K is for Krave

Look at the dog on the purple box of eye drops.  I can't believe how much that dog looks like Freckles! In fact, I'm not sure it isn't Freckles--that's exactly how her eyes look now that she is blind in one eye.  Maybe she's a cover grrrrl and we don't know it.  Those royalties would help pay her vet bills, so I may have to follow up with this.  (These are not the eye drops she is currently using but if she's the cover grrrrrl, I'll make sure she starts using them pronto.)

 I was going to blog about my spontaneous purchase of "Krave!" cereal yesterday (those marketing geniuses put a ginormous display of this naughty new breakfast cereal--complete with video hawking this stuff right from the display--right in the busiest aisle of the evil conglomerate--even taught the boxes how to jump into unsuspecting carts), but since someone else already did this (and did a better job than I would have), I'm posting her link and calling it a day.  I highly suggest you read this review (after you read every blog entry I've ever written) to learn more about this pillows of sugar: http://www.theimpulsivebuy.com/wordpress/tag/krave-cereal-review/

In case you are wondering, I thought it was an underwhelming experience, I don't like when people use "K" instead of a "C" and I'm surprised they didn't use high fructose corn syrup in this cereal because everyone uses it in everything these days.  I understand why they had to use the "K" instead of "C:" if it were "Crave," it would be a cat food and that's probably not the image they wanted to portray.

I do not like K for C.  Seriously.  Ever.  Why do people do that? It's not klever.

Speaking of cats, which leads me to thinking of dogs (just go with it--I didn't get a lot of sleep last night and I have a head cold, so there is no telling where my brain is going this morning), Lucy is going to a dog chiropractor tomorrow (or, is it a chiropractor for dogs?).  I'm firing up the charge card and ready for action--Money Pit #2 needs some healing and I'm ready to secure it for her.  As you can see in the photo, she is giving a Paws Up to the thought of chiropractic care. Thankfully, her medications do what they are supposed to do: lower the pain, lower the inflammation.  That said, the medications do not solve the problem.  So, it's off to the chiropractor.  I do not think My Beloved Lady Chiropractor is trained to work on dogs, so we'll need to take a road trip to get this adjustment....hmmmm.....I will be checking to see if MBLC does work on dogs and if she makes house calls....

Thankfully, there has not been any screaming, yelping or whimpering this week (well, none from Lucy....I've been kinda whiny and the wife seems a bit yelpish--after all, it's almost Super Bowl time and there is no sight of anything green or gold in the game and that is enough to leave the wife yelpish for months).  Although she still walks cock-eyed, Lucy seems no worse for the wear. (thank you, baby Jesus!).  In an effort to discern what course of action we should take, I utilized the social network and asked my peeps about using a chiropractor for dogs.  The response was overwhelming....and 100% positive.  I had no idea so many of our friends had used a chiropractor for their dogs.   What wonderful stories of help and healing.  Even better--all the local people who responded to my queries noted that they use the same chiropractor that Lucy will be seeing tomorrow night. Who knew?  The testimonies were heart warming and so I am feeling mighty confident this will be of great help.  As the doctor is not in town, Lucy and I will be taking a 45 minute road trip.  I'll leave the wife and Freckles at home this time.  It will be a bonding experience for Money Pit #2 and this source of funding.  I'm hoping to get a photo of two of the experience so you, dear readers, can come along for the ride.

Argo Warrior Princess and Three Hawk (whose dog goes to said chiropractor) gave us some homeopathic drops to give Lucy for her injury....but, I have yet to get any IN to Lucy--I've only managed to get them ON Lucy.  It's much easier to get an eye drop in Freckles' blind eye than it is to get a homeopathic formula drop into a moving target called Lucy.  Since the drops have alcohol in them and since she is wearing lots of drops, please do not think that Lucy is hitting the sauce in an effort to dull her pain--it's just the tinture in her fur that has led to this odor.  I hope the chiropractor doesn't think we've been drinking and driving.

That said, I'm off to drink some coffee (albeit NOT Dunkin' Donuts, sigh), eat some Krave, drop some more drops all over Lucy's face, get a photo of Freckles Warrior Princess so I can prove that it is her on that box and go look for the wife (who was outside shoveling last time I looked)....

....if you see the wife, please do NOT mention football.  Do not mention the Super Bowl.  Do not mention anything that might even remotely be tied to pigskins. If you do say something about football, please deposit $5 in her therapy fund and I'll pour some of those alcohol-based drops into her so she can forget you said anything.....

Pause for Paws (Up!)

Before I follow up with my last blog, I want to express my overwhelming joy with the arrival of my new license plate holder. (Yes, I made this photo so no one can legally give me a hard time about it. I am going to copyright all my photos.  I am a genius.) I had to have it specially made, as I wasn't able to find a pre-made little monster frame.  Ah, the little things in life.  I got sick and tired of everyone thinking my plate was about my love of dogs.  I do indeed love my dogs but the plate is about Gaga, not the dogs.  I'm hoping the phrase on the plate frame will help other drivers realize that I am giving a "paws up!" not just giving a shout out to my dogs.  All I want is one person--one stinkin' person!--to drive by and give me a paws up.  Oh, the joy that will bring!

I don't think I mentioned a recent dilemma.  While seated at a party, my friend asked me what I would do if Madonna walked in one door and Lady Gaga walked in the other.  "Who would you choose?"  This stopped me in my tracks.  Choose? How does one choose between the two? I tried to weasel out of it by saying I'd choose both, but she assured me this was not possible.  "Nope, you have to choose one or the other.  Which is it going to be?" I fretted about this, listing aloud the pros and cons to each choice.  "I've been with Madonna since the beginning, she is my age, we grew up together. I dunno if I could betray her at this point of the game. I've been to at least eight of her concerts..." My friend gave me a knowing look.  "So, if Gaga walks in, you are going to Madonna? She's a has-been!"  I clutched my chest.  How could she say that?  I thought about it a little more.  "Well, Madonna's basically a bitch and wouldn't give me the time of day, so it might not be worth wasting my choice on her. She's the better dancer but not the better singer.....Gaga, on the other hand, would be very accessible, friendly, open to an actual conversation.  She's the better singer, she is fresh."  I felt a little bead of sweat start to roll down my forehead.  "Um, Madonna.  No--no, wait! Gaga.  Oh, I think...."  I never did choose.  I think I would pray that Lucy Lawless walk in the back door and I would choose her over the other two.  My friend did not give me that option, so I left the question unanswered.....

......These are the things that consume my brain.


UPDATE ON OUR FRIEND: Today is the day our dear friend is being released from ICU.  Many a week ago, she found herself in the burn unit.  It has been a long, arduous trip for her and her wife.  (I like saying that.  They are legally tied, you know.  I can call her that.)  They kept her a lot longer than I thought they would and certainly a hell of a lot longer than she thought they ever would.  Thank you for all your thoughts and prayers.  I know they helped with her healing process.  Please keep those good vibes coming, as she will need all the help she can get as she transitions back home and continues her healing.

XENA MUG: I have decided NOT to use my Xena mug for making microwave mug brownies, as I've figured out that the brownies will be forever ingrained on the inside of her nose. How you lived this long without knowing this is beyond me.  Suffice it to say, the Xena mug will stay in the box and the brownies will be made in regular old boring mugs. 


YO QUIERO BAY OF E: I've learned that the average bidding price for those talking Taco Chijuahuas is $4.00 for three talking dogs. That's not exactly a way to bring in quick cash, nor is it worth parting with my three beloved perros. Worse, I don't see that any of them have bids, so they are basically just sitting there, hoping for $4.00.  As for my Dixie Chick concert t-shirt, it isn't even worth what the dogs would bring in.  So much for the mounds of money via the Bay of E.

HAVE TEXT WILL TRAVEL: As for technology, I've learned that my eldest niece texted 18,000 times last month.  That is not a typo.  Eighteen THOUSAND texts in one month....six hundred a day average.  I didn't even know that was possible.  I would assume one's thumbs would fall off texting that much.  I asked her about this.  She said a lot of the texts are one letter, like "K." (For those of you not in the now, "K" means "okay" in text language.)  Even so, six hundred texts a day?  Forget who has time for that nonsense--when does she sleep?

TOOK A BREAK: I purposefully avoided any and all 9-11 specials and reports on TV.  It's just too much, too depressing. I cannot imagine what it must be like to those who were directly involved.  I couldn't avoid all the events televised during the football games, but I did my best to run away and get a snack or flip to something else when they'd show a NY fire man or police man standing there in full uniform while TAPS was played in the background.  Don't even get me started about that Budweiser commercial.  Just thinking about it makes me tear up.

I'd write more but I have to think about this whole Madonna/Gaga thing.  That, and drive around hoping someone gives me a paws up.

Anyone wann

Seven-Four-Eleven

Happy 8th anniversary, appendectomy!  How will I ever think of July 4th without thinking of my long lost appendix? What a great story that was.  I know you long-time blog readers are sick of hearing about my appendix, but it really was a spectacular event.  I mean, how many people do you know who go to Barnes & Noble to diagnose their own appendicitis?

I should have been a doctor.  Or, a barrista.

I was re-reading some of my old blog entries earlier today and have decided I was much funnier in the first several years than I am right now.  This may be a sign of age, of dementia, of constipation, of maturity, of immaturity, of lost brain cells, of hormones, of just about anything or just about nothing.  Hard to say.  I will work on getting back to my silly old self.  I feel like my old silly self, so I am flummoxed--why would I not sound like my old silly self if I am my old silly self?

I think it was the two years at the place of which we do not speak.  I think it ruined me just a tad more than I realized.  I am coming back with a vengeance, tho--so, stand back.

I think having seen the movie "Bridesmaids" last night might have jump started my funny bone.  I know, I know.  It is gross, sophomoric, mindless dribble....but, there are SO many awesome quotes and funny scenes that I really can't say anything bad about the movie.  It's not exactly brain surgery and it's certainly not going to win an Academy Award....but, I am going to see it again, that's how much it made me laugh. Even the wife was laughing and she doesn't usually find such movies very entertaining.  I thought the lady sitting next to me was going to die, as she was laughing so hard.  

I am sad to report that most people who see my "PAWS UP" license plates think it is related to the dogs, not to being Lady Gaga's little monster.  I don't know where all my other monsters are but they are not in this town.  Here's how it has been going:
Stranger: "Oh! What do you license plates me?" 
Me: "It's about Lady Gaga.  Paws up, little monster!" 
Stranger: Blank Stare.  "Um, I thought it was about dogs."  Walks away.
I thought this was a no-brainer.  Paws up!  Who the hell says Paws Up if they are not a little monster?

We are off to watch the fireworks for the first time in a bazillion years.  Well, maybe ten years.  Having dogs really does put a kibosh on firework watching.  Well, we've decided this year they will be just fine without us.  We are going to go to a local mall's parking lot to watch the fireworks from afar, shooting over the trees.  At least that is the plan.  We're not sure we'll actually be able to see anything over the trees, but if it sucks, we can have a good laugh about the year we sat in the mall parking lot.  It won't be as funny as all those years we went to our friends' house where they shot off illegal fireworks and almost killed us all and it won't be as funny as "Bridesmaids," but it will be funny enough.  I'll let you know how it goes.  Maybe some little monster will give me a "paws up" in the parking lot and will want to hear about my appendix.

Happy Fourth of July, little addiverse monsters!

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.

Some-bunny to love

First, I promised to blog about something more than the wife's back and the dog's ailments. Now, I promise to write about something else besides Lady Gaga, Lady Gaga's new album, Lady Gaga interviews on TV, Lady Gaga everything.  It's tough, as I am addicted to the Gaga and my life has definitely become unmanageable.  She has taken over my very being....

Uh oh!  We have a pile of baby bunnies living in our front yard garden.  Here they are, peeking out from their abode.  Very cute at this stage of the game. There are at least six lagamorphs, but I am guessing there are more. (They keep wiggling so they are pretty tough to count.) The good news is that the nest is not in the lawn, so chances are I won't mow over them.  The bad news is they will surely soon be a tasty meal for Brown Dog, as the neighbor canine is a hunting dog who would like nothing more than a rabbit lunch.

We've been watching them daily, wondering aloud how they eat and where the mama is.  Yesterday, we looked in the nest and it was empty! The wife wondered if they were gone for good and asked me, "Do you think they come back at night?" I shrugged my shoulders, as I have no experience in the nesting baby bunny department.  I figured once out of the nest, they would have moved on to bigger and better things (that, or Brown dog ate them).  Since it appeared the baby bunnies were gone, I figured it would be safe to weed whack in the garden. 

No so much.  As I whacked those weeds, baby bunnies went a-flying!

Several went scurrying off to other parts of the garden. One ran smack dab into the side of the house; another ran right into the front door stairs.  Both were stunned into statues upon smacking their little bodies into non-moving objects.  Thankfully, they were both easily coaxed back to safety with my prodding and neither looked worse for the wear. 

Last night, when letting the dogs out for the final time of the night, I peeked at the nest.....yes, baby bunnies return to the nest at night, as there they all were.  Six pair of ears waving back at me.  They are getting a bit big for the nest, as they barely fit--in fact, I don't think they fit at all any more.  It made me smile.  As bunnies are rather a pain the garden, I'll be glad to see them go.  I know the majority of them won't make it beyond being someone's lunch....I understand the cruel nature of nature. 

As long as I don't mow over one, it's all good.

If I mow over one, I'm gonna need a LOT of therapy.  Start putting money in the therapy fund right now.
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 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.

Gaga for Green Gaga Acres

Praise the baby Jesus! I am FINALLY going to be able to blog about things not related to dog poop or back pain.  I'll get to the wife's surgery in a minute--first, I have to talk about being back on the farm.

I walked away from Book de la Face's farm many a month ago. I was wasting too much time worrying about fake produce on a fake farm.  Then, I heard Lady Gaga had developed a time-limited Gaga-ville for her little monsters. I had to go back.  I couldn't ignore the call from Mother Monster.

Let it be known that I am NOT excited about getting sucked back in.  I'm already thinking about how my chrome daisies need to be harvested in only a few hours.  It consumes me. It distracts me.  It haunts me. But, I had to do it! How could I pass up the chance to visit Green Gaga Acres?  I couldn't.  Besides, it is a great way to get a daily preview of the songs on her new album (to be released on May 23rd...and yes, I have pre-ordered it).  You have to do a few tasks on the farm to unlock access to the new song.  Buy a sheep, visit Gaga-ville.....and, wa-la!  Free preview of music, as illustrated here:

Paws up, little monsters! Gaga-ville is calling you. (That's me, on the farm.  Don't I look cute? I'm loving me some purple overalls. I'm growing Gaga Crystals.  I hope that's not illegal.)

As for the wife (who probably should get top billing over a fake farm related to a pop star), she had her back surgery yesterday.  Yes, it was finally time for that naughty ruptured disk to leave her spinal cord alone. It sure took a long time to get to that day...and, I'm not the one who was in pain.  We got up at 4 A.M., made ourselves all fresh and pretty, made sure the dogs pooped and we were out the door.  Before she knew it, the wife was in a hospital bed and people were poking and prodding her.

I am here to tell you that the surgery is just short of a miracle.  If you are told you need a micro-disc-ectomy, you should say, "yes, please!" Perhaps you should say, "yes, please--I'll have two."

The wife's family must have fired up the bionic prayer chain, as the surgery (and the whole experience, actually) went amazingly well.  The procedure started ahead of schedule, which I found to be a big bonus--how often is anything related to the medical field early or even on time? The wife unfortunately did not profess her love for me this time as they wheeled her off for surgery--they didn't give her those super-awesome drugs they loaded her up with prior to her last surgery, so she was pretty reserved and tame.  After they wheeled her away, I went to the waiting room, thinking I'd have oodles of time to figure out her iPod Touch and to eat lots of naughty snacks I brought along for the wait, but I didn't even have much time to settle in, as the surgery took less than an hour. Stunned, I went to the consultation room and waited for the surgeon. A man of few words and of a greatly constricted emotion, he smiled, said the surgery went just as planned. He indicated the rupture was "impressive" and "huge."  He thought the wife would be quite pleased with the results and said she could go home when she was ready. I thanked him, gave a quick, silent shout of gratitude to the Baby Jesus and went on a mission to find her.

I literally ran right into the wife's gurney as they rolled her by.  I got to join the journey as they zipped her down the halls.....I thought she'd be puking all over them as they made wild turns, bumped into walls & put her on an elevator but she looked perfectly fine.  They rolled her in to a room and left her with a menu....a general diet menu, none of that wimpy broth/jello/baby food nonsense. Quite to my complete surprise, she started talking about lunch.  This from the girl who was projectile vomiting on the nursing staff after her last surgery, asking to order lunch.   Thanks to the anesthesiologist and three types of anti-nausea medication, she experienced no nausea and was eating a full lunch by 11:30 AM, dipping delightfully- fried chicken strips in tangy barbecue sauce--what a woman.

Within hours of the micro-disc-ectomy surgery, the wife was able to stand up straight, feel her legs and actually sit in a chair. Now, you might be thinking those are not really big things....but, when you (and the surgeon) are not sure you will ever be able to feel your toes again, you have not stood up straight for four months and you haven't been able to sit in a chair without leaning to one side for just as long, these are pretty big things.  It's also a pretty big thing when you are asking for a snack at 2:30 PM when you just ate lunch two hours ago and for the past many weeks you haven't been eating much at all because the pain was so intense it crushed your appetite.

Bring on the snack foods, the wife is back on track!


Then, the true miracle happened: the wife smiled.  It was the first time I've seen a genuine smile on her face in weeks--maybe months.  Not a grimace or a forced smile or an "I wish I could smile but I can't;" it was a smile from the inside.  I wanted to cry. I wanted to go find the surgeon and give him a big, wet kiss. I wanted to go find the wife's favorite little nun......

I am happy to report the wife did indeed get to visit with Sister-Little (and I do mean little--she can't be much over 4 feet tall), so it was a banner day. We were ordering lunch when the white-habit-clad, 150 year old bride of Jesus slipped quietly into the room. The wife and the sister yipped like they were old friends. I am sorry to say I did not get any photos of the surgery or of the wife with the nun.  You can't have everything.

At 3 PM, the neurosurgeon stopped in to check on his patient. For a guy with a reputation of having a horrible bedside manner and for basically being a pompous ass, he was pleasant, smiling and was very approachable.  He seemed tickled pink by the results of surgery and was pleased to see the wife so motivated to go home.  He even laughed at one point.  (Laughed! No one is ever going to believe us.)  When the wife heard the words she could be discharged, I swear she hopped out of that bed, proved she could pee and walk, got dressed and was calling for a wheelchair. By 4 PM, she was home and in bed for a nap....after a snack, of course.

So, the wife is at home, wandering around asking what she can and cannot do.  I was hoping she would be a little less mobile so she couldn't see that I was back on the farm. I feel many a lecture from me so she takes it easy.  I know she really, really wants to follow the healing rules, but it is going to be very hard for this stoic workaholic.  She is going to require much redirection and interference....

.....that's probably good, because it will give me something on which to focus besides harvesting chrome daisies and unlocking new Gaga songs....

....I feel many a lecture coming from the wife to get off the dang farm, which is good because it will give her something to be frustrated about besides her slow recovery process.

Is it time for a snack yet?

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.

Chicago-gaga

I went to my second Lady Gaga concert last night, this time in Chicago.   Like me, you might find it hard to believe that I thought the crowd in Chicago was older, tamer, straighter and less costumed than in Milwaukee.  Go figure.  

BTW, these boots are being sported by a man.  Just sayin'.

Before I get to the actual concert antics, I have to tell you that only hours before I left for the concert, I was one sick puppy--as in flu-sick, not just weirdo-sick (although I cannot deny I am one sick puppy on any given day).  Saturday at noon (precisely), I was run over by a truck with a 102 fever.  My teeth were chattering, I couldn't stop shaking, my lungs were trying to hack right out of my rib cage.  It was horrible.  My guess: the flu.  The real flu.  I was down for the count by a punch I never saw coming. 

I spent all day Sunday on the couch, praying for a quick recovery.  As the person who I am pretty sure "gave" me this flu missed a week of work, I was really freaked out.  I didn't have a week to get better--I had until Monday night at 5 PM, the time I'd be leaving for the Gaga concert in Chicago. I was ready to bargain: "Dear Baby Jesus, I will [insert plea bargain of your choice here] if you heal me in time for the Lady Gaga concert on Monday night."  I utilized a virus cleansing method and slept with athletic socks on my hands so I wouldn't touch my face or eyes.  I visualized all sorts of happy, healing things floating in my body. I envisioned myself in a Gaga-egg of healing. I was incubating, getting rested for the concert. I was confident I would wake up cured on Monday morning.

When I woke up Monday, I knew I was screwed.  I still had a fever, albeit only 101.5.  I still felt like crap.  I still looked like crap.  My entire body ached. At least I wasn't hocking fur balls and lungs, but there was no doubt I was far from cured. I still had the flu.

I was bitter.  Being bitter does not help one bit; in fact, it just makes things worse.  I got pissed off and threw away my virus cleansing jar.  I threw the biggest pity party on the planet.  I was a miserable, bitter bitch.  I was too tired and weak to stomp around or throw things, but if I could have, I would have.  I waited months for this concert!  Damn you, seasonal flu!  Bitter, table for one.  

About noon, I took my temperature.  It was still 100.  I was on the verge of tears.....but, instead of crying, I slapped that pity party right off the map and decided to stop acting like a sick person.  I put away all the pills and the thermometer.  I did a final virus cleanse.  I took a shower and got out of those stinky sick-person pajamas. I took two Tylenol and got dressed for the concert.  I laid down and tried to rest.  I demanded myself to be better.

And, I was.

 I don't know what exactly transpired, but around 4:30 PM, I felt like a weight had been lifted off my chest.  I emerged from my egg, felt less achy and was no longer feverish.  The cloud lifted from my brain.  I can't say I was dancing in the streets but I was able to walk and talk at the same time.  I was as cured "enough" to be appropriate for concert-going.  I loaded kleenex, Lysol, hand sanitizer and even masks in the car, ready to be one with my Mother Monster.

I didn't end up going alone; a peer decided to buy a last-minute ticket joined me for the fun.  I offered to wear the mask for her own flu-safety, but we lived on the edge and I didn't end up wearing it. I'd like to give a big shout out to the Universe for making everything run so smoothly...it was almost unbelievable.  No traffic jams whatsoever.  A parking space within two rows from the entrance.  No traffic jams on the way home.  No return of the fever.  Thank you, Baby Jesus! Thank you, Universe!

As for the concert, we had a great time.  I'm still quite confused as to how it is possible that a Chicago crowd would be tamer than a Milwaukee crowd, but I can't complain--there was still plenty at which to gawk. All versions of Gaga were part of the fun--from soda-can hairdos to police line yellow-tape outfits, they were all there.  Quite to my dismay, I didn't see a lot of drag queens....they must have been somewhere else, perhaps on the dance floor.  (Or, maybe I did see drag queens and didn't realize it. Hmmm.)  Here's some guy who let me take his photo.  Actually, everyone I asked for a photo was quite accommodating.  (Funny how you can now take cameras into concerts.  I'm guessing that the advent of the cell phone with cameras ended the ability to prohibit cameras--what's the point?)

I regret to report there were people in my section seated during the show. What the hell were people thinking sitting down during a Gaga concert?  I was APPALLED!  For Monster sake, I just shook off a 48 hour fever and I had enough oomph to stand up--it was a travesty.  Mother Monster would have been very disappointed to see this....I hope she wasn't carrying binoculars.

Lady Gaga had less to say in Chicago in comparison to the Milwaukee show in September.  She was still wonderful and entertaining and liberating, but.....   Maybe she was sick.  Maybe she was tired.  Maybe she had used all her energy celebrating the release of her new video earlier in the day. Maybe she picked up on the tame feel of the crowd, leading her to be a bit more tame in overall performance.  Maybe she wasn't tame at all but rather I was warped in my flu-ridden brain. Maybe she's said it all.  Maybe she was hung over.  Maybe she didn't feel like wearing clothes....whatever.  She just didn't seem to have as much to say.

Maybe she's decided to just let the show do the speaking for her.  Works for me.

As I wrote last time, it's impossible to leave a Lady Gaga concert not feeling all warm and fuzzy and empowered.  You can't help embrace your inner little monster.  How can you not have a good time when it's raining unicorns and gay teddy bears?  You can't.  You have a great time and you build your self-esteem while doing it.


Flu? What Flu? Paws up, little monsters--we were born this way!
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Don't be a drag. Just be a Queen.

I was going to write about the wife's virginal encounter with acupuncture, but I am torn because I'm not sure how I can NOT write about Lady Gaga arriving in an egg at the Grammys.  (Egg, vessel, whatever--it looked like an egg to me.)   I'm going to a Lady Gaga concert in less than 12 days, so Gaga trumps the wife's second chakra.  Besides, the wife is now standing upright and able to take more than five steps in a row without making primal scream noises, so she can wait.

In case you were in a cave on Sunday or were on a three-day binge: Lady Gaga arrived at the Grammys in an egg-like container, as sashayed down the red carpet by scantily clad human beings with pointy things stuck to/in their foreheads.  (Note to nieces: do NOT get devil horn body modification implants in your forehead--it will dampen your job prospectives).  I am not going to relive the stories of the egg or preparation for egg-dom, as there are a billion stories out there waiting for your Googling.  For instance, you can go to the Huffington Post and get stories, video and photos all in one shot:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/02/13/lady-gaga-egg-grammy-arrival_n_822625.html


I personally thought the whole egg thing was genius.  I mean, wouldn't it be really awesome to arrive at work via an egg carried by four scantily clad beings?  Imagine your arrival: "Hey, here comes Addi Warrior Princess? Is she in an egg again? I hope she didn't forget the donuts this time.  HEY! GET YOUR EGG OUTTA MY PARKING SPACE!"

Genius.

Even more genius (genius squared) was Gaga's pre-Grammy interview on "60 Minutes."  I'm sure you can find the interview with Anderson Cooper on Tube-You (it's worth it, but I'm a Gaga whore, so I'm no judge); if you don't have time for that nonsense, you can read what it was all about in various corners of the internet, such as at http://www.mtv.com/news/articles/1657850/lady-gaga-smokes-pot-60-minutes.jhtml

Wouldn't it be awesome to arrive at work with nary a piece of clothing to be found? You throw on a few pieces of undergarments or rubber glove parts or some skin-colored body suit, get out of your egg, sigh, and then matter-of-factly exclaim, "I just didn't feel like wearing clothes today."

How can you not love this stuff?

For the record, I don't really care that Ms. Gaga smokes weed and drinks whiskey when she's writing music.  I don't care that she drops fake diamonds into her morning coffee. Like all the good little monsters of the world, I embrace her the way she is, pointy shoulders and all.  All I really care about is knowing if Gaga was in the egg for 72 consecutive hours or "just" a total of 72 hours.  I mean, a girl's gotta poop sometime.

So many egg questions.  Did she wear the same clothes for 72 hours? Did she smell after being in an egg for 72 hours? What did she do in there? Was she channeling David Blaine? Where'd she get that egg, anyways? Who makes an egg like that? It's not like you can look up "Egg Transporter" in the Yellow Pages. Did she go to the bathroom before exiting the egg to dance on the Grammys? How can you dance like that if you have to pee? How did she brush her teeth?  Did she brush her teeth? Show me your teeth, mama monster!

I'm not sure how I ever sleep, with questions like these always swirling in my brain.
 
Some people are not entertained at all by this. They don't find egg entrances interesting or artistic or whatever. Well, I am smitten with entertainment.  SMITTEN.

Haters, be gone!  Leave my Mama Monster alone!

As for the wife (who has NO questions about the Lady Gaga egg whatsoever), she went and had some acupuncture two days ago.  From what I see, it is a miracle of the Lord.  She is back to walking without a limp and sleeping without crying.  She doesn't squirm in pain when seated at the kitchen table for dinner.  While she isn't running marathons, she is back to cleaning things and pointing out all the things I didn't clean when she was down and out.  I take this as an awesome sign.  I have no idea how acupuncture works.  To be honest, I don't care if it's all placebo effect; as long as it helps the wife, I am all good with it.

I do know that although she is much improved, she is in no shape to be riding in an egg.

Seems the wife has a clogged second chakra.  It's never good to have a constipated second chakra--you are going to have to take my word for it.  A clogged second chakra is much more complicated than understanding a pop star in an egg. So, the wife needs some east-meets-west medicine.  A little energy balancing, a little icing, a little ibuprofen, a little stretching, a little meditation, a little acupuncture.

I think a little weed-smoking and whiskey drinking might also do the trick, but we're trying to keep the wife on the wagon here, so I think we'll skip the Gaga-esque-Sciatica-Cure.  It's acupuncture, no egg-riding, sobriety and lots of rest for the wife.

Me? I'm gonna go out and find me an egg.  After all, the concert is only 12 days away and I have to have some form of transportation......actually, I've got a bunch of eggs to spare....but, I don't think I can ride in any of them.....

 Maybe I'll sell my eggs and just drive to the concert the old fashioned way.  Two monster paws up for this egg-cellent idea!

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"I'm on the right track, baby--I was born this way!"
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One! One! One! One!

The new year brings us one-one- one one. That has to be lucky, especially if you are a nerdy number lover like me or are a computer programmer who loves binary numbers. I like the sound of one one one one. Or, even one one eleven. I like the way it looks. I love the number eleven. It's gonna be a great year!

Speaking of a great year, 2010 wasn't too shabby. I thought it'd be fun to look back at 2010 in the Addiverse.......this diddy is from Book de la Face's "My Year in Status, 2010." You don't get to pick which status (stati?) they use, but I'm glad they managed to get Lady Gaga, the LLL gang, the new job, various family members, the wife and the sausages in there.

Top Five Things I said in 2010:
"I hate my phone."
"Have you seen my wallet?"
"I have to do my money."
"Where are my keys?"
"Have I told you how much I hate my phone?"

I do indeed hate my phone. Texting is almost impossible and I love to text. I push the "abc" button and the letter "w" pops up. It takes me three days to write a two sentence text. I hang up on almost everyone who calls me because when I push the answer button, it clicks on "done" and hangs up. I can never retrieve my messages because when I try to enter the passcode, the wrong numbers punch in, even though I'm punching in the correct numbers. Don't talk to me about calibrating it--you can't calibrate something that doesn't recognize that you are actually touching it. Hell-rizon is oh-so-helpful. Not. Well, it looks and sounds good, so that's a plus.

Best Accessory: Bling Bling! Class Ring.
Wore my high school class ring for almost a year in preparation for our 30th reunion. How can you have a bad year if you are wearing your high school class ring? You can't! It was a sad, sad moment when I finally took it off. At times, I look lovingly at my ring finger and get a warm, tingly glow....that was one good party and one rockin' ring.

Most likely to be seen wearing: My high school class reunion sweatshirt.
Wore it every day while on vacation. Wore it to walk, to work, to bed, to church. Why, here I am wearing it while in a Bobcat:Most consumed food: Chocolate.
By Far. For the 48th year in a row. Was there any doubt? I should buy stock in Dove Dark Chocolate. Those ten pounds I gained this year? They are surely a gift of all the chocolate I have consumed. For the record: I'm good with it. Chocolate makes it worth it. Besides, I got to buy all new pants again. I've moved on to "mom jeans." Can't be hangin' the muffin over my old, don't fit, low-riders. I'm embracing my perimenopausal-hood. Well, kind of. Okay, so I'm a bitch about the whole thing. I'm still good with all that chocolate.

Favorite dessert (third year in a row): The wife's home-made lemon cake. Oh my! I get a tear just thinking about it. Is it my birthday yet???

Best concert: Lady Gaga.
I enjoyed many concerts this year, but being a little monster was the best by far. Here's a pretend gaga peeing in the hallway:
Okay, so she's not really peeing. (This photo demonstrates that my phone can actually do something: it can take photos. Hey, I'll take it!) I liked this concert so much that I am going again in February 2011. I am going by myself! I couldn't care less. I'm sure I can find one or two little monsters who will gladly dance with me. Side note: I went on line to see how much the seat next to me is selling for--it wasn't hard to find when you are searching for one seat in a particular section. Well, it's selling for $500. I bet he or she will dance with me if they just paid $500 to sit next to this dancing fool. No, I did NOT pay $500. I save that kind of foolish spending for Madonna. I got my ticket for $85. I will not be telling the person who buys the seat next to me that this is what I paid. I don't want them to cry. I want them to dance with me! (It IS worth $500 to be seated with me for Lady Gaga. Just sayin')

Best way to spend evenings after work: hanging out in the "Park" with the gaybors. Notice Lucy is not in the photo. That's because she's off to the left, having a nervous breakdown & being anti-social. She has a hard time with other dogs. Sigh. For us, this is a very stress free, low key kind of way to be. For Lucy, it's like water boarding. Maybe next summer she'll come to learn to love the "park" and Bitty Bichon......

Best place to show off tattoos: a wedding.Not only "a" wedding, but the absolute best wedding I have ever attended. That's saying a lot. You know it's a great wedding when people are removing clothes to show off their ink.

The wife's favorite 2010 investment: wood floors. The dogs aren't so keen on them, but the wife is VERY excited. As you can see, Freckles just isn't too sure about how she is going to get down these new wooden stairs.

I could go on and on, but I have to go look for my wallet, do my money and bitch about my phone.

Happy New Year! Get out there and shout, ONE ONE ONE ONE!
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Cheese de la Birthday

While I am excited that Lady Gaga is coming back to town this winter and despite being very distracted by the start of this season's Dancing with the Stars, those things will have to wait. There is a cheese head's birthday event to review.

The wife is still talking about her birthday trip to the mecca...land of green and gold....in fact, she had such a good time that she is thinking this should be an annual tradition.

For those of you not in the know, we packed a pile of Packer gear into the Civic (Packer coats, t-shirts, sweatshirts, hats, pajamas) and hit the road this weekend on the wife's birthday.

The destination? Green Bay.

The reason? To visit the hallowed halls of Ray, Bart, Reggie, Curly.....and, to go to a Green Bay Packer game.

As the wife was uber-excited, we did indeed leave at noon on Saturday, her actual day of birth. With no stops to slow us down and absolutely perfect weather, we made it in what had to be record time--just over three hours. (Okay--I admit to speeding, but it still was amazingly fast even if I hadn't been speeding.) Before she had time to say "Brett who?" she was standing on the grounds of her beloved team. We didn't waste time going to the hotel--we went right to Lambeau Field. Total awe, oozing with excitement, nostalgia and respect (and most probably a tear), the wife strolled slowly toward Lambeau. Plenty of time was available for visiting the Pro Shop, wandering the atrium, staring at the gates to the historic field.

I am here to tell you: Packer fans are really, really serious about their team, their field. There were all sorts of people milling about, all decked out in their team colors, all snapping photos, all spending money in the Pro shop.

As it was her birthday, I asked the wife to pick something out as her gift--she decided on a Packer baseball jersey. (Is it just me or does anyone else find it humorous that a football team sells baseball jerseys?) Here is a photo of the carpeting in the Pro Shop--like everything else in the town, it shouts GREEN BAY PRIDE!

Yes, those are the wife's shoes. You didn't think I was taking photos of some stranger's feet, did you?

I couldn't go home empty handed and thus purchased a baseball hat. I do not look good in hats but couldn't resist taking home a little something and a hat seemed just as good as anything else. I also got a glo-orange stocking camp...in case I ever go deer hunting, I suppose.

After checking in at the hotel (which was rather non-descript but did have a view of Lambeau if you stood in just the right place in the parking lot), we ventured into the tundra better known as downtown Green Bay. Purely by accident, we ended up at the one place we most certainly should have ended up--Titletown Brewing Company. Talk about the perfect place to eat dinner; talk about the best beer bread on the planet. I felt right at home with the train theme; the wife felt right at home with the entire Titletown theme. Can I just say the food was awesome? Beer drinkers would love the place--plenty of beers to choose from--mix and match at your leisure. If you are ever in Green Bay, make sure to stop by this place. I guarantee it will be worth it. And, get a loaf of sliced beer bread to take home. It's like a giant brick of happiness.

Speaking of beer, Freckles Warrior Princess and Bitty Bichon seemed to be having a good time while we were out of town. Dang dogs were partying without us! At least they were drinking good beer and weren't driving anywhere.


Game day was absolutely delightful. Perfect weather, tasty free hotel breakfast, free event parking (now THAT'S awesome!), super fabulous seats, vegetarian brats (who knew?), real brats smothered with kraut and brown mustard, fly by during the National Anthem, electric crowd, home opener victory. I'm not sure it can get any better than that....that said by someone born and bred in Bear's country.

There really is no happier place to watch a football game. Everyone at Lambeau is so happy and so colorful and so involved. They talk in "we." It really is their team, as bizarre as I might find this. They embrace the culture of green and gold. They live and breath what happens on that turf. It's no wonder they are so crushed by ol' Number Four. This is more than a game to them. It's the Packers. No wonder the wife is always crying at one time or another during Packer games.

I think we've found a new tradition for the wife's birthday. I can live with that....they just need to keep making those vegetarian brats.

Cheese curd, anyone?
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P.S. Lady Gaga tickets go on sale Friday. Who's with me?!!

She's Super-Geeky, yeow!

I'll get to the Packer weekend blog entry next entry. As this is my blog and it's all about me, I need to brag a bit....and, need a bit of time to make Packer photo collages. Indulge me, won't you?

As many of you are aware, Lucy Bark of Poteidaia jumped on my laptop screen about 7.35 seconds after I brought the new lap top home.... leaving it with this giant magenta worm screaming across the monitor. Now, I love my dog, so I let it go...no use crying over spilled milk or cracked monitors--but, after trying to view the screen through the ever-growing magenta worm (and it did continue to grow as time went on), it got really old. I didn't want to buy a new lap top--what a waste of money that would be--but, this crack was getting ridiculous.....

That's when I decided: why not replace the screen myself? Heck, Youtube made it look REALLY simple. I told myself, "If I can slay the Blue Screen of Death, I can swap out a lap top monitor screen." I found a "Buy it Now" screen on that auction website and, of course, bought it now.

Within days, the new screen was in my hot little hands. Toolbox on the counter, directions printed from the internet, power source removed, one last viewing of the Youtube video....I was ready to go. I promised myself to follow the printed directions.....

As you can see in the photo, it went swimmingly. Well, okay--it didn't go so swimmingly the entire time. Those screws are teeny weeny. Between my big paws and my inability to see up close, it was a challenge. Then, I put the video card in wrong....didn't test the computer until I had put it totally back together.....duh!.....turned it on, screen lit up......stayed white (see center of photo above). Oops! That meant taking all those stupid little screws out again. I am grateful that the wife was willing to help me with "round two" because I was starting to get a little befuckled and irritated.

I did follow the written directions, which may be a first.

The green arrows in the photo point to the sweet success. As I type this, I am giddy with happiness. I don't have to peek around the magenta crack worm. The screen is crystal clear. I am proud to say I didn't electrocute myself, didn't blow up anything, didn't sustain any injuries....puffed myself right up with a true sense of accomplishment. I'm not exactly ready to open a computer repair shop, but it was fun, rewarding and MUCH cheaper than getting a new lap top.

You know, with all that money I saved....maybe I can get another Lady Gaga ticket.....
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Back to the Future

This photo of Freckles Warrior Princess really has nothing to do with anything except that it gives me a good way to update you on her yeasty beasties. I know you haven't been able to sleep, waiting with anticipation to get such an update. Fatty Patty kind of looks possessed in this photo, with those eyes glowing, but suffice it to say she is no longer possessed by the yeasties. Those daily baths, anti-biotics and steroids have done wonders to tame her skin issues. The house and car no longer smell like something died in them; the wife is happier; the dog doesn't look so miserable; her friends have stopped shunning her.

I've been thinking a lot about the whole Lady Gaga and Madonna thing. I feel like I've been cheating on Madge. While weeding yesterday, I had a lot of time to chew on all this. (These are the profound things that occupy my mind.) That lady Gaga concert got me all befuckled and tested my true love for the Material Grrrrl. After much review, I've decided that: (1) I would still pick Madonna over Lady Gaga in a cat fight; (2) I would still rather go on a date with Madonna rather than Gaga (mainly because I am old enough to be Lady Gaga's mother and that's creepy weird to even think about); (3) I'm still gonna pick Madonna over Lady Gaga in general, as Madonna has longevity, paved the way for performers like Gaga and has better biceps.

Now that I've solved that world crisis, it's time to tell you I am going back....to my old place of employment--back to the future, if you will. (This would be news to my current employees, as they don't know I've resigned...they'll know tomorrow.....but, they don't read this blog and are too busy praying to save my soul to read this, so I think this information is safe enough to post for this milli-second.) It was time. I am humbled and honored that my previous--and soon to be current--employer would consider taking me back. I spent nine years there and have been gone for two years....back to the place where I can have a future. MJagger is there; they don't care that I lust Lady Gaga; they love the wife; it's my population of choice (working with the mentally ill); it affords me much better insurance; no one will be praying for my redemption (that I know of); it's where Freckles Warrior Princess came into power; it's where Lucy Bark of Poteidaia literally came from (thank goodness for that co-worker bringing a cardboard box of puppies to the office so I could pick Lucy to join our family); the CEO is a HUGE Packer fan (quite to the wife's delight). It will give me many blogging stories (confidentiality maintained, of course--with no disrespect to those with mental illness--god knows, I've got enough diagnoses) and I won't have to say stupid things like, "the place of which I do not speak." It's in the same funding ocean, just a different boat (hopefully, not the Titanic). I might as well have a good time and work with my population of choice if I'm going to be out at sea.

You long-time readers (all three of you) are well aware of this place of employment. I know you are excited, too. And so, like Marty McFly, I'm going back to the future....without the Delorean, of course.

Riding on your Disco Stick

I had a choose between taking a nap before going out tonight and writing a blog. Lucky you--I chose to remain sleep deprived and write the blog. After all, I am on a gaga high and must write of it before I crash and burn.

May I just say: If imitation is truly the finest, highest form of flattery, Madonna must be flattered til she's splattered on the glitter covered, disco dance floor.

MJagger, her sister and I (being the concert whores that we are) went to the Lady Gaga concert in Milwaukee last night....on a school night, as the wife likes to say. (The wife stayed home. She chose to pass on the AddiGaga experience.) I put on my cargo shorts (great place to keep things like cell phone, wallet, disco stick--this is no time to dress up.....although I did consider gaga-ing myself), snagged some fast food for the road and hit the tollway. A few hours later, I met my concert-going friends at their hotel near the venue.

We knew it'd be weird, fun, entertaining....but, really you can't understand Lady Gaga until you've personally experienced her and her fans in person.

I've decided Lady Gaga doesn't put on a concert--she puts on a performance--a happening--a spewing of glitter, fashion, music, purpose, tattoos, naughtiness, fun--an explosion of little monsters prancing around like they are at the world's biggest, most fun gay pride extravaganza (which, in actuality they were at--Lady Gaga is quite the supporter of the LGBT community & puts on quite the homoerotic show). All five senses are drown in overload--it's visually delicious, loud with a purpose. My knee pain provided a tactile, kinesethic event while the passing of an illegal substance and smelly armpits fulfilled any olfactory need.

We didn't have seats, as the new way to do concerts is to be on the floor--where they used to have floor seats--and not have seats. Go figure. There are literally no chairs. Actually, it is really smart, as when you do have seats, you don't sit in them, anyways and it makes for a great dance floor, albeit cement in nature (hard on the knees). Being that MJagger and her sister are professional concert goers, I knew we wouldn't have any trouble weaseling our way up to the catwalk. By the time Gaga made it to the end of the catwalk, we were up close and personal--I could see the whites of Gaga's big eyes.

This is a photo of what looks to be Lady Gaga peeing in the hallway. Actually, it is a Gaga-wanna be squatting for no known reason in the hallway. She wasn't peeing and was actually very nice. How do I know this? Because I ended up talking to her and her Gaga-ized friend while waiting for the concert to start.

Really does look like she's peeing, tho.

Gaga kept us waiting for quite some time before starting the show. No opening bad--who needs an opening act when you are the heir to the Madonna throne? By the time she finally took the stage, the place was vomiting with excitement.

The premise is that we, her little freaks--called "Little Monsters," are on a mission to find the "Monster ball," kind of like Dorothy looking for the Wizard of Oz....only, with a lot less clothing & a lot more music. Of course, getting to the ball is quite the challenge. I must say, we were taken on a journey like no other.

Sure beats a cross country family vacation in a station wagon.

Gaga had a lot to say--I think she talked more than any other performer I have seen--she confessed her insecurities, asked for our support, oozed love and pride and gratitude for us. I am pretty sure she performed every song she has every recorded in the two plus hour concert. She danced and pranced and strutted; she covered herself with blood, changed outfits more in one show than I do in one month. Gaga sang her heart out (after he ate her heart), taking oath never to lip sync during live performances. She channeled Madonna throughout the show--dressing up like a nun on a subway (complete with see through nun habit), setting a statue of Jesus/angel statue on fire after having it bleed from the wings, rolling on the floor touching herself like there was no tomorrow.

In other words, it was genius.

Gaga repeatedly reminded the crowd that Jesus loves everyone, even her motley crew of little monsters. Where were my co-workers when I needed them to hear this? In case you had any doubts about yourself, you left there without them. Gaga should have been a therapist. Heck, her concert was much cheaper than therapy and a hell of a lot more fun (this coming from a counselor--I should know).

We won't even talk about how much cheaper her concert tickets are than Madonna's tickets.

I enjoyed Gaga's unstuffing of her bra. Not very often you see a performer do that. I also enjoyed that she gave $20,000 to a local charity supporting GLBT services.

By the time we found the Monster Ball--just in time for her "Bad Romance" encore, my knees were on fire in pain, I was a dripping ball of sweat, I was covered in spilled-when-dancing-beer and I was thinking about how much I'd like to see this concert again. I give her two monster paws up.

The only regret was that I left my camera in the car. I figured they wouldn't let me bring it in. I was wrong. Cameras were everywhere and she didn't care one bit; in fact, she encouraged everyone to take photos. What a refreshing change of concert pace. Camera phone photos don't do justice to anything--they look like crap. Well, at least I have some to remember the event.....

....besides my sore, aching, bruised knees.

You know it was a good time when you can go to work the next day after getting four hours of sleep and people are commenting about what a good mood you are in.

If you want to read what the Milwaukee paper had to say about this particular performance, go to http://www.jsonline.com/entertainment/musicandnightlife/102148864.html

Take my word for it: Lady Gaga is bizarre, delicious, vulgar, funny, entertaining, empowering, delightful, happy, shiny, healing, energetic, colorful, naughty, bloody and genius.

Here that sound, Madonna? That's your heir apparent sneaking up behind you. Don't turn around....your mini-me has arrived....and she is most definitely not bluffin' with her muffin.'