Category Archives: Random Crap
….ta-daaaaaa!! I’m baaaaaaaaaaack…
So, had shoulder surgery in October and spent the next couple of months alternating cursing the surgeon, the dog, the hubby (poor darling…he was collateral damage, really), the Internet for telling me what a breeze recovery was for some, myself, and all the undiscovered tribes in Bali and other exotic locales..just because I can, okay?
It hurt to have my shoulder ripped apart and put back together. It still hurts, but every day it gets better. My own Marquis de Sade, a/k/a physical therapist, is impressed with my progress. I cursed her too. Often and loudly.
Since we last met, besides the aforementioned surgery, I’ve had:
- my job of sixteen years eliminated
- my sister sue me over a land deal I have nothing to do with anymore
- another patch of property I’m trying to sell come under contract twice – both times falling through
Let’s take these one at a time, shall we? The job, well I’ve known since last spring that the job I have now would likely change. Unfortunately, the new owners of the plant have a very different view of ‘change’ than I do. Their idea of change was for me to drive over 125 miles ONE WAY to work every day as my position is moved to another of their plants. For me, that’s a 2.5-3 hour commute…and did I mention that is ONE WAY? Yeah, so I said thanks but no thanks. I now have to find a new job.
Y’all, I haven’t even interviewed for any job in sixteen years. I have no idea how it’s done anymore, but I find out later today as I have the first interview. It’s like I’m a virgin all over again. I’m curious as to how I’ll come across. Strangely, though, I’m not the least bit nervous. I imagine it’s because I don’t know any better.
Sister, sigh…this particular sister lives in a place we call “Not Reality”. Always has, likely always will. Apparently, she’s managed to convince an attorney to come visit her Not Reality and I’m being sued now. It’s such a stupidly convoluted story I can’t really explain here. It involves property borders and disputes. But here’s the thing, the property in question isn’t mine anymore. I sold it a year ago. A. Year. Ago. Why she’s included me in the lawsuit with the current owners is a question only answered by those living and working in Not Reality. Personally, I don’t go there. Terrible hamburgers.
Property sale…this land is across the street from the land I’m being sued over. ….fortunately it doesn’t attach to any of my sister’s land at all. However, I keep getting people saying they really, really, really, really love it and want to buy it BUT…….(insert something stupid or something that exists only in Not Reality here). It’s getting to the point where if my broker calls to tell me I’ve got another offer on the land I just wait for the punch line, because it is coming.
So, how have y’all been doing?
I made it through a nearly 2-hr shopping trip, at my favorite grocery store without:
- Singing very loudly, and off key, in the produce section – or any other section for that matter.
- Responding to a phone call/text with a blue streak of profanity that looked like I was berating myself
I did dance a little jig when I realized my accomplishments, though. And, no I didn’t do that in the store. I did that in the parking lot to some wide-berth stares.
But, that doesn’t count, right? Right?
I may have mentioned a time or elebenty hunnert that I live with an enormous amount of daily physical pain.
I’m beginning to think I may actually be a reincarnation of the goddess Odyne. Which reminds me, why can’t I be like Athena or even Artemis? I’d like to be able to say I possess badassery or indescribable beauty because I’m a descendant of the goddesses of both, but nooooooooooooooo I have to be Odyne, the goddess of pain. Oh well, at least I’m a goddess, even if I don’t rate more than a mere mention in mythology and lack a Wiki page of my own.
Is there a goddess of sleight? Because I’m pretty sure Odyne has a valid grievance here, and I’d like to talk to someone about that.
And, I have gotten waaaaaaaaaaaaaaay off track.
See, that’s what pain will do to your brain.
So, the sources of my pain are numerous and boring – eight ruptured discs, spinal stenosis, fibromyalgia, arthritis, blah, blah, blah…
Most of the time a liberal application of heat, and the liberal downing of pain medications I take, keep me upright, mobile, and not feeling all stabbity to the world.
This week, though, it’s been different. And by “different” I don’t mean ‘oh joy and happiness, I don’t feel like I’ve been run over by a truck!’ I mean it’s been ‘holyfeckballsoffirebreathingdragons, what.the.feck. is going on?’
My sciatic nerve, heretofore a quiet little dude that I gave nary a thought to, is pissed.
Royally, royally, pissed.
He’s decided to show me how pissed he is by setting my right leg on fire, while simultaneously stabbing me from ass to heel with a hot poker.
This is going on all. the. time.
It’s actually a breathtaking kind of pain. As in, I gasp with each wave of pain, am nauseated most of the time from it, and cannot focus on what anyone is saying to me until the wave subsides and I wait anxiously for the next.
Even upping the pain meds is not dulling it much. And they are strong motherfeckers, let me tell you. Sciatic-Bob (yes, I named him) is stronger.
I know the inflammation will pass, and I really wish I could take anti-inflammatories but they make me pukey, I just wish it would pass sooner rather than later.
This gettin’ old shit? Ain’t for wimps.
*clears throat, considers what to put out there on the Internets, decides she’s way too boring/paranoid to say anything other than what’s already here*
Well, that got awkward in a hurry.
Here’s a picture of a cute puppy to make up for it.
My family is not normal. Nothing we do is normal. No event is normal. Hell, if we had a “normal” day, that’d be abnormal, so right in line. Even our normal is weird.
Easter egg hunts are not normal at my house. The grandchildren generally get along, the bigger kids help the little ones find eggs, and there is much rejoicing.
The parents, however, are another story. It’s Hunger Games, Easter Egg Hunt at our house. There’s tripping, shoving, misdirection (“Holy shit, you just stepped in pile of dog poo!”), and general foolishness as each parent tries to gain an advantage for their offspring.
In short, they’re a bunch of miscreants. I couldn’t be more proud.
This past Easter’s egg hunt was the same as all the others. The only differences, for me, were 1) for once the yard wasn’t a mudpit as it had been pretty dry all week and 2) I had to watch from afar having smashed the ever-lovin’ shit out of my big toe that morning when I opened the back door to let the dog out and shoved the bottom of the door over the top of my toe. It still hurts like a sonofa….
And then, the Outbreak Monkey arrived.
C’mon, tell me you have seen the scary movie “Outbreak” starring Dustin Hoffman and Renee Russo. If not, get thee to a Red Box or Netflix, or something and watch it.
*builds storage shed*
*cures world hunger*
You back already? Good, now I can finish the story.
So, in my family the first person to get sick with whatever is the one we call the Outbreak Monkey. This time, it was my 8-yr. old granddaughter and our first clue was the text her mother sent as they were driving home:
“Aaaand…we have pukage in the van!! AWESOME!”
At 1:00 a.m. the next morning, the poor baby was still puking in her sleep, no less. My daughter called me asking for the magical potion I keep to stop pukages, so instead of sleeping at 1:00 a.m. I was dispensing wizardry in the hopes my sweet granddaughter would stop the pukies. She did, and there was much rejoicing in the land…
….until this morning, when my daughter texted me again and said her other daughter has it now…
We had FIFTEEN people at our house on Easter Sunday. Two are sick, that makes thirteen more to go…except I think I had it already. I think it’s the nasty new norovirus that has been going around and which I got right after Christmas.
At least I hope that’s what this is.
Or, if my daughter is right – as she said in a follow-up text this morning – it only affects kids 8 and under, or as she put it “the very geriatric, like you Mom”.
Age has its advantages.
Walked into my office this morning and..
The ancient building I work in had sprung a leak and the entire hallway was flooded. Apparently, the roof drains clogged during last night’s monsoon (the first rain since 1947 I think), and with nowhere to go the water came inside. An entire closet filled with paper products – letterhead, envelopes, notebooks, etc – was ruined. And the floor and carpet were at least ten feet deep in cold water. Good thing I wore my waterproof workboots this morning, and brought my life jacket. Some guys from maintenance came with a mini wet-vac and cleaned up the water, then turned the a/c on and down to 20 degrees to dry the carpets.
It’s 40 degrees outside, and the wind is howling at a sustained 140 mph, making the wind chill minus Kelvin. So, of course turning on the air conditioner was the logical thing to do.
My hands were numb from the cold in a matter of minutes, and I believe I accidentally bit off a finger while eating my sammich at lunchtime. I won’t know for sure until later when my eyeballs thaw and I can see properly again.
Later my phone rang and the following conversation ensued:
ME: HolyWattageBatmanCompany, this is ME
Irate Female Caller: Yeah, somebody called me from that number just now and cussed at me and called me a bitch, and I just wanted to know who it was.
ME: From here?
IFC: Yes, from this number. It’s on my caller I.D.
ME: Ma’am, this is a power company, no one…
IFC: YES..SOMEONE CALLED ME FROM THERE, SAID SOMETHING ABOUT A PAY DAY LOAN CONSOLIDATION, TOLD ME I WAS A BITCH AND HUNG UP ON ME.
ME: Ma’am, this is a power company. We make electricity. I think you have the wrong number.
IFC: Oh, okay *click*
It’s been a weird day.
….there’s never, ever, not ever, not for one minute…a dull moment in my life……..
Christmas went well. It was a hunnert degrees outside, and Santa looked like he would melt inside his suit when he visited the gaggle of screaming grandchildren gathered to meet him on Christmas Eve.
Months of preparation and the entire gift-opening extravaganza was over in 12.4 minutes.
The adults at my house engage in a White Elephant gift exchange. The concept, for those who don’t know, is to gather gawd-awful items you already have, wrap them prettily, and then every person gets a number and we pick packages based on if we’re first, second, and so on. After the first pick, the next person can either ‘steal’ a person’s gift or get a new one from the stack. And so it goes.
The idea is to give someone you love a hideous/disgusting gift. It’s a Christmas Spirit thing.
Of course, there’s always that one relative who doesn’t get it. That person invariably brings a truly magnificent gift. This year, it was a giant bag filled with gorgeous household knick-knacks, wall hangers, and so on. It was the FIRST gift picked, so you just knew the receiver wasn’t going to hang onto it.
Except the receiver, my youngest son, literally guarded his loot and threatened anyone who came near. He looked like a dog guarding the food bowl as he’d place his body between the would-be thief and the bag…growling and giving the thief the stink-eye.
The kid’s got game when it comes to intimidating looks.
I thought we were going to have a brawl a time or two as shouts of “cheater!” and “That’s not how this game is played!” fell on son’s deaf ears.
For my part, I’ve got so many knick-knacks and crapola around already I’m thinking of changing my name to Pier One Kirkland’s (got a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?), so I didn’t want a giant bag with more dust collectors.
In the end, son got to keep his big bag and I got a coloring book and crayons..perfect..no, really, perfect for when the grandkids come over.
I think we need to explain the White Elephant rules one. more. time.
Christmas Day is usually quiet and laid back at our house. I won’t get out of my jammies all day, unless we have company for dinner – which we did this year. It was still quiet, as all the grandkids were occupied with their new stuff.
The very next day I came down with the latest version of norovirus. This was the day we were supposed to start taking everything down because the day after that we were going to visit my mother some 700 miles away. Instead, I spent a day and a half praying to the porcelain gods and wishing I could sleep until it all passed. I mean, really…you get the pukes and a raging fever with body aches all at once. Seriously? ONE is bad enough, why oh why do we have to get both? Then, I spent the next four days (three of which were at my mother’s house) with a come-and-go fever, cold sweats, and zero appetite. Good times.
But, it doesn’t end there…as we were preparing to leave on our long road trip (a day and a half behind schedule) – and let me tell you just how excited I was for that, having been so sick so recently – when my sister’s frantic calls and texts began. Her husband was admitted to ICU with sepsis. How he went from a healthy, cutthroat, corporate attorney to death’s door can be attributed to the medical profession. He had a biopsy, it got infected, then it really pissed his body off and he wound up in the hospital for a solid week. He’s home now, with a PICC line for antibiotics. Out of the woods, be definitely still on the mend.
And that was just last week…hell, part of last week. The rest, though, was anti-climactic after all that led up to it.
I even rang in 2016 asleep, on the couch at mom’s, for the first time since I was a child.
It was a hint for this year. Keep it quiet, dude. I need my rest.
You know how we all kid when we’re talking about how before someone was born they missed the brain train, or looks train, or whatever?
Don’t read me in that tone, you know we’ve all done it.
Well, I took the W train where ‘W’ means weird.
Not that I’m weird.
Okay, I may be just a bit weird.
Alright, a LOT weird.
But, my body..my body is weird in so many ways.
Like the time everyone in the family got pink eye, except me. I got cellulitis and the ophthalmologist treating me was so excited (giddy, actually) to see it he dragged out the huge book of “Eye Diseases: Things That Look Horrid and Can Kill” (I may have made up that title) to excitedly tell me that he’d heard of this in school, but never thought he’d see it. It being the bacteria marching through my eye and headed to my brain (it stopped before the brain, thank God, or I’d be posting this from the hereafter).
Or the time I got strep throat, tested positive for it, and my tonsils had been gone for over 40 years. Or when I got mono, from one of my grandchildren, or when I got mumps twice, or when my skin turned green as a Martian and one side of my neck (lymph gland) looked like I’d swallowed a softball and it was lodged there, and NO ONE knew what was wrong with me..never figured it out, and no it wasn’t hepatitis.
Or the time I stopped breathing because the doctor gave me a shot of penicillin. I was three, and sick, and that’s how sick three year olds were treated in the Stone Age. That lead to a lifelong theory that I was deathly allergic to penicillin, until I did the penicillin challenge test, and yay! I’m not allergic to penicillin, but when I take it I get all puke-y, so I really didn’t gain anything.
I told the allergy doc about my weird body when I went to see her for my pineapple allergy.
Hmm…wassat? You’ve never heard of a person being allergic to pineapples?
Neither had I, or she, until I ate pineapple one day – after years of enjoying this delicious fruit without incident – and immediately found breathing terribly difficult as my throat closed.
It wasn’t the first time it had happened, but it was the first time that pineapple was the only thing I’d eaten, so it was the first time I realized that I was allergic to pineapple and not the preservatives in trail mix. You see, a few weeks before this I’d eaten a trail mix with dried fruit and nuts. It had pineapple in it and shortly after eating it my hands doubled in size and my arms, hands, neck, and face were covered in hives.
That was fun.
No, no it wasn’t, but I blamed the preservatives and swore off anything dried.
After the last episode I went to the allergy doctor and told her about the pineapple reaction.
She stared at me for at least a full minute before saying, “I’ve been doing this for over 15 years, and I’ve never heard of that.”
Of course she hadn’t, but then she hadn’t known me back then.
Rather than have me test the pineapple theory, to be sure I had the allergy, she gave me an Epi-Pen to carry around.
Because, PINEAPPLE and ninja PINEAPPLE are out there, people.
Has it really been over three weeks since I posted?
And now I don’t have time.
*draws deep breath*
Between now and February I have
12 holiday gifts to make
11 parties to
10 bottles of wine to (ahem) sample
6 geese to stuff
5 golden opportunities to place foot in mouth
4 calls to make
3 french pastries to eat
2 dove bars to inhale when no one’s looking
And a car trip to the country!
I wish I was kidding, but I’m not.
See you sometime in 2015…or sooner if something besides this happens.
I’ll leave you with this from the out-of-context theater of Thanksgiving at my house…
Hubby to 5-yr. old grandson: Do NOT hit people with the gun.
5-yr. old grandson (after a moment’s contemplation): But, I can shoot them, right?
Hubby: Of course. Just don’t hit them.
Merry Chrishanukwanzaabox to all and to all a good night!!