Monthly Archives: July 2009


Regarding the surgery I had yesterday…

Evidently, the anesthesia is still coursing through my brain because I cannot recall if I told y’all that I had a kidney stone.  It would be easy enough to click on something and see if I posted about it but, due to the fact that I’m not allowed to do ANYTHING for the next two days, I’ve been sitting here at the computer for the last two hours and have like, sixteen windows open and don’t wanna open another one.  And since it’s too taxing to go into the whole schpiel, I’ll just tell ya.  I had a kidney stone.  It was 5mm which is considered a decent-sized specimen.

I remember now, I told you about watching the fireworks outside the ER.  So I’m covered.

Anyway, I had the surgery yesterday afternoon.  Yesterday morning I had an MRI done on a suspicious breast mass.  (A post for later.) Yeah, I’m a virtual train wreck these days, but whatever.

I was to be at the second hospital at 11:30 for the procedure scheduled at 1:00.  The prep included an IV to administer the anesthetic, something to relax me which I turned down but they gave me anyway (a whole ‘nother topic…) and a strong antibiotic to fend off infection (on top of the other strong antibiotic I’m already taking for a UTI.) I only had one arm left which hadn’t already had an IV in it, so choosing an arm to put it in was pretty easy.  They also gave me a breathing apparatus which was described to me as a little box-type thing they put down my throat to ease my breathing. I’m real happy they put that in after I was out cause I don’t think I would have cared much for that. The actual procedure was expected to take 20 minutes.  Of course I was “complicated.”  My stone was embedded in the tissue of the ureter and took 3 laser zaps to blast it loose. (I hate using words like zaps and blast when referring to my insides… but that’s how they explained it to me.)  At one point my BP fell to 80-something over 40.  Why did they have to go and tell me that?  Luckily though, the stone all came out and they didn’t have to put a stent in which I fussed about anyway and wouldn’t sign the permission form until someone promised me there was no metal in it (the stent.)


Like I said, the procedure was supposed to take about 20 minutes.  They took me a little after 1:00, we left the hospital somewhere around 5.  That anesthetic must have been some pretty good shit cause I don’t remember ANYTHING for about 4 hours.  I do remember that the anesthesiologist was kind of cute but he lost his ID tag.  I can’t remember his name anyway.

The remnants will be analyzed to find out what type of stone it is and hopefully that will tell me what I need to change or do to save me from ever having to go through this again.  I guess certain types of stones are more likely to recur.

So today, besides the CONSTANT urge to [insert your choice of word for R-E-L-I-E-F] I’m pretty sore and very tired.  My only dilemma (hopefully) for today is deciding what to watch or read and whether to do it in bed or on the couch.


… you’ve somehow gotten left behind and haven’t had the pleasure of watching this video, prepare to have your socks knocked off.

The Best Wedding Entrance Dance Ever – Chris Brown – Forever


… all you have to do is simply pollute my email with this kind of shit:


Written By Regina Brett, 90 years old, of The Plain Dealer, Cleveland , Ohio

“To celebrate growing older, I once wrote the 45 lessons life taught me. It is the most-requested column I’ve ever written. My odometer rolled over to 90 in August, so here is the column once more:”

1. Life isn’t fair, but it’s still good.
2. When in doubt, just take the next small step.
3. Life is too short to waste time hating anyone.
4. Your job won’t take care of you when you are sick. Your friends and parents will. Stay in touch.
5. Pay off your credit cards every month.
6. You don’t have to win every argument. Agree to disagree.
7. Cry with someone. It’s more healing than crying alone.
8. It’s OK to get angry with God. He can take it.
9. Save for retirement starting with your first paycheck.
10. Take a deep breath. It calms the mind.

Yadda, yadda, yadda.  I left out about 2/3 of this damn thing.  Of course, it ends up with this crap…

It’s estimated 93% won’t forward this. If you are one of the 7% who will, forward this with the title ‘7%’. I’m in the 7%. Remember that I will always share my spoon with you! Friends are the family that we choose for ourselves.
Now here are my feelings on the subject of email “forwards”…
  • I do not have the time or the interest to read this.
  • If you think I have reached the age I am and have not learned any of this earth-shattering wisdom by now, you don’t know me well enough to even have me for a “friend.”
  • Did I not say to you when I gave you my email address, “I only use my mail for personal correspondence.  DO NOT SEND ME ANY OF THOSE RIDICULOUS FORWARDS.  Did I?  You bet your ass I did.
  • Don’t think I’m stupid enough to believe that my demise would or could be attributed to the fact that I did not forward an email to 7 people.
  • I can’t believe that people who spend their time cranking out this stuff can’t find anything better to do.
  • In fact, I’m getting more pissed by the minute as I realize that I am wasting precious minutes of my life addressing this stupid issue.

Now, you know me well enough to know that I’m not completely unyielding when it comes to my own rules.  I make exceptions.  If something is really funny (I mean REALLY) or amazing, and it’s from someone who knows how I feel about what is really funny or amazing, I’m not gonna get pissed.  And I have been known to send a good joke or an awesome photo.  I can’t say that I’ve never passed on a forward.  But if I did, I had a very good reason.  Mainly what I’m addressing here is mail like the above from people I rarely see and can’t remember the last time they took a minute and wrote a personal “Hi, how are you?”

Anybody with me on this?  I mean no disrespect to Ms. Regina Brett in Cleveland if there really is such a person. God Bless her if she really is 90 and has the ability to think and write. And it’s great that she wants to share her hard-learned lessons with a bunch of crazies on the internet. And I’m very impressed if she really owns and can operate a computer…

Don’t worry, if you don’t answer, nothing bad will happen to you.  And if you do, probly nothing really good will either.  But if it does, it will be for a valid reason.


…or at least considering it.  I’m a little more inspired to go now that I know Marky Ramone is going to be there this year.  Thing is, I don’t want to push my luck with my foot.  It’s been pretty good except that they have me working at the entire other end of the building the last two days and I’m really feeling all that extra walking in my foot.  The cafeteria and locker room are at my regular end of the building so I’m having to hike down there when I get there in the morning, at lunch, both breaks and before I leave at the end of the day.   I dunno, it bites that my job and responsibilities there are affecting my homelife.  I can’t convey to you how pissy that makes me.  I should just say “[insert appropriate swear word here] it” and go but…  I dunno.  Whatever.  I’m sick of making decisions based on how I feel or how I’m gonna feel.

In the old days, my BFF Kate and I used to walk the perimeter of the fairgrounds several times in a night and practically every night of the week that the Fair was in town.  We used to have our favorite rides that we would ride until our tickets ran out.  I would “need” to have a blue or a rootbeer SnoCone and a half-dozen French Waffles.  Kate would “have to” have pizza and an icecream cone.  The vanilla kind covered with chocolate and nuts and a cherry.  We would both stop and buy fudge before we left the park and I would grab some cotton candy for the walk home.  She lived about 5 blocks from the park and walking was always fun and easier than finding (and paying for) a parking spot.  There were times that we would “do” the Fair all day and get our hands stamped at the gate so that we could go back at night.  We lived in a town where the Fair was the highlight of the summer and believe me, we lived for it.

Monday night there was always a huge parade that started after dinner and went on well into the night and there were fireworks after.  Up until a certain age, I was never allowed to go to the Fairgrounds after the parade because there were a gazillion firemen from half the counties in the state wandering around in various states of inebriation.  Thinking back, despite how indignant I was about that rule, it was probly a pretty good rule.

I have wonderful memories of the Parade.  I was lucky enough to have grandparents with a big old house with a yard along the parade route.  My mother’s entire family would gather there, arms laden with lawnchairs, jackets, blankets and pajamas for about nine kids and whomever else would show.  After dinner we would line up our chairs along the curb and spread blankets for the little ones to sit on, “up front” with a better chance to scramble for the candy that the firemen would throw from the trucks.  If you got enough kids yelling “Blow your siren!”  we would be rewarded with a long, loud blast of the truck siren accompanied by joyful squeals of delight from about a block’s worth of excited kids.

We would beg to sit on the curb hours before the start of the parade, which was signalled by the blowing of “Mooley” promptly at start time.  Mooley was the name given to a loud siren which I believe was originally used during the war for the air raid drills way back then.  It would start out low and rise to a very loud and high pitch and then fade back down and then go up again.  I’m pretty sure it was also the fire whistle but not sure about that…  Anyway, we would sit there excitedly as vendors would wander up and down the sides of the street barking their wares.  There would be, of course, helium balloons of every shape and size imaginable.  There were inflatable cartoon animals, whistles, hats with feathers, flags, anything that a whole bunch of could be carried by a man sporting a canvas apron with pockets for money.  I would “shop” carefully, making sure I had a firm grasp on everything there was to be had so as not to make a hasty purchase and then find something else later that I wanted more.  It was a one-shot deal so you had to be sure.  I can remember my little heart pounding in my chest when I would make my decision and wait for the vendor to come down my side of the street.  Lots of people (grown ups or “bad” kids) would cross the street to make a purchase but that seemed to risky to little me.  After a point there would be no more cars on the street as the police would put the road blocks up.  After that point there were still people and their lawnchairs marching by in search of an empty spot to park theirselves.  I would fret that they might get between me and the prize I’d decided to buy so there was more than a little anxiety involved.  Not to mention that we were closer to the big dangerous street that we were forbidden to be near any other time of the year.  The temptation to stick our little feet out into the street was sometimes unbearable.  So anyway,  the deal was that you would flag down your intended vendor, point out your prize and inquire about the price, praying against all you held dear that you had enough money.  If it was in the stars, the elation was indescribable.  And you looked all hot stuff to be sitting on the curb holding a helium balloon or an inflated Fred Flintstone until the parade actually started and you had to beg Mom or Dad to hold it in case they threw candy.  Heaven forbid that you only had one hand for candy grabbing.

The grown-ups all took turns managing kids at curbside or running inside and upstairs to “use the facilities.”  That was what was so cool about having grandparents on the parade route.  If you had to pee, you looked down the street and if there wasn’t a flashy band approaching with good drums, you could high-tail in inside, take care of your business and make it back to the blanket before you missed too much.  And chances were, if a truck with good candy just came by, there wouldn’t be another one for at least 5 more bands.

The clowns were scary.  I’m not even going to talk about them.

One of the best parts of the parade were the Shriners.  They would walk in unison wearing their balloon pants, gold painted shoes, sashes and turbans, slowly raising and lowering their swords as they slowly marched by.  A portion of the group would play what I called, “snake flutes” because they sounded like the flutes those swami guys would play in India to make the cobras come out of the baskets.  As I got older the Shriners would ride in little corvettes or on mini-bikes, criss-crossing the pavement in intricate patterns at designated places on the parade routes.  I think it was if there were “people of position” were gathered in one place, celebrating with their pricey alcoholic beverages, more likely to make donations.  My Uncle Jack was a Shriner and I was sometimes wont to sneak into the closet where he kept his gold shoes.  I was kind of disappointed to find out that they were just regular shoes, not magic, merely spray-painted metallic gold.

At some point during the parade and after dark, the grown-ups would come out and bribe one or two of us to come inside for a quick bath and to put jammies on so that we could be put to bed when we returned home.  I can still remember the fretting, sitting in the lukewarm bath that smelled of Ivory soap with the sounds of horns and drums and cheering and truck sirens wafting in through the open window in the bathroom.  I swear I was never quite dry when I would pull my jammies and slippers on … and the novelty of wearing a sweatshirt over my sleepwear was just weird but not weird enough to keep me from racing back outside to watch the end of the parade.

Traffic was always nutso after the parade.  We lived across town but my dad would never venture home until the worst of the traffic had passed.  My memory isn’t clear of where we would watch the fireworks.  I will have to think about that or ask my mom.

We would arrive home late at night worn out from the excitement.  And coming down off the sugar rush from the candy, of course.  The best part was that we could fall asleep knowing that we had a full week of riding rides ahead of us.


Deep Purple – Smoke On The Water

While you have your brain in 70’s mode, give this a listen.  I am AMAZED that these guys still sound EVERY bit as good as they did back then.  This was filmed at the 40th Montreux Festival in 2006.  You read that right, 2006. Machinehead, the album this is from, was the second album that I ever bought and I still have it in my collection.  Really, I can’t get over how good this is!!!  I created a new category for it!  (AMAZING)


Lee Michaels – Do you Know What I Mean

I don’t remember ever actually seeing Lee Michaels, there weren’t videos for every popular song that came about back then but I TOTALLY had a major crush on this guy’s voice.  I wanted to marry it.

Sidenote: After watching some of these videos, I checked out what some of these people are doing now.  I decided not to do it anymore.  It’s too painful to see how some of the bands have aged.  I’d rather remember them the way they were back then…


Grass Roots – Let’s Live For Today

This is another one of those 45s that I wore out from playing so much.  The “chills” I would get at about the 2:oo spot were what I would later come to identify as “arousal.”  LOL


“Dancing in the Moonlight” by King Harvest


The Buckinghams – Kind Of A Drag

NIRVANA (not the band)

1910 Fruitgum Company – Indian Giver

Hazel got me searching through old songs on YouTube.  When I found this today I about flipped.  I’d forgotten about it.  I played this record over and over and over until I think every note and word was embedded in my music-hungry teen-aged brain.  Looking back, I’d say it had to have been one of my absolute favorite songs from that time.  I played it so much you could barely see the grooves in the record so I bought another one and did the same thing.

It’s amazing to me the feelings that rush to the surface when you hear a song from such a wonderful, carefree, tumultuous, giddy, hormonal time of your life.  Better than drugs!  Any drugs I’ve taken, anyway.  I’d compare it to that rush you get when you’re first falling in love.  Don’t get much better than that.