GIVE ME AN "F"

Over the past month or so I've tried very hard to focus my mind on other things other than my pain in my right arm. I've played poker, posted new entries on my blog, removed wallpaper and painted the bathroom and participated in life as normally as I possibly can. I've been to the doctor twice. The first time I was told I had tendonitis obviously, from all the tennis I play and was given Motrin to take for 10 days. Okay, when that didn't do the trick, I reluctantly went back. This time I was given an order for a x-ray of my left thumb (I have a small lump at the base of my thumb)and an order for physical therapy. The pain had increased and radiates through my entire arm and goes into my shoulder blade causing muscle spasms. I really need to give up playing tennis! I was also given a prescription for steroids to take.

Anyone with diabetes knows that steroids and diabetes does not mix well. After getting the Rx filled, I've decided not to take the steroids. In the past, the benefits gained from taking steroids haven't been enough to merit struggling with the elevated blood sugar it causes. I did, however have the x-ray done and attempted to have physical therapy set up only to find out that my insurance doesn't cover physical therapy. Why doesn't this surprise me?

I'm not too upset over the physical therapy issue because each time I exert my arm, it only ends up hurting worse. I have found that if I move my head slightly to left and rest my arm on top of my head, the pain goes away. Perhaps I can duck tape my head and arm in that position and then all I'll have is just the normal pain I suffer from daily. Experimenting with repositioning my head and arm leads me to believe that the true problem comes from my neck and/or back. And since I refuse to have anymore surgery to that area of my body, the name of the game is grin and bear it! That game I'm much better at than playing tennis!

Gratitude statement: I'm thankful for being able to grin and bear it rather than letting out the primal scream I feel slowly brewing.

REMEMBERING MICHAEL - PART I

Each year at this time my thoughts seem to drift towards remembering Michael. Those thoughts were particularly strong this past weekend when I spent the weekend with Michael's oldest sister, Sandra. All around me were reminders of Michael. Even at night, I couldn't escape him because there next to me on the nightstand was a picture of him. I met Michael when I was 18. He was tall and tanned with long dark hair and mesmerizing green eyes. He told me I was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. A lie no doubt, but one coming from him that I always thought he might have meant since he never had an agenda with me. Ours was a relationship that never transcended platonic boundaries except for an occasional stolen kiss here and there. His whole family became close to me for various reasons and on many occasions I was caught up in the weird dynamics that governed their relationships with each other. 

When Michael joined the Marines, we wrote to each other and saw each other whenever he would come home on leave. We always seemed to drift in and out of each other's lives. Whenever I thought of him, I always did so with a smile. He was the sunshine that warmed so many people's lives. In our wild youth, his sister and I used to accompany him sometimes to the gay bars in Pensacola. What stories I could tell about those times, but what I remember most is the love I always carried with me for him. We danced those nights away pretending that I was a drag queen, so I wouldn't ruin his reputation! What a goofy pair of friends we were! As we got older and moved away from each other, like many friends we didn't keep in touch like we should. He remained in my thoughts as I'm sure I did with him. As Michael's health failed and the end was imminent, I finally called Michael to ask him to forgive me for not being a better friend. In his weak, barely audible voice he said he forgave me. Michael died on Mother's Day 2005 and while I watched them bury my friend, I knew another piece of me was gone forever.  

Gratitude statement: Although death is an inevitable, I'm truly thankful for the time all my friends have been a part of my life. 

REMEMBERING MICHAEL - PART II

Christina, my daughter, accompanied me to Michael's funeral. She knew what an emotional wreck I was and she wanted to be there to support me. Many of Michael's family hadn't seen her since she was a little girl and all remarked what a beautiful woman she had grown into being. It was so good seeing all of them...like a long overdue family reunion, but the dark feeling of why we were all there hung heavy in our hearts.

As I hugged each one of them, I held myself together. Each one felt good to hold and my thoughts overflowed with so many memories of better days and laughter filled moments. My history with each of them seemed so interwoven with who I am now as a person.  I felt I was truly among not only friends, but family as well. We all managed to laugh as we reminisced about the good old days before the graveside service.  Johnny teased me like he used to do and I remembered back to when he and I first got involved many, many years ago. Oh, what a handful he could be and oh, how I once loved him!  Everyone seemed instantly amused as Johnny and I fell back into the witty banter that was part of our relationship long ago.

I was okay until I saw the coffin being removed from the hearse. At that moment the reality hit me...Michael was gone! Oh my God, he was really gone and all I had left were these memories clouding my mind. Christy grabbed ahold of me as she saw my legs start to buckle. The family had the coffin reopened so I could say goodbye to Michael. That scene and Michael's lifeless body will be forever etched into my brain. Theresa hugged me and told me Michael had always loved me. All I could do is say "I know" as the tears burned my face.

As Randy, Michael's younger brother stepped into the preacher role he knew so well, he began to officiate Michael's memorial service. The Blue Angels were practicing for an upcoming airshow so they kept making flyovers which made the full military funeral more spectacular. With each word Randy spoke, his love for Michael showered over all of us. Finally, he read a poem Michael had written years ago for his mother and as the guns were fired and the last notes of Taps were being played, my mind flashed back to a time when Michael brushed my long hair. Just for a moment I could feel him with me as I whispered goodbye.

Gratitude statement: I'm actually thankful for still being able to shed tears for the people who I have loved and who are no longer with me.

IGNORANCE & THE INTERNET

Okay, I've gotten lazy! I'll admit it! I thought I'd change my mp3 player to one that has a playlist on it and that randomizes the songs as people click on my blog. What I found out as I started creating the playlist is that there are no Pink Floyd songs in their database. And when I tried to locate Working Class Hero by John Lennon, I got an ooops, who's John Lennon? I did, however find Imagine by John Lenon...IMAGINE THAT! Come on people, typos are cool, but not on something like that. Typos like that make a person look completely ignorant and insult the artist.

I guess the moral of this little rant is that the grass is not always greener on the other side of cyberspace. In fact, I'm beginning to think that's where all the dillholes reside with their dial-up connections. So flog me for wanting to add a few Pink Floyd songs to my playlist! I like Pink Floyd and have been a fan ever since I heard "Careful With That Axe, Eugene" many, many moons ago somewhere in Providence, Rhode Island on a ferry boat that had been converted into a hang-out for hippies...another story for another time! I sure wish I knew the name of that ferry boat or could find someone who lived in Rhode Island and knows what the hell I'm remembering. For all I know, the whole memory is just a figment of my imagination. NAH! The memory of those giant speakers blasting music straight into my soul is far too real to be a hallucination and the blood curdling scream...it was real! Wasn't it? 

Gratitude statement: I'm grateful I can remember anything that happened 40 years ago in great detail. 

J&M BITCHFEST

What I'd really like to bitch about, I can't because it involves a lawsuit. Yesterday, I spent all day giving a videotaped deposition. I came home frazzled. My mind was racing and I felt in need of some TLC. Oh yeah! That's right! She's [me] in friggin' time out, so TLC wasn't going to happen. She [me] has this notion that she needed to take a break from men because she has impaired judgment. Isn't that fucking special? She [me again] might as well just wear a chastity belt. In the meantime, tiny twattlers have moved in and they have let the old love canal get overgrown with cobwebs and who knows what else is in there. The jolly Green Giant could have moved in and she'd [braindead me] never know! From the valley of the jolly... Ho! Ho! Ho! Green Giant! Hear the echo??? I really have to say women are dumb bitches sometimes! I mean we can be really S-T-U-P-I-D at times!!! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! 

From a man's perspective, I was told at an early age "I was sitting on a goldmine" and what did I do? I ran with every loser within a 50 mile radius. A real freak magnet here! Yeah, I was sitting on a goldmine alright! I should have hired myself out to a circus. She walks! She talks! She crawls on her belly like a reptile freak! Oh shit! Wait a minute I think I'm supposed to be bitching about someone or something else other than myself! Pardon me while I regroup and pull myself together. [small break to think] This is my blog and I am the Captain. The Captain would like to introduce you to Tennille (or Jnuts as I have always called him). I'd like to take you back several years when I first knew Jock was "the chosen one". (Jnuts, when did we start on MSN Spaces? Didn't it first open its pearly gates in late 2004?) Anyway, here was this guy blogging about his prostate. I knew then I had died and gone straight to blogging heaven. Here is Jock's rant titled "Footloose and Diaper Free" :

So, it wasn't as bad as I anticipated. There was no rectal exam. This was merely a PSA blood test. If my bloodwork comes back elevated, I will worry about the old finger bang at that time. Which is fine, as my 'roids have been acting up lately and the only way someone is going to shove anything up my ass is after they give me a bottle of tequila and they are in possession of a jackhammer. When asked if I wanted the rectal in addition to the PSA, I politely declined by saying, "only if you buy me dinner and call me daddy." My offer was refused. I DID get a Tootsie Pop and a blue ribbon enameled pin signifying "Prostate Awareness." I was already aware I had a prostate, but I took the pin anyway.

How could I leave that alone? I couldn't! I tried! But the force was strong within him! I answered the call of the wild with my own little twist titled "A Visit To Dr. Pain's Office" but included his delightful and very insightful words on my blog as a lead in for what I wanted to say:

I'd like to take this opportunity and turn a simple medical diagnostic test into a Men Are From Mars and Women Are From Venus moment. I believe every man I've ever known who has had a prostate exam has described the doctor as having fingers the size of tree limbs and the personality of Marquis de Sade. It's not difficult to picture the doctor coming into the examining room, snapping those latex gloves and telling the patient that the procedure may be a little uncomfortable. Uncomfortable? How about humiliating? And the poor fool isn't even being offered dinner and a movie to go along with it! I know medical staff do their best to preserve a person's dignity, but how dignifying can a prostate exam be if you're a male or a Pap smear and mammogram be if you're a female? The majority of people reserve access to the vajayjay, the twins and the Incredible Hulk exclusively for their significant other. Now, here we are with an almost total stranger and we're PAYING them to prod and poke us. Nope, we aren’t in some sleazy motel with a prostitute! We're in an examining room with our doctor! From a woman's perspective, I'd have to say Pap smears and mammograms are most likely the equivalent to the prostate exam. Guys, you're lucky because prostate exams aren't routinely done until a man reaches middle age. Ladies have to endure the joy of Pap smears and pelvic exams annually from the time they first become sexually active. Mammograms aren't started until later, but are routinely done at an earlier age than when prostate exams are started. For the men who have never had their significant other complain about the whole female going to the gynecologist ordeal, let me fill you in. We not only get the Pap smear and pelvic exam, but we get a rectal exam also. We also have a breast exam and then are sent to have a mammogram depending on what age we are. What can I really say about having a complete stranger stuff my breasts into a cold metal vice and flattening them to the width of a pancake except, "oh boy! Where can I get one of those gadgets to have at home?" (Okay ladies...are you laughing with me?) I guess the most difficult part of the whole exam experience is the waiting for the results part. Yep! We feel great! We didn't notice any lumps or any other abnormalities, but you never know! You always hear horror stories about someone who feels great one minute and then finds out they have cancer the next. I'm not a fretter and can only imagine what the wait for test results must be like for someone who worries about every little thing in life. They must drive themselves and everyone around them crazy in that period of time. How does anyone reassure or console someone like that? I have a suggestion for both genders. Guys, do something special for your lady to let her know you're there with her in spirit during this process. It doesn't take much to let someone know you care about them. A nice dinner out? A romantic getaway for both of you? Ladies, the same goes for you. Our guys need support, too (remember they're whiners!). How about tickets to a ballgame, taking him to a movie he wants to see (and you pay for it or it doesn't count) or buying something slinky from Victoria's Secret to wear for him? Just remember it's the thought that counts and doing something small may mean the world to the person you love. Actions always speak louder than words and here's an excellent opportunity to say 'I love you" very loudly!

So there you have it except for the comment our beloved Jock left for me as a response to what I had written:

Leave it to you to take my insipid tale about Nurse Ratched and turn it into something extremely worthwhile. I loved it and agree, except for one thing. Men are whiners? Oh, you must die! I'd come over there and slap you, but my back is killing me because I had to do dishes today. Damn, the pain is so intense from standing there it feels like I'm getting ready to give birth! Oh, and my hands are now all pruny and I think I'm coming down with the flu, because I've been sneezing and have a headache. Although, the headache could be from standing over the sink while steam rising from the water made me dizzy and disoriented. Mommy! I need to take a nap.

Gratitude statement: What can anyone say about or to someone like Jock, but a simple "thank you"? 

A MOMENT OF CLARITY

When people tell me, I need a boyfriend, I sometimes fall into a moment or two of weakness and actually long for the intimacy that's been missing in my life for the last 5 years. My moment of weakness is then followed by a mental slap in the face! What? Share the remote? Have some guy putting his feet on my table and asking for a sandwich?? Listen to a list of all my faults recited to me repeatedly? Start out with mind-blowing sex to be followed up with something less satisfying than "wham bam, thank-you, ma'am"? Be oogled as desireable due to being independent and free-spirited only to be told that I can stop being that way after I've been taken out of the meat market? Be forgotten on my birthday? Bought small appliances for Christmas? Expected to be a saucy tart 24/7 even when he hasn't showered and smells like decaying fecal matter? Have every piece of food I consume carefully scrutinized? Give up chick flicks for action/adventure movies? Be totally drained dry only to be tossed in the garbage for a perkier model? 

Gratitude statement: I am thankful for having such a great comparison in case Mr. Wonderful ever does show up!