I’d Like To Tell You About A Man Named Joe

A few weeks ago the love of my life became nostalgic for his late teens and pulled out the old comic book collection.  We’ve been together for just over 21 years now, and I’ve seen this collection less than 5 times.  It was fun to watch and listen to him talk about the books, as if they were old college friends.  I asked him why he stopped collecting them, and he gave the standard reply one would expect, “beer money”.  Makes sense.  My best friend and partner-in-crime used to have holes in the soles of her shoes for that same reason.

The mother of the love of my life was an antique dealer for many, many years.  The love of my life grew up being a part of this collection and selling business and knew the importance of keeping things in good shape that may later have a resale value.  This said mother is still waiting for her resale value with two storage units chocked full of antique store inventory that more than likely will never see the light of day again, but that’s another story.

So the research began.  By Sunday, he was checking out Craigslist and putting out feelers. Phone calls were received from meth’d out folks in desperate need to tell us their life story of baby daddy’s and foreclosed homes who wanted to sell their imprisoned family member’s comic book collection probably for the going rate of a hit of meth.  This little adventure was going to be fun!!!

Two Saturday’s ago the love of my life bribed me with lunch on the beach at Sloppy Joe’s to load up my crutches and a pillow in the car if I would spend the day zigzagging across the St. Petersburg peninsula to look at comic books with him.  Beach?  Food?  Sign me up!!  My only stipulation was that if the person was a hoarder like the ones on TV, I wouldn’t be going inside.  The first stop was to purchase another piece of his childhood that was stolen from him – Dungeon’s and Dragon’s manual.  Success, and he had a smile on his face!  Second stop was not as successful in that it was a young guy who was clearly being pestered by his wife to get rid of the useless comic books a buddy talked him into taking because she needed more room in their 900 square foot bungalow for her shoes.  The dude was clearly of his rocker wanting a C note for two or three boxes full of crapola.  We left without committing, and the guy called later to beg the love of my life for an offer, any offer.  He was offered $20.00, and kindly refused, saying he would be throwing them away.  Too bad, could have taken his wife out for a cocktail.

Our last stop of the day was in the North Tampa area.  We were going to meet Joe, who said he would be home after 3:00 pm.  After riding around trying to find his pad, waiting for him to show up, getting stymied at Target because all of the fatty scooters were taken, we finally met Joe.  Joe lived in the typical Florida mobile home park; tidy little areas, with about 6 streets in it, lots of pinks and greens, and really old people.  We pulled up to Joe’s mobile home, and he greeted us at the front door.  His first words were an apology, because apparently the animal hoarder next door’s cats got into his air conditioner unit, thereby leaving the air conditioning not working.  We were going through an unusual heat wave in Florida with heat indices over a hundred and the humidity hung in the air like a wet blanket.  And that normal breeze off the sea?  What breeze?  We were getting ripped off!

Joe sees that I’m all gimpy about the same time I see the steep assed stairs leading up to the front door.  I kind of peeked around him to see if he might possibly be a hoarder (he told us he had been at the flea market all day and his vehicle was jam packed full of boxes so the possibility was there), saw that it was safe and made the trek up the giant steps.  I entered into the flaming hot mobile home and the sweat instantly started.  Joe offered me a seat at the table while he took the love of my life back to see the comics.  I figured it would be safer if we were not separated, just in case something happened, ya know?  We went to the bowels of the home, to an interior room that was sealed with an eye hook and nail.

The stifling room was filled with more boxes – this must be Joe’s flea market inventory.  He showed us where the comics where, and I tried to figure out where to sit.  Two seconds later, Joe appeared with a chair for me.  Wow!  There are still some decent people in this world.  We go through the 700 plus comic as quickly as we can, sweat pouring out of all cracks and crevices on our bodies; our shirts becoming discolored from the seepage.  Then the boys get to talking.  The love of my life has this uncanny ability to draw all sorts of details from people.  I like to say he has mad skillz – yes, that’s with a Z.  He likes that.

Joe tells us about his days growing up in the Bronx just a few blocks from the Apollo Theater to his time working as an extra for The Punisher.  He said he stood just a few feet from Johnny T (my favorite Scientologist) and was surprised at how tall he is.  Joe said he does other work as an extra, and has been offered more speaking parts, but he doesn’t want to put dentures in, so he turns those down.  Did I not mention Joe only had a couple of teeth?  Yeah, he was pretty gummy with the smiles, but he had an air of confidence about him that showed he could give a rat’s ass if anyone liked it or not.

We finished the transaction without any problems.  Joe carried the comics to the door, the love of my life loaded my little Honda Civic to the hilt with them and I sat in the kitchen.  I have to admit to one moment of holy shit, I’m going to end up this guys sex slave or dart board or loaded into a pet carrier for the next few months until my foot heals enough so I can bust out of the place, but at least with no air conditioning I can lose some weight when the love of my life was outside and I was inside with Joe.  It was a fleeting thought, and quickly passed as both men made sure I was safe getting down the Mt. Everest high steps. 

We chatted a bit more outside where the 90 plus degree temperature felt like a cool breeze in hell, and I took a good look at Joe.  The toupee was a horrible match for his hair and it didn’t go well with his skin tone, but he was probably a decent looking guy when he was younger.  He had a great personality and was fun to hang out with for a bit.  It’s interesting the people you meet in your life and how you come across them.  Joe from Craigslist was memorable and kind and someone I won’t soon forget.  I also won’t ever forget that my hair was not dry from the sweat locker of home he had even with the air conditioning blasting full on for the hour drive back home!

The things we do for our hobbies!

Big shout out to The Rat's Pack of This N That Pack Rat (of www.bonanza.com and www.ecrater.com) for use of the photo!

And My Little Dog, Too

Anyone who knows anything about dog breeds know that the Terrier group can be one of the most stubborn, hard-headed, head-strong, strong-willed group of dogs on the planet.  Did I mention stubborn?
We have a Cairn Terrier.  When we tell people what breed he is they will usually give us a puzzled look.  Then we'll ask them if they remember Toto from The Wizard of Oz.  The light bulb clicks on, but dims somewhat.  Because we are mind readers, we'll say something along the lines of "yeah, betcha thought Toto was a mutt, eh?"  The light bulbs is brighter now.  
Toto was a pure bred Cairn Terrier named Terry.  Terry's first owners were not so fond of her (yes, a girl) terrier-ness, so they booted her to the curb.  You can read about Terry here on the wiki page:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Terry_(dog).  Her biography is also a good read and you can pick it up here from Amazon:  http://tinyurl.com/5twlmxk

Murphy MacDonald, Lord of the Isle came into our home and our hearts in July 2008.  Our beloved Chocolate Lab, Delta Dawn, had died on May 5, and we were very lonely without a four-legged little creature in our lives.  Delta was the most obedient, well-trained dog I have ever known.  She was the love of my life's hunting buddy and my constant companion when she finally retired from duck retrieving.  
Murphy was quite possibly the cutest puppy I have ever come across in my life, and he had the sharpest teeth that rivaled the many sea creatures we've caught fishing over the years.  He was a terror on four legs, but when he would lay his head on our chest or leg and look up at us with "those" eyes, we melted and forgot about the teeth marks on our legs, the hutch, and the Pella window sills.  His cuteness has only increased over the three years of his life.
Murphy is also very smart and knows a ton of commands:  sit, stay, down, sit pretty, give me some paw, high five, speak, roll over, and the best is when we ask  him if he'd rather be a Gator or dead; he'll tip onto his side and stop breathing, playing dead.  He can stand and jump, and will give us a "bump" with his nose, and he'll walk at heel on the leash.  He does not understand the command "come" though.  Oh, he'll do it when there is food involved, but if I want him to move from one spot in the house to where I am at, he'll stand there with the most defiant face and not budge an inch.  Stubborn!
Our lab was never allowed on the furniture.  Murphy, because of the infinite cuteness factor, is pretty much allowed to do whatever pleases him.  He'll sit in the dining room chairs, on the ottoman, on the recliner, on my pillow on the bed, on the back of the chairs.  The only place we have kept him off, for now, is our new couch.  
Murphy is spoiled, and we are okay with that.  We know he's a yappy little dog, and we know he should be forced to mind us better, and we know that people don't like him jumping in their laps, but, honestly, we don't care.  We look into those bright eyes and melt every time.  

19 More Days

I had my 7 week post-op, sub-talar ankle fusion appointment today.  I have had a couple of good days of playing my favorite game of "What If", and had all kinds of scenarios going through my head.  What if I had a failed fusion?  What if the incision didn't heal correctly?  What if I had little blisters all over my heels and sides of my foot?  What if my foot fell off when they took the cast off?  Yeah, I know, that last one was kinda dumb, but when you aren't sleeping well, the imagination can be a scary thing.
The doctor seemed extremely pleased with my progress so far, and liked what he saw on my x-rays.  At this point I was beginning to relax and scold myself for playing too much "What If".  The he says he's going to put me in a boot (YAY, big ugly boot), but he wasn't quite ready to let me walk on it just yet.  WTF?  Talk about being deflated, though the full impact of that didn't truly hit me until a few hours later.  
I'll head back down to see him again on July 11th for more x-rays, and then take it from there.


My thoughts on this are kind of scattered right now.  What if (yes, I know...) my fusion is going to fail?  He never mentioned anything of the sort, but I do know from my vast experience with my ankle that putting some pressure on it will help solidify the fusion.  Then the love of my life (who is truly the most rational person I know and doesn't feed into my hysteria) mentioned that he just thinks the guy is being ultra conservative in his care.  That actually makes the most sense (see, I told you he was rational).  My surgeon is a pretty straight laced guy, and has been pretty laid back and conservative in all his treatment since I've started seeing him, so this is more than likely the main reason.  
So, I have 19 more days of the crutches, the knee walker, being taxied to and from work, laying around and not being able to help myself do much.  


The good in all of this though, is that I do have the boot, which gives me some feeling of freedom.  I am finally able to let my foot air out which is a very wonderful feeling.  Once the dead skin and bohemian look is gone (tomorrow - I don't think I can stand myself for much longer with this hair, I mean, I can practically braid it and bead it like they do in the Caribbean) I will post some more pictures.  They gave me a disk with all my x-rays on it too, which is so cool, and I can show ya'll where I got screwed!!!!


19 days isn't that long is it?

Random Stuff

I hate tomatoes.  They are vile and make me gag.  I will pick out the smallest piece of chunk tomato in my spaghetti sauce.

I love sushi.  I will try any type of sushi at least one time, and the only thing I have found I don't like is salmon roe - *shudders.

I wore a shirt with a hole in it to work today.

I have an obsession with making sure the toilet lid is down.  I am getting better at it, but used to go behind my house guests and put it down.

Toilet paper has to come over the top.  I've found myself changing it in public restrooms before.  I don't change it at friend's homes, though the temptation is HUGE.

Even after 20 years, I still get butterflies in my stomach when the love of my life kisses me.

I really want to live on a sailboat someday.

I have the BEST idea for a book, but I just can't get it out on paper.  

I have two friends that I have never talked to or met in real life.  We are closer in many ways than some of my real life friends.

I worry way too much about how other people view me.

I can be really, really lazy sometimes, but like to brag about how productive I am.

I have had a meltdown in Dillard's shoe department.

I hate shopping in department stores, but love to troll thrift stores.

I always walk with my head down so that I won't miss a penny to pick up or a really cool rock.

I think my dog is better and cuter than everyone else's dog.

I can live the rest of my life and never eat another bite of chocolate and be okay with that, but please don't make me go without french fries and Whoppers.

Sometimes I just wish the love of my life and our little dog could just leave the rest of the world behind and go far, far away.  Of course, I would want to at least have the Internet so that I can blog, Facebook, and Tweet about it.

Since having ankle surgery, I really hate taking a shower.  I wish there was a magical way I could get clean.

I love to play the "What If" game.  But I only really like to play it with bad thing and outcomes.  It makes it much more fun.  Sometimes, when I'm in a good mood, I like to play "What if I win the Powerball".

I really want to get a hole-in-one.

Bookworm

I’ve had my nose in a book as long as I can remember.  I love to read, and find the pastime very relaxing and rewarding.  I can travel to places that I’ve always dreamed up or I can peek through the window of how other people live.  I can lose myself for hours in books and forget about my own problems and worries.  It’s the perfect escape.

Now, don’t read anything more into this though.  I pretty much read trash.  Not bodice ripper trash, though those are fun, but generally I read things where I don’t have to think much and can get lost in a story.  I have tried to read the classics, but I just can’t get into them like I do murder mysteries, chick lit, true crime, romance, and the plethora of genres out there.

I have a Kindle.  I have never been one to jump into the hype of the latest and greatest gadget.  I mean, the only cell phone I have is a cheap flip phone provided by my company.  I think I’ve sent one text message in my life, and while I am contemplating succumbing to an Android in the near future, I’m pretty technologically dumb.  I knew about the Kindle when they first came out a few years ago, but last summer when Amazon announced that the third generation Kindle was coming out, I knew this was something I just had to have.  I did my research, I waited for it to be released and to see if there were horrible stories about it, and I saved all my Discover points to get this wonderful creation (on the cheap, of course). 

The day I bought Vinny reading changed for me.  I am started to get older, and I’ve always had bad eyesight (thanks Mom AND Dad).  The E-Ink was actually gentler on my eyes than a paperback or a library book, even large print editions.  I found that I was reading more and I was reading faster.  I loved the fact that I could “carry” a ton of books with me in my purse.  I loved that I could order a book and its right there on the device within seconds.  I loved my Kindle from the very start, and I still do!

When I was off work for my ankle surgery, the only thing I found that I was able to concentrate fully on was reading.  I didn’t keep an exact count, but I believe I read close to 20 books that month.  I could only sleep for one or two hours at a time, and it was really boring in the middle of the night with no one to talk to.  My Kindle had so many options available for me, and I was able to escape and read for a few hours until I was able to sleep again.

I have joined a few sites and have read a few blogs, and I have found that there are a lot of people who read much of the same things that I do.  Often this is how I find my next book to read.  I am going to try really hard to start reviewing some of the books that I read here on this blog.  I think it will be a good exercise for myself to be true to the author of the book and to myself if I really liked it or if I did not like it so much.  On the books that I do review, I will also post those reviews on the book sites that I belong to; Goodreads, Amazon, and Lendle.  I will be open and honest, and I will not write any spoilers into my reviews.

Let's try this, shall we?

Sleeping Beauty

I have always had a difficult time sleeping.  I can remember as a child having a terrible time falling asleep and always being the last one at slumber parties or at Girl Scout Camp to fall asleep.  I guess I’ve been a functioning insomniac my entire life.  I’ll go weeks and weeks on end having trouble falling asleep, then I’ll switch to the fall asleep quickly, but wake up in the middle of the night and can’t fall back asleep for a couple of hours or not at all.  It pretty much sucks no matter how it happens, though I prefer having the trouble falling asleep, because waking up in the middle of the night thing is crap.  It’s boring, the love of my life ends up waking up, the dog will wake up, and since we no longer have cable, there’s no late night Hitchcock to watch.

I’ve read all the books, all the studies, done all the right things with my bedroom, and I still have the trouble.  When it gets really bad I will pop a couple of pinkies (Benadryl) before bed and that will line me out after a week or so.  A few years ago I asked my internist for some Ambien.  I had taken it in the past after, yes, another ankle surgery, and it helped tremendously.  She refused me and told me to get some Melatonin.  I came thisclose to laughing right in her face, but I saved and bitched all the way home and all the way to the store and right up until bedtime when I begrudgingly took the stupid Melatonin.  That shit worked!  No kidding!  I apologized to the lady a few months later for laughing at her behind her back.

Unfortunately Melatonin isn't the cure all it once was.  I think it loses steam after awhile, and I “dry out” for a few weeks and get back on it.  It’s a nice in-between the pinkies for me.

Since I have had this ankle surgery, the insomnia is raging.  I called my family physician and he was nice enough to call me in two weeks of Ambien.  I did pretty well the first week on it.  Got my rhythm down, but that was when I started having all sorts of crazy mood swings – up, down, up, down, flat, up, down, down lower – you get the picture, right?  And while the dreams were awesome, the nightmares were not.  Now that the Ambien is but a distant memory I am back to the same old sleeping habits.  I fall asleep pretty quickly these days thanks to the Melatonin, but I cannot stay asleep.  Every single time I turn over or make any type of move, I am awake.  I know it’s because of The Pink Monstrosity.  That thing is becoming more and more like a dead weight every moment I have to endure wearing it.

I cannot stop yawning during the day.  I can’t keep my eyes open.  I’m at work, and you know unless you are a certain person in my organization, sleeping is frowned upon.  The Pink Monstrosity comes off this Thursday, and I cannot wait.  I will be cut out, x-rayed, and if all goes well, the doctor will put me in the big, ugly, black boot.  I so want that thing!  I don’t know what I will do if I have to go into another cast.  I may ask for some Prozac to go with it along with a month supply of Ambien.    

Solitary Confinement

I've spent the last three days in what I have called solitary confinement to the couch.  While I am not alone in the true sense - I have the wonderful love of my life with me and my little dog too - I am making myself stay on the couch with this blasted foot jacked up on a stack of pillows, again.  I started back to work on June 1st with a run of three half days.  I figured that would be enough to gear me up for a week of full days.  Was I ever wrong!  I made it to Thursday, never being able to complete a full day, and had to call in sick to work on Friday.  It was truly another low point for me in this recovery.  I have only called in to work sick one other time, and I wasn't able to open my eyes due to a headache caused by chemicals in the workplace.
I can't really keep my foot elevated the way it needs to be at work.  I tried balancing it on my tower for a few days, but knocked that over on my good big toe and decided that was a bit too dangerous both for myself and office IT equipment.  So, we tried a box with two pillows on it.  This helped some, but I still can't find a comfortable position.  The only time that I am truly comfortable is when I have my foot jacked up on my desk.  This is a very uncomfortable position to actually try to work in, and it's not very professional.  I limit this to a few minutes every couple of hours, mostly when I know most people are out of the office and not walking around.  
So, I promised myself if I stayed home I would keep my foot elevated the majority of the time, and so far I have kept my promise.  Not that there is much else for me to do.  I can't go shopping (not that I would, because I really dislike shopping) or to the beach or out to dinner or really anything else.  
I'm going nutty as well.  I've had a few crying jags over the last couple of weeks.  These seem to strike out of the blue, last from a few minutes to a half hour.  I know that this is normal, but hate to break down in front of co-workers.  At home is one thing, alone is best, but at work is just not cool at all.  Then yesterday I had the total opposite.  I laughed uncontrollably; side splitting, hard to breathe, tears streaming down my face, bladder bursting laughing.  I tried to share what I was laughing about with the love of my life, and he just did not find it even chuckle worthy, so I laughed harder.
Between the laughing and the crying - today I am feeling more on the weepy side, I have come to the conclusion that solitary confinement is not for me.  Tomorrow is Monday, and I am heading back to work.  I think I am feeling strong enough after this little break to work the full days.  I think that I was both physically and emotionally unprepared and not ready for full day work when I thought that I was.  This is not the first time I have underestimated healing since this journey started back on May 5th.  
The best part about tomorrow is that I can finally say that I am getting out of The Pink Monstrosity next week!  This is enough to make a girl practically giddy, though I am keeping the emotions in check and not letting them show too much.  I may very well be going back into another fiberglass prison.  I'm really, really hoping for the big, black, ugly boot though.  Really!  


Tomorrow starts the official countdown to June 23rd!

The Smoking Run

Now that I am back at work, I have lots more stuff to rant about than my gimped up, pity party self!

I used to smoke.  I used to smoke A LOT.  I’m now one of those bitter ex-smokers who think they are better than everyone who says they “can’t” quit.  Please note the “can’t” – I did not say “won’t” – big difference.  I have total respect for someone who says they won’t quit smoking, sure buddy, go ahead, knock yourself out, you are at least being honest.

Smoking was very relaxing to me, I swore up and down that it alleviated stress, and of course, it made me look cool.  Yeah, right!  I’m older, wiser, and have seen the effects of long term smoking on a person’s body and am very glad that I made that decision to quit.   

How did I quit?  Truthfully, I made a promise to a dying man.  I used to work for a family practice physician, old school, the Norman Rockwell guy.  He was a brilliant doctor, but could get on the grouchy side (don’t they all?).  Me, being me, well, I’m the only one allowed to be grouchy, so when he got grouchy with me, I went outside and smoked.  He HATED that!  Dr. W found out that he had an inoperable brain tumor.  He lost the ability to do most things, except swear, which he was good at when he was healthy, he got even better at it as he was dying.  I even learned a few new words!!!  I helped take care of him through the last few months of his life, which are very precious memories now.  I would get him settled and let him know I was going to walk the dog and grab a smoke.  He’d cuss and give me dirty looks.  Finally one day I just told him.  “Dr. W, when you die I will quit smoking.”  Sure, you probably think, that’s cruel, give the guy some hope, tell him he’s going to pull through and beat this thing.  We all knew that wasn’t going to happen, he never lied to his patients as bad as it could be sometimes, I would have never lied to him. 

Rest of that story?  Well, he died. I quit smoking.  Was it easy?  Hell no!  I used Wellbutrin and was threatened by my coworkers with everything from exorcism to murder while I was withdrawing from nicotine addiction.  Another doctor I worked for was a recovering alcoholic (sober over 20 years) – he told me it was easier to quit drinking than smoking. 

Which leads me to today.  I work with several smokers.  Some who say they can’t quit, others who say they won’t, and others who just don’t talk about it.  Did you know that smokers get more breaks than non-smokers?  Of course you non-smokers all know that!  You are sitting at your desks being good little boys and girls while your smoking co-workers are out there more times than you can count.  

Well, one day I counted.  


There is one particular person I work with, and for the sake of privacy and all that, I will call him The Pall Mall Man.  Pall Mall Man is the classic lifetime smoker.  He has that hideous (makes me gag sometimes) cough every morning that, “only a cigarette will make better.”, has the face that looks like a dried up drift wood, and you can smell him way before he gets near you and long after he leaves.  Thank goodness for reed diffusers, and the uncanny knack of being just bitchy enough that no one really wants to come in my office anyway.

Oh yeah, the counting thing.  I’m sure I missed a few, but I swear to you, it was over 30 times the Pall Mall Man went out side to smoke on the day I counted.  30!   Yeah, that’s what I said too.  WTF?  It’s frustrating also knowing this schmuck gets away with this baloney (that’s a whole ‘nother rant).  One of my employees smokes, and she goes out once in the morning, a couple of times on her lunch break, and once in the afternoon – very respectable, and she’s one of the “I can’t quit” bunch. 

I don’t know?  Maybe I’m too hard on the smokers, and need to remember more that once I was among them and had more than my fair share of breaks.  But, come on…really?  30?

A New Quest

I've always wondered what it would be like to have 6 pack abs.  I've had a flat-ish tummy before, and while I'm not nearly a full or pony keg, I'm a bit too soft in the mid area.  I definitely would not be caught in public with a bikini though, but I can't say I am hideous.  Well, I could, but I'm working on self-liking this week rather than self-loathing.  It's only Monday though.
Once I get through my recovery and can start actually doing something more than crutch to the bathroom and lie on the couch with my foot jacked up over my head, my goal is to get back into shape.  I turned 40 a few months ago (there!  I said it!), and have realized in just the past month that the older I am getting, the harder things are, like healing, staying healthy, and not going soft around the belly button.  I know that once I am able to walk and move around without the constant nagging pain of my ankle grinding, I will be able to concentrate on getting back into an exercise routine that consists more of actually doing activity than pretending to do some.


So, I'm willing to put in the time, the pain, and even give up sneaking snacks to try for the flat tummy.  I would even be happy with a 4 pack...