Hide and Seek

Right before going out for New Year's Eve, I decided to hide the $150 I had in my pocket. I figured if I left it in my pocket, I'd lose it. I don't like to leave money or my one Terra-byte external hard drive behind--weird, but without therapy, I'll probably always have this weird way of being. In case you are wondering, I don't usually have $150 in my pocket--this was Christmas money, of which the wife had handed me. I decided to hide the money for safe keeping. I hid the money and we went on our way to enjoy a most delicious New Year's Eve feast created by our chef-like friends.

Fast forward seven days. I am considering a trip to the tattoo parlor to get one of my tattoos "fixed," which leads me to think about the cost, which leads me to think about my $150 in cash.....

....oh, the cash. Where did I put the cash? I stood at the kitchen counter and pondered this. Despite valiant efforts at pondering, I drew a blank.

For the record, the wife thinks it is VERY strange that I hide things, especially money--she says "there's this thing called a BANK...that's where your money should be--in the bank." What a killjoy.

Now, usually I hide things in places of which are consistent. In this case, I remember taking the money out of my pocket and deciding the freezer wasn't of interest this time. (Heck, if your house burns down, your money has a chance of surviving in there.) I opened my "kitchen table folder" (the one with my passport, marriage license and tax information in it) but decided that putting money in there would indeed be putting all my eggs in one basket. (What? You don't keep your marriage license on the kitchen table?) I thought about putting the money in a canister, a mug, a drawer, the dog treat jar--all of which don't qualify as "places of which are consistent." I remember having a brainstorm and then going to hide the money.

The problem? Seven days later....I have NO idea where I hid the money. THIS is why perimenopausal women should NOT hide anything.

Talk about a blank slate. NOTHING was firing in the brain of mine. Not one shred of a memory. Things were so blank that I started to wonder if I had indeed deposited the money in the bank on January 2nd......but, no--I had no recollection of going to the bank....Did I spend the money? No, I haven't purchased anything except a turntable and that was on line, using PayPal. (A turntable. I know. Weird. Old School.)

I thought about asking the wife if she had seen my money, but thought better of this, realizing it would be MUCH better to look for the money before asking such a dumb question. So, I looked in the folder, the freezer, drawers, medicine, dog stuff, pockets, wallet, checkbook, computer bag, work piles, church piles, Christmas Cards, books in the bedroom, pants pockets, coat pockets and even via on line banking. I looked in the car--the glove compartment, the console storage thing, the back seat, even in all the CDs....and, of course, in my "apocalypse trunk" (in case of world disaster, hang out with me--the contents in my trunk will keep us alive for at least a week). I knew it was not at work because I hid it when not at work.

On the eighth day, I had to ask the wife. You can imagine how pleased she was by this question. After all these years, she should not be surprised by this kind of question. No, she had not seen my money. No, I shouldn't hide money. Boy, I'd best find that money. I promised I'd tell her when I found the money. I felt quite confident I'd find the money...I just wasn't sure where or when that might be.

It was at this point I knew I had to pull out the big guns. If there is one thing I can count on, it's St. Anthony.

Now, you can't abuse the ol' Catholic Saint--you have to wait until you've really tried to find something and you are sincere in your need for help. You don't call on St. Tony to find the small stuff. Save him for the big stuff. In my book, $150 in cash is the big stuff.

I gave the prayer aloud: "St. Anthony, St. Anthony, Please come around--something's lost and must be found."

I probably should have said, "I'm a moron who's hid money and it must be found." I put my coat on and headed out the door to go to work.

As soon as I sat in my car, I exclaimed..."I REMEMBER WHERE THE MONEY IS!!!!" 

I opened the car console storage thingy and pulled out the name bag of which I had--as a joke--put my Madonna Fan Club card. (Don't ask.) The name bag is--aka the Madonna fan club card holder--a sealed plastic thing. I opened the badge and WA-LA! Thank you, St. Anthony! The cash was safely in hand. It then came flooding back to me. I recalled the "hiding of the cash" event and even my thinking of why putting my money in this place made sense--after all, Madonna is all about money. She has money. So, she had MY money for safe keeping.

Duh! Makes TOTAL sense to me.

Once at work, I sent a text to the wife, assuring her that the money was now secure. She sent a text back inquiring where it had been. My answer, of course was....

"...where I hid it."

I daresay she wasn't entertained.

Suffice it to say, I eventually told her where the money was found and explained my train of thought, which--of course--made no sense to her. I took the money and I put it somewhere safe....

....um.....well.....

....I think I put it somewhere safe. Damn. I know the $50 bill is in my checkbook....but, that $100 bill.....

Shit, I'll get back to you.
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Twenty.Four.Teen.

I know many of you are waiting to kick 2014 in the ass, bidding it a fond good riddance, hoping that the new year will be nothing like this one. For some, Twenty-Fourteen was brutal, with many losses, trials and tribulations, with bad news pooping all over your life parade. I started to itemize the events, losses and pains friends of the Addiverse survived, but that got a bit depressing, so I stopped. All I know is that most of you would vote 2014 was not the year to remember.

As for me, it looks like I'm one of the fortunate ones. Although we too have faced losses and stressors, I can't say anything bad about this year. For Pete's sake, we got legally married. How can I complain about a year that included such a tremendous feat, something I never thought I'd see in my lifetime? That alone makes it an awesome year.

Besides getting married (which nothing could top, even though by heterosexual-spend -$50,000-standards, it was a very non-descript event), I watched all Doctor Who episodes created since 2005, somehow ended up leading a church and was bestowed a new position at my job. I talked a lot about tampons and poop, attended a Packer game, dumped an ice bucket on my head, ran through mud as a warrior, enjoyed a most-wonderful wedding in Minnesota (or, was it Wisconsin? Hard to say), watched youngest niece graduate from high school and finally paid off a 30-year debt to the wife by taking her to see Eddie Money (go figure). I had the pleasure of having a cell phone stolen and am still struggling to re-enter all my contacts, albeit now in an android world.

And yes, you've heard all of this crap before, especially about the tampons and poop. Oh, how I love to talk about poop.

You'd think that being in my fifties would encourage me not to waste time on book de la face and on that pinning place, but I did. I chose to watch Doctors 9, 10, 11 and 12 instead of working out. I spent more time on church than I want to think about--all of which sucked time away from blogging and starting a new Netflix series of one sort or another.

That said, I had many a meal with treasured friends and dared to play "Cards Against Humanity" with my family. I waved a very sad good-bye to MJagger when she secured a new job, but I couldn't begrudge one iota because it was a great move for her. Freckles celebrated her "third-last" Christmas, which I think surprised us all. As everyone in our small corner of the world knows, we thanked Lucy Bark of Poteidaia for all the joy she brought us while she was on this earthly plane. I know there is so much more that happened during the year and I beg forgiveness for not remembering everything and everyone. I had a very good year and thank you for your part in it.

For those of you who had a rough 2014, I wish you only the best for the new year. Using the approach of affirmation, I see you having a great year, filled with things you love, need and want. I thank the Universe for the gifts it bestows you, the health it brings you, the abundance it rains down upon you. I see you oozing with comfort, support, strength and courage and for that I am grateful.

As for me, I look forward to the new year, but not because this year was one I want left behind. I haven't really thought about 2015 yet, probably because it's not quite here and you know I really do live one day (or maybe an hour) at a time. I can think about it tomorrow. I'd hate to start looking too far ahead--I don't want 2015 to get the wrong idea. I look forward to travel, perhaps a new tattoo, another Warrior Dash and maybe even one of those 5K color blast runs. I see much success and prosperity, however I decide to define that. I plan on quoting Doctor Who whenever given the chance and on spending more time outside instead of on the couch. I'll talk a lot about poop and tampons and we'll celebrate our first official wedding anniversary (dear god, don't get me started on what date to celebrate). We'll see if Freckles has a "fourth-last" Christmas.

Here's to a great 2015, party people of the Addiverse. No worries--the baby Jesus and I have your back.
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Welcome to the iCult

For a variety of reasons, I decided to go back to an Android, this after having an iPhone for the past many years. Yesterday, we meandered over to the Horizon store and took a gander at the phones of the world. While the wife was drooling over the i6, I contemplated the meaning of flip phones and non-Apple products. There was nothing "wrong" with the iPhone--I just really enjoyed my work Android (right up until the very moment it was stolen off my desk, rat bastard). I found it compatible with all I do in my daily life. I'm a gmail/PC kind of girl. (The wife, on the other hand, has every Apple product known to man, so it makes sense she stay within the iApple iCult. I had an iPhone. I had little to lose. She's swimming in iPods and iPads, uses an iPhone and Mac computer.....)

Prior to going to the Horizon store, I did some research (the wife was so proud). I found I could get the phone of my choice (a smart phone--no worries--I ruled out the flip phone) for free if ordered on line. Thankfully, there was a "coupon" on the website that could be printed out so I could get this offer at the local store. The phone also came with a free tablet. BAM! Who was I to argue? I printed out the coupon and headed toward the Horizon.

Long story short, I got my phone for free--this after the lady told me it was $199 with my discount. I proudly pulled out my coupon and wa-la--the $199 phone became free. I got the tablet for free, too. The only charge was the stupid "upgrade" fee they charge everyone. (It's like when you buy a car and they have those dealer fees of which are non-negotiable.) The wife, on the other hand, had to order her phone (those iPhone 6's are in hot demand) and choke up a whole bunch of money. 

I kept my iPhone, figuring it is still useful when on wi-fi and I could use it as an iPod. Sure, I could have turned it in to get $100 but all my music is on iTunes, so it made sense to me to keep it. Besides, my speakers at work are set up only for iPhones and iPods. I have no energy to run around and find an adapter for my expensive iSpeakers. I paid a lot of money for those speakers--I'm not giving them up.

Within hours, I learned it is VERY difficult to leave the iCult. Apple isn't stupid; in fact, they are downright genius, evil as they may be. It's like the Hotel California--you can check in but you can never check out......

When I got home, I sent some texts out, proclaiming the purchase of my new phone. I was very sad when no one texted me back. I waited and waited....but, nothing. 

Later, while adding apps to my new phone, I pulled out my iPhone--I wanted to make sure I wasn't forgetting any apps I use daily. That's when I saw I had a whole bunch of texts.

Dang, my texts were still going to my iPhone.

Here's how the iCult works: I had been using an iPhone and thus had been iMessaging but had now switched to an Android which does not send or receive iMessages. This is a problem: friends don't know I no longer have an iPhone, so their texts to me still go out as an iMessage.... which, in turn, end up on my no-longer-a-phone iPhone instead of my new Android. 

The iCult was holding me hostage.

I was concerned. I mean, I didn't want to carry around a non-phone iPhone just to get texts. There had to be a way around this. An internet search led to affirmation that it is very hard to get out of the iCloud and iCult. Steve Jobs was taunting me from his heavenly cloud, I just know it.

Within seconds of googling, I learned that I was not exactly the only one experiencing this problem. The iPhone-to-Android people of the world expressed strong disdain for the iCult and lamented about how hard it is to resolve this particular problem. I visited many a site trying to figure this out. While there were tons of ideas--everything from deleting my iCloud account to sending a text to some unknown place indicating STOP--it seemed that the most effective method was to contact all iPhone friends and tell them of my plight. That way, they could re-set their contact list to indicate I was no longer using iMessaging.

Seriously. More sites than not indicated this was by far the best way to go.

I felt iStressed. How the hell was I going to do that? I decided to change my iCloud password (one of the big suggestions), turned off my iMessaging, sent the STOP text to somewhere (who knows) and signed out of every iPlace I could think of....

Although that seemed more than enough, I had serious iDoubts. I trembled at the thought of missing texts....so, I emailed everyone I could think of who I thought had an iPhone and asked them to change my contact information to reflect I no longer had an iPhone. I tried to include directions how to do this but I was clear as mud and am sure I made the problem more complicated for some. Since that didn't seem enough (overkill is a friend of mine), I posted a blurb on Book de la Face, alerting people of my non-iMessaging status.

Thankfully, I was quickly flooded with texts on my new phone. Friends across the globe texted, each asking if I had received the text. I was giddy! Had I escaped the iCult? It seemed I had at least one foot out the door.

Here's the thing: I still don't know if I'm getting iMessages or if I'm missing texts. I'd turn my iMessaging back on to check but I am afraid that would screw things up. I don't have time to do this again. Curiosity can't kill this iCat. I have to leave well enough alone. I have to trust the iUniverse can supersede the iCloud.

Besides that, I love my new phone and tablet. I can't say one bad thing about this phone. I do love an Android. Take that, iCult.....

....here's hoping that I really was able to check out of iHotel iCalifornia. Time and texts will tell.

Blue. Bird.

This is a quickly little blog of synchronicity, of getting a sign when asked, of a bird who is blue.

Last week, the wife and I were talking about when we would "do" what we needed to do in regards to Lucy's quickly failing health. Although I knew the answer was "now," the wife was yet to be convinced. Who can blame her? 

The wife said, "I need a sign. Let's ask the Universe for a sign."

Without thinking, and certainly with no reason to say anything of the thought, I blurted out, "I will see a blue bird."

To clarify, I didn't mean a bluebird. I meant a bird that happened to be blue.

I said it and I was done with it.  Without further comment, I went to sleep.

The next morning, I got up and started my day. I had totally forgotten about the whole blue bird thing. I started my coffee, then realized I had to send out three birthday cards lest they be late. I pulled out the pile of cards.

Wouldn't you know it that the first card I pulled out was this:

I don't even remember buying this card. It had to months and months ago. I couldn't believe it.

I looked at the wife, then held up the card. The Universe had answered. Thus, I made the call to schedule an appointment with the vet. After all, there is no arguing with the Universe.

Blue birds of one sort or another spent the day showing up in my life that day. Heck, a blue bird sprung out of the Christmas carol I happened to be singing. It seemed rather telling that, "gone away is the blue bird" The less I looked, the more I found. I assured the Universe I heard its answer.

Not surprisingly, I continue to see blue birds. I thank her for the signs. I figure she'll keep showing up this way. In fact, she spent the week after her death bombarding me with blue birds.

What a great, great thing. Who can be sad when there are blue birds all over the place?

Today, I will be happier than a BLUE bird with a french fry.....

....you know, our little blue bird of a dog loved french fries. Just sayin.'

Ode to a Party Pup

This is NOT a maudlin, tear-producing post, so no worries. This is a happy tribute to a party pup who had to exit life a wee bit too early.

 Words of wisdom from Lucy, Bark of Poteidaia:

Start each day with an obnoxious squeaky toy and don't stop squeaking until (1) the squeaky is broken; (2) the squeaky is removed from the toy and then broken; (3) some mean human comes along and takes the squeaky toy because he/she cannot tolerate one more minute of squeakiness.

If someone takes your squeaky toy, don't let it get you down. Wait until  the squeaky toy is put back in the toy pile...wait....wait...go get it and start squeaking again. Pure bliss.

Never miss the opportunity to give a kiss. Heck, kiss them twice. Kiss them when they are not looking. Kiss with reckless abandon.

Never say no to a treat. Never. Life is too short to say no to treats. Besides, that fat, smelly dog will come over and steal it if you don't eat it, so enjoy it yourself. The fat, smelly dog doesn't need another treat.

Tolerate your human friends when they do stupid things like put you in costumes, put boots on your feet, try to feed you healthy treats, don't take you along when they go get ice cream, insist on yet another posed photo with the fat, smelly dog. They can't help it. They know not what they do.

Run. Run when you can, while you still can. If you can't run, skip. If you can't skip, trot. If you can't trot, hang out with the fat, smelly dog.

Stick with the underdog. Who doesn't love an underdog? If you can't stick with the underdog, stick with the under bite. There is nothing cuter than a shih tzu with an under bite.

Eat waffles. Right, grandma? It's even better if the waffles are made by said grandma. You can't have a bad day when you eat a waffle.

Say hi to everyone you meet while on a walk. You might be the bright spot of someone's day. Say hi enthusiastically!

Remember that ice cream and whipped cream are the food of the gods. It pays to know that DQ gives out "pup cups" and Bucks of Star give out "pup lattes." Get in the car and get thee to the drive through.

Use your cute face, sparkling personality and/or your under bite to get your way. Don't be relegated to the floor--sparkle that personality and get your place on the couch.

Behave as much as you can....progress, not perfection. If you accidentally chew the computer cord, don't forget to use that charm and personality. If you roll in raccoon poop, look innocent and apologetic. If you eat raccoon poop, look even more apologetic and remind your human you're behaving the best you can. If you run down the street when you are not supposed to be running down the street, run fast and then behave as best you can, using a kiss and charm to avoid issue upon return home.

Ask for forgiveness, not permission. See above. Oops! Did I just eat the fat, smelly dog's treat? Did I just jump up on the back of the couch? Did I just rip up that box of Kleenex? Gosh, I'm sorry. I thought it was for me--I didn't know. I'll ask next time.

If that doesn't work, look adorable.

When all else fails, use your pouty face. Who says dogs don't have emotions?

If you throw up, it is best not to eat your own vomit. Don't let the fat, smelly dog eat it, either.

When offered a ride to where you are going, take it. While you are at it, see if you can stick your head out the window. If they say no to sticking your head out the window, enjoy the ride anyway.

Keep it simple. Smile, wink, squeak, kiss, eat, pee, poop.

Celebrate life. Squeak a squeaky. Eat a waffle. Kiss a sad person. Kiss a happy person. Run, walk, skip, jump. Don't just sit on the couch. Celebrate and live life.

Thank you, Lucy, Bark of Poteidaia. You were an amazing dog that brought us so much joy. We celebrate life and eat ice cream in your honor. Kiss kiss!

Recuse Me

I had the pleasure of being called to Jury Duty this week. I barely lived through the time I was the foreman of a jury for a week-long medical malpractice trial, so  I was not looking forward to this second chance of fulfilling my civic duty. I decided I would pray to the Baby Jesus, reminding him how awful my previous jury duty had been, asking him to keep me out of the jury box. In the spirit of the holidays, I begged: "Baby Jesus--please spare me!"

When we were finally seated in the jury waiting area, I took a gander at my peers. There were about 85 or 100 of us. I have to say--it was an older crowd, mainly white males with a smattering of this or that mixed in. I knew a few of the people in the room, which gave me pause. It's either a really small world...or, I know a lot of people....or, the Universe thought I needed to see these people for this reason or another. I pulled out my laptop and started working on a project. (Can you believe they actually allow laptops, smart phones, iPads and the like in the jury waiting room? I read it in the directions but thought they were kidding. They weren't!) A young lady approached the table and asked if anyone was sitting there. I smiled and invited her to sit down. I never stopped typing but I did smile.

I pretty much ignored everyone and everything for the first 45 minutes. Hey, that's how I roll.

I eventually decided to buy a bottle of water, so I got up, meandered around and then sat back down. I originally had planned on NOT drinking anything because I didn't want to have to pee while sitting in the court room. I started getting a head ache, mainly because I hadn't drunk anything all morning, so I gave in to my thirst. As I sat down, I made eye contact with the young lady--the international sign that I am now willing to speak, I guess. She quickly made small talk--very polite, obviously about 12 years old and hilariously naive.

She thought it would be GREAT to be on a jury! I didn't have the heart to crush her like a bug. I smiled and nodded.

I learned all about her in less than 15 minutes...I got to see photos of her new baby and her family dog. I learned what she did for a living, about who was watching her baby, how she had always wanted to sit on a jury. It was all fine until......

....she stopped and asked me: "Do you have any grandchildren?"

I choked on my water.

I guess we skipped kids and went straight to grandchildren. Ouch!

No, no I do not have any grandchildren. After I stopped choking, I turned my computer around so she could see a photo of our dogs in their Christmas outfits.

Grandchildren. Sheesh. I knew it was going to be a very long day.

Fast forward to the court room. The judge, four lawyers and one defendant were standing when we paraded in to the room. It was a pretty big parade. Thankfully, I got to sit by one of the people I knew. I made sure I wasn't smacking my gum (no gum in the court room), that my phone was off (which wasn't a problem because I forgot my phone at home) and that the computer was tucked away. The judge started talking about this or that, assuring us how lucky and honored we should feel.

It was then he indicated they were picking a jury for a murder trial.

I shit myself.

A murder trial? I don't have time for a murder trial! It's the holidays, I'm starting vacation in a week or two, I don't want to hear about a murder. I certainly don't want to sit in judgement of someone. Oh dear god. I think I made an audible gasp when he said that.

Imagine how excited I was when he indicated it would probably be a two-week trial.

Imagine how excited I was when he spoke about how the press was allowed to be in the courtroom and that they'd be filming the proceedings.

You know who was excited? That young lady who asked me if I had grandchildren. She was beaming. I swear, had it been remotely appropriate, she would've been jumping up and down in her seat, yelling "pick me! pick me!"

I sank low in my chair and hoped for the best. I felt like I was at the Reaping.

I'll spare you all the details. Suffice to say: (1) people are full of shit and say whatever they have to say to get out of jury duty; and, (2) I didn't get called up to the jury box until 4 PM, when there were only SIX of us left.

I had started to count my chickens before they hatched. I couldn't believe it I had made it that far. The odds weren't in my favorite by 4 PM. They were now interviewing for alternates. They only needed one more. With only six of us, it seemed rather possible they'd call my name.

I sat straight up in the chair, my computer bag between my feet, my winter coat on my lap. I told him I was starting vacation on such and such day. He confirmed with the lawyers that they'd be done by then, so that was a moot point. It then seemed rather unusual because the judge started with a different line of questioning with me than he had with the others. Maybe it was because it was so late in the day. Maybe it was because I was sitting up straight and looking him straight in the eye. Maybe he was wondering if I had grandchildren. Maybe he had been asking these questions all along and I hadn't been paying attention.

He read aloud the things I had written on my jury slip. He confirmed I had a master's degree, that I had served as an expert witness during a trial way back when and that I had testified for a client. He clarified I knew a police officer (this was relevant as various police officers would be testifying).

It was then he asked me about my previous jury duty experience: "I see you were the foreman of a jury in 19blah blah blah." I agreed that I had been the foreman and tightened the grip on my coat. He then asked me the question of which I prayed he would ask.

He asked me about my experience.

My answer? "While I was proud to do my civic duty, being the foreman of that jury was one of the worst experiences of my entire life and I never want to be the foreman of a jury again."

I don't think they saw this answer coming. Everyone else had noted that they had a good experience as a juror or that others they knew had found it to be a fulfilling experience. Not me. I felt my disdain and disgust start to seep out. I couldn't hide it. It was seeping out and I couldn't plug it up.

I answered his questions about the happening, noting that people were screaming at each other and that even the Bailiff had his hands full. I reiterated that I never wanted to be a foreman again.

He looked at me and stated, "but, we can't promise that won't happen. You could end up the foreman of this jury."

I'm not sure what I muttered but I know I was sticking to my guns. I wouldn't do it again. No, Nope. Nada. I think I said I'd do what I'd have to do but I was not going to be the foreman.

I didn't dare look around. I'm not sure what I would have seen. I didn't want to know.

It was then one of the lawyers got up to ask me some questions. I was hoping he'd ask me about the bumper stickers on my car (they had asked everyone else that) or about how I knew if someone was lying (I wanted to say a whole room full of liars had been there today). He didn't really seem into it. I was rather disappointed. Something was wrong.

He didn't ask me very many questions before telling me in a very polite fashion that I was recused. Recused! I was being deemed unqualified to sit on the jury because of possible conflict of interest or possibly because of a lack of impartiality.

I wasn't going to be on this jury!

I didn't have to fake my shock as it was real. I didn't see that coming, just as they hadn't seen my reaction to being a foreman. I was unqualified! Had it been appropriate, I would have SPRINTED out of that room.

This morning, I saw a news blurb about how the trial had started yesterday. There they were--the lawyers, the defendant, the judge. You know what I didn't see?

ME! How awesome is that? I was nowhere near that courtroom.

Thank you, sweet baby Jesus. I owe you one. I'll be nice at church this week....

....you know, I'd like to wait a few more years before anyone asks me about grandchildren--could you please work on that?

Thanks.
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Addendum

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

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

Day after Thanks

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'll scratch and I'll whine and I'll give thanks for you. Kiss kiss!
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Baby Jesus Church Drop

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

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

Me: Huh? Me?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Me: I would think it'd help.

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

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

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

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

Baby Jesus: Who's in charge around here?

Me: The wife. Definitely the wife.

Baby Jesus: I meant me.

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

Baby Jesus: I heard that.

Me: [silence.]

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

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

Baby Jesus: Like?

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

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

Me: Help me with my football picks?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Baby Jesus: It's a temporary gig.

Me: A temporary for how long gig?

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

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

Baby Jesus: Do it for me, then.

Me: That's so not fair.

Baby Jesus: That's how I roll.

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

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

Me: So, I have a church.

Baby Jesus: You have a church.

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

Baby Jesus: Oh, ye of little faith.

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

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

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

Baby Jesus: Think of it as tithing.

Me: Hmmmm. That's a thought.

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

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

Baby Jesus: Depends on what the long run is.

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

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

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

Baby Jesus: I'd stick with that.

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

Baby Jesus: You have a church,. Congratulations!

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

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

Me: Great. Thanks for nothing.

Baby Jesus: You'll thank me later.

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

This is SO going to ruin my reputation.
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Parking my Gay Car

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dear New Governor,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everyone gets a marriage!

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

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

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