Monday, May 31, 2010

In Memory and With Thanks
Here's a quick salute to those who have fought for our country. These peeps are from my family. I am proud to display their photos in honor of Memorial Day.

It doesn't matter if you do or don't agree with war. All that matters is that you take a few moments to thank someone for their sacrifice to our country.



Now, get out there and eat an apple pie or something.

Saturday, May 29, 2010

Don't Tread on Me

Dearest blog reader, where DID the week go?
I guess I spent more time shining my class ring (bling bling! in preparation for the upcoming reunion), visualizing Larry Lump's departure, avoiding BP gas and picking out a new "incoming work call" ring tones than I realized. I also tried to start a new blog for "easy reunion reference" but after spending an entire evening fighting with it (cutting and pasting does not work well in this format), I gave up and left the new site with a half-assed page and nothing done. Perhaps tomorrow.

Perhaps not.

I think I shall speak of the dogs, as it's always about the dogs in the Addiverse. (Well, about the dogs or Madonna. It's a toss up.) Here is a photo of Freckles doing the "Stair Stare." Freckles is not one ounce amused by this particular upgrade to the house. She already had enough trouble going up and down stairs (if you actually watch her, you'd notice she hugs the wall on the right when going either direction--maybe she's blind in her left eye and needs her right eye to keep her straight and narrow) and now this. No, there is no carpet runner to be had, so she is so on her own....

....well, not really. I now carry her down the stairs. This may end up being a bad idea, as we all know my history. I will make sure to have bare feet (for sure footing--socks are like a lethal weapon on finished wooden stairs) and one hand on the railing when carrying her (she'll have to deal with not being along the right wall). In effort to ensure our safety, please do not envision us flying through the air. Please keep us grounded and safe in the Universe's eye.

Perhaps slipper socks with those little gripper things on the bottom are in order for my birthday.

The new stairs are indeed quite beautiful, so it's all good. They are not as slippery as I thought they might end up being, so that's also good. As I am still concerned for our safety (me and Freckles, that is--Lucy and the wife have it goin' on), I ordered some "stair treads," little carpet squares which are guaranteed not to slide, even though they are not tacked or glued down. Sounds way too good to be true, but after reading a bazillion reviews regarding stair treads (I did almost as much research about stair treads as I did about getting my new tires, so that says a LOT), I thought I'd give them a try. The wife approved the aesthetics of the said treads and I'll be the judge if they will work or not. I am hoping that the treads will encourage Freckles to walk down the stairs, although I am rather skeptical, as the treads won't be near the right side--they are in the middle. In the ten years we've had her, I don't think I've ever seen Freckles walk down the middle of the stairs, so this might be all for naught.

I thought about getting a really light colored-tread that would really help her discern the different steps--she also has a hard time seeing and the wood all blends into one big blog, I am sure--but, figured that wouldn't work because they'd get dirty fast (due to my feet, not her paws). I went with "toast" for the color. We'll see how that goes, too.

The wood floor installation has come to a grinding halt, as the wife has decided (mid- game) she wants to put wood floors in the entire upstairs and that means the wood has to be ordered, which will take about a month to arrive. (She must have good or weird taste--I'm not sure which--as the wood has to be special ordered.) This means we are now living in flooring limbo, as one bedroom and the stairway are done, but the hallway is not....as the hallway carpeting was ripped out in preparation for what was supposed to be finished in the original project....and, as the hallway cannot be done at this time until the bedroom is done at the same time, we are walking on cardboard boxes (flattened out and taped down, of course), which is on top of the particle board. I'm not sure how the wife will survive this, as she really doesn't like half-done things--she likes neat and tidy.....

....This is not a neat and tidy time in her life: boxes of wood are lined up in the kitchen, rooms are half done, Freckles nails make all sorts of noise on the cardboard (she wanders in circles at night), furniture isn't where it is supposed to be, nothing is exactly where is belongs. Pray for her, dearest blog readers. She is going to need it.

Poor Lucy does not mind the stairs whatsoever, but she is having one nasty case of gastro-intestinal distress that she is almost beside herself. She looks so sad and her belly keeps making all these awful noises. We won't even talk about what shot out of her butt last night--we took turns getting up with her--and she left us pretty gifts of vomit earlier in the evening. I think going to the groomer yesterday was just too much for her--ever since that dog attack a few weeks back, Lucy hasn't been the same when she sees other dogs (even Bitty Bichon makes her crazed). I suppose she could have eaten something weird along the way...the cause doesn't really matter, as long as she ends up fine in the long run (and as long as she doesn't vomit on the new wooden floor in the bedroom). Thankfully, I think her insides are pretty well emptied now, so we should have a few diarrhea-free hours. On a positive note, she looks great--the groomer always does an awesome job....too bad she reeks of vomit now, as she smelled so fresh and pretty upon her arrival home from her spa day. You know it's not a good day when Freckles smells better than Lucy.

Saturday, beautiful Saturday. Today will be spent congratulating Cheeseball Neighbor (whose softball team is crushing people like bugs and who has been named Coach of the Year--again--what a woman!), visualizing the complete and total departure of Larry Lump, grocery shopping (what am I thinking--going to the store on a holiday weekend?), watching the wife mow the lawn/wash & wax the cars/attempt to organize the house and working on that reunion blog page. I affirm this day will not involve cleaning puke or diarrhea, I promise to spend one hour or less on Book de la Face, I will plan ahead so I don't have to go up or down the news stairs unless absolutely needed. It's warm, it's sunny, it's the perfect day. The wife is already outside mowing the lawn, so Larry and I best get moving. Just watch where you step in the Addiverse today....

...shiny stairs, means stares and accidental bodily canine functions have been forecast. Happy Memorial Day Weekend!

Friday, May 21, 2010

Larry Lump's Big Adventure

I have something in common with Amy Box-of-Wine-house (which should scare all of you)...we both have lumpy under arms! We both have arm pit lumps!

I took Larry Lump to meet the surgeon yesterday. Although I've been massaging my lymph nodes (I bet that gives you a visual), I thought it prudent to continue my contact with the traditional medical professionals. Dr. Surgeon asked all kinds of predictable questions, some of which teeter on scaring the shit out of you, even when you know nothing is wrong. By the time the he got through the lymphoma, leukemia, cancer questions, I thought Larry would be half way to California.

It doesn't matter what I say in regards to Larry; the doctors literally always ask the same questions I just answered when describing the problem:
Me: "He's been here since February. I don't have any symptoms. I haven't lost weight, I haven't had a fever, none of my other lymph nodes are swollen, I haven't been by a cat, I haven't been having night sweats. I've had this twice before. Both times, he went away after six or so months."
Doctor: "Are you having any night sweats or a fever?"
Me: "No."
Doctor: "Have you lost weight or noticed any other lymph nodes?"
Me (trying not to scream or swear): "No."
Doctor: "Do you own a cat?"
Me (on the verge of unconsciousness): "No."

Had he asked me something like, "Has it looked like Amy-Box-of-Wine-house's armpit lump?" I would have been pleased. At least it would have been something different than the regurgitated questions being asked.

Of course, by the time we got to the point of seeing a surgeon, Larry was much smaller than he's been in months. At least he was still there; the last two times, he was gone by the time I got to the surgeon. The most thorough breast exam on the planet was completed and completed again. Pushing, shoving, poking--nothing there. I told you that.

Dr. Surgeon gave Larry Lump quite the work out. Dr. Surgeon had a quizzical look on his face. "It feels like the size of a pea." I agreed--Larry is much smaller today. I assure him Larry has been grape sized. He tips his head as if considering this. Another poke to Larry and he says, "I'm not sure it's a lymph node. It might be a cyst."

This makes me giddy with delight, as that would be even more awesome than some pissed off lymph node. Of course, a surgeon is going to say I need surgery and he does indeed say this, adding (as all doctors do) that he can't be sure which it is until he takes it out and that it will still need to be sent to pathology to make sure it isn't something not so good.

Dr. Surgeon tells me he can take it out next week, adding that he does not think it has anything to do with breast tissue or cancer. I think about pounding my head on the wall, but I like being right, so I smile politely and remember to be grateful for such good news, even though I didn't have any doubt about getting good news. I was assured the nurse would call to set the appointment. I took Larry and my well-examined breasts back to work, smiling the whole way.

This morning, while showering, I started to wash my armpit when.....

.....I noticed something different. Larry Lump was teeeny weeeeny! Larry didn't look anything like Amy Box-of-Wine-house's lump any more. I mean, he was the teeniest he's been in months. I start laughing. Larry Lump just needed a little motivation to hit the road. My guess is that with a little more time, he'll be gone....

....which is amazingly good, especially when I tell you this: Dr. Surgeon's office called late today and indicated they can't do the surgery until June 4th. That gives me oodles of time to work on (with?) Larry, treating him to massage after loving massage. I think the Universe is with me on this: we'll give you the time you need, you do what Larry needs you to do.

Amy Box-of-Wine-house ain't got nuthin' on Larry Lump. Hmmmm....maybe Amy and I should both stop shaving our arm pits in an effort to stay unlumpified......

....that's even a scarier thought than me having something in common with her. I'm having a visual. I think I just threw up a little in my mouth.

Everyone--please send Larry Lump some love and then, envision him....gently prod him....away from my arm pit and toward the loving light of the Lumpless Universe.

As long as you don't envision Larry and Amy's lump getting together and making a whole bunch of little lumps, it'll be all good.

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

Breakfast of Champions

As I've had quite the eventful past few days, I'm not sure which topic to pick for blogging. I was going to go with the gardening head injury but then I saw the prostitute earning her keep in the work parking lot yesterday at 6:15 AM. Larry Lump begs to have his 15 minutes of fame and the wife while is having hard wood floors installed tomorrow. All topics have merit & provide much blogging fodder.

I vote for the prostitute! Not because my gardening head injury wasn't spectacular, but rather because another Addiverse injury is really no new news.

This photo of Freckles Warrior Princess has nothing to do with any of those events. I just thought it was funny and it's probably going to be an accurate depiction of what the wife is going to look like after having those hard wood floors installed.

Yesterday at 6:15 AM, I was pulling into the parking lot at the place of which I do not speak when I noticed a white car parked in "our" parking spaces. Since parking spaces are at a premium, this immediately irritated me. I scowled as I pulled in, shaking my head that someone would DARE park in our clearly identified spaces. It was only when I turned off my car and opened the door to exit, I noticed there was someone actually in the car. In fact, it became quite apparent to me--quite quickly, I assure you--that I noticed there must be TWO people in the car. I will spare you, gentle readers, of how I developed that theory so quickly, but trust me when I say that there was no doubt in my mind regarding the activities in that car.

I now need therapy and that vision has been permanently burned into my retinas.
I can't decide if this an awful way or an awesome way to start a Monday.

For those of you wondering, "how do you know that was a prostitute?" I assure you that I am correct in this assessment. There are some things that are pretty obvious, no offense to those of you who earn your keep performing the world's oldest profession. Besides, I've seen her around before, usually wandering down the street in the wee hours of the dawn when I am on my way to work and she is on her way home from work, looking like a crack train gone wrong. (I assure you it sucks to be her, no matter what I'm thinking as I am trying to avoid any further visual contact with her/the car/the related nonsense.)

So, I do my best to look to the ground, look to the ground, look to the ground. (This was not out of respect--this was out of my need to remain conscious at the oh-so-graphic scene being played out in front of me.) I grab my belongings and hastily head toward the place of which I do not speak (and of which I really will not speak, as we had another round of "thou-shall-not-speak-of-work-in-any-social-media" directive). I just wanted to get in the door. I get in my office, sit at my desk, shake my head....and, then realize.....

I forgot my coffee in the car.

Hey, it's Monday, it's 6:15 AM, I have a gardening head injury--I need my coffee.

I am torn, torn, torn. I want that coffee but I want nothing to do with what is going on out there. I need my coffee but I'm not sure I am desperate enough to get anywhere near that white car. I peek out the window--DAMN! They're still there. I fret a bit, try to distract myself, pace, whine, post my dilemma on Book de la Face. I consider going to the McD's across the street, but my wallet is in the trunk and that means I'd have to go to the car, anyways. I think about how much I love my Donut Dunkin' coffee and then decide....

I have to go back out there.

I line up my trajectory with the passenger door, hoping my car will block out most of anything I really don't care to see. I focus only on my coffee. I basically crawl out to my car, squeak in and out of the passenger door, run like the dickens to get back into the office.

I secure my coffee and get back to my office as fast as someone with a gardening head injury can get there. I am saved by my coffee and by the fact I am locked into my office.

For those of you wondering why I didn't call the police, I ask you this: if you are the ONLY person in sight and you have made eye contact with the person in question and your fabulous car is parked right next to the scene of the crime, would you call the police? Would you stand there and write down the license plate, make and model of the car? Would you call 911 if you knew that every day you would be returning to this exact parking space and know that this lady "works" this area and you know she'd know it was you who called the cops? I am not one to squirm away from much of anything like this--in fact, I'm usually all over it and gladly call the cops, but in this case--I like my car, I like my safety, I like being on good terms with the area riff raff (in fact, they keep me quite safe--I am on first name terms with the homeless, drug addicts and mentally ill--they really are protective of me). Call me a chicken, question my decision, accuse me of just perpetuating the problem. I'm all good with that. Maybe if I hadn't a gardening head injury, I would have taken other measures. This Monday, I am good with letting it go.

At 7 AM one of my minions shows up as scheduled. She parks in the exact same area, sees the white car parked in "our" spaces, gets pissed off. (I'm telling you, we are very protective of our parking spaces.) By this point, the blessed event has thankfully ended and they are probably having a cigarette/hit off a crack pipe and chowing down something off the McD dollar menu. My minion, lacking a few firing brain cells, walks up to the car, OPENS THE DOOR and yells at the people to move the car.

She.opened.the.car.door!

When Ms. Minion comes in, she tells me she has done this. I am speechless. I don't know if I should yell at her for being so ignorant or hi-five her for having such big balls.

I inquired about who was in the car and what was going on. She stated there were two women in the car and one wasn't looking so hot. I know--you are asking yourself--so, were there three people in the car? Did the other lady hop in after the John left the car? Were there only two women in the car the whole time? From what I saw, I safely can say there was a man and a woman. I can't confirm or deny the third party.

We both peek out the window--by 7:15 AM, the car is gone. My coffee is cold but I don't really care.....

Really, all we wanted was our parking space. We are both very thankful that we have our parking space back. One must have priorities on a Monday.

Friday, May 14, 2010

Ask, Believe, Re.......uh oh!

Before I get babbling, I thought I'd show you what I look at when I am using my computer. No, that's not an EKG--that's a huge something-something on my monitor. My dear dog Lucy jumped on my lap while I was using said laptop and she unfortunately made quite the mark on the screen. It's kind of fun because some days it is much more obnoxious than others. This photo was taken on a "not so obnoxious" day. Today, the worm-EKG-monitor damage is much wider but shorter. The shape changes whenever I move the laptop. This is a problem as one would hope a laptop would remain portable. I try not to move it unless absolutely necessary.

I can't complain too much, tho. I am a happy
camper just to have a laptop. As fixing it would cost way more than getting a new laptop, I shall persevere and ignore the "monitor worm" as best possible.

I have included this photo of Lucy, Bark of Poteidaia, so you can see who the culprit is. Notice she has her eyes closed. She learned that from her sister.
I believe she is pretending not to know anything about my computer screen.


And, now--back to our regularly scheduled programming.

Be careful for what you ask. You might just get it.

The wife has been putting out the thought for a Ford Taurus. I have no idea why, but she finds the new model sporty and what-not. (Thankfully, she favors the two door. Although my age does suggest I should be a four-door kind of girl, I am not.) She has researched the car, priced the car, gone and looked at the car, gotten advertisements about the car. As she really didn't see the car payment in her future (after all, SOMEONE has to take care of my needs), she hasn't gone out and purchased a Taurus. The wife worked hard at making sure the Universe was aware of her interest in getting a Taurus...

Yesterday, the wife gets a call from her parental units. Crying and mayhem ensued. I was sure someone was dead, but the quickly realized that the wife and her family cry about everything. EVERYTHING. Good, bad, happy, scary, touching, confusing....weddings, baptisms, communions, first job, touching TV commercial, Packer touchdown, Packer victory....they are always crying about something. Turns out that her brother (aka Tommy Hilfiger) purchased a new car--a Ford something--for the mama. (He is always buying cars and giving them away. What is he--the Car Oprah? Ford must love him....he only gives away Fords, as far as I remember.)

So, that is all fine and dandy....until the wife finds out she is about to get what she's be asking for....kind of....

You know how I said be careful for what you ask? It pays to be really specific when you ask.

The wife asked for a Taurus....she just forgot to mention she'd like a brand new Taurus. She got a Taurus....her parents' 2001 Taurus.

I'm still laughing about that. The Universe does indeed have a good sense of humor.

We are very excited about the "new" car as the Mold Mobile has been driving the wife bonkers for the past year. (BTW, she just put a new starter in it yesterday--only moments before learning she was about to get her Taurus). The plan was to drive the Mold Mobile until it was impossible to go on doing so and until the wife got her Taurus. Lest any of you think it would be awesome to sell the Mold Mobile and make some money while still getting a car, let me remind you again: the car leaks when it rains. I mean pours. Go around a corner--water pours out from some unknown place in the roof and gushes down your head. (Never a good thing when driving.) It really does have mold growing in it. The windows don't work. The sun roof is rusted shut. The seats are water logged. The cruise control is possessed. The lights don't point at the road--they point up at the trees. (Well, at least one of them does. The other one points towards neighborhood picture windows). Who knows what might be mechanically wrong with it.

Although I truly do love that car, even I know it's time for it to go.

I dropped the wife off in the Cheddarlands late this afternoon so she could pick up the new used car. I immediately turned around, stopped and got my favorite sandwich at that favorite bread place, zipped on home, walked in to see the photos I ordered had come in the mail.......

.....imagine my surprise when I see there are over 300 photos in six different mailers. Um, I only ordered maybe---MAYBE--75 or 100 photos. Instead, I had copies of copies of copies. I was very confused by this until I realized what had happened. I had been fighting with the computer last Sunday, trying to order all those stupid photos via "Snapping Fish." I got the stuff uploaded, placed my specific order and....Error! I get an error message, never seeing that anything could have possibly been ordered. I do this again. Get through the whole thing, go to submit order... Error message! I get frustrated after the third time and go to bed. The next morning, I order the photos without incident.

Yeah, well all those times I got the error message, the order went through.

Being the peri-menopausal bitch that I am, I got right on line and got ready to give Snapping Fish a piece or two of my mind. (What the hell am I supposed to do with like six identical photos of the neighbor's dog? I like the dog just fine, but really.) I got a "live chat" going and before I knew it, I was promised a refund for the first batch of orders. I'm not sure how many orders were truly placed, so I'm not really sure what kind of refund I am--or am not--getting. Time will tell.

Finally, an update on Larry. We (Larry and me) have an appointment with the surgeon next week--of which I am very excited (in a good way). I went to my doctor and asked for the referral as well as some blood work. Might as well get my money's worth from my insurance. As anticipated, my blood work came back perfect. I knew it would. I was much more dismayed that my doctor of 25 or so years didn't remember why I was there or how I had just seen him the previous week than about any benign lump. Hello!

I then went to visit the beloved "I love you for taking such good care of the wife" gynecologist. I told him I have a lump under my armpit--after all, he was about to start fondling my parts, might as well tell him. After giving me a stern lecture on the potential errors in mammogram images and after talking about breast cancer as related to such lumps, he felt the lump....and said, "Oh, that's a lymph node, that's not breast material."

WHEN WILL THESE PEOPLE START LISTENING TO ME THE FIRST TIME??!!!!

The exam went swimmingly, like I knew it would. I continue to feel very confident about Larry. As I've said before and will say again, if I weren't worried about losing my insurance, Larry and I would keep our current relationship. But, sometimes relationships must end and thus Larry and I are going to see the surgeon. I figure he'll be gone by then, cuz that's the kind of guy he is.

Until the appointment, I'll be in the kitchen, sorting photos. I'm sure Larry will enjoy that. Heck, I'll probably still be sorting photos before, during and after the appointment.

.......If anyone needs photos of Brown Dog, Freckles with her eyes closed or of the wife's godson's first communion, give me a holler. But, be careful for what you ask....you might just get it.

Saturday, May 08, 2010

Busted

Larry Lump remains happily seated in my left arm pit. As this is nothing new in the Addiverse, I haven't lost one second of sleep over it and neither should you. He's been here before and I assume he'll be here again. I am one with Larry Lump.

Being I was overdue for a mammogram, I figured it was the perfect time to get the mammogram done AND take a peek at Larry Lump.

Let me tell you, when you mention "lump" to the scheduler who just asked if there were problems or issues, you get immediate service. It's kind of like saying, "I'm having chest pain" when you walk into an emergency room--they fall all over themselves to get you in pronto. Next thing I knew, I was scheduled for a diagnostic mammogram (as apposed to a screening) and an ultra sound.

I know I have written about mammograms before so I won't bore you with the details of the said event. Suffice it to say that (1) it's pretty impressive that the technician never mentioned my tattoo-covered back (I assume I was good fodder in the break room); (2) I was really intrigued when the technician started talking about women with third nipples (somehow, she thought my lump might be stray breast mass or a third nipple); and, (3) it's pretty entertaining to have "special" views taken during a mammogram. That lady had me all contorted in an effort to get Larry into the picture. She finally succeeded, but only after tipping me sideways, using a special squeezy thing and pushing the machine way into my should.

I should mention that when she asked me to point out the lump, I lifted my arm and pointed "here." I wish you could have seen her face. "Oh! You can see it!" she said. Um, yes--Larry is a proud, visible lump. I think it took her quite by surprise--usually, technicians such as her never show any emotion--she certainly showed surprise. She put this paper sticky dot on Larry so she would be able to find him for the x-rays....I don't think she needed the dot, but maybe it is protocol and thus the dot she did. I reassured her I was fine and that I was sure it was just some swollen lymph nodes and that I had experienced this before. I reassured her by telling her that I had been to a surgeon two times and each time I went to the surgeon, Larry was MIA and they couldn't find anything to do surgery on. (Larry may be proud but he is a coward. Mention surgery and he's outta there.) After taking numerous x-rays, she concurred--"yes, those are lymph nodes!" See, lady? No third nipple for me.

The sonogram was basically the same. Lady removes the dot, goes to does her thing, sees the lump, tries not to look surprised, does the sonogram. I end up reassuring her, too that I know I have a swollen lymph node. She finished the sonogram, sends me to the waiting room.

Thankfully, there is a radiologist on duty who reads the tests right away. Isn't that a great idea? I think so--someone was thinking. Probably some technician that got sick of waiting for her own test results. Guess what? My mammogram and sonogram are "normal." No sign of breast cancer in those dense little breasts of mine. I am good to go. I knew that. I knew that but it's always good to have the universe confirm what you already know. The radiologist added that [the cause of said swollen lymph node] is not determined by a mammogram. I knew that, too.

The next step for Larry? Well, I'd usually just ignore him til he finally went away, but insurance concerns make it necessary for me to take care of this before June 1st. My goals before health insurance changes are to get some bloodwork (which will be fine, too), get prescriptions for everything under the sun, and have surgery if that is determined to be necessary (which I am most certain it will not be needed but am never opposed to, as evidenced by my previous two agreements to have surgery for the MIA lump). That's a lot to get done in such a short duration of time, but I must succeed in the Larry Lump follow-thru. I'm also squeezing in a visit to the gynecologist and to my buddy the "why are we talking about you instead of me during my session" psychiatrist (might as well get meds from him, too-better living through chemicals, that's what I say). Larry is gonna end up with second billing during all of this.

The potential lack of health insurance is quite motivating to me. I highly doubt that will happen, but one must be poised for such changes when such changes have been announced and one must be ready for the incredible increase in premiums that will make going to the doctor a thing of the past. (I don't want to get all political, but I will say that the event of public health care has freaked out insurance companies like mine and they are now SCREWING the piss out of us by doing things such as doubling rates.) I'm thinking about a quick trip to the dermatologist, too. If any of you can think of other medical visits I might want to schedule, let me know. (I don't have eye or dental coverage, so no worries about squeezing that in.)

I think Larry's thankful he's not a third nipple. Me? I would have laughed my ass off if Larry had indeed turned out to be a third nipple.

I love Larry but he's got to go. He's got 23 days to hit the road. I wish him a fond fairwell.....

Monday, May 03, 2010

No Phone Zone
(the easy way)

Oprah wants us all to sign on for her No Phone Zone campaign--so none of us are texting or dialing while driving. I thought I'd do it the easy way and not have a phone....

In the way only I can do things, I have managed to lose my cell phone. It may actually have been stolen....either way, I have been without a cell phone since 9 AM on Saturday. Last time I saw it, it was on my shopping cart at the local grocery store, in the natural food aisle. I had been using it as a calculator and thus had it on the cart. (I had $100 to spend so I had to keep close track. The bill came to $98.78, so I was mighty impressed with myself. But, I digress.) I was finishing up my shopping....only had to pick up some dog treats and I was home free. I suddenly remembered that I forgot the pizzas (remembered I forgot--that's kinda funny) and so I left the cart and the phone, shot down the frozen food aisle, grabbed the chemical-laden pizza and finished my adventure.

I never saw my phone again. Lost. As of this morning, no one had turned it in.

For the record, I DID take my Donuts Dunkin' Coffee with me when jogging to/from the pizza case. Why I would leave my phone but take my coffee with is beyond me. At least my coffee was safe.

The grocery peeps and those in line tried to find my phone but to no avail. We even called it and listened.....nothing.

I am not a cell phone fan. I love to text, hate to talk. I'm not big on phones in general, but talking on cell phones is way at the bottom of my list. I didn't think losing my phone would be problematic--in fact, I thought it might be a wee bit delightful.

I was wrong.

First of all, not being able to text has not been fun. My texting thumb has gone into shock. That was not so delightful. I also figured out that I do indeed use my cell phone a lot more than I had originally recognized. After only one cell-phone-less shift at work and two days of no texting, I decided that a new cell phone was in order.

I hate going to phone stores. You long time readers may recall my previous experience with Horizon, where I threatened to drive my car through their showroom window. It was with much dread I returned to the scene of that almost-crime.

Phones, like cars & computers, become obsolete the minute you leave the store. My long lost phone, only 1.5 years old, was a relic, no longer made, no longer in stock. So, I told the saleslady I wanted a simple phone that had the capacity to play music (I've lost my iPod, too--so, I used my phone as my MP3 player--don't ask about the iPod--it's here somewhere), text and make calls. That's it. Nothing fancy.

Imagine my surprise and disgust when they told me I would have to get Internet service for the phones I chose. I argued about this but lost that battle. (I have since gone on line to check the validity of this--and, I acquiesce--all the info out there does indeed confirm this issue. Another part of the plot to screw you out of more money!) I took home the big brother of my long lost phone--I purchased a chocolate touch phone. (I leave the name chocolate un-capitalized because I refuse to give any free advertising for google searches). Here's what it looks like.

Trust me when I say I am a phone moron. I like to think of myself as a techno-geek, but this phone has given me quite the run for the money. It's not complicated--it's just that I'm that simple. The wife and Garden Grrrrl pressed all sorts of buttons with lightening speed, showing me the various features, assuring me of this and that--I'm just trying to figure out how to answer a call.

I'll let you know how my phone training goes. Heaven help me if I ever figure out how to use the Internet feature. That's gonna take awhile.

You know what I need? A 12 year old. They'd have me on this phone in no time.

I'm on my way to have the ol' lumpy armpit examined, so I should have plenty of time to play with el chocolate while in the waiting room.....if you call and I don't answer, don't worry--it just means I still haven't figured out how to answer your call.....

I'll say hi to Lumpy for all of you. Perhaps I'll have photos of my armpit and such......
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