Some people might say my life is in a rut, but I'm quite happy with what I got

Going Underground -- The Jam -- 1980



Just when I thought it had gotten ugly enough, life spit right into my shocked face and laughed.

Sadie did not have some tropical plague. As a matter of fact, she didn't even have another UTI as I had expected. Her specimens were clean as a whistle. No infection. Of course. The Doc actually thought I probably gave my defenseless, gimpy, health-compromised little girl a teensy, little, bitty, gastric erosion.

In other words, the meds I dosed her with to help her leg chewed a hole in her gut. Charming. Go me!

So, the Vet came up with a conservative treatment plan, mainly because Sadie has a crappy immune system and reacts poorly to just about everything we do. The basis of the simple plan was a dose of Maalox 4 times per day to coat her stomach and allow the ulcer to heal, and plain Beechnut Stages 1 baby food-----chicken or turkey only. This way, her stressed GI system didn't really have to do any extra work. Seemed simple to me. So, when I got out of work, I headed to the grocery store to buy the recommended supplies. Sadie is very, very used to taking meds and she rarely gives me any trouble when it's dosing time. I felt certain we could make her feel better pretty quickly.

And then we met Maalox.

Apparently, Sadie hates Maalox. She made her stance very, very clear from the first dose.

I put the Maalox into her normal med syringe, laid her on her back on my lap and tried to open her mouth.

She clenched her jaw tighter than a gnat's ass. So I tried prying her jaw open. That only served to spill the Cherry flavored devil's juice all over my pants. And her chest.

So, I dipped the syringe back into the Maalox bottle to try again. And promptly dropped the syringe to the bottom of the container.

Once I was able to retrieve the now slick and messy syringe, I filled it up and attempted to give little Miss Tetanus Jaw her medicine; which is actually two full syringes to equal a complete dosage. This time, I figured I'd outsmart her and just drip the Maalox into the pouch between her skin and her teeth. I trusted that it would run back into her throat, so I held her muzzle firmly in an attempt to get her to swallow.

As I squeezed the syringe, she puffed her jowls............... and blew. Maalox. Everywhere.

All over me, her, the table, the floor. Sticky, gritty, cherry smelling hell juice. Everywhere.

By this time, I was ready to submerge her directly into the bottle of Maalox, but I figured she'd find a way to shoot out of the bottle and smack me in the eye, so I bit my tongue and tried once more. I filled the evil syringe, held her in a death grip and went for it. I may have uttered some profanity laced threats. I'm not sure. I was having trouble hearing. The Maalox was dripping from the side of my face into my ear canal.

I managed to get one syringe-nearly-full somewhere in the vicinity of her throat. Maybe.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

By the time I was done, we were both a crusty mess. She was indignant, so to tame the little beast, I offered her some of the yummy Beechnut baby food. She didn't feel the need to spit that out. She ate with gusto and we headed off to bed after a good clean-up.

When she got up in the morning, her crate was clean and dry. No accidents, no puking. I was a happy girl. Until my Mother innocently asked " what's wrong with her face?" When I looked down at her, she strongly resembled this:





She was having an allergic reaction to either the Maalox or the baby food. As soon as the Vet opened at 7 a.m., we were there. She got a whopping injection of Benadryl with a few chaser pills to take over the next 3 days, a bottle of Probiotics for her hinky gut and 4 cans of Canine Enteric Diet. No more baby food and NO MORE friggin Maalox.

She's better today, but the allergic reaction is more systemic. Her undersides are fire engine red. However, she is eating and drinking and is not puking and peeing the bed, so I am looking for a collar that coordinates nicely with her particular shade of fire engine red.

Thankfully, my tough girl seems to be on the mend. Even though she is going to be the death of me, I adore her. How could you not?




((DISCLAIMER: Taken PRIOR to another one of my incredible grooming sessions))

Hold your breath underwater, and know you’ll rise to the surface slowly

Black Again -- Stone Temple Pilots -- 2001



It's been another stellar week at the Casa De Avalon folks. Another fuckin' winner in a recent string full of top choice days.

I have been conspicously absent from Bloggerville because I HAD PLANS. Yep, heard it here first. Avalon actually had some plans. Not like vacation plans cause' that require wads of cash, but simple plans. 4 days off in a row. Thursday, Friday and the weekend. Our local Poodle club was having it's annual show on Friday, so I took Thursday off to help set up, Friday off to work the show and see lots of great dogs and Poodle compadres. A relaxing and fun time.

Sooooooo, as we full-time workers of the world understand, a day off from work = a day for appointments. Since I was not going to help set up for the show until Thursday evening, I arranged a few errands for the daytime. I also saved all of the laundry for that week knowing I would be home all day long and could take my sweet time fluffing and buffing my clothing. It was grooming week at Avalon Poodleville, and I also decided to give myself one of my infrequent treats. I scheduled Trevor to be groomed at the local grooming school. It's cheap and efficient, and they typically do an OK job. It saves me 3-4 hours of grooming. In addition, I scheduled an annual visit for one of the littlies, Annie, at the Vet.

The day went something like this.......

6:a.m. - Get up, let 5 dogs out, feed them, take shower, get dressed, load Annie into the car with poop sample ( FROM ANNIE! PIGS!!), load Trevor into the car.
Drive to Vet's.
Finish Vet appointment, drive Annie and Trevor to grooming school.
Open back hatch to discover that Annie has been carsick.
Unload Trevor, drop him off at grooming school, switch Annie to Trevor's clean crate, drive home.
Open hatch at home to find that Annie has now puked all over Trevor's crate.
Bring Annie inside, dump pukey crate mats into washer.
Wrangle 4 little dogs, towels, shampoo's and all other necessary accoutrement and bathe until 4 little Poodles are clean and shiny.
Gather all Poodle bedding, mats and blankets to be washed.
Head to basement with dirty Poodle linen and, upon turning corner, have fleeting thought of " why the hell is the basement flooded???? It's not raining?"
Realize that washing machine has finally died an undignified death and has, as a lovely parting gesture, flooded the entire basement with dirty wash water.
Commence to de-flooding basement with water-sucker-upper-machine. For hours.
Realize that no Poodles can be groomed in basement because water + electricity= not good thinking.
Finish de-flooding basement. Also realize that I have about eleventy loads of dirty laundry that need to be done.
Head to local laundromat for first trip.
Drive back out to grooming school to retrieve Trevor. Am greeted at the door by a dog faintly resembling a Poodle, but with a very oddly coiffed head. Decide dog looks close enough to Trevor and take him home, bemoaning the crappy job those stupid students did on my dogs hair.
Head to laundromat for second trip.
Come home with basket full of wet clothing to find the Princess in the kitchen, in obvious distress over dead washer. Note that Princess is holding full basket of dirty laundry.
Head to laundromat for third trip. Sum of all dirty laundry=17 dollars.
Head home, exhausted. Eat dinner.
Leave for training school to set up for dog show. Work, literally, on hands and knees spreading plastic on hangar-sized floor. Move heavy things, carry bulky things, set up measured things.
11:40 p.m. - Return home.

Friday,- work dog show. Exhausting but fun.

Saturday - begin arduous task of finding decent washer for cheapest price. Since we are currently in a bit of a financial struggle ( remember....new roof= 5600 dollars), worry that we can't afford washer. Do quick math and realize that laundromat will send us broke very quickly, so find washer at scratch-n-dent outlet. Sadly, washer cannot be delivered until NEXT weekend.

Sunday, groom 4 little dogs all day. Continue to bemoan fact that grooming school dropouts ( hopefully) ruined my dog's appearance........... and psyche.
Notice that Sadie is peeing an awful lot. Later notice that Sadie has peed the bed. Worry that recently treated UTI has returned. Curse at damned broken washer, and stupid scratch-and-dent slow delivery place. No washer to clean pee-pee beds. Crawl into bed.

Today, wake up to discover that Sadie had peed AND puked in her bed. Rush to work, leave to set up a health screening event, leave event and race to Vet, get sterile urine cup, race home, get Sadie to pee into cup, clean pukey and pee-pee crate, rush specimen back to Vet's, come back to work and worry that my dog has Ebola or Rickets or Dengue Fever or something really, really bad.


I am SO DAMNED TIRED I can hardly see straight. I'm sick of hearing myself complain. I'm sick of this stupid black cloud that seems to be hovering over my left shoulder. I'm afraid to glance over my right.

I just want things to slow down, to relax, to give me a chance to take a deep, cool breath and appreciate what is going right.


Except that, right now, it doesn't seem like anything is.

Ya know she didn't wanna do it, but he just pushed her to far....................

Everybody got a breakin' point, and Baby there you are -- She's A Runaway -- The BoDeans -- 1986



Addendum 09/19/07...............

Patty went to court today. Early in the morning, my Mom was able to get ahold of a contact she has in the court system to ask that someone talk to Patty prior to her appearance before the judge. We wanted them to understand the true story of what had happened, and wanted to make sure that she felt supported. Patty was counseled, her story was heard, recommendations were made to her, and she took her place in front of the judge. After reviewing ALL of the information, the judge told Patty that he felt this was simply a family dispute that got out of control, and that he was reducing the charge to Disorderly Conduct. Patty must attend 6 counseling sessions between now and her next appearance in November. Once the judge sees proof that she has completed his requirements, the charge of Disorderly Conduct will be dropped.


Patty is obviously relieved and returned home late last night. There is an order that prohibits any disputes in the home, and her husband has been advised of that as well.


We hope that the mandated counseling will allow Patty to deal with some of her underlying issues, and face what is undoubtedly coming next. As for her husband, he spent the day hiding out in the house, refusing to come outside if any neighbors were around.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



We were sitting at home last evening, quietly watching TV. The dogs were all sleeping soundly and dusk had just completed it's final slide into darkness. The neighborhood was silent aside from the chirping of stubborn, late-season crickets.

Our peace was quickly interrupted by the sound of multiple car doors slamming in quick succession, followed by the unmistakable crackling of Police radios. When I looked out the window, there were two squad cars parked in front of my house. As I made my way to the front door to find out what was happening, I saw another car pull up into my neighbor's driveway.

My neighbor Patty.

My friend.

A person who is as close to me as any family member.

Patty hasn't always lived in our neighborhood. I haven't either. My house was originally my Grandmother's house, but when my Grandmother was finally accepted into a lovely senior housing facility in 1988, she graciously provided my Mother with life use of her home. I essentially grew up in that neighborhood. As a child, I spent countless hours at my Grandmother's, biking around the little roads, playing in the woods, climbing the fence to run down to the lake. All of the older neighbors have known me since childhood. So, when me moved there in 1988, it felt like we were coming home.

Within a few years, Patty moved in next door. We didn't know her at all, but she had married the son of the elderly couple who owned the home. The son, Gerry had lived his entire life with his parents, never married, never even dated. All of the neighbors assumed he was gay. He worked a menial job for the town. His parents took care of everything around the home and he was responsible for nothing. By the time he met Patty, he was already in his mid 40's.

He met her in a restaurant where she was a waitress. Patty had never had an easy life. She grew up in a dysfunctional family ravaged by alcoholism. She left as a teen and was a married mother of 2 by the time she was 22. By the time she was 25, she was a divorced single mother left with little but the clothes on her and her son's backs. Her marriage had become so unbearable that she took her little boys and left. Her husband gave her nothing. Ever. Patty never had the funds or the means to pursue him.

Patty lived for many years as a single mother, supporting her boys with 2 jobs. She rebuilt her life and raised two generous, hard-working and kind young men. Patty was never well educated, but she managed to provide a loving home and a stable life for her boys. She never had much in a monetary sense, but she managed to pull herself and her children out of poverty.

Then, she met my neighbor's son. Gerry seemed like a decent prospect. He was polite and respectful. He was employed and his family was well known in the town. He courted her for several months. He was 10 years older than her, but neither seemed to mind the age difference. He accepted her and her sons into his life. He eventually asked her to marry him.

As the wedding approached, his parents offered the couple their home. They were aging and wanted to find a smaller, more manageable place, so Patty and Gerry moved in. Prior to moving into Gerry's family homestead, Patty had continued to live in her apartment with her sons. Once married, the 4 of them settled into the house next door to me and began a new life together. The boys were teens, Patty was in her mid 30's, Gerry in his mid 40's. Aside from the normal adjustments, everything seemed to be working out well. Patty found herself a new job with a higher wage. They completed DIY projects on the aging home together. The boys began to acclimate to their new school and joined local sports teams.

And we quickly became close with Patty. She fell directly, on the age scale, between me and my mother. She has a wonderful sense of humor, a giving and kind nature and she is a true friend. However, it was quickly apparent that her marriage to Gerry was an unhappy one. Within months of the wedding, he started with verbal abuse. He preyed on her insecurities about her poor education, her looks, her children. He belittled her in private. He was basically a bully.

Patty has never been a shrinking violet. There were screaming battles of epic proportions. The entire neighborhood could hear them as they battled. When Gerry would yell at her, she would yell back. But, when he felt she had gone too far, he would use the ultimate threat of tossing her and her sons out into the street. He assured her that the family homestead was his-------alone. He fed her fears about being left homeless and penniless once again. And then, during one argument, Gerry tried to choke her. Patty threatened to call the police and Gerry begged for forgiveness. He was petrified that his parents and co-workers would find out what he had done. Patty relented. He promised never to touch her again in anger. According to her, he has not.

But their marriage was never the same after that incident.

Patty stayed.

Over the intervening years, there have been calm periods in their relationship, and there have been very rocky times. They have basically lived as roommates for the past 10 years. Separate bedrooms, separate lives. Gerry has managed, with one injury or another, to never work a full time job for almost 20 years. He does NOTHING around the house or property. Patty, on the other hand, is a dynamo. She cooks, she cleans, she works full time. She does the work of 2 people. Gerry appreciates none of it and has continued to belittle and verbally abuse her.

We have tried so many times to convince her to leave. To divorce him and walk away with half of their assets ( which are few). He has her so convinced that she will be left with nothing that she is afraid to even try. Mainly, she bides her time, living her life in near silence, hoping for the day that things will get better. She is terrified of starting all over again. She is now 52.

She is genuinely one of the best people I have ever known.

But last night, he got to her. He came home and started in. Berating her about finances. Belittling her about not getting a promotion at her job. Bullying her when she got angry. Apparently, she had taken enough and told him to get out. He backed her into her room and told her to call the police if she wanted him out, knowing that she wouldn't. When he kept coming at her, she said that she remembered shoving him away. The next thing she knew, the Police were there.

They told her that his face was scratched. There were no marks on her.

My friend was arrested for Domestic Violence.

Of course, I knew none of this as I watched the procession of Police Officers walk in and out of their house. I had no idea what was happening. Then, I saw Patty being escorted down her dark driveway by 2 officers. When they got her to the car, I heard the distinctive sound of handcuffs, saw the officer's hand on the top of her head as they placed her into the back of the squad car.

I hurried to find my shoes and went out to the front. I advised the two officers that I had no intent on interfering with whatever was going on, but needed to be sure that my friend was alright. I asked if I could speak to her. They refused, but did ask her if there was anything I could do for her. She relayed that she would need a ride home. I told them to call me as soon as she was ready, no matter what the time. They drove away with my friend, arrested, in the back of the police car.

Within an hour, Patty came home to our house. She has been restricted from returning to her own home until she appears before the judge today. She decided to stay with some relatives nearby. She does not want to be anywhere in Gerry's vicinity right now. She honestly admits that she recalls shoving Gerry away from her, but does not remember scratching him. She is devastated and embarrassed about being arrested. She has never been in trouble before. She has also finally realized that this amount of damage to their relationship is irreparable.



So today my Mother and I wait to hear from Patty. She is not a terribly articulate person and I hope she is able to convey to the judge how she feels. Who she is.

I hope the judge is able to see past the poor grammar, the tear-swollen eyes, the accusations.........to see a broken person who has lived a facade. Who has done the best she can in a terrible situation. Who has tried her best to live the life she always wanted, only to be beaten down by the person who is supposed to love her the most.

I hope the judge can see that the wrong person was accused.




I hope my friend is strong enough to pick up the pieces of her life.....................one more time.

All those sneaky looks gazing down on you........

Are no substitute for our rendezvous -- Adam Ant -- Strip -- 1983




After work last evening, I went to Hospice. It was my initial interview to be able to Volunteer there with Trevor, my Standard Poodle/ Delta Pet Therapy partner. We were certified as a team way back in the end of April, but with the Princess moving home and all the ensuing madness, I have not had the ability to make the time commitment that is necessary for Hospice orientation.

So, I went last evening to meet the Volunteer coordinator and get the schedule for orientation. It is 21 hours of formal orientation over 9 weeks, and then 5 practicums on the patient floors with a trained Volunteer. I begin next week. Trevor does not come along until the formal training is finished.

Since I already volunteer in Pet Therapy at 2 other places, most of what I will be doing is not new to me, but the atmosphere and the mission are very, very different. I have only worked at my hospital, or it's associated nursing home.......where the staff are trained to treat, to heal, to save.


At Hospice, it's all about death with dignity. There is no saving the people who come to Hospice. They are terminal. It is only about allowing them to die. On their terms.

I hope I will be OK with this. I am so used to being the person who dives in to treat the patient. An ER Technician, a trained EMT. Show me a person down or struggling, I'm there. When I worked in the ER, I prided myself on my as-near-to-a-regular-rhythm-as-possible CPR skills.

Standing back and watching the dying might be tougher than I had expected. I hope I can stick with it because I truly believe it is important work. Bringing some moments of joy to a person. Allowing them, if only for a brief time to be something other than a patient. Watching the contentment spread across a face formerly masked by pain as they snuggle a warm, innocent dog. That's what therapy is all about.

And Trevor will be perfect for this type of work. Easygoing, happy.......with the deepest liquid brown eyes that shine from his soul. He lives to be loved.



Sometimes..........a little too eagerly-------------------------------------------------------


(Insert complete change of topic and tone here)


After I came home from my Hospice meeting, I greeted the fam and headed out to the yard to do my pooper-scoop duties. 5 dogs create A LOT OF SHIT, so I clean the yard at least twice a day. While I was out there, I could hear the neighbor behind me prattling on to her tow-headed cretins. She has about 3 or 4 of them, all seemingly under the age of 5. She spends the majority of her time shrieking in varying tones at them. Her volume range, in particular, endears her to me daily.

So it was with great surprise that I noted Trevor intently peering through the cracks in the stockade fence at the shrew. He was standing completely still. He seemed to have no idea that I was even in the same vicinity as him.

Every once in a while, his tail would begin to wag very, very slowly. Then he would move down a slat or two, apparently in an effort to get a closer look. I was certain that he was shocked by what he was witnessing. A grown woman, disheveled and frumpy, making her way around her yard as she muttered and yelled and berated her unruly tots. Trevor was simply fascinated.

Or so I thought. It was only after Trevor turned to walk toward the house that I noticed something odd. He was limping. Clearly not able to walk correctly.

I immediately looked to the back of the yard.....assuming that the shrew had done something evil to my dog. I mean, he hadn't been limping when he approached the fence. He was fine. She came near the fence, and suddenly--------- he wasn't moving as he stood there, and then.....HE WAS LIMPING!! I was ready for battle.

Until I spotted the undeniable evidence that Trevor's limping had NOTHING to do with the shrew causing him harm. It had to do with Trevor's intentions for the shrew.




HE HAD AN ENORMOUS ERECTION!!!! So big that he could hardly walk!!!




My dog is in love with a shrew. Maybe something about her cat-like screeching does it for him. Maybe it's the crusted baby food on her nightshirt at 6 PM that sends him horny. Maybe it's just the unwashed salty tang emitting from her body. Whatever the reason..........Trevor WANTED that shrew. In a bad, bad, very bad way. The entire time he was at that fence, peeking, he was sizing the shrew up to be his bitch.

Thank the heavens he is neutered. These amorous afflictions are rare, although we have had one other memorable experience with the unabating erection.

I had hoped to never share in the happiness of that experience again.....so as soon as I saw his condition last night, I quickly removed him from the yard for a time out to calm himself down.

But now I worry that I have a Peeping Trev on my hands.



Are there rehab programs for canine peepers?


Do you think the Hospice staff will mind?




Somebody, please help me. My life is just not right.

Did I ask too much?

One -- U2 -- 1991


Since I have absolutely nothing of value to write about, I decided to rip off some other Bloggers and talk about how some of my meager audience is finding it's way to me. Aside from the Poodle people, of course.
Who I pander to without scruples.

So here are a few of the Google searches that have routed people to my Blog. Followed by some witty and/or profound commentary. And suggestions. From me.

Idiot 1: Yesterday I felt so old--

Me: No kidding!!!!! Me too! Wow, we have a lot in common! Can we be BFF?!? Is your hair going gray? Eyesight failing? Cranky??
I will be home tomorrow evening after 5 if you want to come over. After we finish our Liver and Onions ( to ward off that pesky Anemia), we can have some Bran Muffins for dessert ( the pooter needs be remain in full functioning mode). Then we can do some chair aerobics ( don't want to risk a fall......those hips are precious you know) and then you can leave by 8 because we will both need our sleep and you probably don't see that well at night. Sound like a plan?

Idiot 2: Working with a hyperactive boss--

Me: Ummmmm, OK. Tell me a bit more about the Boss so I can help. Has the Boss officially been diagnosed as hyperactive? Is the Boss currently medicated? Does the Boss' hyperactivity interfere with daily life skills? You know, depending on the sex of the boss (and yours as well) there are some studies that claim hyperactivity can be a clinical manifestation of sexual frustration. Has the Boss ever touched you in a bad place? How about in a good one? How often? Please provide excruciatingly detailed accounts. LEAVE NOTHING OUT! I can only help if I have all the facts. And pictures, if you have some. Thanks!

Idiot 3: Fat friend became an asshole--

Me: I'm sorry for your troubles. Did the assholiness only began after the fatness, or prior? Has the friend recently gone on a diet? I know that when I am calorie deprived, I become a raving, maniacal bitch. Not quite the same as an asshole, but close. Maybe if you feed the fat friend, they will act nicer. Even if the food does not improve the fat friend's attitude, all the extra feeding will eventually result in a bed-bound, immobile friend. Just put the phone out of the friend's reach before you leave. Problem solved!

Idiot 4: Why marriages are failing now a days--

Me: What the fuck do I know? Maybe because one spouse spends all their time looking for answers to inane questions on the Internet.

Idiot 5: The party is over Avalon--

Me: Don't I know! As a matter of fact, I can't recall the last time the party was on. Oh, wait. Was that a subtle hint to get me to leave?

Idiot 6: Yesterday I felt so old--

Me: Again with the complaining. You and everyone else on the planet. Your search got you here once before. Obviously, my Blog did not make you feel any younger. Go away and die already.

Idiot 7: Our house is a very, very fine house with pictures on the walls--

Me: So what? Do you think the pictures make your house fine? I bet they're pictures of your family, right? The buck-toothed niece, the haggard, booze-nosed aunt, the put-a-bag-over-him-husband. Whooppeeeee. I can see those photos add ambiance to the trailer. Good on you.

Idiot 8: I'm so tired Avalon--

Me: STOP TELLING ME!!!!!! I KNOW !!! Don't you have a goddamn doctor?

Idiot 9: I'm fuckin tired--

Me: I see this is getting us nowhere. I don't care that you're tired. Understand? I DON'T CARE. PLEASE go away and die. NOW.

Idiot 10: Decorate dog crate--

Me: Mmmmmmmkay, loser. Do you dress the doggie up to match the crate? One suggestion................... GET LAID.

Idiot 11: I got so old I felt like I could die---

Me: NOW we're getting somewhere! You're not as stupid as you seem. And hopefully, you are already dead.

Idiot 12: How to stop a 1 year old Standard Poodle barking--

Me: OK, this is an easy one. I am a wonderful dog trainer, you know. My suggestion: Duct tape! Works like a charm. By the way, I noticed you mentioned that your Poodle was Blue. What does the color of the Poodle have to do with the issue? Do Blues bark more? I know that they often steal more, but the barking.......that's new to me. Although, it could be because my Blue hasn't figured out how to remove the Duct Tape. Good luck!!

Idiot 13: So tired, hate babies--

Me: Well, normally, I love me some babies, but when I'm tired, I hate everyone. Even squishy, happy cherubs. So, please see suggestion # 12 for the barking Poodle. The Duct Tape also works great for annoying babies. Tape their mouths shut, tape their asses to the chair, tape their hands together, and voila! Instant nap for you!!!



So kids, that's the list of the inane for today.

Remind me to be very, very careful about clicking on anyone's Blog when I'm searching Google.

So you had better do as you are told..........

ou better listen to the radio. -- Radio, Radio-- Elvis Costello --



I work a desk job. For many, many years, I worked a job that required me to be on my feet; always moving, always busy. My job now is mainly conducted by e-mail and telephone, so I am virtually chained to my desk.

To make the 45 hours a week more tolerable, I have decorated my office with things I love to look at. I have a very comfy chair, my workspace is set up for maximum usability, and I had great speakers attached to my PC for streaming music.

I CANNOT function without music. It has been the elixir that has soothed me throughout my life. I am rendered incapable of production without music as the background. I can vividly remember my grandmother asking my mother, in complete astonishment, how a 4 year old could possibly know ALL the words to all the songs that came on the radio. And I did.

When I had trouble sleeping, my mother bought me a kiddie-sized record player and some 45's. I would play my favorite songs in the middle of the night until i could drift off. I was about 6 years old.

By the time I was a teenager, I was regularly going to see my favorite bands live in concert. My Mom worked for our local Fire Department at the time, and she used to get comp tickets for all the shows being held in our area. I was addicted. I simply could not fathom my life without music.

So imagine my distress when, a few weeks ago, I came into work on a Monday morning, booted up my PC, clicked on my Windows Media Player and was the recipient of a heart-stopping message " your organization's Internet usage policy restricts access to this webpage"!!!!!!

The IT bastards had installed WEBSENSE on ALL OF OUR PC'S!! No more streaming music. EVER. No Radio Nigel No more station choices. NO MORE MUSIC!

I was distraught. Beside myself. I was ready to quit my job and stay home, radio blaring.

However, that would have been an economic disaster. So I did what ever other webstream-free schmuck would do in that situation. I bought a little AM/FM radio. I brought it to work, bemoaning the injustice of it all, and plugged the cheesy bastard in.

It got ONE station. Poorly. One local station of pre-canned set lists. Classic rock. The same format over and over and over again. Only I was lucky enough to have the static for free. Because my office is in the basement of an old building, the reception for that lone station was crappy.

I suffered in relative silence for a few weeks. I'm stoic like that.

Then I bit the bullet and placed an ad on Craigslist virtually begging for cheap Sirius or XM Satellite equipment. I got several responses, and last Friday, I picked up a bunch of electronics in a big brown bag. A girl who no longer wanted her XM had dumped the whole shebang into the bag in her basement, and was now selling me the entire contents for 40 dollars.

I'm pretty good with electronics, so when I finally got the chance to open the bag, I knew I had hit the motherlode. I got the complete car kit and a complete home kit, along with the radio itself. I had the car kit installed within 25 minutes, and today I brought the home kit to work and set it up.

I am now blissfully ensconced in my office listening to The Psychedelic Furs and Genesis and The Cure and Marvin Gaye and..................well, the choices are near endless. I have whittled down my favorite channels to a mere 27 of them, and I sigh contentedly as I scroll through them.

So, ladies and gentlemen, I present to you:



SIMON!



He is sexy and sleek and he makes me oh-so-happy!



In other news............



who the hell cares? I have songs to listen to. Go away.