welcome to the addiverse

2012-01-29T08:08:00.000-06:00

K is for Krave

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2012-01-23T18:47:00.000-06:00

Back to Back

It's been one year since the wife fell screaming to the floor after blowing her disk out one work morning at 5 A.M. Remember? She went to brush her teeth and instead she found herself writing on the bathroom floor, unable to get up or do much of anything. She spent the next five days on the floor--literally FIVE long days of hell--on the floor.

So, imagine my surprise when I one year later hear a blood curdling scream emanating from the upstairs hallway on a work day at 5 A.M.

I've never heard anything quite like this scream, tho...that's because it was a dog. It was Lucy, to be exact. I didn't know dogs could scream but I am hear to tell you that they can.

What happened next is a blur. I jumped off the toilet (yes, I was peeing) and threw myself toward the dog. The wife....well, she went streaking out of the area and hid in the other bathroom, screaming "DO SOMETHING! DO SOMETHING!" from afar. Freckles was shaking so hard she was blurry and she kept trying to get to Lucy. I bent down on the floor and gently scooped the dog toward me. She kept yelping like there was no tomorrow.

My heart hurt hearing that awful yelping.

In case you are wondering, I did remember to pull up my pants. Also, in case you are wondering, you are free to laugh at any time during this story because envisioning this scene really should bring you at least a guffaw.

So, I talked in a gentle voice to Lucy, all the time doing an exam of her parts. I kept thinking that she must have blown out a knee or ripped a tendon or something awful. I looked and I searched and I reassured (the dog, not the wife--the wife was on her own for the time being). Front legs-- good. Back left leg....good. Back right leg....good. Both eyes....in the socket where they belong. No blood, no bones protruding, no nothing. Just this pitiful yelping and whimpering.

I was finally able to soothe her to the point she stopped crying. Poor Freckles was still a blurred mess and the wife was still in panic mode. I talked to Lucy but she had little info to share. I explained to her that we needed to go outside for the morning pee (her pee, not mine--I already peed). I put her down on the floor as I put on my shoes....I noticed that she when she tried to get back up the stairs, she couldn't. I mean there was no way in hell her body part(s) were going to let her do that. She couldn't jump, she couldn't dance, she couldn't go up the stairs.

Great. Now we have one dog that can't go UP stairs and one that can't go DOWN stairs...and, we live in a tri-level.

Stairs. That's all we have. Stairs.

I had to carry Lucy in and out so she could do her duty. By this time, the wife had surfaced from the bathroom and Freckles was only shaking a little bit. Although I could still see nothing wrong, I could tell there was something definitely wrong with her gait and that she couldn't use her back end like normal. I wasn't sure what to do. I couldn't miss another day of work--I just missed one for pooping my brains out. I couldn't leave her like this. I couldn't take her to work. I did the only thing I could think to do:

I drugged her.

I took a pain pill left over from her tooth surgery and shoved it in. I made sure she was safe and as comfortable as possible and then I sucked up all my guilt and went to work.

As I was driving, I took solace in the fact that her tail never stopped wagging when I was talking to her. I took that as a good sign--I figured if her tail was wagging, her back must be functioning at least a little bit.

As I was driving, I made an appointment with the vet (CA-CHING!) and only spent a few hours at work. When I got home, Lucy was very happy to see me but she couldn't jump up. It was miserable to see. She wanted so badly to give me my usual greeting but her body did not cooperate.

We won't even talk about how awful it was when she went out and tried to poop. Oh my. I need therapy after seeing that.

The vet did a body scan, asked questions, watched Lucy walk to and fro...all the time Lucy's tail never stopped wagging. They know Lucy and I could they were concerned. At least there wasn't a tooth sticking out of her snout this time. The vet tech bent over but Lucy couldn't kiss her. She lamented how Lucy must really be sick if she couldn't jump up to give a kiss. I confessed my sin of drugging my dog using leftover tooth surgery medication. Thankfully, the vet nodded at me in understanding. "Well, it's not neurological and that's very good," the vet said reassuringly. She then felt along Lucy's spine, cocking her head almost as if she were listening.

I could see it coming. I could tell what the vet was thinking. For one-one billionth of a second, I went to a very dark place....one that said, "I can't do this to my dog. I can't make her go through surgery." I quickly knocked off the melodrama and calmly waited for the vet's proclamation.

The diagnosis? A back injury. Just like the wife. A back injury at 5 A.M. on a work morning.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

Suffice it to say, Lucy was given several meds to decrease the swelling and to drown out the pain. The vet, ever so in tune with the money-pit-ness of our dogs, stated we could do the rest/relaxation/medication route for the weekend. If things didn't improve, x-rays and other tests would follow next week. The meds weren't a cure but would give Lucy time to heal. She reassured me that it was nothing that we had done or not done--"all it takes is a sneeze."

Like I didn't already know that. Geez, the wife was just reaching for her toothbrush when she went down in a blaze of glory.

I'm happy to report Lucy is giving us a run for the money--literally. We are supposed to be keeping her quiet and calm. We're trying to make sure we carry her up the stairs, that we don't let her try to jump up on the couch, that she not dance in happiness when she sees us. I am here to tell you we are doing a really lousy job--those pain meds have her feeling good to go. She moves faster than us. She is doing extremely well and is able to get around without issue. I'm cautiously optimistic. In the meantime, I going to learn more about canine spine issues. I'm going to learn how to use pressure points to help her heal & to lower the pain with less medication. I'm going to seek direction on how to help her prevent this in the future. If I have to, I'll build a ramp to the couch and to the yard.

I'm not sure if you can help a dog strengthen its core, but if you can, we'll be doing it.

......One who can't walk up stairs and one who can't walk down stairs. The wife and I are building our cores and all our other muscles carrying these mutts up and down the stairs... it's all good as long as the wife and I can get up and down the stairs on our own.....

Whose idea was it to buy a tri-level, anyways????

2012-01-18T16:28:00.000-06:00

Hot Lava, Hot Grrrrl, Hot Dog

Get ready to file this in the "didn't-really-need-to-know-that-thanks-for-sharing" pile. My blog for today was to be exclusively about my new eye glasses. Unfortunately, that will have to wait a wee bit as I am experiencing a horrific bout of diarrhea. Not that you really needed to know that. (See? I told you.) As this is the first episode of "non-medication/medically induced diarrhea" I can recall since 1990's (I'm not kidding), I am intrigued, albeit in a twisted way. As I have literally no other symptoms of which to speak and as I have not been around anyone who has been spewing things out of their orifices, I assume this delicious issue is food related. (Cue Bridesmaids movie here. You know, I put something about the hot lava as my Book de la Face status just a few minutes ago and I don't think people got it. I think they thought I was actually watching the movie. Not so much--I was living the movie.) Despite my actual interest, I am unable to go to work. Even if I could get there (and that would be a feat in itself), I'd be too mortified to have diarrhea in the staff bathroom....after all, it is IN the staff office and there would be no way around "sharing" the experience with my coworkers. (If you are in the planning stages of building office, do NOT put the bathroom in the office. Trust me on this one.) It's such a waste of a sick day to miss work due to diarrhea. When I want to use a sick day, I want to use it because I'm miserable with the cold or flu or something fun to do, not the shits. Thanks to my spewing hot lava, I watched a Hercules/Amazon Women movie, half of a special on a famous tattoo artist, played seventy three rounds of Words with Friends,wrote this blog ....as well as went to the bathroom countless times. (BTW, I am proud to report that I used all three bathrooms today at one point or another. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do).

As for my glasses, well I am in love with them. Suffice it to say they are Gucci and we all know what a label snob I am (tongue firmly in cheek). Since getting my glasses on Monday, I've decided that being a label snob might actual come in handy. This pair of glasses came with a gold Gucci box, with a gold Gucci case, with a gold cloth with which to clean your glasses and with a card of authenticity, proving that these glasses are, in fact, Gucci. Huh. They are spectacular spectacles. I don't know how they look on my face but they look really good in the gold box. I am very happy to report that I can now read teeny, tiny print. People who make fun of me when I look over my glasses to see the camera view finder will laugh no more, as I don't have to do that. I somehow don't think I can see as well far away but I suppose there is always a trade-off of some type or another and I'm tired of not being able to see close up, so I'm good with this for the time being. If I go on to be a pilot, professional driver or some other worker that needs to see street signs from 1.5 miles away, I'll worry about it then. Besides, I look hot!

Ah, about the hot dog. No, I did not start eating hot dogs again (if I did, that would explain the diarrhea). I'm referring to a certain dog in a certain neighborhood who is leaving a certain product on our lawn. The wife gets crazed by this--she turns reds, she stomps around, she mutters obscenities, puts her coat on to go over there, only to end up picking up the poop because it is too upsetting to leave it there. I've seen her fling a piece of poop a time or two and I can't say that I blame her. I told her texting wasn't the right way to address the problem (not that flinging poo is a good idea, either). She's talked to them before but they seem to make a joke out of it, then continue the same bad neighbor practice. (Hey, it's a lot of poop. It's quantity oriented. Don't even get me started about the dog piddling on our stoop. That irks me more than the poop--but, this is about the wife, so forgot the stoop pee.) It's frustrating to know that we pick up our poop each and every time one of our dogs leave a gift and we keep an eye on them, monitoring them as they sniff around pre-during-post duty. Since none of us have fences, it's the least we can do AND it keeps the dogs safe, which is important in my little corner of the world.

After watching the wife stomp and storm around the house on Sunday (and this was before the Packers lost, so she wasn't even crabby yet), I decided to take matters into my own hands. I did what an y proud participant of the social network would do:

I posted the dilemma as my status update on Book De La Face.

I got over 40 responses, most of which were very appreciated and seemed quite helpful in one way or another. Suggestions including involving animal control (that will make you best of friends), bagging up the poop in a brown paper bag and setting it on fire after ringing their door bell; rubbing their noses in it (bad dog!); talking to the dog; flinging it at the house; putting it in piles on the stoop; have a poop ball fight; make a video and put it on UTube with hopes it goes viral; take a photo of the dog pooping and post around the neighborhood; feed the dog rubber bands so we can shoot the poop back at them easier; post various kinds of signs; do rather awful things to the dog (it's the not dog's fault, so we ruled those out without even a moment of thought); put the poop in a nice bag and hand it to them while saying, "I think you left me something in our yard." We had some really nice, adult ideas but we ignored them.....but, that didn't seem half as fun as the wife going out there and pooping on their lawn. Priceless! I'm having a visual.

The best use of the social network was unintentional. It was actually unintentionally genius. I'm not the dog owners' FB friends. But, I am friends with friends of the dog owners. One or more of our "mutual" friends must've let the dog owners know that they were the fodder of my status....as, we haven't had any poop in our yard for three days in a row. (It's easy to see with the snow cover--both the offender's paw prints and poop product.)

Either that, or I can't see as well out of these new glasses as I thought I could.

I feel a wee bit bad about the use of Book de la Face thing but not too much. After all, it seems to have worked. Humiliation is a mighty motivator.

If the poop continues (mine or the neighbor's dog), I'll let you know. I do not anticipate any further reports on my pooping status, but I am concerned that we will be having some more pooping on the front law......I have my camera ready and my glasses cleaned.....

2012-01-13T17:36:00.001-06:00

2012-01-13T17:36:00.000-06:00

A Tear in My Beer

This is Miranda Lambert's "logo" and tattoo. Yeee haw! I did not draw it and I did not take the photo but I had to share it. HAD to. I hope Miranda doesn't come beat the snot out of me.

Before I talk about Miranda, I have to get this off my chest: we have become a world of weather wimps. Seriously. (I rant about this every winter, so I might as well get it out of the way.) All this technology has ruined us. In the olden days (read: before Doppler Radar, before the Channel of Weather, before weather reports were included on every device we own), we woke up, looked out the window and decided what to wear. If it was raining, we'd put on a rain coat. If it was snowing, we'd put on our boots. If it was windy and snowing, we'd put on our boots AND scarf. We didn't have a week to worry about what might or might not happen--we had here and now (and maybe tomorrow). Yesterday's "snow storm" (since when does six inches of snow constitute a snow storm?) was predicted a week ago...giving people seven days to fret about how bad the weather was going to be. You know what happened when the snow arrived as scheduled? People started canceling things and teacher friends said things like, "I wonder if tomorrow will be a snow day?" When did regular old, boring, seasonally-appropriate snow become a storm? We are weather wimps. Now, I'm not saying we should be out plowing through a foot of snow during a blinding snow storm. I'm all for common sense. I just don't know how we (me included) became so wimpy. We should be ashamed of ourselves.

(May I note that having a week's notice did not seem to get snow plow operators ready for action. The plowing was embarrassingly atrocious. The roads are still ridiculously unacceptable. As they say on ESPN, "c'mon, man!")

One person who isn't a weather wimp (or a wimp of any kind) is Miranda Lambert. (Actually, the 7000 people in attendance at Miranda's concert last night weren't weather wimps, either--so, good for us! We embraced winter with all our country western hearts.) Ms. Lambert showed up (sans Blake) to open her world tour in our town. Who the hell starts their world tour in Rockford, Illinois? I have to say: I loved the concert--it was great fun, high energy, musically sound...she really impressed me. Now, you regular readers know that I am a concert wh*re so me saying I was impressed actually means something. (I go to a lot of concerts-I stopped counting after 100. There's nothing like live music!) I've never seen opening night for a tour, so it was kind of exciting to be there.

So, how was hanging out at the baggage claim? I loved whole thing. I especially liked how authentic & how genuine Miranda seemed to be. Not every performer will admit to having the jitters. Not every performer will own up to his/her mistakes. And, most performers, in my humble opinion, are not authentic enough to have a moment of overwhelming emotion during a performance. Well, Miranda, that little sassy & angry ball of spitfire, did just that. While performing one of songs--a great song which has touched many people--it became just too much. The song, a very personal song, swallowed her up. It wasn't rehearsed. It wasn't contrived. It wasn't fake. It wasn't designed to tug on heartstrings. The song just swallowed her up.

It was one of my favorite concert moments of my life.

I've seen people in the audience bawl like babies. I personally have had a tear a time or two. But, performers? Not so much. I'm trying to remember a time when any of the performers I've seen in concert have experienced a genuine moment like this.....I can't recall even one. I'll have to think more about that.....

I don't know if she saw it coming or not, but most of the 7000 in attendance did. One look at the jumbotron told you she wouldn't be able to sing the heartfelt words because they were so heartfelt. The words were real and meant something to her. It turned out just fine because we all sang it for her. Heck, it turned out better because we sang it for her. Lest you think I'm kidding about the crying, I've included her tweet (see image above).

I imagine it is incredibly hard for a sassy, angry girl to have such a public moment of vulnerability. Personally, I think it took the concert to a whole 'nother level and thus I thank Miranda for her public tear in her beer. I'm getting to be a sap in my old age.

As for the rest of the show, it was complete cowgirl sass. It's hard not to like someone who has a two-pistol with wings tattoo on the forearm and is oozing attitude. (I daresay Blake has his hands full.) She's gonna have a great tour--if she can get out of bed today, that is. Miranda had a whole lot of shaking and jumping and head banging and pink guitar playing going on the entire time she was performing. Someone get that cowgirl a massage! If any of you have the chance to hang out at the baggage claim with Miranda, do it. As she says, she's packing it in---come and get it.

2012-01-05T18:55:00.003-06:00

My.Oh! Fay.Shull.

Dear goodness, is it Thursday night already? My art professor told us that as we age, time goes faster. When he said that, I was 20 years old. I thought he was kidding. Now that I'm only a wee bit shy of 50, I see what he means. He was painfully serious.

You probably thing I've been sitting around doing nothing, but that is far from the case. I've been getting my myofascials released!

Now, you may or may not know what this means. I'm having it done and I'm not sure I know what it means. I never really heard about myofascial release until our friends educated us, as related to my seeming-medical issue. You would think I would know at least a little something, considering I own one of those foam roller things that people use for myofascial release. (I have the foam roller per the suggestion of Phlange-a-slam, who thought it would help with my IT band woes. It did. Guess I never thought about what the foam roller might be all about. I just follow direction.)

Suffice it to say that all those little fibrous bands in my connecting tissue are just waiting for someone to release the tension and I have been led to someone who can do it.

Anyways, having your myofascials released is a complicated thing.

Okay, not really--I lay there on the nicely-heated table and listen to soothing music while my personal myofascial releaser (and the Universe) do all the work. It's not complicated at all. I don't even have to understand it. I don't have to get undressed, I don't have to think, I don't have to do anything but be.

I can be with the best of them.

Since the miracles of modern medical science have done nothing to help me (well besides confirm that I have an actual problem that is visible on a CAT scan), I am enjoying this "different" route and embracing every minute of it. It actually makes total sense to me: if there is the possibility that my issues are cause by (or at least exacerbated by) scar tissue or tension in my connecting tissue, something--besides surgery--needs to be done to release the tension from where it is tense. Since I had surgery in the area in question and since the issues I am having do indeed suggest issues with adhesions or some other scar-related issue. it makes even more sense.

Still with me? Good.

Lest you think I'm out frolicking naked in the woods (not that there's anything wrong with that), let me give you a clue about what happens when I go for a treatment:

1. Hop up on to the table that has been pre-heated ("What a treat!" as the wife would say.)
2. Relax.
3. Experience gentle massage-like pressure on the part(s) in question. Yum.
3. Relax more as your myofascial get stretched, kneaded, massaged. Yum squared.
3. Become one with the Universe.

See? How great is that?

After the first session, I felt like a million bucks. Talk about relief. It was the first true relief I've had in many, many weeks. Unfortunately, the next few days were tough. I figure this is quite normal--after all, my connective tissue has been a hot mess since the summer--it probably didn't like being told to go back to from where it came. (I hate being told what to do. I imagine my myofascial feels the same way.) By the time I go to the second session (yesterday), I was ready for more. Today, I am experiencing a pleasant silence from the area of which has had lot to say over the past many months.

It's hard to describe what I mean when I say "a pleasant silence." I thought trying to explain my vague symptoms to the doctor was hard--this is just as hard to describe. A pleasant silence follows months and months of static. It's like you've been living with this loud, irritating static noise in the background and it's always there and although you can keep on working and doing what you do, the static is always always always there and always at a low grade irritation and you.can't.make.it.stop.

So what happens when one is given the gift of a pleasant silence? It is like heaven. It is delicious. It is appreciated. It give me hope. It reminds me of what its like to take part in the process of healing. It gives me gratitude out the wazoo. It soothes my soul.

Since I've lived with the "static" for so long, the pleasant silence is a little disconcerting; after all, I haven't had silence since July. I keep waiting for the irritation to return. I then chastise myself for such thinking. I go back to enjoying the silence. Ahhhhhh.

I'll let you know how this progresses. In the meantime, give a google if you need more info. Until we meet again, I'm going to go enjoy my delicious, warm, golden, beautiful, glowing silence.

Shhhhhhhhhhh.

2011-12-31T09:01:00.000-06:00

Return of the Madonna Wh*re

No time for whining about medical woes or the dog's boogery-blind eye or the wife's fear of street salt... there is big news to be had for 2012:

Madonna has a new album awaiting release....she has a tour in the works...AND, she is the half time entertainment at the Super Bowl.

2012 is going to be the BEST.YEAR.EVER!

Well, it will be if the world doesn't end. If the world ends in 2012, that's going to kinda suck. At least it will be after I see Madonna on tour.

(Yes, that's MY photo. I didn't glean it from anywhere. It's from when me and MJagger went to one of her Chicago concerts. So, don't be giving me any grief, you guardians of the Internet. It's mine, mine, mine!)

As the actual concert/tour dates haven't been officially released, I don't have the details-- it looks like her Madge-esty will be in the area late July 2012. Suffice it to say, MJagger and I best start saving our pennies now, because I ain't sitting in the cheap seats. I am way too old for that nonsense--in fact, I will be 50 by the time the concert rolls into town and 50-year-olds do NOT sit in the cheap seats.

I have a lot to do before "The Summer of Madonna" arrives.

I have to get back into concert form, building my endurance so I am able to dance for two hours.
I have to build my endurance so I can hold my pee while dancing for two hours.
I have to get some speed work in so I can sprint-to-the-parking-lot after the concert....or
I can learn to hold my pee even longer and wait until we get to the toll road Oasis before going to the bathroom after dancing for two hours and then hanging out in traffic.
I have shopping to do--one must have appropriate garb for going to a Madonna concert. What to wear? What to wear?
I'll have to learn all the words to her new songs (which won't be easy, considering my peri-menopausal state).

I'm glad I have a few month's notice to get everything in order. It's been awhile since I've had anything to be excited about in the Madonna Department. I'm glad she's giving me the perfect gift to start the year. I'd write more but I have to go do some core-strengthing exercises and start shopping for a new wardrobe....

Happy New Year!

P.S. The world is not going to end in 2012. Please do not jump on that band wagon. I'm begging you. All the nonsense has already started. Just stop it. If the world ends, I'll apologize. Until then, focus on Madonna and all will be well in the world.

2011-12-27T18:55:00.000-06:00

Of Dog Food and Tax Time

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2011-12-24T07:10:00.000-06:00

Holiday Re-wind

Tis the season to....run around the Midwest looking like a chicken with a head cut off. (Have you ever seen a chicken without a head? It's actually true. You lop that puppy off and the thing keeps running around for a dot. No wonder I'm a vegetarian.) It's the season where the wife and I argue about our spending habits, of eating naughty foods which lead to screaming pant buttons, of recalling holidays of old. Since I'm short on time and can't blog while in a car--well, actually, I could if I weren't doing all the driving, but blogging and driving is not a good idea--I am giving you a holiday re-wind from December 2006. Most of you weren't reading the blog way back when, so I figure this is fair game. I do so love the story of Santa in the Bathroom.

"Happy Holidays" to those of you who no longer say "Merry Christmas!" Merry Christmas to those of you who disdain the saying "Happy Holidays!"

(December 2006 Edition) ......To help you get into the holiday spirit, I thought I'd share memories of a few favorite gifts and foods over the years. Take, for instance, the Christmas when I was five years old. If I'm not mistaken, we were living in Boston at that time and had returned to the Windy City for the holiday festivities. We stayed with our grandparents that year, with Lil Sis and I taking over my aunt's bed. This was an AWESOME Christmas, as Santa brought me a G.I. Joe Machine Gun! Now, that's a good present. (I'm serious!) Although that was a mighty exciting part of this particular holiday, finding Santa in the bathroom was the highlight of Christmas Eve....

...While trying to sleep on Christmas Even (you know how hard that can be), I was peeking out of my supposedly closed eyes while "sleeping" in my aunt's bedroom. I was facing the doorway. It was still mighty dark out. Suddenly, I swear to you that I saw Santa walk into the bathroom and shut the door. I was so excited I could barely contain myself!

SANTA.is.in.the.BATHROOM!

He's HERE! HE'S HERE! HERE! HERE! HERE!

(Even Santa has to pee, doesn't he? I mean, that's a LONG journey he takes.)

I quickly SQUEEZED my eyes shut, as I figured Santa would take the gifts back if he knew I was awake. I prayed I wouldn't squirm in delight.

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DON'T LET SANTA KNOW I'M AWAKE!!! SANTA, I'VE BEEN GOOD ALL YEAR! PLEASE DON'T LET ME BLOW IT NOW!

I kept those eyes squeezed shut and I did not peek to see if he ever came out the bathroom door. Maybe he went out the window. (They didn't have a chimney, so the bathroom window might work quite well.) Thankfully, Santa did not see me and thus the machine gun was mine for the taking.

Looking back, I assume it was my grandfather in the bathroom, but who REALLY knows???!

Over the years, I've been given some awesome presents: a telescope in fourth grade, a new 10 speed bike in eighth grade (yellow! Woo woo!) and even a yellow hat with a siren on top when I was in tenth grade. I think my favorite gift in the recent years was the Poop Calendar I received from a co-worker last year. I know, I know, that is so juvenile, but it was the best calendar I have ever received--dog poop every month! You KNOW how much I love to talk about poop--well, this just gave me permission to talk about dog poop at any given moment during the work day. (It IS a fine line between staff and client, I tell you.) If I weren't in such a food coma, I'd tell you more about holidays gone by. Until I "pass" those cheesy potatoes, I won't be doing much of anything, so you'll just have to wait....a few hours...a few days? Please don't make it a week....

2011-12-19T19:56:00.000-06:00

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.....

2011-12-14T19:24:00.000-06:00

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.

2011-12-08T19:52:00.000-06:00

I would like to wish my dear friend "TV" a very happy 50th birthday. She looks great. I keep telling her that "50 is the new 40." I won't tell anyone you are 50.

I took this photo yesterday. I noticed this giant "smoke ring" hovering over my place of employment as I was walking toward the building. I stopped in my tracks and thought WTH? It was so bizarre that I took this photo with my camera phone. I also went and found someone else to look at it, so I'd have a witness. Never mind that the person I went and got has a chronic mental illness--he seemed in touch with reality just fine for my purposes. I've never seen anything like it and neither had he. I thought perhaps a sky-writer had gone wrong--started spelling out a word and then got all dyslexic or something. I posted it on Book de la Face in an effort to find out what the heck this was. The local weather guy says it is from a plane in a holding pattern, circling. I dunno. I grew up in the landing pattern of O'Hare and I NEVER saw anything that looked like this.....

It's a quiet night in the Addiverse, as our TV and cable have been unplugged by the wife, as she is preparing for the arrival of our new TV. "The Project," as I now call it, continues to grow. Cables spewing, furniture flying, angst boiling. This all before we even have the TV. Hell, we don't even have the new furniture thing yet. The cable box (with the DVR thingy of which I didn't think we'd ever need but now realize I cannot live without) is unhooked, as the wife has to go to the Cable company and get a new box. I was aghast when I learned she didn't DVR Glee or Modern Family, as there is no DVR to DVR with. (She is SO LUCKY they invented Hulu.) I've always said I could live without TV (and, I still believe this to be true), but I'd need time to adjust--I would need a 30 day warning to prepare for the loss of the Weather Channel.

As the new TV system is all fancy and new fangled, we need a new cable box. You would think this would be very easy.....but, nothing is easy when it comes to the Cable company. What a racket! They take all your money while holding you by the balls. There is no other game in town and they know it. They taunt us. They don't need to have customer service because there is nowhere else to go. (Let's not start the satellite nonsense and don't even make me laugh with the digital antenna thing. It's this cable company or nothing. They have the Internet connection to the world. The phone company can't touch their speed. I need speed. I need the Internet. I might be able to live without cable but I CANNOT live without the Internet.) The Cable company has HORRIBLE customer service--I imagine it's like calling "Peggy" in the credit card commercials. The wife, god love her, has been dealing with the Cable company for the past few days. Her last conversation, made yesterday--Wednesday--went like this:

WIFE: ....."Do I need a 3-D compatible cable box for a 3-D capable TV?"
CABLE: "Yeah, you need one of those."
WIFE: "How do I get one?"
CABLE: "You have to drive to our office and pick one up."
WIFE: "Where are you located?"
CABLE: "By the airport."
(The airport, for readers who do not know us, is literally the furthest point in town from where we live, with no easy, direct route. This is a trek. It is a 25-30 minute pain in the ass.)
WIFE: "Can you tell me if you have one in stock?"
CABLE: "A cable box?"
WIFE: "Yes. A 3-D compatible cable box."
CABLE: "No, I can't."
WIFE: "You can't tell me if you have this piece of equipment in stock?"
CABLE: "No, you'll just have to drive out here and see if they have one."
WIFE: "Seriously? Can't you check the inventory?"
CABLE: "No, we can't do that. We'll be able to do that after January 1st."
WIFE: (confused) "You can't tell if something is in stock?"
CABLE: "No, you'll have to come out here. They don't always have those in stock."
WIFE: "Isn't the equipment where you are?"
CABLE: "No, it's in the warehouse."
WIFE: "So, this isn't the warehouse?"
CABLE: "No."
WIFE: Where's the warehouse, then?"
CABLE: "It's not in this office."
WIFE: "Can I call the warehouse?"
CABLE: "No, they don't answer the phone."
(I am NOT making this up!!!!!)
WIFE: "So, you can't call the warehouse to see if they have a 3-D compatible cable box in stock?"
CABLE: "No."
WIFE: "And I can't call the warehouse to see if they have this in stock?"
CABLE: "No."
WIFE: "I have to drive all the way out there and hope they have one?"
CABLE: "Yup."
WIFE: "I would think your customers would like to be able to call and see if something is in stock."
CABLE: "Yes, customers have mentioned that before. After January 1st, you can do this."
WIFE: "That doesn't help me now."
CABLE: "No."
WIFE: "When can I do come get the cable box?"
CABLE: "During our operating hours."
WIFE: (on the verge of mass murder) "Can I come tomorrow?"
CABLE: "No, we're closed on Thursday."
(Who the hell closes their business on a Thursday?)
WIFE: "You're closed on Thursday."
CABLE: "Yes,. We're getting ready to put the inventory in the computer."
WIFE: "So, I can drive out there on Friday and hope they have a box in stock?"
CABLE: "Yes."

CABLE: "Yes."
WIFE: "And, sometimes they don't have this in stock?"
CABLE: "Right."
WIFE: "Then what do I do?"
CABLE: "You'll have to come back another day."
WIFE: "I bring the cable box I am currently using with me and trade it in for the new box?"
CABLE: "Yes."
WIFE: "So, if it's not in stock and I've unplugged my cable to bring in the existing box, I'll have to drive home, hook up the cable to the box I just unplugged and then unplug it again when I drive back out there?"
CABLE: "Yes."

As you can imagine, it was not a fun Wednesday night in our home. This better be one kick-ass 3-D compatible cable box and it best work when she hooks everything up.

"The Project" has reminded us that projects take a life of their own. Just about the time you think you've figured things out, something else comes up. Another wire, another component, another something-something, it just grows. Right now, I'm staring at the massive, existing entertainment center and wondering how the hell we are going to get it up the stairs and out the door...and, then who knows where. It doesn't come apart. It's too big to put anywhere else. It's too small for the size TV the wife picked out.

Maybe I should call the Cable company and see if they want it. Of course, they won't be able to answer that until after January 1st.

(Maybe that's not an alien symbol or a cloud pattern from a circling plane: maybe it's smoke coming out of the wife's ears when she thinks of the cable company. Just sayin.)

2011-12-02T06:45:00.001-06:00

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!

2011-11-27T13:12:00.002-06:00

That's a Mouthful

We continue our efforts to break Lucy, Bark of Poteidaia, of her dental-decaying habit. While many of you were out pepper-spraying or shooting at each other on Black Friday, we were home trying to rid Lucy of her life-long oral fixation. This is not going well. She falls asleep, I gently pry the toy out of her mouth. She promptly wakes up, goes and gets another toy. Repeat three times. I give up before she does. It's not like I can explain the Binky Fairy is coming to take the nook away. This is hardcore. This makes Black Friday shopping look like child's play.

Since it's not looking promising in the habit-breaking department, I've been on line all morning seeking doggie dental products that may be of use. The good news is the concoction for drinking water that cost me $32 at the vet is only $16 on line-- Score! I just cut my cost in half. (The hardest part with the water-drinking stuff is training the wife--she is ALWAYS changing the dog water....I have to break her of this, as she is throwing away my chemicals!) I'm considering tooth-brushing options, drinking-water-based solutions, special bones, special treats, special whatever it takes. As part of my endeavor, I've been reading reviews about various doggie dental-related products, some of which gave me pause--why do some of the drinking water products feature ingredients that are considered poisonous to dogs? Why do others basically feature bleach? The price was enticing and the promises enthralling, but I decided to skip those options--I've spent enough all ready, don't need to purposefully poison the pups.

Wonder if I could floss her teeth? (I'm having a visual.)

As for the one-eyed wonder, she is getting used to me chasing her around at least five times a day stuffing one product or another into her eye. I must say, the eye boogers are looking much better. Maybe it's because I'm getting more medicine IN her eye instead of everywhere else besides in her eye. My secret? First, I explained to her that we will be doing this for the rest of her life so she might as well just go with it. She's smarter than most 5th graders, so she understood this. Secondly, I went on line and watched videos about how to put eye medication in a dog. Made me much more efficient and confident. She still doesn't like it--after all, what's to like about having some goop-gel-gunk put in your eye by some half-wit human? I give her a lot of credit--she doesn't run away and she doesn't wiggle when I do my best to get the medicine right the first time. She's still blind but the meds make life a whole lot better for her. I know Santa is watching and will bring her some extra-special toys...she earned them this year.

I'm off to find Cyber Monday sales on doggie dental and canine eyeball products after I make sure Lucy isn't napping with a toy in her mouth......

......ooooh, I see someone is not looking very happy about me coming toward her...this is NOT a staged photo! I see she's got an assortment of toys close at hand....I know she's saying, "Go ahead, take one--I've got plenty more from where those came from, bitch." Oh my. Those glowing eyes say it all:

STOP.MESSING.WITH.MY.TOYS!

I think I'll stick to on-line shopping and step away from the dentally-challenged pup for now.......

2011-11-23T07:14:00.002-06:00

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.

2011-11-17T06:49:00.000-06:00

A Canine is a Canine without a Canine

Well, the tooth fairy has come and gone. She certainly did not leave money, as all the money was left at the vet's office.

Lucy's dental surgery went much, much smoother than planned, but not for the "right" reasons. Seems she has so much dental disease that the tooth in question basically fell right out with barely a tug. This, the tooth that was supposed to require cutting and cracking and all sorts of surgical motions. Ploop! Out it came, all in one piece. Although good for her healing, a bad sign in regards to dental health.

In case you are wondering, yes I got to keep the tooth. Why, there is it, right in front of Lucy's drugged eyes. ("Dude, that tooth is soooo gnarly.")

I am sad to report that another tooth was removed (with nary a pull) and a whole boatload are hanging on by the.....well, by the skin of their teeth. "We could have pulled out that other really loose one...several right here are loose." The hope is that all that dental cleaning will fix the gums, which will save the teeth.....time will tell.

While talking to the vet about how "easy" the tooth came out, I asked if the vet if still had the tooth. She brightened right before my very eyes and exclaimed, "Yes! Would you like to see it?" She seemed genuinely intrigued by my question. The vet scooted to the back office and returned quickly with the carnassial in hand. I held the bloody poor-excuse for a tooth in my palm and inquired, "Can I keep this?" She laughed and indicated that it was all mine as, "well, you paid for it!"

In the meantime, our kitchen counter has become "money pit central:"

Lucy has three different meds, special water drops and special treats that I am told are designed to remove tartar. I had to create a written schedule because I couldn't keep up with when I was supposed to be giving her each of the meds. Thankfully, this regiment will only be in place for one week; from there, it's no more meds but does include the special water, special treats AND daily tooth brushing. Freckles has three kinds of eye meds, of which I will only have to use one kind once the boogers are fully cleared. (I haven't broken it to her that this will be for the rest of her life--well, unless a doggie miracle happens, which might happen....one can hope.) Even though she's blind in that eye, she can see me coming. It's tough to get that little sausage out from under the bed.

I feel absolutely horrible about the state of Lucy's mouth. The pain she must have been in and we had no clue. The wife and I have been doing a lot of research (hindsight is foresight) and everything we read suggests that Lucy had to have been in much pain. Since she never missed a meal, remained happy and perky and never gave a sign, we had no idea. What a trooper. It is easy to see she is in pain now, as she looks sad, whimpers just a wee bit now and then, and has a pained expression, if you can believe that. She never looked like that before surgery. The only sign was her horrible breath. I am so, so, so sorry, beloved Bark of Poteidaia.

The good news is she is still eating like a pig. Like her mama, she's never missed a meal.

I think I've figured out what happened with her teeth. It's really bothered me, as she eats dry kibble and chews bones and does all those things I thought were good for her teeth. (Well, besides not brushing her teeth I thought I was doing all the right things.) Why Freckles' teeth remain fine and Lucy's don't really perplexed me. But, at 3 AM, when I was sleeping on the couch with Lucy and I was staring at her, it dawned on me:

She always sleeps with a toy in her mouth:

Here she is this morning, demonstrating this habit she has had since her earliest of days.

My tenure in the dental world and my interest in oral hygiene should have alerted me to the potential for horrible tooth decay as related to this habit. If you sleep with something in your mouth all night (and, whenever you take a nap), your mouth dries out. A dry mouth is VERY bad for your teeth and is very good for developing gum disease. Sigh.

At 3:01 AM, I removed the toy from her mouth, thinking "better late than never," with ambitions of breaking her of this harmful habit right there and then. At 3:02 AM, she hopped off the couch, went and got another toy and quickly went back to sleep. Sigh.

One thing at a time, baby Jesus. First, I'll focus on finishing up the meds. Second, I'll work on the tooth brushing. Third, I'll work on breaking this "sleeping with toy in mouth" habit......

.....finally, I'll beat the crap out of the tooth fairy if she heads this way again any time soon. You have been warned.

2011-11-15T18:07:00.001-06:00

Today's excitement: allowing Lucy to eat anything and everything she could possibly want (in consideration of tomorrow's surgery, of course). Well, besides ice cream--I was afraid that might hurt her tooth/tooth root/infection/what-not. That's really kind of unfair, considering that ice cream is her favorite food of all. I'm happy to report her face looks a bit better, now that the anti-biotics have kicked in. Can't really tell what's going on in there, as the hair is all matted and blecky. I am sure I will pay extra to have that hot mess cut out of her hair. Better them than me, as they can do it while she's unconscious and I'd have to chase her like a greased pig.

This is a photo of Lucy when she was just a pup. She's brushing her teeth on a chakram. Look at those eye lashes! Please put out good thoughts for her surgery--especially her recovery process.

My guilt over the whole tooth thing builds each and ever time someone asks: "Don't you brush your dog's teeth?" Um, no. No, I don't. I have never brushed any canine canines. I can't tell you how many people have asked this. Hello! We didn't brush dog teeth in the 1970's. Dogs just had teeth and that's all there was to it. There were no root canals. There wasn't special doggie toothpaste. I really didn't think brushing dog teeth was at the top of canine care. I have been proven wrong.

Of course, starting tooth brushing when your dog is 11.5 years old and 9 years old may give new meaning to teaching an old dog a new trick. I may have to take video of this so we can all have a good laugh. It might be even funnier than me trying to put that eye goop in Freckles' blind eye four times a day......

This past weekend's excitement: making the annual Holiday card. It's a time-intensive ordeal, the pressure building each year. I had an AWESOME idea for this year's card, but the wife poo poo-ed it. I am so bitter about that--it would have been by far my best creation ever. It would have been a HUGE hit and a great laugh--at our expense, of course. I'd use the idea next year (when she's had time to see the humor in it) but it won't be as funny, as I believe timing is everything and this year is the time--after all, we won't be getting civilized again (well, not that I know of). You know it had to be risky if I asked her about it....I have never asked before...I just make the cards, seal the envelopes, mail them and then show her what I did. If only! If only I had just gone ahead and done it....it would've been the best card of the year.

Sigh. I'm getting wimpy in my old age.

This year, I went with a simple theme of which I shan't speak. Suffice it to say: if you thought about it long enough, you would know the theme of the card. It's based on the most important event of the year--from the wife's perspective. Hint: It's not Freckles going blind in one eye or having a brush with death. It's not Lucy's tooth issue. It's not her back surgery. It's not our civil union. It's not even the purchase of her new car.

That's all I'm saying.
**********************************************************

2011-11-10T16:54:00.000-06:00

Just the Tooth

I am a bad, bad, bad, bad mama.

I have been complaining about how bad Lucy, Bark of Poteidaia's breath has been lately but really didn't think much about it, especially since she saw the vet two weeks ago for her annual check-up. The vet and I talked about the doggie dentist and I had decided to get Lucy's teeth cleaned next February--it's Doggie Dental Month, featuring 10% discount. Lucy got a clean bill of health, unlike her money pit sister.

That same day, she developed a sore under her eye--looked like she had been scratching a bug bite or something and managed to give herself quite the yucky sore. (If you look at the photo, you can see the black blob of matted hair. Yum.) For two weeks, I've watched it ooze and bleed and god knows what else. I've slept on the couch while holding her so she wouldn't scratch at it. I've tried to cut the matted yuckies out of her moustache but wasn't very successful. I tried to keep it clean but it's been rather futile. She hasn't missed a meal, has been snarfing down treats, didn't seem in pain except when I'd try and touch it, but....

...I decided it might be getting infected (or, at least had the potential of developing an infection), so I called the vet and set up an appointment. Amazingly, they were able to get me right in.

Well, well, well. Here's where the bad mama part comes in.

All I wanted was for the vet to remove the muck, check for infection and fix her right up. I never thought it was anything more than an infected scratch or some freakish bug bite (kinda like the ones I had on my butt many a month ago). The vet tech welcomes the dogs (yes, Freckles was along--they actually love going to the vet and I always take them both, no matter the reason--might as well let Money Pit #1 enjoy a stress free trip to the vet), takes a look, looks a wee bit perplexed....

I can tell there is something wrong, even though she is very casual about things....she tells me the vet will be right in....and leaves me to stare wonderingly at the Bark of Poteidaia.

Dr. Dog comes in, picks up Lucy, gives her a kiss and without missing a beat says to the vet tech, "Well! What do you think?" The vet tech nods--they look directly at each other, nodding. Dr. Dog turns to me, calls me over to the exam table and says, much to my surprise:

"That's not a scratch. That's her tooth."

HER TOOTH!

Dear god, my dog's tooth is sticking OUT OF HER FACE! I am a BAD, BAD, BAD, BAD MAMA! MY DOG HAS A TOOTH ROOT STICKING OUT OF HER FACE AND I DIDN'T KNOW IT!

Seems her root got infected, which per the vet is quite common in such dogs, and the oozing and icky part is part of the root basically sticking out of her face. Dr. Dog opened Lucy's mouth and showed me her gums and mouth. Oh.my.goodness. No wonder her breath has been so disgusting. I should take a photo of those gums, abscesses and what nots.

Geez, so much for my five years in the dental field. In my defense, I guess most people don't have teeth sticking out of their faces....into their sinuses, yes. I've seen teeth roots weasel their way into sinus cavities. Out of their cheeks or eye orb, no.

Bad mama.

And, so Money Pit # 2 needs to have dental surgery. There's no other real option that I can figure. It's not like she can walk around with a tooth root sticking out of her face while the abscess ooooozes every which way. She'll be on pain meds and antibiotics for the next few days and then it's off to have some major dental work. Figures it's the biggest tooth in her mouth. The vet tech handed me the estimate. She looked almost apologetic. I wasn't surprised at all.....

....because the cost of the surgery will be almost exactly equal to the bonus I am scheduled to get at work in two weeks.

The Universe works that way. It's actually genius. Talk about being grateful about getting a bonus. It's a tough gig out there, with no raises to be had for almost everyone I know, so I've been tickled pink to know a bit of cold, hard cash is coming my way. A little bonus at the holidays is very appreciated by me. And now, I appreciate it even more.

Some people might be very bitter that their bonus is about to go into a dog's mouth for doggie dental surgery. Not me. I may be a bad, bad, bad mama but I am a very appreciative one--I'm all good with spending the money I wouldn't usually have on some dog-related expense. The Universe gave me just what I needed.

As long as they give me the tooth to keep and I still have a few bucks to buy a new pair of shoes, I'll be all good with it.

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

P.S. Oh, and to the Universe: Let's be clear. The vet mentioned that it is not uncommon for this to happen on BOTH sides of the mouth--when it happens to one, it often happens later to the other side. This will NOT be happening. Not at all. I have total faith in you,in Lucy and in me that this will not be happening. Thank you for your consideration.

*************************************************************
Surgery is set for 11/16/11. Will keep you posted! Happy 11/11/11.

2011-11-06T08:16:00.000-06:00

Hello Friend

We went and saw Bill Cosby last night at a local venue. As there are no reviews to be found in our local rag (oh, THERE'S a surprise!), I thought I'd write a few tidbits about the show. I've never seen Dr. Bill in person before, so that was rather fun. We didn't buy the tickets--they were a gift from two dear friends, which is good because I don't know if I would have ever purchased tickets to see a comedian (I gave away my ticket to see Ellen way back when, so you know I'm not much for seeing comedians "on tour.") We had 5th row, center seats, so it was great--we could see all the hilarious facial expressions he makes (and, he makes a lot of them). I'm very glad our friends had the smarts to send me to see him--not only is he an American icon, he's just plain funny. I'm glad I got to see part of history, because he really is historic. My stream-of-conscious thoughts....

(1) He's a tall fellow, much taller than I ever realized. That really doesn't have anything to do with his show, but it did take me by surprise. I guess I was expecting a four foot midget or something. (Can I say midget? I think that's considered very offensive now. The wife says I'm supposed to say "little person." Okay, so I was expecting a four foot little person....but, is four feet small enough to be a little person or is that too big? Sigh. I was expecting someone shorter.)

(2) He's a casual guy. He was wearing a grey hooded sweatshirt, grey sweat pants, black socks and slip-on sandal-type shoes. I liked it. Made him present as your grandpa sitting in the living room, telling stories in slow motion. Since that was his goal (to make it like he was talking to us in the living room), he succeeded.

(3) The "hello friend" screened onto his sweatshirt and placed on the back of his chair is purposeful. I had heard or seen it before, but I had no idea what it meant...a name of a book? A title of a skit? A tag line from a show? No, it's a tribute to his son (who was murdered in the 1990's). I had no idea and had to google it when I came home. I am so out of the loop. He didn't mention why he had that on his shirt and he never said it (well, not that I heard) but it's about his son, who according to Wiki (and we all know that that site is ALWAYS right--cough cough!) used to say that when he would meet people.

(4) He is a lot funnier in person than on TV. Case in point: he was on Letterman the night before he was in town and I didn't laugh. Not once. I didn't get it. I thought his topic was funny but there was something wrong. After seeing him in concert, I get it--it's not that he isn't funny--it's just that TV doesn't allow him to emit the humor he is afforded on stage, in person. TV is about speed and punch-lines and getting to the point. It's not personal. We live in snippets. His slow banter in a five minute interview is not what he is about. On stage, he is afforded the luxury of building the story, making expressions, playing off the audience, developing a rapport. I loved his TV shows, but that's different. TV shows aren't live. In person, he just oozes what he needs to ooze to be funny.

(5) Three stories can take 90 minutes to tell....and, it's wonderful. Three stories! Maybe two and a half stories--depends on how you count. Any more would have been too much. I'm not sure what today's youngsters would think about this, but for the audience, it was just right.

(6) He lives on the east coast. I had no idea. Why I pictured him in California, I don't know. Where have I been, under a rock?

(7) Sit near the front. If you can go, make sure you spend the money to sit close. His facial expressions really are priceless. Oh sure, you can see them on the big screen, but they are funnier "live."

(8) Clean can be fun. No need for raunchy. No need for filth. No need for swear words or shock. Good, clean fun. Yum!

Makes me want to go eat some Jell-o.

2011-10-31T18:30:00.000-05:00

Shooting the Poop, Part II

(Blogs go backwards. So, if you want to read this in chronological order, read part I first. In the big scheme of things, it doesn't matter which order you read any of my entries, because they are so dang weird, no matter which way you read them.)

The Northeast has been socked in with an unusually early & damaging snowstorm (thinking of you, Dos Marias & Suzuki DeFranco). Kim K is getting divorced after three and a half hours of marriage. It's Halloween night. Freckles has eye boogers bigger than my car. The Brewers didn't win or even get to the World Series. But, none of that is on my mind. Tonight, it is all about me and my poop shoot.

I am here to give you a full report on the non-sedated colonoscopy. But, before I tell you about the actual event, I want to tell you about something very weird that was going on in the medical building. I assure you that what I am about to tell you is 100% true; I reiterate that I was not on any drugs; and, I tell you I have a witness (MJagger). While I was hanging out in the recovery room (which is a story in itself), children were trick or treating. Yes, trick or treating, complete with costumes.

There I am, in my full glory on the gurney, covered only by a ratty hospital gown and a pile of sheets, curtains wide open for all the world to see....and children are trick or treating. Never mind the guy in the next recovery cubicle who's talking about wanting a bottle of whiskey (or feeling as if he had drunk a bottle of whiskey--I couldn't really tell-- he was full of all them happy drugs); children were trick or treating at the nurses station and they had to walk by me to get there.

If I hadn't had a witness or if I had been on the happy drugs, I would have thought I was hallucinating. Who the hell trick or treats in a gastroenterologist office??? It was a bit unnerving to have those little costumed kiddies staring at me. And, I mean they stared. This one four or five year old little chubby pirate girl stared at me for what seemed like 30 seconds. Maybe she was waiting for me to offer her some candy.

Damn nurse never offered ME or MJagger any candy. (Maybe 'cause we weren't wearing a costume.)

I am very, very grateful to report that my colonoscopy was uneventful and that the results were nothing but spectacular. The worst part besides the weirdness of trick or treaters? Getting the IV in my hand....actually, not getting the IV in my hand. I have wimpy veins so I'm used to people having trouble with them. Usually, I can talk medical personnel out of something that I am pretty sure is not going to work, but this nurse was having nothing to do with my gentle hints. Several times, I said, "uh, maybe you should try another vein," but the nurse kept digging around. I watched the whole thing, unable to tear my eyes away from the nonsense. She finally managed to blow out the vein. How do I know this? Because she said, "oh! I blew out your vein."

I left that place looking like a bad night on the Twilight movie set.

You would think getting a garden hose shoved up your patooty would be horrible, but it's really not half as bad as you would think....

....Relatively speaking, of course. A-hem. At this point, I'd like to make the disclaimer that under no circumstance should you try the non-sedated colonoscopy unless you are as weird as I am, you actually like looking at your innards on a large TV screen and you can deal with the discomfort associated with a garden hose winding its way through your internal maze. I do not condone this practice. They offer amazing drugs, so why not say yes?

The "entry" amazingly is not so bad. I feel really weird about writing that, as THAT is an OUT shoot, not an IN shoot. I guess I thought that the "beginning of where we are going" would be awful. It's not. Getting a vein blown out is way worse than that.

The "going round the mountain" part? That is quite "uncomfortable." Those are some pretty tricky turns in there. I remembered this from last time--the garden hose isn't good about getting around the bends and turns in the colon without some outside help. I'd be lying if I said this didn't hurt....I'd say "in pain," but it's not like every day pain or like hitting your thumb with a hammer. It's more like, "what the hell!" pain. I was super-glad when the doctor asked the nurse to push on my abdomen when he was maneuvering the garden hose. That nurse might have blown out my vein but she won big points from me when she used her hands to shove my bowels back toward my tailbone. I mean she put her whole weight behind her and became my personal girdle. I couldn't believe how that one little thing made a huge difference-- her hands mashed on my belly sent that garden hose flying right to wear it belonged.

The entire ordeal was made more "interesting" because I still had so much poop-goop, sesame seeds and oatmeal stuff in me. The doctor had to "suck and spit" to get to where he was going--kind of like driving in a blinding rain storm at night with only one headlight. Can you imagine what it would've been like in there had I not started my prep earlier than they suggested?

At least there was no corn.

Before I knew it, we were done. No polyps, no tumors, no weird growths, no problems, no worries. Just a pretty-in-pink, healthy colon. Thank you, baby Jesus!

As for the recovery room, suffice it to say they are not equipped to address a non-sedated client. I sat up to text MJagger and a nurse admonished me, "My! Are we in a hurry to leave? Please lay back down!" I guess she thought I was a crazed drugged woman trying to escape the recovery area before I was done cooking. I called out, "I wasn't sedated." This took her by surprise; her peer acknowledged this to be true. That got me a pleasant smile and direction to "relax and pass some gas."

I felt like I was being held hostage. As I was already passing gas (there is no way you can stop that from happening) and still wasn't getting anywhere, I decided it was time to kick it up a notch. No more silent farting for me--I let them know I meant business. I knew my plan was working when a nurse called out, "there you go! You'll be able to go as soon as they do your blood work." Score! I then called in my secret weapon: MJagger. I knew she could help speed things up for me...she did not fail me.

Now that the colonoscopy is behind me (pun intended), I've made up for all that lost time: I ate lunch at Culvers, got some fancy coffee at Starbucks, ate home-made cupcakes from MJagger, stuffed chocolate chips in as fast as I could pour them, ate some homemade some guacamole and will be moving on to other culinary delights. I lost three pounds preparing and I plan to gain four pounds recovering.

We still don't know why I have inflamed mesentery but we do know all sorts of things that are good: I am one healthy grrrrrl with one healthy appetite. That is way good enough for me. I am going to focus on all the things that are "right" with me instead of worrying about this one thing that is somehow out of alignment with that thinking. As writings from the "Secret" suggests, "Fear nothing - just think about what you want. It feels so much better!"

I am thinking about what I want....and, it involves a lot of chocolate. Suddenly, I feel so much better.
**************************************************************

2011-10-30T19:18:00.000-05:00

Shooting the Poop, Part I

Trust me when I say there is no delight quite like the infamous colonoscopy prep. Yes, I am in the midst of shooting the poop.....and, you.are.there!

(Spell check does not recognize the word "colonoscopy." It thinks it should be kaleidoscope or cloudscape.)

Prepping for having a garden hose shoved up your patooty is different than it was ten years ago when I first had this pleasure. Back then, you drank--literally--a gallon of this god-awful concoction and then hoped for the best. Since I have a very slow moving system (do you really need or want to know this?), it took me FIVE HOURS after consuming a gallon of liquid to have any "motion." FIVE HOURS with a gallon of liquid in me. An.entire.gallon.of.stuff.in.me. (Plus all that poop still in there!) I was absolutely miserable. I went to bed because I got tired of waiting for something to happen and tired of being upright while sloshing.....

This time, I had to take three laxative pills (early afternoon) and now have to drink two bottles--only 10 ounces each--of this terrible-but-tolerable tasting stuff. To catch you up to speed: I drank one bottle around 2:30 PM and have to drink another one tomorrow morning. Over a five hour period I have to drink a 1/2 gallon of Gatorade. I suppose it's only 1/2 less than before, but it is making a huge difference in my comfort department. Here's a photo of what I've drunk so far. Yum!

For the record, I was supposed to wait until 4 PM for the pills and 5 PM for the bottle of "stuff," but I didn't want to end up with another "waiting for five hours at night" episode due to my slow system; thus, I moved up the time frame. At this point, it seems genius. It also seems to be to be a great equalizer--it's kinda like how they stagger the runners in track meets to make it equitable. I look like I started ahead of the pack but really I am with the pack. My 5 PM is someone else's 7 PM.

I also think it's genius that Gatorade now comes in a "clear" form--it has flavor but not color. This helps a lot...although, I am quickly developing an aversion to Gatorade, no matter what the color or flavor.

Another development is that I can "eat" (and I do use that term loosely) jello, as long as it's not red. Jello is NOT a vegetarian food but at this point, I'm thinking a little jello won't hurt my vegetarian ways (well, as long as I don't think about it). If you are wondering why jello isn't a vegetarian food, you obviously do not know what you are eating when you eat jello.

I hate jello. Never been a fan. But, I will slurp some down if it settles my stomach or helps me with my overwhelming hunger (of which still exists despite being full of this liquid nonsense). I purchased some orange and some green jello, neither of which sound appetizing in any capacity. But, it's there if I need it.

I will spare you the "real" details...which is really, really hard for me. It's early in the game and I've already seen some amazing things from long ago. I just saw remnants of last Tuesday's bagel (I kid you not) and I am awaiting arrival of corn. If I see corn, I'm taking a photo of it because I can't even remember the last time I ate any corn.

I will not post the photo of the corn. I will just email it to MJagger and call it a day.
********************************************************
Stay tuned for a report on the actual procedure. I know you can barely wait.
********************************************************

2011-10-29T08:32:00.001-05:00

Warm Up

I'm hot.

Just sayin.'

Anyways, I look a whole lot better in the photo above than I do when dressed as Severus Snape:

I do think I captured his essence and I do indeed think I did quite the admirable job, thanks to my mother, who secured the cape and wig for me. I am here to tell you, tho: do not wear a compression shirt all day under your costume because you will be suicidal by the end. I thought it part of the costume to wear a high necked white shirt, as described on various websites when making a Snape costume. The only white high necked shirt I had was an Under-Armpits compression shirt. Oh.My.God. By the end of the day, my hands were blue and my goiter was flat.

I'd like to write a lot more but I have a mission I will be documenting tomorrow and thus want to save my witty banter for the duration of the 24 hour "event." It will be more of a photo journal than a written entry as I don't want you to miss one second of the event. Think of this blog as a warm up, an opening band, an appetizer for tomorrow's main course. Use this as your reference point:

Starts at Noon tomorrow. Be there, aloha.

2011-10-26T18:08:00.045-05:00

Arg! I'm a One-Eyed Shih Tzu, Matey!

Poor Freckles. Although she's been doing amazingly (incredibly) well since her brush with death many a month ago, she's been dealing with a booger-y eye for several weeks. It's been really gross. I'll spare you the details--suffice it to say it's been gross to look at and it's been even grosser knowing that she eats her boogers.

Just sayin.'

So, today when I took her and her sister for their annual check-up, I pointed out the booger-y eye (not that it needed to be pointed out--it's insanely obvious). The vet agreed that that was one booger-y eye ball. She took a gander and did all sorts of things--even measured the amount of tears in her eye. She poked at the eye, she wiggled her finger in front of the eye, she motioned back and forth in front of the eye.....the vet looked a bit perplexed and then said, "I think Freckles is blind in that eye."

Ah. Confirmation of what I already knew to be true: Freckles is a one-eyed shih tzu.

I've been watching her for the past few months...she's been having trouble going up and down the stairs when the lights aren't on, she's been refusing to come down one specific set of stairs, no matter the bribe, she didn't move when I would sneak up to clean her booger-y eye.....I was pretty sure she was blind in that eye but it's not like she could tell me the status of her eye sight.

The vet was very nice, noting that there are surgeries and treatments for the blindness. I could tell she didn't think these were necessary or even good ideas--she was just doing her job, giving lip service to services available. She noted that such treatment would be very expensive. It was at this point I made fun of how much money I had already spent on Freckles this year.

You know it's been a long year when the vet refers to your dog as "the money pit."

As the eye and blindness don't hurt her and it's not like she's going to take a driver's license test or anything, I asked that we focus on the boogers and not worry about the blindness. The vet was very agreeable with this and thus gave me two medications to put in Freckles' eye. She did mention the medication is expensive....but, I assured her that the cost was fine, as the money pit deserves a booger-free eye, blind or not.

I wasn't disturbed at all about having a one-eyed dog but it really seemed to bother the wife. She is not doing well with the dog's aging process. I'm just so glad that Freckles is still alive that I don't really think about it. To me, she's aging appropriately, getting lumpier and stinkier every day. I can make her a pirate for Halloween. What's not to love about that?

I am here to tell you that it is MUCH easier to put eye drops into a blind eye than into a seeing eye. It's almost wrong how easy it is 'cause the dog can't see it coming. Gives a whole new meaning to turning a blind eye.

I'm looking forward to a booger-free dog.
***********************************************************

2011-10-20T20:09:00.001-05:00

I Heart My Gyne

I am in love with my gynecologist. I am in love with him and I am going to take brownies to his office so I may properly profess my love.

This love fest is brought to you by the Addiverse Medical Mystery. Since July, I've seen my gynecologist, my primary care physician, a nurse practitioner and a surgeon (for the non-hernia hernia), all in an effort to identify the cause of my medical mystery. I also got a referral to a gastroenterologist and got a cavity filled along the way, but the tooth decay having nothing to do with any of this--I just threw it in for fun.
(NOTE: I left the previous sentence as originally written...however, as Spotted Owl astutely pointed out, the gatroenterologist did NOT fill my cavity--ha ha! Those are two separate events, combined in one poorly-written sentence--the cavity is tooth related and involved a dentist.)

During the time between various medical appointments, I spent lots of time researching my symptoms, trying to determine if I have a problem or not. As I've lamented before, you have to be your own best medical advocate. A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, but no knowledge is worse. As we all know, the Internet is a very good and very bad thing. Yes, you have access to all sorts of information; bad thing is that you have access to all sorts of information. (God only knows how much of the information is or is not true/accurate/based in reality. But, that's a whole different blog.)

Armed with my internet symptom-checker results, I marched back to my doctor, freaked out and sweaty. I explained that the issue was still happening and that I can now "put more words on" the pain. I had all sorts of descriptors by now. He ordered a CT scan and told me to make an appointment with my gynecologist.

I had the scan--complete with tampon in place--and was sent on my way by the tech, whose only words were, "the doctor will have your results this morning." For the record, I asked if they wanted me to take the tampon out for the duration of the test. It was really hard to ask that question--how embarrassing! They said it was fine right where it was. Who knew you could have a tampon in during a CT scan??? It was NOT an o.b. ultra tampon, I am sorry to say. The test results would be done this morning? That REALLY freaked me out. The tech agreed that it usually takes 3-5 days for people to get their results but the doctor has ordered it STAT, so he'll have the results by the end of the morning.

When I called my doctor's office, the nurse confirmed my results were there. She then she asked, "oh my, how ARE you feeling?" What? I bark back, "I'm FINE!" I am confused by her. I ask her about the results but she hems and haws and finally tells me the doctor will call later in the afternoon. She does nothing to build my confidence.

A nurse, not the doctor, calls me back. Her words are--literally, I quote--"Something is wrong," "there is inflammation" and "you need to see your gynecologist as soon as you can." As this is all awfully vague, I ask quite rudely, "can you tell me WHAT is inflamed?" She named two organs, one of which I certainly didn't want listed. She offered no further information or explanation. She dumped that on the gynecologist.

By the time I got to the gynecologist this morning, I was a hot mess, scared out of my wits. The wife sat in the corner, ready to take notes. When asked why I was so scared, I explained the phone interactions and that I had no idea what the actual report indicated. I blubbered out how my symptoms and the nurse's comments had me so freaked out that I could barely function.

God love that man. My gynecologist pulled up a seat and read the report word by word with me and the wife. He explained what each statement meant and then would make a comment like, "well, that's nothing to worry about." He seemed perplexed, as there was nothing troubling in the report. While it didn't identify the problem, it sure ruled out my biggest concerns. He then talked to me about how the nurse should not have been the one to call me or make those statements. I daresay he looked quite irritated. To calm my fears further, he did a thorough (and, I do mean thorough) exam. (The wife went flying out of the room during this part. She says she doesn't even want to be there when it's for her own exam, so she really didn't want to be in the room for someone else's exam.) The doctor named all the parts he was squeezing/touching/fondling/examining and then announced all was well. He decided the gastroenterologist was a good idea and took time to explain why he thought this a good idea. I was no longer scared. I still had the symptoms but I was not scared.

The wife returned in to the exam room, relieved to hear the good news that all my parts were in fine working order.

He then did the nicest thing a doctor has ever done for me: he hugged me. What a man! I can't say I ever imagined I would get a hug from my gynecologist.

And so, I am in love with my gynecologist. He didn't solve my problems but he answered my questions and gave me so much more than most people ever get when dealing with the medical system. He gave me his time, his attention, his interpretation of a report, his support, his expertise. I especially appreciate that he gave me eye contact when he was talking to me. Eye contact. Such a little thing that means so much.

If that doesn't rate a batch of brownies, I don't know what does.

2011-10-15T14:43:00.000-05:00

LLLock Out

We are at the LLL, aka the Love Loft, with ten dear friends. For those of you not in the know, twice a year this gaggle of friends gather for foods, friendship and fun. We've been doing this since 1993. We go shopping, play games, go on walks, eat food, we even go get tattoos.

Mainly, we eat food.

You'd think after almost 20 years, we would have experienced almost everything. Well, today we had another first: we got locked out of the place we are renting.

It was one of those weird events that cannot be explained. Somehow, the screen door locked from the inside. It's not a lock with a key lock on the outside--it's one of locks on a screen door that manually locks from the inside. Perhaps it was the ghost of the Farmhouse, as none of us can figure out how you lock a screen door from the inside when all of us were on the outside.

As the owners live at least three hours away (and, as they didn't answer our cell phone call), we were left to our own devices. Having to pee and knowing that all those snacks were awaiting our consumption motivated us to get it. We circled the premises many times to ensure we weren't missing an obvious open or unlocked window or door. Nothing....

So, we took turns using various creative modes trying to open the door. We tried pulling on the door, shoving credit cards and other various implements in the door, we tried to open the screen window without damaging the screen. That seemed the best option...had there not been a storm door window in the way, this would have been awesome.

At this point, you might ask yourself, "how many lebetians does it take to unlock a screen door?" You would think it would only take one, maybe two at the most. We had six staring at the door and discussing game plans. We also had one or two engaged via cell phone. It must take eight.

We determined the only way we were getting in was to take the hinges off the door. This required some creativity and expenditure of brain power, as we only had a few assorted tools, none of which were designed to get a door off its hinges. After digging in my trunk, I found some pliers, an old towel, a socket wrench and some little cheap-ass knock off Swiss Army knife. (I also found an extra pair of underwear, some electrical tape and my Jack Campbell success book. I left those in the trunk.)

Did you know you can you a socket wrench as a hammer?

Thankfully, the hinges came out without much effort. Oh, there were a few tense moments but really, it was quite uneventful. Once the hinges were off, the rest was a piece of cake.

Cake? Did someone say cake? I love cake. Get that dang unhinged door out of my way--I know there are snacks in there.

I am pleased to report that we got in without damaging the door and without any injury to persons involved. In victory, we have already peed, eaten and turned on college football. I am pleased to report I immediately went to the frig and snarfed down some leftover pizza and a huge slice of triple chocolate pie. As you need salty to go with sweet, I crunched down some sour dough pretzels to balance the pie. Since you need sweet to follow the salt, I had some dark chocolate to balance the pretzels.

Life is good.

*********************************************************************
P.S. As for the door getting locked on its own, we're going with the ghost theory.
**********************************************************************