Monday, February 27, 2012


Once more the medical community has reinforced my belief that they are little better then a witch doctor. That instead of the tribal mask and loin cloth of small bones they use a stethoscope and a prescription pad but the results are the same. Well actually I think a witchdoctor may have better track record as if they make a mistake the patient doesn’t die from their negligence, they die of whatever is ailing them but it isn’t the fix that kills.
Ok what I am on about…
Girl started out Saturday with a small twitch in her shoulder. It came outta nowhere and grew steadily worse as the day ground on. On Sunday she awoke with a full on spasm. Her right shoulder was in a 10 to 12 second cycled twitch.
It was no small “blip” either.
No small “Oh my goodness I think I may have inadvertently moved my shoulder but cannot tell.”
Oh no.
It was a full on cat lady, shopping cart, talking to yourself and shouting “DUMDUMDIDDY!!!” kind of spasm.
My poor girl.
Last night gave her a muscle relaxer and watched her still spasm as she slept.
Took her off to the doctor this morning.
To which they said “Well, she is having a muscle spasm”
Really? 12 years of school and you came up with that all by yourself?
So they tried a back adjustment
Shockingly this did nothing!
So they tried this thingy treatment and received the same result.
So what does the Doctor do from there?
Ok let’s segue to analogy world real quick.
***cool rippling special effect***
You take your car to the mechanic saying
It is making a noise in the engine and doesn’t start”
So the mechanic tries one thing and that doesn’t fix it.
Then the mechanic tries something else and that doesn’t work
So what would be the mechanic’s next step?
Remember this is a qualified mechanic so he has all sorts’ car mechanical knowledge and stuff.
If you answered:
“The mechanic would then tell you to take the car home and stick it in the garage and not drive it for 2 days to see if that fixes the issue, right?”
Then you too can be a productive member of the medical community! Just send in your 12 box tops and a paragraph essay detailing why you want to be a doctoring.


That is what the doctor said and that is what the doctor did.
Told Girl to go home and to rest and relax for 2 days.

Even if it was not my daughter I would think it odd that a perfectly good 15 year old started having deep muscle spasms that made her look like a mad scientist with a twitch.
Could be Muscular dystrophy
Could be nothing.

Dumb bastards

Whoops forgot to shut off the analogy channel
****cool rippling special effect****


Monday, February 20, 2012

My happy place

Do you have a happy place?
I used to but time steals all wonder.
  First when I was but a tot it was always sitting in the back of a closet in the dark with a flashlight. Giggling to myself that no one would ever find me here. As if the KGB and MIB were at that very moment conspiring together to seek me out for fiendish experiments and dastardly plans.
Truth was, no one even knew I was gone.
Not that no one didn’t care for me just that, in my na├»ve little world I was sequestered away from all prying eyes but in the real world I was sitting in a closet for 10 minutes.
In my early teens, I graduated up to the cardboard box fort.
I was like one of those Russian babushka nesting dolls. A nerd, reading a book, in a box, in a room, in a house.
I even had pictures hanging from the walls in my castle, which were special spy pictures. Meaning if you took these hanging pictures of dogs and star wars and flipped them over there were pictures of women in their bras from the Sunday colored ads.
Yeah this was my pad.
Into my teenage years I had a tree.
Not a tree house or a tree fort but a tree. Maple if it matters.
That was “My Tree” for a few years. I spent 3 whole summers in that tree.
I climbed every single inch of that thing.
I even had a cargo net my dad gave me out in it that I would lay about in like a hammock and read (and get rope burns from as this was a real cargo net)
After getting married I always had a Man Cave or as they were more commonly known as, a Den. My computer room was always …well mine.
Now all of those are gone.
I don’t feel the overt need to sequester myself away from society as much as I used to.
Maybe once the kids are out of the house I will reclaim what is mine.
Until then though I have very my own happy place
in my mind’s eye
with me wherever I go
where its always warm and sunny and the fish bite next to a waterfall.
Really quite lovely and relaxing.
And when you turn the leaves of the tree over there are pictures of women in their bras.


Monday, February 13, 2012

Lets see where are we.

Still working on dropping the cigarettes.
Got stressed out at the beginning of last week and slipped back some, I have been picking at it with some mild resolve and have it back to 3 a day.
Working towards 2.
Then reality steps into the room grabs you by the scruff of the next and proceeds to use you dreams and expectations as it’s toilet paper.
Ok maybe it hasn’t been THAT bad but it is quite the analogy…
Last night the Girl was on her way home from church with some friends.
I was asked to give her a call to see where she was so being a really good button pusher and mouth voice talker.
I did.
Briiinnngng (oh sorry, wrong century)
beep-beep (close enough)

ME : hey Girl where art thou? (yeah I speak like that.)
Girl: Umm…. yeah… on the way home…
ME: OK, that’s fine but where are you?
Girl: I am with friends on the way home.
ME: that… but where are you?
Girl: Johnny is bringing us home and we are outside of town….
ME: OK, that’s fine but where are you? (Don’t you just dig my hard hitting and probing questions)
Girl: We’re ok…we just slid into a train fence…
(It was here that my Sherlock Holmes like steel trap of a mind grasped onto the notion that there was trouble at the old mill so I buckled down and asked)
Me: where are you?
Ok I gave up here as she was now more into talking around me and beyond me. I passed the phone over to her mother who, in just a few short words got the entire story.
Seems they were on the way home and were on a dirt road when ol mister winter threw some ice into their path and made the car slide into the guard rail at a railroad crossing.
Flat tire, body damage and a busted headlight.
The Girl did not want me coming with her mother out to the scene because she thought I would try to beat up Johnny…
I guess years of telling her “accidents are accidents and they do happen all the time” hasn’t been enough. Maybe Daddy’s temper has a lot to do with it.
Yeah... probably.