Doctor, doctor, can't you see I'm burning, burning

Thompson Twins -- Doctor, Doctor -- 1984


Sooooooo. I pissed and moaned a tad about my sad excuse for last week's vacation. I took that particular week off for 2 specific reasons, the first being that it was a lighter week at work, the second being that the weather has steadily improved here. Spring had sprung and it would be ideal to complete several outdoor projects.

Needless to say, it was rainy and raw almost all week. The temperature soared all the way into the low 50's. It had been in the mid 70's just one week prior. I tried to get whatever I could done, but there was little time between rainstorms.

Then, on the final days of vacation, I started to feel crappy. Hot/cold, weak.

Sick.

But when Monday came, I dragged by sick, sorry ass into work because I felt that I should. I needed to prepare for a number of high-profile events, and I wanted to catch up on what I had missed for a week.

I felt like someone dug me out of a pine box and sat me in an office chair. I was coughing so hard that my chest hurt. I was tanked up on Tylenol SEVERE COLD and cough drops. I barely made it through the day and dragged myself back home. Not that anyone particularly cared at the office. In this job, it's all about getting the work done with as few complaints as possible. No matter the personal toll.

When I woke up to the sweet sound of my alarm this morning, I came to the realization that I could barely breath with even the slightest exertion. I called in sick to work. And then I called my doctor.

For me, that's saying everything about just how awful I felt.

They gave me an appointment for the afternoon. I spent all day in a merry-go-round of either sleeping, coughing, or blowing my nose. By the time I took a shower, got dressed and made it to my doctor, I was cold and clammy.

His diagnosis: Bronchitis with a side order of Sinus Infection. For dessert: a case of Pneumonia if the antibiotic pack doesn't work in the next 48 hours.

I left there with three prescriptions. The mega-antibiotics, an inhaler to open my cemented airways and allow this sludge to exit, and a cough medication with Codeine for some hacking relief.

Oh, and a note that states I am not allowed to return to work until Friday. I had to beg to go back that soon. He was insisting that I stay out until next Monday. I had to plead for mercy and explain that my boss might show up at my house. He was serious.

So was I.

He relented and said that I could go to work on Friday ONLY after I spoke to him on Thursday about how I was doing. If I was not appreciably better, all bets were off. We have known each other for many, many years. He knows I have to be pretty damned desperate to come to him for help, and even worse to accept a note for work.


I find all of this disconcerting. For most of my life, I've been a fairly healthy person. Once I began working in the Emergency Room when I was 22, it seemed that I developed a typical sort of super-immunity that protects the staff. Because our immune systems are under chronic assault from all sorts of bacteria and viruses, emergency room employees, even more so than general hospital staff, will quickly find that they don't often suffer from the general crap that the rest of the population carries around. Since I have little patience for being sick, I loved the idea that the piddly illnesses appeared to bypass me.

Now, it seems that I get walloped by the tiniest little bacteria. I hate it. I hate feeling weak. I hate being slowed down by physical frailties. I am going to be one miserable old person.

In the meantime, I am luxuriating in the semi-fog of a Codeine enhanced evening. Cough free and ready to roll. If someone could just find me my fuzzy robe, I'll be all set to go.


You'll know it's mine by the snotty tissues in the pocket.

I've been gone much too long

Tin Machine -- Stateside -- 1991


Weep no more, my beloveds. I have returned. I was on another epic vacation. Better than the last one.

Let me quench your insatiable interest in my life by summing up my vacation in a few short words.


Time off for outdoor projects.


= entire week of torrential rainfall followed by chest wracking cold and cough

= misery for 7 days and NOT ONE SINGLE PROJECT COMPLETED.



Asshole life.

The end.

I got my own thing and I do it in my own time

The Getaway People -- All About It -- 1998


Gather round people. We want to welcome Miss Medway Massachussets back into the fold! She has been among the missing for a while, but now she has returned. Let's all give her a hearty round of applause for her stealthy, stalking ways! Anyone for a rousing chorus of Kumbaya?


In other news, the littlest Poodle boy

continues to heal. He had his stitches out last week and was cleared for leash walking. However, we have not yet been given the clearance to return to Rally training, so we recruited a last minute stand- in for the new session.


Trevor.



He was not advised of this development beforehand. We just grabbed a bucketful of Liver and dumped him into the car. He didn't really have time to study the signs.

Or take his Ritalin.

So, for your entertainment and my embarrassment, I will take you through our training session last evening. From both my point of view, and Trevor's. My actual words are in bold. The rest are just the thoughts racing through our respective heads during the session.


We enter the training room. Me, my Mother and Trevor. We are greeted by our trainer, Linda. There are 2 other new teams. One is a woman with a Bernese Mountain Dog, and another woman with a small, scruffy looking dog. The generic version. Neither have any prior Rally experience. Even though I have had 2 six-week sessions worth of training, we begin at the beginning as Trevor only knows Agility. And in Agility, the dog has to be trained to work AWAY from the owner. They have to move out to do the obstacles. In Rally, the dog primarily needs to be at the owner's side. So I knew this would be a new way of thinking for Trevor.

We get ourselves settled and make our introductions. Trevor is clearly nervous. His ears are back, his tail is still. He is eying the Berner suspiciously. Since he lives with all little dogs, he views other large dogs as vicious curs and avoids them accordingly.

Our trainer preps us for a few minutes, has us walk the course without our dogs and then the show begins. She calls Trevor and me up as first team.

This is where it all began to take a left turn into entertainment vs. sport:


Me: Hmmmmmm. Mkay. We should be able to do this. I mean, I've done courses like this with Willie. How much different could it be? " Okay, ready Trev?"

Trevor: What the hell???? What is this?? Where is the teeter and the A-Frame? Hey, you up there, don't you realize we're in the wrong place? I better get outta here!

Me: "Trev. Trev. Watch me! Are you ready?" What the hell has gotten into him? He looks like he's gonna run off any sec.......... "Trevor! With me. Now, let's go!"

Trevor: OK, I get it. We're supposed to WALK! Why didn't she just say heel? Maybe because she's a moron. She thinks I have to come to a special school to walk. Man, does she ever need some training. What??? Wait.....where are you going???? Why are you turning around and around those cones? Hey, those cones are kinda cute. I should stop and sniff them. Yep, I should probably sit right here and sniff them nice and deep. They smell like Jack Russell mixed with Pit Bull. What???? Oh, we're still supposed to be walking?

Me: "Trev! Leave it". What in hell is so interesting about those stupid cones? "C'mon Trev. With me. Over here". Oh no, we have to take a sharp left. How am I going to keep from running into hi........."Ooops. Sorry Trev" Let's keep going. Maybe no one noticed. "Trev. Sit. Sit Trev. Trevor, SIT" Shit, he won't sit. What's he looking at? Why won't he sit? Do I get disqualified if I bump his butt to make him sit? Remember you have to keep your tone cheerful. Rally training is supposed to be all about fun. "Trev. SIT" Oh, thank god he sat. Lemme give him some treats for that. "Okay, let's go"

Trevor: What is wrong with this chick? Walk, stop, sit, get up, with me, watch me. I DO NOT think this is Agility. I wish she would just make up her mind and...............HEY!!!! TREATS!!!!! I LOVE TREATS!!!!!! I need another one. Please. I'll sit nicely. What? I'm supposed to be walking! How's about I lay down? That's always good for a treat!!!

Me: Oh. my. god. He's laying down. Please get me out of here. Why did I think this would be a good idea?

Trevor: Well, if you won't give me a treat for laying down, I know.........I'll whisper!!!! Yes. Whispering. EVERYONE loves that trick!!! Huh, where are we going? Without a treat? But I'm hungry for a treat. I neeeeeeeeeeeeed a treat! I wonder if she brought my ball. I sure do love to play with my ba..................

Me: "Trev...no whispering. C'mon. Let's go. With me" Holy shit. He's actually listening. He's right with me. "Good boy Trev! Nice job paying atten............" Where the heck did he go??? "Trev. Trev. TREVOR! WITH ME!! Yes. Good boy"

Trevor: That's funny to duck behind her that way. Gets her all crazy and then she gives me a treat when I come back. Gotta remember that trick for next time.

Me: Great. He's gotta lay down on this one. He likes that. "Trevor. Wait. Now down!"

Trevor: Wohoooooooo! Down is my favorite. Here I go!!!!

Me: Owwwwwww! What the heck is he doing? He slapped me on the way down!!! Please let me keep from laughing. Please. Oh no, everyone else is laughing at him.

Trevor: Hey. Those ladies liked my spectacular down. I better try it again!!!

Me: "Trevor. UP! UP! Trevor, get up. Let's go"

Trevor: This girl is a killjoy. She is ruining my act. The ladies are loving me. Alright, alright. I'm coming. What? With you again? Okay. Can I have another treat? Did you find my ball? It's yellow. Maybe we should go find it. Over there. In the bag. C'mon, let's go.

Me: Two more obstacles. Thank god. We only have to do a 360 degree circle and then walk slowly to the finish. I can't wait to be done. "Trevor. With me". Please let him turn when I do.

Trevor: Hey!!! Lady. You bumped into me!!! That's not right. I could'a been hurt. I'd better lay down and check myself for injuries.

Me: Oh no. He's laying down again. "Trevor. let's go. Trev? Trevor. What are you doing?" What is he watching?

Trevor: Well, that little dog is cuuuuuuute! I think it's a girl. Maybe she'll like me. I hope she doesn't bite. Biting is scary. WHAT??????? OMG, she barked!! I better hide!!! She might be coming to kill me.

Me: "TREVOR!! TREVOR!!!!!!! STOP!!!!!" Is he behind me????? I think he's trying to hide behind my legs. If he keeps twisting around, we're gonna fall. "TREVOR. SIT! YES. GOOD BOY!!!"

Trevor: I sat. Can I have a treat? It was a good sit. Very pretty. Straight. Can I have a treat now, please? Puleeeeese??

Me: We're done. "C'mon Trev. Good boy"



According to the audience, it was the funniest Rally demonstration they had ever seen. Trevor was even more enthusiastic on the second and third run thru. We used up all the Liver treats, he made friends with a Sheltie by peeking at her through the crook of my arm, and no one was maimed.

All in all, it was a successful first night.



Now please excuse me while I dye my hair, burn off my fingerprints and change my name.

you used to be a victim now you're not the only one

Accidents Will Happen -- Elvis Costello -- 1979



For the past 2 days, the local news has inundated our area with this ongoing story.

It sickens me. Aside from the questions I have about the mother's culpability in leaving her 2 year old for a week with these 2 scumbags, it doesn't take away from the fact that her toddler is dead.

So, in honor of the pigs who prey on the weak and vulnerable around the world, I would like to propose that we give them a dose of my very special type of medicine.


For the brother and sister in the article above, I suggest that we place them in a prison cell, together. We feed only one of them on every 5th day. Food smothered in hot sauce. Let the other watch as their sibling suffers the indignity of scarfing down hellaciously hot food to keep from starving. Knowing what is coming for them. No water will be served. If they get thirsty enough, let them drink from the toilet.

I think that might be a start. If they die, oh well. In my honest opinion, no great loss.


Then we can move on to this guy.
Let's take him out of isolation. For amusement. And leave his cell door open for one hour every night. Anyone who would like a swipe at him is welcome. As a matter of fact, let's arm the biggest and toughest prisoners with walkers and canes. Just for Jack. And then, for shits and giggles, we will take all of the prisoners diagnosed with Hepatitis, TB and HIV out of their cells to spit on him. Just like he did to his 2 elderly victims.


Then we will take our revenge on him.
With the same type of drill he used on his dog. Except we won't start with his skull. We'll strap him down and start lower. His feet. And work our way up. Slowly. A few burr holes at a time. When we get to the really sensitive parts, we'll prop his head up to watch.


We'll finish up the scumbag justice 2008 tour by visiting these 2.
I think a just punishment would be a little forced inhalation of their own. Maybe in the form of this , beginning at 800 ppm. We can work our way up to a higher dose if we so desire. We will carry out our plan of justice in a windowed room, with a video camera. For posterity sake.




Feel free to add scumbags of your choosing to my list. Together, we can devise appropriate punishments for them. It will be fun! Kind of like a scary stories sleepover.........except true.



C'mon. Whaddya' got?

Got to keep searching and searching

David Bowie -- Station To Station -- 1976




My head is empty. I have nothing of interest to impart.

So, I will play another round of "what brought you here"? To my Blog.

Aside from my regular devotees, of course.

Here are a few searches that led to my doorstep:



1.Chris Hansen probiotics takeover

Huh? What?

2.Into every life some rain must fall:

No friggin kidding. It's been pouring around here lately. You?

3.Tired tattoos:

If your tattoos are tired, spruce them up a bit. Give them a makeover. A Sharpie will do the trick temporarily, but if you really want some spicy tattoos, get yourself to a local prison, post haste! Tell them I sent you.

4.Repairing Poodles dislocated knees:

I'm good, but not quite at the Orthopedic expert level quite yet. However, there is this really cool pull-twist-pop-method that seems to be effective. The Poodle runs like the wind after you try it!

5.Did she make you cry, make you breakdown:

Well, she nearly did. I refuse to discuss it any further. Doctor's orders.

6.Poodles standard tired:

My Poodles standards are often exhausted. Actually, I sometimes wonder if they have any standards at all. They will sink to any level to get what they want. I don't really know what to do to raise their standards, aside from dislocating their knees.

7.Looking for a dog toy called Larry the Cucumber:

You sneaky asshole!!! You are trying to steal a cucumber right from under the snout of my Trevor. Back away from Larry. Just move away slowly and no one will get hurt. Good. Now go find your mutt a tomato!

8.Tired of lazy, unmotivated boyfriend:

Princess? Is that you? Thank goodness you finally came to your senses!

9.Tattoos for the upper chest boob:

How about for the lower chest, boob? Or the thigh, moron? Maybe the arm, asshat? Possibly consider the back, jerk?

10.Julie Wilson party Blog:

Damn you Julie Wilson!! You had a party and didn't invite me! How could you? I thought we were BFF. And then you Blogged about it!

11.I absolutely love you:

Well, thanks for the sentiments, but most likely, if we met, I would absolutely hate you.

12.Apricots tattoos:

Who in the hell would tattoo an apricot? I've heard of beginners tattooing oranges, or pigskin. But apricots. Wouldn't the tattoo be kinda wrinkly?




So for this post, I apologize heartily. Just not feelin' it right about now. Don't know when I'll be better.