Two Clicks from Crazy

So, it's been quite the week around these parts. Quite annoying, actually.


I believe that the calendar clearly states that each week is allocated ONE Monday.


I have had four Mondays this week, with each day progressively worse.


It all came to a head this morning, when I woke with a start. The alarm clock read 6:15 am, and I panicked. See, my alarm goes off around 4:45 am. Nooze and I leave the house no later than 6:30.


I immediately flew into a stuttering panic. I threw off the covers and raced to the kitchen. I poured a cup of coffee, prepared Nooze's school snack, threw my water bottles into my shoulder duffel.


I grabbed the dog food container: empty. Frigging crappitycrappitycrappitycrap! I grabbed the potato spuds out of the cabinet and set water to boil. Then I ran in to wash my face and brush my hair.


I quickly bathed and threw on clothes. The potato water was bubbling; I turned off the burner and mixed in potato flakes. I then measured out the glorious mess into each dog bowl and threw the bowls onto the kitchen floor.


I stumbled through the house to wake Nooze, stopping short in the living room. The clock, hanging proudly on my wall, read 5:02 am.


I immediately sat down and finished my first cup of coffee.


The dogs looked at their food, then at me. There was steam coming from their bowls, and they were unsure what to do with this information. They glanced at each other quickly, as if confirming that momma, finally, had slipped over the edge to Nutso-world.


I hooked them all outside and gave them fresh water. I made sure to put the potato bowls out with them. They used the bathroom and promptly began howling.


It was now 5:32 am.


I woke Nooze and bribed her with a bagel. She promptly sat in the kitchen chair and began reading, leaving the bagel to harden or soften or perhaps be stolen by elves. She still wasn't dressed.


She wandered away from the table to do whatever it is girly girls do at 5.50 am, and I began hauling things to the car.


I made my bed. I poured another cup of coffee. I brushed my hair AND my teeth.


It was now 6:25. I peeked into the bathroom to check on Nooze. She still wasn't dressed, and she was freaking PREENING in front of the mirror.


While wearing footy pajamas with Monkeys on them.


I loudly noted I was going to start the van and went outside.


I started the van, turning the heat and defrost on full blast. I went back into the house and poured another cup of coffee.


I firmly informed Nooze that I was leaving in three minutes, with or without her.

She ran out, bookbag in hand, throwing her coat over her shoulders. She ground her feet into her chucks (she never unties them) and ran out the door.


I made sure the coffee pot was off and left.


After dropping the Nooze off at her Aunt R's house, I headed off to work.


As I was driving down Random Country Road #241352, I glanced at my gas gauge. One fourth of a tank - not nearly enough to get to work.


The clock now read 7:15, which meant I was going to be late. AGAIN.


I pulled in to the gas station - and realized that this was only Thursday. Payday is Friday. I ran over to the ATM and got out a 20. I quickly checked the balance on the receipt and exhaled. I drove over to the gas tank and filled up.


As I was leaving the gas station, I glanced at the clock. It was now 7:22 am, but the sun was higher up in the sky than it usually is at that time. I compared my nextel clock to my cell phone clock to my van clock. They were all roughly the same.


I briefly contemplated calling in dead.

I inhaled, exhaled, then turned my van westward.


I knew, without a doubt, that this was the day everything would spiral out of control...

Random Confession #436

I once had a crush on a boy solely because I loved his THIGHS.

He could have, without a doubt, played for the All Blacks.

You know, if he wasn't a farmer in Northern Maine.

Let's Get Physical...

I returned to visit Dr. Yup-Yup on Tuesday. We completed our standard routine of insurance and mobility, followed by a looooong discussion about pain. Specifically MINE, and how I would really rather NOT have it any more.

He asked how Physical Therapy was going.

I had to confess that, in fact, it WASN'T - because the people at the PT Clinic never called me back. He sighed deeply, shook his head and requested the name of the clinic. He walked to the corner of the office as I told him and crossed the clinic off his list of recommendations.

I was then handed a written prescription for PT at a clinic not far from my office.

I called the Clinic on Wednesday, and was asked a fairly thorough list of questions. I was invited to return the questions, in order to ease me into the routine. Feeling extremely comfortable with the answers, I scheduled my first appointment for today.

It lasted two hours.

I was told ahead of time that the first appointment would be long, as it was an evaluation of my mobility and pain locations. I was fine with that. In fact, I scheduled a 1/2 day from work just to make sure that everything went smoothly.

However.

I was not really prepared to be cared for by a male. No no no no no.

See, I have a slight limp. That's no big deal, right? Of course not. However, the limp is caused from severe arthritis in my right hip - which spreads to...less comfortable places.

Namely my lower back, my thigh and...um...my butt.

See, the arthritis causes my hip to pop in and out of socket. A LOT. This, in turn, triggers muscle spasms - or Charley Horses - in the muscles in the immediate vicinity. My body is not a very comfortable place most days.

Upon realizing that my Therapist would be male, I sternly reminded myself that he was a Professional. A Professional, no less, that would walk me through the exercises and routines needed to walk comfortably, to begin exercising - and hopefully, to prevent the immediate use of a cane. I calmed down immediately.

Then he touched my butt.

And I immediately started laughing.

The Round Table began chanting "Strange man touching your butt! Strange man touching your butt! We have a BUTT TOUCHER!"

Then he began working on Pressure Points in the same area.

And I laughed even harder, as the phrase turned to "Strange man RUBBING your butt!"

I snapped out of it when he asked if I was okay.

I snickered and said "Ticklish!" even though it reallyreallyreally HURT.

It did not help that I was wearing a hospital gown and...underthings.

Though I failed miserably at being an Adult this afternoon, the therapist did not fail at being a professional. He maintained eye contact when the gown slipped. He turned his head when I shifted wrong. He covered me up with towels and heating pads as needed.

And as I left, he recommended that I wear shorts to our next session.

I don't know if that will matter.

Not if he has to touch my butt.

Tuesday, 1-22-08

Today was the last day in the life of Heath Ledger.

Reports, information, misinformation and rumors are flooding the airwaves.

How he was found. What he was wearing. How, exactly, he passed away.

They are missing key information in this story.

This man, regardless of everything else, was a daddy to a little girl.

She will not have his protection, his wisdom, his care as she grows older.

He will not see her fall in love. He will not see her drive a car. He will not be able to spout random nonsense to her over how inappropriate her outfit is.

Perhaps, at the end of the day, the media should take a long, hard look at itself.

The information and trash they are spreading today is the legacy left to his child.

A legacy, no less, that his partner/ex/wife will have to filter through as this child grows older.

May they consider that prior to doing any more damage.

Dear Pharmacist

I understand rules, regulations, and safety.

I understand lawsuits, protecting the Employee, General Safety Precautions.

Et Cetra, Et Cetra.

What I DO NOT understand, however, is this:

I have to sign a waiver to get a generic (non safety) cap on my medication.

Medication, may I add, that I take for Psoriatic ARTHRITIS.

I can't hold the pen and sign the frigging form without taking the medication.

Which I CAN NOT OPEN BECAUSE OF SWOLLEN, ARTHRITIC HANDS.

You, sir, are a frigging moron.

TWO!

I completely missed my OWN Blogoversary.

Rennratt was born two years and five days ago, on a warm January morning here at TEOTGW.

I typed, re-typed, edited, re-edited. I held my breath and pressed "publish", then ran to the bathroom to throw up. [I didn't.]

Thanks, Wordnerd and Chachi, for encouraging me to start this glorious mess.

Jeff Kay also gets props, for introducing me to Wordnerd, Tammie, ETW, Trinamick, Tiff and Kenju - and for linking me as a Friend of the WVSR.

I'm sure he'd find it amusing that this makes me spastic with joy.

**The blogoversary button must have a glitch, as the count is one day off. Perhaps this Leap Year Thing threw it off?**

I'm back. Sort of.

Well, the Non-Strep Creeping Crud is still upon me, minus the incredibly sore throat. I now have watery, itchy eyes, much sinusitis, and a gravelly Rocker Chick Voice. Male co-workers are currently seeking me out via Nextel just to hear me talk. It's good to have a purpose, I guess. Even if it's to be mocked.

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Nooze got incredibly aggravated with her hair the other night, and proceeded to cut it. This is not our first experience with Homemade hairstyles; emergency bobs have sprung forth in the past.

However, her recent aggravation was with a cow lick, located precisely over her right eye. She cut the pure mess out of it, and now sports a silver dollar sized bald spot in the front of her head.

Initially, I threatened to shave her head. Then I threatened to beat her ever lovin' tail. Then I settled for Pure Karma. I grinned, hugged her and said, "Congratulations, Darlin'. You have stupid looking hair." I am refusing to cut it, and am forcing her to answer people when they ask her what happened.

There are consequences for our actions, my friends. Some consequences just start earlier than others.

I'm betting that this will be the last time - at least until she's a teen - that she dares to hack at her own head with sharp objects.

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Recent weather reports have predicted a Wintry Mix of precipitation here at TEOTGW between one and four a.m. tomorrow. Local county schools announced a mandatory two hour delay for tomorrow...at four p.m. today. Folks around these parts don't cotton to oddities like snow and sleet; they will be taking no chances with their redneck offspring on Random Country Roads.

Nooze is currently singing and booty-shaking that It might gonna be snowin soon and We're geee-teeng a Weeen-terrry Meeex!

I must ban Pepe LePew cartoons from this child. She is starting to sound like an idiot.

And Me, With No Immune System

I may have strep throat. This sneaking suspicion has been brought on by the fact that I feel as though I have swallowed a lifetime supply of broken glass, sand, and possibly jagged concrete. Oh, and I can't hear.

I say that I may have strep simply because I have never had it before. Ever. In spite of sharing a bedroom with my sister, who was a walking petri dish of the stuff until having her tonsils removed. Nope, never caught it - even from less than 10 feet away. I was the Queen of Bronchitis, the Empress of Sinusitis, the Dictator of Migraines.

But never strep.

Until maybe now. See, my office is currently a hotbed of rhino virus, strep and some random 72 hour flu. I happen to work with people too proud to take a sick day, yet kind enough to share this crap with others. Oh, and then get mad because other people have sense and stay home when they're sick.

Thankfully (or not), I got sick Friday night. While grocery shopping. How convenient. I immediately headed home, dosed myself with Airborne, and laid down. Then it got worse. Worse to the point where I couldn't swallow, and was in tears.

I am unable to take Humira when sick, as it depletes my immune system. Taking Humira while ill can cause the common cold (standard time: 10 days) last for 30 to 45 days all told. Thankfully, I took my shot on Thursday night. Also, I happen to be married to The Man Too Proud to Finish His Medicine ("But I FEEL BETTER!"). Said Proud Spouse is also employed in the Medical Field, and assessed my ailments as Antibiotic Necessary. Antibiotics, I might add, that we happen to have on hand.

I know that "sharing prescriptions" is not recommended. However, I happen to know that this very prescription is what my doctor would prescribe. There is also enough of it to get me through the standard recommended dosage, and I plan to do so. (Being the Weekend, a visit to the neighborhood Doc in the Box would run a $20 co-pay, a $90 strep test - and a $4 prescription. A prescription, may I add, that is currently sitting in my house.) A call to my Regular Doctor would prove fruitless, as it is, again, the weekend. So, in a combined attempt at wellness and frugality, I am staying home - and taking the medicine on hand.

I am also making chicken soup and drinking tea. Oh, and sleeping, lots of sleeping.

Oh, Look! It's Spring!

Winter, in all of its glory, seems to be over. For now. All told, it lasted approximately one week. Two days hit lower than thirty degrees, and Eastern North Carolina all but screeched to a halt.

Mother Nature apparently took notice. After two short days of FREEZING COLD, temperatures have risen to an average of 60-70 degrees. Oddly, I hate it.

My body re-sets itself periodically. I tend toward bedtimes of 9-10 pm during winter, almost as if going into hibernation myself. I like this time, where I crawl under covers and sleep untold hours in the pitch black of winter.

The early "thaw" of winter has sped up this reset, and my inner clock is off. Off, in fact, by approximately 2.5 hours. I am now waking up at three a.m.

This is not a wink open, note the time, turn and snore kind of wake up. This is a throw your feet off the side of the bed, grab a mug of coffee and start your day! kind of wake up.

It is incredibly frustrating, and I am getting grumpy.

So grumpy, in fact, that when the Annoying Salesperson asked me a (smug, condescending 'trap') question yesterday, I kind of snapped. I turned, snarling, and growled, "I don't know why you bother to ask me these things. I have boobs. People with boobs don't give you answers you like. Why not just skip the exercise and do whatever you please? It's what you'll do anyway. Save some energy man, and do whatever the heck you want." I then spun back around in my chair and continued to work, while Annoying Salesperson gasped and Big Boss snickered.

I don't know what the outcome was, as I left soon after.

Something has GOT to change, and soon.

Growling with Pride...

Like many things in my life, this all started with Tiff. I consider it an honor to be nominated, as the comments included "accepting", "imaginative", "succinct" and "often hilarious". How could I deny accepting an award that was so obviously true?!

I kid. It's sweet, thoughtful, and nice to be nominated. Especially when the phrase "succinct" is used. It's really not a word that most people associate with me. (Those words would tend toward "mouthy", "sarcastic" and "immature".)

Since Tiff copied the rules directly from the source, I will follow suit.

"How does it work? Below are copies of the award that we can each distribute to those people who have blogs we love, can't live without, where we think the writing is good and powerful. I thought interested members could kick things off by publishing the award on their own blog, naming five people they would like to give it to (members or non-members), and accompany the image with three things they believe are necessary to make writing good and powerful. The recipients then do the same, passing it on to five other people, and so on."

Five, huh? Ooo-kaaay.

1. Belle of the Blog. I adore this woman. Truly. If my mother was alive today, she would have adopted Dawn. Whether she's writing about her musician husband, her gorgeous kids, or discussing a week of Family Flu experiences, I am there. I wish she lived closer to me; I have the feeling she'd be a great neighbor.

2. Rich. Creative, funny and often 'on edge', this ADHD Dad is a force to be reckoned with. Unless his wife is involved. Then my money would be on her.

3. Tracy Lynn. I fell into reading her because she's on Dialysis. I stayed because even her threats are funny. In a really dark, moderately evil sort of way. If she mentions wanting to 'spoon you', you'd better run. It's really not what you think.

4. Brenda Love. Ooh, man. Art, rock music, cartoons and starry skies. Anyone that keeps a rock'n'roll loving Betta fish at work (RIP) is gold in my book.

5. Shari. Duh. Anyone that would create a Christmas tree out of slutty Barbie Dolls is near and dear to my heart. Especially when they post pictures of it. We also have a common love of Tom Brokaw, a Nerd Crush that should never be denied.

The rules also state that I should include Three Rules that I find necessary to make writing good and powerful. Thankfully, these are my rules, and may be followed/ignored as we all see fit. Three current rules are as follows:

1. Learn to listen to your own voice. Otherwise, be you. The writers I noted above are all widely different in style and content, and I enjoy them that way. Don't try to be Stephen King if you're more Patricia Cornwell. You'll just make yourself miserable.

2. Edit. I write in Stream of Consciousness, and sometimes forget that Rambling Thoughts include "rambling" for a reason. DO be true to yourself, just look things over before you press "post".

3. Get over yourself. Really. There's really nothing to add.

For the record, these are rules that I tell myself DAILY. Otherwise, this blog would be a list of random reasons my boss should be neutered, why Vietnamese Bologna looks like Cat Food, and How to Annoy your Employees.


Without further Ado, y'all Nominees...Go and nominate a few of your own favorites!

They're Real...

Behold, dear friends.
One. BAD. PIG!

I would have loved to share "Man in Black" (featuring Johnny Cash himself), but there was no link.

Happy New Year

Many of my co-workers don't understand why I don't 'go out' on New Year's Eve. My response, though rambled, can be translated as follows:



I don't drink; I don't club; I am a homebody. Most days, I sincerely like my family. (We have the 'someone needs to go away' disclaimer for the other days...) In and of themselves, my family entertains me in a way that no one else possibly could.



First and foremost, there's Chachi. Chachi and I have been together off and on for almost eighteen years now (!!!); on full time-married for the past twelve. He makes me laugh on a regular basis, many times to tears and near pants-wetting. He has a weird/odd/rare sense of humor. (Doubters should read my 12-15-07 guest post over at Tracy's Place.)



One of my favorite radio stations hits a 'dead spot' between The Edge of the Great Woods and The Other Side of the Great Woods, less than 20 miles away. It's actually less a dead spot than it is a 'combining spot', where one may hear both 'my kind of music' and...bluegrass. Together. For about five miles. During that knuckle-whitening time, Chachi plays 'guest DJ'. He fills in the weather ("It may or may not rain, with random smatterings of whatever it feels like doing..."), the traffic report ("Another dead dear on the roadway, people. Fear not. Vultures are circling, and the Neighborhood will eat like kings tonight!"), and intros to 'the next song up'. My favorite to date is "Next up, we have Zamfir, master of the pan flute, playing with One. Bad. PIG! This intro was followed by whistles and catcalls - all compliments of the Chach-ster, as I attempted to stay on the road while blind with tears and laughter.


Predictably, I like to be around him a lot.


Nooze has a similar sense of humor, and has blurted out less than appropriate things in the Worst Places. As she gets older, she seems to be grasping that this may play better to People That Understand Her.


Tonight was one of those nights for BOTH of them, as they watched a commercial for the MXZ Pocket Saw. The conversation was as follows:



TV: ...It can do almost anything!



Chachi: Can it balance my checkbook?



Nooze: If I go to school naked, can it make me clothes?



Chachi: Can it Field Dress a squirrel?



Nooze: Can it double as a bathtub?



The yelling continued, with increasingly bizarre questions - and no answers from the Television Gods.



Tell me honestly, people. Why on earth would I go out tonight, when I can get this entertainment for free?!