The Holidays Are Over and The Joy of Putting Xmas Gifts Together

First of all, as if you can't tell by my latest posting, I survived Christmas Hell once again.  The one Christmas gathering my significant other and I hosted for her side of the family didn't cause me to flip out, fall down on my knees, sob openly and then get up, retrieve my flamethrower from under the bed, go back and set everyone on fire this time around.

I only had two instances where I had to leave a heavily populated room due to stress.  For me, a heavily populated room is anything over five or six people.  I feel like I'm trapped in a herd of insane, babbling bison in that situation.  I can't handle it.  One thing that sets me over the friggin' edge is when three people are talking to you at the same time about three extremely different topics.  My head is turning faster than a possessed girl in a 70's horror movie in order to focus and hear what each buffalo has to say.  For whatever reason, people have a tendency to pull this hilarious routine on me-  intentional or not.  Maybe they want me to pull out the flamethrower.  I must seem like someone who will calmly listen to the subject matter presented and, in turn, shoot wisdom out of every orifice for the talker's benefit or possibly cause the talker to laugh by spurting out an absurd or observational joke that may have something to do with what they're rambling about.

You say you made a macaroni and cheese dish with less flavor than Styrofoam cups covering a decrepit whore's wrinkly worn down nipples?

Well, I can't wait to try to digest that dish you made for our supposedly joyous Christmas meal without spitting it out and blinding your baby with unappetizing chunks of what you jokingly refer to as food.

It's all a pretty picture I paint, I know.

Then someone else may talk about trains and fishing lures.  I will attempt interest while also fantasize about fucking Mila Kunis deep in her tiny, puckered asshole.

Ta-dah!

Here's a joke I made up for ya that's both absurd and observational.  Best of all, it's an easy one to remember.

Question: What's the difference between a monetarily wealthy kid on Christmas morning and a poor kid, that same day, that lives in a run down apartment with a bunch of relatives that are also poor?

Answer: The wealthy kid will likely probably not give too much of a shit about what he gets when he opens his gifts because he already has everything without asking.  He might grow up, feeling entitled.  Maybe not.   Now the poor kid is likely just grateful that he has a big family that loves him.  He may envy the rich kid every so often but he ultimately knows what is important and what's not.  Does he feel entitled?  Hell, he's just trying to survive.  Living his life is all the gift he needs.

Spoiled girl secretly enters the room at night, then carefully binds mother and father's limbs while they slumber peacefully, dreaming of new things to acquire and gingerly scoops parent's eyes out with a spoon because she didn't get that latest technological piece of shit that will go out of style in a couple weeks and no longer make her friends green with envy.  Later, after the merry mayhem and profuse bloodshed and disemboweling of daddy, she'll get her own reality show, thanks to the hyperventilating, over publicized rabid press coverage.  A happy ending that will certainly appeal to today's wonderfully sane society.

It's not so much a joke but it's something I think people should think about.  I think the poverty stricken people around the world think the wealthy in America suck for a lot of reasons.  It's not completely envy.  Maybe not at all.  You tell me.  I wonder if they believe we're arrogant and entitled, too, to a greater degree.

The wife and I overdid the gift giving to each other this year.  Made all the Christmas gift givings in the past look a might tame.  TV.  Camera.  Exercise machine for me.  I put that together that today.  Jewelry.  A cool graphics tablet thingamajiggy that allows you to draw with a pen while your drawing shows up on the PC monitor.  I forget what else.  Too excessive.  In a way, it gave me a bad case of "the guilts."  Perhaps I shall shed these feelings of guilt, layer by layer, by distributing free bars of soap to the hobos under the bridge.  Sorry.  That isn't right.

I really wish the lady would have come, shipped in a special container with this item, when I ordered it.  She could have made me some delicious mac and cheese.  Darn it.

But, at the moment, I'm feeling kinda vulnerable and anxious now that I've said what we got this festive holiday season.  Don't rob me!  I'm nuts.  Who knows what type of funny rascally rabbit I'll pull out of my hat?  For real. Fair warning, my friends.  Group hug?  No?

I've figured out how this thing goes with that thing, for the most part.  I'm learning how to do new stuff that's normally a little above my intelligence capabilities.  But I'm still one hell of a guy, after all.  There are still hook ups and procedures I don't quite understand.  But I'm going to make a real attempt at being patient with understanding things and more patient with people- this year and beyond.  I'll try working on that.  No more Mr. Flamethrower Guy.  Unless I'm provoked.  :-D

Side Note: So far the comments I've been getting about the exercise machine suggest that I got it as a gift from a family member.  This is not the case.  My wife and I purchased it and had it delivered to myself to help lower my blood sugar and high blood pressure counts and more.  Thank you and have a rip-roaring day, damn it.  

Bad Service, Truths and Perceptions

There's been a lot of false starts, bad service, unwanted absence and too much of that unwanted shit and not enough of that preferable shit going on around here.

I hate to complain (actually, I quite enjoy it since complaining acts a release valve on my usually bottled up seething rage) but as I found myself on the righteous track of coming back to the wonderful world of blogging, a series of incidents preventing me from making a triumphant stay in my own neck of the bloggy woods occurred once again.

Hell, for a couple days there, I was even able to put out a couple posts without anything falling out of the sky to cave in my head. I thought I was in a utopia or paradise or an island filled with beautiful women, cheerfully sucking my meat pole for all it's worth. And it's worth a great deal, let me tell ya. At least to me. Okay, so that part about me feeling like I was on an island filled with tasty gals slobbering on my knob was an exaggeration. But I was starting to feel not tormented for a change in life and it was pretty decent, to tell ya the truth.

My friend asked me to go to his place to wait on a cable repairman (that didn't come) while the friend went to work. I owed my friend a couple favors so I did it. Besides, I'm a helluva great buddy. It's true! Believe it or not!

But the cable guy neither called or came. So my friend calls up the company support number when he gets home, listens to instructions on pushing this numbered button for this department or reason or service which connects him to more instructions for more buttons to push until he finally reaches a real human being and then proceeds to talk about how unsatisfied he is with the service.

He has a helluva lot more patience than I do. He had been without cable service for three days and the company he was dealing with had been promising to send somebody and no one called or showed up.

So instead of being at home, I was at his place, listening to the radio, reading a book and not doing anything on my blog or visiting other blogs. It sucked. And I did this on Monday and Wednesday, for my friend, waiting for the repair dude. I know. I'm a great friend. I mentioned that, right? Of course, when my friend got home from work both of those days, he fed me. Monday, it was grilled steaks for my wife and I. Wednesday, it was a dinner at a good Mexican restaurant.

By the way, the cable repair dude finally showed up Wednesday. He ended up temporarily fixing the friend's TV reception but said that the problem was actually the tuner on his TV. In other words, it wasn't the cable company's fault for his shitty reception but they are at fault for giving him the runaround and not giving him service until he finally reached an upper management type person during that last phone call he made.

Now, Tuesday, I was without Internet service. This would be the day between the days I sat at my friend's house, waiting for an idiot repair guy. I called the tech support, as I was going through some severe withdrawal symptoms from not being able to go on the Internet and after pushing several buttons to direct me to this number or that number, I was finally told a message by an automated machine. It said: There is no Internet service (with the company I have it with) for the entire state (I was living in) for an indeterminate amount of time but our experts were working on the problem.

There was no apology for this situation but at this point I was thinking:

At least the voice was clear and not heavily accented by somebody in India or Russia or BumFuck, Egypt. Usually, when you contact tech support for whatever electronic fuck-a-ma-jig you own, you usually get some asshole you can't understand.

Bad service is getting to be like a contagious disease in this country from what I've read, heard about and seen, first hand.

Don't ya just love the push button routine you have to go through with these companies? If you're lucky, they might give you a number to push to speak to a representative. But it's usually not the case. Especially when you want service within the next 24 hours.

I could go on and on about bad restaurant service but I'm sure you've had your own unfair share of that, too. Like when they don't give you a refill on your drinks. Or don't get your order right. Or bring your salad, main entree and dessert, all at once.

Since I'm back for the moment and terribly paranoid now about attempting to actually research a subject and write up a real post without something else happening, this post will have to do for now. Please enjoy the rest of these images, featuring truths and perceptions. Good day, good weekend and I'll try to catch up on all your blogs later after I get some shit done around here.

I thought I'd offer a wonderful clue at this point in the post: If you can't make out what you're ssseeeinng, use your fucking mouse to click and enlarge the image.

I'm always the Good fucking Samaritan. I tell ya.

I really liked the not-so-subtle truth that can be found in this Saturday Night Live skit. I know it's an exaggeration but there is a bit of truth and a big heaping helping of humor to be found while watching this. Heh heh.

If You're Interested In Guest Posting....

If any of my regular fellow blogging friends are interested... I would be grateful if you would do a guest post on Psycho Carnival as I try to catch up on blog commenting on your blogs and begin turning things around for the better in my life. Just let me know here if ya can do it in the comment box here or by email or Facebook or Twitter or even mental telepathy. I know ya got it in ya.

I've already sent an invitation to one blogger who offered- Pickleope -but I'd appreciate it if anyone else wanted to fill in for a post, as well, in the meantime. I will kindly return the favor if asked in the future. Besides, I'd love to see any of your "get down n' dirty, wacky or off-the-wall or completely uncensored rants and talents" displayed here on Psycho Carnival.

There's nothing like fresh blood to spice things up, after all.*

*drool

Take care, everyone. I'm not dead yet. Still hangin' in there.

Please give me your email if I don't already have it- if you're interested. I gotta have it in order to allow you to guest post. Thanks, freaks!

Doesn't It Piss You Off When...

.... people don't give you a straight answer?

.... people want you to drop whatever the hell you're doing to do something with them?

.... people drop in, without calling first?

.... people cut in line in front of you?

.... people talk incessantly about the Royal Wedding, President Obama, a celebrity or something else that people get tired of hearing about?

I just thought I'd bring this awfully important stuff up because I really don't have anything else to post about today. You can complain if you want but I'll probably just sit here, laugh, scratch my ass or check out those important status updates that people delight in putting on Fartbook that are so riveting and uplifting and stuff. Hell, I might even make myself a cup of coffee, look at the non-stop pouring rain outside my window or yell something to my wife who is sitting about two rooms away and then she'll yell back, "What?! I can't hear you?! Come in here if you want to talk to me?!"

Then I'll yell back, "Wait a minute! I couldn't hear exactly what you said! I've got the music on too loud in here! Maybe if I come in the room where you're at, I'll be able to hear you better!"

She'll scream back, "Whaaaaaat!?"

Then I'll get up from the chair, here, grab my coffee off the desk and walk into the room, sit down and try to talk to the wife while she's watching a previously recorded daytime talk show and become so bored with what I'm seeing that I begin to drool, nod off and go to sleep. This is when the cat will suddenly jump into my lap, causing the cup of piping hot coffee to spill onto my crotch. Of course, I'll scream like a maniac, which in turn, will piss off my wife.

She'll shout, "Why don't you go back in the other room if you're going to make all this racket! I'm trying to catch up on "Ellen" (or it could be "The View") and you won't stop screaming over a little hot coffee splashed over your nuts!"

So... after I wipe the coffee off of my burnt nutsack, the chair and the floor, I'll come back in here and start typing out something profound for a post- you know... something like this.

Thanks. You've been a great audience. In case I don't say it tomorrow... HAPPY EASTER, EVERYONE.

To Do Notes For Today

Escaping Through Movies and Other Means

By whatever means necessary, people going through some personal hell should be able to take a break from it and escape for awhile, as long as it doesn't knowingly make the personal hell worse. It's not avoiding the problems in your life. It's just taking a break. Let me be perfectly clear for those who confuse the two. I'm all for this idea, since I'm going through my own hell right now and I'm trying to tip toe through the land-mines of things that could complicate this period of life further.

Seeing movies is a great way to escape from times of stress and pain and -good golly- I've been trying to catch one here and there any time I've had the chance the last couple weeks. Whether you just lost your job, have family members giving you grief or you're just sick and fucking tired of all the negative news and stupidity and cruelty of society, I'm a firm believer in escaping for awhile.

Here's what works for me:

Seeing a movie. It's quick and mostly effortless. Make sure the flick is either funny, action-packed, interesting or any and all of the above. Do not see a movie that you suspect will bring your sorry ass down further into the abyss like a "weeper". A "Terms of Endearment" type of movie. Watch a "weeper" when you're strong enough or want to feel like complete shit. For some fuckers, that's their thing- to have a good cry. In my mind, these are folks who are not experiencing enough pain and suffering in the real world. With that said, let me introduce you to my friend, Mr. Baseball Bat. Stop by my humble abode and I will gladly give you your money's worth of suffering by caving your skull inward with one of my favorite instruments of pain- the baseball bat. If you like, I'll even explain to you what all of your personal flaws are, to encourage sadness within you, while you desperately attempt to suck in your last dying breaths. Hell, I won't even charge you the price of a movie matinée. How's that for a bargain?

Reading a book. I know some of you younger folks probably don't know what a book is since computers and electronic gadgets have become so popular in the last couple of decades, but books are wonderful things. A good example of a book can be found at the top left corner of this post. See if you can find it! Oooh. Ahhh.

Let your eyes feast upon the written word of a book and let your mind travel to different realms and/or engage in imaginative experiences. Make sure the book is in the same type category as the movie I prescribed above. No weepers, please, or I'll have to bring out Mr. Baseball Bat to have a word with you. Again, no charge. I'm doing the lord's work here and it is always a pleasure to help out.

Best of all, with books no electricity is needed. If you can point, click, text, twitter, Facebook and all the rest of that shit (and really, it is shit), I'm betting you can turn a goddamn page. I know it's old fashioned to read and turn the page of a real papery paged book but think of it as a challenging game if you must. Books can be found at the library. You do know what a library is, don't you?

Going out amongst nature. Even if you are living in a new ice age type area, like I am and will be for the next century or longer (it will feel that way, anyhow), being amongst the natural surroundings of the great outdoors will help to clear your head many times. If you must, put on four to five layers of clothing on yourself and roll out the back door like an overinflated beach ball. Staying inside your car to avoid frostbite is also a good idea, too. Without your fingers, you can't text and twitter that well, unless you are adept at using your nose or dick on the keyboard.

At the very least, you will likely find peace in nature, provided you are far away from people. Remember, kids... People = Chaos and/or Stress. Avoid people as much as possible unless they, by some miracle, instill feelings of positivity and contentment in you. I've heard of people like this before but I've never had the pleasure of meeting them in real life. I think they may belong to a tribe of mythical creatures. Who knows?

The following are some reviews of escapist type movies I've recently seen:

Tron: Legacy 3D

I liked this movie a lot. Often times, Hollywood will produce 3D movies that are absolute crap and didn't need to be produced in 3D in the first place. For me, this movie lived up to it's hype. The storyline was simple but interesting enough. The acting was great. The special effects were fantastic.

And Olivia Wilde gets naked (just kidding- but wouldn't it be great if she did?).

Jeff Bridges stars in the movie in two separate roles. In one role, he plays a computerized clone of himself that appears to look the same as he did in the first movie when he was younger. In the other role, he is the same guy, human, but 30 years older. He's much wiser and kind of beaten down by being trapped in the world of Tron for so freaking long. When his son comes back for him in the world of Tron, it is a happy, yet a little bit of a bittersweet reunion. While the years have somewhat diminished him, he has gained a lot of wisdom and it shows with both his words and actions. This movie was not exactly what I expected it to be and I'm glad of it. I liked the ending, too.

Little Fockers

This movie, starring Ben Stiller, Robert De Niro and the cast of the first two movies of this franchise was hilarious. Again, Gaylord "Greg" Focker plays the victim and De Niro is his antagonist. This time around, the story is centered on Jack Byrnes (De Niro), after suffering a minor heart attack, going about pressuring Ben Stiller's character to be the main dude to take over being the head of the family if and when De Niro's character bites the big one (dies). There are a lot of funny scenes in this movie, including one where Greg has to stab Jack in or around his old wang because of a prolonged boner as a result of taking too many erectile dysfunction pills.

I also like the scenes of the Early Human School, where Greg Focker and Jack Byrnes believe this school will provide the best education for Greg's kids. Laura Dern's character, Prudence, acts as the headmistress or something like that of this psycho-babble-ly, artsy-fartsy type of learning institution. The things they put these kids and their parents through is entertaining, humorous and disturbing. See the movie to know what I mean!

Though this 3rd installment of the movie franchise isn't as good as Meet The Parents or Meet The Fockers, this flick will give you something to think about and laugh at during the recession burdened times we're living in.

True Grit

A remake of the John Wayne western classic, this movie was good because it was very well acted and genuine in it's depiction in the way people likely talked, dressed and acted in the American Old West. Jeff Bridges stars in this movie, as well. Though I didn't think the last ten minutes of the movie was a satisfying as the original, I still think it was well worth seeing because of the storyline, the authenticity of how things appeared and the way people acted during those days.

Plus, I like the part where an outlaw takes out his big knife and chops off the fingers of this other outlaw who's trying to give Bridges' character some much needed information on the whereabouts of a certain gang of criminals. While the guy is holding up his blood spurting hand and screaming, the same outlaw with the knife shoves the knife blade in his chest right before Bridges' Cogburn character shoots the knife wielder in the head at point blank range.

Funny stuff, really. You'll have to see it for a chuckle.

Outlander

This sci-fi/Viking action movie is one I rented a couple months ago. I liked it so much, I bought it, recently. For some odd reason, this satisfying movie didn't do well at the Box Office in 2008. For me the acting, storyline, special effects and message it conveys is superb. Without giving too much away, it is about a man from a futuristic society who crash lands on Earth during the era of the Vikings. At one point during the movie, he tells of the sorrow of losing his wife and child shortly after helping to massacre a race of beings that prove to be "too much in the way of his people's expansion and progress".

While these moments of truth are sad, they don't control the entire movie with it's "weepiness". This movie has a vital message and is basically the same message that Avatar expresses- which causes me to bring up another point. There were some critics of Avatar that bashed James Cameron because he was rehashing a point of view or message that other movies have made. And that is, is that it is ethically and morally wrong to massacre an entire society simply so another group of people can move in, set up their communities and take control. In my opinion, I don't care how many movies convey this same message. It should be repeated and repeated until when and if we ever finally get it into our heads that it is wrong.

Here's a short clip of Outlander, that takes place shortly after Jim Caviezel's character crash lands on Earth.

Well folks, that's it for this post. I apologize for not being at your websites, lately and commenting but I've been pretty busy with family obligations and woes. In another hour, I have to pick Dad up from the assisted living place to take him to the doctor to have the staples removed from his head. You can read the previous post to learn how he injured himself in case you're interested. Hopefully, he'll keep his outrageous behavior, verbal abuse and negativity down to a tolerable level. The head injury hasn't kept him from his usual asshole antics, unfortunately.

So wish me luck on dealing with him today.

I'll catch up with all of you soon at your sites and in other avenues of communication. I think I'll be getting a short break from my obligations after this day is done. In conclusion, happy escaping, everyone!

My Fart Gun Has Endless Ammunition

Ever since my significant other and I chowed down on four monster beef and bean burritos earlier today, we cannot stop friggin' farting. It's like my goddamn butt hole, which in our family, we call our Fart Gun, has an endless supply of ammunition. And these are above average farts, too. Long staccato puffs of methane gas are ripping out of my anus, even as we speak.

Unfortunately, I haven't been able to take a shit yet to help get some of these ass blasting clouds of death out of my bowels. Damn you, El Monterey burritos! Get the hell out of my belly! I think you're killing my cat!

My cat, Victor, has been hiding his little furry face in the chair next to me for hours now. I'm debating on whether or not to check his pulse. I don't see any part of his body rising or lowering to suggest he's still breathing. Hold on a sec and I'll check him out.

Hell, I didn't have to. My wife just cut the cheese, from the bedroom and prompted Victor to poke his head up in fright. Then he looks over at me as if to say, "Is the monster going to get me, daddy?" Before I could respond to his imaginary inquiry, I just blew out a slew of air biscuits, further scaring the shit out of him. I wish somebody could scare the shit out of me right now. I think it would relieve the pressure so I could feel better.

My blinking brown eye is nearly raw and almost bleeding from all the colon calamities that have ensued!

Unfortunately, I don't have any Gas-X pills or that pink stuff, Pepto Bismol. My bloated belly is so loaded down with windy pops and booty bombs that I think I'm going to explode. Lord, help me, please!

Oh goddamn it... There goes another one! What in the unholy hell of Sphincter Turbulence is going on here. Is there no end to this?

Moving Madness

I haven't been doing anything blog-related lately because I've been moving my Dad's shit (not literal shit) back and forth from one box to another or one room to a truck to a storage unit for a month and this week has been the worst so far. My back feels like it is just recently on the mend and my mind is just beginning to feel that same way.

The post/poem I wrote before this, was more or less written to let you know I was still kicking. And screaming. And only in the last few days, regaining my sanity a little.

The Story

Unfortunately, when my wife and I got back from our cruise (of which we really should have just stayed on one of the islands) our family, especially my sister and I were plunged into 4 freakin' weeks of MOVING HELL. We, a dozen family members and friends and I had to move my ungrateful Dad's copious amounts of crapola from his house, since he sold his house, to different relative's houses, storage units and other locations.

Dad's constant verbal abuse, accusations that people were stealing from him while helping him move, complete stubbornness of his things to be taken to this storage unit or that 20 yard dumpster made us go fuckin' bonkers.

I understand that he feels that he's somehow letting go of fond memories (or just average memories) of the house since selling it, but goddamn... Don't take it out on us! Don't act as if we don't have lives --that we now have to put on hold.

Mufasa, our 16 year old cat, who died during this moving fiasco will be missed, tremendously I miss her a lot. She would always jump up on the sofa and put her little paws on my leg and she remained playful up until the last week she was alive. It wasn't too much of a shock for me to lose her, however, because I could see she was dying the last few days. I couldn't do anything about it because the vet's office was closed those days and I was moving Dad's shit under a deadline. In fact, while Mufasa was breathing her last few breaths at the vet's office, I was waiting for a fucking retarded dumpster dude to drop off a goddamn dumpster at Dad's house. The dumpster dude was a redneck hick with an I.Q. the size of an ant's dick. He had trouble finding a town that was only two small towns away from his own. Even that is a long story.

I haven't even had the time to show my sister and Dad my cruise pics or give them any souvenirs yet. I spent my birthday moving the last of his shit and putting up with his shit for the last time for, hopefully, a very long time. I need a goddamn break from the emotionally, physically draining events of the past four weeks.

What's that old saying I've seen on bumper stickers before? Oh, oh yeah. It goes something like... WANNA GET EVEN WITH YOUR KIDS?... LIVE LONG ENOUGH TO BE A BURDEN TO THEM

So here's the thing: I wrote part of what I'm talking about a few days ago and I debated on whether to put this light hearted story on the blog or not. I like to put deeply personal shit on the blog once in awhile, as you may well know. It helps gets things off my chest and lightens my spirit or mood. Most of the time. On the other hand, it's like living the shit all over again.

If there is a lesson to be learned here it would be this:

Every goddamn parent out there in the world had better start wising up and having a plan ready so that when you die, sell your house or any other huge event and any other obvious responsibility relating to you, it's taken care of. Put it on paper! See the lawyers! Talk to experts!

Do it all now before something unexpectedly horrible happens to you where you can't focus or keep records. Put old crap in storage now and then and above all... Don't be a goddamn hoarder! Think of all that old worthless shit you've got holed up in a ten room, two story house. And Remember This! Your kids aren't fuckin' boulder holding pack mules with signs on their backs saying "Fuck me emotionally up, please!

Don't make their last memories of you into some kind of mentally diseased slop, you selfish fucking breeders of the world!

Thank you. This has been a public service announcement. This has also been somewhat cathartic. Getting better minute by minute.

Crashing Into An Old Folk's Home

Well, I was going to write another post about our Caribbean Adventure that my wife and I had about a week or so ago. I still might, after writing about this recent fiasco.

To begin with, when we came back from our trip, I found out my Dad had pretty much sold the house I grew up in for so many years. All I wanted to do, when we got back from our cruise, was rest, put our 266 cruise pictures in our photo album, give everyone their souvenirs we brought back and catch up on blogging.

But no, while the house has been on sale for nearly two fuckin' years, it wasn't until when we got back from our wonderful, yet exhausting trip, that the house gets sold and now we, only a few us us, have 30 days to get Dad's ungodly amount of crap moved to God only knows where. The options are pitifully slim. I have zero room in my apartment. My sister has only a little more room than I do. And my Dad, has hardly any space at all.

We are trying extremely hard to get him to agree about putting most of it in a storage unit but he gets angry over that idea because he doesn't want to pay a $41 renting fee for a month. And talking to him in a reasonable fashion (about anything) is incredibly difficult due to his vascular dementia, severe continuous anger, verbal abuse, confusion and him wanting to still control everything.

This business of moving means a whole lotta trouble for my sister and I and everyone involved, but mostly my sister and I. This means lots of moving of massive amounts of stuff my mother and father collected over 50 years. They would frequent antique malls over the years and buy copious quantities of crap that would be placed in every room of their substantially sized house. And this is on top of the normal furniture and normal everyday stuff.

Anyway, last night, after my sister, brother-in-law and I pack up just a fraction of his stuff in my truck, we go to the assisted living place, where my Dad lives at, to dump off his old heavy watchmaker's desk to be put in his small one bedroom apartment. As I'm backing my huge Dodge Ram pick up truck toward the secondary entrance down below, I crash into one of the assisted living place's flimsy ass roof columns. I hear the crunch, fear the worst and get out to see that my fear is not misplaced. One side of the arched roof is slanted slightly, with the right hand column totally set back a few feet, still crookedly attached at the top.

Dad, of course, goes into a screaming fit at the sight, yelling at me and so forth. My sister and her husband, after reaching the area below in their van just stand there and look, wanting to help.

Meanwhile, as with any situation that is horrible and unexpected that happens in my life, I go into shock. I can't talk, blink, jerk off or shit my pants.

Not that it would matter.

After Dad calms down from his hysteria, thanks to my sister (who is better at that than I am), my Dad and I go upstairs to explain the situation to the only nurse working there at the time. My sister creates a sign so no old people try going out the door below and are possibly crushed by the roof hovering above on one column. I give out my car insurance information after mumbling what I can out of my mouth.

In closing, I called the woman in charge of the assisted living place today to better explain things and ask if she needed any questions answered. She was nice enough about it. I know our car insurance is going to go up again. Hell, we might even get dropped after this incident. Why? Because we've ran into deer on two different occasions in the last two years in this heavily wooded area we live in. Plus, my wife had a driving accident two years ago due to lack of sleep from working two jobs.

Another thing that also gets to me is that the columns used to hold up this small arched roof is made of a hard plastic material. It's not that sturdy. According to the nurse on duty last night, a couple other people on different occasions have crashed into these columns, too,because of where they're positioned. And they're kind of hard to see because they're so freaking narrow.

At least that's my excuse.

When I got home last night, my wife knew there was something wrong by the look on my face. I wanted to talk to her later about it but she persisted until I told her and she, like my father, previously, flipped out and yelled at me. This morning, after waking up to go to work, she said she forgave me but I still feel like a major dumb ass.

If I didn't have bad luck, I wouldn't have any luck at all, folks. Suddenly, the category 4 hurricane I was facing down during the cruise doesn't seem all that big a deal right now.

Zippity Fuckin' Doo Da!

Caribbean Adventure: First Day Nearly Killed Me

August 29th 2010

The day started out as intended. The alarm clock woke us up after getting just a few hours of sleep due to packing some stuff too late, bickering about God knows what trivial doohickey to take in our carry on or main suitcase and just being too damned excited and anxious about going on the cruise and starting our adventure.

I, for one, popped a Valium before stumbling off to bed that night. I nearly leap out of bed. I might have tripped over one of our cats on the way to the shitter. Not sure. Thought I heard a meow. Though, I was so out of it because I was so fucking tired and from the pill I popped, the meowing might have come from me. Or I was hallucinating.

So the alarm wakes us at 4 in the morning. I thrust myself out of bed and realize this is it. After a little over a year of planning every last detail of this trip (except the last minute packing fiasco) the all-important first day of our highly anticipated trip of a lifetime had arrived. And by God, I was determined to get things going. Not to mention get the hell away from my family, friends, wife's co-workers, the apartment we live in and all of the rest this redneck town has to offer (which is sorrowfully not damn much)- Fuck you very much. Not to you. The people around here. To my blog pals, I bid you a sincere THANK YOU and HOWDY HO for helping to keep me halfway sane at times.

My wife grumbles, not wanting to get out of bed and I start the chaos rolling by shouting, "Hurry up! We gotta get moving!"

This pisses her the fuck off, of course. She screams back at me and I run to the bathroom to take a shower and hide until she decides not to kill me. I'm frantic, you see. I'm worried about getting to the airport on time, leaving our cats at the mercy of people who have memory problems, getting through security without much fuss or cavity searching and making it to cruise ship, Freedom of The Seas on time. Any other time, if a woman wanted to do a cavity search on me, that would be hunky dory with me. A finger up the ass, with a little knob polishing on the side from a hot chick in a uniform would be A-Okay any other day. Not that day.

After waiting for her parents to pick us up for a half hour and me going nuts because I wasn't sure if they had remembered to pick us up to take us to the airport (wife's idea... not mine), I felt like popping another Valium but I figured if I had done that, my thinking would get so freaking fuzzy that I wouldn't be able to concentrate on what and where we had to do and go. I have severe anxiety disorder which adds to the fun in all of this.

After leaving a list of instructions on the table about the cats and other stuff, we hear the phone ring. It's my wife's parents below, in our parking lot. I was so temporarily relieved, I could have cum in my pants and whistled Dixie. Instead, I grabbed our suitcase and headed down the steps in a frenzied pace. The wheels of the thing were clonk-clonk-clonking on the steps. Likely, much to the enjoyment of our neighbors trying to sleep. My wife said something like, "Don't fall before we get there."

I thought, Even if I go down these stairs, crash into a muddled mass at the bottom and break my goddamn leg so badly that my femur bone is jutting out of my thigh like a shark fin, I will, By All My Insane Might, will get on that goddamn boat! Even if I have to crawl on my belly like a big old drunken white whale with prostate cancer. Notice: I'm only mentioning marine animals thus far.

Must be a reason.

We do get to the airport on time. Getting through security at the airport was only a little annoying. Taking off your belt, shoes and the metal plate from your head is a bitch. Just kidding about the plate. I knew from talking to several people who have flown recently and checking out the airline security rules online on what to expect. The last time we flew on a plane was twenty years ago for our honeymoon. After 9/11, the difference in security is night and day, in regards to that era and now when it comes to what they want you to do in order to pass all the security checkpoints, while still keeping all of your important documents and paperwork, ready and in your hands at all times. This was tough for a nervous traveler with zero positive expectations of people like me. I figured someone would invariably fuck with us on whatever minor thing they could get crazy about. Perhaps they would think my toothbrush was a weapon of mass destruction. I don't put anything past anyone.

I've seen too much outrageous behavior during my lifetime.

Ironically, that's one of the reasons I wanted to go on this cruise. Dumbass, looney people.

Still, we passed the checkpoints with no complications and after hours of flight, continuous walking with heavy luggage that threatened to tear my arms away from my shoulders, the long boring shuttle bus ride to the ship and more miles of walking we finally make it to the cruise ship. Then it was more security checkpoints and more walking to find our cabin.

The Promenade, like a gigantic shopping mall, in the middle of Freedom of The Seas

At one of your checkpoints, they give you a plastic credit card like thing on the ship called a SeaPass, which also functions as a key to your room. But sticking the SeaPass into your cabin door slot, waiting for the little light above the handle to turn green and you turning the handle and pushing on the door at just the right second, being perfect in your timing, takes a lot of practice. We found this out the hard way the first day. And I was trying to do these manuevers without passing out.

Finally, we find our room on one of the largest cruise ship ever created. Then, after much fun of doing the old "in and out" with the fucking card, we stumble through the door. I quickly take notice of our wonderful balcony that sits just outside our cabin in the opposite direction before...

.... I collapse on our comfortable queen size bed. My wife turns on the TV. The captain of The Freedom of The Seas, Tor Olsen, is going on and on about having to go a different route that was intended. If we didn't, he said the 160,000 ton cruise ship (not including crew and passengers) might be rolled over or something by Hurricane Earl- which was a category 4 hurricane at the time. At the time, the captain on our TV was blathering on about possibly becoming shark bait after being capsized (maybe he didn't say that exactly). According to him, Earl was about to sweep across the main islands on our itinerary: St. Maarten and St. Thomas. Which was sad- because on one of those islands is a nudist beach. All that naked pussy.... just blowing in the wind.

This news came after spending (I kid you not) an hour of looking for our cabin throughout the entire length of our pro football field sized and then some- ship. We never could find someone around who could give us decent directions. I was getting frustrated and I was fading fast, due to lack of food for so long.

The first question my wife asks me, while I'm going into a diabetic coma due to lack of food for twelve hours, continuous excersize and completed depletion of glucose and patience is this:

"How are we going to get our fuckin' money back on all of our pre-paid excursions (snorkeling, quality time near the nude beach, big planned drinking fiesta on St. Thomas)?" This is quickly followed by, "Are we going to get our money back?"

I think I might have said, with spit dribbling out of the corner of my mouth, still barely breathing on the bed, "Idonnnaknowfuurrrrrkdoceiemcowweempawiejfmffufufuf."

This answer did not satisfy her. Then it dawned on her. As a diabetic, my fucking bastard self needed some sustenance.

Gosh, ya think?

So, after much poking and prodding from the wifey, I grumble, mind like spoiled jelly and follow her endlessly to a eating spot on the boat. Surprise is encountered! But not enjoyed! After searching for the restaurant that we were told was going to be open on another deck, the restaurant turns out to be closed. We are also told that-

BEEEEEE-UUUUUHHHH!!!!!

That's the sound the horn made when the captain suddenly wanted everyone, close to being in a diabetic coma or not, to come to a certain deck to go to a "you're-fucking-capsized-and-are-now-shark-bait-in-the-ocean-drill. Chaos ensues while everyone is running around and attempting to make it to their own predetermined place on the ship, which could be any one of the 15 decks.

After struggling to the drill spot we were assigned, I stand there, trying to hold myself up, while two snot nosed teenagers beside me are playing "giggle and slappity-slap" with one another. If I had the strength, I would have thrown them overboard. They could have giggled and slappity-slapped each other all the way down to the shark infested waters. Then, if I still had a wee bit of sprightliness in me, I would give a chuckle as the sharks ate idiot a la mode until they puked.

Finally, a couple crew people come out and demonstrate how to put on life jackets and kiss your ass goodbye. The captain does some narration in the background over loud speakers, telling you where to go, what to do in the case the ship goes down and how to eat human flesh with a spoon if you should make it to a deserted island. Or whatever the fuck he was saying. I was just trying to remain conscious throughout.

Our Cruise Ship, Freedom of The Seas

When he gets to the part to everyone that our course would be changed, due to the direction Hurricane Earl was going, everyone grumbles and chatters loudly. So many different languages are going back and forth. So little food in my belly. I'm guessing some of these folks didn't tune into the boob tube when whey got inside their cabins to hear the "change of itinerary because of hurricane" news. I could tell they had the same concerns as us when it came to being refunded for their prepaid for excursions on the predestined islands. Their growing disappointment was apparent because they were getting louder and louder.

The captain must have heard all of the excitement from the top deck or something because he quickly began to apologize for the change in course. It would have helped, somewhat, if he had said that everyone would be refunded their money for their prepaid for excursions but he didn't. I believe this would have quelled a lot of hostility and frustration among the 3, 634 passengers.

Instead, all of this stuff was going on with the tired, hungry, lost, disappointed passengers and all of us found ourselves at a very rocky start to our trip.

Finally, after more walking, we find a restaurant to eat at that was open. I eat. My wife grumbles about the food quality at this particular eatery. The ship rocks back and forth from a storm. And slowly, I gain enough strength and rise in my blood sugar to make my way back to our cabin, but not before getting lost a couple more times. The signs on board the ship, telling you where this or that was, were utter confusing crap.

Like I said, the first day damn near killed me. But the bed in our room was so nice and inviting. I lay there, full, content and honestly happy that we had made it this far. What was left of our night, was spent in our room, unpacking a little, watching the news and being rocked by the waves of the deep blue ocean. I secretly hoped the next day would be better.... and it was.

My Computer Blew Up!!!

Yes, you read that post title correctly. I'm using one of the library's PC's. Which sucks, because it is very inconvenient for a variety of reasons. One being, the library is kinda far from the house.

Moving on... (gotta hurry writing this, I suppose... I'm on a half hour timer here)

After pushing the power button on my own computer, repeatedly, and getting nothing but whirring sounds, I almost gave up on the damn thing. So rather than throw it out the window, in utter frustration, I sat back and let the damn thing "rest" for a half hour.

I pushed on the power button, once more, after I gave the damn thing a break. This time I got a loud POPPING noise and smoke coming out of both ends of my CPU. Hooray! If you thought I was insane before, well, ya oughta get a load of me now! I had no idea my addiction to my computer was that severe until now. It's only been one day, and I'm already driving my wife completely nuts. She has threatened to cut my jingle berries off!

Anyway, I take the computer to the repair shop. They say the power supply is dead and they don't know what else is wrong yet til they get a chance to look at it. If the motherboard is fucked, I might as well get a new computer (which really, I don't have the money for). So say a little prayer, cross your fingers or speak in tongues for me, please, for some miracle I get my computer back soon before I become completely unhinged.

Now, the library timer says I have 13 minutes left...

Bottom line: Don't be surprised if I'm unable to correspond with anyone by BlogCatalog, Email or my own blog or your blog or whatever anytime soon. If I'm unable to get my CPU repaired and I have to buy a new one, it may be a couple weeks before I can get back to one of the things I love doing... blogging and commenting. I promise, when all is well in my computer situation again, I will comment back to all of ya and get in touch, in general.

Till then... Take care, everyone!

And cross your fingers that my wife doesn't cut my nuts off before then.

Seasonal Affective Disorder and Other Maladies

The sun is finally shining!!! After three weeks of cloudy, sunless days, the sun was able to ultimately peek through the gloomy atmosphere, yesterday. Today, here in Indiana, the sun is, at last, presenting itself in all of it's fucking glory. Jesus Christ, Sun, what took you so goddamn long???

The first week, it didn't bother me that much, but this last week or so, the sunless days have been killing me, emotionally and somewhat, physically. My blog pal, DarkSlander, was the first to suggest I may be suffering from SAD. (SAD) stands for Seasonal Affective Disorder. It is a type of depression occurring most commonly during the winter months. You can find much more information on this mental disorder by clicking on the link I provided but here is the gist of what it can do to you:

Many people have changes in their sleep patterns, energy levels and mood in the autumn and winter. Indeed, many people can feel "low" during long periods of grey days the winter. However, this unhappiness can develop into SAD. Mild forms of SAD are commonly referred to as "winter blues" but you can have a more severe form and become unable to function in winter without treatment.

There are also at home treatments but none have worked for me.

Now, I already have Major Depressive Disorder, which is horrible enough to endure, but having to deal with (SAD) is/was fucking killing me inside and out. Yeah, I know... I've already said as much but let me explain. I couldn't think clearly, therefore I've had trouble posting, commenting, remembering to take my medications and doing things I had planned for the day. I also had and still have, somewhat, trouble getting the energy to walk, work out at the gym, breathing, sleeping and more. All of these things, I found out, are symptoms of SAD.

What has been replaced, courtesy of SAD is: fits of crying, staring at nothing for long periods of time, weight gain, anger, aggressive behaviour and general physical weakness.

I was actually doing a lot better with my following medical problems, before SAD cropped up, which include:

Type 2 Diabetes (two insulin shots to the belly and 2 pills a day)

High Blood Pressure

High Triglyceride Count and last, but certainly not least,

Major Depressive Disorder and Anxiety (I take Wellbutrin and Valium)

Wellbutrin is more well known for being a medication for those individuals wanting to quit smoking but it is also a anti-depressant. It gives you an energy boost. This, along with my own determination and therapy, has greatly helped my battle with depression. You'll have to read my earlier posts if you want to know more about that. I only take Valium before going out in public.... sometimes.

On top of this, unrelated to SAD, I also have these medical conditions:

*Equinus Foot Deformity with both feet- the pain of which is so severe, even with medication that I have to prop my feet up four to five hours a day before walking out the door on any given day (click on link to learn more) in order to walk or stand. It's one of the main reasons I collect disability after working for 27 years.

*Plantar Fasciitis (heel spurs). My podiatrist has said, on numerous occasions, they were the biggest he had ever seen (almost 3 inches in length). So large they are, in fact, they have melded onto the rest of the bones in my feet. He explained they cannot be operated on and cut out.

*Neuropathy (click on link to learn more)

(almost complete) Deafness in my left ear

*Chronic Sinusitis

*Allergies (I'm highly allergic to mold, pollen, bee stings, five different types of trees, plants, flowers and other things)

*Severe Astigmatism

*Memory loss (due to extreme diabetes and depression -of which there is a definite link)

I also contend with taking care of a father with Vascular Dementia, which is a battle all of it's own. Recently, we have moved him into an Assisted Living place, which has lifted some of the burden from my sister and I. I split my time with him nowadays, along with spending time with my wife, blogging, exercising and attempting to enjoy life. I'm also looking very forward to our cruise to several Caribbean islands this summer. It will be like a second honeymoon for the wife and I. We've been married for 21 years. Quite a feat during these times we live, eh?

Even as I write all of this, I can feel some of the tension and depression leaving my spirit. The sun is finally shining, after all. And the dying feeling inside is starting to leave. If you have any questions, please ask. But please, do not assume anything. Thanks for reading this far. I know it's not the usual laugh-a-thon or whatever but part of the reason for this blog is for my venting.

I will return to commenting on all of my new and old friend's blogs tomorrow, Saturday. I need a break. You haven't been forgotten.

See you then!

A Good Day

When you're able to take a brisk walk at the city park without dogs attempting to bite off your face, it's a good day. That's the kind of day it was, throughout. Today it was forty three degrees. Quiet. Serene. Trees that seemed to be itching to sprout leaves but unable to do so. And people walking to either lose weight or enjoy the walk by the beautiful fountains and gazebos. The park happens to be close to home. A plus. It's never too crowded, either. Most underused park in this county.

I walk there two or three times a week.

Before I continue, I want to state that I do like certain dogs. These certain dogs lick my hand instead of gnawing it off at the bone and are friendly in a non-hysterical barking kind of way. Yes, I'm a peace lover. Yippy yappy dogs irritate me.

A couple weeks ago, I encountered two dogs during a walk in the park (like I insinuated earlier) that were leashed, but hardly controlled by their owners. I guess they were the owners. It was two guys with camo/hunting clothing on. Nothing out of the ordinary in this redneck town.

Moving on: They were very aggressive large dogs. Note: I have a bit of dog phobia since I've been bit three times by three different dogs for no apparent reason. When I met these two guys and their barking dogs at the top of the path, I moved further away from them, half-afraid but more angry than anything else. The owners pulled on their leashes and the dogs kept moving closer to me. They were strong.

Their behaviour didn't seem to matter too much for the guys.

One of the guys (I mean assholes. Pardon me.) said what I knew what was eventually going to come out of his mouth or the friend's pie hole.

"Don't worry. They don't bite."

How many times have you heard that line from pet owners?

With my dog bite record and justifiable anger, that response sit well. I replied, "Yeah. Sure." They gave me the expected funny look and kept walking; as did I. Too bad I didn't have a taser gun. Just kidding. For the two guys. Okay. So maybe the dogs, too.

The next week I took my walk but I had a surprise in my coat pocket. As it so happens , I took my pet trainer device. It's a harmless device that emits a sound frequency that dogs, cats and I-don't-know-what to want to be very far away from it. This time, the dogs were quickly towing their owners away from me when I pushed the button on my pet trainer thingamajig. The guys were having a hell of a time trying to restrain the dogs, causing the guys to nearly trip and fall into one another.

That was fun and made the rest of my walk even more enjoyable. A good day, indeed.

Sorry If I've Caused Concern -Part 3

As mentioned before, I felt guilty for not being able to get up to mom and dad's place in time. I felt I let mom die.

This and missing Mom for her unconditional love and advice started my depression. Sure, I was told by friends, co-workers and family that it wasn't my fault. But there were a few who gave no response. Which I didn't know how to take. Most of the time, I felt they were judging me. Either that or I thought they were androids from some unknown galaxy. Anyway, I felt responsible no matter how much logic was thrown at me.

So while my depression was literally killing me in health and spirit, my time on my last few jobs was pure hell for one and all. On more than a few occasions, in the middle of putting together a brake part, I would either cry or have a fit with myself. I would even talk and answer myself. What fun! It's always so nice when you have a bunch of people you know (and semi-respect) give you that look of dismay and extreme confusion. In the old days, when friends would give me that look, I would treasure it like a badge of honor. But a little over two years ago, those days had been long gone. This is what I found out.... in hard and unusual ways. I was not fit to work anywhere.

And my next two jobs, after that brake assembly job, made that judgement call all the more true.

I would throw things, yell at people, break stuff and create some type of verbal chaos now and then that would result in being reprimanded in some way. Never before had I acted so irrationally on the job. Now.... I would have a confrontation with a person or two, in the past, if I thought they were doing something wrong, but this shit was something different.

I remember pushing over twenty, ten foot high stacks of plastic crates over a catwalk type area and causing most everyone in the warehouse to shit their pants, at once. No one died, if that's what you're wondering. Twenty plus years of working hard in the retail business and warehouses and now I was having a fucking meltdown. Sing ta BuhJesus and halley-yoooo-ya!

Now here's another element to the story you should know: I have two and a half inch heel spurs in both of my goddamn feet. They have been causing me tremendous pain for most of my life. And yes, I have used every kind of cushion, foam or whatever footware contraption to help with the pain. The podiatrist I have been seeing, off and on since my early twenties, said they were the biggest he had ever seen. He still says that. I saw the x-rays. They look and feel like curved railroad spikes. The podiatrist has said both verbally and in health records that they cannot be removed due to the fact the spurs have grown so large, they have connected completely to the bones in my feet.

Little medical lesson:

Spurs are formed at the at heel by way of calcium deposits travelling down your leg. Your brain is responsible for sending a message to your feet (by way of sending these little bits of bony crap) as an attempt to somehow "protect" your damaged heel area. Unfortunately, your brain fails miserably in this scenario.

Note: I also have neuropathy of the feet. Look it up if you're curious. I'm also 80% deaf in one year and have astigmatism in both eyes. And don't forget the high blood pressure. Eight pills, two insulin shots and still counting. Have I mentioned the depression?

I'm 46, in case you're wondering.

Life is grand. Sarcasm. Yes, I know I could have it much worse but when you put everything altogether, it does make an impressive list.

But I'm not done yet.

I also have a condition called "equinus foot". Click the link if you're interested in knowing more about that. The short version is... It's a deformity of the feet. Because of my "equinus foot" condition, my heel spurs formed. When I walked or stood, I was growing spurs and suffering from them as they developed over the years. I was told long ago by my podiatrist that if he were to operate and remove my heel spurs, they would eventually grow back in a couple of years. This is why I didn't have the procedure done. Too costly and ineffective.

While my working years ached onward, my condition worsened. I was often asked by people I knew, co-workers and people I didn't know, why I wasn't trying to get social security disability. I had told them I wasn't going to try that because (1) I didn't think I would get it. And (2) I had too much pride to accept it. In my mind, you were a lazy, cheating piece of shit if you got it and you were still able to move.

But now I understand the truth.

Cutting to the chase of the story, I had become convinced that I should try to get social security benefits. It took 3 attempts, a judge on a monitor from an out-of-state web cam, an asshole for a lawyer and lots of legwork (from me) but I finally won the case after a year and eight months.

As for my physical health, I am exorcising on a Nu-Step bike/rowboat thing at the Community Center. I do 35 minutes of that, putting in close to two miles. They have an excellent compilation of exercise equipment. I also take walks, stopping occasionally, behind my apartment at a city park.

I am fighting.

I don't feel as guilty about things I've done in the past, either. In fact, I feel very non-guilty about anything I do or say anymore. I never felt like that in the past. This feeling may be a very bad thing for everyone involved. We'll see. Or, I'll see. See. Told you I was crazy.

The best piece of wisdom I had ever gotten from a psychiatrist was just recently:

To fight.

Don't wonder or care how you're going to get through it. Just fight. He told me he could tell I was a fighter by three different signs. The first was: I was there, in the room, talking to him, seeking help. Two, he had me perform a test that seemed incredibly simple the first few seconds. My psychiatrist gave me five pieces of folded cardboard. Then he told me to rip them in half. It was a thick and bulky block but I thought it was going to be easy. I must have tried ripping the shit apart for five or more minutes. I was gritting my teeth. Cursing. And so on.

Then I asked him if I could unfold each piece and rip each individual piece of cardboard apart. He said, "And that's the other reason you are a fighter. You would do anything to accomplish anything you wanted. You tried brute force. That didn't work. You went at your objective at every angle. No luck. You even tried to cheat, in a manner, to reach your goal. Your passion, no matter how deep you bury it, is still there. You do not stop."

And then I knew what he meant. It hit me. Lightning bolt. Boom.

It really isn't the end result you should concentrate on. It isn't the horrible hurdles you have to go through. It's the fighting to get up in the morning and live is what matters.

There was a third sign but it had to do with a personal story of his own. Unfortunately, I could hardly understand it due to his thick foreign accent but he already had me at the second sign. Heh heh.

And now I've changed again in my life, still with some bad thoughts, but not like before. I'm still negative about this world's populace and I'm still crazy, maybe even more so, but now my depression has lessened and I'm working on getting healthier. So there you go.

Got Too Much Crap Beating Down On Top Of Me

(warning: This post contains more depressing topics than humorous ones. So please.... enjoy my hell!)



This is what's going on with me that's making me especially crazy these past few months:



* I've been having problems with my patience and my depression concerning my father's newly diagnosed vascular dementia. It falls on my sister and I to take care of him, of course, since our mother died 3 years ago. It's hard to watch him fade like this. He was, and still is, at times, strong of spirit and able to make perfect sense of things. He was always stubbornly independent and had a good sense of humor. These days, many of those traits might not be seen in him. Hard to watch. It's been a struggle getting Dad to do things, too. There's more to all of this, but that's all I'm going to say.



* Had to see a new head shrink for my depression disorder. You ever hear of BumFuck, Egypt. No? Well, ya see, it means a place that's horribly easy to get lost in, forever, while you curse like a pirate, lop off a head and shit down somebody's neck. That's where my psychiatrist has his business set up. And he's the closest one I could nab that my insurance would cover. Before this, I was able to see a therapist, only two miles away. There's more to all of this, but that's all I'm going to say. See a pattern?



* I've had my type 2 diabetes under decent control for the past 15 years. I only had to take one capsule of Metformin, each day, during that entire time. Then, as my depression ( which I have- due to several things) deepened, I let my health go to complete hell. If I lost my feet, hands or life I didn't care. I ate what I wanted, basically. My blood sugar count has been skyrocketing in the last 6 months.



Here's what I got out of that type of attitude, that I still partially have, even now:



I'm pissing every hour or so like a drunk in an ocean of beer.



My brain is sluggish because diabetes causes your blood to have the viscous quality of molasses. Duuuuuuuuuuuh.



The rare cuts and bruises I get (no, not from the wife) don't heal quickly. I've had the same light scratches on my leg from a month ago.



And I have all the energy of a slug on acid.



And so much more.



So the doctor has me on insulin now. What absolute joy to have to inject a needle in your thigh or your belly, forever. Such merry thoughts are pip-popping into mind. You must realize I'm dancing right now, singing and wishing that I stroke out, fall to the floor and flounder like the big goddam fish that I goddam am. Yayhoo and Kiss My Hairy White Ass. Girls only, though. They-are-so-lucky.



Which brings me to this:



* I've got a fat chunky hemorrhoid sticking out of my ass. Have you ever tried to push a granite like turd out of your ass and feel your asshole rip out? Well, I've done that. And now, every time I wipe, I scream. Whenever I sit, I scream. It hurts trying find your anus with the cream or the hard white capsule that's shaped with points at the ends. Why can't an angel suddenly appear and gently rub a dollop of "heavenly whipped cream" or something in my crack every minute or so? Tinkerbell comes to mind.


Yeah, I know. She's not an angel. But I bet her hands are nice and soft.

Couldn't Pull Away From This Clip

This video has an odd plot to it. And it's funny as hell, insane and kinda retarded. It may be a good idea to pour yourself about five shots of whiskey and down them one after another before hitting the play button on this clip. Thankfully, I was able to find a bottle of Bacardi in the cabinet and I had half that downed before finding this gem and checking it out. After the first minute, I was kinda groovin' to it. Drink up. You will, too.

I have this irritating feeling I'm going to be embarrassed for posting this clip tomorrow afternoon. Could be a fart bottled up, though.

Survived The Holidays

The mad scrambling done for the sake of Christmas preparations. The cooking. The clean ups. The gift givings. The multiple family visits. The drinking and whatnot on New Year's Eve . The headaches. The stress. The rare periods of bliss. The chaos. It's all over except the recuperating.

The moments that allowed me to engage the world of blogging, in any respect, were very few and far between. It may seem as if I ignored everybody and this site, but believe me, it wasn't a decision I wanted to make. I'm far behind on blog visiting. I promised one dude I'd write a post, for Christmas, on his site. That didn't happen either.

Right now, my head is chock full of sludge. That's the result of way too much "fun" on New Year's Eve. The party we hosted didn't officially stop until five in the morning. And I'm still trying to recover. It's been almost 24 hours since the party ended, too. I'm way too old for this shit.

To all of you I have shunned, both friend, family member and blogging pal, I am truly attempting to rise from the ashes of these damnable holidays to begin "socializing" again.

Please be patient and try to keep the noise down.