Dancing in the streets!

Well, not quite, but damn close.

I go under the knife two weeks from today, Monday, May 13, 2013. Do you think I need to worry about the curse of Monday the 13th? Personally, I’m more worried about the surviving the 14 days before then.

The doctor said it is all pretty routine. He compared it to a root canal more than once. And you all know I love root canals! I am so looking forward to this. (Seriously, I am totally into this!)

One word of caution: as not all of my issues are traditional Carpal Tunnel indicators, it is possible I won’t feel total relief. But, the good doctor mentioned that with my family history of Carpal Tunnel and the fact that all my symptoms came on simultaneously, he is cautiously optimistic.

I, on the other hand, am over-the-top optimistic. Two more weeks and my living hell is over.

Join me in the streets!

Hmmm, thought I posted this a couple of days ago.

I would like to welcome the three latest entries to the nations of the world who have adopted marriage laws that do not discriminate against sexual minorities:

 France – hell, what took them so long.

 New Zealand – a first for the South Pacific.

Uruguay – South America is making North America look bad.

How I spent my afternoon vacation.

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Happy Earth Day!

Please tell me that you have hugged a tree today!

Don’t worry. Your spousal unit won’t be jealous. Contemplate for a moment: your spousal unit is jealous of you hugging a tree. Could this be a sign of deeper issues?

Oh, but when you start playing with the nuts, yeah, spousal unit has cause to be concerned!

Be good to Mother Earth!

Dream a little dream

I started taking Chantix a week before I quit smoking cigarettes, so I’ve been taking it for over six weeks now. (Hold the applause, hold the applause!) One of the side effects of Chantix is suppose to be crazy dreams. I’ve had a few good dreams, but sadly, they all center around cigarettes.


Take last night’s dream for instance…

A number of us, I’m not sure how many but a throng had gone to visit New York City. Doug, my ex from many, many years ago was there. I remember him, quite frankly because he was being a total jerk. I don’t know what I ever saw in him.

Jane, my beloved sister was there. I remember her, because she had used her last match 5 days ago, and had been force to chain smoke, lighting her new cigarette with the butt of her old one. Five days of constant smoking and no sleep doesn’t really work for you, Jane. Give it up.

Richard was there. I don’t really remember him, but he was there, I am sure.

Anyway, we all walked down to the Village to visit the Stonewall Inn, that bastion of gay rights. When we got there, the building had been torn down. Truthfully, the entire block had been razed and in its place was a big-ass, big-box store named, “Cigarettes-R-Us”. It was open 24/7/365. There were lines of people waiting to get in.

Do you think there is anything symbolic in the dream?

I think it is safe to say that I have not had a cigarette in 38 days, 21 hours, 7 minutes and 45 seconds. I think saying I am an ex-smoker might be crossing that thin line the separates reality from fantasy.

Hi!

I just walked into the piano room.

Does anyone have a fricking clue why I came in here?

Oh, and my appointment with the surgeon is on Apr 29. Everyone assumes the surgery would be successful, but I would really like to speak with the expert before I announce for sure. I don't get the sympathy vote often, and I want to milk every penny.

Oh, and Richard's biopsy (at least partial) is back: Non-small cell lung cancer. He has tests tomorrow that will determine the stage. And then we can begin planning our 'vacations'!

Fine, so the sympathy vote, once again, goes to Richard. Yeah, whatever.

Oh, oh, I remember... I came in the piano room to see if I left my cell phone in here. I didn't.

Good night, now.

Vindication is mine.

First, let me say that whoever dreamed up the “Nerve Conduction Test” should have a special spot in the halls of hell waiting for him/her. What a devilishly twisted little examination (s)he devised.

I should have been apprehensive when the clinician asked if I would like to visit the men’s room before we got started. And you would think that the eerie sound of Margaret Hamilton cackling in the next room would have raised my suspicions. But no, I was calm a cucumber when the doctor entered the room with his stun gun, a box of rusty needles and a laptop.

I'll just give you  highlights of the test: the good doctor zapped me with the taser again and again. Between each jolt, he would meticulously record the number of times my body flopped on the examination table like a fish out of water. When he grew bored with electro-shock therapy, he began his deviant version of acupuncture. I am still bleeding.

But, on the bright side (and this is where the vindication comes in), I have the worst case of Carpal Tunnel the doctor has ever seen!

I’M NUMBER ONE!!! I’M NUMBER ONE!!!

Something I read on the internet.

Sorry, I'dont' know who said this or where it came from, but...

“Some people treat their bodies like a temple, I treat mine like an amusement park.”

If the shoe fits, wear it.

Do these shoes make my ass look fat?

Mouseketeers Lose One of Their Finest!

Beach Blanket Bingo will never be the same.

Sib trip possibilities!

Okay, you want ideas, I got ideas.

We could do a TumTum tour. Visit our cousins in Spokane, jaunt out to Mom’s birthplace, visit the old Newell Cemetery in TumTum. Maybe even find the old homestead. And then there is Grandpa's dam!

We could do Dad’s old stomping ground. Yes, visit the great cities of Wendell, Bliss, Buhl, Shoshone and Hagerman. This would be a repeat for Karla and myself, so we could show you so much and give you such a family education.

We could do a New Mexico extravaganza: visit Cousin Carol in Albuquerque, do Santa Fe, see which sibling is abducted by aliens in Roswell, visit some cliff dwellings.

Of course, there is the Oregon Coast. Even I don’t get there often enough.

If we want to be urbane, we could base a sib trip in a city… say San Diego, San Francisco, Santa Barbara… might be expensive, depending on timing… but you never know.

I don’t mean to downplay the trek to the Vagg and Crutchfield hometown of Saco, Montana. There is just so much to do there and… well, I just get emotional thinking about it.

Now I have been being western centric because of our Hawaiian contingency, but let’s not complete rule out a farther east destinations.

A St. Louis/Memphis combo could be fun.

Or the Great Smoky Mountains and Asheville, NC

Maybe this is the year for New England.

There are so many possibilities!

Medical Update.

This is really an age specific post.

For those of you under 40, you’re all going to be, “Like whatever. I saw the life choices the poor old dude made. Ain’t surprised.”

For those of you over 60, it’s going be, “Been there, done that. Poor little bastard has to get better gripes or I’m going to stop visiting this blog.”

Okay, I admit, it is only Carpal Tunnel. When the doctor first told me she thought that is what I had, my first thought was, “Is it near the Tunnel Grand -St-Bernard? This could be really cool?” I was kind of hoping for a geographic specific regimen. Two or Three years in the Swiss Alps and I would be cured.

Sadly, reality is not as much fun. Seems that Carpal Tunnel is not geographically specific and there is no reason to believe that going someplace really neat will cure the syndrome.

So, begrudgingly, I have given a nod to reality. I am seeing the people who give me shock therapy, oops, I mean a Nerve Conduction Study, on April 15th. On April 29th, I will consult with the surgeon, assuming it really is that tunnel that is not in a neat part of the world, and it can be operated on. Everyone seems to think it will be a slam dunk.

And, just so you know, I have not had a cigarette in 23 day, 15 minutes and 41 seconds. I don’t mean to say that I have quit, just that I am an angry smoker who would gladly knock down a little old lady to snag her lit cigarette. The real difference is that a little old lady smoking a cigarette could probably whip my ass, and then I’d be having to explain so many things.

I know, you are all like, “Yawn, heard this before. I think this is number 66 or 67… but there is that hazy decade of the ‘80s.”

Okay, I’m doing it different this time. I’m doing drugs.

Hey, if you can’t find the kitchen, how are you going to find your keys, so how are you going to find the front door, so how are you going to be sure…. You sure ain’t going out for a pack of cigs!

You get the drift.

No, I mean purely legal drugs. And it really does help. I still have moments, but for the most part people don't realize that... Oh, there was that family the other day that I told to "Get out of Dodge", but I think they knew it was time to move on, anyway, I'm kidding, no dead bodies anywhere on the property. Or any adjacent properties, for that matter.