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.
Friday, March 1, 2013
Saturday, February 23, 2013
I Try To Spy With My Little Eye
 |
| I am ready and drugged, oh boy. |
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.
.JPG) |
| 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. |
Saturday, January 19, 2013
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.
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.
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
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.
"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.
Monday, January 7, 2013
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!
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!
Saturday, December 15, 2012
In Which Woolly Tights Save the Day
I just read a blog of a very funny woman. I've been stalking it and commenting occasionally, so it isn't true stalking. She lives outside London with her partner and two kids and she is totally British in her humor. She relayed a story of being in nursery school and so adamant about not decorating the tree that she stayed in a corner and peed herself. This reminded me of one of my pee stories. Yes, there are more.
I can remember a few events in kindergarten that stand out, mostly, because I got in trouble. The first time was when I locked my sister in the play oven. The second time was when I was unable to nap on my rug with the rest of the class, so I took off my shoes and slid across the floor in my socks. I suppose this kept the others from sleeping, so I was back in the corner, again. The third time isn't memorable because I got in trouble, but more of a close one.
We would have music sessions occasionally and one day, Mr. Guitar Man came to play. I remember having to pee and waiting until a song was finished. Then I really had to pee and just as I raised my hand, Mr. Guitar Man asked for a volunteer. He called on me and I was confused. Should I say no, I have to pee, or should I go up with him, because it was so dang special to be with Mr. GM. I went up front thinking I could hold on. Mr GM wanted me to hold his guitar while he played an accordion. How cool is that? I panicked because I didn't think I could hold it but I nonchalantly placed the guitar in front of me and slowly let go. It was such a relief, I just didn't care. My little red woolly tights filled with moisture and spilled into my shoes and onto the floor, but I didn't move. When the pumping of the accordion was over, he took the guitar back and I carefully sat down in my wee (pun intended) chair. Just then, Mr. Guitar/Accordion Man, noticed the small puddle on the floor. He told Mrs. Weldon, my teacher, and they spent time looking at the ceiling tiles. She had one of my classmates clean up the "water" and it was a boy I didn't like, so I laughed a little.
Sitting in a pool of one's own pee is not comfortable. I remember being cold and thinking maybe I could take off the sodden tights, but I knew that everyone would know what I did, so I just suffered. Fortunately, we didn't do anything more that day requiring much action. The two blocks walking home was terrible and I quickly changed my clothes. My mom never noticed anything, so I figured I was safe.
The next day, a janitor came into our classroom and got up a a huge ladder to check the ceiling. He was there for a long time and then left. We next heard someone on the roof (in the pouring rain) for some time. I don't remember what resulted, but I was so glad that nobody knew it was me, the real reason for the ceiling leak.
Years later, I relayed the story to my friends and family and still marvel at how nobody realized I was a big pee puddle in kindergarten. I think it explains my preference to wear woolly tights when presented with unfamiliar social situations.
I can remember a few events in kindergarten that stand out, mostly, because I got in trouble. The first time was when I locked my sister in the play oven. The second time was when I was unable to nap on my rug with the rest of the class, so I took off my shoes and slid across the floor in my socks. I suppose this kept the others from sleeping, so I was back in the corner, again. The third time isn't memorable because I got in trouble, but more of a close one.
We would have music sessions occasionally and one day, Mr. Guitar Man came to play. I remember having to pee and waiting until a song was finished. Then I really had to pee and just as I raised my hand, Mr. Guitar Man asked for a volunteer. He called on me and I was confused. Should I say no, I have to pee, or should I go up with him, because it was so dang special to be with Mr. GM. I went up front thinking I could hold on. Mr GM wanted me to hold his guitar while he played an accordion. How cool is that? I panicked because I didn't think I could hold it but I nonchalantly placed the guitar in front of me and slowly let go. It was such a relief, I just didn't care. My little red woolly tights filled with moisture and spilled into my shoes and onto the floor, but I didn't move. When the pumping of the accordion was over, he took the guitar back and I carefully sat down in my wee (pun intended) chair. Just then, Mr. Guitar/Accordion Man, noticed the small puddle on the floor. He told Mrs. Weldon, my teacher, and they spent time looking at the ceiling tiles. She had one of my classmates clean up the "water" and it was a boy I didn't like, so I laughed a little.
Sitting in a pool of one's own pee is not comfortable. I remember being cold and thinking maybe I could take off the sodden tights, but I knew that everyone would know what I did, so I just suffered. Fortunately, we didn't do anything more that day requiring much action. The two blocks walking home was terrible and I quickly changed my clothes. My mom never noticed anything, so I figured I was safe.
The next day, a janitor came into our classroom and got up a a huge ladder to check the ceiling. He was there for a long time and then left. We next heard someone on the roof (in the pouring rain) for some time. I don't remember what resulted, but I was so glad that nobody knew it was me, the real reason for the ceiling leak.
Years later, I relayed the story to my friends and family and still marvel at how nobody realized I was a big pee puddle in kindergarten. I think it explains my preference to wear woolly tights when presented with unfamiliar social situations.
Saturday, December 8, 2012
I Got Me Some Culture
So, back to the face, which is what this blog is all about. I went back to Dr. Flip-Flop and whined some more. He showed me the MRI of my brain which indicated (in his words), that it is "stone cold normal". He pointed out some calcium in an artery, again normal, and showed me the spot where MS is diagnosed. He told me if I had white sprinkles in the area, it would indicate the disease. Again, stone cold normal.
Okay, normal is not my face pain. I am operating on a 7 out of 10 most days and it is difficult to go outside because I know I will be on fire. He was most understanding and said that there is another option before I try yet another drug. He ordered 20 mg of Paxil in addition to the 400 mg of Lyrica. I must of looked skeptical because he said, "I know, you're not depressed, but sometimes these drugs interact and can really help. It's worth a try for a month."
The pain subsides some when I can be engaged in doing something I need to concentrate on, like golfing, carting or a good book. So, I try to stay as busy as I can, which is why I agreed to see the musical play, "Pippin" and then the Nutcracker. The play was three days after my new med cocktail and I felt pretty good sitting through the two hour performance. I got home late, but fell asleep easily. The next day, I took my niece, Leah, to see the Nutcracker. My sister had learned the hard way that the concession didn't open for the schoolkids' attendance. Not even beverages, but there were drinking fountains. Okay, I can go three hours without water. (You couldn't pay me enough to drink anywhere those germ laden midgets might have been.)
Lily had packed snacks for us, so I figured that although it was noon and I had a good breakfast, I could nibble and be okay without water. Yeah, until I saw what she packed; chips, crackers, and beef jerky. Why didn't she just throw in a salt shaker, too? But, surprisingly, this was okay and all was well. The performance began and even though there were lots of "shhhh"ing going on by parents, coughing, sneezing, loud crying and general uninterest by mostly male children, I enjoyed the show. I only glared at the boy kicking my seat once and decided to ignore him and his snotty nosed brother. I wondered at all of this. Then I realized that my face didn't hurt, much. Probably a 4 out of 10. Remarkable. Less pain and more tolerance. I like this new med mix, yes, I do. I had no desire to yell, "Shut up, you Fucktard" to the more boisterous and I even ate some crackers.
What was really telling was my calm while driving in the Mercer mess on the way home. I was polite, letting cars merge and not inwardly fuming at the delays. Normally, I would be yelling, "Go, you Pigfuckers!", but I didn't. Of course, having one's nine year old niece in the car is somewhat preventative, but really, I just grooved with the flow.
So today was the real test. I went to see my friends' horse and spend time with her in the freezing could for about 2 hours. No pain!!!! I can't believe it! It's quite a relief.
I'm thinking about lobbying for Paxil in our nation's water supply.
Okay, normal is not my face pain. I am operating on a 7 out of 10 most days and it is difficult to go outside because I know I will be on fire. He was most understanding and said that there is another option before I try yet another drug. He ordered 20 mg of Paxil in addition to the 400 mg of Lyrica. I must of looked skeptical because he said, "I know, you're not depressed, but sometimes these drugs interact and can really help. It's worth a try for a month."
The pain subsides some when I can be engaged in doing something I need to concentrate on, like golfing, carting or a good book. So, I try to stay as busy as I can, which is why I agreed to see the musical play, "Pippin" and then the Nutcracker. The play was three days after my new med cocktail and I felt pretty good sitting through the two hour performance. I got home late, but fell asleep easily. The next day, I took my niece, Leah, to see the Nutcracker. My sister had learned the hard way that the concession didn't open for the schoolkids' attendance. Not even beverages, but there were drinking fountains. Okay, I can go three hours without water. (You couldn't pay me enough to drink anywhere those germ laden midgets might have been.)
Lily had packed snacks for us, so I figured that although it was noon and I had a good breakfast, I could nibble and be okay without water. Yeah, until I saw what she packed; chips, crackers, and beef jerky. Why didn't she just throw in a salt shaker, too? But, surprisingly, this was okay and all was well. The performance began and even though there were lots of "shhhh"ing going on by parents, coughing, sneezing, loud crying and general uninterest by mostly male children, I enjoyed the show. I only glared at the boy kicking my seat once and decided to ignore him and his snotty nosed brother. I wondered at all of this. Then I realized that my face didn't hurt, much. Probably a 4 out of 10. Remarkable. Less pain and more tolerance. I like this new med mix, yes, I do. I had no desire to yell, "Shut up, you Fucktard" to the more boisterous and I even ate some crackers.
What was really telling was my calm while driving in the Mercer mess on the way home. I was polite, letting cars merge and not inwardly fuming at the delays. Normally, I would be yelling, "Go, you Pigfuckers!", but I didn't. Of course, having one's nine year old niece in the car is somewhat preventative, but really, I just grooved with the flow.
So today was the real test. I went to see my friends' horse and spend time with her in the freezing could for about 2 hours. No pain!!!! I can't believe it! It's quite a relief.
I'm thinking about lobbying for Paxil in our nation's water supply.
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