Holidaze Ramblings


Oh sure, now you ALL want queermuffs!  All you haters have come to realize what a great idea they are and now you are trying to buy some....just remember who got you hooked on these babies....

....Actually, all credit goes to Argo Warrior Princess, as she is the one who introduced me to earbags and Milo. You know, I drank some Milo after dinner tonight--I should have worn my queermuffs while drinking it.  Next time.

Next, you'll all want Poteidaia t-shirts.  I know you're already jealous.  I was way excited when this diddy arrived in the mail this weekend.  For those of you who are not in the know (what is WRONG with YOU?), Lucy's full name is "Lucy, Bark of Poteidaia," so I was REALLY excited to find this shirt.  I like it so much I might wear it on Christmas Day. I know the baby Jesus would give this shirt two thumbs up.

The wife has made it her mission to teach me how to operate the television and the required 756 remotes that are assigned to the various electronic equipment.  I have no interest in such nonsense--I just want to watch football in HD.

Thankfully, the Packer game was NOT on yesterday--it was blacked out by our good-for-nothing cable provider--because had we been able to see it, I might never have been allowed to turn the TV on again. The wife can't take the pain associated with such loss.

We received the BEST.HOLIDAY.CARD.EVER! this week. The wife and I found it so funny that we were literally snorting in laughter. It is not appropriate to re-post but if it were, you'd laugh, too.  Suffice it to say that our creative friends took their dog to a local outdoor nativity scene (you know, the kind with the life-sized statues and a real-looking stable) and placed their dog in the manger.  Their dog posed as the baby Jesus, peering out from the manger.  They snapped a few photos and next thing you know, they have the perfect holiday photo card.  Not just any old photo card--the BEST photo card ever! Genius. 

In case you are wondering (and I KNOW you are wondering), my medical mystery continues.  I've secured an appointment with someone who might come up with some alternative answers, as I'm rather irritated with the traditional medical field.  My doctor refers to my problem as "a nuisance" and that although it is a very real problem and it's something that you can see on a CT scan, there's really not much to do unless I want to take some major drugs (of which I want nothing to do with).  Thankfully, all the medical tests I've had over the past six months demonstrate on thing: I am a healthy, healthy person despite my nuisance.  My test results (all seven bazillion of them) were stellar and for that I am grateful.  I just happen to have this weird, very rare issue.  I've decided that Western medicine has failed me and that it's time for something new, another avenue. 

I'm putting on my queerfmuffs, donning my Poteidaia T-shirt, putting my paws up and taking my chakras on the road.  I'm going east.  I'm loading my one-eyed dog, the dentally-challenged canine, the wife and our four remotes into the car and I'm gonna get me some eastern medicine. Then, I'm gonna drink me some more Milo.  I've got to have a complete recovery by the time Madonna performs during the Super Bowl half time show.....

Three Cheers For the Queer....muff!

Before I get to the point of my babbling, I would like to say two words:

Four remotes. 

We have four remotes in our lives.  This is three more than I prefer to have and three more than I will ever figure out.  She tried to explain things to me but I stopped listening after she picked up remote #2.  I'm going to not watch TV unless she's home.  That way, I will have no remotes in my life.

The wife doesn't like when I talk about things like the TV because it might attract robbers.  Trust me, they'd be much better off going next door because we only have this one nice piece of electronic equipment.  We're just entering the 21st century.   We still have our stereo components from college--that should tell you something, because we haven't been in college for 25 or more years.  Besides, we have dogs and we have the nosiest neighbor in the country, which is AWESOME when it comes to having your very own neighborhood watch.  We keep our dogs locked and our alarm armed.  The TV is safe. Our college stereo is safe.  My 500 vinyl albums are safe.

Now, if you were breaking and entering to steal my new queermuffs, I'd understand.  I've been worried about only having ONE set of queermuffs for the past few years because I lose everything and I really can't live without my queermuffs....

.....some of you--okay, almost all of you--are wondering, "what the hell is a queermuff?" and why is this lady babbling about them?  If you had some, you'd feel the same way--you'd want to profess your love for them every day it is below 50 degrees.  I break them out when there is a chance of a cold front....a cool front....hell, a soft breeze blowing from the west.

Allow me to introduce you to the queermuff:

I know, I know, you can barely stand the excitement!  These are my brand-spankin' new leopard print ones.  They are a size "medium," which is problematic because I have a large size ear, but one must sacrifice when it comes to beauty.  They didn't have an leopard print ones in size large, so I went with the medium.  I figure I can stuff my ear in a medium.  It's not like you wear queermuffs for hours at a time.

No, that is not their "real" name.  The name of which I employ evolved over the years, mainly because the wife finds them so unattractive and ridiculous.  It went from ear muffs to queermuffs in a matter of months. 

These are NOT ear muffs, so do not insult them.  These gems don't need a wire or a string or a piece of plastic to keep them in place.  These don't mess your hair. These don't fall off.  These don't roll away.  One for each ear.  POW! POW!  Warm ears! 

You can wear one or both at a time.  You can mix and match. You can wear them to bed.  You can wear them with your formal wear.  Why do you think I got the leopard print ones? Those will be my dress queer muffs!

I got these on-line from a certain TV shopping show.  I couldn't pass up the deal--I got four pair for the price of three and the shipping was a steal.  That means one pair of leopard print for me and three pair for....well, I can't tell you who they are for, as they are being given as Christmas gifts! 

I am SURE these will be the BEST.GIFT.EVER. for the recipients.  100% sure. 

Wait 'til I teach them how to do the "queermuff sassy dance."  It's so sassy I might have to make a video of it for you visiting the Addiverse.....

....or, maybe I'll just wear my queermuffs while trying to figure out those four remotes.

ICU-TV

We seem to have an eye theme going on in the Addiverse.  My mom is having cataract surgery as I type.  The wife had a dream last night about not being able to see....and, it is definitely time for her to get some "readers" or "cheaters," 'cause she can't read small print anymore.  Just two weeks ago she went to the doctor (I almost typed "went to the vet," because that's where we spend most of our free time) for what appeared to be pink eye, but it turned out to be some inflammation of the eyelid issue. She went out and purchased a giant-ass TV on Cyber Monday, mainly because neither of us can see our wimpy-ass little TV screen any more.  We all know about the booger-encrusted-one-eyed-wonder Freckles has come to be.  We have eye drops, eye ointments and eye washes all around the house. The coating on my lenses is mysterious corroding (I don't know what else to call it) and I am in need of a pair of new glasses myself.

What IS it we don't want to see?

I ask that question in serious fashion.  I've been reading a lot of Louise Hay lately and that is something she would ask me if she were standing in front of me.  I hope I'd see her if she were  standing there. 

You know I love a good visual (pun intended), so I'm including this photo of me from the mid 1990's when I got hit in the face with a softball and ended up making a pulpous, bloody mess out of my eye.  (Don't you wonder why I have photos like this and how I know where to find them immediately upon need?) Actually, the ball made a mess of my face, not technically me....although, I'm the one who wasn't paying attention before the game started and thus got a softball to the face while standing in the coaching box.  Got me some stitches, a pair of irreparable glasses and a completely red-filled eye.  It did make my hazel eye look that much more green and colorful--kind of like a Christmas eye.

Trust me when I say there is a whole long story that goes with the injury.  Readers Digest version: I got hit in the face with the softball, fell to the ground in a bloody mess, heard the wife's feet charging toward me (my knight in shining armor!), hear the wife exclaim something about seeing blood, hear the wife charge quickly away from  me, leaving me in a bloody mess, lying on the ground.  The team got me off the field, blood still pouring out of my head (head injuries ALWAYS bleed a lot, look really dramatic when in reality is not that bad) and put me in my car...and made the wife drive me to the ER.  As she was completely panic stricken (she HATES blood), I had to tell her how to get to the ER because she couldn't remember.  My team mates showed up just a few minutes later, mostly to give direction to the ER doctor and staff (I kid you not).  I'm lucky the ER doctor didn't purposefully poke my eye out with all those questions and directives.

I am pleased to report a full recovery was enjoyed and a new pair of glasses was secured. I always love to get a new pair of glasses but that's not exactly the way I want to have to get them.  

But, I digress.

Let's move on to the new TV.  Now I shouldn't be telling you we're getting a new TV, because what if you are a burglar looking for a new TV to steal and sell? We haven't had to worry about burglars up to this point because our TV is from the early 1990's--anyone peering in our window to case the joint would take one look at that TV and immediately move along.  Besides, they'd get a hernia trying to carry the thing out the door.  We don't need an alarm system-we keep the shades open so burglars can get a good look at what we don't have.  Now, we'll have to shut the blinds (huh--blinds....fits right in the theme).  

I don't know much of anything about TVs.  I know they keep getting bigger while getting thinner.  There is no such thing as a little TV anymore.  Well, maybe for your kitchen or small bedroom, but otherwise they seem to be big as a wall.  The wife purchased a giant TV.  It scares me--I'm not sure we need anything remotely that big or that expensive.  (The vet bills this year still cost more than the fancy TV, so that should put things in perspective.) The wife has really good taste, so you know this is a kick-ass TV.  I'm sure we'll be able to see it just fine.  Heck, I think you'll be able to see it from across the street. There's no buying some Cyber-Monday cheapo appliance when it comes to the wife making such a purchase.  The wife goes for the gold and then works out a deal.  Salesmen tremble in her presence.  She goes to the store armed and dangerous.  They don't even try to scam her....they usually say something like, "wow, you seem to know what you're talking about" and leave it at that.  They just smile and nod, and they don't smile that much.  Suffice it to say, the wife terrified a young man, worked out a deal and made the purchase.

 

I'm more of a book reader than a TV watcher but I'm sure I'll become quite the TV fan, especially when watching all those Xena DVDs and pro football games.  Nothing looks better on the big screen than Xena or a football game. I couldn't care less that it comes with all sorts of things like blu-ray and 3-D, but I do love the idea that we can stream movies from the Internet and that we can do computer things on the big screen.  Make me some popcorn and fire up the screen--I'm settling in for the night!

We've learned that getting a new TV in this day and age is rather complicated.  The entertainment center and all the crap on it needs to go (huh! do they still have entertainment centers and are they called that?), a new piece of what is sure to be expensive furniture will have to take its place, the wall will need to be painted (after all, that huge entertainment center has been plopped there since 1995), the TV will need to be installed, complete with a gazillion wires and cables. What happened to opening the box and plugging it in?    I'm sure it will take both of our master's degrees and some anti-psychotic medications for us to get this puppy fired up.  I'll let you know how it goes.  I think some photos may need to be taken so I can share them with you--er, I mean document this event.

Until the TV arrives, I'm off to chase Freckles so I could put her eye ointment in, I'm going to call my eye doctor & set up an appointment, I'm going to call my mom to see how her eye surgery went and I'm going to surprise the wife with a pair of cheaters from the local drug store.  If that doesn't say "exciting Friday," I don't know what does.  We'll SEE what this day has to offer.....until then, eye see you!

Planes and Trains and Memory Lanes

Thank you to Wicky for the info on saving my blog (saving as in keeping a copy--not saving from poor grammar or sophomoric content and certainly not saving in the Baby Jesus way). It is appreciated!  The thought of losing my ramblings is enough to send me to therapy.  I am proud to be your first wife of a wife!

Update on Lucy: Oh my my my.  She is healing very nicely, thank you for asking.  I can't say that the surgery slowed her eating down very much.   We will be out of pain pills today, so that should be telling.  Now that I've been able to take a gander in that little mouth of hers, I have personally witnessed that she basically has no teeth on the lower right side.  I am not exaggerating.  No teeth--just a lot of gums.  How did we miss all those teeth falling out of there? We didn't see any in her poop (and, trust me, we exam dog poop around here--we are professional dog poop inspectors).  We never saw any on the floor or in her bed or anywhere.  Perhaps there is a little pile of teeth hidden in some corner of the house.  Maybe Freckles at them and that's why her poop was so weird way back when.  Maybe the wife's been serving them to me--hidden in a ball of tofu or maybe in my bowls of cereal--in an attempt to get me to turn from my vegetarian ways....


BTW, here is visual evidence that Lucy sleeps with stuff animals in her mouth....the most likely culprit of her dental decay:
 
Thanksgiving.  How did we get to Thanksgiving so quickly?  Can it already that time of year when people ooze gratitude and throw boatloads of money at various business establishments? Where does the time go? Wasn't it just a week ago that the Packers were winning the Super Bowl and the snow plow guy was crashing into our garage door? Wasn't it just a few days ago that we were getting civilized? Alas, you avid readers already know that I am grateful about many things, so I'll skip that for today.  Instead, I shall speak of last weekend's stroll down memory lane.

The wife and I were in the Chicago suburbs last weekend for various events, including our beloved aunt's memorial service.  (It's all good--I said good bye to her three years ago, so I went to celebrate her life, not mourn her death. Hope that doesn't come off as cold or uncaring....as it is most certainly not what I mean.  I mourn for her children and send them heartfelt condolences.  But, for her I had smiles.)  On the way to the cemetery, I subjected the wife to yet another rendition of memory lane.  She's been tormented countless times with this tour--whenever we drive by my old stomping grounds, I narrate the trip, historic markers of the Addiverse.  As usual, I pointed out my junior high school, my orthodontist, my church, my grandparents' house, the gazebo, the factory where my aunt had worked.  I told her of the ubiquitous trains that always made you late, of living in the landing pattern of O'Hare, of riding my bike down the arteries of gravel alleys--the sounds of these three things make me giddy--there is nothing like a bike tire crunching on the gravel in the alley, hearing a train chugging down the tracks in the distance or the thunder of the jet roaring off the runway. I lamented about how the town's bowling alley had been turned into a church (a church!), how some of my favorite local landmarks were missing.  I recalled happy memories of Christmas Eves long ago, of visiting my family just blocks from my childhood home.  I explained how we would try to guess the color of the caboose and count the cars of the yet-another passing train. I took a long look at my grandparents home as we went by, as that is also where my mother, aunt and her children lived.  I paid due respects as we meandered toward my aunt's service.

When we got to the cemetery, I learned that my sister had done literally the same thing as she was driving, torturing--eer, I mean educating--her daughters and friends with the same stories of old.  Funny how we all tend to do that.  The wife will make fun of me and my sister for doing this, but she's just as guilty as we--I've heard the same stories about the same landmarks from her childhood......"there's where my brother lost all his holy cards while riding his bike to church...."  Guilty, as charged.

As we were standing in the cemetery chapel for the service, I could hear the horn of a passing train.  It gave me pause. It was loud.  It was a wee bit distracting. I realized I was out of practice--the others probably didn't even hear the train whistle.   While standing graveside, planes continued to fly overhead, this time toward (not away) from the runway.  I'm probably the only one who was looking up at the sky as much as I was looking down at the ground.  Those two minor things, those two things that everyone in town either no longer notices or hates with a passion, made me feel right at home.  The gritty colors, the factories, the soot....all part of "home," even though it's a home that hasn't existed for me in thirty years.  Although I wouldn't ever want to live there again and even though I've lived where we now live longer than anywhere else in my life, it is good to have somewhere in the world you can call "home."

They say "Home is where the heart is."  In my case, home is where the soot and the traffic and the noise and the grime is.  Home is where you get caught by yet another train--sometimes even two at a time.  Home is where you can see the landing gear of an approaching airplane or have to stop a conversation because you can't hear over the jet engines.  Home is where I can find a bowling alley that has been converted into a church. 

Happy Thanksgiving.  May you be home where your heart is.  May your heart be where your home is.

Snape-a-licious

I've decided that because I am such the magician (able to make a hernia disappear with a blink of an eye) and because I've seen the final installment of HP four times and because it's just too hard to figure out the appropriate gaga outfit and because I didn't want to scare anyone by dressing like an o.b. tampon, I am going to dress as my beloved Severus Snape for Halloween. 

My other costume consideration was to dress as Katniss from "The Hunger Games," but I figure no one at work would know what or who the hell I was.  Maybe next year after the movie's been out for awhile.....

Now, I usually don't tell anyone what my plans are for my Halloween outfits, but this year's costume is going to be so labor intensive (I make my own costumes) that I thought it only fair to alert the masses of my whereabouts and my distractions.  Over the past many adult years, I've been Mr. Hankey the Christmas Poop, The Crocodile Hunter, Spongebob Squarepants, a smurf (which one I am not sure), Goldilocks, a groom, Popeye and even Batman.  Those were simple in comparison to this feat.  I thought about cheating (i.e. buying a costume on line) but to purchase an official Snape costume (and I don't believe the hair is included) is almost $200. 

I like Halloween but I don't like it that much.

So, I went to Wally world and bought some supplies to begin my creation.  I hope the wife still has her "cheap" graduation gown, as that will work for a cape (saves me money and will work like a charm).  I won't ask to borrow her official gown, as that cost more than the Snape outfit.  I'm not sure how I'm going to do it but this is my goal:

I'll need to buy a wig and a wand, but otherwise, I'll be faking the rest.

For the record, I've loved Snape from the very first book.  JK thought she had us all fooled, but she didn't fool me.  I knew.  I KNEW!

BTW, one of my clients--a guy with schizophrenia who usually doesn't demonstrate an interest in or an understanding of emotion--asked me if my heart was breaking when Snape saw his lovely Lily die.  Surprised, I turned to him and admitted that indeed it was.  He agreed with me.  "It is heartbreaking to see someone so in love lose the person they love."  Woof.  Blew me right away.

See? The power of Snape!

As for the hernia, I pushed it back in and I swear I haven't seen it since.  I am going to exercise this afternoon (the first time since seeing and then not seeing the hernia) and see if anything develops.  I can do some heavy lifting, too but I dont' want it to come shooting out like an alien--if it's there, it will come crawling out on its own. 

For those of you who are wondering and/or have been praying/sending out healing vibes, there is good news! Our friend who was in the burn unit at the local hospital, is home and getting ready to return to work part-time next week.  Yeah!  She's still got a ways to go but she is truly on the mend.  I went to see her and her sidekick yesterday.  I had called earlier and asked if I could visit around 2:30 PM.  They were gracious and agreed.  So, I'm in my car, driving in the country, enjoying the fine fall day, singing at the top of my lungs, heading to their homestead, cruising through the 30 minute trip.  I figure I have about ten minutes to go, so look at the clock and it says 1:17 PM.  I think to myself, "I am going to be right on time! Perfect!"

Um, hello.  The clock says 1:17 pm.....

.....not 2:17 PM.  I have ten minutes to go to get to their house at 2:30 PM but I am about to get there at 1:30 PM.

I am an hour ahead of schedule.

How this happened, I do not know.  I swear I left at 2 PM but somehow left at 1 PM.  Earlier in the day, I told my co-workers that I'd be leaving at 2 PM.  No one--not a one of them--said a word when I walked out at 1 PM. 


So, I called them and asked if I could come an hour ahead.  Being the ever-gracious hosts, they obliged my inability to tell time.  They fed me dark-chocolate-infused coffee cake and drown me in delicious coffee swimming in heavy cream. 

Um, aren't I the one who should be bringing the gifts?

It was wonderful to see our dear friend upright and not in an ICU bed.    It was also wonderful to her dutiful wife enjoying a hospital-free day.  What a great way to spend an autumn afternoon, even if it was an hour early. (Thank you for all the good wishes.) I know that THEY will appreciate my decision to be Snape.  After all, they have a life-size cut out of Dumbledore in their living room.    They'd also understand if I were dressed as Katniss, as it is their fault I know about the Hunger Games.

For now, I will dedicate to the creation of my costume and work on determining the status of my hernia/non-hernia.  I'll also work on telling time. 

My money's on the costume.

And the greatest is love

Random thought #1: I don't know how parents do it.  How do you ever let your off-spring walk to school? Drive a car? Go on a date? Go away to school?  Oh my goodness, I am watching from a distance--watching my nieces grow up--and can barely take it.  I can barely stand taking care of dogs, it is so traumatic and they don't even go on dates or away to school or learn to drive.  God love all you parents.  You are much better people than I.

Random thought #1.5: I am lucky my parents didn't sell me or change the locks. Just sayin'.

Random thought #2: How much do you think three talking Bell-taco dogs, sealed in their original packaging, would sell for on Bay of E?  (I have no idea--I'm not here to tell you a great auction sale--I'm literally asking.) They still talk, which actually is pretty amazing.  Perhaps I should just give them to my parents for Christmas.  Could there be a better present? I think not. 

If you'd like to make an offer, I am listening.
So are the talking dogs.  I deliver--free shipping!

Random thought #3: I've decided that it was a lot easier to transition to college in the olden days before technology.  We didn't have cell phones, texting, book de la face, twitter or even email.  Heck, we didn't even have computers and we didn't get a land line until like the 6th week of school.  Come to think of it, we didn't have TVs or microwaves, either.  We had a little plug-in hot pot that we'd use to boil water or make some kind of soup product.  Okay, so the Internet and M-TV didn't exist either, but now I'm just sounding old.  It was "sink or swim."  You know, I just remembered that we couldn't have cars on campus our first semester of freshmen year, either....which also led to the "sink or swim" method of transitioning.  Sigh.  I am SO glad I am not a "going to college newbie." 

I am SO glad I am not the parent of a "going to college newbie."

Side random thought #3.5: did cable even exist when I was a college freshman????  I remember watching Luke and Laura's wedding, but that was on regular TV.  M-TV didn't come until the start of my sophomore year....cable?  I don't remember.....I know there were no CDs or DVDs yet and there certainly weren't any ipods.  We had cassette recorders and albums and antenna TV.  But, I cannot recall the arrival of cable.....

Random thought #4: Who were you with on September 11, 2001?  Now that we have arrived at the ten year "anniversary" of September 11, I've been thinking.  I also found--quite by accident--a local newspaper and a People magazine from that day.  (Found 'em while cleaning my plastic storage bins in the basement.  The timing couldn't be more apropos.)  Where where you?  I was with co-workers, on the lower level.  A co worker named Sharon came in and told us about the news.  We had no idea.  Actually, the words she said weren't making any sense--they didn't register.  I stood there while another co-worker, Wes, tried to adjust the TV antenna so we could see the news.  Once he we could see, we wished we couldn't. 

Like everyone else across the nation, I called my mother.

Ten years.  Can it actually have been ten years ago?  If you have lost memories of that day, may I suggest you listen to Alan Jackson's "Where Were You?"  (Link Below)  It's hard to listen to that song without having vivid memories and a lump in your throat.  As Alan says, "and the greatest is love."

 Random thought #5: How awesome is it to receive a Xena mug in the mail? Here I am enjoying the arrival of this gem.  If you are skeptical that little talking dogs will sell on Bay E, here is proof that they will---for pete's sake, I just bought a Xena mug!  The big question is should I use the Xena mug or not? It would sure be fun to drink coffee in a Xena mug every morning.  And, I could eat those brownies in the background when drinking coffee in a Xena mug.  I bought it to add to my collection (you know, Xena shot glass, mugs, dolls, books, shirts, photos, trading cards, lunch box, horse, race cars, etc.), but once I saw it, I thought I might actually have to use it.  I've never seen one on sale before, so that makes me want to collect it, not use it. 

Random thought #6: Life is short.  Burn the candles, wear that outfit, drive that Mustang in the winter, use that Xena mug.
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c9PwWkV4HQ4
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Nine Lives

The vet called this morning with the results of Freckles' liver test.  She said the exact words I was hoping not to hear: it's her liver.  As I was driving, I couldn't write down all the things the vet was saying, but I knew that this was not a very good thing.  (I think I'll call her "Dr. Dogg" from now on, as I am tired of calling her the vet.)  Anyways, Dr. Dogg indicated that there are three diseases that come to mind when she sees such results.  I don't remember the three but one was cancer (of which I am sure Freckles does not have), one was some kind of cirrhosis and the other was something something hepatitis.  None of it sounded very promising.  Dr. Dogg said she was going to contact a specialist and talk to her about the results and then get back to me. 

I was crushed.  The roller coaster ride was on a down turn again--what a ride this continued to be. Last night's guarded excitement was quickly tempered by the words "it's her liver."  End of story, literally.  Sigh.  I decided right there that Friday would be her "day."  I finished my drive to work, feeling saddened and resigned.  I was too crushed to cry.

While sitting in MJagger's office, I read my dog health book, hoping to find answers.  I learned a lot about livers. You don't want to mess around with livers. This liver thing looked mighty grim.  Grim, grim, grim. I told MJagger my plan for Friday.  There was nothing more to do.  Freckles' nine lives were up--the roller coaster had to come to a stop some time or another--I owed it to her to ensure she didn't suffer.  While we were talking about Freckles (and MJagger was trying to force-feed me potato oles), I had a brainstorm: Freckles started her life at this very agency; she would go out at this very agency.  I announced I was bringing Freckles to work tomorrow.  A swan song!  The thought made me teary and happy at the same time.  Yes, I would bring her to work one last time.

Then, Dr. Dogg called.  She told about her discussion with the specialist.  Dr. Dogg spoke about how the specialist--whom I shall call Dr. Dogg's Dog--said that the results seemed more like "abnormal normal" than abnormal.  She told Dr. Dogg to "keep looking--there is something else here.  This is not pure liver disease."

Are you kidding me? YOU JUST TOLD ME IT WAS HER LIVER A FEW SHORT HOURS AGO! IVE PLANNED HER SWAN SONG!  I've been pooping all day! I'm a wreck! NOW YOU TELL ME IT'S NOT A PURE LIVER ISSUE? ARE.YOU.FRIGGIN.KIDDING.ME?!!!! I can't take this! Happy, sad, happy, sad, happy, sad! Is it or isn't it her liver? Damn roller coaster is pulling out of the station again.  AGAIN!

Life number ten, coming right up.  

Dr. Dogg said there might be a problem with the small intestines, the pancreas, the liver, all of the above, some of the above, none of the above.  She indicated that an ultrasound would answer a lot of questions. 

An ultrasound?  Seriously? An ultrasound?  I'm now going to get my dog an ultrasound?

Dr. Dogg then said something that I found quite hilarious and ironic: "I'm thinking she might have Addison's Disease." For those of you who know me in real life, you immediately understand why this is hilarious and ironic.  Who the hell has a dog with a disease named after them?

Suffice it to say, Freckles may not have to worry about Friday. I have no idea what the hell is going on. I have no idea if she'll get an ultra sound.  I am not sure if she's sick or if she's terminal or if she's just fine. I have no idea why she hasn't pooped today.  I have no idea about much at all.  What I do know is going to go to work with me tomorrow and we are going to have a great time.  We are going to put all this behind us and enjoy life number ten. The Warrior Princess is gonna rock the office, just like in the old days.

Life number ten.  This is one complicated dog.  This is one complicated ride.

Just so we're clear: if the warrior princess needs an ultrasound, she is SO not going to be getting any birthday or Christmas presents this year.

A Life of Its Own

I posted this picture because this is what I plan to wear to our civil union picnic.  ha ha!  Actually, I posted it in honor of Lucy Lawless' birthday yesterday.  Happy Birthday, warrior princess.

First things first: one of the victims of my unfriending fury last week has apologized--yes, one of "the others" wrote AND spoke to the wife yesterday and was very apologetic.  This brings a tear to my eye.  I highly doubt my unfriending spree had anything to do with it.  I am impressed and I know the wife is relieved.  Thank you, Baby Jesus!  Perhaps "the others" will fall, one by one.  See? The Baby Jesus really does hate homophobia.

Seeking all creative cures: the wife is still struggling (and I do mean struggling) with sciatica.  This must stop.  I can't have a lame wife and she can't have this ongoing pain.   We are seeking all recommendations at this point--nothing is too weird, too expensive, too simple, too complicated.  (She doesn't do illegal, though.)  While the acupuncture is definitely helping, she is still rather miserable, groans when she moves for any particular purpose, can only sleep on one side and still has pain, pain, pain.  I am proud to say she is doing her daily stretches and addressing her fears (go with it--it's part of the problem, we are sure).  Tonight, I will see if she wants to do a relaxation tape.  I do love a good relaxation....can't hurt to try, it's free and she can stop whenever she wants/needs to.

We must heal her--how is she ever going to be able to do "The Chicken Dance" at our civil union picnic if she is not healed by then?  (Note to Argo and Three Hawk: Are we doing the Chicken Dance at our picnice and you are doing the Hokey Pokey at your party--or, is it the other way around? I can't remember.  Damn peri-menopause!)

Ah, the civil union: the event is trying to take a life of its own.  Our wonderful, supportive, excited friends are full of great ideas, all driven by love, friendship and the best of intentions.  We basically stand here looking like deer in the headlights while things swirl around us.  One awesome suggestion was to have a "wedding" website--the websites are free and all the fabulous in-the-know-brides of the world create a site to post general wedding information, directions to the venues, place to RSVP, story of the proposal and of the wedding party, ad naseum.  This is actually a great idea; however, we're not having a wedding and once I started to make one of these web pages (for the purpose basically of gathering RSVPs and of providing driving directions), it got to be very overwhelming.  It just made me realize how much we haven't done or even thought of and this was of no comfort. The wife looked terrified when I started talking aloud, spouting out all the thoughts and questions that were developing in my brain:

Me: "What time do you want to eat? Hmmm. What time do people eat at a civil union picnic?
Wife: Blank stare.
Me: "What do you want to eat?"
Wife: "Picnic food."
Me: "Do you know any caterers? I don't know any caterers."
Wife: Blank stare.
Me: "Huh.  What the hell am I gonna call our page? Every website address has the word wedding in it."
Wife: Blank stare.
Me: "Proposal? We don't need a proposal page.  How the hell do I delete this page?"
Wife:  "Do we really need a website? I thought we were keeping this simple. This civil union is starting to take a life of its own."

I stop and ponder this statement: a life of its own. 

I agree.  The thing is alive and trying to take us over.  We.must.fight.back.  Although I am a technology whore, I scrap the idea of a website and stick to the plan.  We really do want to keep things simple. We are going to have to stand firm every time someone gives us yet another new suggestion......

.....we will smile and nod, smile and nod.

It's while I am reading various web pages developed by the organized brides in the world when I realize that I have made a grave mathematical error: when using the Christmas card list to develop the invitation list, I only counted how many envelopes I annually send out.....not realizing that more than one person lives at each house.  This means I grossly under-estimated the potential number of guests by a lot.

Oops.

I break the news gently to the wife.  She handles it quite calmly.....until I start talk about catering prices and she starts realizing that my gross miscalculation means the food costs are going to be much different than the numbers swirling in her head.

She was shell-shocked.  I had no idea she had no idea about food costs.  Here I am thinking how reasonable the prices are and what the total will be and she is thinking that this is way, way, way more than she ever envisioned.  Suffice it to say, she was quickly educated.  Once she regained consciousness, all was well.

This planning thing is hard.  I am a "here and now" kind of grrrrl--thinking two months ahead is really a stretch for me.  But, time is of the essence, so we really can't just sit around, looking clueless and constipated. We must move forward while trying to keep the thing from growing.  I think I'll make little business cards that say: "No showers.  No bachelor-ette parties. No gifts.  No website. No public ceremony--just a picnic." This may or may not help as we move forward.

I've had more than one friend say to me, "you did this once before--how can this be hard for you?"  This always makes me burst into laughter:  that was in a previous life, when I was like 12 years old, completely naive to the fact I should have been terrified (and running far away) and most likely in a drunken stupor. I had a grasp (albeit limited) of what was expected in the wedding world and my amazing parents thankfully and generously led the way.  I worked for a priest (stop laughing!) who was full of wedding wisdom.  The pending father in law had connections to the printers in town, so invitations were a no-brainer. My parents took care of reception-planning.....

....we basically hung on for the ride.

Here's a photo of me that might help explain things.  Sorry you can't see the blue hi-tops I am wearing.  See? Definitely a previous life.  This person cannot help me today.  Friends, the "bride of yester-year" is not going to provide one ounce of useful direction.

Out of respect, I will not post a photo of the wife in her brides maid gown (but, I sure want to!).

Back to today.  Here and now. We will work with what we've got into today's civil union world.  And, for all you well-intentioned friends: we love you, we appreciate you, we listen to you, we thank you. Please don't take offense when I hand you that business card mentioned above.

For the record, we are incredibly fortunate that my family remains super-supportive and are available for "civil union planning consultation."  For instance, last night food questions were addressed, thanks to the much sought input from my mother and sister. I know my family will do whatever they can and whatever is asked.  The wife's family is coming around and there is hope for them--my money is that they will do what they can, too (in their own time).  Our friends are the bomb.  My co-workers are unbelievable.

My mantra: "We are having a picnic.  We can plan a picnic. We are having a picnic.  We can plan a picnic." Take that, you civil union monster, you.

I'd write more but I have to go plan a picnic, slay a monster and find a cure for sciatica.

**************************************************************

The Dreaded Post-Swedish-Smorgasbord Food Coma

I write this blog feeling as if there is a brick in my stomach. I am suffering from the dreaded post-Swedish Smorgasbord food coma.

I have a food injury.


Last night, the gaybors asked if we wanted to go to the smorgasbord at the local Swedish restaurant.  As there is almost nothing more delightful than a well-made Swedish Pancake, our eyes lit up like a Christmas tree.  We NEVER say no to an opportunity to eat Swedish pancakes, so how could we say no to an opportunity that included Swedish pancakes at a buffet?

Here's a photo I took of Flat Stanley visiting the restaurant. I took this photo a while back for a Book de la Face friend's project.  Flat Stanley is obviously welcoming you to the mecca of Swedish food in the area. FS knows where to find the good eats.

A note about Scandinavian in the Addiverse.  Where I grew up, it was Polish and Italian--no Scandinavian folks floating around.  So, when I moved to this town in 1980, I was really confused by the lack of names ending in "ski."  I was surrounded by a plethora of last names ending in "son."  I had never eating a Scandinavian food product in my life (well, at least not to my knowledge).  I didn't know there was a difference between Swedish people and Norwegian people. I had never heard of "glogg" (a classic Scandinavian hot-spiced drink that was designed to take the bite off those cold Swedish winter nights and most certainly make you drunker than a skunk without knowing it until it's too late) and I didn't have a guess at what the hell a lingonberry might be.  Suffice it to say, my ex-husband (a true Scandinavian) introduced me to all these things, including the Swedish pancake.

Thankfully, I was able to keep my lips off pickled herring during my initiation to the way of the north. 

Unfortunately, I was unable to keep my lips off glogg.  Those in-laws knew how to make a mean glogg.  I didn't like the taste very much--I'm not a spice-kind of grrrrl--but, one had to have some glogg when hanging out with them. Hmmmm.....there is a chance I may have put my lips on pickled herring during a glogg-induced fog.  I'm not sure.

I digress.  Back to the buffet.

The wife and I do love a good buffet; in fact, it is just wrong how much we love buffets.  It's no wonder we both loved eating at the college cafeteria--we were always first in line for lunch.  Seriously. Anyways, we try never to go to buffets because they just encourage bad foot behavior--meaning, we eat ourselves into food comas.  I am a "grazer:"  I eat all through the day but do not enjoying large meals. Worse is eating large meals at the end of the day--it makes me miserable and thus I enjoying going out for breakfast or lunch more than dinner.  I try to pace myself when we go out for dinner, no matter what the food.  But, a Swedish smorgasbord!  How can anyone say no to that?

Oh.my.god.  It was orgasmic.

It was also a carbohydrate nightmare.  Those Swedes don't eat a lot of veggies--it's hard to grow veggies in the cold, dark lands of Scandinavia.  They are all about potatoes, nothing green.

I think I would have been all right had I not included three Swedish pancakes with my meal.  I couldn't stop, though. I ate my potatoes in various forms and my desserts like there was no tomorrow. I ate a salad (a waste of space, actually) and then I slapped those three pancakes onto my plate.  I slathered them with an ice cream scoop's worth of butter and waddled back to the table.  I had a tear.  That's how good they were.

I ate the pancakes, smiling all the way....and, upon completion, realized I had eaten way.too.much.  I had a food injury.  I felt rather miserable.  I shrugged it off, figured it was plenty early before bedtime and thus decided to eat a cookie.  Sure, I'll be fine in a few hours.

I was wrong.  Talk about miserable.  Most people are fine a few hours of a big meal--they have a burp and a fart and they are fine. Not me.  That stuff was like a rock in there. Even though it had been several hours since our smorgasbording, I couldn't lay down--I was too miserable to lay down.  I have a slow moving system, so I swear those three Swedish pancakes were hanging out in my esophagus--there was no room for them in my stomach and they weren't going anywhere fast.  I basically slept sitting up.  Every time I would lay down, I felt sick.

I woke up still feeling quite full, rather miserable--the brick of food remained in my stomach.  But, I wasn't bitter; in fact, I was happy.  I was still in delight over how delicious that food had been, how much I had enjoyed every little morsel.

I am enveloped by the Scandinavian food coma.  The only cure is time and a poop.  For the love of Odin, let me poop!

This is Odin, from Xena Warrior Princess.  Great story line, complete with golden apples and Reingold. I pray to him for a great Nordic movement of the bowels.

For now, I will get dressed and go to church.  Nothing rumbling in the Addiverse.

And, so I say, "Go. Go forth and find the smorgasbord."  It's worth the price of a food injury.

Swedish pancakes at a Civil Union picnic, anyone?
**********************************************************************

Yes, OB...there really IS a Santa Claus

Ah, Linus and the Christmas monologue. A classic, indeed. Thought I best start this irreverent blog with at least a smidgen of respect to this holiday. "But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid; for see--I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people."

I swear to you that the event in this blog is true. I couldn't make this kind of stuff up, anyways.

Yesterday, while minding my own business, I received a message via Book de la Face. It was from a high school friend of whom I have not seen since high school....which was one or two years ago. Ha ha. Anyways, I got this message:

"Hi Addi Warrior Princess,
This is kind of a weird post, but I was just catching up on reading your blog and saw your dilemma about the OB ultra. I happen to have a box with just one missing. I don't like OB and would be happy to send the box to you if you want them."

I gasped!

As I couldn't believe my eyes, I read the message again. Yup, that's what it said!

A tear came to my eye and I let out a whoop and a holler, scaring the dogs and scaring the neighbors. Someone had OB ultra tampons and she was willing to share them.

OB TAMPONS ARE GOING TO COME TO ME IN THE MAIL!!!!

This is a Christmas miracle!!!!

Apologies to you who are mortified that I am associating the birth of Christ with a box of tampons.

I was overcome with joy. After I was able to stop hyperventilating, I realized I should offer this fabulous human being something for her generous offer. My car? My stash of chocolate? The wife?

Nothing is sacred when scoring OB Ultra tampons.

So, I offered to pay a premium price for both the actual tampons and the postage. Being the angel from above that this person is, she wrote back:

"Really, think of this as pay it forward. I am sure you share of things for people and wanting nothing in return. They are just sitting in the cabinet and I would rather give them to someone who will use them."

Yes, OB....there really IS a Santa Claus!

So, thank you, kind-no-be-liking-ob-ultras-lady. You are an unsuspecting angel in the perimenopausal world better known as the Addiverse.

To the rest of you beloved readers: I wish you a very Merry Christmas, indeed! Ho ho ho!

Just the scoop, poop

While driving to work this morning, I realized two things: one, that I had forgotten to post a blog last night; and, two, I am going to have to poop at work.

The blog part would is easy enough to address. Once done with work today, I knew I'd have time to write the blog.

The pooping thing, on the other hand, would NOT be easy.

I was driving along, smiling and humming in a most obnoxious way, now concentrating on blog topics and Christmas shopping (of which I really have tried to ignore). While zipping through the traffic, I scanned my brain for various topics. I came to the realization that I had nothing really on my mind, nothing bothering me, nothing profound floating around in the deep recesses of my subconscious. I'm a happily boring person right now (well, as boring as I can be). Besides a lack of O.B. tampons, I have nothing to whine about....

I chewed on that for a few seconds. What a wonderful place to be, I thought. Had I not been stuffed into winter regalia, I would have rubbed my gratitude tattoo in honor of this moment.

As I was driving and smiling and feeling grateful, I realized I was going to have to poop.

At work.

Some of you have no problem pooping anywhere---you can probably poop on the sidewalk if you had to. Pooping at work is no big deal. But, for me? It's not an option. Why?

Because the office bathroom is IN the office. Seriously.

You read that right: the bathroom is in the actual office, which means everyone can hear and smell you poop. There is no escaping. There is no pretending. There is no blaming others. I love talking about poop but I don't want to talk about my poop that I just made in the office bathroom, which is less than seven feet from my peer's desk and five feet from my own desk. I don't want to be sitting on the toilet thinking about how everyone knows what I am doing in there. Although I think my poop is like apple blossoms, I know that others don't find that to be true.

Why we have a bathroom in our office is beyond the scope of this blog. Just know that I am not exaggerating. It is what it is.

I'm the boss. Bosses don't poop seven feet away from their workers!

I knew there would be three staff in the office upon my arrival. At this time of day, there would be no chance of an empty office. My poop would be known to all.

I started to sweat. If this were a three stall bathroom down the hall, that'd be different. But, this! This is bathroom hell!

Lost in thought, I almost drove into the back of a stopped car. I began to sweat.....what the hell do I do if a fart squeaks out?

I thought about turning around and going home.

I'm not going to tell you how I resolved this issue, but I will tell you that I did NOT poop at work. I just couldn't do it. I could not not not not do it.

(No, I did not poop in my car or on the sidewalk.)

As I will be in this office setting for the tenure of this assignment, I am going to have to come up with a pooping plan. I'm going to have to have a system and it won't include pooping in that office/bathroom setting. I'll have to get back to you after I figure out a pooping plan.

Until then, I'm going to have to stay home until I poop or eat cheese all week to keep me from pooping at all.......

Aren't you glad I remembered to post a blog today?
**********************************************************************

Oh No: OB No OB really No OB

Again, the civil union blogging must wait. I have heard from the company that makes OB tampons! The news is not good. And, I quote:

"Dear Addi Warrior Princess,

Thank you for contacting McNeil-PPC, Inc., makers of o.b.® Ultra Absorbency Tampons. It is always important to hear from our consumers, and we appreciate the time you have taken to contact us.

Unfortunately, our o.b.® Ultra Absorbency Tampons has been discontinued. We are sorry for any inconvenience this may cause for you. We assure you that your feedback will be shared with our marketing management. Please note that we do not sell our products on a direct basis, nor do we keep inventory of discontinued products on hand for distribution to consumers or retailers. All remaining inventory of this item has been shipped to our distributors.

We encourage you to try one of the other fine products we offer. Please do look for our products at pharmacies, grocery stores and mass merchandisers."

In other words, "You are so screwed. We ain't making this product anymore and stop asking if we have a hidden supply. We don't stockpile this stuff like squirrels. Your hemorrhaging is of no concern to us. Stuff a roll of paper towels between your legs. Stop whining and stop writing!"

Who has time to go Christmas shopping? I have tampons to find!

Heat Wave

Before I get to how hot it is in here (not like the Nelly song, but in our house, thanks to our new appliance), I state: Anyone who tells you that tattoos are not addictive is probably tattoo-free. While I am sure there are a few people out there who have been able to stop after one tattoo, I do not understand this. It's on the same par as someone telling me to only eat one M&M. Are you kidding me?

Thus, when the call of the tattoo is heard, I answer.

We'll get back to that calling in a bit. First, I must apologize to the wife AND then profess my love for....

....our new furnace.

The wife wanted to get a new furnace while all those rebates were available. I wanted nothing of the sort--I wanted to be sitting on a beach during a tropical getaway. Both cost the same. She was worried that our 16 year old furnace would die at any moment; most likely it would die on the coldest day of this winter and no one would be able to help us for a week and the rebates would have ended thirty-seven seconds right before the furnace died. I am of the school "if it ain't broke, don't fix it." That means I'd be the one who had to explain why we didn't get a new furnace while we had a chance at oodles of money in rebates and while we were still warm and happy.

Suffice it to say, I was VERY wrong about this whole furnace thing. (Sometimes it is awesome to be wrong. This is one of those times. I totally own my wrongness. I am all good with it.) It was installed last week and has been running ever since--really. It's one of those new-fangled ones that runs all the time, supposedly in an efficient, wonderful way. I am here to tell you: it IS in a wonderful way.

How do I know?

We live in a tri-level. Anyone who lives in a tri-level (or has visited someone who owns a tri-level in the middle of winter) knows that the lower level is always freezing cold in comparison to the other levels; in fact, we do not spend any time down stairs at all in the winter months EXCEPT on Christmas Day when we make my family sit down there (no offense to the family--it's just where the presents are). It's just too cold. The heat doesn't get there or stay there. If we want it warm down there, we have to crank the heat to miserable-hot for the rest of the house. When we've inquired from various professionals how to address this, we've heard all kinds of things, such as "get electric heating vents installed in this room so it's warmer--the furnace will never heat this lower level." Well, the wife has been studying and learned otherwise. She schooled me on the merits of the new furnaces and told me that the new furnaces would be able to heat the whole house evenly and comfortably.

I thought she had been listening to too many sales pitches.

People of the Addiverse, she was right. The new, efficient furnace (which sadly looks LITERALLY the same as our last furnace--for that much money I was hoping it would look at least a little bit different) is heating that lower level; in fact, it is so noticeable that I can barely stand it! Used to be as you walked down the steps, you could feel the temperature dropping. Seriously. I would guess--and, I am not exaggerating here--it was five-10 degrees cooler on that level....and, since we keep our house at 67 degrees, that's a chilly 58-60 degrees down there. Now, it's the same as the rest of the house. Both of us stare incredulously at each other, oooohing and ahhhhing at the amazing transformation from this little hunk of expensive love. It's something about how the air is always moving cuz the little furnace fan is on. When I asked the wife about that this morning, she said: "It's something about how the air is always circulating. I don't get it." She then walked away, toasty warm and smiling.

The furnace is so nice that I anticipate we will be turning down the thermostat, as for some reason 67 degrees at this point is too warm. I'm not sure if it's us hot-flashing, the new thermostat being wrong, a better system making the house warmer or what-not. It doesn't matter as long as we are warm and our gas bill doesn't quadruple.

Word to my family: you won't have to wear long underwear this year when you visit on Christmas Day!

As far as tattoos.....you know I've been wanting one.....aren't I always wanting one? If I weren't with the wife, I'd have a full sleeve of a tattoo on my arm. Yum. (See? Just another reason to love the wife. She has common sense and keeps me semi-grounded...semi being the operative word). I've been wanting to get a "word" tattoo in a simple font: meaning, I wanted to look like someone took a typewriter to my arm. I am all about typewriters. The manual kind, not the electric kind. Showing my age, to be sure. Anyways, being that I remain ever-so-respectful of the wife, I need to keep it simple and not turn it into a sleeve of ink. This means I had to keep it simple & relatively small. Of course, the bonus of such a tattoo is that it is cheap.

Well, cheap in comparison to the big cartoon mess on my back.

Have we ever talked about the tattoos on my back?? Here's a photo of one of the earlier additions to my back piece--my three nieces.

I walked around for a week thinking about the word I might want permanently plastered on my arm. It had to have personal meaning. Not trendy. Unusual, perhaps. A reminder. A message. I engaged the wife in the process (after all, she has to look at it, too), inquiring what word might fit the bill. The words "I love the furnace" didn't make too much sense, albeit true. Although we both loved the idea of the word "believe," but decided against it in the last minutes. I loved the idea of just putting the word "now." on my wrist--stay in there here and now, live in the now, there is only now, do it now, now is the time, now. Get ungrounded--focus back on the "now." I then thought of "SERENITY NOW!" because it makes me laugh, reminds me of a great Seinfeld episode and fits me well. I could have gotten, "THE WIFE," but she didn't seem amused.

In the end, I went with "namaste."

I am very surprised at how many people have not heard of this word or have any idea of what the word might mean. I don't know why I thought otherwise.....it's a very familiar term to me and the wife and we don't belong to a cult or anything (not that we know of). No offense to anyone for not knowing--after all, I didn't know you didn't know. Since getting tattooed, I've learned that namaste is a very difficult term to explain in one sentence. I suppose it'd be easiest to say, "it's a yoga term for when you end class," but that's not why I got it at all. I don't need a "good bye, yoga class" on my arm.

Namaste. True that it is a salutation, a greeting (both for howdy and see ya), originally Hindu in nature. Technically, I've heard it means "I bow to you," which is nice. It comes from the heart. It means, "I honor the place in you in which the entire Universe dwells, I honor the place in you which is of Love, of Integrity, of Wisdom and of Peace. When you are in that place in you, and I am in that place in me, we are One."

It is about respect, humility, equality, gratitude, honor, love, spirit, oneness. It's about seeing the good in others--when wanting to slap someone in the head, thinking "namaste" keeps me from doing it, as I focus on the good in that person.

Did you see the movie Avatar? It's like saying, "I see you." (If you didn't see the movie or didn't like the movie or didn't understand the movie, forget about that last comment. Just look at the Additar--along with the Additar-ed Xena--and laugh.) I see the good in you. I see the God in you. I respect you. I honor you. I am grateful to/for you. I am humbled in front of you. I see the Universe within both of us. I will not slap you in the head when I am pissed off at you. I SEE you.

It also means, "I will share the produce of our furnace with you."

Bet you didn't know that meaning. Trust me, that's the best one.
**************************************************************************

Rise Up!

Happy Easter, believers-in-the-rising-of-Jesus crowd. (Good day to the rest of you. I embrace the diversity of all my readers. Passover greetings. Happy Spring Solstice. You get the idea. Besides, where do you think the idea of the symbol of the egg on Easter came from? The Pagans. Does this mean the Easter Bunny is a big Wiccan Wabbit?)

Here is a drawing I made for my grandparents to wish them a Happy Easter in 1970. When I looked at the drawing last night, I thought these were Easter Lilies, which would make total sense when considering the holiday, but Wild Mama thinks otherwise: she thinks are Lilies of the Valley because those were my grandmother's favorite flower. Either way, it's a Lily of sort and it's an Easter drawing.I tried to think of some really fun Easter memories, but Easter's one of those holidays that is awesome but not usually really memorable. No offense to Jesus or the Easter Bunny.) For the record, I would like to state that the Easter Bunny was always VERY good at hiding eggs and was always generous in the basket-giving department. Thankfully, the Easter Bunny at our house was smart enough to use plastic eggs as we got older; after all, when doing such a good job hiding eggs, one or two is bound to get left behind and that could be interesting after a few months if real hard-boiled eggs had been used.

My favorite Easter as an adult was the one we spent on Catalina Island with Dos Marias. I had mailed a package of Easter candy to them before we flew out to San Diego--it's much easier to mail candy than to transport it on a plane (um, I sent a lot of candy in that box) and it made it easier to surprise the wife (who was on a mystery trip and didn't know we were going to San Diego or Catalina Island). It was a very fun trip, complete with the Dos Marias rendition of "Rise Up! Rise Up!" A musical delight not to be forgotten. (It was much funnier in person. It sounds lame here. Sorry about that. Picture four queers standing on the shores of Catalina Island singing "Rise Up!" early in the morning. Maybe I need to find the actual photo of the event....that would help humor the story up a bit.)

Speaking of Easter photos, I am 100% sure I've used the photo before in the Addiverse, but it makes me laugh and I have immediate access to it, so I'm re-using it here. These are my two nieces meeting the Easter Bunny (aka Wiccan Wabbit). I think the one on the left is terrified and clinging to my sister; I think the niece of the right is too little to even contemplate the meaning of the Wiccan Wabbit (I like the way my sister has her propped up). As for the rabbit, I guess he's pretty good looking. I've seen some mighty scare rabbits over the years. (In fact, I WAS the Easter Bunny one year at an Egg Hunt for a local park district. I am here to tell you that it is very hard to see small children and/or eggs when dressed as the Easter Bunny. It's not good when you step on either one of those things.) Easter marks the end of Lent, which for most Christian people means they can go back to eating candy, drinking pop/alcohol or swearing (seems like those were the top picks of "what-to-give-up for Lent" sacrifices). I personally would give up chocolate for those 40 long days and I didn't believe in that wimpy "oh, you can eat it on Sunday" crap. I went the whole time mortifying my flesh--and, if you know how much chocolate I eat in a day, you know I was indeed mortified. Many a time I received forty--yes, 40--Cadbury chocolate eggs as "congratulations you made it" recognition. I am here to tell you: You haven't lived until you've eaten 40 of those cream-filled-looks-like-a real-egg-inside chocolate eggs. By the 39th one, you become suicidal.

Speaking of Easter-related Candy: Although I would most prefer a solid chocolate bunny, those cheap, hollow, waxy-tasting bunnies are rather intriguing. As for Peeps, forget it. They scare me. I do not like Peeps one bit. I don't like the traditional yellow ones, I don't like the new multi-colored rabbit ones, I do not like them at all. I suppose you haven't lived until you've eaten 40 Cadbury eggs and a boxful of Peeps. I probably will never eat a Peep again unless paid a lot of money. Jelly beans are all good except the black ones. I am not a fan of licorice. I'm not real fond of jelly beans in general but I don't mind eating them this time of year. You know what you should do? Take a jelly bean, put it in your mouth, do NOT chew it....see how long you can make that sucker last. I'm telling you, you can go for hours if you really work at it. How do I know this? I used to do this when I worked as an orthodontic assistant. I don't know how we came up with the idea, but that's what we did. Maybe only I did it. Who knows--that was over 20 years ago. I'm lucky I still remember being an orthodontic assistant. Anyways, try it.

Easter is the day most Christian people go to church; it's one of those "I-go-to-church-twice-a-year days" (the other being Christmas), so the place is always packed. Sugar filled kids in cute new dresses and clean shoes, all packed in the pews. I am sad to say I do not have many specific memories of Easter bonnets or particular dresses purchased for the occasion. I think it was because I was in a sugar-induced coma and thus am unable to remember much of anything from Easter holidays gone by.

Decorating eggs was always a fun thing to do. Sometimes we would "blow" out the "inner egg" by poking a small hole in each side of the egg and then blowing like there was no tomorrow. While this was very fun, it left you with a very fragile object of which to color and thus was probably not the recommended way to color eggs. Other times, we would color raw eggs and often we would dye hard-boiled eggs. As an adult, I haven't colored many eggs but there is still time to bring back this tradition and I'm thinking it would be really fun to try and empty out an egg through a tiny hole. Hell, who needs to color eggs--let's just make omelets that way!

This year we will be with my family of origin for Easter. I haven't seen any decorated eggs, I haven't purchased an Easter Bonnet, I certainly will not be wearing a new dress and I don't think any of us will be going to church. I am all good with that. Thankfully, I have not spied any Cadbury eggs on the premises--I'm a little sick of them and will gladly stick with things like M&Ms in a bag instead of giant chocolate yolk-filled eggs in tin foil. The wife and I have already sung our rendition of "Rise Up!" so we are good to go. The traditional ham is waiting to be cooked (I'll be having a traditional Easter Boca Burger), the dogs are waiting to be walked, Dunkin' Donuts is waiting to be drunk. (Drank?) I think I'll go hide some eggs. I'm sure the three teen-aged nieces will enjoy finding them (not!). Maybe if I tell them there is a $20 bill in one of the eggs, they'll be a bit more motivated to take part in an Easter Egg Hunt. As long as I don't have to wear a dress, a bonnet or a Wiccan Wabbit outfit, it's all good.

Happy Easter! Rise Up!

Hasta La Vista, Asswipe 2009

Greetings, holiday goers. I trust you had a wonderful holiday, safe and sound, full of commercialism and travel. The wife and I survived quite nicely, despite the ice storm start. We made it to/from the Cheddarlands two times in four days and the family was able to get to us on Christmas Day without incident. (Going home, so I hear, was a bit dicey, but they did get home and all is well.)

BTW, have you ever read the words to Auld Lang Syne? Woof. Now, that's a strange song. You really should google the lyrics. Make sure to read the lyrics from our era, not the original lyrics of the 1700's.

I started to look back at the year via the blog, then decided I really didn't want to read about not going to Mexico, not being successfully "saved," not losing the new-found weight, not talking about the place of which I do not speak. Actually, I am quite relieved to say adios to 2009. In fact, I have an urge to scream, "DON'T LET THE DOOR HIT YOU IN THE ASS on your way out, 2009." I am so happy about 2010 I want to weep.

Don't get me wrong--there were wonderful, fabulous, awesome things that happened in 2009.

I will say that spending my morning in a pile of snow was the perfect ending for this year. Summed it up just fine. The photo doesn't do justice to how stuck I was. That's all ice under there and I managed to dig quite the rut with my front wheel drive. The ice was shoved under the entire front of my car.

....I was on the way to see my Beloved Lady Chiropractor one last time this year and was unable to stop as I slid down the hill to the driveway. I left the car and walked to the appointment, only to find out My Beloved Lady Chiropractor wasn't there!!!!! I was distraught. I still got my adjustment, just not from her. Sigh. Another sad moment on the last day of the year.

For blogging purposes (and, as means of cheap therapy), I decided I would distract myself by reflecting on my ever-so-favorite New Year's Eve party, called "No Shoes, No Booze" of 1995 (or, do you say 1996, as that is the year it was becoming?) instead of reflecting on 2009. The wife feels otherwise about this blessed event, as she was not entertained about me throwing a bowling ball off the deck, so she may rather think about 2009. To each their own.

I have written about No Shoes, No Booze party before but I've never featured photos, so I have to write about it again. I scanned this puppies in quickly while no one was looking at the place of which I do not speak. (I will deny everything.) I did get kinda freaked out when thinking about how long ago it was we had this party, but I'm over it now.

The concept was simple: you had to take your shoes off and there was no alcohol at the party. Lest you think it was a lame bust, I assure you we had plenty of party goers, as evidenced by the pile of shoes displayed at the front door. I tend to think the highlight of the party was me wrapping my bowling ball in tin foil and then launching it off the back porch. I did it to pretend we had our own New Year's ball dropping, like they do in Times Square. Okay, okay--I admit that was a stupid thing to do--it's hard to safely shot put a 14 pound bowling ball over one's head and into the night and I think I ripped about 12 different muscles, but it sure looked cool and was mighty fun and it's something no one will forget.

There will be no bowling ball launch this year.

We will be ringing in the new year with Cheeseball neighbor, her gaywad gal pal and Brown Dog, plus their closest 5000 friends. They are featuring a "no shoes" theme, but I'm pretty sure there will be alcohol.

....We don't have to drive, so I won't be stuck in any snow banks as the new year arrives. Hasta La Vista, 2009. Happy New Year, beloved Addiverse visitors!

T minus three hours: The Iceman Cometh, Part II

Oh, the weather outside is frightful...

...actually, it was more frightful inside than outside, once we figured out the power was off.

Merry Christmas Eve Morning, by the way. Isn't this a beautiful photo? Well, besides the problem the ice causes. I love the way the neighbor's light shines off the icy trees. Fire on ice!

We probably wouldn't have known the power was out until later in the morning had Lucy not been licking. It's a horribly annoying habit she has and it wakes up the wife....so, Lucy's licking led to the wife getting out of bed to whack her....which led to the wife spying Freckles in the corner shaking like a leaf. I considered Freckles behavior and knew that something had happened--she's a smart cookie who "talks" to us via her neurotic behaviors. It dawned on me: when our power goes out, all the little smoke detectors give off a quick "beep" sound and I am here to tell you Freckles is terrified of that little beep sound. When the wife mentioned something was wrong with Freckles and I opened an eye to peek about, I realized that indeed something was wrong: it was too dark and too quiet.

I got my sorry ass out of bed and took a gander--not a light to be seen. We had no power.

Boy, talk about relying on power. Can't use the land line phone, cuz there's no power. Can't use the computer, cuz there's no power for the modem/router. Can't watch the Weather Channel cuz there's no power. Can't use the cell phone too much because I didn't re-charge it before going to bed. Can't go anyway, cuz there's no power to open the garage door. Can't make coffee, so no point in getting out of bed. Can't turn the heat up because......

Can't turn the heat up....or on. That got my attention. We keep the house cold at night, which is all fine and dandy for sleeping, but when the power goes out and there is nothing to re-heat the house in the morning, well that's a different story. It was 59 degrees in the house when I got up at 4 A.M. That sounded a lot colder when I thought about how there was no heat to come back on and warm things up.

Then, I realize it's pouring out....which is never a good thing with no electricity to pump that sump pump. I tried not to fret, because there was nothing to be done about that. I contemplated a trip to Wally World to buy a generator and a car charger plug thingy for my cell phone, but who am I kidding? I know nothing about generators and I'd have to get a non-electric one and....I let that idea go. The cell phone car charger thingy could wait.

The wife began fretting about the food in the frig, but I have to say that was of little concern to me; after all, it's easy to stick the food outside or in the garage when it's winter.

I had the wife get her cell phone and Com Ed's phone number. I gave a quick call, just to make sure they knew we were sitting in the dark, wide awake, freezing. Then, we did something we almost never, ever do: we put the dogs in bed with us. They are like little heaters. I know we will pay for this later, as Lucy only takes one time to learn a bad behavior, but little heaters are very nice company when the power is out.

Suffice it to say, two hours later we heard the faintest of beeps and then....then, the sweet sound of the heater kicking in. Praise the baby Jesus and the Com Ed crew! We weren't going to freeze on Christmas Eve, after all. I quickly plugged in my cell phone, fired up the computer and started the coffee. (I also ate chocolate chip cookies for breakfast, which always makes everything that much better.)

It could have been so much worse. I am worried about the poor white birch in the front yard--only time will tell if it will make it or not. (Last time, it was the river birch that lost a huge limb and portion of the trunk.) The Mold Mobile is a giant ice cube. Can't wait for that to melt, cuz it will all pour into the car, making more mold for us to inhale. Yum!

Duty to warn: I am going to kiss the next Com Ed person I see. What a lousy night to be out. What a wonderful job well done. Wipe that ice off your face and pucker up!

Now, we are off to the Cheddarlands. Yes, we are going to set forth, bravely armed with gifts and survival supplies. (Would be robbers, stay away: Cheeseball Neighbor and Brown dog are on the prowl--they got us covered.) It will be slow going but it should be relatively okay. I'm sure there will be many fun stories to be shared.

I hope you are doing okay, that your power is on and that your computer is working. After all, I'd hate for your crops to rot on Book de la Face's farm just because you couldn't harvest them due to a lack of power.

Merry Christmas Eve. I hear Santa is in New Zealand at this moment. Happy Birthday, baby Jesus; Thank you Com ed. Ho ho ho!
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