Will you marry me???

                                               Happy Leap Day/Leap Year!

Per Wikipedia, “According to an old Irish legend, or possibly history, St Bridget struck a deal with St Patrick to allow women to propose to men – and not just the other way around – every 4 years. This is believed to have been introduced to balance the traditional roles of men and women in a similar way to how Leap Day balances the calendar.

In some places, Leap Day has been known as “Bachelors’ Day” for the same reason. A man was expected to pay a penalty, such as a gown or money, if he refused a marriage proposal from a woman on Leap Day. In many European countries, especially in the upper classes of society, tradition dictates that any man who refuses a woman’s proposal on February 29 has to buy her 12 pairs of gloves. The intention is that the woman can wear the gloves to hide the embarrassment of not having an engagement ring. During the middle ages there were laws governing this tradition.”

So all you marriage-minded ladies out there, get going!  It is considered bad luck for a man to refuse your proposal today, so the cards are stacked in your favor!

Let me know how it all worked out for you and your lucky guy!

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Don’t you dare smirk at me while sticking needles in my spine…

I just spent a wonderful 3-4 days in the hospital.  Hotel Condell.  Condell Condo.  Hilton Towers.  I was lucky enough to score a room in the new tower, and must say it was grander than most hotel rooms, with corian counters and cherry wood furniture and bamboo floors etc.  The nursing staff was delightful, especially the night tech, Sandra, with her larger than life personality and Sherri Shepard wigs.  She had bad feet, and I could hear her slippers shuffling down the hall long before she arrived at my condo suite  room.  She called me her “Baby Girl” from the start, and took special care of me and would bring me nightly treats so I wouldn’t “starve to death on that measly old hospital food”.  She was a bright spot in my day, and I looked forward to her shift every night.  She would work all night at Condell, and then go work at another hospital for the day shift, so she could send her babies to college.  No wonder she had bad feet, standing 16 hours a day.  I wanted to give her a nice nap in my pressure sensitive air bed I was lounging in.

I had plenty of doctors, nurses, techs, transport, food service and religious staff at my beck and call.   I was the luckiest patient in the world.  Until Dr. Smirky showed up.

Dr. Smirky was King of his domain at the hospital and wouldn’t let any of the other neuros play in his “epidural injection” sandbox.  He was very politcal selfish and insisted on performing all pain management functions.  He came to my room on Sunday night and said he would perform my procedure on Monday night and smirked at any question I asked him.   He seemed to be very nocturnal.  After further retrospection, I came to believe he was the AntiChrist.  Didn’t help that he bore a very strong resemblance to the actor who played the AntiChrist in the Left Behind movies.  Even the same accent.  Shudder.

Anyway, I figured he must be good at his job, after this was a huge hospital.  MY neuro was Chief of Neurosurgery, and this smirky neuro was Chief of Pissing in Everybody’s Sandbox Pain Management.  I let my neuro know I preferred him, as I had my first round of injections at his clinic with NO problem, in and out in 15 minutes, but there was no choice in the matter at that point.

So I was delivered to the AntiChrist’s    Dr. Swarmy Smirky’s OR promptly at 7 p.m.  I was quite apprehensive as I did not know nor particularly like this man, and he was going to be performing a delicate procedure that could potentially paralyze me for life.  As it turns out, I was right to be apprehensive.  He was condescending to his staff and smirky to us all.  He ordered people about and got irate when the fluoroscope tech couldn’t get a clear field for him to poke his needles in.  So Dr. Smirky just keep poking me with needles and hitting bone and cussing and swearing.  I literally feared for my life, and kept squeezing the nurse’s hand as I was basically lying helpless face down looking through a donut hole for my head and only able to see shoes.  Dr. Smirky kept asking me questions that I didn’t know he was addressing to me, and I kept saying “what? what?” and he was angrily manipulating my leg around while needles were poking out of my spine.  Finally I started to cry and I think he just gave up at that point and pushed all the steriods through, quite painfully I might add.  When he was done with me, after an hour, he smirked at me again, and I wanted to punch him in the nuts face.

By the time I got back to my room, I was a mess.  The charge nurse was quite upset that I was quite upset, and then I heard the slipper shuffle come hurrying down the hall, and Sandra burst into the room and said “What happened to my Baby Girl!?”  I sobbed my story out and the charge nurse came back with a sedative and morphine, and Sandra put a cool cloth on my brow, and I gratefully passed out for a while.  Totally missing The Bachelor and Castle!  I woke up awhile later with a terrible spinal headache and had to lay still the rest of the night.

My neuro and GP came in the next morning and I told them both what had happened and that I did not want to ever see Dr. Smirky again.  Obviously my injection results were NOT optimal, and both my docs said I could stay in the hospital another day if I wanted.  But I chose to go home, I missed my Ozzy kitten and my own air bed, although it hard to give up Club Condell and all the special attention I had received.  Luckily Dr. Smirky did not show up at my bedside for a follow-up before I left.  Hopefully he was still sleeping in his coffin in the bowels of the hospital.

So off I went, after hugging and kissing the entire staff of Club Condell and thanking them all profusely for all their help.  (I don’t think I needed to warn them about The AntiChrist lurking in their basement).  The transport staff pushed my wheelchair right out into the parking lot to my car, which had been there since early Sat. morning, and luckily was still there.  They loaded me up, and off I went.

I’m glad to be back home, even though I still have considerable pain, even with a Fentanyl patch on.  I will follow-up with MY neuro and be well taken care of.  Never again will I let anybody I don’t trust stick needles in MY spine.  Especially not Dr. Smirky.

Hey man, I see colored lights!

It seems I’m spending the weekend in the hospital.  Not anybody’s favorite place I’m sure.  But sadly I’m beginning to like it!

Long story short, I hurt my back last spring and been dealing with it ever since in a revolving door of doctors and physical therapy and pills etc.  The past few weeks have been excruciating painful and I’ve been barely able to walk.  Been using my mom’s cane, and look like an old lady.  Actually I think it might have been my grandma’s cane.  And I AM an old lady.  An old crippled lady now.

I finally gave up the ghost early this morning and drove to the ER.  I limped in with my cane and my rolling suitcase, filled with medical records, pills, clean PJ’s and undies, laptop, smartphone and Nook Color.  The nurse who took me back raised her eyebrow at me and said “I see you brought your suitcase?  You planning on staying long?”  I told her in reply that I live alone and am always prepared for everything, and then whipped my suitcase open and handed her a neatly typed document with all my prescriptions, doctor’s, medical history, and insurance information.  Within a half hour the doctor said they were going to admit me, and she gave me a wink and said “good thing you brought that suitcase”.   Then she shot me up with Dilaudin and Tramadol, and I wanted to kiss her.  First time I have been almost pain free in almost a year, and excruciating pain for a month.

I was in the ER for about 4 hours while the docs came and went and was waiting on a room.  I dozed off and on and when I woke up the winky nurse was always there with more pain meds to shoot into my IV.  Then they came and got me to take me to my room, and said how lucky I was that I got a room in the new wing that they called “The Hilton Towers”.  Wow.  Even in my drug-induced haze I could see what a lucky girl I was.  Air bed, full size couch, lounge chair, three huge windows overlooking a park, bathroom with fold away mirrors and blow dryers and open shower big enough for a party.  Oh, and don’t let me forget the flat screen TV.  Digital clock built into a wall panel.  Programmable thermostat.  Tray table with laptop holder and multiple levels of drink holders etc.  Sink with dispensers and full medical supply cabinet in main room.  I could go on and on.

They got me all settled in and more shots, this time of morphine.  Whatever.  Took a nice nap.  Family came to visit.  Ordered dinner off a menu.  Ate.  More shots.  Nice nap.  But best of all???????  No pain.  Ok, a little pain still.  But seriously?  No pain.  I can’t remember a time when I felt no pain.

I still can’t get up without assistance and I’m certainly not running through the halls.  Another MRI is schedule for either tonight or tomorrow.  Then hopefully another spinal injection, or straight to surgery to rid myself of these pesky herniated disks.  I am bound and determined to get better before I go home!

I miss my little Ozzy, but he is being well taken care of by family.  So I am going to lay back and enjoy my little legal drug buzz, and watch the psychedelic colored lights playing behind my eyelids for a few days!

 

 

“Vague”booking Redux

I felt the need to revive this post I originally blogged back in February.  Also, I felt the need to add Twitter to the mix.  Twitter brings a whole new bag of tricks to social media.  Some which are awesomely funny, like parody accounts.  But some that are just plain cruel or stupid, like the fake twitter posts and pictures about Hurricane Sandy.  Don’t they realize that some people think that if it on the internet, it must be true?  *Shaking my head in disbelief and rolling my eyes*.  So, back to the post…..

Facebook.  A great place to keep in touch with family and friends, and share photos.

Lots of interesting status updates.   Some too revealing.  Some not revealing at all, that just yank your chain ….

I’m so sad.

Worst.day.ever.

Waiting at the ER.

😦

FML

I hate ____insert person, place or thing here_____.

Going to the doctor tomorrow.

Dear God:  Why me?????

These types of status updates are what I call “vague”booking.  Most chronic offenders are young drama queens.  Gives you just enough information to get you curious so that of course you will reply to their status.  “What’s wrong?  What’s up?  Can I help?”  Get everybody all riled up and not answer right away, letting people think the worst.  Then after the appropriate number of questions, they add just a bit more information to encourage MORE comments and invoke more sympathy etc.

Have I been guilty of this?  Sure, probably, hopefully not too often lately.  But once I recognized it in myself, I started recognizing it in others.  In the past I would be one of the first to inquire what was wrong.  Now, I just sigh and pass it on by.  I’m sure others will wrestle the info out sooner or later.  I know when my animals died last year that I took my anger and sorrow out publicly on Facebook, and that was wrong.  Nobody cares about your dog or cat dying.  (Well, some do, but they are special people like me).  And I really didn’t mean to make other people sad or try to make them feel MY pain.  Just wanted sympathy I guess.  (Now I just write blogs about it, lol).  And that’s ok.  I will give ANYBODY sympathy, but first they have to spit it out.  I am not going to play the guessing game anymore.  Please, just let me know what you want me to know.

Facebook can be a great way to let everybody know what is going on without having to run up cell phone minutes and get cauliflower ear.  It’s a great way to get the message out fast and widespread.  A perfect example of this was when my neighbor had a heart attack.  His wife calmly let everybody know what happened, and gave regular updates to keep us in the loop.  I appreciated her approach immensely, and hopefully she wasn’t inundated with tons of phone calls etc. to make/receive so she could concentrate on her hubby.  This was a perfect example of using Facebook as a social media at its best.

So to all you “vague”bookers out there, please, in the name of all that is holy, get it all out all at once, don’t make people beg you to find out what in the hell is wrong.  If people are your friends they want to know it all, right away, and you will get your sympathy, without pissing me and a lot of other people off in the meantime, lol.

Also, I hate what I call the “hit and runs”.  People who post a question, and then never return to respond to the tons of people who have taken the time to answer the question.  If you don’t have the time to check back, don’t ask the question in the first place.

And don’t even get me started on the underage drinking party pictures, naked pictures, sad sacks who only say negative things, happy people who are just a little toooooo happy all the time!!!!!!!!!!!! and other things.  Don’t people realize that prospective employers etc. check Facebook, besides your credit record, employment record, and driving record???  Do you really want your boss to see you drunk as shit on the weekends?  Do you really want them to see you swearing like a truck driver, or the fact that, shortcut language aside, you cannot spell?   Do you really want your parents to see naked pictures of you?  Or tonguing/kissing/mauling your girlfriend/boyfriend? Or a new picture of yourself, taken by yourself, every 5 minutes?   Things that you think are cool now, are not.

Facebook is NOT private, I don’t care how many privacy settings you have.  ANYTHING you put on the internet is fair game.  It is there FOREVER.  So even though the younger generation is more tech savvy than us old folks, they sure are naive about a lot of things.  Trust me, I know this firsthand.  And even if your Facebook IS set to private, one of your friends who you think is your friend is NOT your friend and will sell you out to the highest bidder.

Disclaimer:  None of my friends on Facebook are guilty of any of the above actions.  I have only heard and read about these kinds of things happening to other people.

Right Between the Eyes

My little kitten Ozzy is growing up to be quite the lil’ man.  He flies through the house like a cat on fire.  He leaps, he bounds, he jumps, he rolls.  And that is before he gets all riled up.  You know.  When a cat gets a wild hair up his butt and pins his ears back and goes on mission.  Not sure what the mission is, he just needs to do it NOW.

I am not a cat rookie.  Had cats most of my life.  I have a sneaking suspicion that my first cat Callie has returned in the body of Ozzy.  She was a holy terror too.  Ozzy is non-stop until he crawls up my body to my shoulder area and plops down into a purring sleepy kitten ball, kissing my nose and patting my face.

After all these years with cats, I think I can read their minds fairly well.  With Ozzy, it’s all about how much he can get away with before Mama stops him with a loud resounding NO, or a squirt from the water bottle.  Ozzy favorite spot is the kitchen island counter top.  Mama doesn’t want kittens on countertops.  So we play the same game every day, over and over.

Ozzy:  I think I’ll jump up on the kitchen stool and then onto the island top to see what’s new up there.

Mama:  Where’s that dang cat, I bet he is on the countertop.

Ozzy:  Oh no, here comes my Mama, quick, hide behind the flower vase!

Mama:  You silly lil’ man, Mama can see you.

Ozzy:  Uh oh, I forgot to close my eyes!  If I close my eyes she can’t see me!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mama:  Ozzy, I still seeeeeeeeeeeeeee youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu.  Now get down!

Ozzy:   Ok, I’m gonna make a break for it and scamper really fast, past the glass dish and salt and pepper shakers and hide behind her purse.  Dang it, why can’t she get a bigger purse?

Mama:  Alrighty then….SQUIRT!

Ozzy:  I better high-tail it back to the stool!  If I crouch down, then she can’t see me!

Mama:  Ozzy, I see your ears.

Ozzy:  Ok, I’m gonna just take a quick peek

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mama:  SQUIRT!

Ozzy:  Oh man!  Right between the eyes!  Ok, I just wait a second and try again….

Mama:  SQUIRT!

Ozzy:  Right between the eyes again!  She’s a good shot.  I better try later.  Much later.  Yawnnnnn and stretchhhhhhhhhh.  Time to go back to the bay window and lounge in the sun.  I need a cat nap.

Mama:  That silly kitty.  He’ll never learn, lol.

Ozzy:   Pssst!  Don’t tell Mama I’ve prolly used up several of my lives already playing kamikaze jumping off the railing and down the stairs!

Toddle THIS Tiara Mama!

Meet Honey Boo Boo Child Alana from Toddlers and Tiaras.  She is 6 years old.

This is Alana’s Boo Boo Mama mom Shannon. 

 

 

 

Pageants are hard work, and this is what gives BOO BOO her GO GO

 

 

 

 

After all the GO GO, then BOO BOO struts her stuff on stage

Sometimes even BOO BOO MAMA gets in on the act

 

 

 

Isn’t that sweet?  But all that sweet GO GO gives BOO BOO a BELLY

Even Dr. Drew hates itI think a picture is worth a thousand words.  So no need to explain anything.  My work here is done.

 

Strike Three

Hey batter batter batter hey batter hey batter batter……. WHOOSH!  Called third strike!  Didn’t even make an attempt to swing.  Got caught looking.  Or not.  Step away from the plate.  Hang your head in shame.  You’re out!

Just thought I would update those that were keeping score.  Contact information has been deleted from my phone.  Not that I really would be tempted to call him or even text him to tell him that he no longer exists in my reality.  I am ambivalent about the whole thing.  Not really even disappointed.  The writing was on the wall.  He is dead to me.

Ok, so back to my reality.  I should have never resurrected him in the first place.  I have reinforced why I still like animals better than people.  For good reasons my friends.  Good reasons.

Exorcise Nicki

I never liked Nicki Minaj much.  Now I don’t like her at all.  She is just too in-your-face-disgustingly-gross.  If she was going for the shock factor ala Lady Gaga at the Grammys last night, she was successful.

Successful in shocking people.  Not necessarily successful in making her a star.  In fact, I think she did a good job in tarnishing her image.  A great job.

The younger generation won’t agree.  They love her even more.  She is the flavor of the month.  I don’t think they realize how blasphemous and disrespectful some of these “singers” are.  I hesitate to call Nicki a singer, she is more of a rapper.  She can spit out words faster than I can understand them, but it must be because I am old.

I wonder if the Grammys would have allowed her to mock the music used in the Islamic call to prayers. Her “pope” would be the prophet Mohammad and the performance would be as reverent and as elevating as the riff they did on Adeste Fideles last night .  Or maybe insult Judaism.  Whatever.  I found it to be offensive, regardless of what religion she was insulting.  I guess if you can’t dazzle them with brilliant singing, then baffle them with religious bullshit, eh Nicki?

Adam Lambert was shunned from musical appearances a couple of years ago because he kissed another man.  I guess that is worse than impersonating a bishop and exorcising demons on stage.  And worse than beating up your girlfriend in a fit of anger like Chris Brown, who was welcomed back with open arms, and even won a Grammy.  How quickly we forgive and forget in some cases.  Having said that, I do think Chris Brown is VERY talented and has unbelievable dance moves, and I think he is truly sorry for his actions.  (Jan, how do you know that, have you talked to him?  No, but I think his humble acceptance shows it).  Or worse than girl-on-girl kissing like Madonna and Britney. I don’t understand why mainstream hasn’t embraced Adam Lambert.  He has one of the BEST male voices EVER in my opinion.  I would LOVE to see a duet with him and J Hud or Lea Michele.  I reckon Adam is too flamboyantly gay for the music industry, altho gay seems to be very popular in other arenas.

All in all, with the exception of Nicki and a few other people I had no idea about, I enjoyed the Grammys.  J Hud was brilliant in her tribute to Whitney.  Adele is just…Adele.  The voice of a generation.  Beautiful, and yet shyly humble too.  Oh and loves to throw out a few swears, and snot too, all in a highly entertaining British accent.  Gotta love it.

Strike Two

Valentine’s Day date is back to a maybe.  Maybe, maybe, maybe.  I told him in no uncertain terms this morning I’m NOT playing that maybe game again.

When I hung up I’m sure he knew I am not happy with him, even though I didn’t tell him he’s on Strike Two.  He actually used his mom as an excuse, and that he needed to go see her, and his friend isn’t leaving till tomorrow, so once he has no TIME, so MAYBE, but FOR SURE I am the one left simmering on the back burner.

Simmering is not a good thing at this point with me.  Not simmering mad anyway.  Certain things have happened lately that leaves me with no patience to play any more reindeer games.  Things not necessarily happened to me, but it still brings up feelings of the past to me.  So maybe I am judging him too harshly right now, but I remember all too well the days of yester year with all the maybes.

This girl is a Maybe Girl no more.  Swing and a miss, dude.  Strike Two.  Count is now 0 balls and 2 strikes  Not a good spot to be in Mr. Baseball Player.  I have the sinking feeling you are going down for the count.

Strike One

Strike One, Messiah.  Three strikes and you are out.  Before you even get to run the bases.

Just because you are having a guy’s softball reunion in another town doesn’t mean your iPhone can’t call or text message.

Very little contact since his last phone call Friday night while I was busy with the ex-husband.  I knew he was busy with the boys, but expected a call here or there.  Cell phones work in Chicago and Rockford.  Finally got a two word text this evening, which I ignored for a little while.  Figured I shouldn’t be in any hurry to respond.  He got the hint and texted me again, that he told me he would be with friends from LA and wouldn’t be around, and that he guessed I wasn’t listening to him, lol.

Lol indeed.  I responded back “guess not.  thanks for letting me know.  My fault, I knew you were busy”.  No response back.  And I’m not expecting one.  Subject is dead.  The only question remaining is, are we?

I think if you want to be in a relationship with someone you should stay in touch somewhat.  Technology makes it very easy nowadays.  No excuses.

I’m sure he’ll call me tomorrow.  Not worried about it.  Didn’t really worry about it this weekend.  But in the scoreboard in my mind, the count is 1 strike, 0 balls.

Don’t take a chance with a second chance.