Yo, A Little Privacy Here?

This was a rather clever email exchange with a friend from New York.  She had been interviewed on the news regarding the NY Marathon and gave a fake name of Kirby Smith last week.

Pretty much sums up my life, lately.

From: Heidi Weston   Personally, I get hung up on Void. Must be the "oi" sound, oy vey. The Mister actually recommended Poise thongs to aid in the prevention of VPL just last night. Great minds think alike. I will tell her and she will be sure to say, "Thank you and greetings as well", because she is polite like that. Yes, she is in a good spot and I am bringing the wee bison beast down for a visit with his buddy the Mastiff, Harrison. It shall be his last official visit this year, 'cuz Homey aint down for cleaning mud and shit (literally) from those ever so darling hooves. From: SAS

Nobody's ready for sensible, I'm with your mom. And, I think Poise cause less of a VPL, right? I just like saying the word "poise" ... it sounds funny. Poise Poise Poise, great now I can't stop. Is your mom still in that place she likes? I can't remember if she's moved recently. Give her a "hey" for me even though she doesn't know who I am :)

I'll keep you posted on the move west. Or Donner Party Redux.

xo

---

From: Heidi Weston

 

Oh, dear. Not that I love being Public or Pubic, but that is just too much info for random fans. Phew, Safety SAS rides again. Many thanks.

Yes, we are enjoying all Fall things, including power outages and wee hoofprints in mud. The Mister is returning from is annual Murder of Flying Objects, so we shall have provisions in the freezer.

I am escorting my failing Mom out and about. She now has Stage III Parkinsons' and we have moved to a walker. I took her to find shoes yesterday and I told her that heels were now out of her network. She turned to me and said, "But I'm not ready for sensible!" Poor Oma. On the bright side, may I recommend the Poise pads for minor incontinence? We find them better than the pull up Depends, which tend to irritate the skin, now that the color choice of peach has been offered. You're most welcome.

So glad to hear you shall be more near than far. Would so like to see the bright shiny face of Kirby, aka Sasquatch, in the 'hood.

xxxoooo,

Ho

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Date: Wed, 6 Nov 2013 09:55:46 -0800
From: sas
Subject: Facebook Privacy, yo!
To: weston_heidi

HO!

Hope this finds you and the mister happy and well and enjoying the loveliness that is Autumn. I'm on the final day of a 3-day Juice Cleanse so am enjoying the loveliness of running to pee every hour, yea.

Hey, check your Facebook settings -- looks like yours may be set to "Public" which means the entire universe, including Uranus, can see your posts. Not sure if this is what you had intended but thought I'd bring it to your attention because I'm here to help.

I'm probably moving back to California next year so we'll at least be in the same time zone, yea!

xoxoxo

Discoveries

The Colonel pointed out a feature on our cars that I guess I kinda knew about but didn't see the benefit.  Push the "ear" button on the steering wheel and the voice asks for your command.

He showed me how he commanded to turn on the radio and turn up the volume.  In the middle of one of the commands, I yelled, "Shut the f@#k up!"  She then said, "Shopping malls listed".  That shut ME up.

The Colonel said, "Blow job".  Very funny.  She said, "That request does not appear on the map."  Well duh, I could have told you that.  After all, only a man makes up a legend which describes an inch as a mile.

Choosing a Life

I would like to read a book about a mid-thirties womans' life that involves living with her parents and barely working, much less living a life.  I have a friend who has a niece living this story.

Not naming names, but said niece, we shall call Pam, does indeed live with her stay at home mom and dad.  Only child, sheltered and somewhat enabled by mom with real and imagined medical issues.  Pam joins an online Bible study group and finds "Hans" from Germany.  They correspond, he is a divorced guy with a couple of kids.  After a few months, he flies over to the small town to meet Pam and family.

Three weeks later, they marry and she moves to Germany to start a new life.  Her first boyfriend, her first plane ride, her first time living outside her parents' home.  WTF?  Does that take guts or what?  Got to give her credit for better late than never trying to live a life.  Can't wait to see what happens.  It's very fascinating to me.

This is my latest and greatest pondering in between taking my Mom to numerous blood tests and doctor visits due to her ongoing depression.  Not sure if it's Parkinson's related or post-fall guilt PTSD variety.  Her glucose levels are very high, so that means another round of visits to her primary, shrink and counselor.  She'll be missing our family reunion next weekend which is too bad, but she isn't in any shape to take care of herself.

Trusty and I have been enjoying our summer work tremendously.  He is so good with the kids at Camp Korey and the elderly folks at assisted living.  I was a bit concerned when one woman in Memory Care started screeching, "Oh, you're so sweet, so cute!!" and flapping her arms about, but he just took it in stride.  He is quite tolerant of all his fans, as am I.  My latest icebreaker is to ask why he can't talk to us?  The answer is, of course, that he is a little hoarse.

That is my report.

Well, Lookee Here

Yes, it has been a very long time.  I have received many comments (okay, two) about me not updating this pitiful way of communicating to basically a couple of stalkers, but okay, I really don't want to disappoint ALL those fans.

Been busy, okay?  Like hanging in real life with real people doing real stuff.  Short summary in list form:

1.  Stopped taking woo-woo drugs for my face except for an Ibuprofen Plus pill called Meloxicam with has helped with my hip pain from golfing, not so much the face pain, but at least I'm awake enough to actually golf.  It especially hurts when the weather changes, so I guess it's one more step toward becoming older than duct tape.

2.  Went to Italy for three weeks with a great bunch of people and had a truly amazing time.  It was one of the best trips because we stayed in a tiny village and met locals and walked all over the place.  I lost weight while stuffing my face and drinking copiously!  I'm trying to maintain this habit and so far staying steady because:

3.  The Colonel and I have a new workout Nazi named Dave.  He almost killed us the first couple of sessions, but we are paying him to rough us up.  I've not sweated this much since my honeymoon (you are welcome for the visual).

4.  Trusty and I have revamped our therapy work at Assisted Living and Camp Korey.  We had a scary moment with a severely autistic girl who had two handlers last year.  I should have anticipated trouble when she showed up with three people this time.  She was quite taken with my beast and showed her wonderful affection by pulling his tail, grabbing his legs and leaping on him (all 100 lb+).  I was somewhat sorry to have to tackle her to get her off, but nobody else did and after all, I tackled my brother's pit bull when he was attacking, and I figured her jaws were smaller.  He remained calm and continued eating grass, trooper that he is.

5.  We have lived through a house residing, complete with free electrical problems consisting of intermittent washing machine episodes, freezing showers, non working hot tub and my favorite for the past two weeks, Internet failure.  All this as a package deal!  Fortunately, Mr. McGiver has restored us to almost new.  Now we have house painters providing exciting barking opportunities for DogGus Dorkus.

6.  Speaking of DogGus Dorkus, he is also now AllerGus  Maximus Biteus.  According to the stupidly expensive dermatologist, he has should be responding to shots, diet and wishful thinking by now.  Nope.  He has chewed himself raw, except when we go to Mazama.  There, he is fine, except for the cheat grass that seems attracted to his feet every year.  We are truly at our wits' end.  I have been giving him Benadryl, Cortisone, Prednisone, weekly allergy shots, twice weekly baths, silver topical spray and old, deaf cats.  Okay, no cats, just checking to see if you're paying attention.

So there you go.  Are you happy now?  Did I leave anything out?  If so, I shall try to make up something and post it, because, I am, your ever popular blogger.

Old and In the Way

Dear Heidi,

It was a pleasure to see you in the office. Your FSH shows that you are in menopause. Please let me know if you are symptoms resolved with the estrogen. I look forward to seeing you at your next scheduled appointment. Dr G

And there it is.  I am officially old.  I expect much sagging, drooping and memory loss by next week at the latest.  I just started wearing reading glasses last month, too.

FYI, I didn't celebrate the 2 year anniversary of my kick on Monday mostly because there wasn't much to celebrate.  Still on drugs, trying to wean off of Lyrica and Trileptal;  it's not easy, even though they are not narcotics.  Dr. G tried to convince me that the night sweats were due to these drugs and now we what the real culprit is.  I feel much better on fewer drugs, no naps and lots more energy.  I hope this low dose estrogen will keep the flashing at bay and maybe my boobs off the floor.

Goldy and Bright

20th anniversary and romantic and such when the piano player at Canlis plays..."The Girl From Ipanema". 

The Mister turns to me and says, "This is that song....you know......"Girlfriend, You Pee On Me..."

Oh, my.  Really..I thought his saying that his friend's wife was unattractive was the highlight of his Tourettes'.

It is truly the hour of the golden shower today..

Say What?

I thought I knew everything about the man I married twenty years ago.  Granted, it was a shock when I learned he liked Spam, but I learned to live with it.

Last week, I learned something so odd and strange that it will shock you.  Be prepared, dear reader, be prepared.

The Colonel told me that years ago, while he was enrolled in the MBA program at the UW, he started hanging out with a fellow student and would occasionally socialize as couples.  (This was BH, of course).  He said that one day, over beers at the local bar, there was a lull in the conversation.  The Colonel casually said to this man, "You know, your wife isn't very attractive." 

What?  You said what?  And he claims it wasn't even true.  Do you think it was some random Tourette's syndrome?  What would possess someone to say this?  Evidently, the man was gracious enough to say, "Well, yours isn't either", instead of punching him in the head.

I believe his filter is more securely fastened now.

Picking Lint

Mom called today.  "This is your Mom."  Always.  Like how many elderly German women call me?  Okay, maybe two of my Mom's friends, but I know their voices equally well. "What are you doing?" she asks.  "Contemplating my navel," I say.  She laughs and I say, "No, really, I was just getting into the shower when I thought about my belly button and what could possibly be in it."  She said, "There is nothing in your belly button."  "Oh, ho!  You may think that, but have you ever looked?  It's really nasty, you should take a Q-tip to it."  "I wash my stomach in the shower," says she.  "Yeah, so do I, but all that soap doesn't rinse out sometimes,"  I told her.

I got to thinking about certain bathing rituals that I know about.  A friend of mine has never washed his feet.  True story, but his feet look great.  How can that be?  Another friend of mine uses a new towel every single day.  Not in my house she doesn't, but isn't that strange?  I couldn't do that much laundry and I really like doing laundry.  The Mister calls it my favorite hobby.  My Mom never uses soap on her face, just washes with a washcloth.  She has beautiful skin.  It's not right.

Well, that was exciting.  It was wonderfully warm today and a new friend came by to see the beasty boys.  We brushed them until it looked like we blew up several rabbits and took Trusty out in the cart.  Lucky tagged along;  no choice, as he was tied to the cart.  It was really fun and I learned  ton about harnessing and driving.  I'm really looking forward to more rides with her, especially when we pick up Lucky's cart from the ranch.

No news on my winning the Peep contest.  I don't know if they'll publish the picture in this Sunday's paper, but I know it was one of the best.  Now....what to do with all the Western Peeps?  They're on my shelf in all their sugary glory, slowly turning hard. 

I shall occasionally inspect them for bugs and see what happens.

In Which the Neighbor Proposes Murder

It was such a nice day on Monday that I decided to take advantage and do outdoorsy things that need attention (besides scoop poop, which is basically, same shit, different day).

The lucky dwarf spotted bison were attached to the alley fence to grazed peacefully and get a good brushing, DogGus happily snarled at all who passed and I got to work on the neighbors' blackberries.  I love blackberries, yes, I do, but not the big scratches they leave on the truck's paint when I drive by.  Also, there were some big scotch-broomy looking things that were out of control.  I know they'll grow back, but at least for now the paint is safe.

So on with the gloves, safety glasses (I am Captain Safety, of course, which is the whole reason this blog was created.  I digress.)  and out come the lopping shears.  I attacked the immediate neighbors patch of vines and the scotch-broomy thing.  I start to go down the alley to the next backyard overgrowth when I see Herman the German outside  (I think he is actually Dutch, but that doesn't rhyme).  He is a neighbor that is kitty corner to our yard along the alley.  He also has the infamous Cranky Franky that will just as soon bite you as look at you. 

Great aside story about Herman;  my friend and I were riding in the big arena one day and Herman trotted in on Franky doing his fancy dressage moves, which were actually very impressive.  I hear a shout, just in time to see Herman on bucking Franky and up and over onto the sand he flies.   Herman doesn't wear a helmet and evidently never will, so it was scary.  I got Bombay over to block the arena entrance so the Crank wouldn't run out and Herman sheepishly got to his feet while Franky was trying to bite my friend and her horse.  Since then, Herman made fun of our fancy helmets and has now taken to calling my little beasts, my "fashion accessories".  Some may be insulted, but I think he is weird and he's trying to be funny (and is embarrassed at being seen bucked off).  After all, he is in his 70's and rides like a madman, so you gotta respect that.

So I wave hello to Herman and he saunters over to say, "I see you are murdering the blackberries."  "Yup, they scratch the paint on my truck," I reply.  "You know, those blackberries have a mother and a father and haven't done anything wrong."  I had never thought of that.  I asked him if he liked blackberries.  "Oh, yes, they are so good, I pick them every summer."  I asked, "So, you like eating babies?"  He stared at me and said, "My wife says I over think these things."  I told him perhaps he does.

He still has a cool accent.

And You Are Rewarded, My Fine Peeps

I just wish you could see more detail-  the Rodeo Queen has great hair and the two girls on the lower level are hammered on champagne.  The clown has puffy hair and the bull rider has spurs. 

But still, it's pretty cool......The PeepBR.

A Peepview of Sorts

Extreme clandestine operations in house of Ho.  It involves the purchasing of Peeps, the curing of said Peeps and the construction of a top secret scene to rival all.  I had no idea a glue gun could be such a useful tool!

That's all I can say for now, because the secret has yet to be revealed.

Or What?

I love the dreams that wake me up laughing.  I had one of those the other night and it still makes me laugh.

I was with my sister at the hospital while she was giving birth.  Mind you, this was surprising to me as it happened in about two minutes on a table and she got up (fully clothed) and handed the baby off to a nurse and we walked out the door to go home.  We were walking through some woods and she said, "Oh, I better call Mike" (her husband). 

She hung up and I thought to ask, "Was it a boy or girl?"  She said, "Boy" and I asked, "What is his name?"  She said, "Orr".  I said, "Ore?  Like a mining function?"  "No, Orr, O-R-R.  Isn't that cool?"
I had to think about it.  Different, I'll give you that.  Then I started to think about what would happen in 2nd grade and how his name could be terrible.  "So, is it short for anything?"  No, it's just Orr."  This is when it got good.

"What if he is constantly asked his full name?  Like, so, Orr, what is your full name?"  She paused on our hike and said, "Well, maybe we'll make it Gregorr."  "Well that's not much better," I said.  People will say, "Greg or what?"  "You know, like Sphincter says what?"  She said, "What?"  and of course I laughed.  But this is not what woke me up.  No, it wasn't that clever phrase.  She said, "It will just be Orr."  I said, "Than I shall call him Eeyore."  She got all mad and said, "No!  His name will be Igor, that's what it will be."   "Okay, okay," I muttered, but I thought that was much worse.  A little hunchback boy for a nephew, cool.

It then occurred to me what the real issue would be and I had to tell her:  "When he is in 1st grade, learning how to spell his name and he hands in his work, you do realize that he will be signing it with his first name and last initial, right?  Like when I would put Heidi C. on the top of my papers. You gotta think about that.  He will be mortified later to know that his name is Orr G."

That's what woke me up.

I Try To Spy With My Little Eye

One of the lingering inconveniences from my face meeting hoof was the disturbance of my vision.  It wasn't horrible, just noticeable now that I'm half a century and require reading glasses.  My injured eye not only couldn't read without aid, I couldn't see long distance very well, especially at night., I thought about becoming a pirate, but it's hard to find coordinating handbag/patch combos, so I opted for corrective eye surgery. I had successful lasik surgery in 1999, with a small enhancement in 2006 and since it was a lifetime guarantee, I saw no downside. It didn't hurt and it was kinda fun to get the woo woo drugs and sleep for a day, then see cleanly again. The doctor recommended that I do PRK surgery this time because I'd have longer lasting results and my cornea wasn't as thick as before. He warned that it would be more uncomfortable than lasik, but I figured the social ostracism for wearing mismatched eye patches would be worse.

I am ready and drugged, oh boy.

So in 10 minutes, I have a freshly zapped eye and am flying high.  The doctor stopped me as I was going out of the operating room and said to me, "You will most uncomfortable on Saturday.  You will need the Vicadin."  Oh pshaw, I thought, this is my third rodeo and believe me, I am no stranger to pain.

The Colonel escorts me home and I feel well enough to do laundry, read email and Facebook and give the boys some lunch.  I had read the literature carefully, and dust and wind was to be avoided at all costs, so look at me, wearing my onion goggles.



Clever girl

Ever so dutiful, I applied the steroid drops, antibiotic drops and artificial tears as directed.  The pain started about 4 PM.  A grain of sand seemed as though it was stuck under the protective contact, so I tried to flush it out with the artificial tars.  I tried the pain drops, which helped for about ten minutes.

 

Soon I felt small razorblades sticking in my eye.  I looked in the mirror, but the light made it painful, too.  I was ready for the big guns, so popped a Vicadin.  An hour later, I was at half pain, but my lip and face felt great.  The Colonel, with his Google MD, told me I could take another Vicadin, so I did.  I now felt almost normal, but the caffeine kept me awake and goofy. It was late and I sure didn't want to continue the stabby eye thing, so I popped an Ambien and slept like the dead.

The razorblades woke me eight hours later and it got so bad that I won't even go into it except to say that I called the emergencyline and considered cutting out the offending eye, mismatched patches, here I come. Instead, hot and cold packs, regular pain drops and more Vicadin has saved me and the eye, 

This is how I've felt all day.


Wicked Tuna

I've had too many "lady parts" stories lately that cannot be talked about.  The theme of most say to me...."the Crotch Controls".

Girls rule the world.  We all know this, even if the mens don't admit this.  As an example:  the Fiscal Cliff, that was such BIG NEWS until the end of the year, would have been completely avoided if you got a bunch of women together with a few bottles of wine.  Oh, big budget you say?  More milk, less meat, done.  No big wood in the pants dance, no big face saving political posturing.  Easy.  Pay the frickin' bills already and stop spending or giving it away.

A friend of mine had Lady Parts surgery, thank god.  That was one of the best procedures that a man could ever invent.  I saw her husband last night.  What does he say?  "Nothing in the vagina for two months".  As if that's a hardship.  Doesn't he have two hands?  Evidently not.  Once again....the Crotch Controls.  She is loving not having pain, blood, worry and the like.  He is concerned about getting some business.

Another friend has been diagnosed with Stage 1 prostrate cancer.  A problem and concern, to be sure.  But really, this has been seen as a disease of normal aging, i.e., watch and see.  Do you see any woman waiting and see about breast cancer?  Yeah, not so much.  I'm hoping we'll have the basic blood test (PSA) equivalent for women, too, some day.

So this all wraps up to a good joke I heard:  George was out golfing with his buddies the other day.  Normally a scratch golfer, he moaned when he missed yet another 6 inch putt.  "Oh, my wife is putting out once a week now, it really effects my game."  His buddy, Fred, said, "Yeah, you think that's bad;  some of us have been cut out altogether."

The Crotch Controls.

Dog Cog

When I say something to DogGus, he always has a delayed reaction.  I can see the cogs turning, turning in his head and then, "Wait, I know what you said!" dawns on his face.  This normally occurs with a game of Find It, Get It.  Hedgehog, Polar Bear, Raccoon, Monkey Face and Boney are his toys to Find and Get.

"Going for a walk" brings instant recognition and much excitement, however.  He will run to me, bounce up and down and grab my hand to pull me to the door.  He barely stands still for the halter and leash and off we go. 

If Bridle Trails is our walk, then there is much sniffing along the way and checking of pee-mail.  I don't understand how dogs retain that much pee in order to mark spots.  He looks at me intently sometimes as though to say, "Coyote wrote a bad word here", before jetting his reply.  Then, there is the occasional sneaking of a road apple.  What is it about horse poop?  It's not like there is any meat in there, but they treat it like a big cheese covered meatball.  Geesh.

Finding any dead animal is such a bonus.  We have to immediately rub our face and whole body if I don't forcibly drag him away.  Once, he found a dead salmon and even after washing him four times, he smelled just as bad.

Once we turn around to head for home, he drags his feet and walks as slow as he can to delay us.  It doesn't matter if we've gone one mile or five, it's always the same.  I can't walk that fast, I'm so tired.  I've tried to trick him with "Squirrel", but that usually results in sitting down and looking at trees.

Wipe the paws off and he lumbers in to sleep on the couch.  Snoring is the indication of a good walk.

Ponderences

EIGHT GAMES FOR GROWNUPS:

1. Be sexy all day. Toss your hair about and pout your mouth.

2. Mentally add, “your face” to everything someone says to you. “Paper or plastic?” I’ll paper your FACE.

3. Encourage everyone. It’s better out loud, but you can do it in your head if you want. Right on, random jogging dude! You’re jogging GREAT! Yeah, heavy things on the bottom—way to bag groceries! You’re bagging like it’s your job! Oh wait it is your job! Etc
.
4. For parents: if your child is being grumpy and argumentative, you can respond with “Well, that’s just, like, your opinion, man” and have a silent chuckle at her expense.

5. Casually say, “Oh hi, [pet’s name]” whenever your pet walks into the room. This never fails to amuse me.

6. Use exact change! You probably really do have thirty-two cents! So exciting.

7. Look out for danger. Speeding cars! Sudden sinkholes! That guy has a knife and a crazy look in his eye! Gas tank explosion (a cinematic mind’s-eye occurrence that has guaranteed me a lifetime terror of buying gas)! Hot lava!

8. Okay, this is not a game, but speaking of hot lava: it certainly does not figure into everyday adult life the way I imagined it would when I was a kid. Ditto quicksand.


FICTIONAL PLACE NAMES IN WHICH THE COLONEL AND I WANTED TO TRAVEL TO OR LIVE:

1. Mangled Scrotum National Park

2. Groinopolis (a city in the Nether Regions of Planet Area)

3. Crotchgrab, North Dakota

4. Danglysac, Arkansas

5. Butthole Corners

6. Sphincter Ridge

ONE UNCOMFORTABLE TRUTH:

It took FOREVER for me to turn 20 years old. I was a baby, and a kid, and a teenager, it lasted ages and ages, and although high school is a bit of a blur I remember quite a lot of my childhood. However, 30 years old to 50 years old is the exact same amount of time and it elapsed in a fucking flash. What was I doing at age 20-whatever? I have no idea unless I think really hard or dig around in the blog archives. If the trend holds, it means that 50 to 60 will go even faster, and imagining this gives me actual stomach flip-flops. Slow down, everything!