Friday, November 28, 2014

Addendum

Damn dog. I write a sappy little paragraph about Lucy not eating for 24 hours. I swear as soon as I posted the blog, she ran to her plate and ate all her food. I think I saw her wink at me, too. I guess dogs go without eating for 24 hours and it's no big deal. Maybe it is to me because I've never missed a meal. I can't imagine 24 hours without food. Well, okay--when I had my colonoscopies, I missed a meal or two, but even having my appendix out didn't stop me.

I'll remember that, Lucy. You better enjoy this first last Christmas. I've got my eye on you.

Day after Thanks

Now that everyone is stuffed to the gills (a saying that is rather weird unless one considers that we as humans reportedly had gills in the olden, olden days), we can sit down, loosen our pants and think about whatever it is one thinks about when stuffed to the gills.

I am glad to report that the wife's family once again PASSED on the tradition of sobbing while trying to spit out for what one is grateful. This is two years in a row, so I'm hoping the time of this tradition has passed. There's nothing wrong with stating words of gratitude while sitting in a circle for two or three hours, but they take it to a whole 'nother level which keeps Kleenex in business. This year, the wife's dad cried at every given moment, as he is grateful beyond compare for quicker-than-anticipated recovery from a recent accident. I don't even know how the guy ate dinner, 'cuz every time I looked at him, he was crying. I think he made up for everyone, so they really didn't need to have the circle of thanks.

The wife is out Black Friday shopping. I would rather poke my eyes out with the bones of the turkey drumsticks than join her. The dogs and I are enjoying the comforts of our home. She sent me a text of a proud purchase. It's a sport to her. I am much more the computer-shopper type. Give me a charge card and a computer and I'm good to go.

I'm rather worried about Lucy, as she hasn't eaten in 24 hours. Of course, I'm always worried about Lucy, so this isn't a very unusual thing. The other day, she and I had a talk. I asked her to hang in there until after Christmas, if she could possibly do so. Of course, god knows Freckles has been at three "this is her last Christmas" dinners, so I shan't worry too much. This is Lucy's "first-last Christmas" dinner, per my declaration, so Lucy will probably have several more last Christmases, too.

I make fun of this because to actually not make fun of it would let my heart be crushed. I don't have time for such nonsense.

Lucy and I are taking a trip to the vet on Monday...she has to go because she can't get groomed anywhere unless she is up-to-date on her stuff. I'm not thrilled about having her get shots when this is her first-last Christmas but she needs to be groomed, so charge card, here we come. One must look spiffy for the holidays, especially for the first-last Christmas.

I had a good laugh at work last week when I was talking to a co-worker about Lucy's tumors and how  it had grown and how I was worried. She interjected, asking, "Isn't this the dog that's been dying for the past three years?" I couldn't help but to burst out laughing. I explained that no, that's the OTHER dog that's very much alive and on her way to her third-last Christmas. This is Lucy's first-last Christmas. I'm telling ya, we laughed for quite a long time.

Changing subjects...I went to the dermatologist the other day because I had this really itchy, never-healing thing on my chest near the collar bone. It's been driving me nuts for months. The thing has been here for years--I think it was a skin-colored mole but it might have been a scarred pimple or an age spot or some alien life form. Whatever it is/was, it itched and itched and itched, even waking me up at night. Several times, I had to put a band aid on it, lest I scratch it in my sleep or let my shirt make it even itchier. I finally decided enough was enough and scheduled an appointment.

I have no idea what it was because my appointment was short and the doctor never said anything about the actual mole/spot/alien life form. I didn't even have to take off my shirt.

Dr. Skin (bursts into room, obviously irritated and definitely quite done with this what must have been a very long day): "What is it you want me to look at?"

Me (Pull down the collar of my t-shirt): "This thing. It itches like crazy and doesn't heal."

Dr. Skin (scowls at my t-shirt, which happens to be an Oakland Raiders shirt): "Oakland? Why are you wearing an Oakland Raider shirt? I lived in Oakland. I didn't like it. Those fans are crazy."

Me (still holding down collar of shirt, silent, hoping she'll look at my spot instead of my shirt...I'd like to make small talk but decide I'd rather get this thing taken care of....Oakland shirt be damned)

Dr. Skin: "Don't wear band-aids. You're allergic to band-aids. No more band-aids." She took a no-more-than-two-second gander at the spot, held up a can of something (where the hell did she get that?) and then sprayed the piss out of the spot. She sprayed like there was no tomorrow. She sprayed until she was done spraying.

She stood up, handing me a piece of paper (where did she get THAT?--this lady is full of surprises), opened the door--can in hand--and barked out, "come back in eight weeks. No more band-aids."

With that, she was gone. I sat there for a second or two and then squeaked out a "thank you." I was left in the room with my sprayed mystery spot, obviously with no band aid covering it. Guess it wasn't something serious.

I now have this gross-looking thing on my chest, trying to heal with not a band aid in sight. I am quite thankful it was determined to be nothing more than something to freeze off in a huff. I'm thankful that I know I am allergic to band aids.....um, I've worn band aids all my life without issue, so this is a bit confusing to me, but I'm going with it. I glad the itchy spot probably wasn't an alien life form (I think she would have said something about that if it were).

Today, the Day after Thanks, I give thanks for many things, of which I shan't list here. Instead, I'll go finish the Christmas cards, eat cereal with chocolate chips tossed in for breakfast and go buy Lucy a hamburger from the place of arches Gold and see if she'll eat that. I will think happy things of all of you and I will continue to make fun of the Farewell Tour. I'll get ready for Sunday Service (that dang Baby Jesus thinks it's an important time of the year) and I'll probably do some work. I won't wear a band aid. I'll prepare for tomorrow's day of thanks with my family of origin (read: buy some potato chips and chocolate) and I'll do some laundry. And, I will be very thankful for all of these things, just as I am grateful each and every day. I will enjoy every minute of the first-last Christmas. I will shop on line while Doctor Who plays in the background. I have nothing of which to complain...

....except for the itching. Oh, the itching of a healing sore! I fear there may be some whining about that.

I'll scratch and I'll whine and I'll give thanks for you. Kiss kiss!
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Saturday, November 15, 2014

Baby Jesus Church Drop

This church thing is sooooo putting a damper on my social life. I never wanted to be involved in a church thing but the baby Jesus must have thought it funny and so he dumped a church in my lap:

Baby Jesus: Hey you! You look like you'd like a church.

Me: Huh? Me?

Baby Jesus: Yeah, you! You're standing around doing nothing. I think you need a church.

Me:  Hey, wait a minute--are you the baby Jesus?

Baby Jesus: I am the Baby Jesus. Who did you expect?  I'm giving you a church.

Me: Well, I'm kinda busy. I have a full time job, two older-than-you dogs, a wife and...well, you know what I have. You're the baby Jesus. I really don't have time or interest in having a church.

Baby Jesus: I see you watching all of those Doctor Who episodes. Don't tell me you don't have time to run a church.'

Me: That's...um...stress reduction. Yes, stress reduction.

Baby Jesus: You don't have that much stress.

Me: I'll have stress if you give me a church. I'm not meant for a church. I'm not churchy.

Baby Jesus: You don't have to be churchy to have a church.

Me: I would think it'd help.

Baby Jesus: I think it helps NOT to be churchy if you're given a church.

Me: But, I don't know how to run a church. I don't WANT to know how to run a church.

Baby Jesus: I need a pinch hitter. You can pinch hit.

Me: Oh, I so don't want a church. No, no, no. No church.

Baby Jesus: Who's in charge around here?

Me: The wife. Definitely the wife.

Baby Jesus: I meant me.

Me: Oh, sorry. No offense.  [Think to self: he's wrong. The wife is definitely in charge.]

Baby Jesus: I heard that.

Me: [silence.]

Baby Jesus: The church doesn't have a spiritual leader right now. All you have to do is run the service and so forth.

Me: It's that "so forth" that worries me. What if I've got things other than "so forths" to do?

Baby Jesus: Like?

Me: Well, football! And, work. And staring lovingly at the wife.

Baby Jesus: You have plenty of time to do that. That's why they invented DVR, 24 hour sports channels and the Internet.

Me: Help me with my football picks?

Baby Jesus: I'm going to pretend you didn't just ask me that.

Me: It's not like running a church is a three hour a week commitment.

Baby Jesus: You don't see me sleeping on the job, do you?

Me: That's different. You're the Baby Jesus. You signed up for that gig.

Baby Jesus: Well, technically, I didn't.

Me: Mmmm. Point taken. But, the spiritual leader is a paid position, a job, a thing. Lots of responsibility that I don't want.I already have a full time job.

Baby Jesus: It's a temporary gig.

Me: A temporary for how long gig?

Baby Jesus: Until it's not a temporary gig.

Me: I don't see any money in this. That's a lot of time to do for no money.

Baby Jesus: Do it for me, then.

Me: That's so not fair.

Baby Jesus: That's how I roll.

Me: Well, I'm not falling for the whole guilt thing. I don't want a church.

Baby Jesus: [puts fingers in ears] I can't hear you. Did you say something?

Me: So, I have a church.

Baby Jesus: You have a church.

Me: I don't know how to run a church.

Baby Jesus: Oh, ye of little faith.

Me: See? I shouldn't have a church.

Baby Jesus: Just run the church. You'll have lots of help.

Me: Yes, I'll have tons of help but it's still a church, it's still unpaid and it's still more than three hours a week. It's already filling all my free time.

Baby Jesus: Think of it as tithing.

Me: Hmmmm. That's a thought.

Baby Jesus: That's why they pay me the big bucks.

Me: This church thing get me any more points in the long run?

Baby Jesus: Depends on what the long run is.

Me: You know--that place of which you reportedly dwell.

Baby Jesus: Doctor Who says there is no afterlife. It's all stories and folklore.

Me: True. So, I'm back to tithing.

Baby Jesus: I'd stick with that.

Me: [big ass sigh] So, I have a church.

Baby Jesus: You have a church,. Congratulations!

Me: YOU tell the wife. I'M not telling the wife.

Baby Jesus: Heck, no. That's your job. My job is to dump the church on you and run. I'm not telling her nuthin'.

Me: Great. Thanks for nothing.

Baby Jesus: You'll thank me later.

And so, I have a church in my lap. I really don't like it but it is what it is. I hate when that happens. I'll be a non-churchy church person.

This is SO going to ruin my reputation.
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Wednesday, November 05, 2014

Parking my Gay Car

This morning, I find myself reading the news via the Internet. This is quite unusual as I don't read/watch/digest the news in the morning  as (1) the wife always seems to be up-to-date; and, (2) the news just gives me a headache. I grumble about the wife turning on the news in the morning. I don't want to start my day tainted by all the negativity swimming out there. I want to start my day fresh, positive, calm, relieved.....

.....I don't want my day being bombarded with the world's woes. I'm not saying the world woes don't exist if I'm not watching the news nor am I sticking my head in the sand via aversion of the morning news. I'm just saying I want peace, love and happiness with that first cup of coffee.

This morning is a wee bit different due to Illinois' race for the governor. I had to know who was voted the winning candidate. [Disclaimer: I don't know enough about government to speak one word more than my opinion, so please don't be insulted by the smallness of my view. I've been busy watching Doctor Who, not studying world politics.]

This is not a good way to start the day. I'm starting to think about actual things. I do not want to think about or--heaven forbid--blog about politics before breakfast. Where, oh where, is my oblivion and inner peace?

"STEP AWAY FROM THE COMPUTER!," my brain screams.

"I can't!" replies my heart. "I'm having a bout of passion."

"DON'T WRITE ABOUT POLITICAL ANYTHING!" my brain begs.

"This gay heart can't help it! Gimme more coffee and where IS that Dove Dark chocolate???" my heart murmurs.

(Ha. That's funny. A heart murmur. Oh, never mind.)

"THIS IS A MUNDANE BLOG ABOUT NOTHING REDEEMING! ONE DOES NOT TALK ABOUT POLITICS IN SUCH A BLOG!" my brain chastises.

"You obviously don't care about your marriage," my heart whispers.

"But, I do!" cries my brain. "I really, really do!"

"You talk about of both your hemispheres," laments my heart.

My brain technical wins, as I continue writing...but, my heart makes sure it stays focused in emotional passion-tainted babbling.

I'm of the school that one man can't completely uproot the political system of our great state (a good and bad thing, considering the corruptness that permeates the state's government--I leave that to political pundits). I believe that our new governor will be fine because no governor in this state has control of the state without control of the Madigan Machine. That said...I do believe that one candidate can make life a living hell for those of us who just got married.

....Got gay married...whatever that means. 

Stand back, brain, 'cuz here comes the emotional tirade:

Dear New Governor,

Congratulations on your victory. I know you won't get to enjoy your victory until all the ballots are counted and recounted but it's looking like a win for you. I don't care that you are a Republican. I don't care that you are not a Democrat. I'm not big on those labels, just like I don't like slapping labels in other parts of my life. It's fine that you just happen to be labeled Republican. As is true with all political parties, money CAN buy you everything. I can't condone you for that.

I'm not sure why you want to be governor because that sucks almost as much as being the president. Too much stress and not enough power. Just sayin.'

Now that you'll be sitting in the big Lincoln chair come January, I want to point out--just in case you missed it while out on the candidate trail--that our marriage license says MARRIAGE LICENSE. It does not say GAY MARRIAGE LICENSE.

We are married.
We are not gay married.
We are married and can get divorced, just like you.

I hope you will look at our marriage license, because I look at it. I think it rocks.
I look at it because I can't believe it.
I NEVER thought I'd see a marriage license like this in my lifetime.
Never.
But, I hold it in my hands and I look at it and I smile.
Here--take a look at it.....

Oh, it says "Marriage License." Not "Gay Marriage License."
Huh. I like that.
I like that a lot.

I didn't mind the civil union thing. It was okay. I know you were okay with that, too. But, being married rocks a whole lot more.

So, saying that you aren't going to go "after" gay marriage and that you have gay friends (oh, goody for you!), but adding that this issue should go to referendum makes me very testy. First of all, it makes you a coward. If you don't want gay marriage in our state, then go after gay marriage. Don't pawn it off and throw your hands up in the air and blame "the people." Stand up and say what you mean and then mean what you say.

Second of all, it's not an appropriate use of a referendum. Please let someone help you understand that. I know you are new to this position but you've been around the block in the political machine a time or two. Don't you dare play dumb. I have more faith in you than that.

Third, we're married. We are not gay married. As Liz Feldman says, "I parked my car. I didn't gay park it."

My brain, Mr. New Governor, assures me all will be well and that you won't push for a referendum. My brain tells me you will focus on things like the budget. My heart, however, is quite concerned about you. Please don't be a coward. Please be respectful. Please listen to Oprah.....

Everyone gets a marriage!

Goody for you that you have gay friends. What a revolutionary you are! I have straight friends. What a revolutionary I am!

I'd write more but I have to go eat my gay breakfast, take a gay shower and drive my gay car to work.

Hope you have a most gay day. Love, the Addiverse
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No politicians were hurt during the writing of this blog. Paid for by the Addiverse for Gay Car Parking.
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