Okay folks, here we go.
Got back from the Wound Center yesterday. I have been put in UNNA boots (see definitions HERE and HERE ). Basically my legs look like a WWI soldier's legs. I know, SEX-AY!
The doctor I saw yesterday looked like a heavier version of Phillip Seymour Hoffman. I am not sure how I feel about that. I think he is a great actor, but I don't know if I want Capote touching me. He might have to be on my list of people not allowed to touch me. I might have to make that list. It worked for my big brother.
Anyway, I am now walking around looking like the Mummy, at least from the knees down. From the knees up, I still look like me. I don't know which is the better angle. I go back next week to get them cut off, and possibly have fresh ones put on. The big problem is that while I have them on, I cannot shower. I can only sponge bathe. Now I can get clean enough doing that, but it isn't the same. Unless I can convince Wifey to pick up a nurse's outfit and sponge bathe me, it isn't the most enticing proposition.
BTW - I know that the Ronnettes got me a gift, and for that I am very thankful. I don't know what it is yet, but I know it exists and I am touched by it. Not touched by them (not yet, heh heh heh), but by the gesture. I am hoping that the gift entails something Nurse-y. A man can dream.
So really not much else to say, but I wanted to fill you all in on the fun and frivolity that is my life and legs. As always, any questions/comments/concerns can be forwarded to the usual channels. Happy weekend everybody, and if you know Wifey, go see her new play. It opens tonight.
BSR
Friday, October 27, 2006
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Long time no type
Hey all. I just realized that it has been almost 3 weeks since I have posted anything. Well, it has been a long 3 weeks. Wifey's surgery caused much consternation around the house. And just when she was finally getting back to being her, I get hit with some random medical problem. The doc cannot figure out exactly what it is, all we know is that I can barely walk from the pain in the left shin/calf. I have been on industrial strength antibiotics for the last 5 days, and the improvements have been marginal at best, so on Thursday I am going to the hospital (the Wound Center to be exact). The thing is, I have no idea what the hell they are going to do to me. For all I know, it could be leeches mudpacks. Hell, at this point I would consider trying that.
I am a little freaked out by the whole ordeal, but since we are attacking the problem the best way that we can, all I can do is have faith. Wifey has been incredible in making things as easy for me as possible, and Larry the Upstairs Neighbor has been kind enough to loan me many comic books and DVD box sets. I watched the entire first season of Roseanne in 2 days. How friggin awesome is that?
One of the things I have had to do has been to keep the leg elevated above my heart as much as possible. And since I am not exactly the most flexible person around (and I am the only person in the room right now if that gives you any idea as to my inability to get past 1st position), this has called for a lot of lying around with my leg on pillows. I know, tough life. But this leads to the major problem with immobility...bus butt.
I am not sure if we have ever covered bus butt before, but just in case we haven't here is what it is. When you were a kid, did you ever go on a long field trip? Did you ride on a school bus to take that trip? Do you remember when, probably about 2/3 of the way to your destination, that your butt would start hurting from those "padded" seats? THAT, my friends, is bus butt. And I have been getting it in spades. Bus butt, like paper cuts are one of the great equalizers.
People always respond differently to injury/trauma. I don't think anyone can do what they do in TV and in the movies when they get shot. Hell, if I get GRAZED by a bullet I am going to drop like a stone and beg for mercy. I have no problem being someone's bitch if it results in my not being shot. Same goes for stabbing. I am sure that there are some people who would have a more positive response than me. To them I say "Go ahead Mr. Hero! I'll be the one here stopping my own bleeding while you get shot at!" But no matter how bad ass you are, paper cuts will stop you in your tracks. Tony Soprano would be bitched by a paper cut. So would you. Don't even try to deny it. You would be a paper cut's bitch. It's okay, really it is. It is nothing to be ashamed of.
Stubbed toes also fit in this category. They hurt like a mofo and they always look so damn gory. NOTHING stopped a kickball game like the kid wearing sandals who got a stubbed toe and had to go home. And I don't care WHAT they say, Bactine and mecurechrome (sp on that last one. I wrote it phonetically. If you are old enough you remember that shit) stung like a sumbitch.
So anyway, sitting up has been a problem the last 2 weeks. Which makes sitting at a keyboard rambling on about random crap in a vain attempt to entertain/impress Wifey's co-workers and assorted friends low on the to do list. But I promise that I will perservere and continue to ramble on about how horrible my work is, just to make you feel better. THAT is a BSR guarantee.
I am a little freaked out by the whole ordeal, but since we are attacking the problem the best way that we can, all I can do is have faith. Wifey has been incredible in making things as easy for me as possible, and Larry the Upstairs Neighbor has been kind enough to loan me many comic books and DVD box sets. I watched the entire first season of Roseanne in 2 days. How friggin awesome is that?
One of the things I have had to do has been to keep the leg elevated above my heart as much as possible. And since I am not exactly the most flexible person around (and I am the only person in the room right now if that gives you any idea as to my inability to get past 1st position), this has called for a lot of lying around with my leg on pillows. I know, tough life. But this leads to the major problem with immobility...bus butt.
I am not sure if we have ever covered bus butt before, but just in case we haven't here is what it is. When you were a kid, did you ever go on a long field trip? Did you ride on a school bus to take that trip? Do you remember when, probably about 2/3 of the way to your destination, that your butt would start hurting from those "padded" seats? THAT, my friends, is bus butt. And I have been getting it in spades. Bus butt, like paper cuts are one of the great equalizers.
People always respond differently to injury/trauma. I don't think anyone can do what they do in TV and in the movies when they get shot. Hell, if I get GRAZED by a bullet I am going to drop like a stone and beg for mercy. I have no problem being someone's bitch if it results in my not being shot. Same goes for stabbing. I am sure that there are some people who would have a more positive response than me. To them I say "Go ahead Mr. Hero! I'll be the one here stopping my own bleeding while you get shot at!" But no matter how bad ass you are, paper cuts will stop you in your tracks. Tony Soprano would be bitched by a paper cut. So would you. Don't even try to deny it. You would be a paper cut's bitch. It's okay, really it is. It is nothing to be ashamed of.
Stubbed toes also fit in this category. They hurt like a mofo and they always look so damn gory. NOTHING stopped a kickball game like the kid wearing sandals who got a stubbed toe and had to go home. And I don't care WHAT they say, Bactine and mecurechrome (sp on that last one. I wrote it phonetically. If you are old enough you remember that shit) stung like a sumbitch.
So anyway, sitting up has been a problem the last 2 weeks. Which makes sitting at a keyboard rambling on about random crap in a vain attempt to entertain/impress Wifey's co-workers and assorted friends low on the to do list. But I promise that I will perservere and continue to ramble on about how horrible my work is, just to make you feel better. THAT is a BSR guarantee.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Gay Soap and the Exorcism of Wifey
It has been a trying week here in the land of BSR. As you all know Wifey went under the knife last week. She is recovering as well as can be expected, having good days and bad days. She is holding up like a real trooper, and except for a baggie of ground beef where yellow and blue make red puddles in the fridge, I have done an okay job at making things easier for her.
Today I received an instant message from Wifey asking me to come get her this afternoon because she was feeling unwell and didn't trust taking the pain meds at work, as they make her not as able to stop herself from saying the things on her mind (as I found out when the baggie of meat leaked). When you work with a few people you are not overly fond of (no worries Ronnettes, all of you are safe from the fearsome WifeyRage. Others, not so much), it is best to have as many filters as possible. I had planned to go to the bank at lunch, and my particular institution has no branches anywhere within 15 miles of convenient, so I just figured to make a bit of a side trip.
BTW - quick sidebar. I met the father of the Boob Thief. Nice guy. When Wifey introduced him to me as "the father of your arch enemy", he was taken aback just a bit. Once he understood that my only problem with his spawn is that he gets to spend more quality time with my wife's perfect breasts (and yes they are perfect. Just ask her), he immediately commiserated, saying he has the same problem with his wife and BT. He is a good guy. I hope he eventually evens out the time share problem.
So I went and picked her up, and once we went to the bank near her, she decided to nap in the car for the drive back up I-95. She did wake up long enough to ask me to stop at McDonalds and get her 2 Fillet O'Fish sandwiches. We stopped at McD's and got her the requested munchies. She sat up and consumed one vociferously. As she finished the first sandwich, I realized I might need an old priest and a young priest. As she tried to compose herself, I tried to navigate the car while pea soup shot out of her ears and she tested the molecular cohesion of a paper McDonalds bag (I was impressed that she took the time to pull the other sandwich out of the bag before her impression of that scene from Airplane!. Personally, if I bought two of the same thing and ate one and immediately blew chunks, I would probably not be overly concerned about saving the other one for later. Wifey is frugal if nothing else). I got her home, brought out some paper towels and a plastic bag, then went back for the Listerine.
Long story short, she was still feeling a little queasy, but was resting comfortably on the couch at last check. She was already scheduled off for Friday, so she is taking off tomorrow and just resting through the weekend. It seems that her ears (which had been backed up again) had been draining for the better part of 24 hours, and when greasy fish hit that, what happened to her is probably what you are feeling right now.
Now, on to the gay soap. Before her Linda Blair impression, while waiting for her to finish off her work so she could leave for the day, I used the men's room at her place of employment. The soap on the sink was "Lavender Chamomile". THAT is a gay soap (not that there is anything wrong with that). I just expect (especially in a public and/or office environment) for the soap to be neutral. To use a light purple soap and to smell what I can only describe as "UBER-GIRLIE" wafting from my own hands was not what I was expecting.
Wifey's job has gay soap.
Today I received an instant message from Wifey asking me to come get her this afternoon because she was feeling unwell and didn't trust taking the pain meds at work, as they make her not as able to stop herself from saying the things on her mind (as I found out when the baggie of meat leaked). When you work with a few people you are not overly fond of (no worries Ronnettes, all of you are safe from the fearsome WifeyRage
BTW - quick sidebar. I met the father of the Boob Thief. Nice guy. When Wifey introduced him to me as "the father of your arch enemy", he was taken aback just a bit. Once he understood that my only problem with his spawn is that he gets to spend more quality time with my wife's perfect breasts (and yes they are perfect. Just ask her), he immediately commiserated, saying he has the same problem with his wife and BT. He is a good guy. I hope he eventually evens out the time share problem.
So I went and picked her up, and once we went to the bank near her, she decided to nap in the car for the drive back up I-95. She did wake up long enough to ask me to stop at McDonalds and get her 2 Fillet O'Fish sandwiches. We stopped at McD's and got her the requested munchies. She sat up and consumed one vociferously. As she finished the first sandwich, I realized I might need an old priest and a young priest. As she tried to compose herself, I tried to navigate the car while pea soup shot out of her ears and she tested the molecular cohesion of a paper McDonalds bag (I was impressed that she took the time to pull the other sandwich out of the bag before her impression of that scene from Airplane!. Personally, if I bought two of the same thing and ate one and immediately blew chunks, I would probably not be overly concerned about saving the other one for later. Wifey is frugal if nothing else). I got her home, brought out some paper towels and a plastic bag, then went back for the Listerine.
Long story short, she was still feeling a little queasy, but was resting comfortably on the couch at last check. She was already scheduled off for Friday, so she is taking off tomorrow and just resting through the weekend. It seems that her ears (which had been backed up again) had been draining for the better part of 24 hours, and when greasy fish hit that, what happened to her is probably what you are feeling right now.
Now, on to the gay soap. Before her Linda Blair impression, while waiting for her to finish off her work so she could leave for the day, I used the men's room at her place of employment. The soap on the sink was "Lavender Chamomile". THAT is a gay soap (not that there is anything wrong with that). I just expect (especially in a public and/or office environment) for the soap to be neutral. To use a light purple soap and to smell what I can only describe as "UBER-GIRLIE" wafting from my own hands was not what I was expecting.
Wifey's job has gay soap.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Whoops!
Just felt the need to share this one with you. And (even though you haven't read the next post yet, trust me when I say that this will make sense soon enough) I just went to the men's room to take a leak and it happened again. Should I be concerned? Or should it just be you concerned for Wifey?
Something I noticed
I am 33. In less than a week, I will be halfway to 34. I am more than okay with that. I like getting older. It means I am not dead. I am well aware of the things that happen when you get older. I know my eyesight will get worse, as will my hearing, and my metabolism will slow down (because it is such a blast furnace NOW). I know all of these things. But there is something I was not aware of, and apparently it is one of those aging things that starts right around the age of 33. I don't know if it is permanent or just something temporary, like primary teeth.
For the last few months, I cannot take a piss without farting. It is the strangest thing. I don't feel like I have a big gas build-up, but sure as shooting as soon as I step up to the urinal and release the hounds, next thing you know there is a foghorn behind me.
I know of a couple of gentlemen who are about my age. Do any of you have this problem? Remember, sharing is caring.
For the last few months, I cannot take a piss without farting. It is the strangest thing. I don't feel like I have a big gas build-up, but sure as shooting as soon as I step up to the urinal and release the hounds, next thing you know there is a foghorn behind me.
I know of a couple of gentlemen who are about my age. Do any of you have this problem? Remember, sharing is caring.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Monday Ramblings
Okay everybody, let's get this out of the way. From now on, we will be referring to Monday as FUNDAY. Yes, Monday Night Football has already pointed out how close the two are, but they point out that Monday is Funday with an "M-O". Well I look at it like this, Monday is Funday with an "F-U". And THAT is how I feel about Monday, F-U!
There, I feel better. Now for those of you who were aware (don't recall if I mentioned it and I am-as always- too damn lazy to check for myself), Wifey had surgery this past Friday. Relatively minor, cleaning out the knee, residuals from the accident and the wear and tear associated with it. She came home that afternoon and is currently (as of the time that I am typing this) sitting at her desk at work. If she has taken any of her pills, there is a good chance that she is staring at the screen watching the pretty colors and listening to the music that only she can hear, because she is imagining it. Yesterday she was seeing "auras". Apparently mine is blue. Who knew? Rhyme incidental, no need to channel Andre the Giant right now.
Friday into Saturday was the best. When we got her home, Larry and I almost immediately got her to play a round of pinball. This was especially fun since the original drugs hadn't worn off yet. Now I am not discounting the effect of prescription drugs, but nothing tops hospital grade pain killers. In retrospect my biggest failing as a husband and as an entertainer was not getting Larry to tape the pinball game, or at least Wifey PLAYING pinball. Maybe next surgery (yup, there will be more down the road. It's gonna be a FUN year.
Also (in case I didn't mention it before), Wifey and I made it to 1 year exactly 2 weeks ago today. So start sending us paper. Which brings me to this point, who decided on the wedding gift flowchart? Who decided that one year = paper. Are we talking NYTimes or reams of 20lb stock? To make sure you know what the hell I am talking about, go here and you will see the list. Personally I cannot wait for my 6th Anniversary. Traditional+Modern = Iron+Wood Objects = NEW GOLF CLUBS FOR BSR!!!!!! Hell yeah, 5 years and counting until I get myself titanium-ed! I am also a big fan of 32, 41 and 42. Especially how well 41 and 42 work together.
Let's see, what else is there. Oh yes, a happy belated birthday to Fineous Reese, who turned 36 yesterday (right Reese?). If anyone in the Baltimore area is going to be in town this Saturday, come check out the CenterStage Festival from 10-3. Your's truly's comedy troupe will be there and will be one of the "plus theatrical events by Baltimore's home-grown theater artists". Can you feel the excitement? And also, our next show is October 28th, DON'T MISS IT!!!!!
I will whore myself out more later. I promise.
BSR
There, I feel better. Now for those of you who were aware (don't recall if I mentioned it and I am-as always- too damn lazy to check for myself), Wifey had surgery this past Friday. Relatively minor, cleaning out the knee, residuals from the accident and the wear and tear associated with it. She came home that afternoon and is currently (as of the time that I am typing this) sitting at her desk at work. If she has taken any of her pills, there is a good chance that she is staring at the screen watching the pretty colors and listening to the music that only she can hear, because she is imagining it. Yesterday she was seeing "auras". Apparently mine is blue. Who knew? Rhyme incidental, no need to channel Andre the Giant right now.
Friday into Saturday was the best. When we got her home, Larry and I almost immediately got her to play a round of pinball. This was especially fun since the original drugs hadn't worn off yet. Now I am not discounting the effect of prescription drugs, but nothing tops hospital grade pain killers. In retrospect my biggest failing as a husband and as an entertainer was not getting Larry to tape the pinball game, or at least Wifey PLAYING pinball. Maybe next surgery (yup, there will be more down the road. It's gonna be a FUN year.
Also (in case I didn't mention it before), Wifey and I made it to 1 year exactly 2 weeks ago today. So start sending us paper. Which brings me to this point, who decided on the wedding gift flowchart? Who decided that one year = paper. Are we talking NYTimes or reams of 20lb stock? To make sure you know what the hell I am talking about, go here and you will see the list. Personally I cannot wait for my 6th Anniversary. Traditional+Modern = Iron+Wood Objects = NEW GOLF CLUBS FOR BSR!!!!!! Hell yeah, 5 years and counting until I get myself titanium-ed! I am also a big fan of 32, 41 and 42. Especially how well 41 and 42 work together.
Let's see, what else is there. Oh yes, a happy belated birthday to Fineous Reese, who turned 36 yesterday (right Reese?). If anyone in the Baltimore area is going to be in town this Saturday, come check out the CenterStage Festival from 10-3. Your's truly's comedy troupe will be there and will be one of the "plus theatrical events by Baltimore's home-grown theater artists". Can you feel the excitement? And also, our next show is October 28th, DON'T MISS IT!!!!!
I will whore myself out more later. I promise.
BSR
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