God Damn the Pusher Man

This morning started off rough when the friggin doorbell rang at 10:00. Of course it was Jehovah's Witnesses.  Who else would visit me at that hour?  Even the goobery UPS & FedEx guys know to just leave crap by the door.

I should have known better than to open the door.  Meanwhile, one would think as soon as these people see my monster dogs through the glass storm door (particularly Tater, who likes to show teeth and who has a bark like a freight train and is not afraid to use it) they would turn tail.  I should be so lucky.

I always tell them, "You might as well stop coming here, I will NEVER be a Witness."  They always counter with "Never say never," smile, then throw copies of the Watchtower at me.  I decided on the spot to make a "No Missionaries" sign for my door.  Maybe they'll take the hint next week when they come back, since the dogs are not working as a deterrent.

Missionaries don't just annoy me, mind you...they down right piss me off.  By the way, this also applies to Missionary Baptists and Mormons, all of whom are really big into the religion-pushing scene.  I hate to have anything pushed on me, let alone religion.  Besides, shouldn't they be trying to save someone who is essentially religionless?  Shouldn't they be targeting houses with gargoyles and pentagrams, for instance?

So, the need to make a fresh sign forced me to leave my house for Hobby Lobby for a sign-making crap purchase.

While I was out, I went to Costco, since it's a block away from Hobby Lobby and the chickens were calling me.  I felt compelled to buy a rotisserie chicken..don't ask me why, since I have no idea myself.  I only eat chicken breasts - always.  It's a texture thing, I think.  So I buy the stupid chickens, bring them home, eat the breast, then throw the rest away.  I figure it's worth paying $5 to have somebody cook a chicken for me.  On the plus side, I hate chicken that is riding the cusp of becoming sawdust at any minute.  Costco chickens are never overdone.

Of course Costco is in the holiday spirit and at the end of every row was a food pusher.  You've seen them.  They're *demonstrating* various food items.  What that means is they're handing out samples. You can't get away from them no matter how hard you try. 

Today they had tiny hot dogs on tiny buns.  They were cute.  I desperately wanted one, but managed to abstain. In the next aisle was the fruity yogurt pusher.  I bought an astounding two quarts of plain Greek yogurt instead, which I hope I can eat before it expires or explodes or grows something furry.

Then there was the smoked sausage pusher, and the granola bar pusher, the flavored mashed potato pusher, and the pumpkin pie and whipped cream pusher, the chocolate baklava pusher, the imported belgian cookie pusher, and the Noni juice pusher (whatever the hell that is - doesn't matter I ain't buyin' it).

And then...and then....I spied the jarred, artichoke heart halves pusher.  I gunned my handi-cart and made for the artichokes.  So far there had been nothing there that was safe for me to eat - even in small quantities.  All those little bites add up fast, and I am limited to a ridiculously low number of fat grams per day.  I roll up to the artichoke demo cart and to my dismay, the damned things were packed in oil.  How DARE they?  Bastard pushers!

Communist Banana Pudding & Milk Ranting

Sugar-free, fat-free, generic pudding + generic skim milk + a couple freckled bananas + lame ass vanilla wafers = Communist banana pudding.

It's so tasteless and shitty, I insist it be called "Communist banana pudding." If I could have put just one more brandless item in it, I swear it would be demanding on its own to be wearing a uniform, and commence to doing marching drills on the bottom shelf of the refrigerator. 

Trust me, it's a long way away from that wonderful comfort food that most people love, but apparently its the best I can have.  I blame it all on skim milk.  ::gag::

By the way, isn't all milk generic unless you buy it directly from the dairy who processed it?  (This is easiest to understand if you've spent any time around dairy farms or seen the way milk is processed and shipped.)

I hate skim milk.  HATE IT.  I can only just barely stand it if it's mixed into something to disguise it.  I grew up on Guernsey milk, the best tasting milk on the planet, incidentally.  All milk is not created equal.  Jersey milk is a close second, but nothing beats the rich, golden taste of a cold glass of Guernsey milk. 

I have had milk dipped out of a bucket, still warm from the cow. I've had non-homogenized milk that had to be shaken up before drinking, because the thick, yellow cream would be floating on the top of the bottle.  I have had unpasteurized milk, because at the time and place, that's all that was available.  Believe me when I say I know milk, dammit, and skim milk is NOT "milk."  The only similarities are it once came out of a cow, the shape of the bottle/jug is the same, and that it is vaguely white,  (yes, it's true, skim milk is NOT white in color).

I suppose it's something I'll never grow to tolerate.  I would simply rather do without milk at all, than be forced to drink nasty, yucky skim milk.  Don't get me started on the abomination they call "fat free cheese."

Hurty Parts & Other Stuff

2 weeks of walking on a broken hip and my various pains have re-prioritized themselves.  It's really too bad I'm not a masochist, since I find my current state utterly joyless.  Actually the hip is minutely better, but the chest pain is returning with a vengeance, which I assume is from using more pressure on my arms and chest to walk in order to bear some of the weight my legs would normally take.  See pain doc on the 23rd.  Can't wait to berate him. He needs it, dammit...friggin joke for a pain doctor.  "Oh, you broke your hip? Here, have some Advil."  Asshole.

I am going to attempt to walk just a little farther every day.  I can pretty much walk around the house without the walker, but I need it for any distance at all.  I cannot just lay on this stupid couch and rot.  It's killing me.  Literally.

I'll be really glad when I can start using the Rue harness. The harness making woman said it takes about a month to complete. I can understand that because it's entirely handmade to individual measurements out of latigo leather, (Yeah, like a Leather Woman would order something OTHER than a leather harness?) with a sheepskin lining and stainless hardware. They look like this with subtle variations depending on specific needs:

It beats the hell out of a stupid rollator or being stuck in a damned electric wheelchair or scooter, not to mention it forces me to get out of the house.

I bought a head lamp for my head - a little led flashlight that's stuck on a headband, so I can take Rue out walking at night.  There are no streetlamps on my street, so unless I just want to walk her back and forth in my driveway only, I  need some kind of light, and obviously I wouldn't have a free hand to hold a flashlight.  I'm wondering if I should also get a bicycle reflector to glue or clip onto the back of the headband.

I NEED to start taking Rue out into public places - I can do that now that she has her ID. She hasn't had much experience in crowds, other than at dog class and inside PetSmart -- and there she wants to bark bark bark bark bark at every dog she sees.  Need to correct that, definitely.  I also need to get her into the mall where she can learn to ride the escalators and elevators, as well as how to act in a crowd.

I have a metric butt-ton of stuff to do and having the hip setback didn't help a bit.  Grrrr.  Prime example of Murphy's Law.  I'm telling you, I'm the Murphy poster girl.

Meanwhile back at the ranch, still eating steroids, still RAVENOUS, and still can't get my blood sugar any lower than 140s.  I should probably be more worried about that than I am, however... I gotta eat with my stupid meds, and I feel like I'm starved all day long.  Not just hungry -- STARVED.  Meh.  Also, the crap that I am actually allowed to eat just doesn't satisfy me in the least. 

The oddest thing is I really have no interest in food at all....I don't want anything in particular, nothing really jumps out at me on a menu - everything is just blah and ashy tasting, and if I think about it too hard before swallowing, I'll have to spit it out or gag, because if I'm thinking about it, it's already too late.  This belongs in the strange but true files, I guess:  "Ravenous Woman is Disgusted by Food."  WTH?

2 Steps Back

I swear my last name should be Murphy.  My entire genetic line should belong to the Murphy family.  I'm talking about the Murphy's Law people - if something possibly can go wrong, it will.  It has been just one fubar after the other for me, all week long. 

I've felt kinda down the past couple days.  I thought a haircut might help.  It didn't, it just made me look more like Beethoven.  I have vowed that it will be my last haircut.  I am tired of screwing with hair - I never should have gotten it cut in the first place.  It WANTS to be long and straight and I have decided to let it be long and straight.  No more fighting it.  It will be happier and I will be less stressed.

I started playing my guitar again today after a long absence.  My hands are very slow, and I can't remember even one entire song.  This might be part of pumphead syndrome, but in any case, my illness has stolen my music from me. I used to have a footlocker full of sheet music, but no telling where that might be or if it even exists anymore.

I can barely handle the 12-string.  I have a 6-string acoustic that actually has a bullet hole in it...don't ask.  The damned thing won't stay tuned, even for one song.  I think it needs new tuners at the very least.  Anyway, I'm toying with the idea of getting another 6 string.  Since the one I have is basically unplayable, and would probably cost just as much to fix as the cost of a new/gently used guitar. 

I also need to get back to my toy-making, but that takes a little more concentration than I have available right now.

The whole point of this is stress relief. I could be out walking/training my Rue dog, but since I have a broken ass, I've been trying to move as little as possible. I still have pain issues - it's just that the pains have given themselves different priorities now. God forbid somebody should give me a fucking pain pill.  I see the pain guy on the 23rd.  Maybe he'll take pity on my broken, swollen ass, but probably not....I'm a Murphy underneath it all.

BIG SWIFFER MOMENT--ASTEROID LOOMS LARGE

Surely by now everyone has seen the newish Swiffer commercials.  Some single little ball of lint or little gray slime mold is hanging out in the computer keyboard, or on the tile grout, being all lonely and sad because it'll never be picked up.  Then a giant Swiffer mop looms large in the background...make-out/stripper music starts playing, and the little ball of lint jumps onto the mop, arms spread wide - the lint ball is clearly in love but it's a match made in hell.  The Swiffer mop will NEVER let it go, the little hapless lint ball is stuck on it forever, eventually following it to the grave, as it makes its way onto the next garbage scow or to the dumpster.

Today an asteroid is going to pass very near the Earth, looming over us like a giant Swiffer mop.  This is humanity's big Swiffer moment!  Does anyone else have the urge to go stand outside with arms outstretched and try to leap onto the thing as it hurtles by? 

Dammit, I'm fresh out of white tennis shoes and purple robes, too.  Had I only known sooner...

FREE CRAP!!

I missed my chance.  On the day before Halloween, I should have hung a sign on my gate that said "FREE DOG POOP! (inquire at door)."  There would have been flaming bags on every porch all over the damned city, but NOOOOooooo!  As per usual, I have to be a day late and a dollar short.

Seriously, I have a dillemma.  I MUST harvest my yard turds, but my hurty ass knob is saying OMFG, lay your ass down.  The poop will still be there when your knob feels better.  *eyeroll*

I have fair number of buzzards who live near my house.  Why the hell can't they come to my yard and have a poop feast now that roadkill season has slowed down?  Dog poop is ALMOST pre-digested meat.  It probably has the same amount of protein as well as having less bacteria than the average dead armadillo rind or 2-week-gone gray fox.  I don't get it. 

In the summer this is an area of the country where one can actully hire a chain gang to do physical labor on the cheap.  I think next year I might get a poop chain gang to work my yard once a week.

Sleep Eating & Other Atrocities

This morning I woke up around 9 with a banana in my hand.  It had exactly one bite out of it.  I vaguely remember getting up around 4ish.  Gotta take the steroids before 6AM, and MUST eat when I take them.  Since I was up, I am assuming I took the steroids and tried to wash them down with a banana.  I also had one unopened banana lying next to me.  Two bananas in case the first one breaks? 

Obviously my sleep is continuing in various stages of f'd-uppedness.  It has to be either from pain or effects still from the heart/lung pump. Meh.  Wish I could sleep like a normal person.

HOLY CRAP NOT WHAT I EXPECTED!

Today I felt pretty good.  Like an almost normal kind of good.  Despite the ass knob pain thing, or maybe even because of it. 

This was probably the best day I've had in a long time.  My mood is good, for starters - but the really good thing is the ONLY thing that actually hurts is my ass/hip. 

My chest is pain free, unless I cough or sneeze.  My right leg has a sensation not unlike wearing a tourniquet directly under the knee. This is the vein donation site, and also the site of nerve damage/nerve pain. It felt like it was on fire most of the time, with every bend of the knee - that's gone.  I just have the tourniquet squeezy-thing feeling, and I am guessing that is due to the swelling.  Left ribs are uncomfortable, but I did fall on them, so I expected it, but it's not that bad.  The back of my left arm apparently also took a big hit of which I wasn't even aware, since it is covered with a big purple bruise.

The brain does funny things with pain.  That's why TENS units work. (Look up TENS unit, if you don't know what it is.)  I sincerely hope my pain free portions remain that way and don't return as soon as my ass knob begins to heal.  Don't get me wrong, the ass knob pain is tremendous - like on a scale of 1-10 it's a 12, I'm having problems walking of course (and sitting and lying down), but my *other assorted screamy pains* are gone for now.

If nothing else at least it has given me a much needed break from intense pain.  I finally was able to sleep for a couple hours early this morning.  I expect to sleep tonight - I am exhausted from not sleeping, and know I'd feel even better if I could get a full night or 5 of uninterrupted sleep. 

This was not at all what I expected.  I got a benefit from an injury!  How often does that happen, if at all?  WOOHOO for a damned change!! 

Normally a hip injury makes the downhill slide that much steeper and faster. People die from broken hips - it's not all that uncommon. At the very least it is a crippling, often disabling injury, and the older someone is, the worse it can be. Probably the only reason I get off easy is I'm not that old yet.  I DO have to be more careful.  Gonna get some grab bars for the tub, I guess.

Old Dogs & New Pills

Tater is an old dog.  She's one of the best dogs I've ever had.  Yes, she's quirky and she has personality issues, but she's exactly what I need in a dog, and when I first got her, she was absolutely perfect and exactly what I was looking for.  She is a dream on a leash. She knows all her commands and even a few tricks. She wasn't the easiest dog to train, but once she got a command down, it was down pat.

Admittedly, most of her protection job consists of intimidation.  She is huge.  With hackles up and teeth showing she is an impressive sight - she is perfectly capable of protecting me and will do it in a heartbeat, but most of the time that hasn't been necessary due mostly to just the way she looks...in a word, fierce.

She is 12.  12 is ancient for a giant dog.  She is a Lab/Great Dane mix (English types refer to these as *Lurchers*) and kind of looks like a giant brindle lab, weighing around 110 lbs.  She was a rescue dog, and they wouldn't tell me her original background, but I highly suspect it was something along the lines of junkyard dog.  She has quite literally saved me on a couple of occasions. She keeps me and my house and yard safe from invaders. 

Once I even got to say to a potential home invader at the front door, "Meet my alarm system, Tater!"  as she pinned the guy to the wall by his shoulders, and her dripping teeth came out of her mouth just like in the movie Alien as she barked an inch away from his face.  The guy's eyes got big as saucers.   Then of course I had to yell at him, "Don't run, fucker, THE DOG WILL BITE YOU.  Instantly he was like, "Oh, yes ma'am, yes ma'am.  After I called her off him, he was visibly shaking.  Looking back, I'm really surprised he didn't piss himself.

I have big dogs because I am girly and weak and sick and they are my first line of defense, besides being family members.  In fact, unless I am already holding some sort of weapon, they are my only line of defense.  I am THAT weak these days.

I got Rue, the German Shepherd, to take Tater's place for when the inevitable happens, and I have to put Tater down.  Before that happens, Rue has to learn how to do Tater's job.

Today I had a conversation with a long time friend.  This guy has been my friend for more than 20 years.   He has owned several Schutzhund dogs (personal protection dogs) in the past that he himself has trained.  Sometimes we talk about training, but mostly he's just my friend.  Today out of the blue he says, "Why don't you put Tater down?"  I was incensed that he would say that, for starters.  Next, it's not his damned business. 

I asked him why he was so interested in me killing off my dogs.  He said "Well hell, she's 12, she's going deaf, she's getting cataracts, she has arthritis.  Do you need more reasons?"  "Hey," I said, "you're old (he's 56) and you're going a little deaf I noticed. Should I come over there and shoot you for no other reason than that?  "It's not the same thing," he says.  "Of course it is," I argue.

"These dogs are my FAMILY, don't you get it?  Yes, they have jobs to do and they are workers, but they are family before they are anything else.  Even Binky, all 4 lbs of her, even Binky would give her life for me, that's how much heart she has.  I'll know when it's time for Tater.  The time is NOT NOW."

Actually poor old Tater has perked up a lot since Rue came along. Plus, she recently started getting a daily arthritis pill which does help her not be so stiff. Even with stiffness, if there is any perceived threat to me, she runs as fast as she ever did and is right at my side if I need her in a flash. No dirt nap for the Tater dog. Not yet.