Finally some sleep! Last night we went out with a group of old friends. We were supposed to see a local band "Angie and the Car Wrecks" they cancelled. I ate some of the worst pizza I have ever had, pretty sure they commission a local home-ec class to do the cooking, it was thin, covered in I think tomato paste, govmt chee, and all sliced up on a brown plastic lunch tray.
We had planned to stay on our friends boat so we wouldn't have to drive home, it's a beauty, 40 something feet of teak and fiberglass, it has a state room, 2 heads, a nice size salon, and the v-birth converts into a pointy queen size bed. If I owned a boat it would have to be one like that.
Since the band cancelled, and Shelton is a small and shrinking town with zero entertainment except the smokey casino, all ten of us went back to the boat for the rest of the evening. We aren't generally late night people, we go to bed at 10, but when we are with this particular group of friends we can stay up to greet the sun, we went to bed at 2:30. And I had the best nights sleep that I have had in a long time, I guess I can't say that 6 hours is a full night sleep, but it was continuous. I'm a little tired today, slightly hung over, and feeling a little swimmy like I'm still on the boat, it doesn't take long for me to develop sea legs, but it seems like it takes a day or two to get rid of them.
Today is a lazy lay around the house and eat carbs kind of day. Our favorite day after food is a bowl of Velveeta mac and cheese with mashed potatoes and pork and beans. Toss in a couple slices of buttered bread, and you've got yourself a carbohydrate bomb fit for even the most hung over king.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Let me just start by saying I LOVE my job and the people I work for. They treat me like a princess, and I can’t imagine working anywhere else, we’ve been through a lot and I am grateful that they let me play on the team.
That being said, my workload has increased what feels like 8 fold in the last month. I’m no longer wonder Madge who can leap stacks of paperwork in a single bound while doing my nails and thinking about what I’m going to cook for dinner or the next tampon craft project. I’m Madge, the dogpaddling water treader who is working 10+ hours of overtime a week, Madge who called in sick to Henry’s so I could go to the office, only to have that BITCH Karma come back and try to give me the cold I told him I already had.
I don’t like that Madge, fortunately, there is a light at the end of my paper laden tunnel, and I’m armed with a jackhammer instead of a pick-axe and shovel, oh how I love industrial power tools, and their amazing ability to bust through anything. Along with that I just got a new assistant, and she’s smart, and what appears on the surface to be a lot like me, she’s only been with us a week, and I so appreciate everything she is doing. I feel like I can breathe a little.
But I still have insomnia; I woke up at 2:30 this morning 2 freaking 30! The problem with insomnia is if I knew I was going to have it, I would have taken something before bed, I have prescription meds for it, but I never know when it’s going to rear its ugly head, and 2:30 is too late to take anything. So there I lay, thinking about what was on my desk, and how I was going to write this post. I tossed and turned there for two and a half hours until Steve got up and left for work then I got up and came in here to write. So now I’m tired, and work is going to be stressful, which will make me more tired, and when I get home, I’ll want to fix dinner and go to bed, thinking that I’m tired enough not to take anything, and I’ll wake up, and start this vicious cycle all over again.
I’m getting sleepy now, and it’s ten to 6, I could go back to bed and try to take a nap before work, I don’t have to get out of bed until 7:45. I think that’s what I’m going to do….
Sweet dreams J
Friday, February 11, 2011
One of my pooches, Carli has a toe infection. Googling dog toe infection seemed like the reasonable thing to do, this is what I found.
Dog Saves Man's Life by Biting Off Toe: Jerry Douthett Has Best Hangover Ever(CBS) A
For months, Jerry Douthett had refused to see a doctor for the festering digit, in spite of his wife's pleas and her suspicion that he had out of control diabetes.
About two weeks ago the couple went to a bar, where Douthett told the Grand Rapids Press that he drank four or five beers.
"Jerry had had all these Margaritas, so I just let him sleep," his wife Rosee, a registered nurse, told the paper. "But then I heard these screams coming from the bedroom, and he was yelling, 'My toe's gone, my toe's gone!'"
Kiko, the family dog, had suddenly become a surgeon.
"It wasn't an aggressive attack. He pretty much just ate the infection, so he saved my life," Jerry Douthett said.
He was treated at Spectrum Health in
"Maybe he thought it was not part of Jerry's body," Rosie told the
Jerry Douthett says Kiko, a white terrier with brown ears, is a hero. Now that he knows he is diabetic, he has given up drinking.
What the FUCK!! There are several problems here
1. Dude’s wife is a nurse and didn’t make sure he went to the doctor
2. Rotting flesh stinks, and I know for a fact that you don’t want to be in the same bed with a rottting toe, gross.
3. I imagine their house is a disgusting pit of despair, that you can't smell the rotting toe and chose to do something about it.
4. The dog ate his toe!!! His wife thought it was "great" that it only ate the rotten part!!!
5. I always thought that a cat would eat a person, but a dog wouldn’t, that myth….. BUSTED!!
Sunday, February 6, 2011
I don't know what the problem is with the comments on my posts, and I found yesterday that some people had been spammed. I know for sure that IT was... Sorry man hope you didn't think I sensored you. I don't know how to fix it, and I'm pretty sure it wasn't anything I did. Does anybody know?
Friday, February 4, 2011
Thursday, February 3, 2011
A few years back, a really nice lesbian couple moved in next door to Henry. One was a metal sculptor, and the other was a computer engineer. He got to know them pretty well, they invited him over for dinner a few times, and they came to his birthday parties.
He couldn’t wait to tell me about his new neighbors, he said “Some women lesbians moved in next door, they’re lesbians, but they’re nice” I don’t know if he thought because they were lesbians that they were members of some he-woman man hating club or what.
Having the ladies next door prompted him to ask me:
“How do women have sex with each other?”
I explained it as simply as I knew how, and when I was all done he said
“You mean to tell me that they put their faces down there? They put their tongues in there? Well, (with the most disgusted face he knows how) that is just putrid, I can’t believe that they do that down there to each other, that is just putrid and gross.”
(It has been a long time since he has talked to him, he has decided that they're prostitutes now)
Then he asked:
“Then how do the queers do it?”
So after I explained the mechanics of “the queers” doing it, and how if the one on top cares at all for the one on bottom he’ll do what’s called a “reach around” and how that all works, he wanted to know what oral sex is, he said “I think I know what it is, but I just want you to tell me so that I’m sure” so I told him, and again with the most disgusted face he can make he said “are you trying to tell me that the queers suck each others peters?” Yes, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. “well that is just disgusting, and no woman ever tried to do that to me, and I would never do that to a woman, that is putrid.” “A friend of mine was going to make it with a girl in the car during a dance (during the depression), and do you know, when they got to the car, she opened up her legs, and the smell almost made him vomit, he got the hell out of there, and he told me to stay away from her too” I said “wow, that’s a good friend” he said “boy I’d say last thing I want is to smell a stinky pussy”
Some other people moved in across the street the summer before last, a really nice late 50’s couple. Henry didn’t meet them for about the first 6 months they lived there. The room where he spends the majority of his time faces his back yard, he doesn’t get out front often, and he was convinced that since he had never met them and he never saw them coming or going that they must be growing pot. I still don’t know how he was able to deduce that from them never being home, and it’s a very high-end home, not the kind of place you would turn into a grow operation, and they bought it. I tried to explain that to him, but he wasn’t having it. It wasn’t until he rode his scooter across the street that he finally learned that they are good people; he invited them to his birthday too. He invites everyone he meets to his birthday party. Usually 35 or so show up, and his birthday is just around the corner in May he’ll be 96.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
I was listening to the radio, I don’t generally listen to top 40 / club music, but it was what the boy left on, it’s not that I don’t like it, but I really prefer our local radio station, the mix is good and for the most part the music doesn’t grate on my nerves.
This song came on, I’m not even sure who sings it, I looked up the lyrics, and they were lost on me, except this one line.
Everybody dies, but not everybody lives.
How true is that? How often do people shuffle off to jobs they hate, to spend time with people they don’t like, only to come home to a miserable relationship? My motto has always been, if it doesn’t make you happy, change it. Life is too short to live a miserable existence, to be unhappy, but so many people do it. Why? Because they are afraid of change? Because they are afraid of the unknown? Because they think for just a split second that they aren’t worthy? I just don’t get it. We all have our insecurities, our quirks, the things that live way deep down that we don’t like or want other people to see, but why do we let those things keep us from living? Its human nature I guess, but I don’t get it.
Living to me, is being happy in my life, relationships, and job. Living to me isn’t measured by the money in the bank, but by the moments that make me who I am. Just like to me success isn’t measured by my job title, or how big of house I have or what kind of car I drive, success to me is how much happiness I have in my life, I have a great house, and the best husband anybody could ask for. But I know that I could live in a camp trailer by the river, and still be happy, and still be living. My life is really good, and I feel like I’m living, not just existing.
Everybody dies, but not everybody lives. What does that mean to you?