Thor is the newest addition to my family. My partner in crime and lifelong friend, Linda aka Martha raises Corgis. She and her husband, Max gave me an adorable tri-color Corgi puppy (I'm so excited) I know my other furbabies, Fenway, B.A., Libby and Tara will go through an adjustment period, but everyone will be the best of friends before too long.
Like many people who get trapped into the downward spiral that narcotics use brings, I endured years and years of the effects of the feeling that no dose was ever quite enough. That feeling is what makes narcotics use so dangerous and so deadly. That need and want to always use just a little more to get just a little more relief from pain can be a real killer. It can and will suck the life right out of you. I've had many friends succumb to that need. I dabbled with narcotics in my youth, but my serious narcotic use started from prescribed drugs as an adult after having my first spinal surgery. That was at a time before there was a crackdown on prescribing narcotics. Initially, I started out with mild painkillers and worked my way into more heavy duty ones over time as my dependence on them grew as my condition worsened. Eventually, my primary care doctor referred me to a pain management specialist when she felt she could no longer treat me. At that point I was taking 2 time released Oxycontin daily and I was being prescribed 4 Percocet10's daily for any breakthrough pain. Believe it or not, I was not zonked! In fact, most people didn't even know I was taking painkillers. Let's just say I had a pretty high tolerance.
I was never able to get steroid injections in my back and neck because I'm highly sensitive to steroids. The one time I did have a steroid injection in my knee, my blood sugar spiked to over 600 and even with insulin injections (I'm diabetic) it wouldn't go down for over a week. Anyone who has battled high blood sugar knows that all over sick feeling one has with high blood sugar.Twice in my life I've stopped using narcotics cold turkey and twice in my life it was not a fun experience. I don't plan to do it a third time.
Written April 9, 2009
Truth? As far out on the edge as I’ve teetered, something has always kept me from stepping into the abyss. Truth? My pain and I have a very intimate relationship. It’s very complicated and the only lasting relationship I’ve ever had. It’s definitely a love-hate relationship full of angst and exploration leading me into places where I’m able to forget my pain temporarily. During those times, life has been wonderful and filled with adventures, but nonetheless those times were temporary.
Is there anyone out there who has ever gotten to the point of saying “I’m done”? Well, what do you do when you’re done? What do you do when you look back at the life you’ve lived and see that it’s taken you to a place of true complacency and indifference? Wow! That’s a place I never thought I’d be! Anger maybe. Rage was always a possibility. Bitterness was always aching to be number one on the hit parade, but what did I get? Complacency and indifference salted with a dash of disillusionment.
Without all the gory details, I recently made a decision that possibly could be the queen of all my self-destructive acts. I know some might think anyone making the decision to stop an addiction… any addiction is a wise decision. Perhaps it is! What would one say to someone who is addicted to prescribed narcotics and muscle relaxers and who has decided to stop taking those drugs against medical advice? Hmmmmmmm! Go for it? Good luck? You’re a damn fool? There’s no escaping the truth. When you’re done, you’re done.
Truth? Drugs have veiled many of my written words over the past several years. Okay, for some that may come as no big surprise, but for me it does. What surprises me is that after living through the horrors of drug abuse at a younger age, I allowed myself to take the easy way out as an adult and become something I hated. I would like nothing more than to be able to blame the doctors who prescribed the drugs to me, but I can’t do that. I won’t do that! They had a job to do and did it. What transpired was a perfectly legal act, although some might question the ethics or morals involved.
Was I some drug-seeking individual that goes from doctor to doctor hoping to score some decent drugs? Truth? No! My medical problems set me on the path of having the best drugs health insurance could legally buy. Unfortunately, the nature of the beast includes developing a tolerance to prescribed narcotics. What may work initially only becomes a way to take the edge off and feel somewhat normal…. whatever normal is I’ve forgotten.
After careful consideration, I decided to go cold turkey. Is that the politically correct term these days or is it only showing my age? I decided to do this withdrawal in stages thinking that it would be easier on me due to other health issues. Instead of weaning myself off my meds, I abruptly stopped taking my Oxycontin first and now, I’m in the throes of a nasty divorce from Percocet 10’s. The muscle relaxers were flushed sometime in the midst of all this madness. Has my last month been fun? Hell no, but what I do know is that withdrawal can be accomplished. All it takes is determination and insanity will take you the rest of the way.
Written 6/18/18
Plunder Woman
While I've been MIA (missing in action) lately, I've been working towards cleansing my system of all the gnarly narcotics that have held me prisoner [AGAIN] for the past 15 years. Since 2003, I've taken the whole spectrum of painkillers and have to admit nothing works very well these days. Why continue taking something that doesn't give me any relief? Why continue taking something that harms my already compromised liver? Because I've chosen to make what I think is an informed decision, I'm in the process of weaning myself off morphine because cold turkey is a real bitch. Trust me, I've been down that road a time or two and I definitely don't want to visit that rocky path ever again.
Over the last 15 years I've taken every NSAID known to man, plus Tramadol, Lortab, Percocet, Oxycontin, Methadone, Fentanyl and Morphine. You name it and I've taken it. I've used TENS units and even had 2 internal neurostimulators implants that are wired directly into my spine. I've had two separate anterior discectomies with fusions to fuse 4 of my 7 cervical discs. I have to admit not being able to look up or turn my head has been a little challenging at times. And as for the surgeries, they've done little to alleviate my pain. My last neurosurgeon told me that there was nothing else that he could do to help me. He basically told me that I'd have to grin and bear it.
I've also tried exercise, heated pool therapy, regular physical therapy, massages, chiropractic adjustments, heat and ice with no substantial or long term relief from anything I tried. The only things I haven't tried at this point are steroid injections that are injected directly into the site that's causing the pain and acupuncture. As ordered by my endocrinologist, I can't ever do the steroid injections because steroids make my blood sugar skyrocket. And acupuncture? To be honest, the thought of being a human pin cushion (even though they say no pain is involved) doesn’t exactly excite me, so I think this particular predicament is called being S.O.L. (shit out of luck)
Physically, I've gone from being Wonder Woman to being a lackluster cave-dwelling crone. Mentally, I've learned to suffer in silence. Isolation is a common tool used by many people with serious medical issues and by people who have simply given up and don't want to play the "happy" game any longer. It's easier to be isolated than it is to be around people. That overwhelming urge to put on a happy face has worn me out. It’s difficult to maintain that “everything is just peachy” act for very long and the older I get, the more that desire wanes. That's why I became a hermit. No, that's not entirely true. The combination of severe chronic pain and my lifelong inability to select a significant other who isn't a complete twisted freak-a-zoid asshole are the two major reasons for becoming a troglodyte. The wealthy call it being an eccentric recluse and the poor call it life after the fast lane. I call it how Mildred maintains some semblance of sanity.
Recently I decided to give medical marijuana a whirl. Both my primary care doctor and my pain management doctor gave me their blessing regarding my decision. Florida legalized marijuana for medicinal use in the 2016, but have always steered clear until now due to all the hoop jumping that's involved. Once I finally made the decision, I carefully followed all the necessary steps dotting all i's and crossing all t's. Unfortunately, I know what a clusterfuck anything pertaining to the government can be. Anything they handle on a local, state or federal level involves too much red tape that only slows the process of forward movement and expands the room for errors to be made every step of the way.
First, I made an appointment to see Dr. Feelgood. Next, I had my medical records from my pain management doctor and my primary care doctor faxed to Dr. Feelgood. This was done to substantiate a medical diagnosis that is on the list of qualifying diseases and conditions. Previous medical records also help Dr. Feelgood to write a personalized prescription/care plan. Next, I kept my appointment (BTW, Dr. Feelgood really knew her stuff.) Once a person sees the doc and her recommendation is submitted along with your Patient ID number, the mandatory application for a Medical Marijuana card from the state with a $75 required fee (everyone has to get their piece of the pot pie) can be submitted online or by snail mail. About 2 weeks later, I received an email me with my card number. Until I receive my actual card, the email with the card number enables me to make purchases. They say it takes about 4 to 6 weeks to receive the actual card. That's the speed of light for any government agency! I'll believe 4 to 6 weeks once I have my card in my hand is really 4 to 6 weeks.
There's two dispensaries where I live and both do home deliveries. I'll most likely use that service in the future, but I wanted to check out the dispensary in person for my first purchase. I like to see how things work and if they run smoothly. It gives me an overall picture of whether or not I'm dealing with a bunch of imbeciles. It helps keep my expectations in the realm of reality. I have to admit, I was pleasantly surprised by the whole operation at Surterra Wellness right down to the ATM standing all shiny and new inside the dispensary. This feature made a lot of sense since the marijuana business is all cash and carry due to the current Federal laws and banking restrictions.They would have really impressed me if they had a blood plasma center on site so people could sell some blood to buy their weed. That's what I would have called one stop shopping!
The dispensary was a strange trip...nothing like copping a little weed back in the day from the friendly neighborhood pot dealer! Upon checking in for my first one stop shopping experience, I found out that my approved card number didn't show up in the Florida Stoners-R-Us database when the dispensary tried to access it. So I sat there and called the 800 number into the state registry. Ring! Ring! Ring! I first accessed their automated menu hoping I pushed all the right selections to talk to an actual human being. Of course, there were many callers ahead of me, but the automated recording assured me that the first available representative would help me and thanked me for waiting patiently. I wonder who I'd have to register a complaint with regarding the "on hold" music that played in my ear while I waited. I beg your pardon, but elevator music is not acceptable to listen to for more than 5 seconds and what stoner do you know who listens to that crap? Pink Floyd would have been easier on the ears!
Fast forward about 45 minutes later and the state informed me that I indeed had been approved and the number emailed to me was correct. Duh! I knew the number was correct. The state knew the number was correct. I wanted to know why the dispensary couldn't access my correct account number. That issue was never answered. "I don't know" didn't seem like an acceptable answer, but I wasn't going to push the issue because I didn't want my correct account number to permanently float around lost in cyberspace. What I did was accept some things are meant to remain a mystery. So now, I'm back at square one. The dispensary needed to be able to access my account via my top secret correct account number. If the dispensary couldn't access my account with the prescription from my pot doc, then I wouldn't be able to make a purchase. Period! Why would I ever expect anything to ever go smoothly from start to finish and not be riddled with all sorts of Murphy's laws? I don't know how, but somehow magically, my card number appeared in the database after my phone call to Florida's Stoners-R-Us registry. Go figure! It must have been a miracle!
Now fast forward to the present day: Pensacola now has 6 dispensaries in anticipation of Florida legalizing cannabis in the near future. I think they're trying to get it on the ballot in 2020. Hip! Hip! Hooray! Like the title of this blog post indicates, I wasn't expecting a miracle, but smoking marijuana has helped with my pain and it's kept me off narcotics. That's the important thing. You see, unlike with narcotics I'm not going to die from using cannabis. It is, however an ongoing process of educating myself regarding the various strains and what works best for me. For instance: Sativa strains are for daytime use and Indica strains are for nighttime use. Hybrids are potent blends for anytime use :). I won't bore all you non-users with a bunch of tips from Mildred, but please know Mildred is much better than she has been in a long, long time! And Martha has been like a ray of sunshine and a real blast from my past! Together we're just two radical old stoners looking for the ultimate munchies :)
*Repost from November 4, 2019
Update: (December 8, 2022) I'm still not taking any narcotics. Hooray for me! I still use medical marijuana for depression, anxiety, insomnia and pain. I have a few favorites strains I use specifically for pain. Dutch Treat, Grandaddy Purple, 9lb Hammer and Duct Tape have been excellent in helping alleviate my pain symptoms. Pensacola now has 11 dispensaries. The cannabis business seems to be booming!
Yesterday was a difficult day for me as I reflected on my mother's death and emptied a box a Kleenex by 10am. I felt grateful for my friend, Jesse who chatted with me up until I decided I needed to get out and get some fresh air and clear my head. Then my friend and partner in crime, Linda (Martha) took over. We took quick spin out to the beach. It wasn't a bright, sunny day, but that was okay...it was 76 and the day was more like how I felt. I wanted to be strong because that's how my mother would want me to be, but when you love someone and they are no longer there and are gone forever, it makes for a gray type of day.
There was a hint of blue and every now and then the sun teased us and tried to come out.
The Redneck Riviera at her finest! lol
We drove past the parking lot and found a spot that looked good. Off in the distance you can see some higg rises and the good thing about this part of Florida is that it isn't wall to wall high rises yet. This is what the beaches look like.
I didn't even see many seagulls out flying around.
A lonely shell someone left behind.
As the waves flattened the surfers, got out of the water.
A hint of blue sky!
I was glad to see that the winter has been used to replace some of the boards on the boardwalks.
Our sand is almost as white as snow, but a lot better because it doesn't need to be shoveled!
A lovely pic of my knees!
And one of my knees and shoes! lol
This is Linda gazing off down the beach (most likely watching the men in their speedos) What a wicked woman she is!
Linda was scanning the horizon and is deep in thought. She didn't know I was taking her picture and claimed nobody ever gets a decent pic of her. Looks like I proved her wrong!
As you see there isn't many people out here and believe it or not even in the summer our beaches don't get super crowed.
One surfer who came out of the water and peeled off his wet suit had a wicked sunburn. Oh, he was going to feel it later that evening.
Just more sugar white sand as far as the eye can see and water.
When we first got there, people were out surfing, but the waves started dissipating soon after.
My partner in crime, "Martha" has Corgi puppies for sale (Thor, Bruno and Belle). Thor is the smallest of the three and he is defending HIS cardboard box. It's such a pleasure to watch as these pups grow and develop. It will be a sad day if and when they ever get sold...
*Notice how I have my feet purposely out of their way...that's so the little terrorists won't chew on my feet! lol
I was just sitting here scanning over my adult life in respect to the serious relationships I've had and well...it didn't paint a very pretty picture. It probably most resembled a Jackson Pollack masterpiece "Male and Female." Understand that and you might understand the jumbled mess inside my head. I can't say I've ever had a healthy, intimate relationship with the opposite sex. Once sex got thrown into the picture all bets came off the table. Why that is I most likely can come up with a fairly accurate answer, but at this stage in my life I'm wondering how much does it really matter. Don't we all have baggage? Some suitcases just weigh more than others.
When my last relationship ended, I put myself in what I called "time out." I guess for most people after a break up, they need time to adjust before they get back out there and throw their line back in the water to do some fishing again, but my time out has lasted 15+ years. Oh yes, you read that right. I have been celibate for 15+ years and I'll go a step further...I haven't even been on a date in that time period. Before all of you scream "WHY?" in unison, I'll give you my five cent explanation. It's rather hard to go on a date or to meet anyone if you've become a hermit. I had a rather cozy cave.
I jokingly referred to myself as a hermit on my blog over the years, but I don't know how many people actually took me seriously or knew to what extent my being an actual hermit had become a reality. I think I was really on the verge of developing agoraphobia. When someone once called me a troglodyte as an insult, I adopted the word because I liked it better than the word 'hermit". Hermit sounded too common and who likes being thought of as being common or ordinary...or normal? Certainly, not me!
Anyway, in January of 2019 my hermit days abruptly came to an end. A childhood friend, came for a visit and ended up moving in right next door to me. Martha (Linda) was the little red-headed girl who lived next door to me in Maine and we grew up together. We've known each other since we were 4 years old and did typical Mildred and Martha secret, naughty things growing up. Having Martha back in my life was a much needed wake up call. It was one that I hadn't fully realized I needed until now.
Physically, I was barely living when she arrived. I couldn't stand up for more than a few minutes without the pain being too intense for me to bear. In fact, I struggled to stand up from a sitting position and sitting was uncomfortable. Doing anything seemed like a struggle. I had fallen down the stairs and fractured my vertebrae and the recovery was very slow. Sometimes I wondered if I was ever going to recover. My legs and feet were swollen to the size of tree trunks, but not from the fall. I didn't find out until later that I had fluid around my heart. Before Martha moved here I went days without getting out of bed and I just didn't care about myself anymore. I had given up and no one was getting on my ass about it. Nobody wanted to deal with the wrath of Mildred so my family just left me alone unless it dealt with my safety like when my adult children banded together and moved my bedroom downstairs after I fell. They banded together because they expected me to give them a real hard time about it, but I fooled them when I never said a word. I knew I couldn't walk up and down the stairs and they were doing the right thing. I would have been a real bitch if I had given them a hard time about being concerned about my well-being. I'm a lot of things, but being a real bitch isn't one of them. All you assholes out there who think I'm a real bitch better keep your opinions to yourself or else Mildred will have her way with you! lol
After Martha got here, I started doing more physical things and now I can work outside all day long in the heat and humidity of Florida like I did when I was younger. In fact, I'm in better shape now than I have been in 20 or 25 years. I've lost a ton of weight and I feel good physically and mentally most of the time. And when I don't, I smoke some weed and then I feel better. When my back hurts, the weed comes out. When I have trouble sleeping, you know the drill. And when I just feel like kicking back and getting stoned, well I kick back and get stoned. What can I say? I'm a hedonist!
When a person becomes a hermit they forsake their need for other people. When I went into "time out" I went into time out all the way. I wanted to cushion myself from the world and I did a great job of it for 15+ years. Nobody came knocking until Martha rapped on my door. You see, I thought it was just going to be a visit and then she left to move to South Florida. but when she left I knew she was going to move back here even though she didn't know it at the time. It was just a feeling I had and I was okay with that feeling. It didn't put me in a panic to think about not being a hermit anymore.
And I was right! She moved here shortly after she left for South Florida. Who wants to live in South Florida with all those people anyway? (There goes that hermit in me talking!) When the house next door to me came up for rent, Martha jumped on it and moved in. What I discovered is that I'm not a hermit after all. I enjoyed having a friend to do stuff with and even when we weren't doing anything, but goofing off doing nothing we still had a good time doing it. You know why? Because we're Mildred and Martha and Martha and Mildred, that's why! We're one hell of a team!
Unfortunately, Martha moved back to Maine about a week ago. Sometimes things happen and make it so we have to make difficult decisions. Doing the right thing is rarely easy. Right now, we all live in difficult times.
I'm empty now and I'm scared. I definitely know how to be a hermit, but I don't want to be a hermit again. Is it wrong that I want someone? That I need someone? Oh, I know we're in a pandemic...blah, blah...BLAH and social distancing and all that hoopla and I have to be a hermit to some extent and yeah, I can do that. I'm good excellent at it, remember? I did it for a very long time! Geez! I thought something was wrong with me when I kept reading on other people's blogs about how blue they were about being locked down during the coronavirus. I was afraid to tell anyone that I was okay with it because I had been doing it for so long that it was just second nature to me. It was no big deal. But now, what?
My grand plan that Martha and I used laugh about was that when the pandemic was over and I felt I was back to my old running shape I was going to start hanging out....not in bars...fuck that! but I'd go to Lowe's or Home Depot in the Contractor's section and pick-up a contractor so I could get someone to help me to fix my house (you know we could work something out in trade...). I'd say, "Baby, show me your tool belt, your tools and your truck...and definitely your financial statement!" He'd probably call security on me and have me kicked out of the store. Hey, it's been awhile since I've picked someone up, but I bet I can still do it. My daughter gets aggravated whenever we go anywhere together and men flirt with me and not with her. ha! I think it's hysterical. My pheromones must be stronger than hers.
Anyway, I miss my Martha. I talk to my dogs. I talk to the birds and of course, Cecil. I talk to all the plants I planted in my backyard. I talk to myself. That's a trip. Damn it! I need a person. Maybe I should buy a mannequin or a blow-up doll. What do you think? Does anyone want to volunteer to be my person? Mildred does not bite! Much :)
There's a few
rules in life and one of them is to never make me the bartender...NEVER! I
don't follow recipes very well. I'm a do my own thing type of person after I get the basics down.
You see we had a rather small family gathering
for my daughter's birthday and it involved strawberry daiquiris and social
distancing and cupcakes that my son-in-law couldn't believe I made because they looked like they had been professionally made. Oh yeah, I'm that good when I want to be! The birthday party was great, but my "normal" evening
consists of sitting in my backyard, listening to music and shooting the shit
with Martha while we social distance across the chain link fence lit by tiki
torches. After the birthday party, I made a "special" blender full of daiquiris just for
Martha and me and I don't drink or I should say I may drink something maybe once a
year so this was designated as "my once a year." After four strong drinks and some tsunami
strength Surfing in a Hurricane weed for medicinal purposes only (I see you
rolling your eyes as you read this) I was one with the world and ready to boogaloo down Broadway
in my flamingo mask, but Pensacola doesn't have a Broadway unfortunately or
maybe it was a fortunate thing for the inhabitants of Northwest Florida. I've never gotten the feeling that the South has ever been quite ready for this Yankee all the years I've lived here. I've always felt like a fish out of water or a flamingo amongst a flock of geese. Martha almost
got the hose after me last night because I threatened to jump...no, not off a
bridge or a building. I jumped up and down one night not long ago when I was pretty baked
and I felt like dancing and it was the WRONG thing to do. Someone with as many
disc/spinal problems as I have shouldn't jump...EVER! I found that out after the
second or third jump. I was in so much pain I whimpered that I needed to sit
down NOW and that jumping was the wrong thing to do. Enlightenment always comes quickly with pain! Martha's husband told her
to get the hose if I ever tried to jump again, so she run and got the hose last
night. She was ready to blast me with it. I kept telling her I was going to do
it, but I was just yanking her chain. Imagine that! Me yanking someone's chain? You see, if I were her I would have soaked me just on general principles and laughed at me while I screamed and hollered as the cold water baptized me. The wetter the better I say and Martha could have put this fish back in the water where I belong!
No, I'm not stranded on some tropical island! That would be nice, but I'm still here in good old Pensacola, Florida. Well, I never got my test results and I don't know who to contact to get them so I just said fuck it. Lately. I've said fuck it to lots of things. I feel fine and just chalked it up to another amazing clusterfuck. Go figure! I've just been hanging out in my backyard and doing lots of hard physical work weather permitting and when Mother Nature drives me inside I have lots of inside projects.
I'm slowly redoing my upstairs cave, but I promise this time I won't fall downstairs and fracture a vertebrae. Another change to my cave is that it's in a different room and it has 8 windows in it so it has plenty of wonderful natural light. I guess it really isn't much of a cave compared to my last cave that was painted a deep Bohemian red and rarely saw the light of day blinds closed and heavy drapes drawn. I look back on that rather long period of my life and I really was a hermit or a "troglodyte" as the dreaded Psychedelic Pariah used to call me. I guess none of you remember him and that's a good thing!
Another change to my cave is that my cave now is strictly for creative use and I won't be sleeping there. Now my bedroom is downstairs. So, in my cave I'll be able to paint, write, sew, do crafts, wood burn when the kit arrives in the mail (if it ever does) and probably talk to myself and my dogs and cat, listen to music and wish the world was a better place to live and so forth and so on...
Several weeks ago I witnessed a butterfly emerge from its cocoon. I held the new butterfly in my hand before it flew away. My fence and area around it was covered with chrysalis waiting to emerge with beautiful butterflies. Other than hating fire ants, I feel like a real nature's child. I feed the birds. I talk to the birds. I swear at the squirrels and the various insects. I talk to my flowers. My dogs started to eat the suet that I give to the birds. I swear they'll eat just about anything. I better watch out they might start flying around with the birds. I think I'd like to see that just as long as they didn't poop on me when they fly around. Martha talked about cutting down trees and the next thing she knew she had birds pooping on her. I'm thinking that they knew what she was talking about and was just giving her their opinion on the matter.
Also on the whole bird situation...I have a ton on baby cardinals that are ravenous. I swear they can empty a birdfeeder before I walk back to my chair. I keep telling them to go get a job to pay for the bird seed! Or better yet I think mom and dad need to get a second or third job to pay for the dozens of babies I'm feeding. Does anyone know how many babies a cardinal has?
So that's about it. I have good days and bad days like everyone else. I hope all of you are safe and well and staying sane throughout all this madness.
Hey how's everyone out there today? If anyone is sick, I hope you have a speedy recovery and the ones who are well or well enough and maybe are getting a little stir crazy...just go outside for awhile and soak up some sun,unless it's raining and then Cecil says stay inside and play a game of Trivia Pursuit while drinking a few simply divine cocktails. He prefers the ones with umbrellas and fruit garnishes. That'll soothe the savage beast for sure. For some odd reason a Pina Colada or a Bushwacker sounds more than simply divine to me right now. Add this to Murphy's Laws. I don't have a drop of alcohol in my house. Always a day late and a dollar short! Or is that a stitch in time saves nine? Or the early bird catches the worm? Hell, I don't know. [insert laughter here]
Do liquor stores deliver? They probably do in places like NYC and LA, but I live on the Redneck Riviera. They do things a little differently here. Maybe I can find someone with some moonshine. OMG! That made even me shake my head. Hey liquor store, I need 3 or 4 gallons of cheap rum and oh yeah, some large boxes of jell-o. I don't care what color it is as long as it isn't that blue toilet bowl cleaner looking stuff. Speaking of toilet bowls, a friend of mine from Bridgeport, Connecticut says people are tipping delivery people with rolls of toilet paper up there. I guess toilet paper around there is like gold now. Isn't that crazy? I want to dress up and go out trick or treating for toilet paper, but I can't decide what to dress up as. Any suggestions? Maybe someone will give me a Bushwacker. Oh, that sounds kind of nasty, doesn't it?
Now getting back to Trivia Pursuit...It's always good for a few laughs or some incredible arguments. And there's so many editions of Trivia Pursuit it makes my head swivel. I have several of the first editions that came out including the very first. I wish I had someone who would play a game or two with me...
Last night I had a tiki torch-fire pit experience in the backyard while listening to Pink Floyd and a few others groups while enjoying the company of Martha at the appropriate social distance (of course) with a good old chain link fence between us and of course, our collective fur babies, Fenway, Libby, B.A.,Digger and Cecil. Martha and I just kicked back and chilled out. It's nice to be able to do that because so many people don't. They don't know how to unwind and let go.
Earlier in the day I captured these pictures of The Queen. When I first came inside I sat down in "my chair." Fenway went over to the toybox and got inside it. I thought she was going to lay there and fall asleep. Instead a few seconds later she appeared in front of me with a treasure she had buried in the toybox so the other dogs wouldn't find it. She brought it over to me because she wanted me to lift my recliner up. You see, chewing is a "mama thing" and she always has to be near me when she chews on a bone. I followed her command and lifted my recliner up so Queen Fenway could lay up with her mother and chew her bone after a long day of being outside supervising. It really is a rough job being Queen.
(Absolutely no comments will be accepted about the amount of toys that would indicate any dog living under said roof is spoiled has been decreed by Queen Fenway herself.)
(Please, pick me up! You've been outside ignoring me and so I keep rooting through the leaves getting them all through my snout and tail just to annoy you, so now I'm being a pretty girl so won't you please pick me up and pet me?)
This is a picture of me taking a break from doing some yardwork earlier today when Martha presented me with a gorgeous bee she had made on her Cricut machine. I know you probably can't see all the different layers in it, but it has several. She made it for me so I can be Queen Bee while I'm quarantined. Doesn't she know I'm Queen Bee everyday... 365 days of each year? She's only known me since she was four years old! And let's see, we're how old now? What's up with that? Do you think I should break it to her now? Gently due to our advanced age? Or should I deliver it with a good noogie on top of the head? Personally, I'm leaning towards the noogie. All this coronavirus stuff has gotten me so frustrated. That's all I've got, folks so it's the Queen Bee buzzzzzzing off until tomorrow. As always stay safe...
What's with all the friggin' hoarding? I can understand that people are freaked out
over the coronavirus, but come on, be considerate of one another. We all have to wipe our asses, right? We all have
to eat, right? And in my case, where I'm
a diabetic, I have to test my blood sugar. And because I have to test my blood sugar, I have
to use alcohol swabs. But guess what I can't find anywhere? Okay, I can make do
without them. I'll just wash my hands before testing with hot, soapy water. No
big deal. But it irks me that I have to
make do without them because people have needlessly stockpiled alcohol swabs
and have caused a shortage. Although I guess I'm rather used to that sort of
thing because I live in Florida and during hurricane season people lose their
mind every year. Try buying a loaf of bread, a battery, a bottle of water, a
generator or anything else if a storm is anywhere near Florida. But as Trumplethinskin, our fearless and quite
sagely leader says this too shall pass, but only when it when it gets hot
outside, remember? Heat is supposed to kill the virus according to Trump. Just where does he get his info? FOX News? Wait! It is hot! It was 80 degrees here today! Sigh...a HUGE sigh and I'll be so glad when
November passes. Please tell me that HUGE overgrown orange pompous boobette will be living
somewhere other than in Washington DC after next January....PLEASE! Oh no! That’s
right! He moved his official residence to fucking Florida! He doesn’t live in New York anymore. I’m
going to cry. People that’s not funny on any level. So stop laughing! I can
hear you snickering over there in the corner. I see you! Mildred sees EVERYTHING!
Now, for the big news of the day. Old Mildred got tested for
coronavirus early this morning and while it wasn't on my bucket list of things
to do, I did it because I have a 92-year-old mother living under the same roof
as I do and well you see, Martha and I got exposed to the nasty "HOAX" Chinese virus
somewhere in our travels and the Health Department tracked Martha down to let
her know. That was so kind of them to do and that was so snarky of me to say :)
Anyway, the nasal swab didn't bother me too much even though it felt like they
were probing for lost brain cells from my misspent youth. Martha claimed she cried when they swabbed
her and she couldn't see immediately afterwards. They must have hit her G-spot.
So, everyone living under both roofs are officially
QUARANTINED until we get our results in 4 or 5 days. It sucks to be us!
Recently a big, burly, beer-drinkin' redneck dude was talking to me about having a just a lil fight with his lil lady. When I asked him to define "lil fight" he gave me a blank look like I was an idiot for not knowing what he meant. God, I love it when a man does that! I said, "Okay let me help you help me understand. I want you to select what happened from one of the following:
a. a "disagreement" is a verbal confrontation in which the involved parties usually come to some sort of compromise or settlement.
b. an "argument" is a heated verbal assault in which the involved parties usually have to cool down before a resolution can be made.
c. a "fight" is a physical confrontation usually initiated by harsh words in which no compromise, resolution or settlement is made. "
He said, "damn girl, I didn't realize those 3 things meant 3 different things, but I reckon it was the first one. It was just a lil fight."
I laughed and went on to ask him if he also says his wife "bitches" all the time. I tried to educate him about selecting the proper use of words, but I didn't make much head way. I do think he at least thought about what I had to say even though he really didn't understand a word I said because I'm just some old damn Yankee transplant livin' on the Redneck Riviera! Yehaw! Let's get 'er done!
Being from Maine is like being from another planet. I've actually been asked if we have indoor plumbing in Maine. Ayuh! Ever since about 1980! We have to wait until the ground thaws out before we can dig to lay any pipe. Gotta love Maine sarcasm...God, I miss it! Now, I have Martha livin' next door to me I get a dose of it just about every day.
When I first made this discovery I was like the Tasmanian Devil I was so mad. It's hard to keep your cool when you want to lash out and do something to a person, but you know there's nothing you can do and it's so frustrating you want to pull your own hair out. So, you sit there fuming for awhile saying some very colorful language and then you slowly calm down because there's no point in staying angry. [grumble, grumble, grumble....and finally a huge sigh]
When the troll first appeared on my blog I was mildly irritated. At first, I hoped the person would simply go away, but that didn't happen. Obviously, trolls want to be annoying and only go away when blocked or impeached! The subject matter the troll selected to discuss in the comment section of my blog was what I referred to as a "British cum dumpster." I won't mention the cum dumpster's whole name and I will get into that reason for that shortly, but when I googled that person I found out she was some 1980's porn star. Her first name is Pauline.
Like many people out here I had my settings on my blog set so anyone could leave a comment, but when this troll wouldn't go away, I changed my comment settings so only people with a Google account would be able to comment on my blog. All this change did was eliminate people from leaving anonymous comments. So far, this first step up in security eliminated the troll. So far so good!
Every now and then I check the "Traffic Sources" to my blog. When I did this a few days ago, this is when the Tasmanian Devil came spinning like a top out of control. The first URL I didn't recognize (it had the name monica29 in it), and it had like 175 hits on it coming to my blog. The second and third URL's I did recognize and had fewer hits than the first. I clicked on the first URL to find out what it was and was absolutely stunned when the page opened to a porn site. Nothing about the URL indicated it would be a porn site or I wouldn't have clicked on it. There I sit looking at a site called Chatubate (spelled wrong for obvious reasons).
After having a huge WTF??? moment I figured out why my blog was tied to this porn site. You see, when the dear troll kept referencing this British cum dumpster by name in each comment he left on my blog, it left a "footprint" for the search engine robots to index. I don't know how often they make their rounds throughout the internet, but what I should have done which I didn't do initially was delete all the trolls comments. I did however go back yesterday and delete everything he wrote. Hopefully, this will correct the problem in the future. For now, Mildred Ratched Memoirs is linked to Chatubate (again spelled the wrong way) because the British cum dumpster was mentioned by that darling troll. I wonder if his name was Donald! hmmmm! Wouldn't that be a hoot?
If this idiot has gone to any of your blogs, you might want to check your traffic sources, too under your stats and see if your blog is linked to any sites you don't recognize. I told Martha that I was going to write a blog post pitching a holy old fit about this troll and what he did, but why bother? He's just a little internet maggot that isn't worth the time and effort and besides I don't think I know enough bad language to describe him adequately.
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The dispensary was a strange trip...nothing like copping a little weed back in the day from the friendly neighborhood pot dealer! Upon checking in for my first one stop shopping experience, I found out that my approved card number didn't show up in the Florida Stoners-R-Us database when the dispensary tried to access it. So I sat there and called the 800 number into the state registry. Ring! Ring! Ring! I first accessed their automated menu hoping I pushed all the right selections to talk to an actual human being. Of course, there were many callers ahead of me, but the automated recording assured me that the first available representative would help me and thanked me for waiting patiently. I wonder who I'd have to register a complaint with regarding the "on hold" music that played in my ear while I waited. I beg your pardon, but elevator music is not acceptable to listen to for more than 5 seconds and what stoner do you know who listens to that crap? Pink Floyd would have been easier on the ears!
