get those dogs looking good--they best have clean pee pees for that much money. That is more than I pay for a haircut and that is wrong in so many ways.
• Master Reiki got her stitches out today. I hear it didn't go very swimmingly, but I am glad to report she is safely back at home. Now comes the hard part--the therapy... not the physical kind but the emotional kind. As a counselor, I realize this will be very, very hard. Keep the faith, Master Reiki!
• MJagger's bat infestation seems to have ended and the rabies vaccinations are going along without incident (except for the screaming from the children but that is to be expected). I didn't see her all week but her text messages suggest she and the family are hanging in there.
• The tablecloth artwork for the work shindig is progressing nicely and I still have a few brain cells left (of which I cherish, as there aren't many left after all that college-ing). I've been trying to find patriotic things to portray in the drawing (hence the Nancy, although I'm not sure she qualifies as patriotic) and a few days back found a photo of the three firemen hoisting the flag in the rubble at the 9/11 site (see the photo included here--it's a wonderful photo of a patriotic act from a very horrific event). I saved the photo in case I thought it would come in handy. So, yesterday, I'm out in the garage ready to draw and totally without thinking, print out this photo and draw the fireman on the right. As I am coloring him in, I realize with a shudder that I am drawing this on the actual day of 9/11. Gave me pause. The tablecloth drawing doesn't do justice to the actual photo or the event but I'm good with it and what it represents. It IS a tablecloth, after all. As 9/11 was then on my mind, I talked to some of our clients today about the actual events of 9/11. I think the thing that stands out the most for me was after the event--at night. We were walking the dogs and it was absolutely, completely silent. Not only the neighborhood--the sky was completely still and silent. I looked up to the sky--as I always do when walking the dogs (which can be a very dangerous thing as it is easy to walk into things such as parked cars) and noticed that there was not one plane to be seen. Not one. Most people who live in our town would never notice this, but I did. I grew up in the landing pattern of O'Hare for pete's sake, so I am used to seeing and hearing planes. I like seeing and hearing planes. But, there was nothing. I knew at that exact moment in the walk that I would never, ever forget that night's specific memory (not that any one of us could forget that day or what we were doing when we heard the news and saw the television images).
• The wife lived through Brett Favre playing for the Jets on Sunday, but I don't think it's getting much easier yet.
• And finally, the 80's party. If I used my best judgement (or any judgment), I wouldn't publish this photo, but it's too funny not to do. This mess is brought to you by the Bruce Springsteen-Van wearing-Olivia Netwon John bandana styling-Boone's Farm consuming- bleached jeans-cross earring-Flock of Seagull hair wearing fashions of the 1980's. It's hard work to look this ugly and this is not a photo I am particularly proud of, but it does indeed show my enthusiasm for theme parties and for my passion regarding the 1980's. Man, I can still smell the bleach from the pants--I think I burned some nose hairs out while bleaching those puppies. (Why DID we do that in the 80's, anyways?) That is a genuine Bruce Springsteen T-shirt from his 1980 tour--went to that one with Roller Skating Robert (who is probably living in Wisconsin bagging groceries). The Boone's Farm is real AND it costs the same as it did in 1983!!! (Probably the last time I drank Boone's Farm was indeed in 1983.) I want you to know I was giggling out loud when I made that purchase. I think the Liquor Lady thought I was seriously warped when buying this and she did not seem in the least bit interested to hear about my reasoning for buying such an awful product. The wife seemed very excited about the purchased and experienced many a flashback to Boone Farm Days, which should scare us more than the photo above scares us. Thankfully, we left the party before they started passing the bottle around, as I am not sure the wife could have passed up the opportunity to once again relive the Boone Farm glory days. I am sad to say that my Flock of Seagulls hair was basically a flop during the party, but once I got home, my hair was rockin' the wave and looked much more like the real thing. Sigh.

Well, TGIF blog readers! And may She who must not be named be with you.

Last words on Sarah, On to Tablecloth Art

Okay, so this photo isn't real but it sure made me laugh. The caption?

"What do you call a Republican woman who believes in abstinence-only sex education for her teenagers?

Grandma."

Ha ha.

It is now time for the Addiverse to say good bye to Sarah as I refuse to give her one more shred of attention. For pete's sake, the lady is plastered across the media universe--she doesn't need to be plastered across the Addiverse. Buh-bye, Anti-Addi.

On to me, me, me.

Before I get started, I admit that I am addicted to Jillian, that rat bastard. I've tried to stop but my butt cries out in agony, begging me to continue with my 30 day shred efforts. "Step away from the DVD!" I cry but to no avail. I find myself in front of the TV doing the work-out despite my best effort to remain on the couch. Do you think there is a 12-step meeting for Jillian-addicted middle aged women???

I've been busy drawing on giant plastic table clothes. Really. Well, not on ones on peoples' tables--ones I purchased for a special art project. I am making backdrops for a work-related shin-dig. I thought this sounded like a very easy project, but I am here to tell you, it has turned out to be a much bigger undertaking than I thought.....

First, there is the smell--of the plastic table cloths, of the markers and of the table cloth plus marker funky combination. I have killed about five zillion brain cells snorting all those fumes. It's not the good, fun kind of fumes, either--it's the kind that gives you a killer sinus headache. I think the dogs are in the ozone at this point. (Unexpected bonus, tho: I can't smell the Yeasty Beasty Freckles Warrior Princess with all this plastic and marker stench.)

Second, the markers are not cooperating on the shiny surface. I have to redraw the lines of the lines I have just redrawn. This means it takes three times longer than I had anticipated, which means more dead brain cells. (It would be worth it if I were gleaning some type of high from all these fumes but trust me all I'm gleaning is the said headache.)

Third, it's hard to find room in the Addiverse to stretch out a giant tablecloth without ruining something in the process. Picture me in the kitchen, sprawling out across the counter top, trying desperately to not get marker on the WHITE counter top. It might have gone a bit better had Lucy not run across the tablecloth when it was on the floor (bad idea) and put tiny holes in the plastic.....this meant little leaks of ink onto the white counter top. I suppose this is better than ink on the rug or the new furniture or on the living room table but black spots on a white counter top are rather noticeable. I thought this might lead to major problems on the home front, but surprisingly the wife was rather excited about my black spots--seems she wants a reason to get new counter tops and I am helping her cause.

Finally, drawing on table clothes takes away from my time to blog and fret about the football pools. People, I need time to make pitiful pool picks and time is something I do not have. It also takes away my time with Jillian and you know that is not a good thing. I'm trying to draw and my glutes of steel are pulling me toward the TV. So, please do not take offense if I miss a few days of blogging due to this table task. I'll be finished by the end of the weekend and then all will be back to normal.....

.....well, as normal as anything ever is in the Addiverse.....

........and that's never very normal.



.......................had anyone seen any of my brain cells float by? I miss them................

VP? Viking? Neanderthal? All of the Above?

Before I start whining about the ever intriguing Sarah Palin, I want to update readers about Master Reiki's hand. I am happy to report that a miracle has happened--a true miracle--I saw her hand yesterday and could NOT believe how much better it looked. I don't mean a little--I mean it looked GREAT! Now, I'm not saying MR is ready to go out and mow the lawn just quite yet, but it is absolutely amazing what a difference a week can make. I don't understand the healing process, but Master Reiki has some big-time healing going on! I like to think it's my over the distance Reiki efforts, Chick-a-hello is definitely going to go with her chicken soup remedy. Blue Eyes definitely should get a big round of kudos for her 24 hour vigil, Cindernursa is a ball of healing energy in her own right and the surgeon is going to say it is medical science. But, really--Master Reiki's own healing efforts AND all of your prayers & good thoughts are probably the most likely to be the catalyst for such fast healing. You go, girl! Praise the 6 pound, eight ounce baby jesus!

Speaking of the Baby Jesus & praying, let me get to Sarah Palin, the Anti-Addi. I wish I wasn't so intrigued by her, as I should probably be throwing myself in front of anyone who wants to vote for her. Bat Grrrl (short for Batavia Grrrl) sent me an email that confirmed my fears about Sarah-alaskan-viking-hunter-governor-hater. Baby jesus, please pray for the queers that Sarah does not get to be the President!!

"ANCHORAGE, Alaska - Gov. Sarah Palin's church is promoting a conference that promises to convert gays into heterosexuals through the power of prayer. "You'll be encouraged by the power of God's love and His desire to transform the lives of those impacted by homosexuality," according to the insert in the bulletin of the Wasilla Bible Church, where Palin has prayed since she was a child.

Palin's conservative Christian views have energized that part of the GOP electorate, which was lukewarm to John McCain's candidacy before he named her as his vice presidential choice. She is staunchly anti-abortion, opposing exceptions for rape and incest, and opposes gay marriage and spousal rights for gay couples. Focus on the Family, a national Christian fundamentalist organization, has scheduled the "Love Won Out" Conference for Sept. 13 in Anchorage, about 30 miles from Wasilla."

"I think gay Republicans are going to run away" if Palin supports efforts like the prayers to convert gays, said Wayne Besen, founder of the New York-based Truth Wins Out, a gay rights advocacy group. Besen called on Palin to publicly express her views now that she's a vice presidential nominee. "People are looking at Sarah Palin as someone who might feasibly be in the White House," he said.

Pray away the gay? Good luck with that.

On a more humorous note, (although the thought of people trying to pray away the gay is sadly humorous to me), check out this YouTube link regarding McCain being Sarah Palin's Bitch. Thanks to GC Black Toes for the link....had me laughing out loud. Turn up the volume--as long as you are NOT at work or around little kiddies. All you have to do is click on the link below.

After you watch the video, get on your knees and pray....that Sarah does not try to pray the gay out of me.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d-QevraCQUc

Sarah Palin: The Anti-Addi! 

You know, I don't think there is any one person on the planet that is more opposite than me Sarah Palin. We both wear fun glasses, we are both close to the same age, we both have brown hair, we both speak English, but..... 

  I've decided to call her the "Anti-Addi" because of how polar opposite we are. Still, I am strangely drawn to her and for the first time in my adult life have decided to watch even a smidgen of the Republican Party Convention. Dude, this lady is one millisecond away from being the President, should (heaven forbid) John McCain win. More history in the making no matter what happens. (She scares me but not as much as Romney. That guy makes me poop a little in my pants every time I see him. Now, HE'S scary. Thank you, Baby Jesus, for not letting John McCain pick Romney. He would have won and it would have been back to the dark ages for all of us.) People are going to flock to her like flies to poop. This is the Republican Party's dream come true! An aggressive woman, putting the convention on the front pages, someone who is a woman who's ultra-conservative and gutsy. John McCain, are you a genius or madman??? Now, had you picked an African American woman, THAT would have been the move of the century. Of course, that would mean some people of color would have to come to the Convention and as far as I can tell from what I've been watching, there's no one there that would fit that criteria. But, I digress. 

Let's just see how Anti-Addi the ol' VP-wanna be is. According to "On the Issues.org,"
Sarah: ---She's a Republican. Well, that's not so bad, really. Someone has to do it. She's red. I'm Blue. --Long hair. Short hair. I'm guessing with both dye our hair, so we can bond over that.

 --Opposes stem cell research. (Aug 2008) Strike One: The Addiverse is all about stem cell research. It's not like a baby was slaughtered to get some stem cells.....

   ---Pro-life. (Nov 2006) Strike Two: The Addiverse says choice, choice, choice. It may not be my choice but the freedom to choose is what it is all about.

--Only exception for abortion is if mother's life would end. (Jul 2006) The Addiverse asks, what about rape and incest? I haven't heard this "okay if mom is going to die" comment on any of the recent news broadcasts--I'm thinking Ol' Sarah says too bad for the mama.

--Children. No children.

--Teach creationism alongside evolution in schools. (Aug 2008). Supports teaching intelligent design in public schools. (Aug 2008) The Addiverse can't even go there! Well, at least she is willing to keep evolution along side Adam & Eve. Some Republicans wouldn't give me that.

--Environment: Opposed protections for salmon from mining contamination. (Aug 2008) Sue US government to stop listing polar bear as endangered. (Aug 2008) . We must encourage timber, mining, drilling, & fishing. (Jan 2008) Um, The Addiverse is worried she doesn't believe in Global Warming. I guess the Polar bears will drown, anyway, so who cares if they are on an endangered list?

Oh Wait!! Here is where Sarah becomes the Queen of the Anti-Addi:

• Vetoed bill denying benefits to gays, as unconstitutional. (Aug 2008)
• Marriage only be between and man and a woman. (Nov 2006)
• Ok to deny benefits to homosexual couples. (Aug 2006)
• No spousal benefits for same-sex couples. (Jul 2006)
• Top priorities include preserving definition of "marriage". (Jul 2006)

Woof! Sarah does not like gay people. Don't they have any gay people in Alaska? Ouch! Remind me not to move to Alaska.

--Hunts as much as she can; freezer-full of wild game. (Aug 2008) The Addiverse is humored by this but as you can imagine, this vegetarian isn't exactly going hunting in the near future. And, a freezer full of wild game? Any polar bears in there? So, there I will be, watching the Republican National Convention, wondering what the hell I am doing and waiting to hear what the Anti-Addi has to say.....

....and praying for the polar bears. P.S. Master Reiki is home, working on her recovery. I do indeed have photos of the mauled hand, compliments of Chick-a-hello but won't be posting them here. Please keep Master Reiki in your thoughts.

Master Reiki's New Best Friend

If you haven't already, please read previous entry (Flamingo Friday) BEFORE reading this one. Trust me, it will help you understand the story.

First of all, let me say that Master Reiki came through her hand surgery with flying colors. Only one digit lost, she is ready for action....well, at least ready to go home, pain killers in hand. Looks like the 12 year old surgeon was able to save the ol' swearing finger. (He was so young looking that Master Reiki wisely asked him about his credentials.)

One of the beautiful, delightful things about being in a hospital room is that you get to share it with a complete stranger. Somehow, when I had my appendix out, I wasn't assigned a roommate, so I was spared this opportunity. In Master Reiki's case, she got to share her room with an 85 year old woman who had just broken her hip and who wasn't happy about being in this particular hospital. Because I had the pleasure of listening to this roommate--whom I shall call Betty Boop--for a few hours, I thought I'd share the pain experienced by having such a roommate.

Betty Boop rolled in late Friday night, right when Master Reiki was recovering from her first bout of anesthesia. Seems Betty Boop had broken her hip and was now going to spend some time at St. Tony's along with Master Reiki. Although she had fallen and hurt herself, she did not appear to be in any pain, which I thought was a wonderful thing. After all, who wants to know someone is in pain? If she was in pain, it did not hamper her ability to speak.

First problem: BBoop was in the "wrong" hospital. She wanted to be at Norwegian American but somehow she had ended up with the Catholics. How do I know this? Well, BBoop had a terminal case of hard of hearing. She was LOUD. Second problem? The intern who was interviewing her was even LOUDER than her and thus I got to hear the entire intake for BBoop. HIPAA? Forget it. It's not like anyone is afforded any privacy when sharing a room and it's not like that flimsy curtain dividing the room is drowning out conversation.

Interns are a funny thing. They get REALLY excited about their jobs and thus ask four zillion questions, all right from the textbook. They are zealous, finally out in the real world, practicing on real patients. I mean, they literally ask every single thing they were ever taught. This means that Dr. Intern asked four zillion questions and BBoop answered four zillion questions and this went on for over an HOUR.

I was seated on the left of Master Reiki and Cindernursa was on the right. BBoop and Dr. Intern were behind the curtain. We were quietly sitting with MR when the questions started. At first, it was rather amusing because both of them were so loud and because the answers were just so ridiculous. He started at the top of her head and asked questions all the way "down." I learned that BBoop has lots of earwax and dead skin in her ear canals and that they have to use tweezers to pull it out so she can hear. (Um, someone needs to do that RIGHT NOW, cuz this lady can't hear.) I learned that she coughs up yellow chunks, that she has trouble with her feet swelling up, that she has cold flashes, that doesn't have mammograms because she didn't see the point in them, that she has had cataract surgery, that she has a heart murmur of some kind, and that she is oriented to person, place and thing. Whenever asked specific questions about previous medical treatment or medications, BBoop would indignantly respond "They have that information at Norwegian American. I don't understand why I was brought here."

Soon, this was no longer fun and it was obvious all this chatter was beginning to get to Master Reiki. How could it not? I had all my fingers and wasn't in pain and it was getting to me. I mean, this lady really was loud and her descriptions were painfully long, all in her monotone babbling. Master Reiki held up her good hand and made the international sign for "blah, blah, blah, blah." She whispered loudly, "He's starting at the top and working his way down. He's only on her HEAD!" She was right. We were only on the goiter and it had already been 15 minutes.

Cindernursa looked at me and mused, "these are the things we have to look forward to." Indeed.

In an effort to help Master Reiki, I asked if she would like to wear my iPod headphones. I figured this might drown out some of the nonsense going on the other side of the curtain. She agreed. I placed them gently in her ears and turned on the selection of shuffling Addi tunes. At first, this was a good distraction from BBoop and MR was seen smiling, eyes closed, gently nodding her head along with the beat.....

....but, then came a song on that she did not like. "Take it off! Take it off! I don't like this song!" I quickly ripped the ear buds right out of her ears, never stopping to find out what the hell song was playing. This didn't stop ol' BBoop--she didn't miss a beat and kept talking about her constipation, her hysterectomy and her medical records being elsewhere.

Next came Dr. Resident, who was in charge of Dr. Resident. This led to a whole 'nother round of questions. All BBoop wanted was food. She was rather incensed that no one had fed her yet and it was after 9 PM at night and that she was in the "wong" hospital. BBoop was getting crabbier by the minute and she wanted dinner NOW. This did not deter Dr. Resident and Dr. Intern from taking turns listening to her heart and using all sorts of fancy terms for the sounds they heard coming from BBoop's beating heart. Praise the baby Jesus, they finally called it a night and left BBoop to wait for her dinner.....

....now, you think one would have a little common courtesy when sharing a room. Not ol' Betty. She then turned on the TV and cranked that volume up for all to hear. (Actually, for her to hear. Too bad she couldn't hear.) As the "Soap Opera" channel was on and as BBoop didn't know how to change the channel, this upped the irritation ante. Thankfully, Blue Eyes and the wife returned at this point and distracted me from choking BBoop in the name of Master Reiki.....

When I arrived this morning, BBoop was still sharing the room with Master Reiki. I made mention of this and learned BBoop had some thoughts on Master Reiki and Blue Eyes. It seems on Sunday BBoop had loudly announced to one of the nurses that "those two ladies over there are sleeping together." As Master Reiki was in the bed and Blue Eyes was in the chair, this was news to them. Betty then added, "well, it's none of my business" and left it at that.

Maybe BBoop was brighter than I gave her credit.

While there this morning, Master Reiki had requested some pain medication at the same time BBoop wanted to call her daughter on the phone. BBoop was louder than MR so she was given first dibs on the nurse. Um, does anyone else see a problem with picking the phone call over providing prescribed medication? Soon, TWO hospital employees were with Betty while MR sat and waited for any semblance of treatment. I am happy to report that BBoop got her bed fluffed and her butt scooted and her phone call made--but, only after Blue Eyes went and volunteered to make the call so the nurse could be freed to get the pain meds. Unfortunately, it took ONE HOUR for MR to get her prescribed pain meds. Thankfully, she had learned this lesson early in her stay and knew to start asking before she was actually in pain. By the time she did get the meds, she was in need. Smart cookie, that MR.

As I write, Master Reiki and Betty Boop have broken up, as MR is being discharged from the hospital and is on her way home. I highly doubt they forged a lasting friendship, but who knows? If Betty is smart enough to know that MR and Blue Eyes are sleeping together, she might be fun at a party....

....just don't ask her about her ear wax and dead skin in her ear canals.....