I am a MILLIONAIRE!

I couldn't believe the email when I got it. It honestly couldn't have come at a better time either. I am a student. Ramen is expensive. You know the drill. Apparently, I had a relative in Malaysia that passed away in 2007 and left ME, of all the other Brackenbury's in the world, $5.9 million dollars. You know the drill. Maybe this is the first time you have seen an email like this but I get them all the time. I have turned down the GDP of China. Most times I leave them alone. Of course, I needed a break from studying the skull. What better way than to mess with a spammer. So I emailed him back.

Dear Mr. Tanesq,

I assume you meant to label yourself an esquire, making your last name 'Tan.' I'm not sure so I made an executive decision and have decided to call you 'waffles.'

I have a problem., Waffles. I am not sure if it is your sentence structure, your grammar or just my abundance of common sense, but my Donald had way more money than $5.9 million dollars. If I recall, he said he was a billionaire, which makes you a big fat liar. Where is the rest of the money, Waffles? That $5.9 million is my annual dividend from my savings account so I don't really need the money. I may have a better idea.

Here is your WAFFLE MUST DO list. First, find the other money. No I won't split it with you. It's mine. I'm American, the EVIL DOOOOOOOOOOOOER, and I'm selfish. Second, have you seen your dog lately? Might want to check around. Dogs disappear all the time. Third, check your email in about 8-10 hours and your dog might pop up in the form of a cell phone video of my toilet. Just saying.....find my money. Lastly, eat a bullet.....at terminal velocity.

A Generation of Bad Habits

Bone formation 101. Ready? Vitamin D comes from two places. Sunlight and fortified dairy products. Fortified meaning that Vitamin D is ADDED into the product. For example, Milk FORTIFIED with Vitamin D. Vitamin D is important because it aids in the absorption of Calcium. Calcium, coupled with the mineral phosphorous (and trace amounts of other minerals) help build bone and maintain healthy bone density. Weight bearing exercise and proper diet help maintain good bone health.

Cola, be it diet or regular will have an impact on calcium metabolism as the phosphorous contained in the cola is denatured from the beginning. Its kind of like getting a vaccine. The vaccine is usually a cocktail of dead "bugs" that your body can build a resistance to. The phosphorous contained in carbonated cola is a "dead" version, therefore it cannot be used to assist in building good bones. The acid in cola will also eat away tooth enamel. Yes, zero calories. Yes, non-fat, but bad for you.

Your body needs calcium for other things besides strong bones and teeth. Mainly, calcium is used to make sure that the electronic impulses sent from your brain to your heart function properly. Calcium, then, maintains proper nerve impulses for muscle control, primarily the heart beat. If proper blood levels of calcium are not maintained, osteoclast cells are instructed, by the secretion of parathyroid hormone, to break down down tissue (osseous tissue) so the calcium can be used by the body as needed. When levels increase to an acceptable level, parathyroid hormone is turned off, and osteoblasts begin to lay down bone tissue not only to replace what was destroyed for blood levels, but also to grow and repair new bone. Following me?

So, if you ignore breakfast and have a diet Pepsi and Cheetos, forgot to bring your lunch and have a diet Pepsi and tater tots from a gas station hot box, then have a pop tart you found in your car, and a hot dog at Costco for dinner....how much calcium have you had? Since your body did not get enough calcium, it will break down bone to get the calcium it needs. That's just today. Over time, osteoporosis will occur. My guess is that we will have an entire generation of people that will have brittle bones at a very young age. Just a guess.

Time for class.

I Won the Nobel Peace Prize, kinda.

I got a call from the Nobel committee early this morning and was told I had just won the Nobel Peace Prize. Thinking it was just another tactic for bill collectors to get a hold of me, I hung up on them and went back to sleep. Of course, when I turned on the Today Show, I saw that the alternate choice, Barak Obama had taken my place. I was furious! If I had just taken the call seriously, I could have had a wicked medallion to hang around my neck. BLING BLING!

I watched President Obama's news conference when he stated he was shocked and in awe of such an honor and was not sure why he got it. No kidding. That was my award. Do you know how much peace I have brokered around the house? Plenty. I have kept the dog off of visitors, my kids from killing each other, my wife from killing me, the dog and/or the kids. I am peace, 24/7 baby. What did Barak do? According to the Nobel committee, there is less world tension since he was elected President. Apparently the committee has not lived in a communal living environment with kids that use walls as easels, or have neighbors that do the Funky Cold Medina at 11:13PM on a weeknight...right below my kid's room. Talk about peace. I jerked the power cord right off of the neighbors wall and threw the stereo equipment in the bathtub. Not only peace was brokered, but also quiet. Where is my medal?

I tried to reason with the committee when I called them back and told them I honestly thought that the call was a prank. I mean, yes, my apartment is in a state of calm right now because of all the deals I have brokered and my paperboy has healed nicely, but I begged for them to reconsider their decision to give the award to someone less deserving to myself. They wouldn't budge. I explained that even NOBLE citizens such as themselves are susceptible to making grievous mistakes and asked if, being of sound body, this could be one of them. They asked "who is this," with a tone of voice so cavalier that I had to reply "the winner of the Nobel Peace Prize."

They hung up.

I know the medal is gold. I wonder if they give out silver ones?

Understanding Children

I am not sure I will ever understand children. It's like trying to solve a Rubik's Cube, at least for me. I have seen many videos on You Tube where someone opens a brand new Rubik's cube, from the package and solves it in like 31 seconds. Yes....still a virgin. Not that sex is important. Just saying.

My son was looking for his coat this morning, whining like a leaky bike tire. He has started adding "uh" at the end of all of his complaints. "I CAN'T FIND IT-UH!" I watch him walk by the thing three times. Monkeys use tools better than him. For example, in order to illuminate things in a dark room, one would flip on a light switch. Not him. He has problem solving skills like passive transport mechanisms. Without a gradient, nothing would happen. The only reason his body goes supine is because gravity does most of the work. I love him, but....well, I love him.

My 6-year old daughter started 1st grade in the public school system. I like public school mostly because any social policing that needs to happen will happen in school....usually. For example, her behavior at home, bossing her brother around because she is older, wiser and a hair taller is instantly negated by a peer-to-be at recess....or not to be, which is the ultimate question. My daughter has the personality to befriend just about anyone....except her sibling. This is normal behavior, mind you, but sometimes, as opposed to separating the two, I just like to listen to the verbal banter that goes back and forth. Peyton saying that Jacob is using her toothbrush and Jacob insisting that his toothbrush is NOT the one with soccer, football and basketballs on it, rather it is the Princess toothbrush. They fight over a stool that allows them closer proximity to the sink, both of which cannot seem to accurately spit their toothpaste into it. It seems every Sunday, I am constantly scraping dried toothpaste off of the bathroom counter.

The sleeping habits of children baffle me. I am not sure if it is just in general, or if it is just my kids that make my balls shrink. My son went to sleep, I mean BED last night around 7:00. About 8:00 pm, I hear this knocking on the wall. I was sure the noise was coming from downstairs as our neighbors will often have a Royal Rumble around that time. My wife got up to go check and to her wondering eyes, my son had a laundry basket laid over the top of his body and he was rocking it back and forth, knocking it against the wall. She removed the basket because, well, who in their right mind wants to have this basket interfere with REM sleep? Apparently my son, who protested its removal by stating "I need that to sleep!" Its like needing with 1812 Overture blaring at 100 decibels so that you can drift off to LALA land. I don't get it.

As I finished studying and went to shut things down, I felt a cold breeze coming up our stairwell. I looked down and noticed that our front door was wide open. I have a bulldog. I hadn't seen our bulldog most of the night. I didn't even check to see if he was inside, mostly because him leaving would mean he would have to jump down from the bed and walk down 17 stairs and then....go out where it is cold. All of these behaviors are atypical for any bulldog to actually want to do on their own. Anyone who owns a bulldog knows that given the choice between moving and remaining stationary, 99% of bulldogs would rather remain prone and motionless. Kind of like Courtney Love during her methadone treatments. I tried to recall when the last time someone came in the front door. It was about 6PM when I told our kids to come in for dinner, 7 hours ago. I am not sure what I am more ashamed of. Them just simply leaving the door open, or me for having my face buried in a book, highlighter in hand, trying to highlight every line of my Anatomy and Physiology book.

I will go with the latter. I still don't understand them. It's like trying to understand why Peyton cries at the notion she has to go to bed without being able to watch a movie. Sometimes she cries just to cry. You ask her why she is crying and, while crying, she answers "I DON'T KNOWWWWWWWWWWWW," which sets my son off because, well, if his sister can get away with it, so can he. The dog just looks at the chaos, eyes half open, surely thinking, can you all keep it down, I am doing my best to conserve energy. If the country's power was based on the activity of a bulldog, let's just say it would be back to the pioneer days. Boiled water over a cast iron stove....dirt floors, and lots of knitting.

Time for class...

The Tears We Cannot Predict

As silly as this post may start out, buried somewhere within is a message for just about everyone. I hope so anyway. Today was a rough day for me on many different levels. Spiritually, I wonder sometimes why God strikes down His true warriors? If this Earth needs nothing else, it is people who live for Him. I struggle with my walk, I will admit. I believe all humans do a lot during their lives. When I say humans, I don't mean that dogs are not sinless. My dog is full of sin. If crapping in the house is a sin, that dog is going straight to hell.

I play just about every game on Facebook, as a lot of you may know since every major accomplishment in these games prompts a "brag" to all my friends. I will try to keep that to a minimum in the future. Farmville is one of those games. It passes the time for me and gives me a good break from frying my brain with Anatomy and Physiology. In this game you can send farm gifts out to people. You can send fruit trees, white fences, animals, etc. I get a lot from people and send a lot out in return. Tonight I got one and stared at the gift request. I started to cry.

It was from Joe Petty.

I just saw Joe in the hospital today. It was incredibly difficult to see him in the state he was in. I remember Joe. That was not Joe. I can't and won't go into detail about his condition because it is not my place to do so. Not in this medium. Not ever. But he was in no condition to be on the computer. I started crying thinking about him and what his family is going through. I thought about how I could have been in the same boat a few months ago when I was in the hospital. I thought about my kids. I thought about how much I missed my 12-year old in Boise growing up away from me. I thought about the times where I was so mad at my kids I wanted to scream forgetting how blessed I was to have 3 healthy, well-rounded kids. I mostly thought about Joe's kids and what they are going through, not knowing entirely what is wrong with their Dad. His oldest son is in the 7th grade, just like my oldest. He was on the computer in the waiting room when I was there, playing Farmville. I am sure he was the one sending me the gift, playing on his Dad's account, keeping it active for when his Dad gets better.

So I cried.

I went into my kid's bedroom and covered them up and kissed them. I prayed for Savannah, my oldest daughter, and thanked God for bringing her into my life and prayed that she will always be safe even though I cannot always protect her. I prayed for Joe and his family that they are lifted up and kept strong through God's love. I prayed that if God needed a warrior in Heaven, that he spare his family and his kids and take him now. But mostly I cried for the little boy that sent me a blind gift. I didn't know him, but like his Dad, he figured someone could use a gift. So he gave. He gave freely. Little did he know, nor did I, that giving a gift would bring tears.

God bless you Joe.

Be Thankful

Before Facebook came around, I bet there was only a handful of people I kept in contact with after high school. A handful, AT BEST. The more I communicate with people, the more I think to myself....why would were any of you friends with me? Like a lot of friends, I lost touch with me, I suppose. I fell into the category of "trying to find myself." I never really knew what that meant until my keys came up to me the other day, all frustrated that they were late to the ignition because I was cowering under a sofa cushion. This isn't a pity me story. Not at all. Part of the reason I have this blog and that I focus so much on finding humor in everything that happens in life is because a lot of days, I need the outlet to get by. I need to find the humor in the storms passing in and out of my life on a daily basis. I swear, if I didn't, I would explode in some fashion that would closely resemble a very messy supernova of some kind. That is beside the point. Sometimes, most times, I try to be funny because I can. I like making people laugh. It makes my day knowing that somewhere, often times in places I have never visited, someone is reading my words and saying "oh my GOD, that is SO true." That is my hope, my dream I guess, to bind all of this up and make it a novelette of sorts that people can take with them anywhere they go and simply get it.

There are some posts in here that, sometimes even after hilarity, often touch people in places they maybe are afraid to go. Self-reflection is difficult. I am not talking about looking at yourself and saying "I really need to lose 30 pounds." I am talking about going deeper than that. Through all of the skin and bones, to places beyond the walls of your heart, through the eyes of God, really finding out what kind of person you are. When you die, that definition is what will follow you. Will your spirit touch those around you, and maybe those far away, causing them to remember you for being a warm-hearted, compassionate person? Or will they turn the other cheek, huffing because you never let them in, or showed them your true capability to love something more than yourself? Being we can never expect the unexpected, don't you think its time people know who you are?

Being I am not perfect, anything I say, any pseudo-advice I give is meant for me as much as it is for anyone. Did you tell your kids you love them? Did you thank your parents for packing all that crap up every summer and hauling you and your friends to camp? Have you told your significant other that the words "I appreciate you" don't really apply to them because they aren't enough? Are you thankful? Did you praise God, even through the tough times, for challenging you and helping your faith grow, knowing full well that the trial was just that, a test of faith? How are your relationships? Life is all about the relationships we make and maintain, the latter being the most important. Never underestimate the power of friendship, the power of prayer in that circle of friends. Never forget that they are there for you, and the times you think you are alone that you are never alone. Don't go another day thinking that no one loves you, that no one cares, that your imperfections are some sort of ailment that causes you to be inferior. You are not the only one with fears, who is terrified of the day, wondering how you are going to screw it up.

Every day above ground is a day to give thanks for. Every....single....day. Those days are numbered. We never know when the last day will be. It is scary to think about and even more scary to know that it is a fact. We will all shuffle off this mortal coil. What will your eulogy say? Who will talk about you? Is your life worth celebrating?

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can;and wisdom to know the difference.

Will you have made a difference in somebody's life other than your own?

Help

I had someone tell me that, although the blog was funny, I seemed to be complaining about things that happen to everyone, every day. He follows the blog but thought I complained a little too much. I am not sure how to take that comment, really. It has sort of thrown me for a loop. I have never, in the four years that I have had this blog, had someone be critical of it's content. I am not admonishing this individual. I respect his, and anyone's opinion on the material I publish. Notwithstanding his comment, I DO complain a lot, about things that DO happen to everyone, at some point in their life, past, present and most likely, future. I suppose in my mind my opinion on the matter may make the occurrence more enjoyable for the person experiencing some idiocy, hence the name of the blog 'In My Opinion.' As stated, I have a TON of respect for this person, for where his life was growing up and where he has taken his passion. I envy his vigor. But, yes...loop. I was thrown into this vast emptiness called writer's block. I needed "good" humor. I thought what I provided was good humor. In retrospect, I suppose I was complaining. Now I am rambling. Must find good humor.

To me, good humor is complaining. It is either this medium or risk confinement by having these tirades out in open public. For example, going downstairs to the lower apartment dwelling family and complain to them that their parenting skills could use some work, just like Perez Hilton could use a treadmill, or some Stridex or maybe have his voice box removed. How is it possible that small kids are up at 11PM? It's like they play Rock Band 24/7. Go to bed already. One of the kids knocked on my door and then went back into his apartment. Why? For fun? I waited until he left his apartment and walked past mine and opened the door. I asked him what he wanted. He said he wanted my son. Nothing else. "Can I have your son?" WTF? For what? Sacrifice? Punching bag? Someone to hold the bong? Please be specific. Articulate and PLEASE lose the yellow bandanna you have wrapped around your forehead. You look like a pirate minus the patch, the testosterone-laden ARRRRRGH and the wooden leg, all of which can be arranged be it now or in the future.

Good humor. What does that mean? Please feel free to comment and let me know what good humor means to you. Maybe I lack the definition like Bill Clinton's dumbfounded knowledge of sexual relations. Fellatio is sex....FYI Bill. So is banging an intern with a cigar and blowing your nuts on a dress. All of those are sex, in case you are wondering. I can understand, however, since you are married to a "woman" that houses one of a few places that boners go to die. Seriously though, where do I fall short?

I am all ears.

No.....Way Did You Just Ask That...

Last night, I moved us. I moved most of us. My brother's girlfriend came and helped which was incredibly awesome of her to do. By no means do I want to sound as if I am not grateful (she may read this so I want her to know) as this post is not even about her, or moving. Well its kind of about moving. She will laugh as I will. Hopefully you will. If you were there when it happened you certainly would have laughed. Being it was her and I and some douche bag, well, just read on.

I am moving 60 yards. Now, that sounds pretty easy. If I could fit all my shit into a hamster ball, I would have simply pushed it upstairs. I can't so I got a cargo van from Uhaul. This isn't even the final move. The house may close soon. If it does we will be moving permanently. We moved to another apartment in the complex. We were in the G building. Now we are in the 'I' building. Yes, alphabetical, so yes, not a long move. It is around the corner, literally, from our old apartment.

Those of you that know me, well, this is my luck. It has been my luck for a long time now. My penance is....this activity of touching everything we own at least 2 times a year. I have to move stuff, our stuff, in a cargo van, taking many trips, all day, exhausting myself, and cussing up a storm in my mind because we still have a tea set in a box marked "please take me" from 4 garage sales ago. We have too much stuff. We probably all do, but you don't realize it until you have to tax your body to move it. I am taxed. I am fully taxed, both physically and emotionally.

So last night, as I was taking a load over, someone had parked their Nissan Maxima in my driveway and left it running. I am about 9 hours into a move, a lot of it done, still a lot to go and my brother's girlfriend riding shotgun. We stop behind this running car in our driveway. We wait. We play rock paper scissors. We counted sheep. LOTS of sheep. We read Moby Dick, alternating every other chapter....twice. Still no driver. Car running....no driver. Sounds like entertainment for me any other night. But not now. I accidentally honk like a murderer accidentally stabs its victim 31 times. Nothing. So I put it in park and started unloading.

A few trips back and forth from the van to the garage, an older gentleman walks from around the corner about the time I am vacating my garage. We made eye contact. He says, and I quote, "oh geez...am I in your way?" W.........T.........FFFFFFFFFFFFFFF!!!!!!!!!!!! No, asshole, you aren't in my way. You made it easier for me to lose weight off my ginormous ass because I have to sidestep your chariot. No, you aren't in my way. In fact, I had to park here so I could shake your damn hand. You are far too special to me at this very moment to be in my way. When I left my old apartment, I was praying to God, not for our loan to close or for a fire to burn all the extra shit we have....I was praying for some old asshole to be parking where he shouldn't be. Sure enough....BAM! There you were. So thank you. Thank you for taking the space I needed to get close enough to unload this 90 pound cardboard box of books. Honestly, my lumbar region thanks you. My sweat glands thank you. But most importantly, I thank you for saving me that 1/100th of a mile I will not have to pay for when I return this bitch tomorrow to Uhaul.

Some people ask the dumbest, most rhetorical questions. I am learning that they are usually asked while moving.

Stop Yelling...I am Right HERE!

Yesterday was a bad day. I have a lot of stress going on in my life. Normally I would say that these types of emotions make it impossible to form a rational thought, therefore ignoring my blog. Yesterday was normal. I ignored. I wasn't sure if blogging was something that would help me sort out my thoughts causing me to write run-on sentences with little to no punctuation which would make people confused having to read random pointless rants and raves about God knows what wondering if it would ever end and looking for the first sharp object so that they could cut their eyes out for having read such mindless crap. Wait...

I love bashing Walmart. Back when Walmart first started, it resembled a Kmart. I wasn't around much to blog about Kmart, and it is rude to kick a dead horse. So, that leaves me with Walmart. I hate you Walmart. I hate you mostly because you hire people that ask rhetorical questions. It's like servers that ask if everything was OK. Even when you reply it wasn't and the food tasted like a pile of horse shit they simply apologize and do nothing. I hear over and over and over and over again, "did you find everything OK today" when I am checking out at Walmart. I always say yes. I say yes because I have a brain, can read English (as everything, EVERYTHING is pretty well marked) and I am male; a hunter/gatherer. I didn't come to shop. I came to conquer a gallon of milk and some maxi pads. I won. Check them, bag them and move on so I can mount them on my wall.

The other day, however, I was in a mood. The checker was....well, hired by Walmart. I won't say special or slow...just not employable by anybody BUT Walmart. He had a hard time fluctuating his voice, or making adjustments to volume based on my own proximity. I was a mere 25 inches away, yet he bellowed "DID YOU FIND EVERYTHING OK" as if I was across the room. I am not sure why I answered the way I did. It could have been that my inner ear was angry and ringing. It could have been that the vibrations of his yell were reminding me that my body fat percentage was too high. I don't know. But I told him no. I told him I didn't find everything OK. I told him I struggled. I was in pain because the leprechaun had stolen my pot of gold. I told him I followed the rainbow and the little bastard had my gold and was headed toward produce. The checker stared back at me as if I was Pamela Anderson and I had just asked him to make a sequel to her sex tape and the yacht was parked out front. "WHAT!?!?!?!" Not knowing what to do, I told him I did not find the pot of gold, trying to simplify my response to something he might understand. "WE DON'T HAVE THAT HERE!" No shit. The gal up front, Kathryn Hepburn, told me that the gold was on aisle 9. Weird.

He scanned the maxi pads and gave me a stupid grin; the look I used to give people when they were buying condoms. He knows what they are for, as do I. I was positive they were not for me. His look indicated the mind was trying to process who they were for. "ARE THESE FOR YOUR WIFE or GIRLFRIEND?" No, they are for my Appaloosa. I am raising lemmings and these are their beds, dumbshit. Just put them in the bag. I am surprised there wasn't another stupid question yelled at me after the milk. "SKIM MILK IS GOOD FOR YOU!" Yes, it is. Unlike your mother's breast milk that was tainted with crack as you sucked away, right? Sir, did you know that skim milk has more calcium than any other milk? "I LIKE WATERMELON JOLLY RAN..." Forget it.

I drive out of my way to go to Walmart. It is more entertaining and I am able to then write a few paragraphs describing how normal people can't get a job, but Walmart hires just about anyone. No, I am not applying.

I See a Pattern....

Dear Guy in the Gym Bathroom,

You're hot. You are, by far, the hottest guy I have seen come through here. You workout shirt is nice. It's dry, but nice. It matches your shoes and shorts, since we all know working out is a fashion show. You have some imperfections on your face. I see you popping them, shooting Lord knows what onto me. But you're young. Complexion issues are normal at your age. Yes sir. You are one big, hot, flaming bag of hormones.

You still here? I mean, don't get me wrong. I like looking at you, but only for so long. Absence makes the hear grow fonder, if you know what I mean. You probably don't being your nuts dropped just last week. Don't worry about your hair. It's perfect. Almost too perfect for the gym. I don't even know why you are here, really. You look like your metabolism runs overtime in your sleep. You don't need cardio or weight training. You just have to show up. I should know. I see just about everyone that comes in here. You BY FAR are the best. God's gift. Go get 'em tiger!

What? Did you need something else from me? Go workout for Christ's sake. I am getting my workout just by telling you to go workout. Stop admiring yourself and get sweaty. I know you are young but you won't be forever. Pretty soon, the ever-so-touchy balance of gravity will tilt in the favor of Sir Newton. Then, our relationship will sour. Again, nothing you would know about since the closest relationship to a vagina is probably your mother's when she spat you out. You look great, blah, blah...now go on!

OK, look, I was nice before. Now I am just aggravated. You're not nearly as pretty as you think. In fact, you reek of insecurity. The shirt and shorts, albeit coordinated, don't belong in the gym. They belong at Macy's, or at the very least, in your closet. Who works out with a button up shirt? Your pecs need work. Maybe not now, but soon, when your man boobs appear. It is easier to build muscle at a young age. Your hairstyle is not hip, its old. Everyone does the messy look. Stop wearing cologne in the gym. No one cares, drama. It is better to smell musty and look the part then go through the motions. Enjoy your abs, fag, because pretty soon your six pack will be replaced by a half-rack, and I don't mean extra muscles. Keystone Light ring any bells? Of course not. You just got off of Similac. Go away already before I bring you 7 years of bad luck and fuck your emotional shit up by breaking.....homo.


Sincerely,

The Mirror

Please Just Let Me Shop

I am not interested in saving the Nepalese from leprosy. I don't care to sign your petition in support of little people rights. I don't want any cookies, leather chaps, or my face painted. I certainly don't want to sign a get well card for the Dalai Lama. Can I just get by you so I can get my prescriptions filled at Walmart?

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD....if I see one more table filled with unemployed Greenpeace workers trying to recruit for the next Save the Earth movement.....let's just say, I will do the EXACT opposite they are asking support for. If they want to stop seal clubbing, I will go get a seal...somewhere, and club the living shit out of it on the spot. If the want to stop all you can eat buffets, I will binge and purge on their petitions. If they want to Save Tibet, I will donate to the Chinese consulate. I will paint their shit GREEN for spite. I am not interested and you won't sway me.

Oh, and leave me alone on the way out. I can assure you, my mind did not change while I shopped. I still think you are as retarded now as I did when I sprinted past you. It's almost as bad as the airports used to be. Take your fliers and wipe. It was hard enough to come to Walmart. My kids hate Walmart because of you. You scare them. You keep them up at night, which keeps me up at night, which ....es me off because I have to, then, tolerate YOU. I don't have enough patience for you because I spent it all on the commute over here behind a blue hair that had no business being on the road in the first place. I was tailgated. I was cut off. I was yelled at...and this was all in a school zone. So leave me alone. I don't like Girl Scout cookies. Neither do my kids. Stop trying to hand them one. Address me, not them, when offering cookies. For all I know they have crack in them you nut job. Wait until my daughter is a Girl Scout, I know. I can assure you, she will be selling something much better than cookies, but illegal.

The money is better.

Move aside, you quack. I have roll downs to take advantage of.

Dear Fellow Student

Dear Girl Sitting in Front of Me,


Please refrain from standing, turning around and flashing your camel toe at me. Frankly, please refrain not from just flashing it at me, but flashing it at anyone. I cannot imagine what made you think that painted on clothes was cool. Playboy Playmates pull it off. You can't. Please refrain from trying. Your axe wound should be kept to yourself, as well as your feminine itch that you hide oh so well by fidgeting. You either have crabs, A.D.D. or maybe both. I am glad I am not your chair.

Remember that school is for learning, not for expanding your ever-growing vocabulary (IE- LOL, TTYL, ROFL, etc.). So, please refrain from actually verbalizing your sentiments that would normally go into a text. If someone says something funny, laugh. Don't respond "ELL OH ELL" and expect anything other than the look I gave you today. It was dumb and I am sure it is not necessarily a generational thing as so much as it is a you are a phuck tard thing. I thank you for paying your tuition, but your parents will want you out of the house eventually. Trust me.

I am not sure what you carry in your backpack, but I have not seen you pull out a writing utensil in two days and your books still have the packaging wrap on them. At some point you will need the tools that your parents bought for you at Walmart this year. If it is because they got it at Walmart that causes you to twitch like a meth freak, don't. When you get older, and you (please think before you do) have kids of your own, you pray for a "one stop shopping experience." Dragging snot around a store, and then to the car, and then to a different store is not fun for grown ups. Nut up and wear the damn backpack. Watching you struggle hauling around 20 pounds of useless, unused material is painful for me to watch. Not because it looks heavy and you are straining, but mostly because you are more concerned with the proper position of your QWERTY keyboard than you are with the poor ergonomic way in which you are carrying it. Take notes. Drop the class. I don't care which, but your hair is blocking my view of the PowerPoint presentation.

College is not high school. I hate to tell you that. Cliques left after you threw your cap in the air at graduation, or got your GED in the mail. I know, you may know someone on campus and therefore will try to start your own campus clique. It won't work. It's like trying to bring back MC Hammer....or his pants. If you focused a small percentage on your studies, rather than trying to raise the "social Titanic," you may graduate, or at the very least, pass this pre-requisite to get into the next class. It's called a timeline, Van Wilder. Unless you plan on studying law, the goal is 2 years. At this pace, you will be lucky if you finish by the time The Backstreet Boys reunite.

Last but certainly not least, when I honk at you as you text while crossing the road, flipping me the bird is not original. The fact you dropped your LG phone doesn't really phase me, albeit your reaction was priceless. Asking me to watch where I am going is kind of dumb being I was watching, hence the honk. Please do not try texting anywhere near traffic. The next person may just plow into you as they are texting while driving, and they are probably your roommate, which will leave someone paying full share instead of half, or possibly 1/3, depending on your injuries.

Good luck in class dumbass.


Signed,

The guy behind you

Time to Live

I have often wondered why people wait so long to live their lives? I am guilty. I am very guilty. The old saying "get busy living or get busy dying" rings very true with me. Yet, I sit passively by as I watch other people living their lives. I suppose that is why, at 36 years old, I have decided to better my life by becoming a Registered Nurse. I can no longer be idle. I can no longer accept the excuse "everyone else, but me." Why not me? Why can't I have the very best? Have I given every effort to better myself, my family, my future? I can honestly say I haven't. I have coasted. I have let the current take me where I am going rather than paddle the direction I want to go. I have weathered many storms, many waves and I am sure there will be many more of these storms in my life.

"Pain lasts an hour, a day, or maybe a year. Giving up...that lasts forever." - Lance Armstrong

Don't give up on yourself. You are all you've got.

Kanye West is Infuriating

First of all, I am not a Kanye West fan. Last thing I heard, he rapped a little. Actually, I take that back. He announced he was better than God. I didn't watch the MTV Video Awards. I guess it was a big deal because all throughout The Real World finale last week it was all they could talk about. I am not into award shows. I like music, all kinds of music unless it's Kanye. Then, I would rather get donkey punched by a gay porn star.

I don't know what it is about him, really. I just don't like him. He is too vocal without really saying anything important. I remember on SNL, he said George Bush hated black people after hurricane Katrina. Notwithstanding his comment, SHUT UP! SNL is not a podium for you to spout at the mouth about shit that you feel is newsworthy. This is not a pulpit for you to preach about.....FUCK! Nothing! Tonight, however, he behaved as predictably as Brett Favre NOT retiring. Beyonce lost an award to Taylor Swift. During her speech, he bum rushed the stage, entourageless, grabbed the microphone and said, essentially, Beyonce got screwed.

HEY....USHER-WANNABE....DARIUS RUCKER SINGS COUNTRY. THE SHIT IS IN! GOOOOO AWAY!

Now Beyonce, being the classy gal she is allowed Taylor Swift her due moment later in the show. I just cannot grasp why on EARTH Kanye feels that anyone gives a shit when his lips part. Again, maybe its because I am not a fan of smelling feces, or watching people gloat about being at the right place at the right time. Frankly, Kanye should take a Gulfstream and fly it into the ocean. OMG, you might say, how terrible! Its how I feel about him in general. If there was a headline that read "KANYE WEST GUNNED DOWN AT CHUCK E CHEESE IN THE 9TH WARD IN NEW ORLEANS, I would skip over it to watch porn.

Don't care, Kanye. You suck!

Late night rants rule!

Open Letter to the Octomom

Dear Octomom,


You are crazy.

You are beyond crazy actually. There is something medically wrong with you; some sort of chemical imbalance. I am not sure there are any drugs out there that can actually touch the depth of your nuttiness. You are fruitier than Rupaul. You make Amy Winehouse appear as an upstanding citizen. I did waht I swore would never do. I supported you by watching your "Untold Video" show last night on Fox. I contributed to the delinquency of an assbag. I feel dirty, like I just watched 'The Crying Game,' sucking my thumb in the corner of the shower. That is a thumb , right?

First of all, let's just cover the plastic surgery denial. NO ONE, without some allergy to histamine, has lips like yours. No one. Jimmy Walker is saying DYNOMITE to your lips. Shaquille O'Neal uses them for shade. You are banned from the ocean because you might cause a Tsunami. Your speech creates a Category 1 windstorm, OK? Do you understand where this is going? Just admit, like most of the world, you think Angelina Jolie is sexy. It's OK to admit it. I find it ironic there are before pictures where you looked all....well, pathetically homely. Bums would give you money in your before pictures. The Taliban actually threw down there weapons when someone said YOU WERE AMERICAN. They felt bad. Don't say you haven't had work done because it is painfully obvious you have. Sort of like Cher. She has a reason. She wanted to be the first performer to have actually performed in 3 different eras. The Paleolithic, the Mesoteric and some other one that starts qith the letter Q. Give it a rest already.

Another thing that bothered me was your perception that your life was simply thrust upon you and you did not want all of this attention. Why on EARTH, then, would you shove 8 ....ing babies inside your vagina? Was it to NOT have attention? Are you seriously that ....ing narrow minded to think that the only set of surviving octuplets would NOT gather some sort of dramatic effect??? You called Kate Gosselin an attention whore. That statement is more or less true. I don't think she upset her marriage is over as so much that the cameras will officially add 10 pounds to only her with Jon out of the picture. She pails n comparison to what you seek. You are now using your kids as your own personal ATM card. It's sad really. It's sad that your Mom was right about you. You are stupid and nuts. Welcome to Mother's Day that will have nothing to do with you.

Finally, I just needed to remind you that you have 6 other kids. For someone working towards a Master's Degree, you sure are stupid. What is the degree in, single motherhood? When will you go to school, actually? Will you show up on the Today Show in the year 2050 as an 88-year old getting her Master's Degree because "you always knew that no one could take that away from you?" I want so badly to take away your viable uterus and give it to someone that cannot have kids of their own so that they can witness the joy of ONE baby. Your excuse to having a hockey team is you love babies. Babies grow up to be virile, reactive teenagers. Then what? I can't wait when one of them overreacts and bitch-slaps you, calling you a bitch as he walks away. Oh wait, your 2-year old did that already. What are you going to teach these kid's other than they need to rely on other's to help exist? You are a volume of Encyclopedia Britannica's on Mediocrity. There is nothing about you that is appealing. Good luck getting 8 kids in time out all at once.

Please do me a favor. Don't home school these kids. This is the one time that public schools might help them. It HAS to be better than what you can teach them. Also, throw food away that is freezer burnt. I get the impression you are a pack rat that keeps frozen food wayyyyy too long. Kind of like embryos. Let them go already. Its toolate now that they are born, so do your best and let other people teach them about life. Your lessons suck. No kissing Cacti, lest facial deflation will occur.

Signed,

America

Strike One, Strike Two...

The DMV sucks. I don't even need to tell anyone that. It is a given. Sort of like Starr Jones DID have gastric bypass, the Grand Canyon IS a big hole in the ground and Courtney Love DOES need to fall into it. It makes sense. I have been in Washington State for 2 years now, almost to the day, moving from Idaho. I still had my Idaho license. It expires in 2011 so I didn't see the need to get a WA license right away. Unless I got pulled over, which I did not long ago for going 65 in a 55 miles per hour construction zone with an Idaho license, Washington plates, and Washington registration, which I couldn't find, nor could I find the proof of insurance. But that is another story. The DMV sucks.

I went down there at 6:45AM this morning, Saturday. My wife had told me that when she got there at 7:15 the previous Saturday, she was 6th in line. I figured at 6:45, I would be first. I was wrong. I turned out to be 9th, which I think I should have gotten a participant ribbon for, similar to placing 9th out of 10 in a race. Yay...here is your ribbon, thanks for playing. The DMV opens at 8:30AM. I had time to kill. The guy next to me was a cool guy so we passed the time talking about how life sucks standing in line at the DMV, SPEAKING ENGLISH, while others are carrying on a conversation in a dialect I am not familiar with, but if I were I could be employed in just about any place in this stupid town. Sidetracked...sorry. Doors open. I had a utility bill, my social security card, my old license, me, keys, phone, a dead pheasant, a goose decoy (headless), some moccasins, and a rabbit's foot key chain. I figured with all this shit I should have no problem getting my license. I was number 001. SWEET! Guy at the counter, extremely happy his heart is beating, asks for three forms of identification. I gave him my old license, my social security card and the utility bill. He needs one more.

Strike one....

I asked him what I needed. Birth certificate, he says. I help up the dead pheasant. He shook his head. He said no to the decoy, the moccasins (that had my initials on them) and the decoy that said BRACK on it. Shit. He said go get something from list B (which none of the shit I trucked in there was on the list....my bad) and come to the window. I left, drove home and got a copy of the birth certificate. I returned to his window, handed him the CERTIFICATE OF LIVE BIRTH (copy) and he said great, but it isn't certified. Shit. I told him it was. He said it could be forged. Right, because I give two shits about having this license. I don't even really want to be me. Why would I make ME up?

Strike two...

I asked him what else would suffice. He said a rabbit's foo....OK, he didn't say that. He said anything from list B which he then handed me a copy of what is acceptable from that list. A yearbook photo. I have one of those. He said if I can look at your photo and then recognize you, it will work. Jesus, that was 18 years ago. If I did look the same, I would need to see a doctor, or sell the secret to eternal youth. In which case, I would buy this building and tear it down with you in it. I ran home, found the ONE copy of a certified birth certificate, obtained in 1985 for Little League to prove I was, in fact, a 12-year old Caucasian and not a 31-year old defector from Guatemala. I returned, hoping to God it would work as it was now 9:30AM. It did. I had my photo taken. I now know why people take shitty DMV photos. Smile? re you kidding? The hoop jumping did me in Steven Welch, License Representative.

I hate you, Steven Welch, and hope you get ass-raped by a big, phucking grizzly. let me know if you smile after that......dick.

The 'S' is Silent

Arkansas.

I have never been to Arkansas, but I can assure you that the 'S' at the end is silent. There is no Ark in Kansas, at least not to my knowledge. I actually heard a high school graduate state that the state with the highest level of poverty in the United States was ArkansaS, accentuating the "S" at the end. I looked at the person sitting to my left to validate if what I heard actually occurred. Sure enough, we both saw the same unicorn bound across the classroom. She had a hard time pronouncing Louisiana, saying "louis-iana," as if it was some Italian restaurant owned by someone named Lou. I was petrified. Maybe she was just nervous presenting her group's poster. Maybe she was confused, flashing back to reading the newest edition of people magazine. Maybe she is just an idiot. If it were me I would go with the latter.

I must go search for the Holy Grail in Kentucky. More later...

Bullshit Studies

Every now and again I see our tax dollars being spent on studies to determine the obvious. Low flying planes increae chances of air fatalities, or not buckling up might cause your body to go through the windshield. Overeating causes you to get fat...get the idea?

Here is a doozy. Exercising makes you hungrier. No shit. Really? The study shows, or was done to show how exercising might actually INCREASE the obesity problem in America because as people exercise they might over eat. Are you serious? Is that study really necessary? People are now concerned that they might get fatter by exercising. When did being in shape require so much thought. It is really simple math. Calories in - calories out = weight loss or gain. Period. End of story. It isn't a trick. There is no magic here. So why on God's green Earth are we spending money to over think the simple? Jesus, cure the common cold. Find a way for cancer to be controlled. Figure out why chronic diseases control over 40% of the American population. STOP SPENDING MY MONEY ON MATH EQUATIONS MY KIDS CAN DO!

Dear U.S. Government People that dish out money for studying shit,

I have an idea. I believe that if I get a control group of about 50 of my frien...err....random people off the street, I can determine the correlation between pot smoking, beer consumption and intelligence. Screw rats. I think people are the better option. I plan on disproving what "doctor types of people" think is "bad" for you. In order form me to do this I will need approximately $13.75 million dollars, about 500 bails of marijuana and 145 cases of Miller Genuine draft. Ice and a biggggg cooler. Oh, and I need some legal pads....and pens, and maybe one of those digital recorders to record information in. Beer in one hand, blunt in another....hard to write. Recorder is good.

Sincerely,

me.

P.S. - do you need an address?

I'm Tired

I am tired. I am tired of a lot of things. Being sick. I got tired of that awhile ago although I am closer to being better than ever. I am tired of being a broke student again. This time its different because I have a family to support. I am tired of struggling to find things to make for dinner that everyone in my house will eat. That gets old. Although I know I need to do it. The last thing my wife needs to worry about after working a full day is trying to appease everyone. Role reversal. I guess I am tired of that too.

I am very tired of Jon and Kate. I don't care about what they and the 8 did anyway. Why would I care to see them try to entertain 8 kids on someone else's dime? All their shit got paid for. Trips, clothes, shoes, etc. It was all gifted to them. I don't care anymore. What else is there to learn? We all have opinions on how things went down with them, all of which doesn't matter in the grand scheme of the universe. I cannot believe that this show still carries an audience. I am tired of seeing Kate's spiked up buzz cut, if that is even possible. Just be a lesbian already.

I am tired of noticing that the most expensive cars obey the least amount of rules. For $50,000 you can purchase a vehicle that has dysfunctional turn signals, whose brakes do not work, whose gas pedal is constantly stuck at "on my ass," or who is immune to construction zone speed requirements. I always want to follow these people and see where they live so I can pour brake fluid on the hood of their car in the shape of a smiley face and watch the paint bubble up just before I leave.

I am tired of hearing Michael Jackson songs on the radio. I liked Michael Jackson back when he resembled a human being. His music was in, kind of like mullets. But now it is played mostly because the guy died. Sort of like Elvis I guess. One way to get out of debt is to die. Way to go Mike. I don't care if he was possibly murdered or whatever the new theory is on his cause of death. Just get it over with already. This is getting more play than Pamela Anderson's hepatitis. But that is a whole other story.

I am tired of my son's water wings. Sink or swim. You choose. But its time to lose the wings. Now he is only 4, and some might think that is too young to drown. Drowning has no age barrier. He has every right to drown like any other toddler. I fear he may be 13 before he has the confidence to take them off. By then, he would have already committed social suicide by coupling his water wings with a size medium swim diaper. Enough is enough.

I am tired of the tomato plant I have getting pecked at by birds more often than Lindsay Lohan's vagina. I didn't grow this bastard for the culinary enjoyment of every bird in the Tri-Cities area. I have no problem feeding the birds cracked corn. I don't eat the shit, so have at it. But I do eat tomatoes. So leave it alone before I release the cracken.

Last but not least, I am tired of the censoring of my own blog by the blog program. I can say shit, but I can't say .... That doesn't make any sense. .... that! If I want to say ...., shit, ...., pussy, ass, ....face, ....chop, or any other expletives, I should be able to do without being censored by my own damn blogger site. Its bullshit and its aggravating. ....ing stupid Internet. You can google porn all day but the minute you want to call someone a ....ing asshole, you can't do it. ....!

THat's all I have at the moment but that was just what hit me over the last 10 minutes. Maybe something will come to me this afternoon. Like the big clumps of hair that float around in our apartment pool. That is ....ing gross....especially when you don't see it until you pop up for air and feeling it like a ....ing cob web across your face. Tired of that too.

Holy Shiznit!

I need to write in this more. With everything that has been going on with my health it has made it nearly impossible. Hear, I beg and plead for people to follow the blog, they come, and nothing happens. it is like the reverse Field of Dreams....

BUILD IT AND NOTHING WILL HAPPEN

BAH! So here is my quick promise. I will post at least twice a week. My hope is they are twisted, bizarre, wry posts that will make you either fall out of your chair laughing, or cause you to ponder a stage in your life, past, present or future and rethink maybe something that you thought was once terrible but maybe wasnt as bad as what my mind goes through daily. Either way, I promise your life will be better in some form or fashion.

I must go for now, however. I need to go to a birthday party, the birthday person I do not know, the guest will be as foreign as money is to me at the moment, the alcohold flowing freely, knowing full well I cannot partake in....yes, so why am I going again.

Because I am married.

Happy wife, happy life.

Deep Rambles

I often feel like I have strayed in the way I have lived my life and that soon, hopefully very soon, I shall return from my banishment a better man. Unlike the story of The Prodigal Son, no one sent me on this perilous quest but myself. Yet, the rewards attained from the experiences shall be reaped by many. Again, this is a hope, not necessarily a fact. Usually, at least lately, hope is all I have had.

This entry was not motivated by anything. These words are being thought of on the fly with little thought put towards them prior to being spewn onto the web, but yet, somehow, in my heart of hearts, they are prolific in nature. Their meaning might only be familiar to me. Some may be able to relate to having been cast away by a loved one or loved ones, struggling to find the meaning of why, rather than simply being grateful for having the opportunity to realize the err in their ways. Yet, there may be some who have no idea why they are wandering aimlessly through life, wondering where the past two decades have gone. Kung Fu Panda is a silly kids movie, yet thee is a quote in there that states something about today being a gift, that is why they call it "a present." Today is truly a gift. Tomorrow is not even remotely on my mind. Often, however, I think back to yesterday wondering what I did to earn those todays of my past.

I am not sure what I have done to earn today. I got up this morning. I went about my life. Did I touch someone else's life? Did I make it memorable for anyone other than me? If I died today, what would people say about me? Would my journey away be remarkable in teaching me tangible things I can use to benefit OTHERS? I am not sure I have done that very well, at least not lately. Giving is truly a gift that has endless returns.

Time for class....

First Draft

Everything I write is a first draft. When I was in school, English teachers would tell the class to just start writing and not think about anything. The mind interferes with the transfer of the message. I could not agree more. I had to write this now. So many times I think of something, laying in bed, and think, "I will write that tomorrow," and then life happens. I can't do that with this one.

"The Pursuit of Happyness" is like my cinematic Ben and Jerry's. It is a love-hate thing. Now, I cannot recall the last time I had Ben and Jerry's, but I can remember the last time a movie passed along so many different messages. I recorded it so my 12-year old daughter can learn about perseverance. I write this so that maybe I can make sense of the tears that flow each and every time I watch that movie.

We all have hills to climb. Tall mountains and sometimes low valleys. Even though the year is about half over, I have climbed a lifetime of mountains. As much as I would like to retire my climbing shoes, I won't. I can't. There are too many lessons to be learned by the trials these escapades bring. Many times I felt like letting go of my grip and free falling, hoping that somewhere in the bottomless chasm we call life there would be a DO OVER; a children's climbing wall. The climbs get hard, and most times, you feel alone.

Through my trek up these mountains I have seen the power of support from all different angles. I have seen miracles, more than most can anticipate in many lifetimes. I wasn't sure I deserved any of it. It isn't a matter of what we deserve. It is human nature to think that we cannot move forward at the pace the mountain may beckon. It is the outside world whispering for us to take a break and relax knowing full well the momentum that has been built will fade away into the wind. I say no, as I have said for the last few months and whisper back, "fuck off and die."

Momentum. It is key to every adversity we face, often daily. Even a tumbleweed can climb a fence if it knows how to use momentum. Support creates momentum, from friends and family who know the capabilities of those in a struggle with the elements of life. We cannot give up on those we love or they will give up on the climb and surely perish. I have seen what support can do; those we love not whispering for us to give up and that the top is just a top. Nothing special, just an end destination. Whatever the end is, I will determine its importance in my life. I will reap its rewards because it is mine.

Our lives are a first draft. The words penned through action. Mistakes and victories all melded together into a never ending novel; a proverbial "Choose Your Own Adventure." The decisions we make will change the outcome of the story, long before it is published. Without the support of others, the story is short. It is like life. One moment, you live forever. The next moment, adversity cuts your rope, leaving you dangling on a toe hold.

What would you do?

Dear Lindsay Lohan

Eat.

For the love of God, please...eat. Eat something other than your cig butts or used match sticks. Stop washing them down with Red Bull. I am getting tired of watching you deteriorate faster than Clay Aiken's career. I don't even really want to discuss your seemingly bizarre sexuality. You are as lost as Mike Vick at the humane society. If nothing else...grab a Jr. Bacon cheeseburger at any fast food joint for a buck. Hell, get two tacos for 99 cents. I fear that a wind could possibly take you far, far away.

Wait...no, this is bad. Have some lipids and wash it down with some Crisco. Put something back on your bones other than freckled skin. FYI....some freckles are OK. I now know where all of the sun spots have gone. Thin is in I guess but you are more than thin. You are the richest P.O.W. I have ever seen. People who starve themselves just aren't smart. Of course, seeing your movie script choices explains a lot about how manhole covers are NOT something you need to be walking close to.

People that look like you suffer from one of three things. First, they have an eating disorder. I am not sure if you are getting back at your parents by only eating bearded clam and drinking Red Bulls for all of the times they drug you to camp as a kid. Maybe that isn't the problem. Maybe you are #2...a drug addict? The difference between you and Amy Winehouse is at least you wipe your nose before saying hello to the paparazzi. Maybe you just suffer from dysentery, the third reason you currently rival a Sudanese mother of 14. Whatever the reason, all of the above require some sort of medical intervention. You have bucks. Hell, you can get this taken care of real fast. Ever seen the movie "Super Size Me?" Best movie ever. Better than "Parent Trap," or "Georgia Rule," or any of the other shallow, meaningless drivel that you have made throughout your movie "career."

Please, take a break from making my eyes bleed and eat. Do us all a favor so we can actually start considering you a 3D human. That would really make my day.

It Could Be Worse

Things could be worse. They could be a WHOLE LOT worse. Every morning, I go to Kadlec at 9:30AM for IV antibiotics. I go into the Outpatient Procedure office in the hospital, check in and am brought back into this horseshoe of about 9 rooms. Some are filled with recovering outpatient surgery folks. Others are there, I imagine, for treatments like mine. But in all reality, I have it pretty easy. I listen to people moaning in pain. I listen to rapid heart rates and nurses who are trying to empathize with patients telling them that having a catheter is just going to predispose the patient to possible infection. i remember that feeling. I remember the first day in the hospital needing assistance to pee in one of those plastic milk jugs because I couldn't do it alone. I PRAYED for a catheter, more or less so I could salvage some dignity. Wearing that gown is enough. I would have loved to simply pee on my own.

I have it pretty easy. I sit there. I sit there in silence sipping on my 7 ounce cup of water that I am graced with. The treatment is 45 minutes and I get to leave afterwards. I don't have to do anything but show up. I have a central line, inserted in the side of my bicep and the line is fed through a vein down towards my aorta. It is about 3 or 4 feet of fibrous tubing with 3 snake-like ports that dangle out of moy arm. Along with the luxury of ease of use for the antibiotics, it makes drawing blood easy. A phlebotomist is not allowed to touch me, which is great news being the last phlebotomist that did busted a vein in my hand because she was retarded. Maybe not legally, however, in my mind, I was glad she never came back.

What has all of this taught me? That is the $60,000 question. I suppose I always figured I would live forever. Like my Dad, I was going to be this young, virile male forever. With everything that happens in your life that cannot be controlled, it is imperative to control the things you can. The human body is a fascinating machine, really. It rights itself with sickness, only after doing everything it can to fix itself on its own. I was one point away from Kidney failure. I was close to dialysis. I was close to the kidneys simply shutting down. I gained 25 pounds in 2 weeks on a liquid diet. How does that happen? My body was retaining everything I was putting in, even if it was jello and broth. Low calories, low sodium, no excretion. That poses a problem. Brief explanation of GFR. Renal function is a number on a blood test. Anything lower than 15 is kidney failure. They like the number to be 60 and above. May 8, the day I was discharged, my number was 16. May 11, it was 22. Yesterday, it was 49. My kidneys work again. I lost the 25 pounds within a few days of coming home. Of course, it was at about 800 cc at a time. My bladder hates me.

Yes it could be worse. It could me much worse. Today is a new day. Just like tomorrow will be. I take care of what I can with each passing day. My hope is that the people I love do the same.

Stuff

'Tis the season of allergens! At least, that is what I hear. Having had several incisions in my abdomen over the last several weeks that are constantly on the mend, I must say that sneezes are not a welcome addition to my life right now. Sneezes hurt. There is nothing comfortable about them. Normally, I can sense a sneeze from a mile away. Over the last couple of days, however, I have had that "parent sneeze." You know the sneeze I am talking about. One moment you are inhaling and exhaling as usual and then **BAM**, here comes the sneeze on the exhale. Two of them, back to back, like TNT. I am having those. I hate those.

A while ago, I was worried about bowel movements. Not so much anymore, but now I have to be careful of sharting myself with these rogue sneezes. They come at the most inopportune times. Its like farting in church. You don't want to because there seems to be an unholy glow about those that pass gas close to an altar that all can see. People know that when there is an audible fart at the same time as a sneeze, the "shart waddle" is soon to follow. I guess that is what nurses are for....changing dirty bed linens. Not that I did that. I saw that on Grey's Anatomy recently I think.

It is good to be home. The kids make the hospital seem like a Sandal's Resort on occasion. The puppy (a Shitzu/Chihuahua mix) needs a good grave. Gus, the bullie seems to be glad I am home and loves the smell of scar tissue. I am back to doing the dishes and cooking the occasional meal as my body will allow. We bought a gas grill that needs some assembly. The wind is making that go further and further back on the priority trail. I can only sleep on my back at the moment as a drain on one side and a power PICC line on the other make rotating difficult. My blood levels are stabilizing......thank God. Prayer does work.

My Hospital Stay

On Friday, 4/24, I went in to my general surgeon's office to have my staples removed from my gall bladder incisions. I had been in a lot of pain, walking hunched over, having a hard time breathing and discussed thi with y doc at the appointment. My stomach was firm; too firm to be good news. Kind of like Baywatch without the hotness. I had some blood work done and had a CT scan scheduled for the following Monday. When the blood work came back, my white blood cell count was at 28,000, and I was having the CT immediately.

They found an absess and an air pocket in my abdomen. I went in for surgery Saturday to get cleaned out. A lot of my organs had stuck together and peeling them apart caused a lot of inflamation...A LOT of inflamation. So, I have been fighting this bacteria in my gut for a week, the antibiotics messing with my kidney function (creatnine levels are rising). I found out today that my white blood cell count went from 13,700 yesterday to 16,000. Not sure why. No one knows why. I am just a medical mystery at the moment.

I will try to keep you all posted as things happen.

The Things We Take for Granted

I believe we all take certain things for granted, always assuming that these "things" in our lives will always be there to sustain us. Remember, life is finite. It will end, whether we are ready for it to end or not. I have taken a lot of things for granted. One in particular I felt the need to mention in a post today.

Bowel movements.

Growing up, every time I farted, my Dad would ask me if I needed to move my bowels. I always said no based on the fact they way he asked me sound too medieval to be an actual question. I dump, you dump. NO ONE moves there bowels. Of course, as I got older, I ask my 4-year old son the same thing after every time flatulence attacks his innards. He answers the same way I did, having no clue what I had just asked him.

Gall bladder surgery is a non-invasive procedure, or at least it is labeled as such. However, regardless of the 4 tiny incisions, the ports that were put and and the tissue that was interrupted leaves a lot left to be desired. There is a considerable amount of pain there, and it radiates to m back directly behind my gall-bladderless mid-section. Of course, they also removed a lymph node the size of a quarter too so I cannot imagine that was too comfortable on the ol' body. My doctor and discharge nurse both told me that when I got home, I would be moving my bowels. That was as anticipatory as expecting a yard full of Yaks camped outside of my apartment. Yes, I said, I know. The nurse kind of rolled her eyes and said that it would not be as easy as I thought. Whatever...I am as regular as black coffee. How hard can it be. I had no idea.

I was prescribed a stool softener, as well as took some Metamucil9 both loaded with insoluble, BULK PRODUCING, GET THE HELL OUT OF MY WAY MUDSLIDE makers. Regardless of the food intake, I was sure the fiber wanted out. I came home Thursday. Remember, my body had not digested food properly for 15 years. The surgeon also pumped some gas into my belly to separate the organs forgetting that aspirating the gas may help down the road. Thursday night, I took some Metamucil and stool softeners just to get the process started. I also ate a cup and a half of beef barley soup figuring the barley would love to join the fiber party in my colon. Percocet causes constipation. DOH. Something had to give, and it wasn't my sphincter. Friday came and went. The only progress was the apparent fermentation going on in my large intestine. I was burping and farting like a frat boy. I took more Metamucil. I ate more soup (1/2 cup), still nothing really wanted to move. I brought magazines, zebras (to count the stripes), sloths (because they can't escape the smell) and anything else I thought may help expedite this problem. Friday came and went, all without dropping a deuce. The pressure was building. My blue eyes were turning brown.

Saturday. This had to be the day, right? 48 hours after surgery made sense. For breakfast, I had some Metamucil, thinking that maybe as my body woke up, so would the bowel train. Nothing. I had some oatmeal....more fiber. Still nothing. I would have eaten raisins had the sugar content not sent me into a diabetic coma. I couldn't figure out if it was the lymphoma or the backed up internal septic system that was producing the "sweat for no reason" phenomena. I stayed somewhat on my feet to keep blood from settling but also to let gravity pull on the snake lodged in my digestive tract. Still nothing. Bye bye shitless weekend.

Sunday. I prayed. This time I didn't pray for a speedy recovery, or a tame cancer, I prayed that just this once God would let me have a Dumb and Dumber shit. A violent, spewing cascade of feces. Please God let it happen. I am beginning to hurt here. Even if it doesn't make the pain go away, PLEASE LET ME BE REGULAR AGAIN!!!!!!! Amen. Sure enough, within about 15 minutes the Percocet-ridden cork was released followed by the longest piece of fibrous fecal matter I have ever seen. I felt these gas pains just fall away. Urine came from nowhere as if feeling left out. The pressure was leaving, one rope at a time. I am exclaiming victory, my kids staring at me like they should be excited, but cannot understand why me on the toilet requires celebration. My wife did not understand my sense of joy either. But I was happy as a clam. All I had left to do was wipe...which requires twisting in the mid-section, which causes me to lose my breath.

And this was a totally uncalculated difficulty I forgot to pray about...and possibly a different blog post!

I Have Cancer

Odd to think, let alone type. The kind of cancer I have is unknown at this point. Am I afraid? Not really. Shocked is a good word I suppose. Of course, I have not taken care of myself over the past 15 years or so. Anyone who saw me at the Hall of Fame induction ceremony could see that.

That was almost 70 pounds ago. Some would say, "WOW, way to go!" However, I was sick. Cancer loves calories. In a twisted way, tumors are like newborns that steal calories from the host (me) and nutrients to grow. At first I thought it was diabetes. That causes you to lose weight for no reason. Maybe it was a combination of both. I am not sure.

Lymphoma has many sub-groups. The node they took out was about the size of a quarter. Normally they are the size of the tip of your pinkie finger. The doctor took it to the lab for the pathologist to cut it open. No doubt it was cancerous. But won't know what kind of lymphoma until next week sometime. If they can find out what it is locally, that is the best news. That means it is common and not rare. In my mind rare would be bad. So I have something to say to my cancer, and I thought it would make a great blog post.

Dear Cancer,

I will beat you.

I won't you get me because I have too much to live for. I have two beautiful daughters I want to walk down the aisle. I want to teach them about real men and how they should be treated by them. I have a son that I need to keep out of trouble and show what it means to respect a woman. I have a wife who I adore to no end. I have plans that you don't fit in to. So even though you have anchored yourself in my body, don't get to comfortable. My spirit alone will make you hate being here. You are simply going to be spinning your wheels. I will break you long before you break me.

You might put up a fight, but my fight is going to be much bigger than yours, no matter how sick you might make me. I am more patient than you. I can wait you out until you have nothing left. Your attitude is not stronger than my will to live. Don't think that will change.

I won't tell you to leave just yet. You can hang around for as long as you want. Just now that before you get to me, you will die. It is not my time.

Life is Finite

Sometimes I get deep. Sometimes the depth amazes those who know me the best. This is one of those moments. I had mentioned that the humor in my posts would someday return. Today is not that day. It seems that God has caused me to reflect on my life over the past few weeks and come to some realizations that I possibly have ignored over time. The last couple of days, I have had an epiphany of sorts.

Life is finite.

The sooner one comes to this realization, the easier it is to deal with how you live your life. As I have stated in the past, I am not afraid of my future, as the control was passed on to someone else. I thought I would hate to have given that control away. In some ways, I am reluctant to do so. Growing up I thought I would live forever, without consequences for the choices I made. In the same breath, I don't regret anything I have done. It is all part of a master plan. I am simply along for the ride.

Life endures for a limited time only.

We have a period of time we are granted. How you take advantage of that time is entirely up to the individual. I can only hope that my time is not now. If the doctor tells me something that changes the OUTCOME, it will not change my OUTLOOK. I pray. I think of everything I could have possibly done to make my health a non-issue, and I realize that everything we do impacts tomorrow. Right now, right here, I can only make choices with consequences I can deal with. Life is a gift, not a right. Just like having a driver's license, I suppose. A poor analogy, maybe, but relevant, regardless.

We all want the best. Sometimes we want the best of everything. I am not sure I have ever been the type to want the best for myself, rather, I want the best for those I love. A better life, better opportunities, and a better outcome to whatever they choose to do. I have learned that being happy with what I have and not upset for the things I DON'T have is a great way to look at things. I have a house in Idaho I may lose. I don't care, or I don't care as much as I should simply because the people that were in it with me are with me now. I don't lose them if the house were to go away. I have them close by. That is important. It was then, and it always will be. Love your family. Even if some of that family is living on the edge. In the end, family is all we have left.

Life is measurable.

How would you measure your life to date? Are you satisfied? What do you regret if anything? Regardless of life's finite characteristics, it is still measurable. It is more than the glass being half full or half empty. It is about something being in the glass. Period. Will the contents of the glass be enough of a memory? My heart is my glass, my 'cup' if you will. I can say with complete comfort that my 'cup' runeth over. Love and support is everything. It is not the amount of money you have, the possessions you have (which will ultimately own you), the things which you wish to covet; it is about the here and now. It is the things you look forward to in the morning that most can take for granted. It is the air you breathe. It is the vehicle that makes you want to go forward every day. It is the bonds of family and friend that cannot break and will not bend. Those are the ties that hold you up when you no longer have the strength to go it alone.

It is your life. You have one to live. Live it well.

Symptomatic

A lot of people have asked me what my symptoms were leading up to my diagnosis, at least my initial diagnosis of a gall stone.

Back in 1994 I had some God awful stomach pains that bent me over something fierce. My first thought was my appendix, but where these pains were (just below the sternum, under the ribs, middle of torso) did not follow the normal location of an inflamed appendix. I went to emergency room where I got to experience the euphoria of Morphine. I now know why people become addicted to that drug. The pain went away and I drifted off to sleep. Although, when I woke back up a couple of hours later, I was still in immense pain. Doctors figured maybe I had an ulcer. So I got to drink some barium sulfate which, back then tasted like dog shit. They gave me an ultrasound, sure to find a perforation in my intestine. Nothing. My white blood cell count was high indicating infection, but they couldn't locate any infection to speak of. I spent the night in the hospital, not knowing what was going on. The following day I was discharged with instructions to exercise and stop drinking coffee. Nice. Modern medicine at its finest.

For the next 15 years, once or twice a year, I would have these pains and would just take the next 4-6 hours and deal with it. I would usually just lay down in the fetal position, or rock back and forth (ala Rainman), sweat, and it would pass. I wasn't about ready to go to the hospital again and find out there was nothing wrong. Remember, this began in 1994.

Fast forward to December of 2007. After I moved here in August of the same year, my parents told me that I needed to go to the doctor if for nothing else to get a base line on my medical life. I dreaded that having gained a ton of weight (figuratively speaking) and basically dreading doctors. I didn't want to know the truth. I didn't want to know I was most likely pre-diabetic, or my blood pressure was skewed, that I could not get on a normal scale...I didn't want to know any of it. I had fought bouts of depression over my declining condition for years. I knew I was in bad shape, but I figured I didn't want to know how bad. When my Dad told me that he feared I would die before him, it opened my eyes a bit to how people really saw me. So I went, kicking and screaming.

December of 2007, my blood glucose level was 101. Two tests over 121 indicate diabetes. At this point I was pre-diabetic, or what they call having "metabolic syndrome." I was prescribed Metformin (turns off liver production of glucose) and told to eat more fish, chicken and vegetables. My blood pressure was 150/90 which is hypertensive. I was prescribed Lisinopril which is a diuretic, meant to rid the blood of excess fluid to "thin" it out. Lose weight and eat better and all of this should go away. I hired Mrs. B (my Mom) to do some cooking for me. prepackaged vacuum sealed meals that were part of what the doctor required. I got a membership at CBRC. I worked out, I ate better. I lost a few pounds. Still, not much was changing.

May of 2008, I went back. Glucose was at 111, liver enzymes were slightly elevated indicating the liver was stressed about something. White blood cell count was slightly elevated, indicating infection. My blood pressure was better 130/80-ish. But something was screwing with my body's ability to metabolize glucose. No other changes were made other than to keep exercising.

I was laid off in September of 2008 and no insurance. I would not go back in to see my doctor until I had found gainful employment. I was hired at the Tri-City Herald in November, benefits effective January 1, 2009. I planned on going back to see him again ASAP after that date.

In February, I started feeling incredibly thirsty. I was drinking copious amounts of water. I couldn't get enough of it. I noticed I was losing weight rapidly, no matter what I ate. I would lose sometimes up to 4 pounds a day. I figured it had to do with walking 2-3 miles a day and eating better. I was up all might, every hour, going to the bathroom. I would have to go ALL THE TIME. My vision started getting blurry. My wife told me I probably needed to go see the doc. So I did. My glucose was at 365. My A1C test (measures blood glucose over a 3 month period) was at 15% (384). Normal is 7% or less. My liver enzymes were again elevated to an ungodly level. This was more serious. Kidneys were slightly damaged due to spilling the excess glucose through my urinary tract. Vision was bad due to the body's fight to flush the excess glucose from the capillaries in my eyes. I was getting a little nervous.

The gall stone they found had been growing since 1994. Every time I had pain, the stone had traveled from the gall bladder down to the bile duct. When the pain was gone, it had floated from the bile duct back to the gall bladder. Every time it traveled, it got bigger. Finally, it occluded my bile duct completely, causing the bilirubin to accumulate and turn me yellow. That was when the story that most of you have read, began.

I didn't have a whole lot of symptoms until they found the stone, other than the diabetes. My liver, not able to function properly, was producing glucose 24/7. The food I ate was creating more glucose. My pancreas could not excrete insulin fast enough. Part of me thinks that the liver has not been functioning properly for years. Maybe this will go away with time. I am prepared for it not to, however. To me, the diabetes and jaundice were a blessing in disguise. They found other things in there, mainly the spot on my spleen and the swollen lymph nodes. I pray, as you all do, that this is something that can be treated. A lot of things can be treated these days. I am more impressed with medicine now that I was 15 years ago. I now know how important it is to simply get checked out, at least annually if nothing odd appears on the blood tests. SEE YOU DOCTOR! It is easier to do than I have ever made it out to myself. I always thought they simply want to make a buck like anyone else and will diagnose you with Scarlet Fever so they can prescribe something. Not true. I cannot stress it enough. Especially if you have insurance. $20 and you know, at least know that nothing is wrong.

One of these days, the humor in my posts will return. I promise you that. I can talk about hospital gowns someday. Those are as flattering as Speedo.

God is Good

When I turned 36, I figured that it would be just like any other birthday. After a certain age, parties and celebrations about aging seem to fall by the way side similar to libido and yard work. This year, I got a great gift. Quite colorful and unique.

I got jaundice.

Jaundice as a baby makes sense. It takes some time for the organs to realize that it is time to function on their own without the help of the womb. Jaundice as an adult is a tad different. At first, it was kind of interesting to have people stare at you for no apparent reason. I didn't know I was as yellow as I was since my vision was skewed. Right....I forgot to tell you that I also got another gift this birthday.

I got diabetes.

So, unlike birthdays past, I got a gift I will have forever. Like a diamond and about as expensive in monthly installments for medication and glucose testing supplies. However, jaundice plus diabetes in an adult has a number of diagnoses. Google DIABETES and JAUNDICE and you will get to read about pancreatic cancer. All of my symptoms were there. If nothing else, this eternal gift of diabetes was kind of nice since my body could not burn sugar, it had to burn fat for energy. Hell, I had plenty of that. I lost 60 pounds in about 3 months. However, so do cancer patients. I was a little worried. So, on to my next two gifts this year.

I got an ultrasound and a CT scan with iodine contrast.

Two masses were spotted. One on my pancreas and one on my spleen. Shit. The Internet could be right for once. So I was referred to a specialist, a gastroenterologist named Dr. Vong. That is short for his full LAST name that contained more consonants than vowels. He reviewed all of my tests; blood work, CT and ultrasound and decided that I needed to be scoped. This is a rather non-invasive procedure. I assume that it was non-invasive for two reasons. One, he told me so and second, I was zonked through the procedure and unaware I had 24 inches of camera-tipped cord down my throat. After the procedure, he told me I had an Easter egg sized stone in my bile duct that had been there for years. He was going to remove it the next day that same way he found it, by shoving a cord down my throat. I asked him if I could keep it like Tom Hank's kept Wilson in 'Cast Away.' No dice.

Here is the part that baffles me. The stone is removed, my liver returns from strike. I have a stint keeping my bile duct open since there may be more stones up there. I get pink skin again. I stop excreting orange crush through my urine (excess bilirubin) and find out I need to have my gall bladder out. The doctor who was going to do it came by to see me the morning after my surgery. He told me straight out that the mass on my spleen is still an issue, as are the swollen lymph nodes that surround my liver and even though I have solved one problem, I may have lymphoma. He won't know until they get in there and do a biopsy. This will happen next week.

So I may get a new hair-do for my next present. I may have even more weight loss and some nausea. The part that baffles me is I am not afraid of it. I am not afraid of any of it. It is out of my hands. There is nothing I can do to stop what may come. All I can do is make the most out of what I am doing TODAY. I deal with my diabetes daily. I monitor, eat, monitor, study, monitor, eat, drink, medicate, repeat. That part is kind of nice since I am now involved in my own prognosis. Out of everything that has happened I got the best gift of all.

Awareness.

Amen Brother.