"You can't pay enough money to...cure that feeling of being broken and confused."
~ Winona Ryder
Due to visa problems and health issues, I'm back in the states.
Some wonderful friends have opened up their home to me and I know that the words "thank you" will never be enough.
Although it's great to be able to come back and see all the people and animals that I dearly love and missed...
The words "broken and confused" don't even begin to describe how I feel.
Probably won't be blogging much after this.
I'm numb and for the first time in my life...at a loss for words.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Friday, August 1, 2008
"Depression: Some say it's 'anger turned inward'. For me, it's always been a 'silent scream outward."
Know what the difference between not wanting children/any more children is and not being able to have/have anymore children is?
Depression.
That's what.
Doctor's appointment went as per usual.
Tests came back okay.
Prescriptions turned out to be tricky, but got straightened out in the end.
Sorry I haven't posted since then. I know some of you were worried and I did get a couple of your emails asking as much back then...but I've been down.
I've only been near the computer a couple of times since then, to speak with Daisy.
Otherwise...that's it.
Haven't been in the mood to speak with people.
Not sleeping well, to say the least and lot's of crazy thoughts going 'round and 'round my head these days.
The kid thing has me bummed out. To say the least.
I know it's irrational, but I've been racking my brain, trying to figure out what to hell it was that I must have done in my past, that has made me deserve everything that's happened since being diagnosed on June 10, 2005.
I've considered myself to be a pretty good person.
I'm honest. Almost to a fault.
I try to always do the right thing.
I may think bad thoughts from time to time, but I keep 'Evil Peggy' at bay and never act upon the aforemention bad thoughts and usually just wish a bad case of butt acne on people instead of whatever bad thought I had in my head.
Thought I was a pretty darn good parent to boot.
My kid has had her up's and down's, as all kids do.
But, she's honest...sometimes to a fault. She's fair and compassionate. And I believe that she is and always will be a contributing member of society.
Yet here I sit, not allowed to have anymore.
And some young, or old twit, whichever, is sitting somewhere right now, having her third or fourth one...not because she wants the kid...nope...because she wants the welfare check.
Yep...that's one of my bad thoughts.
And then I think...who am I kidding? Besides myself, of course.
What was I thinking?
Wanting more children?!?!
I haven't been able to 100% take care of myself since being diagnosed.
I'm 39 years old now and I still can't take care of myself.
In addition to not being able to take care of myself...there are some days when I can't even get out of bed. And I literally wouldn't...if R wasn't here to help me out and help me around or just scoop me up and put me where I need to be.
There are some nights, when I literally sit at or lay next to the toilet all night long.
And *I* wanted more children?
What a fool am I.
I feel like the pregnancy back in October of last year...the one that beat all the odds...when I was supposed to be in menopause and unable to even get pregnant...
Yeah.
That was just a carrot...a carrot, dangled in front of my face.
One to give me hope...just to be squashed when it didn't come to fruitation so quickly, so to speak.
And to make matters even worse...here I now sit, grieving for a child that never will be.
You know...one that doesn't exist now and never will.
What a fool am I, indeed.
And to take it one step further...riddle me this... if you think you can.
And think long and hard about your answer...because right off the bat...I know by instinct what your first instinctive answer will be.
But give it some thought...think about if *you* were really in the same situation, what would your answer be???
They say real love is being with the person you want to spend the rest of your life with...in good times and bad...in sickness and health...for richer and for poorer and yada, yada, yada.
But what about if the bad times are because of you...your bad health...a bad health that costs gobs and gobs of money? Money that's theoretically taken away from your children? Money that they could use now or may need in the future?
Is real love staying with the person that's decided to stay with you in the bad times, your bad sickness...that causes the poorer instead of the richer times to be often if not always?
Even though you know that if the roles were reversed...you'd stay with them and take care of them, in the bad times and sick times...no matter the cost...etc, etc.
Or is real love, on your part, being the sick one, costing gobs and gobs of money...really being strong enough, to be able to walk away...and spare that person, and your children... the burden of it all?
Know what the difference between not wanting children/any more children is and not being able to have/have anymore children is?
Depression.
That's what.
Doctor's appointment went as per usual.
Tests came back okay.
Prescriptions turned out to be tricky, but got straightened out in the end.
Sorry I haven't posted since then. I know some of you were worried and I did get a couple of your emails asking as much back then...but I've been down.
I've only been near the computer a couple of times since then, to speak with Daisy.
Otherwise...that's it.
Haven't been in the mood to speak with people.
Not sleeping well, to say the least and lot's of crazy thoughts going 'round and 'round my head these days.
The kid thing has me bummed out. To say the least.
I know it's irrational, but I've been racking my brain, trying to figure out what to hell it was that I must have done in my past, that has made me deserve everything that's happened since being diagnosed on June 10, 2005.
I've considered myself to be a pretty good person.
I'm honest. Almost to a fault.
I try to always do the right thing.
I may think bad thoughts from time to time, but I keep 'Evil Peggy' at bay and never act upon the aforemention bad thoughts and usually just wish a bad case of butt acne on people instead of whatever bad thought I had in my head.
Thought I was a pretty darn good parent to boot.
My kid has had her up's and down's, as all kids do.
But, she's honest...sometimes to a fault. She's fair and compassionate. And I believe that she is and always will be a contributing member of society.
Yet here I sit, not allowed to have anymore.
And some young, or old twit, whichever, is sitting somewhere right now, having her third or fourth one...not because she wants the kid...nope...because she wants the welfare check.
Yep...that's one of my bad thoughts.
And then I think...who am I kidding? Besides myself, of course.
What was I thinking?
Wanting more children?!?!
I haven't been able to 100% take care of myself since being diagnosed.
I'm 39 years old now and I still can't take care of myself.
In addition to not being able to take care of myself...there are some days when I can't even get out of bed. And I literally wouldn't...if R wasn't here to help me out and help me around or just scoop me up and put me where I need to be.
There are some nights, when I literally sit at or lay next to the toilet all night long.
And *I* wanted more children?
What a fool am I.
I feel like the pregnancy back in October of last year...the one that beat all the odds...when I was supposed to be in menopause and unable to even get pregnant...
Yeah.
That was just a carrot...a carrot, dangled in front of my face.
One to give me hope...just to be squashed when it didn't come to fruitation so quickly, so to speak.
And to make matters even worse...here I now sit, grieving for a child that never will be.
You know...one that doesn't exist now and never will.
What a fool am I, indeed.
And to take it one step further...riddle me this... if you think you can.
And think long and hard about your answer...because right off the bat...I know by instinct what your first instinctive answer will be.
But give it some thought...think about if *you* were really in the same situation, what would your answer be???
They say real love is being with the person you want to spend the rest of your life with...in good times and bad...in sickness and health...for richer and for poorer and yada, yada, yada.
But what about if the bad times are because of you...your bad health...a bad health that costs gobs and gobs of money? Money that's theoretically taken away from your children? Money that they could use now or may need in the future?
Is real love staying with the person that's decided to stay with you in the bad times, your bad sickness...that causes the poorer instead of the richer times to be often if not always?
Even though you know that if the roles were reversed...you'd stay with them and take care of them, in the bad times and sick times...no matter the cost...etc, etc.
Or is real love, on your part, being the sick one, costing gobs and gobs of money...really being strong enough, to be able to walk away...and spare that person, and your children... the burden of it all?
Saturday, July 5, 2008
"My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad."
~ T.S. Eliot
So...I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow.
Blech.
I don't know what sucks more...
The anticipation of a doctor's appointment or the waiting for results afterwards.
I've probably written about this before on my blog.
If I have...and you're bored with it...here's your fries, please drive thru.
First and foremost, you try to stay positive.
And everyone tells you to be positive.
Stay positive.
Blah, blah, blah.
It's easier said than done.
And I don't mean to sound like a bitch...but it's really easy to say when you haven't been given a life-long pass as a club member.
I know...people are just trying to be supportive.
Which is why I always just nod and say"Thank you, I am."
Truth be told, you can be positive until you're pooping positivity right out your ass...but there's always that little back corner of your mind that's wondering, 'Hmmm, wonder if I'll be doing chemo in a week or two?'
And it sucks.
Ass.
And it's not like the wondering stops.
To coin one of my favorite quotes E.V.E.R.:
"Like 7-11. They're not always doin' business...but they're always open."
Yep.
That's what the wondering is like.
At least it is for me.
Thus far.
Ya can't call yourself a survivor until the 5 year mark.
TheRammerHammer had me laughing so much...that I missed my 3 year diagnosis anniversary back in June.
Something cancer re-lated came up a couple of days later which reminded me.
I mean it's not like you really, really are able to totally forget.
At least I'm not.
Because I'm still fighting the urge to not be the normal that I used to be.
The old me.
Which I know only proves that I'm crazy.
Because it's pointless to fight.
I'm reminded in a dozen different ways every, single day that I'll never be her again.
The pain.
The nasuea and puking.
The swelling-neuropathy hands and feet.
The short term memory.
The wrinkles I shouldn't have yet damnit!!!!
The nasty metal taste still in my mouth.
Everyday I wake up, I wonder when or if it will ever end.
Some of my card carrying friends have told me it takes time, some have said that it depends on the type of chemo one has and some say it hasn't ever ended for them.
I think I would be okay...not great...but okay if it was some kind of trade-off.
I'd be willing take all of the above if I knew I wouldn't have the stress and worry about impending doctor appointments and the anxeity of waiting for test results afterwards ever again.
Ya know? If I could just get a guar-an-tee that it would never, ever come back again.
And then I feel like a schmuck for complaing about my complaints out loud.
When others I know are actually going through it all over again already.
Which leads to the other back, dark corner of my mind that wonders, 'Is one ever truly able to let down their guard at some point?"
I fear that answer.
So for now..."My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad."
Sigh.
I hope everyone is well and nerve free.
P.S. ~ Ladies...if 'tough love' doesn't work with your man...try 'tuft love'.
Heh heh.
~ T.S. Eliot
So...I have a doctor's appointment tomorrow.
Blech.
I don't know what sucks more...
The anticipation of a doctor's appointment or the waiting for results afterwards.
I've probably written about this before on my blog.
If I have...and you're bored with it...here's your fries, please drive thru.
First and foremost, you try to stay positive.
And everyone tells you to be positive.
Stay positive.
Blah, blah, blah.
It's easier said than done.
And I don't mean to sound like a bitch...but it's really easy to say when you haven't been given a life-long pass as a club member.
I know...people are just trying to be supportive.
Which is why I always just nod and say"Thank you, I am."
Truth be told, you can be positive until you're pooping positivity right out your ass...but there's always that little back corner of your mind that's wondering, 'Hmmm, wonder if I'll be doing chemo in a week or two?'
And it sucks.
Ass.
And it's not like the wondering stops.
To coin one of my favorite quotes E.V.E.R.:
"Like 7-11. They're not always doin' business...but they're always open."
Yep.
That's what the wondering is like.
At least it is for me.
Thus far.
Ya can't call yourself a survivor until the 5 year mark.
TheRammerHammer had me laughing so much...that I missed my 3 year diagnosis anniversary back in June.
Something cancer re-lated came up a couple of days later which reminded me.
I mean it's not like you really, really are able to totally forget.
At least I'm not.
Because I'm still fighting the urge to not be the normal that I used to be.
The old me.
Which I know only proves that I'm crazy.
Because it's pointless to fight.
I'm reminded in a dozen different ways every, single day that I'll never be her again.
The pain.
The nasuea and puking.
The swelling-neuropathy hands and feet.
The short term memory.
The wrinkles I shouldn't have yet damnit!!!!
The nasty metal taste still in my mouth.
Everyday I wake up, I wonder when or if it will ever end.
Some of my card carrying friends have told me it takes time, some have said that it depends on the type of chemo one has and some say it hasn't ever ended for them.
I think I would be okay...not great...but okay if it was some kind of trade-off.
I'd be willing take all of the above if I knew I wouldn't have the stress and worry about impending doctor appointments and the anxeity of waiting for test results afterwards ever again.
Ya know? If I could just get a guar-an-tee that it would never, ever come back again.
And then I feel like a schmuck for complaing about my complaints out loud.
When others I know are actually going through it all over again already.
Which leads to the other back, dark corner of my mind that wonders, 'Is one ever truly able to let down their guard at some point?"
I fear that answer.
So for now..."My nerves are bad to-night. Yes, bad."
Sigh.
I hope everyone is well and nerve free.
P.S. ~ Ladies...if 'tough love' doesn't work with your man...try 'tuft love'.
Heh heh.
Thursday, July 3, 2008
"To dare every day to be irreverent and bold. To dare to preserve the randomness of mind, which in children produces strange and wonderful new thoughts and forms. To continually scramble the familiar and bring the old into new juxtaposition."
~ Gordon Webber
Okay...yeah...so the point of the quote is that this post is going to be loooonnnng...and full of randomness.
So grab a cup of coffee and get comfortable.
Oh...and you might wanna keep some wet-wipes handy...either that or don't take a sip of coffee prior to reading my Dumb-Ass-Medicine-Move-Of-The-Day.
Comprende'?
Good.
So, when I thought about this post, I originally thought I would begin with the good news about my first International Rescue/Foster Kitty...and about what a wonderful, little kitty he is...
This is Neo:
He's about a year old. Beautiful, shiny, healthy coat of fur. He was very afraid and confused the first few days and hid under the couch, coming out at night to eat and go potty.
Since I'm up and down at all hours of the night on most nights, I began to sit on the couch and 'meow', or in his case, "Mow-Mow" back and forth with him for 10-15 minutes at a time before going back to bed...thus winning his trust that I'm actually a safe, okay human that meant him no harm.
On third day, he finally ventured onto my lap and we had a good petting/purring session. (Him...not me...that comes later. Heh heh.)
Anyhoo, I quickly determined that he's essentially a lapcat...trapped in a scaredy cats body.
Hopefully, I can break him of this.
But, yeah....he's cute...loving...playful:
He figured out that Moby is a cool dog and also means him no harm:
Yep...all was going well...in fact...it couldn't have been going better...
Until this:
Go ahead...click on the next one to enlarge it and take a look at allllllll the tiny little specks on the tile:
I had already cleaned the kitchen floor, which was COVERED, and then thought of the camera...but the hallway was still a helluva mess...yes...the mess continued well into the hallway and to the front door.
Yeah. Those little specks...are chocolate cake.
Apparently, he doesn't like to eat chocolate cake at midnight...but he likes to counter-surf and knock it to the floor.... and then have a rousing game of soccer, wherein he plays every conceivable position, thus whittling the cake down to mere crumbs.
Luckily...the MobyLover was locked in the bedroom with us, thus insuring his innocence from conspiracy and/or from being framed by the cat of course.
Little schmuck. It's a good thing I love cats and rescuing them at all hours of the day. Particularly, at 6am in the morning...when chocolate-soccer-cake-games come to an end.
Next up...remember this picture from when I visited TheRammerHammer back in December?
Yeah...well...I found the perfect food product to accompany it:
Yep. Horlicks.
Now if you're like me...and I know that some of you sick-minded readers out there are...BeejcoughSamcoughHilcoughJeanne...you instantly wondered...well, what do Hor(s)lick here in the Middle East.
Alas...wonder no more...I found the answer to that question, the very same night...
Hor(s)lick...Hairy Balls of course:
Yeah. A platter of Hairy Balls.
I can't say, "I thought I'd never see the day"...because it's just...unimaginable to begin with.
Okay...so they aren't really Hairy Balls...they're actually an Indian fruit of some sort.
The kids saw them and wanted to try them.
Although, once home... they opted for the chocolate-chip treats before bed tonight.
Maybe tomorrow night.
Me...uh...yeah...I don't think so...
The only hairy balls I indulge with are accompanied by a foot long, wrist thick RammerHammerCockThankYouVeryMuch.
Oh yes! This reminds me...
Recently overheard on an elevator:
Woman ~ "Dang it. We forgot to get some KY today, there's hardly any left in the bottle."
Man ~ "Shiiiit...who needs a new bottle of KY? If there's some left in the old bottle...that's what we got the spatula for!"
Alright...alright...I'll tone it down.
There's somethin' good in the water on this side of the world.
See my nails??:
My nails are growing like they have never grown before...even pre-cancer.
My nails have never been this long and strong before in my life.
This is what my nails looked like when I had fake, acrylic nails years ago.
And, since I've been here...none of them have turned black from the chemo side-effects and/or fallen off like they were still doing before I came here!
A sweet bonus indeed.
I dig it. I love them.
TheRammerHammer on the other hand...doesn't not.
Apparently when he sweats/showers/swims in the pool on the roof...he becomes very, very aware of the scratches on his back.
Ooops. Did I say this topic was going to be un-sexual?
My bad. Sorry.
Ah...yes...and now...I present to you...
My DumbAss Medicine Move Of The Day:
(Can't you just hear the trumpets in your head right now???)
See those two bottles? Yeah...one of the is hairspray and one of them is underarm deoderant.
Guess what I did?
Yep...I reached into that there basket, and absent-mindly grabbed the hairspray and used it as underarm deoderant.
But wait...it gets better...it took me I don't know how many minutes to put two and two together as to why my damn arm pits were sticking to my torso.
Yeah. Go ahead...have your good laugh.
Ya schmuck.
And getting back to the topic of elevators...
Often is the time when ya get on an elevator over here and the stench from those that apparently only shower once a year is still lingering, waiting patiently to offend your nose like it's never been offended before.
Seriously...it's not just someone worked out, played 18 holes of golf and drove home in a car with no airconditioning B.O.
It's an unbelievable, someone hasn't-showered-since-310A.D. stench.
What am I getting at you ask?
Well...I stood at the sink the other day, washing dishes, like I do... (not the same day I used the hairspray under my arms)...and kept smelling a hint of that very stench every so often.
And I kept looking around behind me, to see if TheRammerHammer and the boys had come back down from the pool and perhaps I didn't hear them come in the door...
But nay...after a couple of minutes...I realized the stench was coming from me.
And I humbly learned that one can shower...and use two kinds of deoderant (not hairspray)...and smell like vanilla roses when leaving the apartment to take MobyLover on a 15 minute potty-walk...
But 15 minutes, walking in the mid-day sun...in the desert...is enough to give one a faint sunburn and put one in the beginning stages of the haven't-showered-since-310A.D. stench.
Hence...anyone have an awesome deoderant to suggest?
Ohhhh....here's a little one:
The one on the bottom is what the people here consider a spatula.
The one on the top is what normal people...and when I say 'normal'...I mean me... and I use the term loosely of course...consider a spatula.
Took us 1 month, 17 days and I don't know how many different stores in that time-frame to find what I consider a real freakin' spatula.
Made my freakin' month.
What can I say...I'm easy to please.
And if you have any brains at all, you've figured out that the above 'elevator conversation' is a farce.
Fine. I'll come clean.
That conversation was between TheRammerHammer and myself while going to bed the other night.
I love how much he makes me laugh.
I hurt...I puke...and yet, this is the most fun I've ever had in a relationship before.
We're both goofballs and dorks and we say the silliest, goofiest things.
It's nice not to be the only one laughing at my jokes and one-liners...if ya know what I mean?!?!
Well...I can't have such a long, wonderful post without section dedicated solely to a MobyLover...so here's your daily dose of Moby...
This is Moby lounging by the pool on the roof with TheRammerHammer and the boys:
And this is a Moby that's good and ready to go back to the airconditioned apartment 10 minutes later:
Ain't he the most cutest BassetHound! ever in the history of BassetHounds!???
(Um...excuse me...but you did just follow the MyBrandOfCrazy Handbook Rule #247 that states, and I quote: "All readers are indeed permitted to read any/all MobyLover post sections silently, particularly if at work (Beej)...However, upon coming to the printed word of "Hound!", all readers are required to verbally say the word "Hound!" aloud and with a thick German accent."...end quote.
Okay...I thought you did...I was just checkin'. :)
Alrighty then...
Last but not least...
I'm gonna kill two birds with one stone here...
Wait...that's not right...we all know that I would never kill a bird...
But...well...this is about a bird...so I naturally just went there...
And it's about my first-ever-balcony-garden too.
This was the picture from last month when I got my first little starter plants:
And this...this is what they look like 3 1/2 weeks later:
So yeah...they're coming along.
I've only lost one Lantana plant thus far.
I must confess though...I smuggled some Miracle-gro over in my luggage.
I.Heart.Miracle-gro.
You'll also notice in the above picture that I've acquired a little bird house/feeder.
I.Heart.TheRammerHammer.
And The Dove...has claimed it as her own.
Yesterday, she didn't budge when the Schqwauker came 'round.
And the Schqwauker opted to get some water from the bowl and pass on the food for the time being.
Oh! I was wrong...that wasn't the last thing.
TheRammer and I, decided that, "Ken lee...tulibu dibu douchoo"...is going to be our wedding vows to one another.
We think...somehow...it just captures the essence of what is "us".
Go here: http://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=ken+leee&search_type=&aq=f
and perhaps you'll see why...
And...to borrow a line from Porky Pig..."Th-th-th-th-that's all folks!"
Hope everyone is well:)
(P.S.: Please excuse any/all spelling/grammatical errors...it's one of those nights...it's currently 3:10am in the morning. Thankyouverymuch...again.)
~ Gordon Webber
Okay...yeah...so the point of the quote is that this post is going to be loooonnnng...and full of randomness.
So grab a cup of coffee and get comfortable.
Oh...and you might wanna keep some wet-wipes handy...either that or don't take a sip of coffee prior to reading my Dumb-Ass-Medicine-Move-Of-The-Day.
Comprende'?
Good.
So, when I thought about this post, I originally thought I would begin with the good news about my first International Rescue/Foster Kitty...and about what a wonderful, little kitty he is...
This is Neo:
He's about a year old. Beautiful, shiny, healthy coat of fur. He was very afraid and confused the first few days and hid under the couch, coming out at night to eat and go potty.
Since I'm up and down at all hours of the night on most nights, I began to sit on the couch and 'meow', or in his case, "Mow-Mow" back and forth with him for 10-15 minutes at a time before going back to bed...thus winning his trust that I'm actually a safe, okay human that meant him no harm.
On third day, he finally ventured onto my lap and we had a good petting/purring session. (Him...not me...that comes later. Heh heh.)
Anyhoo, I quickly determined that he's essentially a lapcat...trapped in a scaredy cats body.
Hopefully, I can break him of this.
But, yeah....he's cute...loving...playful:
He figured out that Moby is a cool dog and also means him no harm:
Yep...all was going well...in fact...it couldn't have been going better...
Until this:
Go ahead...click on the next one to enlarge it and take a look at allllllll the tiny little specks on the tile:
I had already cleaned the kitchen floor, which was COVERED, and then thought of the camera...but the hallway was still a helluva mess...yes...the mess continued well into the hallway and to the front door.
Yeah. Those little specks...are chocolate cake.
Apparently, he doesn't like to eat chocolate cake at midnight...but he likes to counter-surf and knock it to the floor.... and then have a rousing game of soccer, wherein he plays every conceivable position, thus whittling the cake down to mere crumbs.
Luckily...the MobyLover was locked in the bedroom with us, thus insuring his innocence from conspiracy and/or from being framed by the cat of course.
Little schmuck. It's a good thing I love cats and rescuing them at all hours of the day. Particularly, at 6am in the morning...when chocolate-soccer-cake-games come to an end.
Next up...remember this picture from when I visited TheRammerHammer back in December?
Yeah...well...I found the perfect food product to accompany it:
Yep. Horlicks.
Now if you're like me...and I know that some of you sick-minded readers out there are...BeejcoughSamcoughHilcoughJeanne...you instantly wondered...well, what do Hor(s)lick here in the Middle East.
Alas...wonder no more...I found the answer to that question, the very same night...
Hor(s)lick...Hairy Balls of course:
Yeah. A platter of Hairy Balls.
I can't say, "I thought I'd never see the day"...because it's just...unimaginable to begin with.
Okay...so they aren't really Hairy Balls...they're actually an Indian fruit of some sort.
The kids saw them and wanted to try them.
Although, once home... they opted for the chocolate-chip treats before bed tonight.
Maybe tomorrow night.
Me...uh...yeah...I don't think so...
The only hairy balls I indulge with are accompanied by a foot long, wrist thick RammerHammerCockThankYouVeryMuch.
Oh yes! This reminds me...
Recently overheard on an elevator:
Woman ~ "Dang it. We forgot to get some KY today, there's hardly any left in the bottle."
Man ~ "Shiiiit...who needs a new bottle of KY? If there's some left in the old bottle...that's what we got the spatula for!"
Alright...alright...I'll tone it down.
There's somethin' good in the water on this side of the world.
See my nails??:
My nails are growing like they have never grown before...even pre-cancer.
My nails have never been this long and strong before in my life.
This is what my nails looked like when I had fake, acrylic nails years ago.
And, since I've been here...none of them have turned black from the chemo side-effects and/or fallen off like they were still doing before I came here!
A sweet bonus indeed.
I dig it. I love them.
TheRammerHammer on the other hand...doesn't not.
Apparently when he sweats/showers/swims in the pool on the roof...he becomes very, very aware of the scratches on his back.
Ooops. Did I say this topic was going to be un-sexual?
My bad. Sorry.
Ah...yes...and now...I present to you...
My DumbAss Medicine Move Of The Day:
(Can't you just hear the trumpets in your head right now???)
See those two bottles? Yeah...one of the is hairspray and one of them is underarm deoderant.
Guess what I did?
Yep...I reached into that there basket, and absent-mindly grabbed the hairspray and used it as underarm deoderant.
But wait...it gets better...it took me I don't know how many minutes to put two and two together as to why my damn arm pits were sticking to my torso.
Yeah. Go ahead...have your good laugh.
Ya schmuck.
And getting back to the topic of elevators...
Often is the time when ya get on an elevator over here and the stench from those that apparently only shower once a year is still lingering, waiting patiently to offend your nose like it's never been offended before.
Seriously...it's not just someone worked out, played 18 holes of golf and drove home in a car with no airconditioning B.O.
It's an unbelievable, someone hasn't-showered-since-310A.D. stench.
What am I getting at you ask?
Well...I stood at the sink the other day, washing dishes, like I do... (not the same day I used the hairspray under my arms)...and kept smelling a hint of that very stench every so often.
And I kept looking around behind me, to see if TheRammerHammer and the boys had come back down from the pool and perhaps I didn't hear them come in the door...
But nay...after a couple of minutes...I realized the stench was coming from me.
And I humbly learned that one can shower...and use two kinds of deoderant (not hairspray)...and smell like vanilla roses when leaving the apartment to take MobyLover on a 15 minute potty-walk...
But 15 minutes, walking in the mid-day sun...in the desert...is enough to give one a faint sunburn and put one in the beginning stages of the haven't-showered-since-310A.D. stench.
Hence...anyone have an awesome deoderant to suggest?
Ohhhh....here's a little one:
The one on the bottom is what the people here consider a spatula.
The one on the top is what normal people...and when I say 'normal'...I mean me... and I use the term loosely of course...consider a spatula.
Took us 1 month, 17 days and I don't know how many different stores in that time-frame to find what I consider a real freakin' spatula.
Made my freakin' month.
What can I say...I'm easy to please.
And if you have any brains at all, you've figured out that the above 'elevator conversation' is a farce.
Fine. I'll come clean.
That conversation was between TheRammerHammer and myself while going to bed the other night.
I love how much he makes me laugh.
I hurt...I puke...and yet, this is the most fun I've ever had in a relationship before.
We're both goofballs and dorks and we say the silliest, goofiest things.
It's nice not to be the only one laughing at my jokes and one-liners...if ya know what I mean?!?!
Well...I can't have such a long, wonderful post without section dedicated solely to a MobyLover...so here's your daily dose of Moby...
This is Moby lounging by the pool on the roof with TheRammerHammer and the boys:
And this is a Moby that's good and ready to go back to the airconditioned apartment 10 minutes later:
Ain't he the most cutest BassetHound! ever in the history of BassetHounds!???
(Um...excuse me...but you did just follow the MyBrandOfCrazy Handbook Rule #247 that states, and I quote: "All readers are indeed permitted to read any/all MobyLover post sections silently, particularly if at work (Beej)...However, upon coming to the printed word of "Hound!", all readers are required to verbally say the word "Hound!" aloud and with a thick German accent."...end quote.
Okay...I thought you did...I was just checkin'. :)
Alrighty then...
Last but not least...
I'm gonna kill two birds with one stone here...
Wait...that's not right...we all know that I would never kill a bird...
But...well...this is about a bird...so I naturally just went there...
And it's about my first-ever-balcony-garden too.
This was the picture from last month when I got my first little starter plants:
And this...this is what they look like 3 1/2 weeks later:
So yeah...they're coming along.
I've only lost one Lantana plant thus far.
I must confess though...I smuggled some Miracle-gro over in my luggage.
I.Heart.Miracle-gro.
You'll also notice in the above picture that I've acquired a little bird house/feeder.
I.Heart.TheRammerHammer.
And The Dove...has claimed it as her own.
Yesterday, she didn't budge when the Schqwauker came 'round.
And the Schqwauker opted to get some water from the bowl and pass on the food for the time being.
Oh! I was wrong...that wasn't the last thing.
TheRammer and I, decided that, "Ken lee...tulibu dibu douchoo"...is going to be our wedding vows to one another.
We think...somehow...it just captures the essence of what is "us".
Go here: http://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=ken+leee&search_type=&aq=f
and perhaps you'll see why...
And...to borrow a line from Porky Pig..."Th-th-th-th-that's all folks!"
Hope everyone is well:)
(P.S.: Please excuse any/all spelling/grammatical errors...it's one of those nights...it's currently 3:10am in the morning. Thankyouverymuch...again.)
"Ability will never catch up with the demand for it."
~ Malcolm Forbes
HeyItsBeej said:
"Ten days. Ten days since your last entry. How am I supposed to give the illusion of performing work-like tasks if you don't give me something to read, huh? ::: smooch :::"
Jeez-Louise...ya demanding lil' wench!
Alright already!
I got a big ol' post coming tomorrow!
With lot's and lot's of pictures!
I promise!
I did send you an email that I think you'll like in the meantime though!
Hugs and Humps:P
Hope everyone is well!
~ Malcolm Forbes
HeyItsBeej said:
"Ten days. Ten days since your last entry. How am I supposed to give the illusion of performing work-like tasks if you don't give me something to read, huh? ::: smooch :::"
Jeez-Louise...ya demanding lil' wench!
Alright already!
I got a big ol' post coming tomorrow!
With lot's and lot's of pictures!
I promise!
I did send you an email that I think you'll like in the meantime though!
Hugs and Humps:P
Hope everyone is well!
Monday, June 23, 2008
"You must not know too much or be too precise or scientific about birds and trees and flowers and watercraft; a certain free-margin, and even vagueness - ignorance, credulity - helps your enjoyment of these things."
~ Henry David Thoreau
This is a great quote. Fits me perfectly. I know very little. And what I do know...I tend to forget thanks to the side-effects of my meds. Which means right about now...I'm a happy camper. Because what little I do know, is that when a critter comes alone one day and finds food and water in a particular place...they tend to come back the next day...and make it a daily habit.
This:
...is my first visitor!
A dove to boot! How lucky am I??? Lucky indeed!
Today was her second day visiting. She likes to sit in the flower boxes and watch the traffic below I guess. I would think she'd be on someone else's balcony on the other side of the building where she could watch the other buildings, birds and people, etc. But...I'm not a bird, so what do I know.
Another one has been visiting as well...some kind of crow. He's too quick for me to get the camera to snap a picture though. I've named him Schquawker...because that's what he does. Loudly.Very, very loudly.
And I love it! I love them both and hope they tell all their friends about my balcony.
Yeah. I'm a dork.
This picture is posted for the viewing pleasure of Random:
Random appreciates the wonderfulness that is shoes. And handbags!
These are the shoes I've acquired thus far. Approximately $7 to $10 a pair.
They start out a little pricey. The locals think we're a visitor at first sight...but TheRammerHammer haggles like a pro since he's been here for over ten years.
The neuropathy in my feet and hands has sucked ass lately and my feet have been swelling a lot, so the roomy flats have come in real handy to get around in.
And the handbags, which are actually very well made, were roughly $25 each.
Random...there are literally shoe stores, shops and boutiques at every other store in the malls here...you must come visit shoe heaven sometime!
TheRammerHammer, albeit a great haggler...can also be a schmuck though.
But he's my schmuck...and I love my schmuck!
When I was here in December, he taught me a couple of Arabic phrases...one of them being "Shookron". No clue if I've spelled that right or not...I spelled it phonetically for obvious reasons.
It means 'Thank You'.
Anyhoo...at some point or another...he decided to teach me the Arabic word for women that like, love, worship and live for shoes and shoe shopping.It's: Shookhore.
Yes...as in "Shoe whore".
The sad thing is, I bought it for a good 5 minutes...until he told me it wasn't really an Arabic word.
Then I slugged him in the chest, in the middle of the mall before he had a chance to get away
Yeah. I love my RammerHammer schmuck.
And this is another reason why I love him:
This is the goodness that is Xylocaine. Also known as Lidocaine.
In a pump spray bottle.
It's sold over the counter at Pharmacies here.
Aside from the chemo and numerous pills that have slowly rotted my teeth and various chips that keep chipping away, etc...I clench my teeth in my sleep. No grinding for me. Just good old fashion clenching.
Which is why I woke up the other night at 3am in excruciating pain.
I took a Tramadol.
It did nothing.
I held a cold water bottle to the side of my jaw for an hour.
It did nothing.
I took two vicodin's.
Still nothing.
I hate teeth/mouth pain. It's the kind of pain you just can't get too, if ya know what I mean.
The kind of pain that makes one want to take the whole bottle of pain killers because quite honestly, you don't care if you never wake up again...as long as the fíng pain STOPS!
And then... my loving, most wonderful, most awesomness, with the substantially HUGE cock, RammerHammer Schmuck...remembered the Xylocaine Pump Spray and bolted out of the house at 4am to acquire some for me.
This is the stuff the dentists in the states inject into your gums when working on your teeth.
I heart the pharmacies and the laws that decide what is OTC here and what is not.
And I really heart my RammerHammer Schmuck!
Hope everyone is well and pain free!:)
~ Henry David Thoreau
This is a great quote. Fits me perfectly. I know very little. And what I do know...I tend to forget thanks to the side-effects of my meds. Which means right about now...I'm a happy camper. Because what little I do know, is that when a critter comes alone one day and finds food and water in a particular place...they tend to come back the next day...and make it a daily habit.
This:
...is my first visitor!
A dove to boot! How lucky am I??? Lucky indeed!
Today was her second day visiting. She likes to sit in the flower boxes and watch the traffic below I guess. I would think she'd be on someone else's balcony on the other side of the building where she could watch the other buildings, birds and people, etc. But...I'm not a bird, so what do I know.
Another one has been visiting as well...some kind of crow. He's too quick for me to get the camera to snap a picture though. I've named him Schquawker...because that's what he does. Loudly.Very, very loudly.
And I love it! I love them both and hope they tell all their friends about my balcony.
Yeah. I'm a dork.
This picture is posted for the viewing pleasure of Random:
Random appreciates the wonderfulness that is shoes. And handbags!
These are the shoes I've acquired thus far. Approximately $7 to $10 a pair.
They start out a little pricey. The locals think we're a visitor at first sight...but TheRammerHammer haggles like a pro since he's been here for over ten years.
The neuropathy in my feet and hands has sucked ass lately and my feet have been swelling a lot, so the roomy flats have come in real handy to get around in.
And the handbags, which are actually very well made, were roughly $25 each.
Random...there are literally shoe stores, shops and boutiques at every other store in the malls here...you must come visit shoe heaven sometime!
TheRammerHammer, albeit a great haggler...can also be a schmuck though.
But he's my schmuck...and I love my schmuck!
When I was here in December, he taught me a couple of Arabic phrases...one of them being "Shookron". No clue if I've spelled that right or not...I spelled it phonetically for obvious reasons.
It means 'Thank You'.
Anyhoo...at some point or another...he decided to teach me the Arabic word for women that like, love, worship and live for shoes and shoe shopping.It's: Shookhore.
Yes...as in "Shoe whore".
The sad thing is, I bought it for a good 5 minutes...until he told me it wasn't really an Arabic word.
Then I slugged him in the chest, in the middle of the mall before he had a chance to get away
Yeah. I love my RammerHammer schmuck.
And this is another reason why I love him:
This is the goodness that is Xylocaine. Also known as Lidocaine.
In a pump spray bottle.
It's sold over the counter at Pharmacies here.
Aside from the chemo and numerous pills that have slowly rotted my teeth and various chips that keep chipping away, etc...I clench my teeth in my sleep. No grinding for me. Just good old fashion clenching.
Which is why I woke up the other night at 3am in excruciating pain.
I took a Tramadol.
It did nothing.
I held a cold water bottle to the side of my jaw for an hour.
It did nothing.
I took two vicodin's.
Still nothing.
I hate teeth/mouth pain. It's the kind of pain you just can't get too, if ya know what I mean.
The kind of pain that makes one want to take the whole bottle of pain killers because quite honestly, you don't care if you never wake up again...as long as the fíng pain STOPS!
And then... my loving, most wonderful, most awesomness, with the substantially HUGE cock, RammerHammer Schmuck...remembered the Xylocaine Pump Spray and bolted out of the house at 4am to acquire some for me.
This is the stuff the dentists in the states inject into your gums when working on your teeth.
I heart the pharmacies and the laws that decide what is OTC here and what is not.
And I really heart my RammerHammer Schmuck!
Hope everyone is well and pain free!:)
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
"If you have an apple and I have an apple and we exchange these apples then you and I will still each have one apple. But if you have an idea and I have an idea and we exchange these ideas, then each of us will have two ideas."
~ George Bernard Shaw
So here's an idea for ya...
Run...don't walk...to your nearest grocery store produce department and find that which I have discovered is the goodness of the Fuji Apple.
I do not know whether or not these apples are sold in the states, as the only time I was ever in the produce department was to buy mushrooms, potatoes and lettuce to have on steak-it nights or to buy veggies for the chickens.
If by chance they aren't sold in the states...than find somewhere on-line where you can order them and have them delivered.
I promise...you will not regret it.
These apples are amazing.
They're...they're...
Well...if they weren't already called Fuji Apples, I'd name them...Oh.Adrienne's.God.Apples.
It didn't give me an orgasm, mind you...but if I was single...it might have come damn close!
Hope everyone is well;)
~ George Bernard Shaw
So here's an idea for ya...
Run...don't walk...to your nearest grocery store produce department and find that which I have discovered is the goodness of the Fuji Apple.
I do not know whether or not these apples are sold in the states, as the only time I was ever in the produce department was to buy mushrooms, potatoes and lettuce to have on steak-it nights or to buy veggies for the chickens.
If by chance they aren't sold in the states...than find somewhere on-line where you can order them and have them delivered.
I promise...you will not regret it.
These apples are amazing.
They're...they're...
Well...if they weren't already called Fuji Apples, I'd name them...Oh.Adrienne's.God.Apples.
It didn't give me an orgasm, mind you...but if I was single...it might have come damn close!
Hope everyone is well;)
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