• Cryonics? I didn’t sign any waiver, but we’re apparently running some experiments on our first floor.

    Our furnace has entered our family into a scientific experiment without asking our permission first. And I KNOW I didn’t sign any waiver indicating my acceptance of a frozen state as a consequence of participating (UNWILLINGLY) in this stupid medical trial. You’ve overstepped your bounds, furnace!! But regardless, we are running an experiment all the same as we await a replacement part for our furnace. So now we meet every descent down to the first floor with a quick rundown of the best, most efficient route to whatever the destination is; a review of our contingency plan should one of us not return from our foray into the zone of sub-zero (OK, it’s 57 degrees down there, but it FEELS like sub-zero); and heartfelt goodbyes should the person become frozen during the trip. I think we’ll devolve from our currently equitable and civilized approach to who makes the trip to the first floor for errands or tasks into paper/rock/scissors competitions or a loud holler of “Not it!” to decide who is forced to go as the temperature drops much further. Eventually, we will just become so rude and savage and  that we’ll be unable to meet each other’s eyes when we recall how bad things got when we reach the other side of this little “experiment” — if we ever reach the other side of this experiment.

    It’s entirely possible that this is all my fault. I’ve been suffering from neck issues all week thanks to my herniated disks’ decision to make me feel old and decrepit by reminding me just how much I use my neck every single minute of the day. Maybe the furnace watched me icing my neck down and decided that a full-body freeze would just resolve the issue that much faster. If so, false, furnace. My neck was on the mend. Your attempt to turn me into a flesh-sicle isn’t warranted or appreciated.

    November 15, 2014 • Uncategorized • Views: 177

  • I tried to wean off the Topamax. Yeah, that didn’t work so much.

    So, I had a brainstorm that involved me breaking up with Topamax. It wasn’t the Topamax. It was me. I just didn’t like the way I felt when I was around the Topamax, etc. and so forth. So, I took Topamax out for a cup of coffee and told it that we were through, and I thought I caught a smirk on Topamax’s cap, but I just assumed that Topamax was feeling confident that it could change my mind during the extensive weaning period. Hey, guess what? Topamax was right. The migraines started to get monstrous when I got down to 1/4 of a pill. Did you read that correctly? Yes, you did. 1/4 OF A PILL!!!! So, I made the climb back up to 1 pill of 25 mg. at which point I very firmly stated, “I’m holding here, Topamax. You got that?” to an empty room because I’m a bit of a nut and decided that the foggy brain was going to be ok if only to avoid the migraines so intense that I was forced to lie in bed and attend multiple very sad pity parties hastily planned by me and which basically amounted to a Gilmore Girls marathon of epic duration and a very, very sullen adult woman scowling at the dark room and grumbling unintelligible words at various intervals.

    And now I’m back throwing strange words into conversations that don’t belong in there. Words that my brain has decided to substitute for the correct word. And I’m not sure if it’s the Topamax that I should blame, or my brain. After all, my brain is a bit sassy and enjoys keeping me on my toes. But the Topamax does have a bad rep. Anyway, I’ve landed on placing the blame on my brain with an accusatory finger pointed at the Topamax for the obvious assist. I’ve decided to place a large part of the blame on my brain because it seems that she does this most often when I’ve been a little lax about using her to her fullest potential. So, I’ve decided that she’s either punishing me for not letting her out to play, or she’s just so unbelievably bored that she can’t help herself. She’s so starved for entertainment of some sort that she’s decided to throw bizarrely incorrect words into conversations so she can check out the reaction shots from the people forced to deal with my particular brand of weird.

    I’m very happy to report that the most egregious of the recent word substitutions she’s saddled me with have all been showcase items for family members only.

    • The kids asked me what we were having for dinner. Brain: Algebra! And yes, with the emphasis. I WAS just thinking about JT’s algebra class a couple of minutes prior, so that one is slightly more understandable than the next.
    • I was telling my parents about some sort of program offered at a local community college which is NOT called General Sargeant Reynolds as my brain shouted out when the time came but IS called J. Sargeant Reynolds. Nothing explains that one.



    November 10, 2014 • Health • Views: 95

  • I’m becoming impatient. When am I going on tour? Or was this all about Homeland??

    I’m not a patient person, but after my dream the night before Halloween, I knew patience would be required. After all it was Dave Grohl. And they are just releasing an album. So, he probably has some work to do to get himself unhinged from the band and all. I can wait. I’ve got to get my family prepared for the lengthy road tour we’re about to launch.

    I should probably give more backstory here. See, I dreamed that Dave Grohl, another band member (I’ll get back to this), and I were in a band. They were doing all the heavy lifting and allowing me to lip-sync a song or two each set just to placate me. But then one magical night the karaoke machine broke. Don’t quiz me on this part. My brain is sorely under-prepared to provide realistic details for this portion of the dream. I mean, come on, brain! A karaoke machine?? Anyway, the karaoke machine broke. Dave and the other band member looked at me and said, “Well, looks like we’ll just have to cut your part tonight. Tough break.” And I said, “NO, I’ve totally got this.” You know how to play “I Don’t Care Anymore” by Phil Collins, right? — Ed Note: I’m very surprised my brain didn’t supply a Garbage song here. I can sing the hell out of just about any Garbage song. But Phil Collins? Not so much. I haven’t been practicing. Thanks, brain. Trying to ruin my audition!! — They looked at me. And then at each other. Then they gave me a chance to say, “Oh heh, of course you do. Anyway, I can totally sing that. I’m going to sing the shit out of that. Listen up.” So I sang it. And they looked at me consideringly. Dave says, “Look, you actually aren’t bad at all. But you have to commit to it. Sing it loud and proud.” Dream Dave Grohl is a little nerdy, but also pretty inspiring. Plus, I get the sense Dream Dave Grohl is sick of being the frontman. He just wants to get back to his drums. It’s been a long time away from the sticks for him, and he wants to get back there in his seat and swing that hair of his. It’s a sense I get. He didn’t say anything directly. The dream ended here because SOMEONE woke me up. I’m quite displeased because I think I would have gotten the details on the tour that I needed had I been able to remain asleep for just a little while longer. Is that too much to ask?

    About that other band member. I thought it was a dude from Metallica. You know how dreams are sometimes, right? Dave Grohl was clearly the main character playing opposite me, and the other band member was merely a supporting character. So my brain kept trying to confuse me. At one point it seemed to be Kirk Hammett. But then, weirdly, it seemed to be Rob Halford from Judas Priest. Very very strange. Also, brain? They look NOTHING alike. So, how did you come up with trying to doppleganger those two??

    After I woke up from my dream, I began preparing my family for my extended absence. And I even made a small joking mention of it at work. I didn’t want them all to think I’ve become conceited because Grohl picked me for this opportunity or anything. But as time passes and I’ve received no phone call from Dave, Hammett, or Halford or any of their people, I’m beginning to suspect that this may not be a thing that is going to happen.

    And then, last night, I was watching Homeland, and it struck me that poor man’s Dave Grohl was on there. Which made me very very sad. Because the whole reason I was certain that I was going on tour was because there was no reason for me to be dreaming about Dave Grohl in the first place. I hadn’t listened to the Foo Fighters in months. (Sorry, Dave and co.) And then I realized where my stupid, traitorous brain came up with Grohl as a prominent dream figure. Because of stupid poor man’s Dave Grohl on Homeland who orchestrated the hit on Sandy and then tricked Saul (btw, shame on you, Saul — come on, man!) into following him into the men’s for some neck hypo stabbing.

    Stupid brain. Why can’t we get along??? I think I could kick some serious ass on a tour. Karaoke machine probably not even necessary. But maybe we should pack it just in case.

    November 6, 2014 • Music, Television • Views: 84