Seriously. After decades of hearning Black screaming and trying to worm her way into any bowl or plate that you are eating off of, the utter and eeire silence that now accompanies couch style eating is unnerving. We even had induldged in bowls of ice cream tonight, which used to be Black's signature 1812 Orchestra piece. Poor Bubba is still decompensating a bit, having no one to steal food from has really put a curb in his own appetite. No more plastic bags covering the furniture to catch incontinence either. I'd gotten used to the sound the plastic made. Now it's just quiet. Perhaps I'll pretend she got accepted to a good school, and suffer a bit of "empty-nester" syndrome. I can guarantee you whichever school she got into, she makes the debate team. Everybody remembers Black screaming in the background while we were on the phone. She had louder opinions than Truman Capote on Methamphetamine.
I happened to catch wind of the lunar eclipse early Satururday morning quite by accident while I was on the MSNBC Website, but as I was already up, I went out to see it. It was quite breathtaking. With the moon full and on the horizon, it looked enourmous, and with over half of it a bloody red. Had I been thinking at the time, I would have taken the tripod out with me and taken some long exposure pictures, but I only thought of that later. Still I'm glad I caught it. We (being us folks in San Diego), were right on the line of premium viewing. Getting back to MSNBC for a moment, it occured to me that when that station was first launched, I was quite derisive, as MicroSoft is not a diety in this house, and it seemed like shameless pandering on both sides. Now, wouldn't you know it, it is my most trusted news station, along with Comedy Central's Daily Show and Colbert Report.
I went out again today with Terri to go to the groceteria. As I have virtually no appetite whatsoever, and have trouble with dexterity while cooking, we just got a few things. Loaf of bread, jar of mayonaise, Diet caffine-free Coke and some Sprite and tonic water (all on sale), a couple of frozen pizza's, and three bags of those casserole dishes in a bag that you can nuke of skillet cook. You'd think $40-$50 tops, right? $100.22 was the total. It's a world gone mad. $100 and not even including booze. The Homowner's Association dues went up $60 bucks also, for no apparent reason, and with no warning. The value of our home keeps going down in price, and the property taxes keep going up to cover the "appreciation" in value. Did I mention the world gone mad part? I realize California is in the shitter fiscally at the moment, but it's not us shut-in citizens who put us there. Legalize Marijuana and regulate and tax it. Make firearms and ammunition more costly (if there was ever a luxury item that needed to be excised, this is it), Stiff fines for people driving cars with too many bumper stickers, and here's one, tax every tattoo after the first one. I appreciate the need to express yourself, but if I want to see an expression of art, I will go to gallery; I don't need your exposed body to tell me the history of your life, and neither does anyone else. Oh well, I could go on and on.
O.K. so much for that rant. Tomorrow I have a blood draw (and again on Thursday), so they can see if the vancomysin is toxic yet. Thankfully, these are performed at home, as I have no way to leave the house unless it's on foot, and that get's me not far at all. I have to call in four perscriptions which we can not afford also, but I see little way around that whole situation (I've alreday dropped from eight to four which I can not stop). I have to make an appointment with the surgeon's office also, which I was supposed to do last week, I still have a surgical drain (Kind of like a colostomy bag, but for bloody pus) but again, I have to figure out a way to get there. If the Van was an automatic, and not a manual, I would risk driving myself, but I just fear I would be a huge danger on the roads with only one working arm. It doesn't help that the van is not a real easy vehicle to drive. Shift and steering efforts are high and it was a huge turning radius, which means that it can take two revolutions even to make a minor turn. Then again, there is the reality that I have no driver license and no insurance also.
Alan's lady is due down in San Diego on business on Thursday, and will stay until the 4th. They're going to try and get up this way on my birthday Friday, so I do have something good to look forward to this week. I may force them to read the work I've been writing. Then again, maybe not, I do want them to come back. I'm thinking that maybe they'll take us out to dinner so Terri can finally get a decent meal after three months. It works for me too, I can get a drink I don;t have to fix myself, and can carry on the conversation while everyone else's mouth is full. I'd better start working on my monologues and fresh jokes. I'm sure the enxt week will provide me with plenty of material what with two nurses and a physical therapist poking and prodding my half naked body all week. And you can't go wrong with the bloody pus discharge jokes, although it's probably best to save those for over coffee.
My best to all from the ether.
Fearless Leader
The Virtues of hair dye
Monday, June 28, 2010
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Long time coming
Well. Everytime, I promise that I will practice more due dilligence in keeping up my posts, there you go, I should probably use reverse psychology on myself and claim that each post will be my last, never to occur again. That should keep me typing away. Blame a lot of this inactivity to health reasons. It seems like everytime I start to feel, not better, but less sucky, I have a new surgical staple railroad to run offset against the other two lines. I mentioned to someone that my shoulder resembles the stitching on a baseball. That is a pretty good assessment. I got home from the hospital Wednesday night on that one. Which was a surprise and totally unplanned for and unexpected surgery. I had gone to see the surgeon to have some staples removed and he went uh oh, and called the hospital to arrange a room and an OR. No warning, no sleep on it and report back in the morning, just don't let the door hit you on your way out to the hospital. Being on such a short notice, it was a total clusterfuck when we got there. Nobody knew what was going on, and I couldn't very well tell them, as my surgeon's idea of a comprehensive explanation is "Because I said so."
As with the last surgery, I was NPO by way of the sign outside my room. That means nothing by way of mouth, it just sounds more official when you use Latin abbreviations. Wonder if they do that to detainees at Gitmo also? It begins to feel like it. For reasons not explained to me, I am back on a six week Vancomysin IV drip program. The last time, I had to do this, last year, I suffered from one of the inevitible side effects, that of hearing loss. I figure by the beginning of August I'm going to be one of those spooky old men who sits late at night with the TV blaring in an otherwise quiet house. I mentioned this in passing to the home healthcare nurse, who asked if I ws sure it was the Vanco that caused the sudden loss of hearing. I off handedly said it could have been the fall job as a roadie for Mega-Death's Fall Tour, but I didn't think so. She didn't catch on to my joke. As a matter of fact, no one in the health care industry seems to have any sense of humor whatsoever. Tri-City Hospital is a tough room. I honestly believe that leaking a little nitrous into their oxygen delivery system would be a huge plus.
I shared a romm with someone wlse who was NPO'd. A guy with terminal emphysema, who spent a lot of time clenching himself in pain, crying and generally not feeling good with the world. With my sense of humor (and big mouth) it was a daring move to put me three feet away from him, but I held my tongue.
I had to fight to get out when I did. They wanted to keep me another day, but at $500 a day co-pay, a provision which came into effect seeming and miraculously at the same time as my first surgery and without notice or warning from the insurance company, I am going to try and cut costs where I can. For $500 a day I could be having a prefectly splendid time in Las Vegas and maybe even recoup some of my losses.
Black, the oldest cat in known space, waited for me to get home from the hospital and once lying snuggly next to me on the couch, chose that moment to pass away. Terri was already in bed, so we waited until she got home from work the next day to take her to be cremated. A might add here that the cost of that has gone up $50 in the past year. Of course the woman at the vet hospital, who must be related to me somehow, said, "You think that's bad, I had to pay over $2,000 to cremate my horse." It's hard to top that one, even for me, and this is the traditional family sport. If you've read the blog all along, you might remember that the place we take the kids to brings them back in a little pine box with a plaster cast of a paw print on top. Terri's got a couple of shelves in her room devoted to early Forrest Lawn decor. We're down to just two kids now. Tatiana and Bubba. We figure Tatiana's got to be about 18 now. Bubba is an unknown, but should be around 7 or 8 to my best guess. Tatiana could care less for wet food, so Bubba is in a quandry. He's grown up snatching a bite of his own bowl and then running over to bump somebody else away from theirs and back and forth, and now it's just him alone in the kitchen and no one to bully. I suspect some heavy kitty psychosis down the road a bit.
It's been a flurry of activity here lately, at least as opposed to normal. I have a home health care nurse from the surgical wounds, a nurse for the periferal catheter and IV drugs, and a physical therapist who wants to make sure I'm feeling a little extra pain every day, 'cause if you don't stretch the envelope, you won't get most of the use back. That actually fills a great portion of my afternoons. I've been trying to get a little bit of stuff done around the house, dishes, laundry, nothing too heavy, but everytime I do, it seems that I re-open a wolnd here or threre, and it starts discharging again. Nothing life threatening or of any note except it's gross and annoying.
Went with Terri to the PetCo and the Liquor Stop this afternoon. Got cat food (we're getting away with less now), and cigarettes. The nice guys at the Liquor Stop hadn't seen me for almost three months and a celebration was had. I imagine the younger one can't wait to tell the boss that Summer projected sales just recovered. They should offer a promotion to their good customers along the lines of frequent flyer miles, or preferred cards, or something. After having done a couple of loads of laundry earlier, it pretty much wiped me out for the day. My only remaining task tonight is to make dinner, then I can relax and watch the absolute shit-nothing television scheduled for this evening.
I'll stop now, it's time to start my IV.
Dripping to you all from the ether.
As with the last surgery, I was NPO by way of the sign outside my room. That means nothing by way of mouth, it just sounds more official when you use Latin abbreviations. Wonder if they do that to detainees at Gitmo also? It begins to feel like it. For reasons not explained to me, I am back on a six week Vancomysin IV drip program. The last time, I had to do this, last year, I suffered from one of the inevitible side effects, that of hearing loss. I figure by the beginning of August I'm going to be one of those spooky old men who sits late at night with the TV blaring in an otherwise quiet house. I mentioned this in passing to the home healthcare nurse, who asked if I ws sure it was the Vanco that caused the sudden loss of hearing. I off handedly said it could have been the fall job as a roadie for Mega-Death's Fall Tour, but I didn't think so. She didn't catch on to my joke. As a matter of fact, no one in the health care industry seems to have any sense of humor whatsoever. Tri-City Hospital is a tough room. I honestly believe that leaking a little nitrous into their oxygen delivery system would be a huge plus.
I shared a romm with someone wlse who was NPO'd. A guy with terminal emphysema, who spent a lot of time clenching himself in pain, crying and generally not feeling good with the world. With my sense of humor (and big mouth) it was a daring move to put me three feet away from him, but I held my tongue.
I had to fight to get out when I did. They wanted to keep me another day, but at $500 a day co-pay, a provision which came into effect seeming and miraculously at the same time as my first surgery and without notice or warning from the insurance company, I am going to try and cut costs where I can. For $500 a day I could be having a prefectly splendid time in Las Vegas and maybe even recoup some of my losses.
Black, the oldest cat in known space, waited for me to get home from the hospital and once lying snuggly next to me on the couch, chose that moment to pass away. Terri was already in bed, so we waited until she got home from work the next day to take her to be cremated. A might add here that the cost of that has gone up $50 in the past year. Of course the woman at the vet hospital, who must be related to me somehow, said, "You think that's bad, I had to pay over $2,000 to cremate my horse." It's hard to top that one, even for me, and this is the traditional family sport. If you've read the blog all along, you might remember that the place we take the kids to brings them back in a little pine box with a plaster cast of a paw print on top. Terri's got a couple of shelves in her room devoted to early Forrest Lawn decor. We're down to just two kids now. Tatiana and Bubba. We figure Tatiana's got to be about 18 now. Bubba is an unknown, but should be around 7 or 8 to my best guess. Tatiana could care less for wet food, so Bubba is in a quandry. He's grown up snatching a bite of his own bowl and then running over to bump somebody else away from theirs and back and forth, and now it's just him alone in the kitchen and no one to bully. I suspect some heavy kitty psychosis down the road a bit.
It's been a flurry of activity here lately, at least as opposed to normal. I have a home health care nurse from the surgical wounds, a nurse for the periferal catheter and IV drugs, and a physical therapist who wants to make sure I'm feeling a little extra pain every day, 'cause if you don't stretch the envelope, you won't get most of the use back. That actually fills a great portion of my afternoons. I've been trying to get a little bit of stuff done around the house, dishes, laundry, nothing too heavy, but everytime I do, it seems that I re-open a wolnd here or threre, and it starts discharging again. Nothing life threatening or of any note except it's gross and annoying.
Went with Terri to the PetCo and the Liquor Stop this afternoon. Got cat food (we're getting away with less now), and cigarettes. The nice guys at the Liquor Stop hadn't seen me for almost three months and a celebration was had. I imagine the younger one can't wait to tell the boss that Summer projected sales just recovered. They should offer a promotion to their good customers along the lines of frequent flyer miles, or preferred cards, or something. After having done a couple of loads of laundry earlier, it pretty much wiped me out for the day. My only remaining task tonight is to make dinner, then I can relax and watch the absolute shit-nothing television scheduled for this evening.
I'll stop now, it's time to start my IV.
Dripping to you all from the ether.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Bit of an absence
Sorry I haven't posted in a couple of three days or so. I'm afraid depression takes its toll sometimes. It's not simply the constant discomfort and pain, although that is one hell of a contributing factor, I just don't don't seem to able to find my center, my 'ka,' or is it 'wa'" I know it's not 'woo,' cause only girls have woowoos. I can find my weewee, damned traitourous bastard of a body-part that he is. He's the one who relishes in my one-handed attempts to successfully set aside clothing and still aim by making sure that as much of his liquid wisdom is shared with my leg and my slippers as the toilet bowl. I have taken a page from my hospital stays and keep one of the large mouthed cranberry juice jars by the sofa. Once you get your little friend in, it's impossible to miss. Sad thing is, with my addled state of mind, and the blood in my urine, I have to check myself occassionally, because it looks just like the real article. Hell of a great joke to play on friends or loved ones if you just put it back in the refrigerator after use.
My friend Alan is having his share of malady also. His sciatica, or pinched nerves, or whatever, is really making him miserable and forcing him to walk with a cane also. Trouble is, and this makes a big difference, he's on holiday touring the New England states, so he should have some freedom of movement to enjoy and do touristy things. My life consists of the couch, the bathroom, and the kitchen. Rinse and repeat. He's losing weight also. I think his pain pills are stronger than mine (Is that veinous envy?), but like myself, his appetite has crashed over the past month or so. I however, was not on the Ben and Jerry's tour in Vermont. That's just a crying shame right there. He did mention last night when he called that the towns he has been staying in have no version of drive-thru fast food, so if you are peckish, you have to dress and go in and go through the whole restaurant experience. Coming from So.Cal, as we both do, I can see how that would be unsettling. Here, even a town of 8,000 souls will have 1) a post office, 2) a general store, 3) a church (or more). 4) a gas station and 5) a McDonalds, a Jack in the Box, a Burger King, a Taco Bell, a Pizza Hut (possibly two) and some basterdized private place named something like Alberto's. Am I right or not? They'll have a dinner too, of course, but that is for specical occasions, like when you want to get engaged after you've gone bowling in the town down the highway, and the waitress, whose name is something like Annabelle Lee will be an enthusiatic accomplice, agreeing to hide your diamond chip in the frosting of your desert cupcakes.
Wow, even in depression, the teeth and nails still extend and retract. I have been literally horrid to callers from the various health care providers who somehow think that constant survey calls heightens your experience as an invalid. Not profane or loud and obscene, although that is waiting in the wings, trust me, just smart assed, and I do that very well. Something along the lines of; "I'm doing the same as when I got this same call at 10:04 yesterday, and 4:37 yesterday, 9:12 this morning, and now you at 3:05. Do you folks not have a call log, or do you work on commission?" If you'll leave me a direct number, I promise I'll call you when my situation changes or through intense psychoanalysis and thereapy I've uncovered a repressed memory from the past."
Looking forward to a surprise visit from the home healthcare nurse today. They say they'll call in advance, but to date, they never have. They just find themselves close to where I am and drop in out of convenience to their schedule and location. I can actually understand this, it only pissed me off when they lie. One of the guys, Gary, is his name, said he'd tried and tried to call, but there was no answer. Actually saying that when the person in front of you is wearing a hands-free telephone head set takes a pair of balls the size of twin Astrodomes. I'm torn between throwing myself in the shower, and staying stinky and filthy just to be a more memorable host. The problem with trying to shower every day is keeping the left side of your body dry, and failing to do so, having to awkwardly change the bandages one handed in areas which are difficult to reach. Then, when you've successfully accomplished this the home nurse will rip the bandages off anyway to check out the wounds. It's a lose-lose scenario.
My best from the ether. Anybody out there who has a cache of oxycontin just lying around should feel free to drop by. Hydrocodone is for shit, and with my toelerance for drugs, they may as well be tic-tacks.
My friend Alan is having his share of malady also. His sciatica, or pinched nerves, or whatever, is really making him miserable and forcing him to walk with a cane also. Trouble is, and this makes a big difference, he's on holiday touring the New England states, so he should have some freedom of movement to enjoy and do touristy things. My life consists of the couch, the bathroom, and the kitchen. Rinse and repeat. He's losing weight also. I think his pain pills are stronger than mine (Is that veinous envy?), but like myself, his appetite has crashed over the past month or so. I however, was not on the Ben and Jerry's tour in Vermont. That's just a crying shame right there. He did mention last night when he called that the towns he has been staying in have no version of drive-thru fast food, so if you are peckish, you have to dress and go in and go through the whole restaurant experience. Coming from So.Cal, as we both do, I can see how that would be unsettling. Here, even a town of 8,000 souls will have 1) a post office, 2) a general store, 3) a church (or more). 4) a gas station and 5) a McDonalds, a Jack in the Box, a Burger King, a Taco Bell, a Pizza Hut (possibly two) and some basterdized private place named something like Alberto's. Am I right or not? They'll have a dinner too, of course, but that is for specical occasions, like when you want to get engaged after you've gone bowling in the town down the highway, and the waitress, whose name is something like Annabelle Lee will be an enthusiatic accomplice, agreeing to hide your diamond chip in the frosting of your desert cupcakes.
Wow, even in depression, the teeth and nails still extend and retract. I have been literally horrid to callers from the various health care providers who somehow think that constant survey calls heightens your experience as an invalid. Not profane or loud and obscene, although that is waiting in the wings, trust me, just smart assed, and I do that very well. Something along the lines of; "I'm doing the same as when I got this same call at 10:04 yesterday, and 4:37 yesterday, 9:12 this morning, and now you at 3:05. Do you folks not have a call log, or do you work on commission?" If you'll leave me a direct number, I promise I'll call you when my situation changes or through intense psychoanalysis and thereapy I've uncovered a repressed memory from the past."
Looking forward to a surprise visit from the home healthcare nurse today. They say they'll call in advance, but to date, they never have. They just find themselves close to where I am and drop in out of convenience to their schedule and location. I can actually understand this, it only pissed me off when they lie. One of the guys, Gary, is his name, said he'd tried and tried to call, but there was no answer. Actually saying that when the person in front of you is wearing a hands-free telephone head set takes a pair of balls the size of twin Astrodomes. I'm torn between throwing myself in the shower, and staying stinky and filthy just to be a more memorable host. The problem with trying to shower every day is keeping the left side of your body dry, and failing to do so, having to awkwardly change the bandages one handed in areas which are difficult to reach. Then, when you've successfully accomplished this the home nurse will rip the bandages off anyway to check out the wounds. It's a lose-lose scenario.
My best from the ether. Anybody out there who has a cache of oxycontin just lying around should feel free to drop by. Hydrocodone is for shit, and with my toelerance for drugs, they may as well be tic-tacks.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Unitl the Next Time, Pt. II
I got so caught up with fatigue last night when I did my last blog, I forgot to explain the title. We were listening to the ortho surgeon explain the marvelous new shoulder when I heard the words slip in, "...which will do you just fine until the next one."
It took me a minute, but eventually I got my words back under me. "You mean I need a third surgery on this one bloody shoulder alone?" Apparently I will. The fake stuff is so much harder than the surrounding bones that in the cases of high movement joints like shoulders, hips and knees, They scrape and wear down the surrounding bones, which then have to be replaced also. Good thing though, it gives you time to fully recover from one before starting the new one though. Believe it or not, after two on the same shoulder in a month or so, I found that to be of a strange comfort. I'd like to go for at least a couple of months without Mr. Sling in my life before we get remarried. In his considered opinion, and he's supposed to be very good, I'm good hip and knee wise for years, but apparently shoulders are just a cracker-jack son of a bitch. Hope springs eternal though, perhaps something else will kill me before the end of the year. Presto, problem solved.
Like I said, since this had been scheduled weeks in advance this last time, and there was that fruitful delay while the hospital got it's act together in getting the correct papers together, I did get the opportunity to talk with the surgeon and the anethesiologist prior to the surgery. Due to the delay in starting the surgery, and some "unforseen complications," which was delivered with a Monty Python, wink-wink-nudge-nudge way he refused to elaborate upon, the surgery took over five hours, and the option of putting a surgical stint in my neck became a sure thing.
I have to confess, that it's been what, since the early nineties that I have had sex or even felt a healthy dose of lust. But the anestheiologist for this one was a walking, talking piece of desire. Made me think thoughts I hadn't enertained in a very, very long time. I kept thing to myself, why couldn't this have happened thirty years ago when I was still reasonably attractive, my ass was above my thighs, I had all my hair, and I was going in for an emergency penis reduction? He came to visit me twice while I was recouperating and every nurse on the floor, male and female, made it a point to check my vitals, or do something else while he was sitting with me. I'm not kidding, this guy is about six and a half feet of pure sex, twinking eyes and easy smile. Hours later, the floor charge nurse came in and said she was happy I'd been assigned on her floor. Apparently the good Drs' charms are legend, but no one had ever seen him in person. At one point I laughed out loud thinking of something Mama Ollie had said when asking if my surgeon was a Christian. I guarantee you there were no Christ-like thoughts going around the floor when the anesthesiologist came to visit me except "love your fellow man."
A strange bit of irony, I was the second reconstruction that morning, the third had to be rescheduled because of mine running late, but the first one he had done that morning was in the same situation as my own. He was ready to be discharged, but had no way home. They stuck him in the empty bed next to me while we waited for our rides. He'd hurt his shoulder doing construction work. He asked about mine and I got to say I stood up too fast off the couch and fell down. I guess I'm going to have to come up with a better story. No one believes mine. Water skiing, hiking, car slipped off the jack while I was changing the oil, moving heavy furnture I slipped, etc. anything a bit more manly would do.
We had a traffic accident here invloving a school bus full of injured students and the local news crews were out in force filming as I was being wheeled to out of the Hospital. Fortunately, I missed them by a few moments or I'd have ended up on camera also. Another satisfied customer. It would have been fun to drop a photobomb in the background though.
O.K., Now I think I've dropped this topic for awhile. At least I hope.
Best to all from the either.
It took me a minute, but eventually I got my words back under me. "You mean I need a third surgery on this one bloody shoulder alone?" Apparently I will. The fake stuff is so much harder than the surrounding bones that in the cases of high movement joints like shoulders, hips and knees, They scrape and wear down the surrounding bones, which then have to be replaced also. Good thing though, it gives you time to fully recover from one before starting the new one though. Believe it or not, after two on the same shoulder in a month or so, I found that to be of a strange comfort. I'd like to go for at least a couple of months without Mr. Sling in my life before we get remarried. In his considered opinion, and he's supposed to be very good, I'm good hip and knee wise for years, but apparently shoulders are just a cracker-jack son of a bitch. Hope springs eternal though, perhaps something else will kill me before the end of the year. Presto, problem solved.
Like I said, since this had been scheduled weeks in advance this last time, and there was that fruitful delay while the hospital got it's act together in getting the correct papers together, I did get the opportunity to talk with the surgeon and the anethesiologist prior to the surgery. Due to the delay in starting the surgery, and some "unforseen complications," which was delivered with a Monty Python, wink-wink-nudge-nudge way he refused to elaborate upon, the surgery took over five hours, and the option of putting a surgical stint in my neck became a sure thing.
I have to confess, that it's been what, since the early nineties that I have had sex or even felt a healthy dose of lust. But the anestheiologist for this one was a walking, talking piece of desire. Made me think thoughts I hadn't enertained in a very, very long time. I kept thing to myself, why couldn't this have happened thirty years ago when I was still reasonably attractive, my ass was above my thighs, I had all my hair, and I was going in for an emergency penis reduction? He came to visit me twice while I was recouperating and every nurse on the floor, male and female, made it a point to check my vitals, or do something else while he was sitting with me. I'm not kidding, this guy is about six and a half feet of pure sex, twinking eyes and easy smile. Hours later, the floor charge nurse came in and said she was happy I'd been assigned on her floor. Apparently the good Drs' charms are legend, but no one had ever seen him in person. At one point I laughed out loud thinking of something Mama Ollie had said when asking if my surgeon was a Christian. I guarantee you there were no Christ-like thoughts going around the floor when the anesthesiologist came to visit me except "love your fellow man."
A strange bit of irony, I was the second reconstruction that morning, the third had to be rescheduled because of mine running late, but the first one he had done that morning was in the same situation as my own. He was ready to be discharged, but had no way home. They stuck him in the empty bed next to me while we waited for our rides. He'd hurt his shoulder doing construction work. He asked about mine and I got to say I stood up too fast off the couch and fell down. I guess I'm going to have to come up with a better story. No one believes mine. Water skiing, hiking, car slipped off the jack while I was changing the oil, moving heavy furnture I slipped, etc. anything a bit more manly would do.
We had a traffic accident here invloving a school bus full of injured students and the local news crews were out in force filming as I was being wheeled to out of the Hospital. Fortunately, I missed them by a few moments or I'd have ended up on camera also. Another satisfied customer. It would have been fun to drop a photobomb in the background though.
O.K., Now I think I've dropped this topic for awhile. At least I hope.
Best to all from the either.
Until the next time
Fresh, now that's kind of a joke, out of the Hosital once again, and still unable to take a full shower or bath until my new surgical staples are removed and recycled to help finish that wildly inapproprite oil drilling rig I've been sponsoring this year, I am once again home and on the couch where the good lord intended me to be. I had mentioned that I took my laptop with me, thinking I was going to get some writing and editing done with my free time, but that was not to be. The only way to get the laptop in front on me on those rolling trays put the keyboard so far out of my reach, it ended up doing it's second function, that of playing DVD's of popular films and TV Shows to watch. As to this function, it was a huge hit. I can honestly say that productivity of hospital staff went straight to hell. All the orderlies, late night nurses, and occasional patients from adjoining rooms, all came in for the shows. My room was right across from the nurses station. It was around 2:00 a.m. one night when I put on a new DVD release of a big film and immediately attracted the attention of one of the nurses, who ran in during the opening credits and seeing what was coming on quickly reappeared with three other bored employees, who were quick to gather chairs. No popcorn or anything, though.
One of the housecleaning staff was cleaning and changing the sheets on the bed next to mine when I was replying the first season of "Castle." She recognized the theme song and hopped right onto the bed with me to watch the episode. Loves the show, and the title character, but her work hours never allow her to see it. Guess who had the cleanest room in the hospital?
As with everyting though, there are good things and bad. When I first checked into pre-op. they had me sign all the waiver and consent forms, but I noticed that I was signing a consent form for my LAST surgery from a month previously. They had no idea I was in to have all that prior work removed and a new shoulder replacement put in. That was a lively, confidence building moment. I was about an houe and a half late getting into surgery because they didn't have any instructions and had to contact the surgeon's office (he was currently in surgery) to find my records. After the whole mess up on the blood work I was supposed to be scheduled for last Friday which they didn't know about when I got there for my appointment, this was not a good sign. Oh yes, they also couldn't find the results from the self-same tests which were absolutely mandatory before I came in on Monday morning, I was told. My "Happy Camper" scale was a little on the low side. You can only imagine how Terri's was. She'd had to take a half day off on Friday for the blood work, then Monday for the surgery, only to find out that there was no blood work and they had the wrong surgery scheduled.
Somehow I think I missed their "A" Team this time. From nurses, on down, nobody was half as competent as the last time. And this was only a month ago. To further aggravate me, the physical therapists, who must really be hurting to justify their existence came in droves to explain to me that I was wearing a sling, and show me how to put it on, and other such things, as if I had not been wearing one for over a month.
One thing these repeated things drive home is that people do not treat you like an invalid, they treat you like an imbecile. Not only that, but when you calmly point out that the adivce you are being forcefed goes against the advice you had just recived from you surgical nurse or even another therapist (three types to choose from, and they all darkened my door), they treat you even more like you're a petulant child. Quite often in accents so thick that you can't understand what they're saying. Having persons who cannot make any hard dental sounds or utilize terminology that one would expect of health care professionals, does not help. The pre-op nurse, who I suspect came over during the fall of Saigon, asked me about my alergey to penecillin. I told her it was something I was told since I was a child, I got a rash when I had my tonsils out when I was six or so. "Just rash?," she asked, clearly at he top of her game now. "It wasn't anphylactic shock, if that's what you're asking," I replied. She did not know what I meant and tried to make herself more clear. Mind you this was pre-op. I was nearly tempted to just call it a day right then. She thought if she could only make me understand the inormation she was trying to get out of me by talking slower, she could determine if I suffered from the symptoms of anaphylactic shock.
Like I said, I love being talked down to. I realize pride is one of the deadly sins. I'm a sinner. There, I've said it. Almost all of the staff I came into contact with were of this caliber, at least for this proceedure. I guess they figured since I rated the overall performance highly last time, they could stick me with the "C" team this time. About the only time they treated me with any respect was when I was showing DVD's.
There were some good humorous moments also, and I'll get to those, but right now, after being denied any solid foods for days, I'm going to grab a bite to eat. I must say-diet plan-workin'.
Good night from the ether.
One of the housecleaning staff was cleaning and changing the sheets on the bed next to mine when I was replying the first season of "Castle." She recognized the theme song and hopped right onto the bed with me to watch the episode. Loves the show, and the title character, but her work hours never allow her to see it. Guess who had the cleanest room in the hospital?
As with everyting though, there are good things and bad. When I first checked into pre-op. they had me sign all the waiver and consent forms, but I noticed that I was signing a consent form for my LAST surgery from a month previously. They had no idea I was in to have all that prior work removed and a new shoulder replacement put in. That was a lively, confidence building moment. I was about an houe and a half late getting into surgery because they didn't have any instructions and had to contact the surgeon's office (he was currently in surgery) to find my records. After the whole mess up on the blood work I was supposed to be scheduled for last Friday which they didn't know about when I got there for my appointment, this was not a good sign. Oh yes, they also couldn't find the results from the self-same tests which were absolutely mandatory before I came in on Monday morning, I was told. My "Happy Camper" scale was a little on the low side. You can only imagine how Terri's was. She'd had to take a half day off on Friday for the blood work, then Monday for the surgery, only to find out that there was no blood work and they had the wrong surgery scheduled.
Somehow I think I missed their "A" Team this time. From nurses, on down, nobody was half as competent as the last time. And this was only a month ago. To further aggravate me, the physical therapists, who must really be hurting to justify their existence came in droves to explain to me that I was wearing a sling, and show me how to put it on, and other such things, as if I had not been wearing one for over a month.
One thing these repeated things drive home is that people do not treat you like an invalid, they treat you like an imbecile. Not only that, but when you calmly point out that the adivce you are being forcefed goes against the advice you had just recived from you surgical nurse or even another therapist (three types to choose from, and they all darkened my door), they treat you even more like you're a petulant child. Quite often in accents so thick that you can't understand what they're saying. Having persons who cannot make any hard dental sounds or utilize terminology that one would expect of health care professionals, does not help. The pre-op nurse, who I suspect came over during the fall of Saigon, asked me about my alergey to penecillin. I told her it was something I was told since I was a child, I got a rash when I had my tonsils out when I was six or so. "Just rash?," she asked, clearly at he top of her game now. "It wasn't anphylactic shock, if that's what you're asking," I replied. She did not know what I meant and tried to make herself more clear. Mind you this was pre-op. I was nearly tempted to just call it a day right then. She thought if she could only make me understand the inormation she was trying to get out of me by talking slower, she could determine if I suffered from the symptoms of anaphylactic shock.
Like I said, I love being talked down to. I realize pride is one of the deadly sins. I'm a sinner. There, I've said it. Almost all of the staff I came into contact with were of this caliber, at least for this proceedure. I guess they figured since I rated the overall performance highly last time, they could stick me with the "C" team this time. About the only time they treated me with any respect was when I was showing DVD's.
There were some good humorous moments also, and I'll get to those, but right now, after being denied any solid foods for days, I'm going to grab a bite to eat. I must say-diet plan-workin'.
Good night from the ether.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Are We There Yet?
This will be my last post for a number of days. It is nigh on midnight, and that is the pre-surgery witching hour where you are no longer allowed to have food or water, etc. If I was a runner, you could say I was "carbo-loading" but I'm not, I'm me, so you can guess what I'm loading. Come to think of it, I bet my clock is running fast. Damn thing is never in sync with TV shows anyway. And if you can't trust Fox to be perfect, then what's left of America's values and dreams? I ask.
I jest, I jest. I've been on the TV Guide listings from Yahoo for the next three days and lo and behold, if you do watch a lot of TV, this is a pretty good time to be away from it for awhile. The new summer season shows don't start for another ten days or so, and all of the regular shows have already had their season finales, so it's basically a crap week anyway. I'll miss my Rachel Maddow, but I can predict the news, being the psychic that I am:
1) BP oil spill will still be in the news;
2) Obama will not have pleased everyone with his actions;
3) A prominent political figure will be caught in a lie;
4) There will be new outrage against the banking industry;
5) Unemployment won't look so good;
6) Glen Beck will overtake Hunter S. Thompson for being full-tilt, balls to the wall, insane;
7) Michelle Bachman will make a speech on camera which will cause six year old's across the country to
ask, "Who's the crazy lady, mamma.?"
8) Sarah Palin will plumb the very depths of her soul to find a new way to prove she is in fact, a moron;
And,
9) Trouble in the stock market ahead.
How'd I do? I should be back home on Thursday, but I'm willing to bet that I was pretty much spot on. I could actually have done quite a few more, but I didn't want to waste all my psychic energy before going under the knife. Maybe I should get a job with Fox News. I could tell them the news a week ahead of time. No messy fact checking or anything, just let the people know your personal opinions, because after all, as responsible journalists, YOU'RE the news, not these pesky things that happen which effect people's lives.
O.K. Stopping now. Got a call from Momma Ollie earlier. Nothing old born again thumpers want to do more than compare injuries, surgeries and procedures and form prayer groups. There's a whole bunch of widows in Jacksonville, Florida who are praying for me. I feel so much better already. One funny piece of the conversation. She asked me the name of my surgeon, why, I don't know, but I told her. When I did, she asked, 'Is he a Christian?" My surgeon's name is Christian. I threw her a bone though, the anesthesiologist I had last time that I liked is an Arab. Boy, that prayer circle is going to go into overdrive on that one. It's a plot you know, kill off all the disperate, dissolute, non-productive white people who undermine our principles as a God fearing and righteous nation. Oddly ironic that, because the Senate is doing the same thing.
I've got my entertainment pretty well mapped out for the next three or so days. Books, Laptop, DVD's (about 80 hours worth) and my PDA with all my music libarary on it. I'm kind of hoping (in vain, I am certain) that I will get a private room. You know how you get a pair of headphones on and sub-vocalize along with the music anyway? Come on, fess up, when the people around you hear silence as you're delivering your grammy winning performance? Can be very embarrassing. Then again, maybe I can ask if there's a semi-private room in the coma ward. The way I snore, that might be a blessing for all. I can really saw some timber when I sleep on my back, and not being able to sleep on my sides or stomach for over a month now, I suspect I'm a right obnoxious bastard. What would it be like to be in the coma ward, anyway? Every shift change... "Yes 41C is still active. Watch out for him. When I went in to make sure he wasn't sleeping soundly for any period of time he actually tried to make conversation. Don't be fooled. Brain dead is brain dead. He simply has the most extraordinary autonomic reflexes that I've even seen."
You know all the Hosital drama's on TV always focus on the doctors. Who by the way, are living the life of Riley (Wow, I dated myself with that one), but still manage to find anguish in their impeccably groomed fashion to find a happy stable relationship? Let's do one from the other side. A medical drama about a large hospital complex that deals only with the patients and their day to days. No sex, no steam, no heat, just scared people who would like to leave. Now it goes into Stephen King territory, doesn't it? I can picture the sex scenes, 'Their IV poles, so sturdy, so strong, became entangled as they embraced, the saline and antibiotic bags rubbing against each other as if in a primal desire to mingle fluids. They knew they looked like shit, and had no proper hygene for awhile because of the need to keep their fresh flesh wounds clean. Their breath was stale and fetid, as their fluid intake was being monitored, but they didn't care. This was a passion that could not be denied. The nurses came by on rounds every couple of hours to distribute more meds and take readings, but the two had timed it well, they had perhaps an hour before they would be interrupted from a sound sleep again, and they had every intention of taking advantage of the brief repreive. It was difficult, but then again, what worthwhile isn't? Using the one hand which was not connected to the IV pole, the one lover ran his hands through the greasy, and unwashed hair of his soon to be lover. His fingers sticking in a tangle so tight it would have to be cut, not tamed. He knew then that this was going to be a night he would always remember. Although the pain was excruciating, he lifted his leg to try and position himself into an embrace, his free hand constantly hitting the pain mediation button of the IV. He hoped that the constant spams of pain which caused his muscles to twitch would be mistaken for the passion that he felt."
You see my point. Patient dramas are flat out going to suck compared to the whole beautiful young doctor dramas. Don't get me started on crime scene shows. Still, I think some reality in Reality TV would be a plus. I could go on, but now that I am hindered by no bodily intakes, I think I'll just try and sleep until the cats wake me up in the morning to be fed.
Alright, bye for now from the either.
I jest, I jest. I've been on the TV Guide listings from Yahoo for the next three days and lo and behold, if you do watch a lot of TV, this is a pretty good time to be away from it for awhile. The new summer season shows don't start for another ten days or so, and all of the regular shows have already had their season finales, so it's basically a crap week anyway. I'll miss my Rachel Maddow, but I can predict the news, being the psychic that I am:
1) BP oil spill will still be in the news;
2) Obama will not have pleased everyone with his actions;
3) A prominent political figure will be caught in a lie;
4) There will be new outrage against the banking industry;
5) Unemployment won't look so good;
6) Glen Beck will overtake Hunter S. Thompson for being full-tilt, balls to the wall, insane;
7) Michelle Bachman will make a speech on camera which will cause six year old's across the country to
ask, "Who's the crazy lady, mamma.?"
8) Sarah Palin will plumb the very depths of her soul to find a new way to prove she is in fact, a moron;
And,
9) Trouble in the stock market ahead.
How'd I do? I should be back home on Thursday, but I'm willing to bet that I was pretty much spot on. I could actually have done quite a few more, but I didn't want to waste all my psychic energy before going under the knife. Maybe I should get a job with Fox News. I could tell them the news a week ahead of time. No messy fact checking or anything, just let the people know your personal opinions, because after all, as responsible journalists, YOU'RE the news, not these pesky things that happen which effect people's lives.
O.K. Stopping now. Got a call from Momma Ollie earlier. Nothing old born again thumpers want to do more than compare injuries, surgeries and procedures and form prayer groups. There's a whole bunch of widows in Jacksonville, Florida who are praying for me. I feel so much better already. One funny piece of the conversation. She asked me the name of my surgeon, why, I don't know, but I told her. When I did, she asked, 'Is he a Christian?" My surgeon's name is Christian. I threw her a bone though, the anesthesiologist I had last time that I liked is an Arab. Boy, that prayer circle is going to go into overdrive on that one. It's a plot you know, kill off all the disperate, dissolute, non-productive white people who undermine our principles as a God fearing and righteous nation. Oddly ironic that, because the Senate is doing the same thing.
I've got my entertainment pretty well mapped out for the next three or so days. Books, Laptop, DVD's (about 80 hours worth) and my PDA with all my music libarary on it. I'm kind of hoping (in vain, I am certain) that I will get a private room. You know how you get a pair of headphones on and sub-vocalize along with the music anyway? Come on, fess up, when the people around you hear silence as you're delivering your grammy winning performance? Can be very embarrassing. Then again, maybe I can ask if there's a semi-private room in the coma ward. The way I snore, that might be a blessing for all. I can really saw some timber when I sleep on my back, and not being able to sleep on my sides or stomach for over a month now, I suspect I'm a right obnoxious bastard. What would it be like to be in the coma ward, anyway? Every shift change... "Yes 41C is still active. Watch out for him. When I went in to make sure he wasn't sleeping soundly for any period of time he actually tried to make conversation. Don't be fooled. Brain dead is brain dead. He simply has the most extraordinary autonomic reflexes that I've even seen."
You know all the Hosital drama's on TV always focus on the doctors. Who by the way, are living the life of Riley (Wow, I dated myself with that one), but still manage to find anguish in their impeccably groomed fashion to find a happy stable relationship? Let's do one from the other side. A medical drama about a large hospital complex that deals only with the patients and their day to days. No sex, no steam, no heat, just scared people who would like to leave. Now it goes into Stephen King territory, doesn't it? I can picture the sex scenes, 'Their IV poles, so sturdy, so strong, became entangled as they embraced, the saline and antibiotic bags rubbing against each other as if in a primal desire to mingle fluids. They knew they looked like shit, and had no proper hygene for awhile because of the need to keep their fresh flesh wounds clean. Their breath was stale and fetid, as their fluid intake was being monitored, but they didn't care. This was a passion that could not be denied. The nurses came by on rounds every couple of hours to distribute more meds and take readings, but the two had timed it well, they had perhaps an hour before they would be interrupted from a sound sleep again, and they had every intention of taking advantage of the brief repreive. It was difficult, but then again, what worthwhile isn't? Using the one hand which was not connected to the IV pole, the one lover ran his hands through the greasy, and unwashed hair of his soon to be lover. His fingers sticking in a tangle so tight it would have to be cut, not tamed. He knew then that this was going to be a night he would always remember. Although the pain was excruciating, he lifted his leg to try and position himself into an embrace, his free hand constantly hitting the pain mediation button of the IV. He hoped that the constant spams of pain which caused his muscles to twitch would be mistaken for the passion that he felt."
You see my point. Patient dramas are flat out going to suck compared to the whole beautiful young doctor dramas. Don't get me started on crime scene shows. Still, I think some reality in Reality TV would be a plus. I could go on, but now that I am hindered by no bodily intakes, I think I'll just try and sleep until the cats wake me up in the morning to be fed.
Alright, bye for now from the either.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Not under new management
Totally shitty day today. I had to go in for a blood test this afternoon, pre-surgery, and I was told on the phone that it was all set up, and all I had to do was present myself at the lab before 4:00. Terri took off work early and we made it by 3:00. I was more than a bit out of sorts physically. Noting but water after midnight yesterday, and the only a sip to swallow my meds. It had already been a few days since I had eaten, my stomach was a mess, and every time I took a sip of water I would promptly throw it back up. I was not in the best of moods, but we did finally arrive, only to be told that they have no record of a blood test being ordered. This was supposed to be a quick in-and-out, but we were kept waiting for 20 minutes until they got it sorted out. The helpful but inept staff couldn't find a vein, and had to go poking awhile. I can only imagine how they park their cars. Then I was presented with a big cup to fill, which I was not warned about. I tried to explain that there was nothing in me to void, but I got the same unresponsive words over and over, "It says Dr. want sample." This is like arguing religion, so I just gave up. First I was all wrong about claiming the Dr. wanted blood, and now I was willfully going against Dr.'s orders.
Eventually, we got home with the cup, and we have to make another trip back to drop it off tomorrow. Terri was anxiously for me to get a drink and fill it right then, but I promised her I would still be able to pee tomorrow. I assume the fresher the better. But then again, I don't know what they're testing it for. Sad thing is, that after I got out of the shower and was sitting on the sofa laboring to dry myself all over with just one hand, when I got the urge and didn't have the energy to go back to the bathroom, so I pee'd in an empty plastic bottle I keep handy for emergencies. If they had told me, I could have just brought the damn thing with me. I did however get some revenge by having to barf and upseting the little pig sticker, who had to run for the lab tech's in her charming broken English saying, "He's going to throw out, He's going to throw out."
It's funnier now, I managed to get a couple of drinks to stay down, and even had a little yogurt. But of course now, there will be a dichotomy as my blood would show clean of alcohol after two days of abstinence, and my urine is going to have traces for sure in the morning, because it's 2:00 a.m. now, I may have another one while I'm working on the 'puter.
By the way, and this is just a tip here, when health care workers who surely should have gone into another profession, see you grasping your cane and moving slowly. ask in all seriousness, "Do you have any trouble walking," Do not respond that the cane is just a fashion accessory, you just left your opera cape at home.
Watched a little TV to try and calm down and relax. Merlin was on. Boy meets girl, boy falls for girl, girl turns out to be cursed to become a large homicidal winged leopard; you know, the same plot they're using for High School Musical 4. Seriously, how come I can't sell anything of mine when networks cheerfully buy from people who've given up reading tea leaves and get their plots from the patterns of turds in their toilet? It's a mystery to me.
Well anyway, that's my bitch and moan for the day. Best to all from the ether.
Eventually, we got home with the cup, and we have to make another trip back to drop it off tomorrow. Terri was anxiously for me to get a drink and fill it right then, but I promised her I would still be able to pee tomorrow. I assume the fresher the better. But then again, I don't know what they're testing it for. Sad thing is, that after I got out of the shower and was sitting on the sofa laboring to dry myself all over with just one hand, when I got the urge and didn't have the energy to go back to the bathroom, so I pee'd in an empty plastic bottle I keep handy for emergencies. If they had told me, I could have just brought the damn thing with me. I did however get some revenge by having to barf and upseting the little pig sticker, who had to run for the lab tech's in her charming broken English saying, "He's going to throw out, He's going to throw out."
It's funnier now, I managed to get a couple of drinks to stay down, and even had a little yogurt. But of course now, there will be a dichotomy as my blood would show clean of alcohol after two days of abstinence, and my urine is going to have traces for sure in the morning, because it's 2:00 a.m. now, I may have another one while I'm working on the 'puter.
By the way, and this is just a tip here, when health care workers who surely should have gone into another profession, see you grasping your cane and moving slowly. ask in all seriousness, "Do you have any trouble walking," Do not respond that the cane is just a fashion accessory, you just left your opera cape at home.
Watched a little TV to try and calm down and relax. Merlin was on. Boy meets girl, boy falls for girl, girl turns out to be cursed to become a large homicidal winged leopard; you know, the same plot they're using for High School Musical 4. Seriously, how come I can't sell anything of mine when networks cheerfully buy from people who've given up reading tea leaves and get their plots from the patterns of turds in their toilet? It's a mystery to me.
Well anyway, that's my bitch and moan for the day. Best to all from the ether.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Another day
Nothing earth shattering here. I got a call from the surgical scheduler and appears that my check-in time has been moved from 3:00 p.m. to 10:30 a.m. This works for me on a number of levels. If you're supposed to fast and not drink any fluids for twenty hours prior to surgery, it's just as well that you not spend almost a whole day killing time sitting six feet away from the kitchen. Changes things for Terri a bit, though; she had planned on going to work and coming home at lunch time. Looks like she's going to take the whole day off now. I need to get off my ass and start getting ready for 'vacation' stay. About the only thing I accomplished today is some surgery of my own on Mr. Sling. It's a little more comfortable now. With the hard foam "airbag" attached it was causing a chaffing rash on my chest and misforming my arm. I'll have to reattach the offending part before I check back in, of course, but this little bit of freedom let's me be a "bad boy," at least in my mind.
Alan called around three-ish, or seven-ish his time. He was already sacked out in bed and very weary. He wasn't planning on going down to dinner. This is tired. There was apparently a "mixer," planned for after dinner which they were strongly encouraged (read: you will be attending), to go to, but he was thinking of blowing that off also. I'm seriously thinking he should just cut the experience short and move on to his after-conference plans of visiting Boston and the New England areas. But then again, I am rather historically ill tempered when it comes to rigid schedules and being informed of what I should and shouldn't do. You know how you get dressed to go out and some helpful asshole says, "You're not wearing that, are you?" It's kind of like that. Growing up in a rather repressed hate-filled morman family trains you to start the sentance which ends with ".. and the horse you rode in on."
I was catching up on the Rotten Tomato show on streaming video earlier, the show that reviews all the new releases and complies top five lists which are totally inappropriate, and came across a film clip which used a phrase I'd never heard before. We're all used to all of the euphemsims for male genitals, but really, you don't hear as many for women's. Sure, breasts have their own magazine sized pamphlet of references, but you don't hear much about the glorious birth canal. When I heard, "If you don't shut up, I'm going to kick you in the taco," I just about lost it. Mind you, I'm an alcoholic on heavy narcotics, but I can't believe how much that amused me. If anyone reading this has other funny terms, please feel free to forward them. I think there is a dangerous double-standard here. I could start typing a list of all the terms for what's between my legs, and be typing through tomorrow evening. Come on Women, step up to the plate.
Wow, how did I get off on that rant? Don't you wish you could all live with me and have this fount of wisdom available to you 24/7? If you can't provide me with a home and shelter, and I won't hold that against you, just dropping by daily to clean the cat litter boxes or do a load of laundry would be o.k. Maybe you have an OCD friend who has a problem with dirty kitchens. That would be fine. Actually, anyone who has a patholigical hatred of stained tile grout would be welcome. Hopefully, they'll have a twin who can not abide by dirty windows. Hey. A guy can dream, can't he?
Good night from the ether. My best to all.
Alan called around three-ish, or seven-ish his time. He was already sacked out in bed and very weary. He wasn't planning on going down to dinner. This is tired. There was apparently a "mixer," planned for after dinner which they were strongly encouraged (read: you will be attending), to go to, but he was thinking of blowing that off also. I'm seriously thinking he should just cut the experience short and move on to his after-conference plans of visiting Boston and the New England areas. But then again, I am rather historically ill tempered when it comes to rigid schedules and being informed of what I should and shouldn't do. You know how you get dressed to go out and some helpful asshole says, "You're not wearing that, are you?" It's kind of like that. Growing up in a rather repressed hate-filled morman family trains you to start the sentance which ends with ".. and the horse you rode in on."
I was catching up on the Rotten Tomato show on streaming video earlier, the show that reviews all the new releases and complies top five lists which are totally inappropriate, and came across a film clip which used a phrase I'd never heard before. We're all used to all of the euphemsims for male genitals, but really, you don't hear as many for women's. Sure, breasts have their own magazine sized pamphlet of references, but you don't hear much about the glorious birth canal. When I heard, "If you don't shut up, I'm going to kick you in the taco," I just about lost it. Mind you, I'm an alcoholic on heavy narcotics, but I can't believe how much that amused me. If anyone reading this has other funny terms, please feel free to forward them. I think there is a dangerous double-standard here. I could start typing a list of all the terms for what's between my legs, and be typing through tomorrow evening. Come on Women, step up to the plate.
Wow, how did I get off on that rant? Don't you wish you could all live with me and have this fount of wisdom available to you 24/7? If you can't provide me with a home and shelter, and I won't hold that against you, just dropping by daily to clean the cat litter boxes or do a load of laundry would be o.k. Maybe you have an OCD friend who has a problem with dirty kitchens. That would be fine. Actually, anyone who has a patholigical hatred of stained tile grout would be welcome. Hopefully, they'll have a twin who can not abide by dirty windows. Hey. A guy can dream, can't he?
Good night from the ether. My best to all.
Little problem here
It seems like every time I get used to the changes on a program or application, they immediately "improve" or "upgrade" or otherwise alter it to confuse me. I tried to post something yesterday, but couldn't log into my own site. If you know me at all, you know I'm just about at the end of my rope mentally and physically. If something presents a challenge, f**k it and walk away.
I did finally get a date for my new left side surgery. Monday the 7th. It's funny, normally they schedule these things to start early in the morning, but for some reason, for this one I check in at 3:00 p.m. This puts me on the table just as the surgeon has had his second Red Bull of the afternoon and the anthesiologist is coming back from drinking a late lunch.
I was mentioning in an e-mail to a freind how screwed up I look now. When I went to take a shower the other day, I was astounded to look in the mirror. Right side is still the big strapping shoulder of a manly man. Left side is a Japanese Pagoda with three distinct ridges that flow gently down into my swollen arm and puffy hand. Kind of makes every mirror a 'funhouse' mirror. I'm sure you've all seen what a latex glove looks like when it's inflated. Same imagery here, although it is one way to get rid of wrinkles.
My bad marriage with Mr. Sling is really working my nerves. I nearly fired up the gas grill on Memorial Day with him in mind as guest of honor (and the entertainment portion of the evening), but wiser heads prevailed. I will never be into the bondage scene, I guess. If someone wanted to tie up my limbs "for fun," I fear I'd cut their throat "for a laugh."
At any rate same old, same old here. I talked to my friend Alan from the beautiful thriving metropolis of Cincinatti yesterday. Some new and highly anal retentive organizers have taken over the event, and so far he is not liking the changes and the new requirments. I have a feeling this may be his last year with them. It would probably be better if he was married and had a family to escape from, and a convention of two weeks duration to get plastered, but he doesn't and I can count the times I've seen him drink on one swollen hand.
Best to all from the ether.
I did finally get a date for my new left side surgery. Monday the 7th. It's funny, normally they schedule these things to start early in the morning, but for some reason, for this one I check in at 3:00 p.m. This puts me on the table just as the surgeon has had his second Red Bull of the afternoon and the anthesiologist is coming back from drinking a late lunch.
I was mentioning in an e-mail to a freind how screwed up I look now. When I went to take a shower the other day, I was astounded to look in the mirror. Right side is still the big strapping shoulder of a manly man. Left side is a Japanese Pagoda with three distinct ridges that flow gently down into my swollen arm and puffy hand. Kind of makes every mirror a 'funhouse' mirror. I'm sure you've all seen what a latex glove looks like when it's inflated. Same imagery here, although it is one way to get rid of wrinkles.
My bad marriage with Mr. Sling is really working my nerves. I nearly fired up the gas grill on Memorial Day with him in mind as guest of honor (and the entertainment portion of the evening), but wiser heads prevailed. I will never be into the bondage scene, I guess. If someone wanted to tie up my limbs "for fun," I fear I'd cut their throat "for a laugh."
At any rate same old, same old here. I talked to my friend Alan from the beautiful thriving metropolis of Cincinatti yesterday. Some new and highly anal retentive organizers have taken over the event, and so far he is not liking the changes and the new requirments. I have a feeling this may be his last year with them. It would probably be better if he was married and had a family to escape from, and a convention of two weeks duration to get plastered, but he doesn't and I can count the times I've seen him drink on one swollen hand.
Best to all from the ether.
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