Foot Long

(Re-post from welve years ago. I went through all this and within months my foot started hurting again and it has never stopped. My present podiatrist says it is a nerve stump left over from the surgery that hurts. I'm stumped as to why that would happen. The doctors just keeps offering me a shot of cortisone. Last time he did that, I kicked him in the chest. Not on purpose, it hurt and was reflexes.)

Sunday, April 20, 2008

 

Foot Surgery 

I tend to get nervous before flying or surgery, Wednesday morning was no different. I awoke at four thirty in the morning so that I would be on time for my five thirty appointment at the hospital. After showering, shaving and making sure I was totally ready, Mark and I got in the car and headed for Holy Cross Hospital. Mark, as usual, made me nuts with his driving. Even so, I sat there like a good boy and said nothing, while Mark made his way up Federal Highway towards the hospital at a snails pace. We were in sight of the hospital when I realized I had forgotten all the paperwork needed to be admitted for surgery. "God Damn It, Turn Around!" I yelled, "I forgot the paperwork, turn around!". With just ten minutes to spare, Mark started to lazily drift over to the left lane in preparation of turning around. "Will you hurry up!", I continued to shout, "My grandmother can walk faster than you drive.". The truth is, I found out that I really didn't need to go back and get the paperwork, all the information is in the hospital computer. It was just my nerves getting to me. Though even if I wasn't getting surgery, Marks driving still would make me nuts.

I have to say, the foot surgery went just fine. Everything went smoothly, there was not one problem from admitting, to my trip out to the car in the wheel chair after surgery. The nurses were great, my surgeon was attentive and explained everything, and the anesthesiologist was pleasant and did a perfect job. And despite my fear of nuns, Sister Mary Nohabit, who wanted to pray with me in pre-op, even smiled and blessed me after I snarled "No, go away." at her.

My first twenty four hours after the surgery are a little foggy, because I was high on Oxycodone or Percocet as it is known. I was so loopy that I don't even remember talking to people on the phone, and when my tenant came over with toys for the cats I thought they were for me. You have to admit, if you were high on a class II narcotic, you might think a cat toy rolling across the floor with strobe lights in it was really cool too.

Breast Meat Challenge

Real Housewives

For years Mark has been watching those Real Housewives shows on Bravo. There must be about a dozen of them because the minute one winds up, another one begins. However, a couple of months ago Mark announced that he was through watching them. I guess he finally got tired of having those giant silicone breasts and pumped up lips thrust into his face. I can't believe the reason he stopped watching would be because they're so damn stupid. So I was happy to hear that. Finally, my shows wouldn't be bumped because the DVR was busy filling up with Real Housewives shows. Or so I thought. Now Mark is binging on cooking contest shows such as Beat Bobby Flay, Guy's Grocery Games, Vegas Chef Prize Fight, and Five Year Old Kids Bakeoff Championship. The premise of each show is to assign a cooking task that seems hard enough, and then give the contestants ten minutes to complete it. Last night Mark was watching a new show called Supermarket Stakeout. This one involves the 'chefs' hanging out in a supermarket parking lot and asking shoppers if they could buy the groceries that the shoppers had just purchased. They don't offer them a lot of money, yet some do sell them their groceries. I hate shopping. If I just spent two hours inside an grocery store deciphering Mark's shopping list and somebody suggested that I give them what I just bought, I would run them over with the cart. After acquiring said groceries the contestants then have to create a dish from what's in the cart they just bought. So that's what Mark is watching these days. Crazy cooking contest shows. I figure it will only be a matter of time before The Food Channel comes up with a new one called Dumpster Dinner Chef. Bon Appetit!

My Romance With Power.

 (Reminiscing about hurricane season and Florida Power and Light)

 Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Electric Ladyland

Pole Dance

It's interesting that as each time technology advances a step, we become so dependent upon it that we can't imagine going back to what we had before. That occurred to me when I tried to fast forward through the commercials on a show I watching, only to realize that for once in a long time I was actually watching a television show in real time. I always TiVo my favorite shows, and then speed past the ads. The last time technology slapped me in the face was when I thought I could travel across the country without a cell phone. I ended up calling home via a pay phone at the Atlanta airport, only to receive a jaw dropping bill of $20 for that one minute call on my next AT&T bill.

It is now hurricane season here in South Florida, and that means we must prepare to be sent back to caveman like living at any time. In the blink of an eye you can lose electrical service, phone service, and worst of all, a toilet that flushes. They tell me that people have lived around here for millennia, but I can't imagine how they pulled it off without air-conditioning. Two hours into a loss of electrical service and I am a basket case, cursing God, Florida Power and Light, and anyone else who I believe may have denied me my comfort. As I write this I am thinking about my generator that has been in the repair shop for the last three months, and I am wondering if it will be back in time for the next big blow. If it doesn't get fixed soon, you may see me on CNN at the Home Depot with all the other assholes when the next hurricane comes. I'll be the one fighting with an old woman over the last generator.

The First Day We Had Chandler

 From eleven years and six months ago. 

Thursday, August 28, 2008

Chandler

You know it was just a matter of time. It was only two months ago that I lost Molly, and as a sort of therapy, I have been walking dogs at the Abandoned Pet Rescue ever since. Last week I noticed for the first time, a cute little puppy that had been kept in the small dog room. His name is Chandler, and he is not a small dog. He will eventually grow to be about fifty pounds.

Today I took him home, and ever since early this afternoon, I have been covered in dog spit. My hands, arms, and ankles are covered with tiny punctures made by puppy teeth. I have already had to mop up a puddle of pee, and all Molly's old toys are spread out across the living room. Poor Carlotta kitty has been hiding under the bed for the last few hours, not even thinking of tormenting Fat Kitty. She just wants this little terror to go away.

I had forgotten how Molly was when she was a puppy, but Chandler has caused the memories to come flooding back. Non-stop energy, running around the house chewing on everything possible and running me ragged. Unfortunately, he is not house broken but I am working on that already. Just a few minutes ago he stopped playing and a wistful look came over him. I immediately grabbed him, showed him to the door, and he went out and peed. It seems that he is smart enough. My only worry is that I have not seen him poop yet. That is nine hours without pooping, and the clock is ticking. Oh well, I'm ready. I have plenty of paper towels and spray cleaner. That first poop is probably going to be quite a load, and I'm just waiting for the wailing and screaming when Mark steps in it.

Posted by Alan at 6:03 AM

Before and After

I finally took Chandler to the vet to get his teeth cleaned. The vet was nice enough to send me photos of Chandler's mouth before and after the procedure. I now know why Chandler's breath smelled like a trash can full of week old fish guts left out in the sun on a hot day. Chandler had seriously bad teeth. The poor guy would come up to me looking for some love and I would steer him away.

"Come on Chandler, turn around. Let me scratch your butt, it smells better."

Mark was worse. He would start gagging and scream at Chandler to get away from him. I'd have to tell Chandler that skinny daddy still loves him, but I could tell he didn't think so. So on Friday I dropped the big guy off at the veterinarian's office. Because of the virus thing, I was not allowed to bring him inside. Poor Chandler, must have thought I was abandoning him. Six hours later the vet's office called me and told me to come pick him up. Once again, I was not allowed inside the office and I sat outside in the car talking to them on my phone. After they told me how much this was all going to cost me I needed a clean pair of underpants. Before I brought him in they had explained what the possibilities were, from a low price to a high price depending upon what needed to be done. I did not get the low end price. So as a courtesy I am sending the vet's office a before and after photo like they sent to me.

Before                                                  After

Florida vs Chicago

There seems to be some misunderstanding, some erroneous ideas that I might miss the balmy weather of Florida. I do not. That balmy weather only happens for two months. The rest of the year is unrelenting humidity and heat unlike anything ever experienced in Chicago. Sure, Chicago has had higher temperatures and high humidity, but that bad weather only lasts a few days before it lets loose its grip. We might have a cold spell of below zero temperatures here, but that normally lasts no more than a couple of days. And yes, this was a very long winter that started on Halloween. Really something I've never seen before, snow and below freezing weather on that children's holiday. Which was great in a way, because I wasn't bothered by all those begging kids ringing my doorbell and making my dogs bark. One good thing about the freezing cold is that it mitigates the critters. All winter long, no bugs. Everything that hibernates, hibernated. Whereas in Florida it was a non-stop battle with giant flying cockroaches, fleas, ticks, and other vermin. So, the question is do I like Chicago winter weather more or less than Florida's ten months of hyper-summer? No, not really. But the thing is I can tolerate the winter much easier than Florida heat. A sweaty, overweight, seventy year old man is not a pretty sight.

Urine, Feces, and Marshmallows

It seems that the quarantine Netflix binge show this week, is called Tiger King. From the description I thought that I wouldn't like it. I am now hooked. Mark and I watched two episodes last night. It's like watching a slow motion car wreck. You can't look away. It has everything. Cults, sex, gay sex (So far nothing explicit.), tigers eating people, and some interesting white trash. We're talking missing teeth, missing limbs, missing self esteem white trash. The show is about people who have big cats in their possession, hence the title of the show. To support this love of big cats, these people open up their property as roadside zoos, and to gather help taking care of these cats, they lure in wayward losers.

 When I was a kid my dad used to take us to the zoo. Back then big time zoos were really no better than these roadside zoos. The zoo my dad took us to was Brookfield Zoo. It smelled like urine, feces, and marshmallows. Marshmallows because the zoo sold bags of them that we would then throw to the animals. It turns out that not only do bears love marshmallows, but so do giraffes, lions, monkeys, and me. We threw that garbage into all the animal enclosures. Thankfully, zoos are no longer like that. Most are trying hard to put their animals in more natural environments and no longer allow seven year old kids to throw junk food at them.

After only two episodes of Tiger King, I'm not sure how I feel about these big cat zoos. They seem to raise a lot of cubs. Lion cubs, tiger cubs, cougar cubs, but I kind of feel those cute little cats do not end up having a long and happy life. About twenty five years ago my friend Rudy called me and told me to come over to his house in Fort Lauderdale. Rudy had some acquaintance of his over, introduced me to him, and then told me to go look in the back yard. I slid the patio door open and stepped out by the swimming pool. Rudy said, "Over by the fence." There resting in the bushes was a most beautiful creature. "It's a ligar. Half lion, half tiger." Rudy tells me. Rudy's sketchy friend had brought it over. I looked over the shrubbery and then slowly backed into the house. What kind of crazy fucking moron would bring a wild animal into an urban neighborhood? I found it disturbing, but like feeding marshmallows to the animals at Brookfield, I kind of liked seeing it.