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.