Nothing

So, I have absolutely nothing today. Nothing, nada, rien, nil, null, void, zero, zip, zilch, aught, the big ole goose egg, scratch, but not Old Scratch, that is a colonial colloquialism for the Devil. I do not have the Devil. I do not have the Devil at all. That would imply that I have something, when, truly, I have nothing. The Devil being something and all.

The funny thing is that you can say all you want about nothing and be correct. All the elephants in this room are wearing blue hats. Since there are no elephants in this room, this is a correct statement. Logic is odd this way. It is a bit illogical for it to work this way, but it does make sense in the long run. It is much like multiplying by 0. If you have no sets of 5 you still have nothing, and that is what I have at the moment. Nothing.

There are no anecdotes about Little Man today. There are no rants today. I have nothing. Not a thing. Not a damn thing. I have some apathy, but is that really something that you can have? I mean really, can one truly own apathy? Doesn’t ownership take effort? And effort is against the whole point of apathy. Can apathy have a point? I would imagine that apathy is dull and pointless. Maybe I will be more useful tomorrow, but I doubt it.

Anyway…

To recap:
Nothing
Elephants in this room tend to be hatted
An infinite collection of nothing is still nothing
And no sets of infinity is still nothing as well.
Apathy is defined by, “Oh fuck it, I don’t care.”

Do Yellow and Red Fanta make Orange?

Turns out Little Man loves Fanta Orange. He gets that from me. Honestly, my choice in carbonated beverages does make me and some others question some of my caucazoidal roots. I love me some Funyuns and fruit flavored sodas, and these loves are aspects not quite in tune with the whole white “culture” (and I use the term “culture” loosely) thing. . If I liked chicken on the bone I might start questioning my family more about their ethnic roots. Heck there are family rumors that hint at my Grandfather being biracial anyway. He was adopted, so no one really knows, and my eating and drinking patterns seem to indicate something a bit more soulful than solely European ancestry…

Case in point: Saturday night, whilst at dinner I had Orange Slice as my beverage of choice. Later that evening a Grape Crush whilst playing on the computer. I will be eating some Funyuns in about 30 minutes. Damn you snack machine! Damn you to Hell!!!!

Case 2 in point: When I was working at the local NordicTrack store at the Riverchase Galleria near Birmingham, Alabama I had the unfortunate occurrence to total my second vehicle in as many years. It was not a great summer for me. Firstly, I was not in Ohio with my lovely girlfriend (now wife). Secondly, I was peddling exercise equipment to rednecks. Thirdly, and finally, I totaled my car at the mall entrance on the way to work.

Back to the topic at hand… at one of the entrances to the Riverchase Galleria near Birmingham, Alabama there was a tree that had gobbled up 6 cars that year: my car being one of them. I hydroplaned going around a curve at less than 20 miles per hour and hit a tree just perfectly enough to shift the engine mounts about an inch. The interesting thing during this event is that I had just purchased a 32oz fountain beverage from a convenience mart. “What was in that 32oz refillable drink cup?” you ask. Well, intrepid reader, it was Minute Maid Orange Soda. Much like Eddie Griffin’s Character in Undercover Brother when he is doing his parallel parking job, I did not spill a drop. Unlike Undercover Brother, I totaled my car.

While I do like me some orange sodas, I am not the connoisseur of the orange sodas like I am of the grape. I clearly like grape soda more than orange. Little Man, however, does not hold the same opinion. He went bat-shit crazy for a can of Fanta Orange yesterday. He drank a whole can of the stuff in less than 10 minutes and wanted more. He was clutching the can in his 2 little hands like we had been purposefully keeping him away from this godlike nectar. He would take a long pull from this can, look at me with an orange half-moon staining his upper lip, and smile at me like he finally found something in this world to love. It was a bit disturbing. Then he would burp like he was a 65 year old man drunk on Pabst. I had to get Little Man to let go of the Fanta can so I could take his jacket off, it was not a pretty spectacle. He calmed down when he was able to cradle it lovingly in his arms again.


To Recap:
Everyone is Casa De La SRH is doing much better now.
Thanks for asking
I think Little Man feels we have been holding out on him
Fanta Orange, who would have thought?
Won’t touch the Grape Crush though
Tacos for dinner tonight

The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out...

Nothing says “Great Custodial Staff and Hygenic Co-Workers” like worms in the urinals. Yep, worms in the urinals. You read that correctly… worms in the urinals.

Now, worms in the bathroom illuminates 2 problems.

Problem Number 1: Our custodial staff is not really giving it their “A” game. I understand this to a point. I barely clean up my own messes (love ya Wifey!), so I would be hard pressed to make the effort to clean up someone else’s mess. Keeping that in mind I offer the following logical proof:

1. Most cleaning solutions have very detrimental effects upon living organisms, they are chlorine based and kill everything.
2. I know that there are milder cleaners out there that are much more bio friendly, but the really bio-friendly stuff is not cheap, and my company is.

Through the application of 1 & 2 one can safely assume that our custodial staff uses the cheap and deadly stuff. Through the knowledge of the existence of worms in the urinals, we can safely surmise that the custodial staff is not using said cheap deadly stuff effectively.

Q.E.D. our custodial staff sucks

Problem Number 2: What kind of freaky ailments/infestations do my coworkers have that allows there to be worms in the urinals?

I mean, wow! Yuck! Ewwww!

I am soooo washing my hands like I am heading into surgery from now on at this place. Forearms and everthing.

On a side note, Wifey has not been able to conquer her illness as of late since it is actually a kind of bronchial infection. She is now on a Z-pack and should be feeling much better by tomorrow. Little Man seems to be doing better, and we are hoping that he also does not/has not developed a new infection as well.

To Recap:
Tron and DePeche Mode make a great team
Worms in the urinals… ‘nuff said
Clearly, I work in a filthy filthy dung heap
Wifey should be on the mend soon
I am exhausted
My ears feel like they will ‘xplode

How's it going?

I have been Marked for Death. No, Steven Seagal is not going to invert my elbow and beat me with my own arm. It seems that the illness rampant in my happy house has decided that I am its next tasty target. I am the next to be laid low with my family illness, and it looks like I will be the latest to fall at my work to the unseen pathogens that seem to cause co-workers to go missing for a few days at a time. It is my time, and I shall bear this burden of ailment with the quiet dignity you have all come to expect from me. Sadly, I have no dignity, but, alas and alack, I also lack the energy to complain sufficiently for the suffering I am going through.

Last night I accidentally infuriated Little Man. Last night I asked the wonder child “How’s it going?” He did not understand the question, but he did understand the word “going.” This understanding of that particular word led to the monumental misunderstanding of my question.

He brought me his shoes. His shoes are sneakers purchased from Target. They have Elmo and Cookie Monster on them and 3 lights on the heel that light up when he steps down on the shoe. They are velcro shoes, and his favorites shoes for the moment. I said, “I’m sorry, big guy. I didn’t mean that we were ‘going’ anywhere.” His lip started trembling at the word “sorry.” I just crushed him. He was absolutely devastated. The night only degraded from that. He and I were just missing each other. I didn’t understand things he was saying. He didn’t understand things I wanted him to do. Check that, he either didn’t understand or didn’t want to at that point. Boy howdy! was he pissed at me for the rest of the night. He acted as if I had punched him in the gut.

I felt horrible for a good bit of last night. I, as a parent, really do not want to mislead my wonderful little boy. I do not seek out fights to have with him. Enough fights will come about just because both he and I are rather willful. Battles fought over misunderstood vocabulary are unavoidably tragic, but last night I felt like I set my kid up and then yanked the rug out from under him. This is just one aspect of parenting that they (who are “they” really?) never prepare you for. I know I am doing my best as a parent, and that these kinds of instances are un-avoidable. It just sucks when they do happen.

This morning I seemed to be forgiven. I was the only one who was allowed to give him his “nill towch” or vanilla sugar toast. This is his breakfast delicacy of choice at the moment. It is Great Harvest’s Old Fashioned White Bread toasted to a nice golden color, “buttered” with Penzey’s Spices Vanilla Sugar sprinkled on for a flavor. Oddly most of his words end with a “ch” sound or a hard “k” sound. Not sure what all that is about. I realized I was forgiven when he patted the seat next to him on the sofa and said in his clear yet oddly deep child voice “chair.” Now, when I say “oddly deep” I do not mean that he sounds like James Earl Jones in Conan the Barbarian, I mean his voice is deep for a kid of 2.5 years of age. Although, I could picture him saying, “Contemplate this on the Tree of Woe.” He is a sweet kid, even if one day he will crucify Conan on a dead tree.

To Recap
Not well, oh not well at all
So, How’s it going, everyone?
I figured I could ask you folks
Little Man enjoys his Target shoes, but the expensive shoes we got him seem to be made of lava and broken glass
FYI: “They” apparently are my mother and her mom – both of whom will give their opinion to anyone who will attempt to make eye contact with them
Beef Macaroni Skillet for supper
God, am I tired
Hey, Nadolny, where’s the love?

No Time to post

Somebody just exploded in the bathroom. I mean it. This person sat down and just blew up. I swear to you, there is probably nothing left of this man except an upper torso, arms, and lower legs (I am sure his head melted due to the fumes). I am just glad that I was finishing up the whole hand washing thing when that man unleashed Hell. I think it is the same person who I mentioned being made of stink. He really should have that checked out, if he, ideed, has any colon left.

Anyway… Wifey is sick, sick, sick, and not in the puppies/hibachi grill way either. She is ill; Shaky-feverish-delusional ill. Little Man seems to be doing better, so we at least got that going for us. On top of all the illness that is rampant in the house, we just had a client (yesterday) inform us that their meeting has been moved from this Friday to tomorrow morning. It has been nuts here today taking care of this debacle. Our meeting with them was moved from Thursday to this afternoon at 3, so I gots to go. I will post much more, and happier stuff tomorrow. I am sure of it.

To recap:
Damn, that bathroom needs ventilation
Damn, Damn, that poor man blowing up like that in there
I swear Wifey is near hallucinating
Stupid work, getting in the way of my blogging

Ah, the promise of a new week

Ah, the promise of a new week. Sure the week started yesterday with Little Man still working his way through an ear infection and a cold. See, the problem with the current weather in Central Ohio is that there is no consistency to it, and these daily 20 to 30 degree temperature swings seem to exacerbate his asthmatic crap. Did I mention that he has an ear infection as well? All illnesses, however seemingly benign, tend to cause an asthmatic reaction. He gets a mild fever, we are immediately giving breathing treatment so we can prevent Little Man going on Orapred. Being the parent of a kid with a bad case of the asthma is not an easy thing. Now, being the parent of 2 kids with asthma and a newborn that is most likely asthmatic, but not yet diagnosable, that would be my Hell (especially if Muzak were somehow involved.) Hats off to you Angry Asthma Mama. Sweet mother of God, I do not want that.

Anyway… My legs are really sore from my 30 minutes on the elliptical on Saturday. I really pushed myself since the place was insanely busy, and most of the machines were tied up with long lines of waiting people with receptionists and appointment books. I think the Lat pull-down machine could have fit me in later that afternoon, if someone called in sick. I hope I am able to get myself into a good routine so I will continue to go there after most of the resolutioners drop off. It was a packed house.

One thing I found out about myself though was that I think that aerobics instructors should all be insanely fit looking. Whilst dripping sweat from the elliptical machine I happened to peer into the aerobics “salon” and noticed that the instructor looked like he was carrying a little weight in his midsection. Now, he had thighs the size of tree trunks and was moving like a chipmunk on crack. Honestly, the man did not stop, and it was apparent by the state of distress of most of the aerobicizers (aerobicisers) that he had been going non stop at a heart-bursting pace for the full class time, but he was still carrying weight. Clearly he was fit. Clearly he was working the hell out of the people in the class with him. I still found myself wondering if I would only half ass it in his class since this work out was clearly not making him super svelte. Luckily for all involved’s safety, I will not be taking part in any aerobics. I lack a certain amount of coordination to take part in aerobics, step aerobics, tae-bo, line dancing, the Macarena etc…

Anyway… Wifey is starting to get sick as well. Man, I am just a whiney little bastard today, must be the headache. Her illness seems to be the cold that Little Man has. Clearly she is the favored (favoured for my Canadian readers, happy voting day, eh! And my British readers) parent at the moment. He is just sharing everything with her. I do not mind, my turn in the hot seat will come soon enough. Now, we seem to rotate in favor (favour) every few months. She just got saddled with sick inducing January. My time will come, oh yes, my time will come.

To recap:
Ah, the promise of a new week…
1 asthmatic kid is enough, thank you very much
My hips and my calves are killing me
Knees are doing great
I know the instructor could run me into the dirt, but he was still a bit paunchy
Not to say I am not paunchy, but I do not teach an aerobics class, nor think I should
When all your kid says in response to questions is “No,” you must phrase your questions carefully
For example:
Wifey: I love you Little Man
Little Man: I love you
Wifey: Really? You really love me?
Little Man: No

I have dirty, dirty desk

Sweet Mother of God, I thought it was Friday when I woke up this morning. There were a couple of things that flashed through my head. Number 1: Crap, tomorrow is not Saturday. Number 2: Crap crap, I have to come up with a topic for today’s blog. This blogging is starting to seem like work. Number 3: My Thursday project of cleaning off my desk is still unfinished and I need to get that done today.

If it were Friday; tomorrow would be Saturday, I would not need to make up a topic, and my desk would be clean.

Alas and alack it is indeed Thursday. And my desk really is a sty. It is not a stye. That would mean my desk was inflaming or infecting my eye. My eye isn’t even inflamed, and if it were, I do not think it would be my desk’s fault, especially with all the crap I stick in my eye. All in all it is a good desk. Not really a desk of infectious origins. It is a simple cubicle desk. It really is nothing special, and definitely not a desk of eye infection germination. (man, I am grabbing at straws here, today’s topic seems to be about a desk. How lame. Eh, it is something to talk about though.)

I really do not think I was emotionally prepared for today not to be Friday. I mean, for God’s sake, I have been rambling on about my desk for good paragraph here. Well, not a good paragraph like they teach you in 8th grade English class. Those have a thesis statement, 3 supporting statements and a conclusion sentence. Ah, the perfect 5 sentence paragraph. It has been a long time since I have been forced to turn in the good old 5 sentence paragraph.

Pine martens are not nice creatures. These denizens of the forest are predators. They hunt and kill for pleasure as well as survival. One of them lives in my head and causes me great amounts of pain in the cranial region. I do not like pine martens.



Man I am rambling… mainly to keep from cleaning my desk off. A cluttered desk signifies that I have work that needs done. If I have work that needs done, I clearly need to stay gainfully employed. The powers that be have been curious about all the typing I do though… Too bad I cannot actually touch type. I hunt peck and curse for my typing style. I am envious of people who can type, and more envious of those that have something good to type. I am just blathering, and slowly by typists standards.

To recap:
Thursday… not Friday
Less people would do this if it were called blooging
My desk is not dirty, and has not infected my eye with its mess
I work in a cubicle
Spelling is not my fort
God, that last one kills me
I use 2 fingers and the thumb of my right hand, and only 2 fingers of my left hand to type
It is surprisingly efficient for not being fast, well at least I am noisy at typing
Man, my head is killing me

Vertigoddess, thy name is Wifey

Today we have a guest blog appearance from, none other than, Wifey.

So without further ado, Wifey speaks:

I just wanted to take over SRH’s blog today so that I could send a personal thank you out to the folks who sent good wishes for my vertigo-induced madness last week. I was not able to look much at a computer screen without having waves of nausea and general headachiness until yesterday, but it was pretty cool to see all the warm thoughts. Of course, I know that some of the well-wishes were given simply with the knowledge that I keep my crazy husband off the streets at night, and so in wishing me health you were really wishing yourselves health. I’m okay with that.

But what I am not okay with is the description of vertigo that SRH linked to when discussing my “condition”. Here it is:

“Benign paroxysmal positional vertigo is an inner ear problem that causes a spinning or whirling sensation when you move your head (emphasis mine). That sensation is called vertigo. This vertigo usually lasts for less than a minute. It may be mild, or it may be bad enough to cause nausea.”

Okey dokey, my problem with this description is the combination of the words it occurs when you move your head and usually lasts for less than a minute. I think that this description is asinine. I would like to challenge you to NOT move your head before a minute is over. In the case of vertigo, moving your head includes breathing or blinking because both of those send the room spinning.

So when it says, occurs when you move your head and lasts for less than a minute – it should say “You know when you lay down after getting really drunk and the room spins? Yeah, that’s how it feels. Constantly. Without ceasing. Without any of the pleasure that usually accompanies drinking. It’s just a fucking room spinning, vomit party at your house when vertigo comes to visit.” That would be a more appropriate description.

Thank you for the forum. I wish you all a vertigo-free existence.

SRH again, I feel a bit remiss about not posting better information about this whole BPPV thing. I grabbed the tried and true WebMD page, made sure it did not say “fatal condition” and linked it. I should have done just a bit more research to get a better description of the severity of my wife’s illness. I am a thoughtless oaf.

To recap:
BPPV is like the after effects of going on a bender, without wondering who you called at 4 am or where your pants are
Wifey has more of a constitution than you might think
Even though she was nauseated beyond belief, she kept the stomach from expelling its contents
I am a quick linking, thoughtless oaf
Snow today high in the low 30’s (.5556 ° C-ish, 273.7056 K-ish)
High in the 50’s tomorrow ( 11.667 ° C-ish, 284.8167 K-ish)
My head is hurting and my sinuses are killing me
She really is a goddess
Maybe not the goddess of vertigo, but one none-the-less

20 Questions, all over the place

I have little time today to create a post of my own, so it is 20 question time again. Thank you to all who contributed to this list of questions. If I did not use one of your questions, please feel free to be offended. They were questions for a blog, get over yourself.

1. Eskimos have been living in ice houses called igloos for a LONG time.This is what they do. Why do people think it is so spectacular that magician David Blaine lived in a block of ice for a week. Is this really 'magic'? What happened to pulling vermin out of a hat and sawing ho's in half? Is magic as we know it dead?

To the first part of Question 1: People like David Blaine because he is soft spoken and has smooth baby soft skin

To the second part of Question 1: There was an ancient Babylonian prophecy surrounding the followers of Marduk that stated, “As goes Dug Hennig, so dies the magic of the world.” So, I can only assume that Magic is dead since Doug Henning is no more. That and the magician who showed how to do all the tricks on Fox.

Why can’t prophets spell things correctly?

2. If money was no object, do you prefer Kraft Mac’n’Cheese, or Velveeta Shells’n’Cheese?

Even with money being an object, Kraft all the way. Velveeta Shells’n’Cheese has a bad aftertaste.

3. Who, in their right mind, doesn't want to be known as a "dingle dorkus"?

Robert Dingleton Dorkustein III, that’s who.

4. Why would anyone give their bologna a first name? Let alone a last name?

People have an odd fascination with anthropomorphizing their food and then eating it. I think it harkens back to our hunter gatherer days in the Stone Age. We gave animal totems god-like qualities and then ate them. It all has to do with power over what you are consuming. By eating this bologna, I, in some ways gain power over some man named Oscar Meyer.

5. If geeks traveled in large groups, what would they be called? a gaggle? a pack? a horde??? And would the same word be used to describe a large group of nerds? You can buy large quantities of nerds...they taste good! I don't think you can say the same thing for geeks, or can you???

I think it depends on what geeks to which you are referring. In general, for alliteration purposes, it should be a “Gaggle of Geeks.” Most times when there is, indeed a large group of geeks, it is called a “Gaming/Comic Book/Computer Convention of Geeks.” So, aside from the alliteration reasons for “gaggle,” it should be a “Convention.” Unless it is 40 computer geeks, then it is a “Raid of Geeks.”

A large group of nerds is considered a “Murder of Nerds.”

If Willy Wonka made geeks they would taste great, but alas… Oddly, this is not the first time I have been asked this.

6. Why is blue a rare color in nature? I'm not talking about the "blue" one gets with light refraction through air/water.

It is not so rare, naked Scotsmen are pale blue, and there are a bunch of those fuckers.

7. What is the most annoying sound in the Universe?

Wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww- rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr- aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa- cccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccccc- kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk- ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo- wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!!!!!!

8. If history repeats itself, does that mean that time is circular? Everyday is repeated but on an infinite number of time planes? Is every Jan 17th being repeated as we speak?

Funny you should ask. No one has really demonstrated conclusively that time is in fact continually propogating from one point onto infinity in the opposite direction. It could very well be that much like height, width, and length (the 3 dimensions that we are most comfortable with) time could, in fact, double in on itself to create loops and other complex geometric “shapes.” Much like height, width, and length seem to vary, I think time does as well. It would explain why dejá vues occur as well as why some days seem to fly by, and some days seem to drag on and on and on. So while I think time is not necessarily linear, I also do not think that "every Jan 17th" is "being repeated as we speak," so to say.

9. If you started a single elimination - to the death - tournament, consisting of all land mammals, who would win and why? I know lions are the king of the jungle but could they really take out a grizzly bear? My money would be on the wolverine. small but deadly.

While the wolverine is a good choice (“The only one that kills for pleasure!”), my bet is on Chuck Norris. To steal a phrase: Chuck Norris doesn’t sleep… he waits.

10. Why does asparagus make your pee smell funny? and can't they use technology to make it smell like roses?

I don’t eat asparagus, I have no knowledge of what you speak. I would imagine that asparagus, in this sense, is much like BASF. It doesn’t make you pee stink, it makes your pee stink more.

11. Would you rather have a magic food machine by your desk or a manservant to fetch whatever you wanted?

Manservant, most definitely. I would name him Wentworth. “Wentworth, my soup is cold.” Yeah, a manservant named Wentworth.

12. Favorite Cake?

Motorcade of Generosity, followed closely by Fashion Nugget

13. Telekinesis or ESP?

Telekinesis Baby! I would love to shoot mind bullets!

14. What's your favourite celestial body, not counting our sun or moon?

Sirius, the Dog Star. It is the Dog Star, ‘nuff said
--edit-- This just in, I have been instructed to say "Wifey."--edit--

15. Let's assume for a moment that you're off this silly kick of not ingesting caffeine. If Mountain Dew was no longer available anywhere on the planet, what would be your substitute?

Umm, next question please, next question!!!

16. Who cut your hair? Why did you get it cut that way?

Jay cut my hair, and he is surprisingly heterosexual, go figure. I got it cut this way because I was tired of it being longer.

17. Is there a philosophical reason why the weather in Central Ohio sucks?

Philisophically, no. Meteorologically and geomorphalogically, yes.

18. Someone has arranged for you to marry one of two people who are soon to undergo a gender-transformation procedure: Arnold Schwarzenegger and Rudolf Giuliani. You live in a state where polygamy is legally permitted. In fact, it is encouraged. You have no choice but to marry either, or both; otherwise, you will be put to death by the cumulative effects of wasp stings administered at pseudo-random intervals for the next twelve years. Whom do you choose?

Giuliani, for sure, he will die sooner. As God as my witness, he will die sooner!

19. Are you gonna have more kids or what??

Whilst Little Man is quite the cute and loveable child, Wifey and I have a loaded genetic gun that gives us great amounts of trepidity. See, Wifey contributes asthma, and I contribute food allergies. More kids for us? Definitely not at the moment.

20. Favorite piece of playground equipment?

Swings

To Recap:
Busy, busy, busy today
Thanks for all the questions
I have renderings to do
Cheers
Feel free to answer these questions on your own, or ask me some

Habitual Whimsy

Going with the theme from Thursday…

So, it is lunch time yet again. This seems to happen every day. Go figure. Anyway, today I am having what coworkers have (affectionately, I suppose) named “Cracka Stew.” “What is ‘Cracka Stew?’” you may ask. Well, dear reader, this is a midday delicacy that consists of 1 can of Campbell’s Chunky soup and a whole sleeve of Ritz crackers. Healthy? Umm… No. Tasty? Yup. Filling? Eh, kinda. I will be hungry in about 2 hours. Already I am thinking about what wonders the snack machine has in store for me. But c’est la vie.

The big problem with an exercise regime is the whole regimen thing. Getting into the swing of actually getting into a habit of exercising is a bitch. Unlike bad habits, good habits are very difficult to form, but insanely easy to drop. Prior to the birth of my first child (God, I sound like an aspirin commercial from the early 90’s) I was going to the gym regularly. In his first 3 months of life, I was going to the gym regularly. Even though I was amazingly sleep deprived, I still made it to the gym 3 days a week. I was feeling pretty good about myself. I was in much better shape than I am now. I needed less sleep (which was good since I was getting none). My outlook was generally sunny and warm. I was getting up at 5 am to work out, and then head into work. Every other day I was going to the gym during the week. It was a good system, and I had been doing it solid for about 6 months.

I do not remember the date, but I do remember the day. It was a Thursday. It was a chilly Thursday morning in November of aught 3. I got up and went to the gym at 5 am, just like I always did. I pulled into the gym’s parking lot like I always did. Put all my valuables in the center console of my car, like I always did. I took off my jacket, like I always did. Then I reached for my gym bag like I always did, except I had left it at my home a mere 10 minutes away. I put my jacket back on. I put my valuables in my pockets. I drove back home. I got in bed. I went back to sleep. I got up late. I got to work late. I charged PTO for that time. Most importantly, I did not go back to the gym (except to cancel my membership) until December 27th 2005. How’s that for dropping a good habit? I got mad skilz!

Anyway… Wifey is doing much better. She is actually able to function for a complete day before her head tries to explode. I have to say that is an improvement.

To recap:
So I didn’t go to the gym today, that doesn’t mean I am not going ever go again…
Yep, I am already getting hungry again (it has been 1 ½ hours, I am a slow typist)
God, I hate the weather here, it is playing havoc with my sinuses again
These 20 degree swings are tiresome
It is getting time for a 20 questions blog
Send ‘em if you got ‘em
Nothing says you are old and married like stretching before getting into bed so you can sleep better

Hungry

I love going out to lunch. It is true, I do love me some crappy greasy food for lunch. My biggest requirement for lunch is that the food must be warm. I do not, nor have I ever really liked cold meat sammiches. Hell, I even toast peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. It has got to be at least warm. I am not sure where this requirement comes from, but it is definitely a requirement.

The issue with going to lunch everyday is that this is a rather expensive habit. It is a habit that I can no longer afford. Today I had two ham, Swiss, and bacon sammiches and some chips (crisps for you across the pond blokes). While the lunch was satisfying when it was being consumed, just as I feared, I am hungry again… already. Does this mean that there is something wrong with me?** Does my belly just not work like other people’s stomachs?*** I need something that has been heated up enough to have melted some cheese on to it. This something does not necessarily have to have cheese on or in in, it just needs to have been heated up enough to have melted cheese. Ham, Swiss, and bacon sandwiches are not warm enough to melt cheese.

So now, you, dear reader, may ask, “Why not get something microwaveable?” A good question, dear reader, a good question indeed. There are very few frozen “entrees” that I really like, and most of these come in portion sizes that would leave a 3rd grader wanting more, and they cost at least $3. So if I double up on the frozen entrée to make a meal out of it, which is $6 and I could have gone to Arby’s for that amount and gotten a Chocolate mmmm Chocolate Peanut mmmmmm Chocolate Peanut Butter mmmmmmmmmm Chocolate Peanut Butter Cup Shake for dessert.

Now, I know most of you are thinking that the portion size is just fine, what is this guy complaining about. I am an eater. It is one of the few things that I do really well. I eat a whole bunch and I do it quickly. Sure there are doctors and other medical professionals who advocate not eating so much and eating slowly, but it is who I am and it is what I do. Can you ask a bee to stopi bee-ing? Or a bear to stop being a bear? I think, not.

“Leftovers?” I knew the whole leftovers argument was coming, and honestly I do not have a good argument against leftovers except for my deep seated hatred for the things. This hatred is a pure white hot hatred that goes back to a childhood of not enough food for my raw, untrained natural eatin’ abilities. I gained 35 pounds in my first ½ semester of school at the auspicious Kent State University (Kent Read, Kent Write, Kent State!) Why did I gain the weight? Well it was a combination of things. Number 1: I finally had enough to eat at mealtime and Number 2: I stopped running approximately 5 miles a day.

As to Number 1: my mother and father eat like little tiny birds. Which is odd since they have no other bird like qualities, unless birds are really good at the denial of reality

As to Number 2: I stopped playing soccer

True, true this doesn’t nearly explain why I dislike leftovers so much, but it is all I have to go on. I know my dislike of leftovers is irrational, so shut up and leave me alone, okay.

What I am trying to get at is that I am still hungry.

To recap
Me = hungry
From Wifey in email: I agree – meat + warmth = a meal. Take either of the equation away, it’s not so much a meal.
There is a reason we are married
Can you ask a bear not to be bearish?
Maybe some Funyuns will help
There ain’t nothing but good in Funyuns
Odd that they are made of nothing good for you
Wifey is doing much better today


** rhetorical question, please do not answer
*** again, another rhetorical question, please do not answer, I already know these answers, but the answers would shame me to be seen in a public forum

More Human

Wifey is doing much better, but reading is quite the chore for her still. It seems that focusing her eyes for concentration inducing tasks really wears her out at the moment. Time will make this vertigo go away.

I feel much more human today. I got about 10 hours of sleep last night so I am no longer coming apart at the seams. So at least I have that going for me. Unfortunately, with all of Little Man’s illness, the caregivers weird scheduling, and Wifey’s illness going on I have a mountain of work that needs to be done. Stupid work, getting in the way of the other stuff.

I am really tapped out at the moment. I promise that I will write something pithy and wonderful tomorrow. At least wonderful to me.

To recap
My bologna has a first name
Wifey is doing better
Little Man is doing fine
I am still tired, just not as tired
Meatballs for dinner
It is waaaay too hot for this to be mid-January
I need to clean off my desk, it is quite the mess
More to come tomorrow

Vertigoing, Going, Vertigone!

So last night was a night that was destined to be near sleepless. I know, I know, you are all thinking that Little Man had another bad night that kept Wifey and I up all hours of the night soothing the little miscreant so he could rest as much as possible whilst we suffered the pain that is parenting. Maybe you are thinking it was another trip to the ER for an asthmatic attack of colossal proportions. Nope. Little Man actually went to sleep pretty quickly and with only using a small amount of his sleep fighting powers.

Last night was a bizarre night to say the least. Wifey got Little Man to sleep rather quickly, and then almost fell down the stairs because she was suddenly dizzy. The dizziness didn’t go away, in fact it continued straight from a little off-center to full blown room spinning within about 30 minutes. The whole room spinning thing caused her to become nauseated (not “nauseous,” that is when you make other people want to vomit: a little pet peeve of mine). Wifey’s mom came over so that we could head off to the ER for this world spinning event.

On to the ER we went. Hey, OSU Hospitals, would it kill you to make some larger signs showing where the ER and ER parking are located? Just curious. This was quite possibly the worst trip to the ER I have ever had the pleasure of enduring. For those of you who have not been to the ER on a Monday evening in a while, let me tell you something, “The Emergency Room, or the ER, as it is more commonly known, is a magnet for the mentally unstable and decidedly whiny.”

In the 2.5 hour wait that I (I say “I” because Wifey was completely out of it, just focusing on not falling off my lap) had to deal with being stuck in the waiting room I had ample time for some people watching. Of the 15 people I could see easily, I would say 8 of them were close to being non-functional in society due to mental illness. Of those 8, 3 of them could not close their GODDAMN MOUTHS!!!! Sweet Lord Almighty, close your damn mouth. You in the green, okay, if you are able to carry on a conversation, your pain is not a 10 out of 10. I quote: “I told them my pain was a 10, and it has even gotten worse now.” IF IT HAS GOTTEN WORSE, THEN IT WAS NOT A 10. If a nurse asks you, “How you would rate your level of pain on a scale of 1 to 10, 10 being the highest?” and your answer is not to whimper, cry, moan, writhe on the floor, or string together a bunch of un-intelligible sounds that mean, “OH GOD! I HURT!” then it is not a 10, so shut the hell up and stop moving closer to me. Bunch of knuckle dragging troglodytes, the lot of you! Close you mouth and stop scratching your belly. Stop leering at my wife, Grizzly, don’t make me beat you to death with your own arm!

Oh, GOD! I was in Hell!

Those were merely the people involved. We also had to contend with the waiting room TV blaring at an extremely unnecessarily loud volume “You Only Live Twice” Bond flick. When the volume is all the way up Connery’s voice ain’t so sexy. Just an FYI there.

Anyway… we finally made it back to one of the ER beds. Wifey fell asleep again to leave me with Comedy Central’s offerings at midnight. Turns out that she has some Paroxysmal Positional Vertigo going on right now, and the main issue was that it kind of just compounded on it self last night in a positive feedback loop until it incapacitated her. She would feel dizzy, which would cause her to feel nauseated, which would cause her to feel more dizzy, which would make her feel even more nauseated etc…

We got home at 3:30 in the morning. Little Man woke us up at around 8. I have been off caffeine for about 2 months now, and I want a fully leaded Mountain Dew so bad right now that I am forcing myself not to go near the vending machines downstairs. Additionally, when I get this tired (this is night 4 of less than 5 hours of sleep, it has been about 2 weeks since I have had 8 in a single evening) my already weakened filter that keeps me from saying things I shouldn’t, seems to malfunction.

To Recap
I am tired and sore (stupid exercising)
Did I mention tired
No signing for ER parking make SRH mad!
My pain scale goes up to 11
My filter is gone
Little Man is doing well though
What in the Hell happened to my life?
Wifey's got her the Vertigo

What the Hell is Cornch?

So Little Man is just getting more and more frustrated with me. I clearly do not understand what he is clearly saying. I know that it has something to do with the kitchen. I am not a complete idiot.

“CORNCH!” he demands again. I am clueless as to what “cornch” is. He knows how to say “corn” and has on many occasions, so it cannot be that… Recently he has started naming things on his own, and leaving me (with my flagging, subpar mental faculties) and Wifey (with her amazingly acute superbly attuned cognative capabilities {she figures this crap out more often than not}) to “smurf” out what the hell he is talking about.

For instance, about 3 weeks ago I was driving by a local Borders Books & Music store and Little Man goes absolutely apeshit yelling “A-B! A-B! A-B! A-B! A-B! A-B! A-B!” I am driving through an intersection trying to figure out what the heck “A-B” is. I had no particular place to be and ample time to get there, this has now become a science experiment. I turned the car around at the next parking lot and started down the road in the opposite direction. Again, we get to the intersection and he starts yelling “A-B! A-B! A-B! A-B! A-B! A-B! A-B!” But this time he points to Borders. Aha, he is interested in going to the book store. I am no dummy. No really. Stop laughing. Anyway… A-B is on the… ummm Borders is on the left and I am in the right hand lane, so I have to turn right. Little Man does not like the right turn. He does not like it one bit. He starts crying, sobbing, wailing even “A-B! A-B! A-B! A-B! A-B! A-B! A-B!” and trying to point over his shoulder at Borders. I try to reassure the boy that we are in fact going to go to A-B, err… Borders. I turn around and go through the intersection one more time. This time to delighted cries of “A-B! A-B! A-B! A-B! A-B! A-B! A-B!”

Oddly enough, Wifey and I can only think of 2 times that we have been to Borders with Little Man. Somehow, on his own he has made the connection between the A,B,C’s and books and this particular store he has only been in twice (one time we were still porting his immobile butt around). We get into the store and he makes a bee-line for the Kids book section of which he has been in once. Ever. We asked Wifey’s mom if she had been sneaking him to the bookstore. She hadn’t. We asked Grandma D and Grandpa R if they had been taking him to Borders. They also said “No.” But then they added, “Do you want us too?” In our household, it is now the A-B.

Anyway… We are in the kitchen trying to narrow things down. Is it in the fridge? I open the fridge and let my demanding 2.5 year old at it. He passes over his favorites. He doesn’t want any ketchup. He doesn’t want any pasta. He is even passing on the chili. He never passes on the chili. HE closes the fridge door. Something that I do not believe I have ever seen. What in the Hell is cornch?! And what power do you hold over my child, Cornch! (Yes, I have anthropomorphized it by this point) Why must you vex me so, Cornch?!?

I start asking questions and have to word my questions very carefully since he pretty much only answers with “No” these days.

“Do you want something to drink?”
“NO”
“Do you want something to eat?”
“CORNCH!” He smiles up to me expectantly
“Is it in the fridge?”
“No” He looks at me as if I am a dull witted fool. He is not far off the mark.
“Do I need to cook it for you?”
“Cornch.” I take that as a “yes.”
So I open the freezer to give him choices of things that need preparation. I pick him up soi he can see in the freezer and he moves the Chicken Fingers out of the way so he can get to want he wants. He grabs a bag of frozen corn, and cries triumphantly “CORNCH!”

I guess “Cornch” is not a demon with dominion over my offspring, but the plural for “corn.” It seems Little Man wanted more than a single kernel of corn. He wanted many “corns.”

Still doesn’t explain the whole A-B thing.

To recap:
Cornch is the plural for Corn
This physical exercise crap is for the birds
I am in better shape than I thought
I am, however, going to be very, very sore tomorrow
Spaghetti for dinner tonight
I have meeting this afternoon that I have to go to, that I really don’t need to go to
“A-B! A-B! A-B! A-B! A-B! A-B! A-B!”

The Enemy of My Enemy...

The evening ritual for Little Man is as follows.

1. We do a “breathey” (it is a long "e") or an aerosol Pulmicort/Foradil breathing treatment (this is just maintenance, if he is having some difficulty breathing we add Xopenex and Atravent*) using a nebuliser.

2. We wash his face from all the “breathey” goodness, and most likely ketchup leftover from dinner.

3. We go upstairs so he can find “paci” his pacifier for the rest of the evening rituals

4. We watch Noggin videos on www.noggin.com ‘s Jack’s Big Music Show, while the bath fills up.

5. We give him a bath and scrub him clean… even behind his ears

6. Dry him off in his bedroom and give him his medicine (Zyrtec, and Mylanta: he needs the Zrytec and likes the Mylanta chaser)

7. Let him play for a bit (around 20 minutes) while They Might be Giants’ Bed Bed Bed plays.

8. Change the CD to something softer, read 1 to 3 short stories, and rock his butt to sleep.

(I thought about making it 12 steps, but that was too predictable)

It is around the end of Step 4 that causes him to rebel. He hates his bath. He hates it with a passion rarely seen by humans. He absolutely screams his little head off when we get him into the bath. He reacts to the water as if we are lowering him into a tub full of liquid magma and broken glass. (We always check the water to see if it is too hot or full of shards of broken glass {I know there are some mandated reporters who read this here blogarooney.}) He curls up in on himself as we lower him to the water. Sometimes his ankles are above his head by the time he gets near the water. I would, personally, rather put my legs in first, but (how apropos) he chooses to let other parts of him enter the water first.

He cries for about 5 minutes struggling to get out of the bath. He have to hold him in (not “under” for the mandated reporters out there) the water until he lets us scrub him squeaky clean whilst sobbing. It is enough to make one not want to have a clean child around. But you need a clean child for at least part of the 24 hour cycle. (After his morning oatmeal, he is usually not as clean) So we fianally get this tortuous bath finished and he wants to get out of the bath, because he hates it. Hates it like it burned his “blankey.” (Oddly enough, his “blankey” was given to us by my Brother and his current Sister-in-Law. Go figure.) He hates the bath with the fires of a thousand suns. That, my dear readers, is a “fuckload” of hate, but he doesn’t hate the bath as much as he hates going to bed (a “fuck-ton”). So he hunkers down in the tub and starts to half-heartedly play. As long as he is playing, he thinks we will not snatch him out of the bath for his final bed prep. He is always sorely mistaken, but he is persistent.

He is clearly making the logical leap that the “Enemy of my Enemy is my friend.”

To recap:
Man, that is a bunch of medicine
Wifey and I are tired of the routine; we are tired of having to give him so much medicine
Not-So-Good-Sleep last night
If those are all the steps to the ritual, why does Wifey always make me sacrifice a goat?
And who am I praying to?
I am getting a hair cut today
Cracker Stew for lunch and left-overs for dinner
I lead the life

*there is a really good chance that most, if not all, of the medicine names are not spelled correctly

Home

I am at home today with my lovely little boy. “But it is a Wednesday?” you ask. Well, you are correct. It is indeed a Wednesday. Turns out that the caregivers forgot about something else, so I am at home with my kid on a Wednesday. Life could be much worse. Much worse indeed, I could be working. What this unexpected time at home does do, however, is throw a wrench into my meticulously planned schedule for the week. “Meticulously planned,” I tell you!

I just put Little Man down for his afternoon nap, so I thought that I would attempt to blog a little instead of sleeping with him. For those of you who do not know, napping next to a loved one is really a slice of heaven… especially if that loved one occasionally giggles in his sleep.

Really there is not much to speak of today. I assure you that my banal tales of blather will continue on tomorrow.

To recap:

At home with Little Man
Watching a “Shit-Ton” of Bear in the Big Blue House
Little Man’s words, not mine
A “Shit-Ton” is larger than a “Truckload,” a “Boatload,” or a “Shitload”
But smaller than a “Fuckload”
Metric does really work better in this instance
Millishit-Ton, Decishit-Ton, Shit-Ton, Decashit-Ton, Kiloshit-Ton etc…

I gotta peeeee!

I slept wrong last night. By “wrong” I mean “not much” and “contorted beyond reason.” I am not sure what “contorted beyond reason” means, because it leaves the opening for “contorted within reason,” and I really have no idea what that means. My left arm was bent underneath my chest as I slept on my stomach last night. So, this morning when I moved my protesting elbow, sharp cracks and pops were heard by any within earshot as my bones set themselves aright.

I had the same snapping, popping, crackily issue with my right hand since it was also in an odd position when I woke up. The right hand though had fallen asleep pretty much completely, and my numb deadened fingers had some difficulty with the shower-faucet-knob-hot-cold-turney-thingies. It seems my vocabulary is also suffering today, but that is another ummm… thingy entirely. I swear my fingers were purple when I looked at them. By the time I actually had feeling in my hand again, I was halfway through the shower. That is when the excruciating tingly pain associated with a completely deadened extremity kicked in. Let me tell you, that makes the whole “wash, rinse, repeat” cycle a bit cumbersome.

I must have had my mouth open for the last part of the night as well. There was a significant portion of my pillow that was, how shall we say… “damp with sleep.” My legs somehow escaped unscathed from my wonky sleeping of last night.

On another front, the problem with the whole “drinking more water” resolution that I made public yesterday, is that I think I have the bladder of a first grader. The whole bladder thing combined with the fact that water is kind of bland as far as drink choices go and all. It consumes a good part of the day trying to get all 64 fl oz of water (1.89 L for you metric folks) in my gullet. I swear I only drank 56 fl oz of water (1.66 L for you metric folks out there), but I must have expelled at least 72 fl oz of pee (2.13 L for you metric folks out there). I swear every 30 minutes I was relieving myself of the glass I had just drank. Gotta love a resolution that makes you pee.


To recap:
My elbow is still all crackily
My wrist is still sore
I have clean hair
I hope my pillow is dry by now
I gotta pee again… already
I am sure this is not nearly the last time I will be visiting the men’s room today
In fact, I think I will probably have to go twice more before I publish this thing
Yep, I did
I feel better now though
Except I have to pee again
Stupid resolution
I forgot “Transformers: the Movie” supposedly took place in 2005
I wonder when the new one will take place

Happy New Year?

Oh, the New Year is here. How the Hell did that happen? One minute it is 2005 and then, all of the sudden, it is 2006.

So without further ado my list of New Year’s Resolutions:

1. Drink more water

… and that’s it. Aim low and you might hit your un-lofty goals. I learnt that in Alabama.

So anyway… I actually have a goodly amount of work to get done now. Sure I have had nothing to do for a good 3 weeks, but now, I have tons of stuff that must be finished before Thursday. When it rains it pours.

Speaking of rain… it should be freaking snowing right now! But no! It is raining! I hate cold rain. I would much rather watch fluffy snowflakes slowly drift to the newly carpeted ground instead of a damp dark cold rain. I would much rather have my winter in the appointed months than wait until April for it to be below freezing and snowy. Winter should occur in the winter, damnit! I swear this was like having the holidays in Alabama again. Mid 40’s and rain, Happy New Year!!

Speaking of New Year… Dick Clark looked and sounded horrible. Yes, I know he had a stroke, but iut was still sad to see such an icon of a holiday actually age. Sure he hasn’t aged in 40 years, so it was bound to happen sometime. I mean, really, he was due.

Speaking of due… I think we have a DVD from the Library that is due. It is a Bear in the Big Blue House DVD and the Little Man love it. I, however nice Bear in the Big Blue House is, am insanely tired of it. He wants to watch it non-stop. He dances to all the songs. He sings along with most of them, and gets perturbed when I don’t sing along. That is how he does things.

Speaking of how he does things… We (Wifey picked it out and purchased it, I just get partial credit by association) got Little Man one of those Crayola 64 pack of crayons. You know the ones that only the well-to-do kids had in kindergarden. Yeah, the ones with silver, gold, copper, and periwinkle in them. The ones that made you feel inferior if you had the measly 32 pack, or God Forbid, the appalling 12 pack of crayons. The crayon pack that whiney little Becky Williamsonovabitch would complain to teacher about when she broke her “Cornflower Blue” crayon. Shut the Hell up Becky! choose one of your other blues while I color with the communal crayons found in the classroom’s art supply closet that have melted together into a swirly kind of shit brown! Just shut the hell up, Becky! Nobody likes you! Ummm… where was I? Oh yes, even though we have a veritable plethora of colors for him to choose from, Little Man uses the 3 craptastic crayons we got from a local restaurants kids menu. I think they are magenta, green and yellow. He is quite the artiste!

To Recap:
Goodbye 2005, we knew you well
Hello 2006
2006 seems very much like the old 2005
I am so glad I do not live in Alabama anymore
Mmmm Water
As a kid, I once had a dream that the school bus was backing up over Becky, turns out the “Beep, Beep, Beep” was not the bus going in reverse, but my alarm
I was sorely disappointed
Number 1: because the bus did not run over Becky
Number 2: because I had to get up and go to school
Magenta, green, and yellow swirl together to make a shit brown
Little Man and I are alike that way