Cast Of Characters

A comment I recently got started the crusty wheels in my head a' turning:

"... I feel like I know you and your family (sugar bowl, princess etc.) Sort of like a familiar tv series that you get to know all the players."

That made me think that maybe I should give a more formal rundown of the main cast to this R rated drama that is my life. (Once upon a time I would have called it X rated, but things have really changed for me.) Princess is going to give her input here too, to help balance (?) it out. Youngest to oldest we are:

Jabber

Blindbeard says: He in an 8 year old ADHHHHHHD kid whose tongue is hung in the middle and flaps at both ends. There are only 2 thoughts rattling around in his head: boogers and video games, namely Mario and Luigi. His hair is a red/orange, more orange then red, so we also call him Pumpkin Top, like if he hits his head we tell him to be careful not to spill his pumpkin seeds, or to start using his pumpkin seeds to form a thought that doesn't involve boogers and video games, or, being a boy, his penis. You don't want his hands to touch your face or, God forbid!, get in your mouth because you run a VERY high risk of getting raging Shigella. But he is also a very creative kid who can entertain himself for hours with the simplest of things, like a pair of earmuffs and a bungee cord will keep him occupied for hours. Who knew that bungee cords and earmuffs could have such great conversations? I wouldn't have thought they would have much in common.

Princess says: He is an annoying 8 year old boy who is addicted to video games but only the video games we have here. He has to take his DS every where and loses his games, and sadly, we bought him more for Christmas. Sorry, I was asleep when you asked me and I had a dream you were drawing a cow that looked like a sink.

Princess

Blindbeard says: She is an 11 year old know-it-all who is highly intelligent and can be a good companion but hates shopping to the point that it drives me crazy to take her with me. She is worried someone might see her naked body and goes to great lengths to make sure no one does. She is one stubborn mule and will dig in her heels and not back down no matter what the consequences may be for doing so. She doesn't think her mother and I are funny when we know we are damn funny. She is breathing down my neck right now and is watching every word I type and correcting me about everything.

Princess says: I'm the best person ever! Don't put that! I don't think that! It makes me sound conceited. You know, I am going to go in and delete all this! I hate you.

Sugarbowl

Blindbeard says: That woman and I are either getting along great or at loggerheads about something or everything, depending on the day and whether she took her meds or not. She is very creative and she and I can play off each others wit and amuse ourselves for too long. She talks too loud, due to ear problems as a child, and will blast everyone out of the bleachers at Princess's basketball games, no matter how many times I try to shush her. Her car is a mobile dump that drives me insane to have to ride in it, so we take my car so she doesn't have to hear me bitch about what a disgusting mess her car is. She likes stupid pets and I have to pull out my bossy big sister to keep her from starting a petting zoo in her room. She is allergic to cleaning and one tired lazy slob, but I still loves her.

Princess says: I say nothing about her.

Blindbeard

Blindbeard says: I know I have a lot of faults. I am a clean, organized person by nature and living with slobs can make me very hard to live with at times. I do not share well, what's mine is mine and I will not share with you. I tend to not have a lot of empathy for others, and do not care what anyone thinks about me, only what I think about them. I have certain things that I do not like anyone else to touch, like my favorite pen. One time Sugarbowl took it to work because she couldn't find any other pens. She didn't tell me until she got back home because she knew I would pop a vein in my head if I knew. I now hide that pen better. I change the words to songs all the time, to suit my mood and what is happening around me. I am very literal and will miss a lot of things that are not meant to be taken literally, or it takes me awhile to figure it all out. I read boring books that no one else can understand why I would read, but I am an historical non fiction addict who can only go so long without my fix.

Princess says: You are a great big glob of greasy grimy gopher guts; smell so bad it drives me nuts. You like to go shopping way way way too much. You can be fun and funny when you want to, other times you are an ass hole (she actually said that! And told me I could write that!). You steal my animals, even though I recovered one. The other I will never recover (her dog). You yell at me to get ready even though you have nothing else to do. You talk constantly; you have diarrhea of the mouth (HYPOCRITE!). You think the couch is yours even though you DIDN'T EVEN HELP MOVE IT INTO THE HOUSE! (The couch is mine, for the record.) You read dumb books. You get up at the crack of dawn.

BB: Don't you have anything decent to say about me?
P: I don't think I do. But you can be my best friend at times.

Party In My Pants

And nobody is coming. There have been so many parties at my house, one would think we are a bunch of wild & crazy gals. Alas, we are not. We can't even pretend to be. But sometimes we like to think we are rockin' the place.

Princess's Party

Princess has been grounded for the last umpteen years for yelling at her mom to "SHUT UP" when her mother told her to turn off the wii and get ready for bed. That went over like the proverbial lead balloon. I was reading in bed and heard it all. I was surprised that Sugarbowl did not react worse than she did. I was afraid things were going to get so ugly I would have to pry my tired arse out of bed, don my striped referee shirt, grab my whistle that I use to get the dogs' attention and whip their butts back into shape. Sugarbowl did not go off on a yelling spree, but grounded her for a long time. The next morning she gave Princess the option to apologize and have her sentence reduced, but Princess is one stubborn mule and wouldn't back down. She told her mother that she could have said more! (Sound of all those lead balloons crashing to earth.) Now Princess is on a party of "I'm sorry now, so let's all be friends and unground me" and nobody is buying it. She's trying to play the martyr and show how innocent and sweet she is but the last 11 years are against her. So until her sentence is over -- Christmas day -- she will be partying by herself.


Sugarbowl's Party

So Sugarbowl boo hoo-ed and got herself a dog. He is a Chihuahua and mini pin mix and one cute little booger. He is also very resistant to house training. We toss his butt outside but he couldn't possibly pinch his stinkies out there. He can hold it until he gets back inside, thanks. The other day Sugarbowl had a date, which is a great story in itself, and came home late. Her room smelled like a fresh pile of poo, but she thought the cat boxes got too close to the furnace and it was pumping all that stinky air into her room, so she just went to sleep. When I had to poke my head into her room the next morning, I noticed the horrible smell, but thought the same thing about the cat boxes and maybe because she closes her door at night the stench was trapped in there. It was trapped all right, because Rupert (her dog) had a diarrhea party in there and squirted crap all over a bunch of her clothes. Sugarbowl says she was the only one who showed up for the party because Rupert sleeps in my bed and he can only come in her room to crap. She wants him to stay with her but she says -- to my great amusement -- that he strains his main butt hole vein to get away from her and get to me and will only use her room for a bathroom. She was so mad about all her clothes that were covered in crap, and her breathing in diarrhea air all night, that she gave me custody of Rupert for the last 2 days. I don't want custody of him. I already have, against my will, 2 dogs and DO NOT want a third dog. I actually only have one official dog, my yellow lab, the corgi is Princess's but for some reason that dog attached himself to me and only has 2 thoughts in his head, "Protect Blindbeard, and DESTROY!" Now Rupert has decided that he likes me best and with him and Widget in my bed, there is little room for me, but we sure do keep warm. Widget gets pretty pissy about Rupert in my bed and I have to break up their fights, which they usually like to have in my face, too often. It's a good thing I like dogs so much or they would all be sleeping on the floor. Damn my soft loving nature!

Lastly, I will leave you with this 12 Days of Christmas that Princess penned about all our pets. I hope you enjoy it as much as I have. (I'm going to condense it with comments.)

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me,
A Pembroke Welsh corgi.
2 golden labs,
3 crapping Chihuahuas
4 sneezing Stubbys (a stray cat that adopted me and has a chronic sinus infection)
5 cross eyed kitties (her Siamese cat that is cross eyed but the best hunter we have)
6 not-so-Angels (a cat that is a pain in the butt)
7 dirty Kiras (Sugarbowl's cat that doesn't "wipe" after using the cat box)
8 little Nellies (an outdoor cat of unknown origins)
9 Butterpads (her gerbil)
10 squeaking Squeakers (her other gerbil)
11 stinky dog farts
12 diarrhea parties.

Dear Blindbeard: The Wha...? Edition

*Author's Note: I'm a complete moron. I have been diagnosed for almost 5 years not six like I said in the second letter. How time flies when you're not having fun.



Sometimes I get these comments that I can't figure out how they are related to anything I ever said. To these I dedicate this Dear Blindbeard.


Dear Blindbeard,

Coulnt read past day 3. Very sad had to write in first place. Realise MS makes a difference to life and it is not nice but it is worse with anger and eats away. If thought that there is always somebody worse off it does help.

Suejan


Dear Beautiful Suejan,

My dear, you missed the point of my 12 Days of Christmas. It may seem angry, but that was not my intent. It was merely my making fun of myself and the gifts that MS has given me, which it has been very generous with. My therapists have told me that anger can be a good thing because it is motivating and helps you push the boundaries of this disease -- granted you don't want to take it too far, but a little can help.

I can't dwell on the thoughts of how many people are worse off than me for too long. It depresses me and makes me very sad and down. I feel for those people and wish I could help, but I only have my friendship and empathy to give them, and nobody is beating down my door to get either of those things. I was going to school for Human Services and did foster care for several years, so I know how bad off some people are. My spewing about MS does not mean I am not aware of others' sufferings, I am just choosing to make fun of my own, to which I will share this little nugget of wisdom:

The whole thing's daft,
I don't know why.
You have to laugh
Or else you'll cry.

That sums up my outlook on MS and life better than any other adage I can think of.

Love,
Blindbeard


Dear Blindbeard,

Hey there,

So I found you blog when I was looking for MS blogs and other MS related info. and such because I got diagnosed a week and a half ago. I'm 16 with my entire life ahead of me. Weirdly, I love reading your depressing blog. Seeing all that negative only forces me to want to disagree (or something) so I find the positive... the "silver lining" if you will.

So thank you for your dreary blogs. They're helping me to cope with this unfortunate disease.

Cheers and Merry Christmas!

Linnea


Dear Beautiful Linnea,

Hey there,

I was diagnosed almost 6 years ago. I'm 35 with my entire life ahead of me. Weirdly, I am not writing a depressing blog. Seeing this comment makes me wonder if you read a different blog and posted a comment on here. Seeing all that stuff about "depressing" makes me remember how I was when newly diagnosed. I tried to find the "silver lining" if you will, went through all the different stages of grief and ended up finding that I enjoy a good laugh at myself best of all.

So thank you for a comment that missed the point of my entire blog. I only have one blog, but thanks for thinking I could keep up on "blogs" -- this one helps me cope with this unfortunate disease.

Love,
Blindbeard

P.S. This whole comment smacks of insincerity and I almost want to call bull sh*t on the whole thing. If for nothing else, because you are "only 16" I am hoping I am right and this whole thing is crap. Cheers and Merry Christmas!

This Email I Got

I'm sharing this because it is really interesting and puts a ton of things into perspective. Sometimes I really need to remember how much bigger everything is compared to my problems -- not that I don't know that, I just like to be reminded. I took out the cheesy text because this speaks for itself.

12 Days Of Christmas

*Author's Note: I'm reposting this for any who might have missed it last year, but I am working on a new one for this year. MS is the gift that just keeps on giving... and giving, and giving, and giving, and giving.




On the first day of Christmas my MS gave to me,

1 life time of misereeeee.



On the second day of Christmas my MS gave to me,

2 frozen feet,

And a life time of misereeee.



On the third day of Christmas my MS gave to me,

3 hours of sleep,

2 frozen feet,

And a life time of misereeee.



On the fourth day of Christmas my MS gave to me,

4 stiff limbs,

3 hours of sleep,

2 frozen feet,

And a life time of misereee.



On the fifth day of Christmas my MS gave to me,

5 itchy spots,

4 stiff limbs,

3 hours of sleep,

2 frozen feet,

And a life time of misereee.



On the sixth day of Christmas my MS gave to me,

6 morning meds,

5 itchy spots,

4 stiff limbs,

3 hours of sleep,

2 frozen feet,

And a life time of misereee.



On the seventh day of Christmas my MS gave to me,

7 night meds,

6 morning meds,

5 itchy spots,

4 stiff limbs,

3 hours of sleep,

2 frozen feet,

And a life time of misereee.



On the eighth day of Christmas my MS gave to me,

8 new aches and pains,

7 night meds,

6 morning meds,

5 itchy spots,

4 stiff limbs,

3 hours of sleep,

2 frozen feet,

And a life time of misereee.



On the ninth day of Christmas my MS gave to me,

9 assistive devices,

8 new aches and pains,

7 night meds,

6 morning meds,

5 itchy spots,

4 stiff limbs,

3 hours of sleep,

2 frozen feet,

And a life time of misereee.

On the tenth day of Christmas my MS gave to me

10 year old I can't keep up with,

9 assistive devices,

8 new aches and pains,

7 night meds,

6 morning meds,

5 itchy spots,

4 stiff limbs,

3 hours of sleep,

2 frozen feet,

And a life time of misereee.

On the eleventh day of Christmas my MS gave to me

11 jerks and twitches,

10 year old I can't keep up with,

9 assistive devices,

8 new aches and pains,

7 night meds,

6 morning meds,

5 itchy spots,

4 stiff limbs,

3 hours of sleep,

2 frozen feet,

And a lifetime of misereee.

On the twelfth day of Christmas my MS gave to me

12 things I can't remember,

11 jerks and twitches,

10 year old I can't keep up with,

9 assistive devices,

8 new aches and pains,

7 night meds,

6 morning meds,

5 itchy spots,

4 stiff limbs,

3 hours of sleep,

2 frozen feet,

And a life time of misereee.

Pity, Party Of One, Your Table Is Ready

Yesterday I held a pity party for myself, against my own will. I tried to fight it but it wouldn't go away. Coming off of Tysabri and doing the oral steroids, I was hurting, irritable, edgy and unable to get any sleep. I did the steroids for 3 days and decided that the side effects are not worth it. My mouth tasted like I was sucking on an old penny that had been soaked in Robitussin and no matter how many times I brushed my teeth or ate mints, it wouldn't go away. I called my neurologist and told her this, my history of suicidal inclinations was in my favor, I am not going to finish my 5 days of steroids and the plan of having me do steroids for the next 6 months until Copaxone reaches its therapeutic levels has been scrapped. While trying to find a way to get my body comfortable, I spent too much time on Facebook and read all about every one's hot plans for the weekend, which sent my pity party into full swing.

For games I decided against Monopoly and went for Pin The Self Loathing On The Gimp. I fell into the old Why Can't I Be Normal trap and went round and round with that. I didn't want to admit it, but I was jealous of those who can go and do things, especially at night when I am counting down the minutes until I can go to bed. I want to jog again, walk my dog, read half the night, be able to keep up with Princess, shop all day with Sugarbowl. I want to be normal and feel like a 35 year old woman, not a 95 year old woman. I want to join in all the reindeer games and be able to stay up too late and rock it with a lampshade on my head. I do not want to be ME anymore. I hate the fact that MS has all the say over me and if I try to fight it I only hurt myself worse. If I try to push myself too far, I get too tired and my muscles start shaking, that overwhelming fatigue where if you don't rest you run a HUGE risk of hurting yourself.

Ugh! I have to stop this pity party NOW because I am only irritating myself more. Every once in awhile I have to vent this stuff and be with it so it can pass and I can get back to life. I hate feeling this way and I HATE feeling sorry for myself. It makes me even more of a bitchy jackass then usual, and nobody wants that. Luckily, my roomies were not interested in coming to my party and decided to tease and harass me to keep me from taking myself too seriously, so I do feel a little better and even started to laugh at the way they were walking like me and stumbling over everything while forgetting what they was doing 5 minutes ago. When holding a pity party, it is best to invite those who will not join in on the pity. I still wish I could party all night with a lampshade on my head, but at least I can admit that my dancing would look like the tin man in a rain storm and that image amuses me and makes me feel a little better.

From Bad To Worse

There comes a time in every one's life when you should just stop talking. No, really, just stop, before you make yourself look any worse. Sadly, some people don't like to stop and then there is nothing left to do but laugh and make fun of them. I am always available to laugh and make fun of anyone socially retarded enough to go too far, hence why I am sharing this story.

Recently a member/friend of the family told me that because I have MS I am not exactly a great catch anymore (not like I ever was). It would be hard for me to find anyone who would be willing to date me because of my MS; it is too hard of a thing for anyone to deal with and not many men would want a woman with my problems. I found it funny because:

A. Anyone who feels that way I would not be interested in because they are obviously idiots.

B. My ex thinks I am a great catch, to the point it makes me a little conceited sometimes. He makes me feel like if boys knew I was single they would be clamoring at my door to have me.

and C. I couldn't believe that anyone would say such a thing to someone with any kind of disease or handicap.

Luckily I am thick skinned enough and value this person's opinion so little that I was not even slightly offended. I told this story to every one who would listen because it is so ridiculous. My mother was not amused. In fact she was PISSED! She ranted and raved and was shocked that this person had made it this far in life without someone offing them. She is glad that it didn't hurt my feelings and that it was said to me instead of someone who would think that the general population truly believes that about a person "with my condition." My mom called this person up and ripped their arse for saying something so potentially hurtful to someone. After that, I got this email from this person:

subject: You are marriageable if you want to be...

I received a phone call from your mother saying I told you no one would have you. I never said that, if I did I was wrong. You are a special case. I am not telling you something you don't already know. If you want to get remarried you need to find someone who understands your condition and is willing to go with it. There is a site on the internet "Dating Disabled. com" There are people on that site with all kinds of conditions. And, there may be other sites that I don't know about. You need to find someone who is a "caregiver." This person may have problems of their own. Or, they could be perfectly healthy with a golden heart. You are marriageable. You just need to find the right person (don't we all?). I love you. I am sorry if I send you the wrong messages at times.

I think that speaks for itself and needs no commentary from me. I look forward to yours.

My Mattress Grave

Forgive my bout of seriousness here, I have a ton of things buzzing around my brain right now and am not feeling like my usual asinine self. Fear not, she will be back. I am not a serious person by nature, but so many serious things are going on that I am not up to my usual antics.

I had to put my cat, Flea, down. He was 16 and going down hard. I kept putting it off, hoping nature would take its course and let him go gently into that good night, but it was taking too long and I hated watching him fall apart. I got that lovely ball of evilness when I was 19. 19! And even though he was one of Satan's most devoted minions, I still loved him. I was going to bury him in my older sister's Pet Semetary but wanted him closer to me and didn't want to run the risk of him coming back and setting off a chain of murder and mayhem -- he'd done enough of that in this life. I held him as he was put to sleep. I couldn't let him go without me there. It's very quick, if you have never seen it done, and I hope someday someone will be kind enough to do the same for me if things get that bad for me.

I have decided to go off Tysabri and go back on Copaxone. I have been on Tysabri the equivalent of 3.5 years and am not liking the risks of PML for those of us who have been on it that long. It really bothers me that in 3 years the risks go from 1 in 30,000 to 1 in 800 for developing PML. Where would that put me in another year? Too close for me. I'm not afraid of dying. I'm afraid of living if I was one of the unlucky ones to suffer major disability. I am having the pre going-off-Tysabri jitters and am trying to get everything done around here knowing that I may not be able to do as much for awhile. Most people who go off Tysabri have major "rebound" attacks and I need my house in order before that can happen. I really needed to do something different with my room, organize all my crap or something, so I pulled apart everything and am working on putting it back together a better way. I like my room to be my own personal haven, not a mess of crap all jumbled together -- my collection of Fisher Price Little People does not belong next to my antique book collection.

Lastly, I will leave you with this quotation from Heinrich Heine, widely believed to be one of the best poets, and case of "probable MS" due only to the fact that there was no definitive testing available in his day (1797-1856). He wrote about his mattress grave from having to spend the majority of his day in bed, something I can relate to, having to spend the majority of my day in repose also.

A Free Mind In A Rotten Body

...a sick man is always counting on better days. My mind is free, and clear, and even cheerful. My heart is sound, almost sound enough to be eager and greedy for life, my body is so paralyzed, so rotten. It is though I were buried alive. I see no one and talk to no one.

April 25, 1848

Fabric Of My Soul

If you could take apart yourself, strip everything down to just your soul, what would be the very core of who you are? Your biggest passions in life. What makes you you, or makes you tick. The very fabric of my soul is 3 things. Just these 3 things that if I got rid of all the superfluous stuff would be left.

BOOKS!

The printed word is -- pardon the pun -- printed on my soul. I cannot be without a book or I get restless and crabby. I am a huge reader and will read anything if I can't get my hands on something better, even Sugarbowl's teen crap or my older sister's sappy romances. I never read just one book at a time; I'm always reading at least 2, although that feels like almost nothing to me. I like to read 3 or more, or I feel like I'm not getting any reading done. I can't understand people who don't read. It is incomprehensible to me. What do you do if you don't read? How do you go to sleep at night? No matter how tired I am, my eyes must go over printed words for at least a paragraph or it takes me way too long to get to sleep. A world without books would be a very dreary place and not a place I would want to live in.


Old Houses/Antiques

I love old abandoned houses. I love to photograph them and just take my time appreciating every last detail. They make my soul sing. I know that sounds cheesy, but it's true. I like to go alone and just let the house speak to me without someone else jabbering in my ear, which makes my family nervous, hence why I have a cell phone now. I like the antiques/houses of the common man. I can't relate to the rich and upper classes, being a common woman myself and assuming I would have been in the middle no matter what age I was born in. When I can get away and tear up crappy back roads, I am in heaven.

I love to go antique shopping and could spend all day looking at the old pictures. I have several old albums that I fill with the pictures that spoke to me and that I couldn't leave behind to molder in an antique store when they so obviously needed to come home with me. I have spent a lot of time studying fashions of the past 150 years so I would be able to date the pictures and know what I was looking at. It's amazing the great antiques you can find at a Flea Market or even garage sales and I am always on the look out for anything old -- except old men, sorry, gramps.


Princess

That's right. I love my family like nothing else, but Princess is the light of my life, the apple of my eye, the cream in my coffee. If something happened to that little girl, I don't think I would survive it. I don't want to live in a world without her. That world would cease to have anything for me if she was not a part of it. Yes, she drives me crazy, but I love her like nothing else. She doesn't believe me, but it's true. I would most likely off myself if something happened to her. I don't tell her that, but I do tell her that the world would have nothing to offer me without her an inhabitant on it. She can get me every time. She doesn't know how much she could really get out of me and that is a good thing, because I cannot resist that little girl.


I am very curious about the fabric of your souls, so please do tell. I like to know what makes other people tick, and please forgive me such a serious subject. I don't know what came over me. Probably this great book I'm reading, the old house I drove by yesterday, and Princess's sleeping face in my bed, reminding me of her sweet little face as a baby.

I Have Absolutely Nothing To Say

And I want to say it to you. I haven't been on here because I have nothing of interest to say about anything. We are all jogging along in our same old ruts that have been worn smooth by now. I have been suffering with the flu the last few days and between moaning, "H1N1, take me away!" and stoking the flames of my addiction to The Price Is Right game, I have not been even slightly busy. I am not even sure that I do have H1N1, but I like to tell Sugarbowl that she gave me the pig flu because she is such a pig. To which she threatens to punch me in the butt for saying because she hates being told the obvious -- has she seen her room?! I don't care to be punched in the butt anymore because, besides the bruises, IT HURTS! So I only tell her what a pig she is on the phone.

I hate being sick. I lay here and think about all the things I want/need to get done. I need to burn the leaves (for heresy and witchcraft), do the laundry, do the dishes, make sure the trash gets taken out, make sure the dogs get let out in time, etc etc. I also hate how being sick kicks up all those annoying MS symptoms that I thought were in the past and I had forgotten about. My MS Hug is girdling me tighter than ever, my itchy spots are itchier than ever, my right leg is even more dead and dragging than ever, my TN is even more painful than ever and not fully quieted by the meds that usually lull it for a few hours. Luckily, being a "sick" person, I have a fully stocked medicine cabinet and dug out my Amantadine and have started taking it and I am impatiently waiting to feel better. Those leaves ain't gonna burn themselves!

So there you have it. Aren't ya glad I (didn't say orange) didn't blog about all this boring crap? I'm even boring myself right now, but I have got in some great reading time, when I can step away from The Price Is Right. I AM going to win that showcase showdown before this flu runs its course!

So Dude-ing Dumb

Sorry for not getting back here for so long -- I'm sure you all had the hounds out looking for me -- but I have just fought off the last vestiges of a hideous, dark, ugly depression. My older sister is getting ready to have surgery tomorrow and I have been helping her get ready to be laid up for a while. She's having a hysterectomy and has that pre-surgery "must get everything done NOW" going on. My mom is coming down to spend the next 2 weeks with her to help out. I live just down the street and can't wait for my mommy to be here and spend 2 weeks with us. I would end that sentence with about 50 exclamation marks but then I would be writing like Princess, who has now embarked on the most irritating "Dude" stage. She uses Dude for everything and everyone. To the dogs, "Dudes!!!!! You're on my homework!!!!!!!" To me, "Dude, I told you last time I don't eat that and, Dude, you just made it for dinner AGAIN!!!!!!!!!" Talking on the phone, "I know, Dude!!!!! He always does that!!!! Dude, do you think he is just a stupid dude who can't figure anything out, Dude?!!?!?!!!?!??!" It's really wearing on my nerves. I started using Dude like the Smurfs use the word Smurf, as an adjective, verb and noun. "Dude, that is so dude-ly dude-ish! I was just dude-ing this really dude book about something dude-ly close to that dude-est subject!" That didn't phase her, so I had to step it up a notch and have been calling her "Penis Wrinkle" every time she calls me Dude. I suggested that she use that instead of Dude all the time but she didn't think that would be such a good idea at school, plus she thinks Penis Wrinkle is gross. I would rather be called Penis Wrinkle right now than have to hear "DUDE!!!!!!!!" one more time.

Speaking of penis wrinkles and all things male anatomy, I have been pondering why so much stuff centers around the female anatomy, and have started a one woman crusade to change that to all things all male anatomy all the time. If you would like to join in this crusade, I will give you a few statements to help you get started, Penis Wrinkles, and hopefully we can make a dude-ing difference.

"Who used up the last penis-ing roll of toilet paper and didn't replace it?"

"Get your fat prostrate off this couch and get something done today or I may hurt you!"

"Why the testicle didn't I get this bill before it was late?"

I Don't Get It

I don't get a lot of things. I have come to terms with this. I am used to getting the joke last, not finding the deep hidden meaning to things everyone else saw immediately, and so on. So it should be of no surprise to anyone that when I just did a search about pronunciation to some of the names in the book I am currently enjoying, I stumbled across a deep intellectual discussion about the meaning of every little thing that happens in the book. There was a big argument about the author I am currently reading and an author of the same nationality and who was better. I read through the comments about it all and felt like I had missed the point of the whole book. Which led me to pondering how I could have missed that when the bear shat in the woods it was a symbol for the political situation and how society is being shat on by the current people "in charge" of us all. This naturally led me into wondering whatever happened to just enjoying the story and not looking for meaning in every single word. I get that there is meaning to the books, but does every thing have a hidden meaning that only the learned will comprehend? And where does that leave me?

I read these books for the simple reason that I enjoy a good story and, as I always say to anyone who will listen -- or is within earshot of me -- the classics are classics for a reason. I don't read them to analyze every word and break down the novel until it is no longer enjoyable. I can get most of the meaning in these books, I just enjoy the whole story and can see the value in the story as a whole, not broken down into little bitty pieces that leave the beauty behind. And if I don't tear it down sentence by sentence does that make me stupid or not as "smart" as those who do? I think it is pretentious to do that. That's right! I said it! And I know that I will probably be crucified for saying it, but I stand by that statement. Reading these books and trying to find a deeper meaning than anyone else is pretentious and I am not in a contest to see who has the deepest thoughts or is the smartest. I do not think someone passing a kidney stone is a metaphor for how human relations are akin to a painful and unpleasant situation for those who have to pass that stone/deal with other people.

If you want to find all these deep and hidden meanings, by all means, do so. I want to enjoy my books and love a good story. I get the books, just not in the same way all these intellectuals do. I think it annoys me so much because I don't like the idea of someone reading a book and feeling like they missed the whole point and must not be as smart because they didn't find all the Waldos hidden in it. I'm not looking for Waldo, just a story that grabs me and holds me to the end, which is why I enjoy the classics so much.

2 Really Good Excuses

I have 2 really good excuses for why I have not been blogging much lately. 2 Exceptional and jealousy-inspiring excuses... maybe I shouldn't share them, I don't want a price put on my head for being such an object of envy. But I am willing to put myself in harm's way to keep up the integrity of honesty in the blog-o-sphere.

I have been is such a slump lately. I can't seem to shake off this apathy and depression that has wrapped itself around me. I'm having a terrible case of the "this-is-my-life?!" going on right now. I just can't care that my laundry is backed up and the house is threatening to smother me in filth. Why bother? Nobody else cares that it's such a mess or is willing to help me in any way unless I have to get bitchy about it and that never ends well. I can't find any pleasure in my usual activities and want to climb in bed and stay there for a week until I feel better. I do the things I have to do then go back to holding down the couch so it doesn't blow away. I know this will pass, but it sure is taking its sweet ass time in moving on.

The second, and just as important reason, is that I slammed my finger in the car door the other day and it HURT! Not sure if I broke anything, but my finger now looks like hamburger it is so shredded and bruised. It is making typing very difficult: I have to use my naughty finger instead of my index finger to type.

Until the swelling goes down and I shake off this depression I will have to be silent on here. And Blindbeard + Silence = a backlog of words that will pile up and drown everyone when the dam breaks. Better prepare those high water pants you have been keeping for a rainy day...

Shallow Thoughts By Blindbeard

What would I do for a Klondike Bar? Not much. They really aren't my thing. If I'm going to do anything for any sweets, it would be for a Peppermint Pattie so I could ski on my coffee table. Of course, to ski on my coffee table I would have to move my record player and records and I'm not willing to sacrifice them even for the joy of skiing on that humble table.

Denver Refashionista's recent status on Facebook of being who she is with no apologies got me thinking about how, like Popeye, I too "yam what I yam" with no apologies. Well, I will apologize if I trip over you or spray spittle all over your face because I got excited and was talking too fast too close to you, but other than that, I offer no apologies!

How many times can someone ask you the same questions and not remember ever having asked them before? This is a question that has kept me up for a good 10 minutes each night pondering if the lady in my exercise class will ask me again how old I am, if I'm married and do I have any kids. "How many questions can one woman ask before I go psycho and smack her upside the head? The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind..."

On the whole who we like best on Sesame Street, I have to cast my vote for Oscar and Bert. Oscar is obvious why I like him and Bert because I too am a pedantic and boring-interests kind of person. My little sister likes Grover best and Princess does not know Sesame Street well enough to pick one, but she adores Animal from the Muppets.

Who started this whole women-must-shave-areas-men-do-not thing? I hate being tied to a razor all the time and am thinking the hippies were on to something. I don't want to burn my bra, but I will gladly join in on a razor burning.

Lethargic Lassitude

I have not been taking my anti fatigue meds because I'm an ijit and have forgotten how incredibly lethargic I am without them. I, in my infinite wisdom, thought that I would go off them then start them again to get maximum energy levels like when I first started them. I'm going to have to scrap that plan or risk melting into this couch and never being heard from again because my roomies will never think of lifting the cushions and cleaning under them. I'm so ridiculously tired I have been taking long luxurious naps, going to bed early and almost hitting 7 hours of sleep at night. I don't know if I can handle so much rest. My body may go into shock from being so over-rested.

On top of skipping my anti fatigue meds, my coffee maker broke yesterday and all my cussing and giving it Shaken Coffee Maker Syndrome didn't fix it, so it is obviously unfixable. I had to drink instant coffee, which is akin to drinking cat piss after so many years of real coffee. The good news in all this is that my bff at my exercise class had bought a fancy "gently used" coffee maker at a garage sale (they were selling it because the noise bothered their new baby) for me. She was thrilled that my coffee maker died so that she could give me the coffee maker she had bought for me and I would actually need it now. I was thrilled because I had to lug my lethargic arse into my exercise class while thinking negative things about having to spend my money on a new coffee maker when there is so much useless crap I would rather spend my $2 on.

Princess is enjoying my lethargy because she gets the computer more now. She, in all her lovely 11 year old just-been-hit-with-a-huge-greasy-puberty-stick-ness, is on a mission to try and beat all my high scores on Facebook. The other day she was playing some pearl worm game and told me that whenever she plays it she wishes she had a pearl necklace. Luckily I was turned away from her so she didn't see my face when she said it. Someday I will tell her all the things that are wrong with that statement, all the things I'm NOT saying to an 11 year old.

The good news, my fellow MSers, is that I am going back on my anti fatigue meds. This experiment has been a total failure and I am ready to join the land of the living again, so expect more nonsense from me. My house is a mess and the laundry is in a janga tower that is threatening to fall on us and smother everyone in this house. Now I must drag my lazy butt over to my medicine cabinet and get my meds -- this would be so much easier if I wasn't so lethargic.

This post has been brought to you by the letter L and the number 11. "Sunny day, sweeping the clouds away. Can you tell me how to get, how to get to Sesame Street?"

Dear Blindbeard

(Sorry for my neglect. I have been under the weather, busy having my ass handed to me by my fellow MSers on Facebook (Lexulous), and the Flea Market came to town and I had to carry of their wares.)

Dear Blindbeard,

Thanks, Blindbeard. I needed that. I've spent way too much time over the last two days reading your blog, and inflicting bits of it on my partner and daughter because they were wondering what on earth I was laughing about (they thank you, too. I'm sure they do). In fact, you said things so well I almost didn't start my own blog, because you already put it better than I could. But I started the blog anyway, because I've been a few places you haven't been, and I hope you never go. But I'll keep reading yours. Thanks!

Zoomdoggies


Dear Beautiful Zoomdoggies,

Here's the ugly truth: I don't read others' blogs too often because when I do I feel like I have nothing original, witty, profound, or new to add to the pot o' blogs out there. I do read them when I feel like I need some inspiration and to see others' point of view because it might give me the kick in the ass to say something not said yet (ha ha and HA!). I'm glad you started your own blog anyway. When I started mine I almost didn't start it for the same reasons. I didn't expect anyone to read it, I just wanted my own soapbox to say what I wanted to say, how I wanted to say it, and with no apologies to anyone. I know I'm irreverent, but I can't help myself. Sometimes I want to be more irreverent, but Sugarbowl, who I bounce my ideas off of, is my barometer of what may be going too far. Like when I was bitching about all the feel-good-Jesus crap I get in my inbox or on Facebook. It irritates the CRUD out of me. My beliefs are this: Personal. And I don't appreciate anyone sending me that crap. I won't be shamed into passing on that stuff. It has nothing to do with being "ashamed" of Jesus, it has to do with my beliefs being my beliefs and respecting others' right to their own beliefs. I keep getting this "So-and-so got this message from God today: blah blah blah, words words words." I wanted to start a "Blindbeard got this message from Satan today: Keep up the good work!" But Sugarbowl's eyes almost fell out of her head when I said that, so I didn't do it.

I got off the subject there. I was merely trying to say, "Blog away, and say what you need to say." And maybe, "Rock on with your bad self."

Love,
Blindbeard


Dear Blindbeard,

I've always appreciated that my dad didn't pansy-fy his child-raising expectations just because he had two daughters. We held regular burp tutoring sessions, with a special emphasis on car names. Anybody can get out "fooord," but it takes a seasoned professional to get "oooldsmobile" right.

EJ

Dear Beautiful EJ,

Since receiving this comment, I have been working diligently on burping car names, and you are right, "Oldsmobile" is really tough! Driving around, I try and belch every car name that I come across and my soda consumption has gone up considerably as I improve my belch talk. Thanks for the suggestion, it has inspired me to new heights.

Love,
Blindbeard


And lastly, I have to share this comment because I got a good laugh out of it.

Dear Blindbeard,

It has been brought to the attention of our organization, The Overachieving Unremorseful Cherubic Halophiles (Before you ask we are an offshoot of the Palliated and Ineffectual Narcissists movement), that you have once again been issuing whines, not to be confused with complaints, about us. We at O.U.C.H. feel that in keeping with the ideals set forth by our founders it would be in everyone's best interests if you would please forward any further comments/thoughts you might have on the subject to the appropriate department for review. Once our fine staff have had the appropriate chance to properly review for, and correct, any inaccuracies that may exist we will gladly forward said information back to you for disposition as you see fit. If you choose to ignore this request then we will have no alternative but to pursue the matter through whatever legal means we see fit. This includes, but not limited to, legal action in a court of law of our choosing. As we currently reside in the twisted imagination of one of your readers it is safe to assume that we will be selecting a venue that is most advantageous to us. It should also be noted that should you decide to not take this notification with the seriousness it deserves we will be forced to resort to action under Section 12, Sub-section 22, Part A, Paragraph 19, Order 6C-A12DDB. For your benefit we have included here the entirety of the passage in question:"It is so stated that should the party of the first part (This would be you) fail to see reason and lunacy in most everything this passage covers then the party of the second part (That would be us) has the right to discontinue reading any and all materials associated with any publications made by the party of the first part."It should also be clarified that we are covered under Section 42, Sub-section 2, Part M, Paragraph 2, Order 9L2-HI699A (Which is also included for your benefit."Should the party of the first part (Guess who?) find fault with anything brought forth by the party of the second part (us again) then the party of the second part can not be held liable for any, and not limited to, bad jokes, puns, acronyms, bad judgment, sad kitties, deforestation, missing ozone, and the economy.Should you wish to complain about this then you will need to submit you request via email, 3 times (Once for us to delete outright, one to forward back to you and then one for us to laugh at like a pack of dyslexic hyenas). Please allow 6-8 years for a formal response.

Sincerely,
Gunter A. Cartwheelie

Adventures

My life is so adventure filled, I don't think I could handle any more excitement! Why am I up so early?? Oh yeah (the Kool Aid man breaking through a wall in my house)! Because those STUPID Sugar Gliders went off at 3:30-ish this morning and it is now... stupid Roman numerals clock! If there is a one before the number you minus that from it... but that is not relevant because it is still in the fours... almost 4:25 am. (Too bad I am not interested in worms because I could beat all the early birds.) While listening to those things, which I cannot say too much about without melting into a gelatinous pile of obscenities, I was thinking of some great adventures I could have with their noises and lamenting the lack of interest in tapes now-a-days. I want to get a high quality tape recorder the next time they do this crap and get a nice long recording of it. Then when Sugarbowl is sleeping happily at 9 am -- her 3:30 am -- I am going to crank it up and let her enjoy the full effect of having to have those things. She stayed at a friend's house last night because they are driving 3 hours one way to get her a dog, because the 2 dogs we have "are not hers" and she wants her own dog. Again, I can't go down this road because I will start spouting naughty words and not be able to stop. So moving on...

Talking to my ex the other day, not sure if that was yesterday or the day before (Kentucky rains keep pouring dooooown, and up aheads another toooooooown...) due to sleep deprivation, I was telling him about my blogging about our lovely camping trip, which we yukked it up about for a few minutes, and he said I should blog about our other adventures. I asked him which ones and he suggested a few, some funny, some provoking, to use a nicer word. Like the time he kidnapped me from the casino when I was on a winning streak, which I attribute to chanting "big bucks no whammies!" the whole time. I ran out of cigarettes and went out to the car to get my other pack of smoky treats. He was doing something in the car, I can't remember what, and claims that he thought my leaving the casino meant I was done. Uh huh. That's why he peeled out of the parking lot so fast he pulled a wheelie all while ignoring my pummeling him and yelling, "I WASN'T DONE! I WAS WINNING! BIG BUCKS NO WHAMMIES!" But he did have a few good suggestions that I may have to write about. But not right now. It is way too early. It is now... stupid Roman numerals clock... if there is a one before the number, you subtract that from the other number... which, again, is not relevant because it is still in the fours... 4:40 am. I hope you are sleeping so sweet that it makes up for my lack of sleep. I'm beginning to think there is a conspiracy against me. "They" know that I will crack eventually with enough sleep deprivation. Too bad I don't have a thing worth knowing rattling around in my empty head.

Sorry, my sleeping beauties, if this makes no sense. I am still working on getting enough coffee into my guts to be functional.

Hello?

Is this thing on? Testes, 1, 2. Anyone there? Where are my comments, peeps?! I have not had a comment in too long and am going through withdrawals here! I loves me some comments, without them I feel like I am in a veritable ghost town and talking to myself about stuff no one can relate to. I even checked my analytics to see if maybe there was a block on my blog and no one could get to it. I don't think you understand what your comments are to me. They are my manna from heaven. The creamer in my coffee -- and I LOVE my coffee and creamer. When I check my emails to see what comments I raked in and see nothing, well, it ain't right, sir! Maybe you are boycotting me because I have not gotten to your blogs like I should have. And you would be 100% right. I have no good excuse (Facebook) for why I have been so remiss (Facebook). I recently purchased a weed eater and it has been my newest favorite toy that vibrates (better than Facebook right now, but I think Facebook will come up in the ratings real soon). If I promise to put down the Facebook and visit your blogs again, will you leave me some comments? Or do I need to wander the desert for 40 days and 40 nights to find some manna from your heavens? I will even settle for smoke signals just to let me know you are still breathing in and out...

The Worst Nights I Ever Weathered

Friday night my Hug was squeezing the living turds out of me (cue Princess saying, "You have turds living in you? Mine are all dead."), so I took a Flexeril to help loosen that hug and get some sleep. Great plan -- usually. That night the big dog, Gus, had the runs. I had seen the dogs snarfing the overripe and fermenting pears that had fallen from the trees earlier that day, ignoring our long talk about eating things that could potentially upset one's stomach and the need for caution before unhinging our jaws and swallowing things whole like a snake. But the dogs eat a lot of things that, at best, would give me the trots too, or, at worst, bring about my untimely demise. So I wasn't worried about taking Flexeril that night. As anyone who has tossed that lovely sleep inducing pill down their gullet knows, you sleep like the dead. The big dog usually wakes me up by whining in the night to let me know he needs to go outside NOW! Because I was in such a drug induced haze, he started barking in my room to wake me up. It worked. This wouldn't be so bad but he did this 3 times that night! When I got up that morning, I had the catch phrase from that commercial from years ago, "does constipation slllllooooooow yooooooou doooooown? Does diarrhea speedyouup?" running through my head. I was so dead tired after that night, and pushed myself so hard the next day, that I fell into bed dead tired the next night.

I figured that because I was so dead tired and could barely keep my eyelids up all day, I didn't need any relaxing sleep aids that night. Princess had her cousin spend the night, which usually doesn't keep me up because I sleep so soundly, but that night sleep was no where near me. I fell asleep, book in hand (I lost my page and had to search for it the next day), and should have been out for the night. I slept good for about 2 hours then popped awake and couldn't find my sleep anywhere for the rest of the night. Sure, I dozed off and on, checking the clock to see how long I had been out each time I woke back up, and got about 5 hours of sleep by my calculations and adding as much to the time as I could and still be somewhat accurate. About midnight, Princess and cousin were so noisy that I shut my door. I raised the white flag at 4 and staggered out to get a strong pot of coffee going. When I opened my door, the little dog, Widget or Midget Poo Poo Platter, fell into my room and I fell over him. How I didn't blow away without him to hold me down is a miracle. How my chastity stayed intact without him to guard it all night, I can only attribute to my chastity belt and my foresight to put it on that night. Someone could have come in through my window and threatened my chastity without him there to protect me! I shudder to think of ever having to share my bed with a person instead of a dog. (I also wonder what would happen if I ever did try to share my bed with anyone else... how would he react to that?)

I was tired as all hell yesterday and plodded through the day like a zombie. Luckily I decided to play Russian Roulette with my medicine cabinet and got a Flexeril. It was a close one. I almost got more Baclofen, or Xanax, but last night I got a bullet of Flexeril and slept like a baby with no dogs with the runs or Princesses with cousins spending the night to disturb my slumber. It was pure bliss.

Scars

I've been pondering the different kinds of scars one racks up in a lifetime the last couple of days. There are the obvious scars we get from injury to our skin. Like all the scars I have from the multitude of IVs I've gotten. Or the rock I still have in my knee from a bicycling accident when I missed the pedal and dragged my knee along the pavement for a few feet. That was a bloody mess! By the time I got home, crying and damn near hysterical, I had blood all down my leg, soaking my sock and shoe. My knee looked like I had dragged it over a cheese grater. The rock still embedded there is a thing of envy for my nieces and nephews, who like to run their fingers over it and hope they get so lucky some day.

Then there are the MS scars that can only be seen on an MRI, but show their presence by my gimping walk, lack of balance and inability to really see something unless it is mashed into my face.

But the worst scars, by a landslide, have to be the emotional ones. The scars that can't be seen by the naked eye (what other option is there for the eye? The well dressed eye?). The ones that cut so deep you carry the scars for a lifetime, regardless of whether anyone knows they are there or not. My 2 biggest ones I would like to expand on because they are noteworthy and I feel the effects of them too often in spite of all I do to try and make them go away. Alas, the nature of a scar is it's permanence and ability to change you for life.

The end of my marriage.

Good gods, this one has torn me up (from the floor up). No one gets married thinking about divorce. Or most people don't. I didn't. When I got married, I was so happy and sure I made the right choice. I still don't think I made the wrong choice. We were very happy until MS came to stay. I shut down and pulled away from everyone and he started drinking more. We all know how this story plays out so I won't reiterate it all. He and I talk about where we both went wrong and how we could have been one of those couples that were happy until the end if we had only ________. We had the makings to be a great couple, but we handled things the wrong way.

For all his faults, I love how he still likes me best out of everyone in the world. That he is so generous, even to Princess. The last time I went up to see him, she came with because we both wanted to spend the weekend in the pool with him to grill for us. He took us shopping one morning, while we were waiting for it to be warm enough to get in the pool, and let Princess and I pick out what we "needed" without even caring what the price was when we checked out. He has always been like that. When Princess and I still lived with him, he didn't care what we bought as long as we were happy. He fixed up Princess' bedroom, painting it the color she wanted and even painting her nightstand and bookshelf a matching color. He never waxes poetic on my ass, but he doesn't need to. Actions speak louder than words.

That one relationship that messes you up for a long time.

When I was a young warthog (when she was a young warthoooooog!) I fell in love in a way that one should never fall in love. Where you love so completely, even though you know better than to love like that. I loved him more than I loved myself. I loved the sound of his voice, listening to him talk, his touch, being with him, everything about him. Sadly, there was no happy ending in the cards. I can't speak for him, even though I'm going to and say that he did not feel the same way. Or if he did, he hid it very well. I would have married him and been content to make love to him with great relish the rest of my life. I think he might have married me but things got so messed up by a series of breakups-and-get-back-togethers, that we both were scared of letting the other know the depth of our feelings. Hmmm, again, I really shouldn't speak for him. Maybe the depth of feeling was only on my side, but somehow I don't think so. I think he was too much of a coward to say how he felt for me or try to stop me when I left, when a word would have changed my mind. For years I felt like we were 2 halves of the same whole, and sometimes I think we still are. Not that that stopped us from going on and having lives, but I always think of him saying that we would never escape each other and how prophetic those words were/are. We still keep in touch, sporadically, and the depth of my feelings no longer rage and storm inside me. I loved him enough to let him go and find happiness elsewhere, because he obviously didn't find it with me, and with no bitterness. Isn't real love about wanting the best for someone regardless of whether you are a part of it or not? I think it is.

While turning over in my mind these different kinds of scars, I decided that getting a rock in your knee is the best kind to have. It makes you cool and causes the least amount of pain.

Pied Piper Plus Pesky Peccadilloes

I love alliterations too much, maybe because "hurl the hag headlong into hell" is my personal motto. Or maybe because they are just so much fun. Who knows? Who cares as long as one can get pleasure from them, and pleasure I do get from them.

Pied Piper

Yesterday I was playing Indy 500: Lawnmower Edition and enjoying it. The dogs always follow me around and bark to let everyone know, "She's mowing! I'm a dog and I'm barking! She's mowing! I'm a dog and I'm barking!" God forbid the neighbors not know I'm mowing. I'm sure they appreciate the dogs letting them know when I'm on the lawn mower and trying to tame the wild jungles of my yard. I'm used to the dogs following me, barking, dragging their toys and any big sticks they can find into my path, and pinching stinky loaves into my next swipe of lawn to be mowed. But yesterday their barking alerted a flock of barn swallows that decided they needed to join in on the fun. The swallows flew around me, dive bombing and circling like they were buzzards and I was the carrion. I looked around to see if a baby swallow was near and I was getting too close, but I didn't see any babies. I was mowing the ditches in front of our house with a flock of swallows circling me and the dogs running around barking at me, hoping no one would drive by -- vain hope, several people drove by to my extreme embarrassment. I felt like a messed up version of the pied piper, and if my pied-ing brings those kinds of animals to follow me, I'm going to leave my flute in the house next time I mow.


Pesky Peccadilloes

I saw my neurologist last week and have been stewing over our conversation since. She was unable to answer some of my questions to my satisfaction and wanted me to see the head of the MS clinic on my next visit because she felt that she would be able to answer my questions better. I do not want to see her on my next visit (the head, not my neurologist... although I'm not sure about that. They both irritate me.). I tried to be polite about it at first, "No, it's okay. I'm happy with your answers (blatant lie)." She kept insisting -- maybe she just wanted to avoid the 3rd degree and push me off onto someone else. She forced my hand so I had to say what I was trying not to say. I told her that I DO NOT like that woman because I do not like the way she talks to me, very condescending and patronizing, and I hate how she wears push up bras -- and she is not skinny in the least, so of course she has big boobs -- and low cut shirts. I am offended and find it very inappropriate to wear such things in a professional setting, but maybe I am just old fashioned.

I lost because my neuro failed to see how all that would change how that woman could help me. My neuro said that she has a "good head" for MS, and I said that I couldn't get past her ridiculously pushed-up-and-on-display boobs to find out whether that statement is true or not. She sails into the room, boobs first, and tells you what you are feeling is not what you are feeling and pooh-poohs what you have to say about it. I'm going to prepare for my visit with her by making a series of index cards with statements like, "You're not listening to me" and "That's not what I said" or even "Get thy boobs from out my face and thy pompous attitude out the door!" When I said this at my exercise class, my bestest friend there said that she believed that I would really do it and wanted to be told how it all plays out. I will let her and you know how it turns out because I have no intentions of losing and every intention of investing in a pack of index cards and a Sharpie pen. Boobs is going DOWN!

Status Report

Due to a raging infestation of Facebook on my brain, I have been neglecting my poor blog. (Damn you, Facebook, why do you suck up so much of my time and short attention span?) Millions of people struggle with Facebook addiction, this is one of their stories. Dear Blindbeard, I have seen your addiction to Facebook negatively effect you in the following ways:

You no longer do your chores in a timely manner. Because you cannot step away from the Facebook, the cat boxes are not as fresh as they used to be. You have let yourself slack in a way that the old you would never have done.

You "over share" too much. Because of that diabolical "What's On Your Mind?" you have fallen into the trap of giving status reports that no one cares about, not even yourself. Is it really that important to let everyone know that your nap was total crap, or that you are going to run errands all day? How could you let yourself go like that? Where is your pride, woman?

You have lowered yourself to fighting with Princess over the laptop and over who can get the highest scores on games. Why do you feel that you must try to beat her scores when before this addiction you were content to let her bask in her pseudo-superiority? You would never have done this before Facebook took over your life.

You have encouraged Princess to use Facebook and wreak havoc on her mother's farm, all because this addiction has changed your morals. You would never have endangered a child's psyche before this hideous problem took over.

Please accept this kind offer for help today and find yourself again. Or at least do your chores first before attacking Facebook to see what others' thought of their naps and whether they are going to go with the thong or brief undies.

Love, Blindbeard & Family

Sucks

There are a lot of things that suck. And not just the obvious MS either. Out of all the sucky suck stuff, here are a few that are on my mind:

Getting sick on vacation. Sugarbowl has a sinus infection that she has been suffering with for 2 days now. She is flying home today and I told her to load up on some ibuprofen before the flight. All that pressure + sinus infection that is making your ears hurt = That #%^!@*& HURTS! I hate being sick away from home, especially when you are supposed to be visiting people and are too sick to get out of bed.

Sleeping next to a stuffed up sick person. Princess called me at 5 this morning; sadly, I was lying in bed thinking about what I wanted to do today before everyone gets home tonight. She said that her mom's snoring sounded like bowling pins being knocked over and it was keeping her awake. I yukked it up over the bowling pins part, and she insisted that that was exactly what it sounded like.

Sleeping next to a person who talks in their sleep. Jabber talks in his sleep. And not just mumbling about a bunch of nothings, he says your name throughout the night. Nothing will wake me up faster than a kid saying my name in the middle of the night, which is why he has not been allowed to sleep in my bed since he learned to talk. Princess said that while her mother was knocking over bowling pins, Jabber was saying her name all night, waking her up thinking he was talking to her. Lucky for her she has an aunt that gets up too early and was able to ask inane questions for an hour before the aunt could get off the phone. Very unlucky for the aunt. ("How's Harry (her cat)? Does he miss me (how does one tell?) Is he still being cute (depends on if you think cross eyed cats are cute)? Do you miss me (you, not your mess)? Are you glad we're coming home (not as glad as you are to be leaving that hell hole)?" and so on.)

Camping trips gone awry. My friend (makes it sound like I only have one, which I do) and her family went camping this weekend. Not only does she have my admiration for camping with a 3 year old, but she has my sympathy for having a, in her words "sucky camping trip." It rained like hell this morning, which I'm sure added to the fun fest. (While drinking my coffee and watching the torrential rains, I idly wondered why I never finished that ark I started years ago.) My ex and I went camping up in the sand hills of Nebraska when we were newlyweds. It was supposed to be a fishing bonanza, but turned into a hellish trip that we still tell stories about, because it's funny now. It was an unseasonably cold spring that year and we were staying in a 2 person tent. We were not worried, we had heavy duty sleeping bags and both of us are insulated to -30 degrees. My ex forgot the tent pins to hold the tent down because he was more concerned with getting all his fishing gear and just grabbed the tent and tossed it in without checking to make sure all the parts were there. We had to use all the gear we had -- coolers, our bags, everything but the truck and boat -- to hold the tent down, leaving us with thismuchspace to sleep in. That night a HUGE storm hit and we were rocked and thrown about with all the junk that was in the tent with us, like a bunch of freezing popcorn. After cutting our way out of the mangled tent the next morning, I let my hubby know that I would NEVER for NEVER EVER CAMP IN A TENT WITH HIM AGAIN! I don't care if he does remember the tent pins the next time, I WILL NOT camp in a tent ever again. From then on, whenever we went up there we spent the extra money and got a cabin.

I Hate Being An Adult

Ya know, I had such great plans for my vacation from my vacationing roomies. I was going to loll around on the couch in my undies, watch TV and movies rated higher than PG13, eat the cake mixes and finally go to bed in the buff and sleep in. Too bad my adult self forgot all my glorious plans. I mowed the lawn, prepared the tub for caulking, read a book, ate healthy meals, went to bed in normal pajamas, got up at 4:30am, and made my bed as soon as I got out of it. Oh God, the HORROR!

I dropped them off at the airport yesterday morning at 5:30am, hugging and kissing and reminding them of how much I love them. We got up at 4 that morning, which normally wouldn't be so bad for me, but nobody got to bed at an early hour. My mom couldn't sleep so she played Goldilocks instead. She started out in Princess's bed, couldn't find any sleep there, moved on to Sugarbowl's bed, and nary a drop of sleep was to be found there either. She finally ended up in my bed, which must have been just right, because she stayed there the rest of the night. Obviously the sight of my peaceful sleep was too much for her because she kept trying to talk to me, scratch my back and ask me, "does that relax you?" What really relaxes me is enjoying my sleep, but I wasn't going to complain. One night she kept me awake talking about her sex life with my father! I know that is how I was created, but I would like to pretend otherwise. It was so horrible I had to tell my sisters all about it because I wanted to share the nausea. It worked.

So today, my second day of this vacation, I am going to clean, get things in order, clean the carpets, get laundry done and try to remember to not be an adult once those things are done. I WILL attack those cake mixes before this vacation is over, damn it, just as soon as I finish caulking the tub.

Another Excuse To Use Asteriks

Who doesn't love the humble asterisk? It's like this mini star that is so handy to highlight a point when you don't want or have a whole paragraph to say about something. Even though I usually can write a whole paragraph (and blog post) about a minor thing, sometimes I like to just throw out a bunch of nothings that have been piling up. But isn't life just a bunch of nothings? Mine is, but I can't speak for anyone else, except those in my house. And their lives are a bunch of nothings that they make into THE BIGGEST ISSUE THEY HAVE EVER HAD TO DEAL WITH! Sugarbowl is such a nihilist it drives me crazy. Everything is the end of the world. She can take the smallest thing and convince herself that it is a matter of life or death, which I have little patience for. The other day she came home from work convinced that because Princess and I did not meet up with her, it was now game over. I told her I was going to squirt her with the hose (P. and I were fighting over the hose again) if she didn't knock her crap off. She told me that if I squirted her she would pound my boobs into my back and my arse into the front. I pondered that look and decided it could work for me. She got hosed off and I have been sleeping with one eye open since. But onto my asterisk-worthy important nuggets that don't need a whole paragraph:

*I am quitting smoking. That's right, I am a quitter. I have been smoking one cigarette less a day. It is a nice slow let down that doesn't make me feel deprived. I am down to half of what I used to smoke and am not coughing up things that should be buried in the back yard. Nice change of pace!

*Sugarbowl and Princess are going to Michigan to see our relatives and I am staying home to take care of the pets. How will I live without going to MI and being bored stiff? Not having to visit with people that don't give a sh*t about us one way or the other but pretend otherwise? Staying in that small town with only a McDonald's and a gas station -- not exactly hot times. Staying in my grandmother's house, who controls the temperature by turning the air conditioner off and on depending on how comfortable she is? Sharing a bed in a hot back bedroom with Princess and trying not to melt into one person? Will my year be complete without having experienced all that fun? I think I will live, but it may be hard.

*My ex has an idea for a vacation of my own. He wants me to fly to Denver (Ms. D.R.'s neck of the woods) and he and I will spend some time in the mountains sight seeing, and raft down the Colorado River. To clarify this whole thing, we enjoy each others' company, especially now that we don't live together. I still love him, but am not ready to run back to him, and am not sure if I ever will be. He and I have had long discussions about our relationship and what each of us did wrong (takes two, as we all know). He has learned some hard lessons, and I am starting to come out of my I-have-MS-haze. I appreciate the concern about getting back together with him, but my biggest question is, when do we forgive and move forward? I have forgiven him, but not forgotten, and I have made that VERY clear. He knows one more misstep and it is over, the gloves come off and I will take him down. How did I get to be such a kind person? I'm like a saint or something.

*On the subject of my vacation, Sugarbowl doesn't think a person with MS should raft. I told her that we would do the easy rafting, but she still is against it. What do you MSing peeps think? Should an MSer raft?

*Pilate's again today. It is hard and really sucks, but I am determined to stick with it. I want to work my muscles in both ways: lifting weights to strengthen them, and do all that stretching and body resistance to lengthen them. I don't want to get all bulky and bodybuilder-y. Not that I am in much danger of that, but it is best to be careful.

There you go. There is my asterisk updates. I look forward to needing to use them again.
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So Busy

I decided that I HAVE to clean and organize my computer area. I have been avoiding it for too long and it is past due. My pictures of the old buildings I photograph are on my desk top and I want to be able to get to them, so it has to be accessible, which it most certainly is not. I wanted to post some more of those pictures on here and a lady in my exercise class is a photography buff and wanted to see some of my pictures. I took myself firmly in hand and put that chore at the top of my list. I started out great. I went through a bunch of old papers and crap that I haven't seen in a llllooooonnnnnnggggg time, and filed away a ton of stuff that needed to be kept. It is no small chore due to my long neglect, but I was determined that it must be done before any other not-essential chore came up. Funny how those essential chores just kept popping up.

Taking a bathroom break, I noticed that the dishes really should be done. Granted they were not a full load, but it is better to get to these things before they get to be too big of a problem. After I got the sink emptied, I had to scrub the sinks because if there is a scrap of food left in them it gets gross.

I had to go to the store and get milk so Princess could have a proper breakfast. It is the most important meal of the day after all, and I want her to get the proper nutrition for a growing girl.

How can I possibly worry about my computer area when the lawn needs to be mowed? If I don't get on it, I will be making hay instead of just cutting the grass. I tried a new direction of mowing, I went up and down instead of side to side, because doing things differently opens new pathways in the brain, and I need new pathways desperately.

Coming in all dirty and grass covered, I was scandalized that I hadn't mopped in... too long. That is just gross and I have to at least be somewhat respectable. I felt so much better knowing my floors were clean again.

Heading back to the computer area, I noticed that my peace lily really needs to be repotted. How can I go on knowing my poor baby is root bound? What kind of a plant mommy would I be if I knowingly let my babies suffer? Princess and I dragged it outside and separated the many new plants that had sprung up and repotted them all. (I have a ton of peace lilies now if any one wants some.)

Whew, glad all that is done! Now it is back to my computer area -- just as soon as I power wash all that dirt off the deck. Princess and I got into a fight over the hose and we both ended up power washed. She powered off a chunk of my hair and my left eyeball is a memory now. But I don't need 2 eyes to see how bad my computer area is.

After changing out of my wet clothes and hanging those clothes on the line to dry, I go back to work on my mess of a computer area. While diligently working, all the animals are harassing me and I have to flea comb them to get any stragglers that are left over after all that flea bathing, because we all know that crap DOES NOT last up to 10 days (FALSE ADVERTISING!). I get what I can and get back to work.

Look at the time! I have to make a nutritious dinner for Princess, who has been helping me off and on all day. It just won't do to have her eat some frozen junk out of the freezer, even though that is usually how we do it.

Of course evenings are my down time, so Princess and I settle in for a little TV watching to end a day of hard work.

Can you believe that after a whole day of working on my computer area, it is still not done?! Today I am going to finish it up. I sure hope it doesn't take all day today like it did yesterday. I think I saw some weeds in the garden...

What Are Ya, Stupid?!

Is stupidity contagious? Because it sure seems to be spreading around here. I think we have a good old fashioned epidemic on our hands that rivals this whole hullabaloo about the swine flu. (Ha ha! That rhymed! Move over Shakespeare!)

*I did Pilate's yesterday. Me, with all my vast knowledge about all-things-intelligent-people-know, thought it was just a stretching yoga-type thing. It is, but, like yoga, it is a lot harder than it looks. I felt like a bull in a china shop trying to do elegant poses with a body as stiff and flexible as a 2x4. Today I am sore in places I was sure there was no muscle at. Every movement kicks off pain and the thought, "I have muscles THERE?!" I foresee a lot of ibuprofen today, and maybe a little more baclofen, to get moving -- and keep moving.

*I have to admit that your comments about my lack of sleep made me feel much better. I am glad to know that I am not the only one suffering from sleep deprivation and needing sleep medicines to get a decent night's sleep. After your comments I decided that I am going to talk to my doctor about something to help me sleep. Last night I doubled up on my baclofen, but it makes me so loopy I almost peed my bed from being unable to wake up or comprehend that my bed is not an outhouse. Thanks, my fellow MSers, now I am going to do what I need to do and get something to help me sleep. Even though I still think an MSing fool with hideous fatigue during the day should not need sleeping pills (just talking about myself, because everyone knows you are not a fool).

*And in the final 3 for the title of Biggest Stupid Head Ever Shat Upon The Earth, is my ex hubby. (Sound of applause.) He said that he was so ready for me to move back in that he was thinking about coming down here, packing me up and moving me himself. When I asked him why on earth he would think I was coming back, he said, "I thought once you got your head back on you would come back." (Sound of delirious laughter.) One of the biggest reasons for our splitting up was my inability to find myself. I pulled into myself and shut myself off from everybody for... too long. Now that I am starting to "find myself" again, he is ready for me to come running back into his waiting arms. The only minor requisite to his plan for me to move back post haste is that the big dog cannot come back with me. He says he enjoys being able to walk in the yard barefoot and not have to worry about dog poop. And as big dog = big poops, and MS = me being unable to navigate uneven ground to pick up big poops, he had to do it. (Frankly, I would never pick them up anyway. They will go back into the earth in time. And watch where you walk, for big poops sake!) I am unwilling to put my dog down just so the acorn can return to the oak tree, so we are at an impasse. I'm not saying he and I will never try again, but not if I have to sacrifice my dog's life to do it. My dog has terrible seizures that are aging him horribly, so I do not foresee him living to a ripe old age. But I will NOT put him down before his time. But nice try, ball sweat (is that better than boob sweat? I think it is worse!).

And this concludes our foray into stupidity. Until next time, same Blindbeard time, same Blindbeard station.

Oxymoron

I just do not get it. I struggle to stay awake during the day, yet can't get any sleep at night unless I drug myself up, which I do do from time to time. Last night I had a hot, squeaky, hard bed that I tossed and turned in with the little dog who was pretending to be a pig, grunting and groaning and rooting for truffles in the covers. I couldn't get the temperature right. Covers on, too hot. Peeled back, too cold. I couldn't find the right combination for comfort. There were no soft spots for me to melt into like I usually do. And the more I tossed and turned the more I thought about how I needed to go get the WD40 and oil my damn squeaky bed. Of course I had to move the bed around and try to make a tune out of the hideous squeaking, which made Sugarbowl poke her head in to see what the little dog and I were doing to make the bed squeak like that. My pillows had turned into hard wedges when I could have sworn they were comfortable soft billowy clouds the night before. I think I finally drifted off between 11 and 12, but I'm not sure. I won't let myself look at the clock after a certain point because I start adding up the possible hours of sleep I would get if I slept until ______. I woke up at 4 this morning. More like my eyes popped open and there was no sleep left in me. How I slept on that hard, hot, squeaky bed with hard cement squares for pillows was a mystery to me, because obviously nothing had changed in the night. The little dog and I fought in the bed until it was game over when he decided he needed to clean his wee wee.

I push myself all day long to wear myself out. Yesterday I was so tired after my exercise class that I really, really wanted to take a nap. I was hoping to get a decent night's sleep so I made myself get up and get moving. I cleaned the house and ran a few errands, all for naught. No matter how dead tired I am, it is impossible for me to get more than 6 hours of sleep. Every once in a great while I can eke out 7, and then I feel like I should get the gold medal in the sleep competition. All the different doctors I see want me to get at least 8 hours of sleep because they say a person with MS NEEDS their sleep. My pain doctor, who I am loving because his suggestions have really helped me, even talked about sleeping meds. I pooh pooh-ed that idea because MSers are known for having the evil beast called "fatigue." I do double up on my baclofen and sometimes take flexeril to help me sleep, but I don't want to get accustomed to those higher doses/extra medicines and have them not work anymore. This morning I have been thinking that maybe he does know what he is talking about, especially as he was so right on about my other problems. I hate to take a sleeping pill but am fantasizing about a full night's sleep...

Yesterday, when I went to get a few things from the store, there was an older gentleman getting the same kind of creamer as me. Said gentleman was wearing pajamas. There was no gray area about it. They were flannel pajamas of the variety that grandma and grandpa wear on cold winter nights. He even had slippers on. We were both grabbing the exact same kind of creamer and I noticed that for all his pajama-and-slippers-wearing-to-the-store ways, he was clean and smelled like after shave. Albeit an old man after shave, but a fresh smell none the less. We both laughed at us going for the same jug of creamer and agreed that it was the best kind. He seemed to be with it, so I figured that he must have the same lack of sleep problem I do and he wears his pajamas out and about to entice sleep to come visit him. If it works, I am going to start wearing my pajamas everywhere. Goodness knows it couldn't hurt.