One Year later....

One year ago, the wife and I were officially civilized. Where does the time go?

We celebrated by going to Sam's Club....we are in the process of buying vats of food products for my 50th birthday and couldn't avoid this most-tedious task.  Time is running short and it's not like we can let my family starve, can we? Unfortunately, going to Sam's Club is not the ideal romantic getaway for an anniversary celebration.  Worse, the wife and I never agree about how much food to buy.  I can't remember a time we tried to buy food for a party without having some form of argument.  (Wait, I take that back--we didn't argue when working with the caterer last year for the civil union party.  I trusted the professional.  It's when we are left to our own devices that we get into trouble. But, that is the only time we haven't fought over food.)


My motto is: you can never have too much.  I believe your guests should be sated when they leave. You can never have enough or too much. I would rather have a ridiculous amount of left overs than be short one pickle or bun.  


The wife's motto is: have juuuuuussssst enough so there is not one left over to be found. Not even a crumb.  She believes your guests should go home and eat a sandwich. Less is more.

This huge difference in opinion, as you can imagine, leads to cold stares, disagreements, muttering and even blatant arguing.  I am sure we are on some video camera, with a narration from the store security: "Lesbians fighting, aisle five."


We'll see what happens.  I am hoping I can redeem this tainted evening.  Damn you, Sam's Club!


I want to talk a little bit about lobster, as our most generous friends Dos Marias had a lobster boil in honor of the 50 year old triplets (I being one of the triplets). I do not eat lobster.  I don't eat anything that had a mother or has eyes.  It's a simple way of being.  But, since I don't eat lobster, it's pretty funny that I was part of a birthday lobster boil.


(I take my vegetarian ways quite seriously.  It has become a way of being.  Every once in a while I will try to envision myself eating some form of meat....and, it always ends up with me getting the creeps.  I don't know how I'll ever go back to eating meat.  But, I digress.)


So, the lobster man shows up with a cooler full of live lobsters.  He and his co-chef got to work immediately.  I went out to the van to see what was going on.  There they were....live lobsters....wiggling...moving.....oh my. I did my best not to grab the cooler and scream "BE FREE!" I took a gander and even gave one of the unsuspecting crustaceans a kiss:    

Yes, I am wearing a lobster hat.  If you are going to attend a lobster boil in honor of your 50th birthday, you should do so with style.

After the kiss, one of the hostesses escorted me into the building and stood in the doorway, refusing to let me out.  "You don't want to go out there."


I held up my camera.  "But, I wanted to take pictures!"


She gave me a stern look and remained in the doorway. "You're not going out there."


Her look said it all: there were lobsters screaming their scream of death out there. 


She probably saved my life....thanks to her, I didn't faint, puke or keel over.


I stayed in the house while the lobsters screamed for mercy. I stayed with the co-chef who was doing simple things like making corn-on-the-cob, cole slaw, garlic potato wedges.  He was also making clams and clam chowder (from scratch!).  I'm not sure if clams have moms or eyes but I thought it best not to eat one of those, either. Here's what the chef whipped up:

Here's the thing about lobster: it looks the same when it is served as when it goes into the pot, only a bit redder.  I mean, there are eyes staring at you.  There are tentacles waving at you.  They still have all those little arms and legs. You can see them all hanging out in a big pile in the lower left hand corner of the photo.  They pretty much look like they can still crawl off the plate.


....and this, boys and girls, is very traumatic for a long-term vegetarian.


I spent my entire meal looking down.  I couldn't watch the madness. The descriptions from the dinner mates were bad enough. I only looked up once and what I saw was enough to burn my retinas.  The horror, the horror!
Needless to say, everyone had a spectacular time and raved for hours--days--about the food.  Me? I should have pulled my lobster hat over my eyes.  Thankfully, all the other foods were amazingly delicious, so I had lots on which to focus.  Having my own little birthday cake helped things immensely. I'm sure a few sessions of therapy will clear up that PTLB (post-traumatic lobster boil) issue I'm having. 


Note to self: heavily medicate self if invited to another lobster boil.


In just a few short days, I will be fifty.  I am all good with it.  This has been an amazing two weeks, so I know it's going to be a great year.  I've got my AARP card and I know how to use it.  All I need is to get my birthday tattoo and life will be perfect.


I'm not sure what the tattoo will be, but I am darn sure I know what it won't be....

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Thinking of you, Spotted Owl and Ingabor Logjammer, at this most difficult time.  Godspeed to your furry friends.  
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Of Dog Food and Tax Time


Here's a photo of Freckles trying to take a nap in the sliver of sunlight that remains available this late in the year.  Oh, for a bit of sun to cure all our SAD.

All these years I have been feeding Freckles & Lucy the best of the best dog foods--meat as first ingredient, the least amount of fillers, a balance of canned foods along with dry kibble, the fewest gross ingredients, even organic when given the chance.  They certainly eat better than me and the wife. I did lots of research to find the best foods.  I read label after label of ingredients.  I special ordered things I couldn't find locally....

....but, after spending all that money on those vet bills this year--despite feeding them all that costly food--I've begun to question my sanity.  All that expensive, organic, high-quality dog food didn't seem to make them any healthier.  Here my dogs are eating caviar and all the other dogs on the planet are eating candy...guess who has the healthier dogs?  The owners with the dogs eating the "candy" food, that's who!

What is "candy" dog food, you ask? It's the cheap food you find in the grocery store--you know, the dog food most normal people give their dogs.

Could it be that--gasp!--the expensive dog food did little more besides make me poorer???

So, I gave in and purchased a bag of the "candy" food.  I figure  at this point it doesn't really matter and besides, they LOVE the candy food--what's not to love about eating candy? I eat candy.  I eat lots of candy.  It's not like Freckles is suddenly going to regain her eye sight or that Lucy is suddenly going to grow new teeth based on the quality of their food. They're old and deserve a little candy.  It's time to have some fun.

Don't panic--I'm mixing the candy food in with all that healthy, expensive food and I will continue to do so.  Even I can't live on candy alone.  I'll continue to give them that special prescription food that supposedly helps keep Lucy's teeth clean as well as the healthy, happy, wholesome food.

The only downside I've noticed is that they poop more.  I wasn't surprised by this, as many dog food reviews do indeed note that the better quality food leads to smaller, more compact, less frequent poop.  Of course, when one owns a Shih Tzu, it's not like giant poops are an issue.  I'm all good with a little more pooping.

As for the pending tax time, I've confirmed something I was hoping to be wrong about (apologies for the dangling participle).  Because we are in a civil union, we get to fill out our State tax forms as a couple--yeah!  I've waited a long time for that.  It rocks to be legal.  But, before we can enjoy the glory of being an officially civilized couple in the State, we first have to fill out the Federal forms "as if married" (that's the terminology the State uses) and then use the data from the "as if married" Federal forms to complete our State tax return on the "as if married" federal data. Meaning, the wife and I will each do our "as if married" federal taxes (separately but pretending not to be separate), then do our State Taxes together as if married, then each re-do our Federal taxes as single, as our "as if married" Federal forms are not legal. This hurts my head.  (Strangely enough, the State indicates that couples in civil unions cannot file electronically--they have to file the old fashioned way.  WTF?)  I can't say I'm looking forward to tax time--I can already hear the arguing:
Me:             "No! That's the State form! We need the Federal form."
The wife:    "Are we married or not on this form?"
Me:              "We're single."
The wife:     "Are you sure?"
Me:              "Of course I'm sure.  Is that the State or Federal form?"
The wife:     "It's the "as if married" form."
Me:               "Which is the Federal form on which we base the State form."
The wife:     "Yes."
Me:               "Then, we are single but we're acting as if married?"
The wife:    "If that's our real Federal forms, yes."
Me:              "Yes what?"
The wife:     "Yes, this is the real form which we are using to make the as if married form                            so we can base our State taxes on it."
Me:              "That's not the right form.  You've got the wrong form."
The wife:    "I've got the correct form.  You've got the wrong form."
Me:              "You know we can't file this on line."
The wife:     "Do we both have to file this or do we file one?"
Me:              "I don't know.  I just know we can't do it on line."

Thank goodness for tax-filing computer programs and for the wife being a math major. Start praying for us right now.

....hey, think all that expensive dog food is tax deductible?

I Do the I Do

I wrote this and then didn't post it. I don't know why I didn't post it--perimenopausal brain fart, I am sure.  Imagine my surprise when I found it dangling out in the Addiverse ozone.  Now that I found it, I'm gonna post it.  I'd hate for your to miss the opportunity to hear that I actually used my ordained minister prowess in the real world for a real wedding.....

I, sister-brother/sister-mister-reverend-warrior-princess, married two people.

Legally.  Seriously.  Incredibly.

     A bride and a groom.  Traditional.
            As an officially ordained minister.

Is life good or what?

(In case you are wondering, I went with the serious-sounding ordination credentials I possess.  I decided not to go with the "Church of the Latter Saint Dudes" ordination.  Maybe next time, dude.) 

The wife was rather frightened by the prospect of me utilizing my ordained minister status, but once I explained to her that this wasn't about me being a religious figure but rather me providing a service and having the credentials to do it, she seemed all good with it....albeit still frightened for the bride and groom.

A service.  I'm not here to talk about the baby Jesus or get all religious.  I am here to marry people.  The baby Jesus is welcomed to attend, but he needs to remain seated quietly in the front row, kind of like my mother and the wife had to remain seated quietly in the nearest set of bushes.  I am providing a professional service that is recognized--and required--by legal entities like the State.

I've decided that being a professional counselor is going to come in mighty handy if I start to get a lot of wedding gigs, as I was more a counselor than anything else yesterday.  Meeting with the bride before the ceremony required empathy, reassurance, skill-stepping....this with a rational, focused bride.  I imagine many brides are on the verge of hysteria, barking orders and trying not to totally freak out.  Standing there with the groom while waiting for the service to begin required the exact same thing.  (The way he was sweating and not speaking, I thought he was going to pass out....I never had that feeling from the bride, so score one for the bride.)  As a counselor-minister, I was able to run interference where it was needed to be run, although this family was thankfully VERY well-behaved and reserved. 

When not counseling, I was pious.  Well, kinda-sorta pious.  Okay, not even close to pious but very professional.

The day started out with pouring rain and stormy conditions.  As this was an outdoor wedding, the weather presented as a potential problem.  When it started to clear up later in the day, I knew it was going to be all right.  I had my lucky umbrella with and I knew if I brought the umbrella, it wouldn't rain. I put the umbrella in the front seat so I wouldn't forget it and then reassured the bride that the sun would indeed be out for the ceremony.  I don't think the bride was too sure I knew what I was talking about when I told her it wasn't going to rain....

It did not rain.

Out of respect to the bride and groom, I will say no more, although I have many thoughts and humorous tidbits. Maybe a few years down the road I'll be able to share many a story all mixed together....

After the ceremony, I was walking back to the car, lucky umbrella in hand.  A police office was driving by, stopped, rolled down his window and cheerfully noted, "well, at least it stopped raining!"  I agreed, held up my lucky umbrella and told him, "I knew if I brought my umbrella along, it wouldn't rain."  He laughed and asked if he could borrow it.  I told him in no uncertain terms: "no."

I can't be sharing my lucky umbrella, especially when I need it to "do the I do."

If you are feeling adventurous and have a hankerin' to get married, keep me in mind.  I'm cheap, I'm fun, I'm simple, I have a lucky umbrella and I can counsel you before/during/after the ceremony so you don't pass out/kill anyone/run screaming away down the street.  I'll even cover all my tattoos or wear a dress at your request...but, that's gonna cost you a whole lot more. 

Picnicking for the Civilized

Why have a boring reception when you can have a civilized picnic complete with a feather-boa-wearing poodle, wild girls smoking expensive cigars, water balloons flying at family members, face painting for all ages and catering by the local "Meals on Wheels?"


Here's the recipe for success:

Bring a straight of honor with a cleaning fetish......

(yes, she is using a leaf blower to blow cob webs out of the shelter before decorating)

......find a poodle wearing a boa:

.....invite a dear friend with a fondness for fine cigars.....

(hand to women who are willing to smoke such fine cigars)

....and, throw in to-die-for cupcakes.....















(Please ignore fly sitting on the cupcake)...

.....and let the picnicking begin.

Lest you think I am joking, here is the caterer:

Did I mention the to-die-for cupcakes that were waiting for us inside the Meals on Wheels truck?

That, boys and girls, is how to have a picnic for the civilized.  Just sayin.'

Eleven Minutes

In case you are wondering, you can get civilized in eleven minutes.  I thought it would only take ten minutes for civilization but was off by sixty seconds.

In case you are wondering, those eleven minutes of becoming civilized are the best eleven minutes of your life. And, they are the most terrifying for nervous nellies like me.

We are now officially and legally civilized. It didn't go exactly as planned, as the wife discovered both dogs had fleas jumping off of them just hours before she was scheduled to get ready for the civil union.   This led to undue stress and ten loads of laundry, unscheduled dog baths and frantic picking of the fleas.  At first, I thought she was kidding when she said the fleas were hopping off the dogs and on the floor; but, then I saw it with my two eye bulbs....I took one look at Freckles and a flea literally jumped off her back and onto the floor.

The picking of fleas, a last-minute wardrobe change (both of us), too small of white underwear (just me--no time to worry about that), an update to the vows (the wife), a change in the planned music (again, the wife, not me), a change in vehicles being used to get to the church (went in the new Mustang--despite everything I needed being in my car) and other such things led me to being late--well, later than we wanted, not technically late for the service--and, led to bickering beyond compare. 

Yes, bickering. 

In fact, we were so irritated with each other, the ordained minister had to step between us and tell us to knock it off.  The wife says, "You started it."  I probably did.  I was nervous beyond compare, everything I owned was in my car that was parked in the garage, there were fleas everywhere,  my underwear didn't fit and I was so excited I could barely remain conscious.  My goals were to stay upright, not blow a snot bubble, not poop my white pants, not sob.  I hadn't thought about "no bickering" as a goal to include on my list.

So, one of our friends hands us little purple bouquets she made for us, the ceremony starts exactly at 5 PM, our people are in place, the bickering has stopped.  Being that I was nervous, I kept leaning toward Master Pastor Reiki, reading along with her as she read the script.  She'd give me a little elbow shove, I'd lean right back in.  When not reading, I stared at the floor, the flowers, the wife's shoes, my shoes--anything but the wife.  It was noticeable enough that MJagger jabbed me in the back and loudly whispered, "look at your wife!" 

I tried.  I really did try.  But, I didn't want to cry or pass out so I stuck to leaning toward Master Pastor Reiki, reading the script and looking toward the ground.

I did look at the wife the entire time she read her vows, so that was a good thing.  Thankfully, I knew what she was going to say, so that helped me a lot.  Hearing it, though, is a lot better than reading it at the kitchen table.  Strangely enough, when she was done, I loudly said "thank you!"  That got quite the laugh.  I don't know what happened, but it just slipped out.  It seemed like the right thing to say.  I was thankful, after all.  The rest of the ceremony went swimmingly and eleven minutes later, it was over and we were dancing in the aisle.  Literally.

We had a few minutes of photo-taking so the eleven minutes could be properly documented.  MJagger insisted on a few "traditional shots," of which I had no need.  I indulged her need to have a photo of the "rings and flowers," of which I have included here.  I still can't believe I agreed to this, but I did. Oh, what we do for our friends.  For all of you asking, we did not get new rings.  We love our current rings.  We already have fabulous rings.  Besides, we spent all our money on back surgery & saving Freckles' life...money well spent, I might add.

Next came the signing of the license.  The State of Illinois needs to work on their civil union license.  It was very confusing.  We all took turns trying to figure out who was supposed to sign where, only there was nowhere to sign--it just asked for the printed names of the witnesses.   Even the "been-to-a lot-of weddings-heterosexual -type friends" didn't know how to fill it out.  We didn't have to sign it, they didn't have to sign it. Here's hoping we got it right. 

For those of you wondering: yes, I did get to wear my red-for-fun vegan Earth shoes.  I wore them to the restaurant and to our dessert outing.  We at a tasty dinner at a Mexican restaurant-our favorite food--and, then we went to Dairy Queen. We are a class act.  Only the best for our friends.

As we were eating our Blizzards and Peanut Butter Parfaits, a most wonderful thing happened: a rainbow appeared right over the Dairy Queen.  How gay is that?  Then, an even more wonderful thing happened: a double rainbow appeared.  I couldn't believe it!  I ran outside and took a photo, as illustrated in the photo above. 

Eleven perfect minutes and a double rainbow.  It doesn't get any better than that.

Giddy up!

The wife and her straight of honor are on a mission today.  It involves a horse.  A blue horse.  A blue horse in the Cheddarlands.

Yes, the wife is on her way to buy a new Mustang.....in a cheesehead town three hours away....selling her two cars at the same time in the same town....on a day I can't leave town.....without ever seeing or driving the exact car.

If you are going to have excitement, you might as well go all the way.  I've created this monster.  (Yes, this is a photo of the exact car.  It's all she's been going on.  What have I done?)

Those of you who know the wife know that she LOVES her cars; in fact, it is a safe venture to say she loves her cars more than she loves me.  I'm all good with that....although, it took me many a year and a lot of therapy to embrace this fact.  She cleans them, waxes them, caresses them, keeps them out of the elements, vacuums them, adores them.  Think I'm kidding? Last night, Cheeseball neighbor says to me, "she has an unhealthy relationships with her cars." That would be very true.  She doesn't park under tress (sap), park near store entrances (carts, car doors), eat in the car (stains, odors), let me drive them (accident waiting to happen), ride in them (finger prints and dirty shoes).  She loves them.  Tenderly.  Fully.  Ridiculously.

The wife just about makes loves to her current Mustang.  She loves, loves, loves that car.  Problem is that she can't drive it--ever since hurting her back, she hasn't been able to drive the stick shift without being in incredible pain both during and after the drive.  It's been sitting in the garage, sad and lonely, nary a horse hoof to be heard. Although she told herself otherwise for months, she finally came to the correct conclusion that she and her Mustang were no longer going to be friends.  She would not be returning to glory in her machine of beauty.

Since it became pretty clear that driving a stick shift is no longer in the wife's repertoire, she's been toying with getting a new car.  Those of you who know the wife know this is like a three year ordeal--she takes her time, researches the prices, the reviews, the dealers, the makers--everything.  It literally takes her years.  So, when she announced she was going to start looking for a car, I didn't pay much attention.  I figured she'd drive the "grandma-mobile" for a year or two and then buy the car of her choice.

It's been TEN years since the wife bought a new car. To illustrate her love of this car, all I have to tell you is the mileage: 35,000.  That's 3500 miles a year.  (I think I drive that in a month!) I'm serious when I say she doesn't drive it in winter, rain or construction.  This makes buying a car even harder for the wife--she's got this pristine Mustang, shiny and perfect, in unbelievable condition, which she loves and covets....and, she can't sell it for more than a pittance.  It doesn't matter that it only has 35,000 miles and is as clean as an operating room.  It doesn't matter it has never seen snow or street salt.  All that matters is that it is ten years old and that means the price is mighty low.  It is a mighty blow to have to try and sell that car.

Back to the wife buying a car.  She's been looking at all these boring cars of brands....mainly four door, family cars.  It's just awful.  Not her at all.  The wife was born to drive a sports car.  Sigh.  I watch in horror, hoping to the Car Gods that she really doesn't end up with one of these sedans.  She emails dealers, visits dealerships on Sundays, talks to dealers...always looking at cars that do not match her psyche.  She doesn't even look excited or happy or moved by any of the cars--she is missing the mark.  I want to scream "THESE CARS DON'T MATCH YOU!" 

Then, it occurs to me: the problem isn't the Mustang--it's the stick shift.  Why is she looking at yucky old people cars when she can buy a new Mustang--an AUTOMATIC Mustang?  I stop myself from speaking--after all, an automatic Mustang borders on sacrilege.....but, it's the perfect answer.  Either buy a new, automatic Mustang or get an automatic put in the current stick shift car.  I chew on my lip and think carefully before speaking.  I quietly, meekly suggest the unthinkable:

"Why don't you get a new Mustang--an automatic?" 

She stares at me as if I have three heads.  Then, I see the light go on.  Then, I see a glimmer of hope.  Then, I see excitement start to surface.  Then, I see the wheels turning--Mustang wheels!

Yes, a new Mustang makes perfect sense.  Well, kind of.  Driving a Mustang year-round in northern Illinois doesn't make sense at all.  But, it does make perfect sense in relation to the wife.  The car matches her.  Winter be damned, it makes sense.

Long story short, she found a Mustang, bought the Mustang and had it delivered three hours away.  Don't ask.  I'm not kidding when I say she bought it sight unseen, at a dealership she has never been to. She didn't see a photo of the actual car until her brother emailed it to her as the deal was being made.

This is not the wife I know but I am truly enjoying it.

  The wife sold her cars to her brother, who thankfully lives in the town where the new Mustang awaits the wife's arrival.  It'll be quite the ordeal--a three hour trip (great for people recovering from back surgery), a how-many-hour dealer transaction, a three hour trip back home.  Of course the trip home will be a lot faster than the trip there.....a new horse has a lot more energy than some ten year old mare being put out to pasture......

Giddy up, girlfriend!  Let the new love fest begin.

Vow Wow

Dearest Minions, do not despair--I haven't forgotten you.  I've been busy practicing my ordain minister techniques. Well, okay--the only thing I've done so far besides read my letters of good standing and read the Latter Day Dude manifesto is bless my niece's graduation cake (quite to her horror, I am sure).  Just call me "Her Homo Holiness" and give me a break.  The baby Jesus and I have a lot to cover in a short amount of time.  Besides, I am supposed to be writing my vows, not a blog.  Who has time for mindless babbling when there are vows to be written?  I've stepped away from the farm so I can concentrate on appropriate (okay, semi-appropriate) behavior related to pending civil union this and that.  I'm kind of not doing much of anything because I'm not really sure if there is anything I should be doing.  The wife's straight of honor is doing all sorts of things.  She's making me nervous.  What does she know that I don't know?

For the record: we're not having a cake nor will we be wearing white nor will be having two bride statues on the non-cake.  I just thought the illustration was fun.  I'm thinking a tiara might be okay, tho.....

Congratulations are in order to Three Hawk and Argo Warrior Princess, as they have secured their civilization in the great state of Illinois.  They are the first people we actually know to get civilized.  Oh sure, we've heard about other people, but we didn't know them--we KNOW Three Hawk and Argo.  (I've know Argo since college, for cry eye. She's old news. ha!) Congratulations Squared to Argo, as she is now an ordained minister, too!!  Great minds think alike.  We can do two-for-one specials when we take our show on the road.  She can do the serious parts, I'll do the irreverent parts.  Or, she can talk and I can do the interpretive dancing.  Or, she can dress up as Xena and I'll dress up as Gabrielle and I will read from my scrolls while she beats the tar out of anyone who falls asleep during the ceremony.

Our friend Phlange-a-slam decided to join the ministry fun, too.  When she heard our master pastor person of choice might not be able to do our ceremony, she took matters into her own hands, got ordained and alerted us that she is on stand by in case Master Pastor can't say the words that legally need to be said.  How awesome is that? We have the best friends--I mean, how many of you can say your friend got ordained in case you need a minister at a moment's notice???

You know, the three of us should start our own church.........

Back to the vows.  I just have to say a few sincere words.  Nothing too profound.  Nothing lengthy. Just something personal and from the heart. I.can.do.it!  To make it interesting (and, in an effort to avoid the seriousness that lies before me), I've asked for vow-writing input via book de la face.  I guarantee I'm going to get some stellar suggestions.  Within minutes, I had a posting about what to wear:

Now, THAT'S hot!  If it doesn't work out for the civil union, I can always wear it when I'm serving in an ordained minister capacity.  I better pack up some extra AA batteries.  Don't want to run out of juice in the middle of ministering or civilizing......

I know you can't wait to hear about who performed the ceremony, to learn about what words were spoken and to see photos of me wearing this dress.  Only a few more days, boys and girls!

Until then, please know that Freckles Warrior Princess is out of control.  She continues to eat four times a day and is still waking us up at night when she needs a midnight snack.  I'm not kidding. She's super demanding.  And, loud. The dog who used to eat once every other day now eats four friggin' times a day. She looks different.  She IS different.  I think that  brush with death fixed her right up.  The dog is perky, spunky, happy.  It's ridiculous.  We don't know what to think.  At times, all we can do is laugh.

The wife's happy.  The dog's happy.  That means I'm happy.

I'll be happier if I get to wear that dress.....I wonder if the lights blink? And, will my red vegan gym shoes clash?
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Get Civilized, Dude

You shall now kiss my ring and refer to me as "Your most Reverend Pastor Sister Brother Addi Warrior Princess."  I am an ordained minister.

Sweet!

As civil union fame and glory develops in Illinois, it was brought to my attention that some peeps are having a wee bit of trouble securing ordained ministers to perform their unions.  I'm not sure how it's going down at the court house, but if you want the real thing, you gotta have an ordained minister.

That got me thinking.  I've heard about becoming ordained on line and thought this might be an entertaining thing to check out.  So, I plopped myself at the kitchen table, fired up the computer and googled with the best of them.  Google, google, google....Wow!

I am here to tell you: there are a LOT of ways to get ordained on line, many of which are free.

I decided to first check out what appeared to be the most popularly-displayed provider of on line ordination.  I'd heard of them before so it wasn't a complete surprise.  Yes, it was free.  Yes, I could apply on line.  No, I didn't need to do anything but give them my name & address.  Yes, you can do exorcisms if you so choose.  Yes, it's legal in most states.  Hmmmm. Type, type, type, click......

Ta-da! Ordained minister!  Sweet Baby Jesus, thank you for accepting me!  Bring on the brides and brides!


Since that was too easy, I decided to check out the "Church of the Latter Day Dudes."  How could I pass up a "religion" based on a bowling movie?  I couldn't.  Dudeism is based on "The Big Lebowski."  I'm not gonna try and explain the movie--just know that you REALLY have to like the "F" word if you are gonna try and digest this 1998 movie.  I'm not gonna try to explain the premise of the Latter Day Dude--that's why the invented the web site.  Suffice it to say I am now an ordained minister in what they consider "the slowest-growing, most laid back religion" that preaches non-preaching.  Who needs a master's degree when you can be an ordained dude?

In case you think I am kidding, check out http://dudeism.com/ordination/


So, if you are looking for someone who can legally marry you in the State of Illinois, I'm your bowler.  I'm your dude.  I'm your most reverend pastor sister-brother. I'm your high priestess of the ten pin.

I gotta get me one of those suitable for framing ordained minister certificates.....I smell a new business opportunity.........................

Licensed to Civilize

Today was a banner day: we decided to go out civil union license from the county clerk's office.  My favorite number is "3," so we figured why not? It's the third day of the month and the third day they are doing civil union licensing. Why wait when there are lucky threes to be had? I gathered up my divorce papers and prepared for our big day.

I am here to tell you: I was a nervous, sweaty, excited mess getting this license. I was mostly an over-the-top-happiness mess, but after waiting so very long for anything like this to happen, it was hard not to be nervous.  Truth be told, I didn't think this day would ever happen.  Not knowing what to expect, not knowing what we were doing and not knowing much of anything except that we needed our driver's licenses and twenty bucks in cash made it all the more perspiration-filled. 

Many people find it quite humorous that I do not recall one-one-billionth of applying for my marriage license back in my previous life.  No offense to my ex-husband (or, to my parents who shelled out thousands and thousands and thousands of dollars), I do not remember one thing related to this process.  I certainly don't remember going to the County Clerk's office and I know we had to in order to get a marriage license.  I remember signing the license after the wedding, but getting the license? I got nuthin'.

I thought long and hard about what to wear.  Seriously.  I knew I would remember this day for the rest of my life, so I knew the outfit had to be perfect. 

 

My decision: my Lady Gaga t-shirt.  After all, she says we were born this way.  For those of you who think I'm kidding, here's a photo of me, my Gaga t-shirt and the license.  Notice Lucy is in the background, wondering what the hell I am doing.

I also decided to wear my favorite-ist red-for-fun Earth shoes, as they completed the outfit in a way only Lady Gaga could appreciate. 

Once we finally got to the county clerk's office (note to self: check address before leaving house), we found ourselves alone--nary a soul in sight.  No straight people looking for marriage licenses, no couples of mixed or same sex looking for civil union licenses. No media, no protesters, no nothing. It was deliciously quiet. We bellied up to the bar--er, counter--and waited for our moment.  A friendly-but-not-too-scary-friendly woman in lime green inquired what we needed.  I somehow choked out, "we're here to get a license for a civil union." The words I have been waiting to say, now said! Next thing we knew, we were being handed paperwork and being asked various questions of no-relation-that-I-could-see to the process.  (Example: Why the State of Illinois need to know or even care about where our parents were born?)  I had been wondering why various sources indicated it takes 15-20 minutes to complete the process--now I knew why--all the questions! I sure don't remember answering any of these questions back in the day. 

I think my favorite question was, "have you ever been in a civil union before?"  I pondered this and then said, "I have been married and am legally divorced, but I've never been in a civil union."  Her reaction assured me I was not the first person to answer in this manner.  From what I gather, the State of Illinois didn't get all this thought through before June 1st--they should be asking if you had been married or civilized before.  Perhaps they thought all gay people were never married.  Hard to tell.  No matter, she didn't want to see my divorce papers (which was kind of disappointing) and didn't need to acknowledge my days of matrimony for the State's records.  

It was actually rather fun and gratefully low key.  The lady had a nice sense of humor and we had several laughs during the process.  The wife's prowess at grading papers came in handy and she spotted some errors in the information. Once the corrected version was presented, I politely pointed out that she had printed out a marriage license form, not a civil union form. That would have made things interesting.  We learned that eight couples signed up on Day One; seven couples signed up on Day Two.  Not exactly a rush of civil union madness.  We had some laughs about the media being on site the first day, we enjoyed mindless banter for most of the happening. At one point, the wife accidentally dropped her driver's license on the floor and said, "pick that up for me--I can't get that." We didn't think anything of this--the wife can't bend over at this point after back surgery.  We then had a chuckle, thinking about what the clerk lady might have thought of that: "Wow, this girl has her partner TRAINED! She doesn't even have to pick up her own things--she just points!"

To end the formal process, we had to raise our right hands and swear we were telling the truth, especially about the part that we are not related. With our solemn vow, we were handed our official license, our keep sake license, an envelope for which to mail the completed license and a pamphlet on sexually transmitted diseases. 

I wish I could say I then swept the wife off her feet or we fell into some ridiculously gross, passionate kiss.... but, I'd be lying.  You know I am not the public display of affection type.  You know I am far from the romantic type.  So, what did I do? 

I am embarrassed to admit that I high-fived the wife.  Seriously.  I ended our historic day with a high five while wearing a Lady Gaga t-shirt.

If that doesn't scream love, I don't know what does.

 And your little dog, too

Blog? What blog?  I almost forgot I have a blog, what--with season finale season upon us, the wife's surgery, Lucy's lumpy head, all that grass mowing....oh, the grass mowing!--the release of Gaga's newest album, Freckles continued progress, the growth of baby bunnies in the front lawn and the chance to see Blue Man Group surrounded by fabulous family, I can barely remember my name, let alone a blog.  But, here I am, squeezing us in between DVR'd Glee and DWTS, before tonight's season finales of AI and Modern Family, after listening to Gaga's album once again and while farming my crystals on that damn fake farm of mine.  BTW, Gaga sold her album on Amazon for only 99 cents the day it was released.  That woman is a genius.  Madonna taught her well.

Quick update: the wife's recovery is going as planned.  She's doing the best she can to behave.  I'm doing the best I can to keep the house in an acceptable state.  The dogs are plugging along. The civil union planning can soon resume. We are a bunch of happy campers in the Addiverse!

This weekend, a storm swooped down upon our dwelling.  Blue Eyes and Master Pastor Reiki were over for dinner (brought a deliciously mean 15 bean soup--who knew there were 15 different kinds of beans to put in a soup?) when the weather turned sour.  One minute, warm and pretty; the next, tornado sirens and black skies.  We had been watching the weather and had the TV on in the background, so we knew some storms were literally on the horizon.  The TV channels screamed out their warnings while we ate all 15 kinds of beans. (Don't forget the home-made cornbread, the wife's favorite sweet tea and that naughty cheesecake.  No storm can interfere with my food.) Then, the tornado sirens started blaring.  Blue Eyes and the wife understandably couldn't get into the basement fast enough. I shooed them--along with the dogs--down into the lower level.  Me? I like storms. I didn't run to the basement.  I wandered around, gathered some things, set up our little "station" in the basement and took another gander at the  television weather report.

So we're clear, please know that you should NOT waste time grabbing a camera when a storm is approaching and you SHOULD go into the basement.  And, take storms seriously. Don't get ignorant.  I have two words for you: Joplin, Missouri.  (Shout out and prayers to Joplin.)

Perhaps you are wondering what I gathered up for our stay in the basement.  I first want to mention the local TV anchors as the storm was heading to town. I have to say, I've never heard the weather guys get freaked out by a storm....they usually are all excited, babbling as they explain to us what's on the radar.  In this case, there were two male meteorologists and one female non-weather anchor on the channel, all three talking about the pending arrival of the storm--just their voices, only the radar image on the screen. Their station is out in the boonies, way out on the west side of town, surrounded by cornfields and not much else. Suddenly, they started sounding REALLY nervous.  I think the lady might have been crying.  You could hear the storm rocking the TV station.  It was at this point the three of them realized they needed to take cover.  I'm paraphrasing, but the head meteorologist basically said, "I know we are here to keep the 300,000 persons of the area informed, but we are going to the basement!"  With that, there was only the radar and the sound of the storm.  I was pretty incredulous--I have never heard TV personnel abandon ship like that.  Makes sense, though.  I took this as a bad sign but wasn't very fazed.  Yet.

So, what did I gather when wandering around before the storm landed in the Addiverse?  Well, I would like to tell you the first thing I grabbed had to do with safety, but in reality it was my camera.  I didn't put it down one time during the entire ordeal.  Camera in hand, I made sure we had the safety supplies in the basement: flashlights, extra batteries, a few candles, one of those lighter things for the grill, the wife's cell phone and a bag of Ghiardelli dark chocolate.  (One must have priorities when being safe.)  Next, I put the collars and leashes on the dogs--I wanted to make sure people would know who they were and where they belonged if they blew away.  Seriously. By this time, the hail was pelting the house.  I then secured the important things: my laptop and my purse, stuffing my purse with as much as would fit, including a baggy full of those ever-so-coveted O.B. Super Plus tampons.  (The hell if I was gonna let those things blow away. They're like gold.)  I thought about grabbing my Xena scrapbook.....but, my thoughts were interrupted by the increasing volume, rumbling and growling of the storm.  I literally stopped in my tracks and listened to the roar of the approaching storm.  It did indeed sound like a train.....


I stopped farting around and took myself right to the basement.  You know things are serious if I'm in the basement.

We sat there and listened.  We waited. And, waited. And, waited.  As the roar got louder, I asked aloud, "so, which IS the safest wall if a tornado approaches?" 

Finally, the storm passed and we were no worse for the wear.  We didn't even have time to eat the chocolate. I can't say the same for others--there was damage to be had for many of our friends.  Blue Eyes and Master Pastor Reiki learned that a funnel cloud was spotted right by their neighborhood--so, they hopped in their car and sped home to ensure all was semi-well.  The TV personnel returned to their places, the dogs no longer had to wear their leashes, the wife returned to the couch and the Xena scrap book and boxes of O.B. super-plus tampons remained unscathed.

I had me some leftover cheesecake and called it a day.  After all, I had to be rested up for the next day's event: the release of Gaga's album.  The rest, as they say, would be history.

Misery Loves Company

The wife says to me, "I thought you wrote a new blog."  I respond, "I did."  She politely informs me that there is no new blog post. GASP! Wherever has it gone? 

Happy Spring! I don't know about you, but I'm sure happy to see leaves on trees, longer days and the annual "putting away the snow pants" ritual completed. I love when the leaves suddenly pop open and everything is green--it's like, when did this happen? POW POW! GREEN! I'm serious--the leaves popped out within the last 15 minutes. Our lawn is looking good, no thanks to me. I haven't gotten around to weeding or edging, the mulch is everywhere but on the flowerbeds and I lack a lot in the mowing department. At least all the perennial things are looking good, as illustrated in the photos of our trees and early-blooming plants.  Love me some bleeding hearts and blossoming cherry trees.  I'm hoping this weekend will bring nice enough weather so I can edge and weed. Maybe I will secretly hide in the yard while doing this, just to see what happens.....because......

I've blogged about the wife.
I've blogged about the dog.
I shall now blog about the wife as related to the dog.
Or, maybe I will blog about the wife as related to the dog.

There is something REALLY weird going on in the Addiverse.

As you know, two weeks ago, I left the wife and dog behind to join some friends for fun....by mid-day, the dog was back to shooting rounds of bloody diarrhea and the wife was overcome with pain, reduced to tears. Once I returned home, the pooping stopped and the wife was able to relax.

And, as you know, a week ago, I left the wife and dog behind for the day....by mid-day, the dog was back to repeated bouts of diarrhea and the wife was once again in overwhelming pain and shedding more tears. Both look like death warmed over. Once again, I came home, the pooping stopped and the wife was able to go to bed.

Yesterday, when the wife was leaving after lunch to returning to work, the dog freaked out--jumping around, frantic, just about throwing herself at the wife.  Today, the dog peed on the rug.

This is not typical warrior princess behavior. What on earth is going on in the Addiverse?

I am beginning to think this is not an Addisonian crisis, but rather a "worried about the wife canine conundrum." I think the two seemingly separate issues have become inexplicably tied to each other. Which came first is like asking the chicken/egg question.

These two give the saying, "I feel your pain" a whole new meaning.  The dog and the wife: misery loves company.

See why I want to secretly hide in the yard this weekend? I'll tell the wife I'm going somewhere (hmmmmm, where to say?), go out the door as if I am really going somewhere, and then I will be "gone" but not really gone. I'll pretend like I'm going out of town and go to Wally World and the garden instead. Then, I will wait, wait, wait....see if any poop starts shooting out or crying increases. This might be genius!

Here's a photo of Freckles howling through the screen door, Lucy in the background, wondering what the heck is going on.

Freckles has always been a guard dog. Over the years, she has been especially loyal to the wife. Whether it be guarding after the wife's surgery in 2008 or guarding after a long, painful day, Frecks is always at the ready. It really isn't too surprising that the dog would sense and be affected by the wife's pain. Freckles "knows." Well, as much as a dog can "know" anything.

I'm not quite sure it is the dog that is affected by the wife--it may be the other way around. Perhaps it is a two-way street, each having quite the effect on the other. They truly do understand each is in pain.  The chicken and the egg arrived at the same time.

I try to focus on some form of normalcy but none is to be had these days. We no longer have normal conversations in the Addiverse. We spend time talking about dog poop or pain. We spend time looking at poop, wondering about poop, asking each other if we remember how the poop used to be. We spend time contemplating vomit: Freckles threw up her dinner tonight right after eating it--is this a symptom of a current medical crisis? Is this just because she's a pig and has always done this since we got her? Is this a long-standing symptom that we've overlooked for 10 years? If you have a symptom for ten years, does it really matter? We talk about whether or not Freckles should take her Benadryl, if I've killed her by giving her Benadryl over the years. We don't speak aloud of how Freckles is or isn't doing, as each time we whisper words of joy, she gets sick again. We wonder if she is in pain.  We then turn to the wife. We talk about the wife's efforts to function while in such pain. We talk about the merit of pain pills, of taking or not taking pain pills, of ways to feel better for a minute or two, of "making it" without ibuprofen 'til the day of surgery, of me taking pain pills.  We then talk about how we need to not focus on poop, illness, pain.  We need to focus on what we want, what will need, what we have just for the asking.  We need to be thankful the poop is fine before the poop literally looks fine.  We need to talk about the weather or the most recent episode of Modern Family or enjoying the company of friends or about getting a new tattoo for the civil union. (I just threw that one in there.  There really isn't any talk of this.  Although.....)

The wife has little worry dolls sitting on the kitchen table, one for each of us. "We" lay on the little alter, waiting for the worry to seep away. So far, the dolls look no worse for the wear and we look like a truck ran over us.

She needs to get some bigger worry dolls.

Actually, I need "I feel helpless" dolls.  All I can do is be nice, be understanding and try to mow the lawn the way the wife would like it mowed.

And so, we play the waiting game, waiting for the wife's day of surgery to arrive, waiting for prolonged pooping success by the dog, waiting for me to go out of town, waiting for the pain meds to kick in.  We forget what we want to talk about and worry about things we are trying to let go.  Thankfully, the wife has announced she wants to buy an iPad before the surgery so she has something to do while recuperating.  This is music to my ears.  Something happy for her on which to focus.

I know that once the wife's surgery is successfully completed, the dog will rebound and the wife will be delightful.  The relief will probably be felt across the nation.  Gas prices will fall, world peace will reign, responses for the civil union will pour in and every dog will have its day.

The day for surgery can't come soon enough for me...and, I'm not the one in pain.  Hit the road, misery-- you make for lousy company.

Of Ear Condoms & Motor Scooters


With all the nonsense that's been going on in the Addiverse, I've been neglecting my Decorah baby eaglets.  Suffice it to say they are quite large--boy, they grow FAST--and, are keeping their parents busy by screaming for food.  Here's a picture of a proud parent feeding one of the babies--no, it's not blurry....one of the birds pooped on the camera and so now everything is seen through a murky lens. (Those babies can really shoot some poop.  Just sayin.') It's not like someone can go up there and clean it, so we bow to nature and see what we can through the bird poop.  Maybe a blinding rain (blinding but safe for eagles rain) will head through Decorah and wash it clean.  For the record, it is rather disgusting to watch an eagle r-r-r-r-rip some animal product parts off the animal carcass to feed the peeps, but know that this is reality.  I may be able to eat tofu ice cream but in the real word, chunks of dead bunny is the breakfast of champions.

In the frenzy, I haven't celebrated the release of Gaga's second video ("Judas"), I haven't sought out a friend with HBO so I can watch Gaga's Madison Square Garden concert tonight and I haven't been yipping about the release of her new album (slated for May 23rd).  I feel like I've let Mother Monster down, but I'm back on it, so watch out, Little Monsters!

If you get a chance, watch the video for Judas.  Oh my.  Thank goodness Madonna paved the way for Gaga, as if Madonna hadn't, people would be piddling all over themselves about this.  The apostles never looked better--black leather biker gang, with thorn-of-crowns Jesus in the lead. Love, love, love the aesthetics of this video. (I also think Gaga looks good in a bandanna.  I think I might have to rock this style.) Everyone will be busy lamenting over the religious context and thus miss the point of the song--being cheated on three times and still being in love.  Actually, if Madonna hadn't made her 1980's and 1990's music videos, I doubt Gaga would have been able to make this video.  Think, "Like a Prayer" by Madge.....a black, blood-crying Jesus comes to life while Madonna sings in front of burning crosses. Heresy in the day--boring, tame stuff by today's standards.  I love Gaga but know that without Madonna, Gaga would not exist.  Props to the Queen of Pop!  You know I will always be True Blue to Her Madgesty.


If you dont' like Gaga's new song (or, Gaga at all, I suppose), she suggests you wear an ear condom.  At least that's what she says in "Judas."  How can you not love a Holy Fool who is in love with Judas who suggests you wear an ear condom?  So, grab an ear condom and ignore the hype if you must.

You know, I think you need to see the video.  If you start to get nervous or hyperventilate, just keep repeating to yourself, "IT'S A METAPHOR!" After reading the rest of this blog (me first!), watch the video (link below at end of my babbling) and let me know what you think.  I give it two paws up.  I think I'll post a Madonna video, too--for comparison and in homage.

I hate to admit that I've neglected the civil union stuff, as every time I went to mail the invites or what not, the dog and/or the wife would spiral into a deep, dark place and thus I needed to tend to them, not the civil union preparation.  Well, I am back on it and will be sending out the invites soon--most likely later today.  If you don't get one, you can always ask--this is no time to be shy. Due to mounting vet bills and a moment of sanity, I've cut back on the number of invitees, but am always open to including those who ask. (I've probably also lost a few of the invites along the way, as they've been in various locations in the car, in the kitchen, in my office.) If you are looking for some civil union merchandise, go to Book de la Face and type in "got civilized."  You can check out the products for sale (stickers, t-shirts, bracelets) and "like" the site at the same time.  A local woman came up with the idea.  She's using a local woman to produce the wares, so that's even better. Support local business while showing your civilization pride!

Today will be a busy day, as the wife has much she wants to accomplish before her surgery.  We won't be able to go out of town to see her family as anticipated--she can't ride in a car that long.  She won't be able to ride in a car tomorrow to see my family, either--too long of a ride.  Instead, I will drag her around town in short spurts of getting-business-done trips, drive her right up to the door, pick her up right at the door and encourage her to take breaks along the way.  I told her she should use those scooters they have in the box stores....she didn't take too kindly to that idea, so I think I won't mention it again.  But, c'mon--can't you just see her zipping up and down the aisles on one of those things?  Who needs a motorcycle when you've got a scooter? She could get all hopped up on pain killers....wear studded black leather, a bandanna and fishnet stockings while cruising down the aisles of Wally-word....perched on one of their killer scooters, singing "Judas," throwing dog treats, naughty snacks and frozen pizzas in the basket.

Quite the visual, don't you think?

Compare, contrast, contemplate and have a nice day.

Gaga:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wagn8Wrmzuc

Madonna: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lA983t3Rdzs

Hump Day Babbling

Ah, the Warrior Princess sporting pot holders.  Truly a sign of improved health and great karma.  Today was her first day without diarrhea, so it's safe to sport pot holders.  If the diarrhea should return, the pot holders will have to go.

The wife, on the other hand, is not sporting pot holders.  She'll be having back surgery in two weeks.  She's gonna need more than pot holders to get through that ordeal.

Allow me to brag about the wife, won't you? She is such the over-achiever.  She doesn't waste time having a simple bulging disk or a regular ol' herniation. She goes for the gold with the blow out extrusion. The neurosurgeon kept saying how "huge" her extrusion is....kind of like how impressively large her now-extinct uterus was, I'm guessing.  The guy referred to her delicious disk as "a huge, dramatic rupture."  For those of you wondering how huge it is, I tell you this: it is filling her spinal column--and, I do mean filling. Those cross-section MRI photos were enough to hold my attention.  Thankfully, she will be having the surgery at a Catholic hospital--the place her uterus was last seen and home of the habit-wearing 150 year old nuns. I am confident all will go swimmingly.


Now that Freckles is on the mend and the wife's surgery has been scheduled, I can mail out the civil union invitations.  I've been driving around town with them in my car for the past two or more weeks. First, they were on the front seat; then, I put them in the trunk, only to end up throwing them in the back seat. Today, they went back in the trunk so I could put Freckles in the back seat (another trip to the vet). I wasn't sure there would be a picnic, but the wife has given me the go-ahead to mail them.  Party on!


Speaking of party on, I would like to wish my parents a very happy 50th anniversary.  (They got married when they were 5 years old, so they are very young celebrators of 50 years.)  That is an amazing thing.  I hope you will congratulate them when you next cross paths.  Of course, if you do not know my parents (and, I assume the three of you readers do not), you can leave a message here.  Perhaps they would like a copy of Lady Gaga's new album (which is coming out May 23rd) as a gift for this momentous occasion.  I mean, what better gift is there after 50 years of marriage? What can better say "congratulations" than that?  Nothing.

Well, nothing except a pot holder.  Pot holders say "I love you." Pot holders are perfect for all occasions.  

Except for times of diarrhea...then, not so much.

Freckled

For those of you who were sick of civil union posts, you are in luck: you are now going to hear over and over about dogs.  Specifically, our dogs.  More specifically, Freckles.

After another night of no sleep and lots of what I guess you would call poop (but not poop at all--I will spare you the description), Freckles is back at the vet.  I asked them to re-hydrate her, as we can't be having a dehydrated dog for Easter.  I held her through most of the night, putting her down only when she demanded to go outside and do whatever it is you would call she was doing.  About 2 A.M., I thought about taking her to the emergency vet. Thankfully, she then fell asleep at 4 A.M. and didn't move until 6 A.M.  Of course, at that point, I could not sleep and instead lay in a semi-coma-funk worrying about the dog.  I pondered what the day would bring and thanked the baby Jesus for letting Freckles make it through the night without further incident.


When we got to the vet's office, there was a giant dog in the waiting room.  Usually, Freckles would have gone after that thing like there was no tomorrow--she's the alpha dog bitch that always makes quite the entrance when other minions of what she perceives to be her world pack are around.  Instead, she looked at the dog, didn't make a peep and wagged her tail.  Wagged her tail! I knew she was really sick when I saw that.  I handed her off to the vet tech and watched her once again go behind the door.

Side note: As I am beyond tired, I'm not sure what I have and haven't blogged about in the Freckles department--I get confused with all the blogging, emails and Book de la Face.  I apologize to you who have read about this in emails and on Book de la Face.  I promise this will contain new material, so don't be wimping out on me and not read through my babbling.

Hemorrhagic gastroenteritis.  HGE as it is called, is what the Warrior Princess seems to have.  This disgusting issue/disease/whatever is quite the nasty thing to have if you are a dog--or, a goat, per my friend, who had several baby pet goats die from this--how awful.  Anyways, as long as you catch HGE in time, all is well--keep the dog from getting dehydrated lest they die within 24 hours.  Yes, die. Although it sounds very much like I am being a drama queen, I assure you that I am not.  Google away and you'll know more than you wanted to know and that the 24 hour mark is vital.  Many an article on the always-completely-accurate internet (cough!) indicates that although dogs usually recover no worse for the wear, they will die if not attended to within 24 hours.  Sheesh. 
 
To give you an idea of what this whole thing is like, I quote Whole Dog Journal: "Owners who describe how they discovered their dogs in what looked like a slaughterhouse or execution scene aren’t exaggerating."

Here's a video of Freckles crawling, pre-illness.  How can you not love a dog who can crawl on command?

The good news is that hemorrhagic gastroenteritis is not thought to be contagious. I prefer Lucy not have an episode of HGE, as I can barely take one dog having this problem.  The thought of two sick dogs and one miserable wife makes me want to stick my head in a vat of ice cream and never come out.

There are a ton of theories for causes of HGE; I don't care about causes or theories as long as Freckles gets better and stays that way.

I'll pick her highness up later this morning and we'll be on our way, no food or fun to be had for her on this day. She'll be stuck having a blob of peanut butter with a pill in it until the raspberry jam stops shooting from her butt. I know she'll be happy again when I pick her up, as that hydration thing made a world of difference last time--it was like she was a new dog. I am guessing I'll have to take her back for further re-hydration on Monday and perhaps again in the week.  I'm all good with it as long as recovery is close at hand.

Again, I say: it is ridiculous how much I love this dog. 

But, what's not to love?

Mug O' Nuked Cake

With the wife out of town, the crappy weather (SNOW in April is just plain rude) and all my on-line courses completed for the day (there's only so many of those you can do before you become delirious AND the before governing bodies start to get suspicious of how the hell you did all those courses in one day), I decided I needed a snack.  As I'm feeling a need for something warm and comforting but simple enough that nothing will go wrong while the wife is away, I decided on the "Healthier Cake in a Mug" recipe.

You've probably heard of a Cake in a Mug--it's an amazing thing that takes three minutes to make in the microwave.  Well, this is the same thing except somehow it is supposed to be healthier, or so says Pot Holder Grrrrrl.  I don't care if it's healthier or not; I just want some warm cake with a scoop of vanilla bean ice cream on it and not have any baking disasters while making it.

Note to the wanna-be vegan in me: That scoop of ice cream and one egg in the cake is so screwing up the vegan intentions.  Ah well, my drive-through breakfast yesterday was nowhere near vegan and there was a witness, so I can't deny it: I was on the cell phone with a co-worker doing on-call business when it was my turn to order.  I asked her to hold on and then proceeded to order my not healthy-not-vegan-at-all breakfast.  When I got back to my co-worker, I said "Sorry about that! Thanks for waiting."  To which she replied, "THAT didn't sound very vegan."  I don't think she heard me order the cookies but I know she heard the egg product and extra cream in the coffee.  The road to hell......paved with good, vegan intentions.

I digress.  Back to my Mug O' Nuked Cake.  If you've never made a cake in a mug and you are too lazy to go to the store and buy a cake (or, heaven forbid, actually bake a real cake), you should try it.  You make it from scratch, which makes it all the more fun.  I wouldn't make a cake from scratch but I will certainly make one in a mug from scratch.  (There are a ton of recipes on line for mug cakes.  Google for one that suits your mood and needs.) Anyways, I have all the ingredients assembled in the cupboards, as I can't be messing around looking for things when the mood for a mug of cake comes along.  This time, I actually had dark chocolate morsels on hand AND real vanilla bean ice cream in the freezer, so I knew it would be a banner cake.  I mixy-fixied the ingredients (kinda sorta measuring--I've learned in baking I have to measure), plop it in the microwave, wait three minutes and Wa-la! Cake!

I was going to take a photo of the cake getting nuked for blogging purposes, but I was too lazy to do so....you'll have to settle for stock photos gleaned off the net.  Mine didn't look nearly half as pretty as this one and I didn't involve powdered sugar, but you get the idea.

It is an amazing thing, this nuked cake is.  It puffs up over the top of the mug but doesn't run down the sides.  It's mighty tasty in a pinch.  It slides right out of the mug (an event I still do not understand)......you don't even have to take it out of the mug--you can eat it while it's still in the mug.  Genius!

Okay, okay--if you are looking for a scrumptious piece of home-made cake, this is NOT the way to go.  It does have a weird texture.  It is an insult to "real" bakers and it's not going to put any bakers out of business.  It's not something you are going to serve at your next birthday party. It looks like a giant turd when you pour it out of the mug. But, it's perfect for an "It's Snowing in April" kind of blustery day.  I sucked that puppy down, all two servings of it, smiling the whole way, ice cream dripping delightfully down the sides of the warm turd before me.

As for the wife, she took her ruptured disk for a road trip to celebrate her mama's marker birthday.  I'll be kind and not identify which birthday it is.  (I highly doubt they are eating cake in a mug at the festivities.)  The wife had an MRI yesterday and it showed a ruptured disk big enough to see from St. Louis if you were standing in Chicago.  Next week, she'll have to mosey on over to a neurosurgeon; but, for today, she'll party in the Cheddarlands.

The wife is very relieved: "See? Now people will believe me!"  I don't know who she thought didn't believe her--well, besides the moron doctor that told her two months ago that "this just needs to run its course."  Now that she's seen it and can show tangible proof to other people, she seems incredibly relieved.  The pain is still intense but there is some psychological component that seems soothed....so soothed that she didn't even think twice about making the trip north of the Cheddar Curtain.

Had she stayed home, I would have made her a nuked mug of cake.  Why, here's a photo of said ruptured disk demanding one of my nuked confectionery products.  Never mind that she is eating delicious, home-made food products that send my salivary glands into overdrive just thinking about them.  Those Cheeseheads know how to cook....

But, I bet they've never made a cake in a mug....and, I've heard Cake in a Mug can cure almost anything.  I'll see if I can cure the wife. 
Cured my veganism, that's for sure.
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Static

For the record, the Decorah eagles are doing fine, despite the stormy spring weather.  On Monday, I was too afraid to look if they were still there or not, as a horrible storm had ripped through their town--I had watched The Channel of Weather right before going to bed and saw that a storm was right in the nest vicinity--a big blog of red screaming through their neighborhood, tornado warnings howling, baseball sized hail angrily falling from the sky. I had to wait for my boss to look and give a report--thankfully, all was well in the land of eaglets.  Dad was hanging around keeping an eagle eye (pun intended) on the tots when I checked in yesterday....but, then......

....he flew the coop, leaving the peeps unattended, as evidenced in this "photo" I took.  Bad dad.  (He returned about a minute later, empty billed.  Those babies gave him a lot of grief--they must have been mighty hungry.)

As for the wife, she is limping more than ever, pain oozing every which way.  Yesterday, she went to the doctor and he said, "why did you wait so long?"

I am glad I was not there because I would have gone ballistic and ended up being arrested.

The wife has been there how many times now?  And, has only heard things like, "This has to run its course" and "no, you can't have an MRI--we'll do an x-ray."  So, why the doctor had an epiphany yesterday is beyond me.  He prescribed an MRI and physical therapy (as well as offer pills, which the wife refused).

The problem?  The doctor forget to order the MRI and now the wife can't get it scheduled.  He managed to order the physical therapy, so you know he didn't forget to do the whole thing.  Asswipe.  Add to that the fun of dealing with insurance companies and you've got quite the stressful mess. (Why DO we have insurance? You shell out all this money and then you can't use it.  Or, when you can, it only covers part of the bill.  Or, your premium goes up because you just used what you paid for.) When I got home, the wife was in a puddle of emotion.  That doctor's office best get it right today or I will go there and get her an appointment.  In person.  Loudly.  With no regret.  Both of us realize that an MRI will not cure the pain or the problem, but at least someone might actually be able to figure out the physical component of the problem.  Sigh.  Western medicine sucks.

As for "the others," we have had response....kinda sorta....and, it is exactly what I anticipated and predicted.  Actually, I thought the result was "better" (and I do mean that as a relative term--better like when you stop banging your head on the wall, your head feels better) than I originally figured. Unfortunately, it is overwhelmingly painful for the wife and hence the pain in her back (and the pain in her ass) just intensifies. She had hoped for better.  She did not get better--not a better response, not a better back.

It takes everything not to get in my car, drive to the homes of "the others" and open up a can of whoop ass (and end up getting arrested--boy, I'm in a violent mood this morning).  That wouldn't help the wife and wouldn't change the others, but I'd sure feel better.  (Talk about feeling powerless.  I can't relieve her pain and I can't relieve her pain.) 

I call all of this nonsense "static."  I don't know why that word came to mind, but it did, so I'm going with it.  After I made that little static visual, I realized that static and sciatica have a lot of the same letters.

Clear the static, clear the sciatica?  (Change the channel?  Open the channel!)

As this is getting way too serious, I thought I'd post a hair do of mine from the 1980's.  A little humor goes a long way in the Addiverse. A little humor must've gone a long way with my hair dresser, because there is no way she was serious when she gave me this "Til Tuesday Modified Mullet" hair do.  Imagine that little tail, which grew to be almost a foot in length.  Yum!

See? Aren't you feeling better already?  I know I am!

I miss the 1980's.  I miss the bad hair, the ridiculous outfits, the music, the naive-ness of my being.  Perhaps I could once again rock this hairdo, just in time for the civil union festivities.....it would certainly distract the wife from all the nonsense in her life....it would give "the others" a LOT more to think about.....I do love being blonde........

.....don't worry, Wild Mama--I'll wait until after the family portrait....or, maybe the entire family could get this hair do just in time for the photo op....that would REALLY give "the others" something to think about!
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