…with her hand in the candy bag!
Gotta love the bed head look on the cat.
So Ian and I were watching I Love the 70s tonight, and they started talking about Billy Beer. It was marketed by President Jimmy Carter’s alcoholic brother Billy, who said he was the most famous alcoholic ever because he drank 20 beers in one night.
Please. Ian did that last Saturday.
Wait. Does that mean he’s an alcoholic?
Nah, he says. “It means I RULE!!!”
Back before my surgery Ian and I went on a hike at the Cedar Glades and Barrenlands (we went at the end of July sometime, though it seems like years ago now). The glades and barrenlands are located somewhere in Rutherford County (it’s over by Factory Road, which is in the direction of Woodbury down Greenland Drive, which then becomes some other road that I can’t remember right now.)
Some plum grows there that only grows in one other place in the world. There’s some other rare stuff that grows there I think, but obviously I wasn’t too interested because I don’t remember. We hiked for about an hour or two, and had this scrappy little beagle looking dog with us the whole time. It greeted us where we parked our car, walked with us the whole time, escorted us back to the car and then took off. We offered it some of our water, but it had its own agenda I guess.
We will NEVER go back though. Not that it wasn’t a nice place; it was peaceful and an easy hike, but pretty boring. That’s not the reason we won’t go back. The reason? Seed ticks. Those little baby ticks about the size of a small freckle are HORRIBLE!! When we got back to the car, Ian realized he had about 20 on his right knee. As soon as he could pick them off, he found more. We got home and immediately washed our clothes in hot water and jumped in the shower, still picking ticks off each other. Most of them were brushed off pretty easily, but one had stuck itself into my leg and Ian had to pull it out. Gross. The next morning I thought I found another one, but it wasn’t until I figured it was hurting way to much to pull it off that I realized I was trying to pick off a freckle. I felt like I had ticks on me for days.
Anyway, I finally got some of our pictures up on my Web site; it’s the third menu down. Here’s one, you’ll have to go to the site for the rest:
Oh my freaking GAWD do you ever watch that show “Who Wants to Be a Superhero” on the Sci Fi channel? Now, I’m a super nerd, but I’m not that bad. Ian and I accidentally discovered it (no, seriously) one day and have continued to watch it because it is so. damn. hilarious.
You want to talk about the biggest group of losers coming out from their parents’ basements for an extended period of time to take part in extreme dorktivities (besides Comic Con or those Star Trek or Star Wars conventions)? This reality tv show features none other than the original Jesus Christ for losers Stan Lee ultimately choosing a new superhero Survivor Island style.
We missed most of the first episode I think, but basically a bunch of otherwise socially inept douchebags have created and dressed themselves as some sort of superhero (Cell Phone Girl, Monkey Girl, Feedback, Major Victory, Fat Momma, The Iron Enforcer, etc.). Then each episode they have some sort of task to accomplish, usually with some totally clever hidden task (task one: change clothes in this busy area of town without anyone seeing you. hidden agenda: there’s a crying girl who’s trying to find her mommy. will any of the superheroes notice her? actually, a couple of them miss her altogether, and one sees her but passes her up anyway.)
At the end of the show, Stan Lee critiques these ass monkeys on their performances, and in turn they totally suck his dick and cry. A lot. What? Of course a bunch of guys whose births were the only time they’d ever get near female genitalia are going to blubber and bitch to Stan Lee about how they never had a father but Spider Man helped them grow up and become a man, the type of man that is now wearing tights and a garbage bag on cable TV.
There’s only three left (Fat Momma, Feedback and Major Victory) now. Who will win? Who the fuck cares? I’m only in it for the immense joy to be had from laughing at these freaking chodes.
I normally don’t delve too far into my personal life in my blogs, but I feel that I need to express the gratitude I feel, so here I blog.
For those of you that don’t know, I had surgery Aug. 3. If you want to know what type of surgery, e-mail me or send me a message. I don’t mind telling you, I just don’t want the details to be the focus of this blog.
The surgery was intense, and required me to be put under general anesthesia. For this, I had to have a tube down my throat and the other inconveniences/discomforts of major surgery.
When I woke up, I was so grateful to be awake. I know it sounds nuts, but I was more scared of not waking up from the anesthesia than I was from any pain the surgery would bring me.
I have stitches, and cannot drive for at least two weeks (about a week or so more, now). I cannot strain myself, can’t walk very well, and can’t stand up for periods of time longer than a few minutes. I spend the majority of my time laying down, or propped up with a pillow.
I have left the house twice since the surgery, and will not be completely healed until November or December.
All this sounds pretty crappy, and it is. I am in constant pain, and can’t take my pain meds any more because they made me sick. I take Motrin around the clock.
So why am I so grateful? A few reasons. Besides the fact that I actually woke up, I am healing very well. I will go to my surgeon once a week for a few weeks, and last week he told me I was healing very well. I want to keep this up, so I am extremely careful about following his instructions exactly.
I am also grateful for Ian. Actually, I am probably most grateful for him. Without him, I could not have had this surgery. He basically has had to wait on me hand and foot, though it’s getting better now. I cannot lift anything over a pound or so; whatever I need he hands to me. For the first four days, he stayed with me every minute of the day. I know it drove him nuts, but he stayed by my side and brought me food, water, blankets, etc. He has done the dishes almost every time they’ve needed to be done (and offered to do them two other times but I felt well enough to stand so I did them), he has cooked for me (well, he always does this), brought me stuff I need from the store, gone grocery shopping, helped me with my laundry, etc. I can’t bend down to pick up things from the floor or reach for things, so any time I need something or drop something, he is there for me. He has also been extremely emotionally supportive. He has just been so great, and I owe him BIG-TIME. I’m in the process of thinking of something to do for him to show my love and gratitude; any creative suggestions? (Now now, don’t get all dirty on me here people)
Why else am I grateful? My friends. Aubrey and Melissa have been calling to check on me, and Aubrey brought me my favorite soup in the whole world when I was craving it the most. I also hear Melissa has a pint of my favorite ice cream in her freezer! :) This weekend we had some friends over for our regular weekend fun, and everyone was more than accommodating to me by sitting on the floor in the livingroom instead of in the kitchen, which would have been more comfortable for them. But I was in pain, and laying on the couch was all I could do, so these sweet guys (and girls) sat with me so I could play Risk and Spades, too.
I am also grateful for my job. Luckily, as a writer and Web-worker I can work from home, and the job I have been at for less than a year was willing to accommodate me in this. I tried to start working the Tuesday after my surgery, but my boss recognized I might not feel very well (I didn’t), and told me just to take it easy until I felt up to working. Two women that I work with gave me some beautiful flowers the day before surgery, and the day after a HUGE fruit/candy basket came for me from the entire office. We communicate via IM around the office, and every day someone checks on me to make sure I’m feeling OK.
My family has also been great. I knew my mom would be supportive, but my dad, who I have not spoken to in a long time and don’t really have a relationship was also supportive, in his own way. My mom sent me flowers, and my sister, who doesn’t have much money and is saving to move out after college, sent me a HUGE arrangement that is still alive and smells great today, a week after it came.
Anyway, I know this is long and I congratulate you if you made it through. I go to the doctor Wednesday and hopefully I have kept up my awesome healing process. If I’ve ever succeeded at anything in my life, I have to succeed at healing from this surgery. I think about how scared I was the night/morning before the surgery, and now that I’m on the other side with all of these people to help me, I feel like I have a real chance. Well, the surgeon said I had an 80 percent chance of recovery, but I’m aiming for 100 percent. So send your healing vibes my way, please!
As I put my pants on right-leg-first this morning, I felt their texture more than usual. I also made it a point to feel the carpet beneath my bare, cold feet, and to take note of the softness of BK’s fur as she lay on the sink watching me get ready for work.
For the past few weeks, I’ve been trying really hard to make each day last longer, each night go on longer, to feel each moment. It doesn’t stop time, it doesn’t even slow it down. But it makes me feel a little healthier.
With all the fighting in the Middle East lately, I’ve heard a lot of people saying, “Jesus, I don’t know what I’d do if that happened here.” Well, that’s fucking easy to say since it’s not likely Canada’s going to grow some balls and blow us away. But still, what a stupid, selfish statement. Of course you don’t know what you’d do. I’m sick of people saying, “There’s always fighting in the Middle East” as some sort of qualifier for these wars. Just because someone lives in a war-torn country does not mean it’s any less traumatic, painful, horrific, immoral or wrong for the war to occur.
So who the hell knows what’s going to happen. Is the U.S. going to use this as an excuse to go in and ruin the lives of another country? Are they going to use it as an excuse to let someone else ruin some other country? Fuck if I know. Fuck if anyone knows. It’s all apocolyptic and it’s not going to turn out OK, no matter what happens. It will never be OK.
Who is happier: the blind man who never saw, or the one who lost his sight?