Three videos from today...

Its difficult to explain how this started. It had something to do with someone complaining about their "disability" which no one actually thinks is real. Kind of like someone who has seen combat- they rarely talk about it; but the person who is lying about having seen combat will go on and on to try and garner attention. You get it...

This particular video was the first of five I took today. I only kept three because the other two were really long with very long parts of nothing going on (he was being uncooperative a bit), so I just kept these three. Before this video, DG picked up that large wooden circle (its the seat for a stool he's making to go with the desk he made for our daughter, Ceej), but he picked it up in a slow-motion, exaggerated fashion, as if it were extremely heavy. He made a face, groaned... he did it all. And then he said, "Oh... I pooped myself."

I told him to do it again, but this time for the camera. And he seemed all for it, till I picked up the camera.



A few minutes later, I went out to his shop and started "puppet-ing" his paralyzed arm. And he let me. As was commented when I showed this on Facebook- "He's a very patient man..."

Yes, he can be.

The irony about the paralyzed hand "attacking" me is that if I wasn't holding the camera in my right hand, I would have been able to get his hand off my left hand without a problem.



And here, I told him if he showed us his gimp arm, I'd leave him alone. (he turns the saw on, so its kind of noisy).



Also, I realized that its almost been a year since I started doing this blog. I hope you all have enjoyed it and I will continue to keep track of his ridiculousness to share.

Super-Wonder-Twins-Woman-Evil-Criminals

I don't even know what DG was watching on TV to spurn this story out of him. He was sitting on the sofa with Luna in his lap. She was facing him with that sad face that she does when she hasn't been petted for forty minutes of every hour. And DG started talking to her.

Oh, that's right... he was watching some movie and I'd just come in with the dogs (we don't have a fenced yard, so a human goes outside with the dogs). She jumped into his lap and being that it was about 19 degrees Fahrenheit, she was cold. Where I use the ellipsis (...), that's where DG paused to let Luna reply. Except that she never does.

DG: "Aww, you're so cold! We should get you a poncho... we should... because you don't like wearing a sweater. A poncho would keep you warm... like a sweater, but its like a cape. You'd like that, wouldn't you? ... Wearing a cape. Yes, you would. You could be like Wonder Woman. She has that thing... its gold. HEY! Dear, what's that thing Wonder Woman has?"

Me: "A corset?"

DG: "Its gold."

Me: "Her lasso?"

DG: "That's right. Her lasso. You could [makes swishy noises] and make people tell the truth... yes you could."

I stopped listening for a few minutes and then I heard him say something about having golden hair.

Me: "Wonder Woman didn't have golden hair. Lynda Carter didn't have golden hair."

DG: "DETAILS! We don't need your details!"

Moments later, he said, "Wonder Twins power... ACTIVATE! Form of... CHIHUAHUA!"

Me: "Why is she taking on a form of something she already is?"

DG: "She's my partner! [baby-talk] Do you wanna be my partner?... My little partner?... Partners in CRIME!"

Me: "Don't you mean 'Partners in Crime Fighting'?"

DG: "No. We could be evil! EEEEVILE!... Are we e-VILE? We could defend the German Shepherd. Because he needs help."

Me: "I think Gypsy can handle HERself."

DG: "You're small, but you have a MIGHTY... rawr!"

He completely ignored me, of course, going on about how Luna and he had crime to create and something from the movie "Beverly Hills Chihuahua" ("small but mighty").

Also today, we hooked up our old computer to the old monitor. A few weeks ago, ol' Delly up and died. Well, he didn't actually DIE, but he stopped connecting to the Internet. The amount of money it would take to get it fixed, only to have it needing a fix again in a few months, my parents smiled upon us and bought me a new computer tower. (my monitor, keyboard, and mouse are fairly new). Anyway, we decided to hook up the old computer to its old monitor, delete a bunch of stuff on in and reinstall his NASCAR games. He can't work in the shop in the coldest part of Winter because of his paralyzed side. So, he needs something to pass the time.

It worked. And here are some photos...

At the start of the endeavor, he found some 3-D glasses.



And we have success. (that's a really, really old keyboard)

A Hoarse is a Hoarse, of coarse, of coarse.

Over the weekend, I met up with an old friend from another lifetime. And anyone who knows me will tell you that I talk. A lot. I talked myself a little hoarse by Sunday, but I woke up Monday seemingly fine. Today is Tuesday and as my day drags on, I'm losing more and more of my voice. If I have to raise my voice, I sound like a pre-teen boy. If I speak normally I sound like a chain-smoker.

That said... this is today's conversation...

I go through phases where I don't like to eat breakfast cereal. So I end up having non-traditional foods for breakfast and it doesn't matter to me, I just have to eat something when I take my stay-alive pills. This morning, I decided to have some hot dogs.

Like all old people (I'm older than you, you dang whippersnapper! Get off my lawn!), I have a certain way of doing things and I prefer to have those things done MY way! The Disabled Guy opened up a package of hot dogs. He cut a strip in the side all the way down! So, I had to ask him why.

DG: "They were giving me trouble. I had to teach them a lesson."

Me: "A lesson in what? That you abuse your power with a pair of scissors?"

DG: "Exactly! I showed them who is boss. They came out of that package just like I told them to..."

Me: "You did it wrong!" My voice cracked on "wrong"

DG: "Why does your voice sound like that?"

Me: "I told you, I talked myself hoarse this weekend."

DG: "Its Tuesday."

Me: "I know. I was fine yesterday, but when I woke up today, I was hoarse."

DG: "Ohhh, I know why."

And he stopped. I waited. So finally I had to ask, "Why?"

DG: "Because you- you talk so fast and the hoarse couldn't keep up. It couldn't run fast enough to keep up with you and today, it just finally caught up and said, 'HEE-EEEEY!'... yeah. You know it."

So, there you have it- I'm hoarse two days later because the "hoarse/horse" couldn't run fast enough to keep up with my talking.

Also- since I knew I wouldn't be home on Saturday till way later, I made chili in the crock pot. Before I left, I said to Ceej (the 17 year old), "Tell Dad that the cheese for the chili is in the drawer in the fridge!"

DG said, loudly, "I'M RIGHT HERE! I CAN HEAR YOU!"

Me: "Then where's the cheese for the chili?"

DG proudly declared: "The food is in the closet!"

Now he denies ever having said that, but he giggles maniacally when he does.

The Disabled Guy has RETURNED!

He's been home less than 48 hours and we've already had a conversation "about that guy who looks like that guy but it isn't him." But more on that later.

We all know the story of the "Rats with Little Nike Shoes", right? If you don't, you should. Its a part of history, according to DG. We also know that DG and the boy (who is over six feet tall and almost nineteen years old) went to North Carolina for five weeks. Yes, five weeks...

This is a story told to me by the boy:

While they were in NC, they went to the Outer Banks. Now, I don't know for sure if its the Outer Banks or just Outer Banks. At any rate, while on the way there, they crossed a bridge. If you're familiar with bridges over water that lead to or are near the ocean, you're aware that they're high bridges to accommodate boats and waves and such. Along this particular bridge, there were dozens of dead seagulls. They were apparently hit by vehicles or felled by a storm or whatever- they were dead. The boy referred to them as being "piles of feathers and blood" at times.

DG said: "They were hit by cars because they're young. They don't know no better to fly higher."

The Boy: "What about those, Dad? Those are adult seagulls."

DG: "They're old. They committed suicide because they couldn't take it anymore."

So, I asked why the story wasn't longer. I mean, look at the Rats story, right? DG toned it down because his parents were there and he was either embarrassed to be himself (because, come on, this is absolutely him, you can't fake this kind of hilarity) or he didn't think they'd "get it".

Me: "What about Nike shoes? Didn't they have little Nike shoes?"

DG: "No, of course not! Don't be redikkalus! *ridiculous* They're birds, they can fly. Except when they get hit by a vehicle."

The daughter, Ceej, exclaimed, "They can't wear Nike shoes, they've got weird-shaped feet!"

Good point. Hopefully, we can coax the story out of him as the days go on...

Earlier this week, Regretsy decided a pumpkin carving contest was in order. Oh, I do love Regretsy. But, I also knew that my attempt at pumpkin carving would be no match for the awesome artisans who submit to Regretsy contests. But, I tried anyway. I didn't submit my pumpkin, but I completed it and showed to the Regretsians (of which I am one).

So, after I carved our pumpkin, I was looking for something to make fake blood out of since my Sharpie marker wasn't giving me the effect I wanted. So, I used honey mixed with red food coloring. I had to get DG to reach the honey for me, because I'm short. He watched me squeeze a generous amount into a glass bowl.

He asked, "What are you doing?"

I replied, as I mixed in copious amounts of red food coloring, "I'm making blood for the pumpkin."

DG: "Why are you using honey?"

Me: "Because we don't have any Karo syrup. Why, what do you do to make blood?"

DG, "I'd just punch someone in the face."

And you know how he is by now... he waited several long moments and then added, "Maybe I'd cut myself shaving."

Here's a photo of my non-submitted-but-still-loved-by-Regrestians pumpkin.



About an hour before I started this blog, DG decided to see what new movies were "on Demand". He found one called "Legion" with Dennis Quaid and Paul Bettany. Now, I didn't argue, because I loves me some Paul Bettany and Dennis Quaid is a bonus... and it turns out, its pretty star-filled in general.

Now, I'm not out to spoil anything for anyone, so don't worry. The actor we had the conversation about is named Lucas Black. Most would remember him from such fine films as "Sling Blade" and "Ghosts of Mississippi"... but here's how we got to how DG knows him.

DG: "That kid, right there. He's not River Phoenix. I know he's not because he's dead."

Me: "You're right. Acting is difficult to do once you've passed away."

DG: "So who is he? He's that guy. That guy who looks like River Phoenix."

Really, at this point, I'm pretty surprised that DG even knows who the hell River Phoenix is, but, since I do know how he thinks, I said, "Are you talking about his brother, Joaquin Phoenix?"

DG: "That's not him."

Me: "I know that's not him. That's not Joaquin Phoenix or anyone who looks like any of the Phoenixes... what are you talking about?"

DG: *rubbing his fingers together, like that helps me* "He's that guy who was in that movie."

Me: "Which movie?"

DG: *sighing* "The one where they rode horses through the desert."

I can hear you all now. "What the hell? How many movies are out there with horses and the desert!? How do you know these things!?"

Well, I'll tell you... I have an astounding memory for useless trivia. It comes in quite handy at times. I'm fairly fun, pretty informed and I can fake my way through almost any conversational situation (except sports, but I'm also a chick, so no one expects me to know anything about sports. Sexist, but true).

So, when DG said, "The one where they rode horses through the desert..." I said, "Yes! That's him! That's Lucas Black and he was in "All the Pretty Horses" directed by Billy Bob Thornton."

After that, I felt like bowing. Like a Shakespearean actor receiving a standing ovation. I damn near jumped to my feet and bowed. "That guy who looks like River Phoenix but isn't his brother and doesn't really look like the Phoenix family at all and was in that movie where they rode horses through the desert." That's right. I knew what he was talking about.

On a completely unrelated note, there are still plenty of birdhouses available through the Disabled Guy Family etsy shop. I even added some Autumnal photos to the mix.

Part textually speaking, part other stuff...

The Disabled Guy and the boy (who is almost 19 years old, but he'll always be "the boy" to me) went on a trip down to North Carolina. I'm sure you remember, there was at least one blog about it. DG has been texting me daily. No kidding. Daily.

As you recall, he's had a stroke. I know! Sometimes you forget! And when he text-messages, it takes a lot of time to get a reply from him. A few times, he's replied faster, so he's either getting better at it or he's getting help.

Last night, the boy texted me about some stuff and ended with: "Tell Dad we need to get some Gummy Bears."

So I did. I texted to him: "Hey, you should go get some Gummy Bears."

DG replied: "Did Jason tell you to say that?"

Me: "No. Why?"

DG: "Yes way!"

Me: "I said 'why', not 'way'."

DG: "What the hell are you talking about?"

Me: "I said to get gummies. You asked if Jase told me to say that. I said 'No. WHY?' and you said 'Yes WAY'. I was just telling you what I said."

DG: "I don't even know what's going on."

Me: "You never do."

DG: "Sometimes I do."

Me: "Really? What's going on right now?"

DG: "I don't know.".

Me: "There you go."

DG: "Where am I going?"

So there you have it. I don't know if they ever did go get the Gummy Bears.

Other stuff...

Last week, the Regretsy lady put our etsy shop on the Facebook page (our linky-link to the shop). She was talking about disabled people in general- it started from a book she found called "Crafts for Retarded" from 1964. She immediately got anger-mail about it. My response to the anger-mail (which was hilarious, I swear, I almost busted something important laughing at it) was to explain, in expletive form, that DG does not embrace his disability, he hates it. He mocks it. And shortly after that, she put our shop up with: "Speaking of disabled people..." We made several sales and will now be able to make the semi-regular scheduled payments for our daughter's orchestra trip. The big payment is due in February, so we're okay as long as people will buy stuff over the next few months.

Here's the link to the Regretsy post that started it all.

And the angry mail (which turned out to be a ruse, but it was hilarious nonetheless).

This is April's entire intro to posting our shop link:

"Speaking of disabled people, here's a link I've been meaning to post for a long time. This is the Disabled Guy's shop. He's the husband of Regretsy regular Patty, who has been a huge supporter of our God given right to mock. Patty says he makes these birdhouses with one hand, which I can only assume means he's masturbating. In any case, I just bought one of these birdhouses to help them raise money for their daughter's school trip. Take a look at their lovely store and see if there's anything you like."

I love her so much. And even DG got the masturbating joke. "I wouldn't have been able to make those birdhouses if I was masturbating, so I had to stop till I finished the houses."

DG and the boy are due back in about two weeks. I don't know how much more of the texting I can take.

Animal conversations... mostly one-sided, of course.

As you know- and if you don't, why aren't you taking notes?- we have four dogs. A German Shepherd and three Chihuahuas. Luna was our first and we refer to her as his girlfriend.

For your enjoyment- a photo!



After years of being a good dog and listening to us when we tell her what to do, she's gotten it into her head to run to the front yard and across the street at people. She barks like a psycho, but she's a good dog and wouldn't bite anyone. The problem is the whole "across the street" thing because our street is fairly busy. In the old days, we used to leash all our dogs and walk all the way out to the backyard with them and wait on them... because we don't have a fenced yard.

Then all my health issues started and I can trust Gypsy off-leash. The Chis were a little testier because they don't listen quite as well as she does. Its all DG's fault too, because I train them and he un-trains them. Normally, I stand on the deck, overlooking the rather large backyard. There's a large pine tree on one side, blocking fast access to the front and then the driveway and our vehicles to the other side. Normally, that's enough blockage for anyone to react... except DG and his un-training.

Back when we had a Rottweiler (Kodiak, best dog EVER!), I trained him to simple, one word commands. "Sit", "Stay", "Down", "up", "come", "no", "Kisses", and "bang" for "play dead". And I did this for DG's benefit. Multi-word phrases confuse him more than long division. And what does he do to poor, yet genius-smart Kodiak?

"Sit down!"

"Stay there!"

"Get up!"

"Lay down!"

Kodiak took about fifteen seconds to process each command from DG, but he did figure it out. Not so with the Chis. They simply don't listen to him. When I say "NO!" or "STOP!" or even: "DON'T YOU DARE!", they stop what they're doing. All the dogs and sometimes people walking down the street.

In the last couple weeks, Luna decided to dart to the front of the house- with a rather small yard and a far-too-busy street. The other day, I was upstairs in a half-dressed mode (as I had just showered) when Luna took it upon herself to chase some religious door-to-door people. All the way across the street. One of our down-the-street neighbors was walking by on another day and she took off after him. She's not attacking anyone, just barking and wagging her tail so hard it has an effect on her running.

So I said, "That's it- she's going to be leashed! Its a pain in the ass, but its better than a Dead Luna."

Last night, DG had this conversation with Luna. Where I put in the ellipsis (the "..."), that's where he pauses as if waiting for her to answer.

"Why do you do that? Hmmm? ... Why do you run? ... You're going to have to get a leash... I know! You'll wear a leash and then the other dogs will laugh at you... because... because you'll be the only one on a leash and they'll think its funny. ... Yes they will! .... Yes they will! They'll think its funny! You'll have a leash..."

Then he disintegrated into a weird baby talk that sounded like: "Oh-boo-boo-doo-boo!"

Luna had puppies on June 30th and one of my online friends bought one of the pups. All the other pups went home two weeks ago. Hers is still here because she lives down south and we had it all worked out that my parents would take the pup to her, like they've done for us before. Even though DG is perfectly capable of taking the pup himself. Now, my parents would be leaving in two days. Today, DG says he can take the pup. Well, that's just great.

For the last week, I've told him to get one of our cat carriers out so I could clean it up for the pup (dusty, has cat hair in it). He finally got it out today while I was out running errands. He assembled it and cleaned it up. On the side is written: "Millennium Falcon" because when we got it, we had two kittens that he'd named Han Solo and Chewbacca. Har-har, right? About six months later, Han Solo became sick and passed away. We ended up with more cats, but that's a story for another time. The point is, it says "Millennium Falcon" and Han Solo is no longer with us.

After he got done wiping all the dust off the outside of the carrier, he said: "Jabba the Hutt has Han Solo. Get it? Get it!?" then he picked up the carrier and moved it around making "schwooosh-schhwoooosh" noises.

Oh, and for your pleasure, a photo of Martini. Because who doesn't love cute puppy photos?



and another one, because I think its cute.



So, DG is going on a trip. Now, I'm not going to blast all over the Internet where he's going, exactly, but obviously, he's going to North Carolina. It just so happens that the new owner is in NC right now, visiting some family. She was going to drive back home- to where my parents are actually ending up on their trip- to pick up the pup and then back to NC. But now its all worked out that since DG is literally driving past where she is now, he'll be taking the pup. Because I'm not telling you where they all are, these town names are made up. These may or may not be actual town names, but these are NOT the towns where she is, where he'll end up.

I sent her a message to ask where she was in NC and I told DG (again, NOT the real town).

Me: "She's in Jackboro."

DG: "Smackboro?"

Me: "JACKboro!"

DG: "Markboro?"

Me: "JACK-BORE-OHH!"

DG: "Jackville?"

Me: louder, more enunciation, then less enunciation: "JACK... BORE... OHHH! JACKBORO!!!"

DG: "Is that near Townville?"

Me: "YES! YES, it is NEAR TOWNVILLE!"

He breaks out a nineteen year old road atlas. Nineteen years old! And he shows me the route he takes- going over Jackboro and near Townville to get to his destination which is near Fayetteville (real town name, actually). Obviously, in nineteen years, things have changed. I'm up on Google maps and he's holding that nineteen year old atlas.

Me: "Where do you go? Through Ohio, into the Virginias?"

DG: "Yeah, right here." *points at the old atlas map*

Me: "So, just take Highway [whatever number] to Greensboro and then down to Jackboro, then cut over to Townville and you'll be fine."

DG: "No, I won't, I need to be on Highway [different number] to get to [parents' house] from here."

Me: "That's not what you said-"

DG: "I go through Knoxville, you know, Knoxville, Tennessee!" (he was trying to match my level of frustration).

Me: "Fine! Do you go through Ashville?" I even pointed on his two-decade old map.

DG: "No, I go through KNOXVILLE!"

Me: "But, to get to [parents' house] you have to go through Ashville, then up to here [pointing at a town] then here and then past Townville!"

DG: "No, I go through ASHVILLE after Knoxville then up to here [pointing at same town]..."

Me: "WHAT THE FUCK DID I JUST SAY?"

Let's just say it was a long and frustrating day. So its all worked out. DG will meet up with my friend in Townville- which is just a bit out of his way, but wouldn't be if he took another highway instead of insisting on taking the original highway... Its all worked out and I don't feel like smothering him with a pillow anymore.

By the way, I got my very first hate-mail. I was told that I'm a sociopath and that they feel sorry for my son (I'd mentioned my son in a Regretsy comment) because his mother is obviously a schizophrenic. *waves at lurker* Also, upon reading this blog, I've also got my head so far up my ass that it warrants public exposure.

I don't really know what that means- because how much more public can I get? This is public blog, its open to public comments, and I've linked to it through my signature on several message boards, the Regretsy site (my screen name is the link) and there's a Facebook group. But apparently, this person (who has some issues with punctuation and spaces between sentences) is going to submit this blog to "fail blog" (which is a pretty funny website, if you need to waste some time, go on a read it- its one of those time-killer sites). I did reply to one of the emails (there were two- one calling me a mental patient and the other telling me I had some cranial-rectal issues) and said: "You'll have to be more specific, I do several blogs and I say a lot of things on Regretsy."

But, I'm still confused as to how I have my head so far up my ass because I post ridiculous conversations with my disabled husband, with his knowledge and permission. But hey, more readers are more readers and I can't complain about that, now can I?

A few conversations from today... (swear words inside)

I post on Regretsy as one of those smart-mouthed snark-bitches. That is, if you believe what other people say when someone else is wittier than they are and they can't come up with anything clever as a retort.

Today, Regretsy featured this post. I was the first comment. Now, over on Regretsy, we don't tolerate that whole "FIRST!!" bullshit that some other sites seem to either enjoy or ignore. Either way, no one who has ever posted there will post "FIRST!!" unless they're being ironic or it happens to play into the original post. That particular subject is about some kind of fetish involving heavy-duty knit sweaters. And since its Regretsy, my post was filled with snark and attitude. I didn't think I'd be first, but that doesn't matter either way.

This is what I said:

"I want to get that orange fuzzy thing for the disabled guy. He’s always bitching about being cold. No kink involved here, I just want to stifle the urge to smother him during the winter.

With that, I could have the best of both worlds- he’d shut the fuck up and I would feel like I was actually smothering him."

In less than a minute, I received THREE "thumbs down" clicks! I thought, "Damn, it wasn't THAT bad!" When I refreshed the page, I had more thumbs down clicks. I posted it on my Facebook- how I was thumbs-downed so quickly for such a silly comment. I don't care, I mean it doesn't hurt my feelings. Usually the thumbs-downers are a bunch of whiny, self-righteous people who swear by their "art" no matter how bad it is. But hey, being on Regretsy brings sales and if something sells, who cares how they found your link?

Some of my friends commented on my status with much hilarity because most of them were also of the Regretsy ilk. I read their comments out to DG and would check back on my "thumbs down" count. The highest I saw was fifteen.

DG said: "That's mah Fan Club."

On the other extreme, I posted this comment:

"Holy shit! I’ve never had a comment “hidden due to low rating” before! A banner day for me! Huzzah!

The disabled guy just said, “That’s my fan club.”

*high five* with asterisks!"

That one received (at last check) forty-four thumbs up clicks! So my fan club is doubly strong to his. (thumbs up and thumbs down cancel each other out so if you get fifteen thumbs down and sixteen thumbs up, it shows as +1).

Later in the afternoon, DG convinced me to join him at Wal-Mart. Not my favorite place to be. Too much walking, too little gratification. In the middle of our excursion, he asked which tulips I liked. I like all tulips. Tulips are tulips. He half-mumbled something about different kinds of tulips and that was all. About twenty minutes passed as we continued our shopping and then left.

As we were driving away, he said: "There were all colors. Orange, and purple. Not orange, that would be ridiculous." and he rattled off a few more colors.

Me: "How is orange ridiculous?"

DG: "For a flower its ridiculous."

Me: "Orange is a color found in nature. We have orange flowers in our backyard. We planted them." (which are not tulips, but still orange flowers)

**Proof**


DG: "Tulips aren't orange!" (except when they are)

And he left it at that.

For the rest of the drive home, he alternately "sang" and bopped his head to whatever imaginary music was in his head. If I looked over at him, he would stop (bopping his head, that is). If I continued to look he'd giggle almost maniacally. I had to swing by the grocery store to pick up some photos I had printed and he said, "I'm gonna let you go in without me."

I replied: "Thank the gods, because people can see you head-bopping."

He started to bop his head and sing: "Look at me! You can see me!" followed by more maniacal laughter.

Just now, as I was typing this, I was telling Ceej about it. He shook his head and said, "I don't think it was me. I was possessed!"

And he thinks orange tulips are ridiculous.

The Disabled Guy is a Spaz- the doctor says so...

In January, DG had a follow-up appointment. Well, follow-up isn't the right word. Once a year, he sees a GP (general practitioner, for those not up on the hip, hospital lingo). Once a month, he sees the anti-coag clinic (that's anti-coagulation, for people on blood thinners). So, in January, he saw his doctor and that doctor prescribed Baclofen.

Baclofen is a muscle relaxer and anti-spastic. But we didn't know that at the time. A few weeks go by and DG tells me that he hasn't received his Baclofen. Of course, he didn't say that at the time. What he said was: "I didn't get this drug I'm supposed to get." Which was DG-speak for "call and figure this out with as minimal information as possible..."

The pharmacist at the VA looked it up and said that all his drugs were current and if he didn't have something, just wait, it was probably en route. And then I forgot about it.

Hey, what can I say? I had a lot of crap going on in my own life. In case I haven't crammed it down your throats as well, I've got Fibromyalgia, which is a lovely, debilitating disorder that causes a lot of pain. But I digress.

Today, DG went up to the VA hospital and saw the seizure people. The clinic has its own goofy name (and by "clinic", I mean in the hospital, its not a free-standing place) and they see people who have seizure issues. DG started having seizures about six months after the stroke (the day before my twenty-sixth birthday, in fact). They tried to wean him off seizure meds, but after a short time, he started having them again. So, back on the drugs he goes. And now he sees the seizure clinic once a year (unless there's a problem, of course).

Now, DG doesn't care what clinic he sees. He goes to the appointment, gets seen, says everything is fine, even if it isn't. He slipped on the ice a couple of years ago and quite possibly broke a rib or two. He landed on his paralyzed arm (he was wearing a puffy winter coat). Anyway, he was at the hospital for another reason and I really don't remember why I was with him, other than to make him go to Urgent Care for his ribs. The doctor looked at his ribs- bruised, visibly swollen, it hurt to even raise his arm- and that's the doctor raising his arm for him, since DG can't raise his arm. X-rays showed no fracture, so the doctor called it a "bone bruise" and sent him on his way with a bottle of Vicodin, some anti-inflammatories, and instructions on using ice and heat.

In the truck for the drive home he said, "Wow. How hard do you have to hit a bone to bruise it?"

I replied: "You know how hard you have to hit it to break it?" When he nodded I added, "A little less than that."

He wasn't amused.

So, today, he comes back from his appointment with a note. The note tells me nothing- its just a doctor's name, a phone number and the word Baclofen. In DG speak, which took about three minutes to get out, I was told I had to call the doctor at that number, inform them that the order for the drugs had been written but never put into the computer. And apparently, doctors can't just put in other doctors' requests all willy-nilly.

While I was on hold, I showed DG my daily photo submission on Flickr. Apparently, he doesn't think I'm artsy and doesn't believe I was naked in the photo I took of myself. I was trying not to say stuff while on hold, because at the moment you blurt out: "Of course I was naked in that photo, that's my ASS right there!" the person you're waiting for gets on the phone. Here's the photo in question if you feel like clicking. If you're on my Facebook list, then you've already seen it.

I got the medicine order all sorted with a receptionist. I asked if he knew what Baclofen was for and he stated that he did not (he was merely a data entry/receptionist person). I said I'd Google it. And while I was on hold while Mr. Receptionist did what he had to do, I found Baclofen.

Its a muscle relaxer and antispastic. That's right. Apparently, the Disabled Guy is a Spaz. And he takes medicine for it.

The Disabled Guy talks to puppies...

Two puppies to be exact. I mentioned how he renames the pups and he finally got around to it this past week. Of course, Easton is Sheena Easton. Martini and Eli I caught on video. Drake and Moose are still Drake and Moose but he elongates their vowels- "Draaaaaaayke!" and "Mooooooooose!" Wah-lah! is still Wah-Lah! but that's because he can't come up with anything more ridiculous to call her. (she hasn't been renamed by her new owners yet).

Also, last night (Thursday night, if you're reading this on a day that isn't Friday), DG had a conversation with himself. Ceej and I left for the orchestra meeting and even said, "Bye" to him as we left. I called him about an hour later to ask if he'd make a swing so we could use it as the prize in the raffle for fundraising. He asked, "What about the birdhouses?" I told him those are for our kid alone and the swing raffle would help lower the overall cost for the parents of every kid. So he said he'd do it. We really don't have much else to offer up in the way of fundraising or volunteering. He can't do it, and I simply don't enjoy sitting in uncomfortable chairs without pain medication for hours on end. But I digress. You didn't come here to read about my whiny little rant about fundraising.

You came to watch these videos.



I don't think an intro is really all that necessary because the videos speak for themselves.

Quite literally...



In this one, though, we reference the movie "Undercover Blues" and the character who called himself "Muerte" which is "death". The Blues (Kathleen Turner and Dennis Quaid) called him "Morty".



This video is supposed to be about the puppy and not DG's chest hair.

"Y'all clean up your room!" (pics and video!)

As I mentioned, the puppies live in our kitchen till they're old enough to go home. That's because our kitchen is the warmest room in the house and it is also the only room with a tile floor that is easily blocked. And trust me... we need the tile. People think Chihuahuas are small and not very messy. Well, that's true. But when there's six of them, the mess is times-six. So much poo.

Even though the sweet puppies are in the kitchen, we still have to use the kitchen. Most times, that's not an issue, but first thing in the morning, well, let's just say it takes work. During the day we try to keep up. At the point when they go home, people ask me if I miss them. No. I do not. By the time they go home, I'm just so very tired of the poo.

But I digress. DG has conversations with the puppies. As if they're human. As if they're not babies. And as if they can do what he's ordering them to do.

Nearly daily, he says, "Y'all, clean up your room!"

And this is the response the puppies give him:



DG: "Don't look at me like that! You need to clean up your room!"

And the puppies' response:



DG: "Y'all think you're so cute, dontcha? Well, you're not as cute as you think you might be!"

And the puppies say:



DG: "Hey, you're supposed to pay attention to me. Don't ignore me! Oh, sure, just go to sleep. Be that way. You'll be laughing out of your face when you clean up this room."

Puppies? What do you have to say?



Now, as you can see, I took these photos all in a row. And the one absolute consistent was the single puppy sleeping in the center with his head resting on the edge of the bed. That would be Moose. The big white one that keeps moving around, that's Martini. The darker brown one to the left is Easton. There's a white one in the foreground with Moose, also sleeping. That would be little Eli. Eli eventually moved to get away from the flashy thing and was curled with little Wah-Lah!, and the other (larger) brown one in the back is Drake. I'm telling you their names because all but one has been re-named (that would be Wah-Lah! who is having someone come look at her tomorrow).

Of course, DG doesn't call them by their names. We named all the puppies till their owners re-named them. In the last litter Luna had, DG named them all different names- as in: Angel Eyes, Two Socks, Speedy Rodriquez, Brownie, and The Brain. So far, he hasn't named this litter- except Easton.

I promised that there would be video. And, here it is... these are short snippets of video and two of them are actually one long one broken in two parts. In one of those, I sound incredibly annoyed with DG. And I kind of am. More than once a day, he makes the same exact joke when he says, "Which one is this?"

I reply: "That's Easton."

He exclaims: "Sheena Easton!"

And I tell him yet again that her new owner is a coach and a teacher and she had her team name the pup- Easton, after a baseball bat.



Short discussion with the pups.



Part one- (DG spilled some chili he was reheating for lunch, which is what we're telling Luna to leave alone).



Part two-



And because I mentioned it in the above video, here's the video where Drake gets Easton pinned in the playpen.



There you have it... in the next few weeks, before the pups all go to their new homes, there will be more video and quite possibly longer conversations with the puppies. Because we all know how puppies always do what their told. As if they're human. As if they're not babies.

Conversation with a puppy

So, like I said, Luna had six puppies. All gorgeous, all healthy.

The other day, I was petting Luna because she's not getting much attention what with being the mum to six puppies and stuck in the kitchen till they're old enough to be left alone and she had one pup with her. After I petted and cooed at her, I reached over to pet the puppy, who was nursing.

It growled at me! I've never had a puppy growl at me before! So what did I do? I grabbed my camera and took video.




Today, I was re-telling DG about the growler and how we're not supposed to do that because it can make the pups aggressive. He said: "That puppy. He was telling you to leave him alone."

Me: "I know."

DG: "He said, 'Oooh, if I had teeth, I'd tear you up!'... that's what he said."

Me: "He'd tear me up?"

DG: "He did. 'If I had teeth, she wouldn't do that! grrrrr!', like that."

Me: "I see. He told you this?"

DG: "Yeah, we've talked about it. Had conversations."

Me: "You talked about it? Had conversations? Maybe even a dialog about it? With the puppy? The small dog? The young Chihuahua?"

He called me a smart-ass after that. I don't know why. *blinks innocently*


Here's a video from the other day when I cleaned up the playpen the pups are usually kept in. DG's in the video a little bit, and you really need to ignore my annoying voice. I don't think I sound as nasally as I do in the video, but hey, that's just me. For the record, Gypsy was whining because she couldn't get into the kitchen to play with the puppies.

Banana Sandwiches and Puppies.

Those two things aren't related. Firstly, our Chihuahuas, Luna and Jasper, had puppies last week. (Wednesday, June 30th). The Disabled Guy was gone on his little useless trip till the previous weekend. I had been sleeping on the sofa just in case Luna had her puppies. The sofa is the one DG built and is nice to sit on, but absolutely horrible to sleep on.

But more on puppies later, because there will be more photos at the end. To hold you over, here's a group shot from yesterday.



Our son got a full time job at Bird's Eye Foods. He's exhausted and has no life now, beyond going to work and coming home. Jase also has a medical problem and can only eat certain foods at times. Its difficult to explain and let's just leave it at that. One of the things Jase takes to work is bananas. This batch of bananas ripened far too quickly and DG decided he would make banana sandwiches for lunch.

I hear you saying, "Oooh, delicious!" No. Don't say that. Not at all. He doesn't make them with peanut butter or even peanut butter and chocolate sauce. No, he makes his banana sandwiches with Miracle Whip. You heard me. "The Bread Spread from Kraft" and sliced bananas. If you think sliced bananas are slimy, try spreading Miracle Whip on the bread first.

And about the slicing, he doesn't slice them in small pieces, like coins. He slices them long-ways, so they cover more bread. Now, you can see where this is going because I'm sure you all remember that DG only has the use of one hand. In this situation, it would make sense to slice them small, like coins. No, he still tries to slice them long-ways. So, being the good wifey that I am, I offer to help- even though I detest the slimy feel of Miracle Whip and bananas. DG doesn't like to ask for help and after 15 years, I just know when he needs it, and sometimes, I wait for him to ask (or, in most cases, he swears a lot and then says, "DEAR! C'mere!"). But he waited till he mangled a banana before saying anything to me. I took the now-slime covered butter knife and sliced the second banana long-ways and fixed the second sandwich.

DG said: "Thanks. I could never slice those got-damned bananas."

Me, slicing easily: "Not even before." (as in, before the stroke).

DG: "Not even. I always tear it up." Then he picked up his two sandwiches and said, "You can tell mine from yours. Mine's like a Whopper and this is like a cheeseburger!"

Me: "Like a Whopper?"

DG: "Like a Whopper."

As he was getting his two little snack-size bags of chips, I stood next to the gate at the kitchen door. We have the gate up to keep the other three dogs away from Luna and the puppies- who are in a playpen in the kitchen (the warmest room in the house). I moved the gate for him to leave the kitchen and Luna was sitting up in the playpen, looking at DG as he walked by.

He said: "Look, Luna knows. Like a Whopper." She wagged her tail. He repeated, "Like a Whopper. She knows."

Once in the living room with his two sandwiches and two snack-size bags of chips, he sighed. I asked what was wrong. He replied, "This isn't going to be enough. I'm really hungry."

He ate half of the first sandwich. And he sighed again.

I asked, "Would you like me to make you another nasty sandwich?"

DG: "Could you make two?"


Now, about the puppies!

I was officially diagnosed with fibromyalgia on Monday, June 28th. For those who don't know, it causes widespread pain through the muscles and it makes the sufferer extremely tired. Since I'd been sleeping on the sofa for over a week, I was not sleeping well. The more tired you are, the more pain you're in. So, when DG would get up in the morning, I would go to bed and tell him to come get me if something happened with Luna. So, you can see how him being gone was bad for me at this time. While he was gone, I had to sleep on the sofa, stay awake instead of napping (because my kids have lives and jobs and aren't always home), and I had to cook dinners and do dishes and just loads of stuff I don't normally do on a daily basis.

But I digress.

On Wednesday, June 30th, I told him, "I'm going to take a nap. Come get me if something happens." This was around 630 AM. I fell asleep quickly, the bed being much more comfortable than the sofa.

Less than an hour later, DG came upstairs and said that Luna was "panting all weird-like." I asked where she was- she'd gotten into the playpen all by herself (there's a hole in the side for her to come and go). I sat up and told him I'd be down in a minute. I sat on the bed for a minute, then went to the bathroom to get my track pants on. In the possibly three minutes since he woke me till I walked out of the bathroom, he was racing back up the stairs.

Before I could say anything he exclaimed, "There's something coming out of her!"

I asked what it looked like.

DG replied: "Disgusting!"

I had to wait on him to go down the stairs because he was blocking me. He got to the kitchen before me, because I paused to call my friend, Vickie- who is a dog breeder (and where we got Luna and Jasper). When I walked into the kitchen, DG was standing next to the playpen with a look of terror and utter disgust on his face. I had to laugh at him.

Luna went on to have six puppies. All healthy. Four boys and two girls. As they grow, there will be many photos and maybe some video footage of DG with the puppies. Till then, here are some photos...

DG isn't good at holding the puppies for photos. He refuses to hold them with any kind of pressure because he thinks he'll hurt them. But I got two shots of two of the puppies with him holding them.

This is Vato- he's been purchased and his new name is Drake.



This is Chica- she's also been purchased and her new name is Easton.



I held the pups pictured below. In order of birth, they are: Wah-Lah!, Vato, Paco, Pedro, Chica, and Huevo. The new owners re-name them most of the time. But DG will also give them weird nicknames (one from the last litter was called "Speedy Rodriquez" because "Speedy Gonzales" is trademarked, so says DG).

Wah-Lah!, a girl.



Paco- he's my favorite right now, because of his coloring.



Pedro.



Huevo. (Pedro, Wah-Lah!, and Huevo all look alike.)



Group shot!


And here's a photo of the sofa. Its pretty... and pretty uncomfortable as a bed.

And that's our son, being his usual self.

Textually Speaking Part Two-

So, while DG has been on this trip, I've been receiving random text messages with photos in them. The other day, I received this photo and the words: "All glass".



I texted back, "Cool. What is it?"

DG: "Its made of glass."

Me: "Ok, but WHAT is it?"

DG: "Glass."

Me: "I know its glass, what is made out of glass?"

DG: "That picture I sent. Its all glass."

Me: "I GOT IT! But WHAT is IT!?"

Now, I'd like to say he was just taking the piss (which is a British term for "joking around"). But he wasn't. He was replying to the questions as he saw them. And of course, there was about a ten minute span between my question and his reply because of how long it takes him to text. In my defense, the photo on my phone was quite small and I couldn't really make out what it was- aside from "all glass" and kind of pretty.

What it turned out to be was a light that was made completely out of hand-blown glass at some shop where ever it is that they were when he saw it. He didn't even know aside from: "San Antonio".

I told him that this convo was "going in the blog". He asked: "What convo?"

Me: "The glass convo."

DG: "Why?"

Me: "Because it was ridiculous!"

DG: "How?"

Me: "Because you didn't get it and it was like that old "Who's on first?" joke."

DG: "I don't get it."

Me: "You don't get the joke or that the convo was the joke?"

DG: "What's a convo?"

Burn, baby, buuurrrnnn!

Saturday, June 12, 2010, our son, Jason, graduated from high school. For a while, we weren't sure he was going to make it. Around 7th grade, he copped an attitude and his line about his lack of doing homework was: "I don't learn that way." Well, too bad, the teachers grade that way. This stayed the norm through middle school and on to high school. Every parent/teacher conference (which DG has never gone to, not one, not ever) I was met with: "Jason is a good kid, but..." and "I like Jason, however..." Always but, always however, always. He had summer school to make up lost credits every year. And he's a smart kid. He's been in martial arts since he was eight years old and a person can't be stupid and achieve the levels he has (second degree black belt in Tae Kwon Do).

Somewhere in 11th grade, something changed. He started getting better grades and conferences became: "Jason is great!" and "I wish I had a whole class full of kids like him!" And I'd ask, "Are you sure? Jason? Tall kid, dark spiky hair? Pineapple-shaped head." Yup, he turned a corner.

And he graduated on June 12th. Fourteen years ago, on June 12th, we arrived in Wisconsin. We moved here a year after DG had the stroke because... well, we came where the help was and it was here. And, twenty-five years ago, on June 12th, DG asked me to be his girlfriend. We'd been friends for over a year and while I chased him like a sick puppy, he didn't act on it till that day.

So, on Saturday, I asked him if he knew what today was and he said, "Saturday."

Me: "Anything else?"

DG: "Jason's graduation?"

Me: "And?"

DG: "Aaaaan-nnnd? And what?"

Me: "Well, twenty-five years ago, you asked me to be your girlfriend."

DG: "I did not. Did I?"

Me: "Of course you did."

DG: "How do you remember these things?"

Me: "Because I'm a chick and chicks remember these things."

DG: "I don't think it was me."

Me: "What? You just think we just woke up one morning and were boyfriend and girlfriend?"

DG: "Didn't we?"

Me: "We just sort of spontaneously had a relationship without any preceding events?"

DG: "Of course we did. Its like having oily rags in the garage. *makes whooshing sounds that are like someone squeezing the air out of a wet bag* POOF! Sponty- spontaneous! WHOOSH! Spontaneous combust! *crackling sound* We spontaneously combusted!" All while he was making those noises, he was waving his hand in the air to simulate fire.

Me: "We spontaneously combusted like oily rags in a garage?"

DG: "You know it."

While he was busy giggling at himself, I asked him about that text message conversation we had (the previous blog post) the other day.

Me: "What the hell were you talking about?"

DG: "I don't know... I musta heard something different."

Me: "You were reading it! How did you 'hear' anything?"

DG: "I don't know! But it was something!"

As for the kid's graduation- here is DG with Jason and DG's father.



Jason walking to the stage.

Textually Speaking with the Disabled Guy

I thought for sure with him being gone (long story, really stupid story, lame story even), I wouldn't have a conversation to post. Long story short- he went on a road trip with his father, an uncle and a cousin. The part that's stupid is the fact we discussed it, he said he wasn't going to go because we have too much going on (our son is graduating from high school, our dog is having puppies, our daughter's birthday and such). Then he changed his mind. Then he failed to tell me that upon returning for our son's graduation, he would be leaving again. That caused an argument between us that is a conversation you won't read here. Let's just say he owes me a present. Why? Because I told him he owes me a present.

Now, DG can barely text message. His brain doesn't comprehend the whole text concept- where one has to press a key three times to get to a letter and whatnot. Those familiar with texting know what I'm talking about. Others who don't text, its the letters on the phone digits- 1=ABC, 2=DEF and so on. Jase sat down with him and showed him how to text message. And he seemed to get it. But not always. And when I text TO him, I can't use text-speak because he doesn't understand it.

When Jase asked me a car-related question, I decided to ask DG, because he's with his father and his father would know the answer. This is the text conversation. Any misspellings are because DG doesn't like the text-key thing.

Me: "Show this to your father & text me what he says: In a stick shift car, is 'reverse' always 'to the right & down' or does it change by car make/model/tranny speed? Jase wants to know."

DG: "We can all fit in the minivan."

Me: "What? What about the minivan?"

DG: "The vehiclls." (vehicles)

I called him. "What the hell are you talking about?"

DG: "The car. We can all fit in the minivan."

Me: "What does that have to do with anything?"

DG: "For the thing."

Me: "What thing? Did you even read the text?"

DG: "Yeah. And we can all fit in the minivan."

Me: "I didn't ask about the minivan. I asked if stick shift vehicles all had the same gear set up or if it varies by type of car."

DG: *pause* "Oh... OHHH! Okay. Oh. Yeah, unless its, like an 18-wheeler."

Me: "What about foreign cars?"

DG: "I don't know about those."

Me: "What did you think I was asking you?"

DG: "About driving to Jase's graduation."

Me: "Where in hell did you get "Jase's graduation" from "stick shift car"?"

DG: "I don't know."

Me: "You owe me a present. A big present now."

DG: "Okay."

For the record, I'm not squeezing my fat ass into anyone's minivan. I'm driving my own vehicle so I can park where I want.

Random Ramblings of the Disabled Guy

The actress, Halle Berry, is a spokes person for a make-up company. And she looks stunning in the ad, as she seems to always look, everywhere. DG watched the TV ad and then said:

"Was that... Hare- Harry- Harry Ball..." He paused, took a breath and said, "Harry Bare- You know, that actress that's in that movie with that guy who was the guy but not the other guy?"

I replied, "Yes. Yes it was. Halle Berry was in that movie with that guy who was the guy but not the other guy."

DG: "So you saw it too!?"

Me: "We saw it together. On our way back from that happy land in your head."

DG: "Ahhh... its nice there."

Me: "Except for the unicorns."

DG: *dramatically* "There ARE NO UNICORNS!"

*******************

The weather has warmed up (like it has for everyone in the Northern Hemisphere). I took the heavy comforter off our bed because its so hot. Except for DG. Apparently, he's cold. Damn cold. I went back to our room the other morning and he was curled up in a ball with the blankets- yes, plural- wadded up behind him and he was uncovered. When he woke up, I asked him about the blankets and why he was uncovered if he were so cold.

DG: "I done scared the blankets off me."

Me: "Why would you do that if you're so cold?"

DG: "Those blankets don't know I'm cold. Its their job to keep me warm."

Me: "How are they going to keep you warm if they're wadded up behind you on the bed?"

DG: "How am I supposed to know? I don't speak 'blanket'."

********************************

A few days ago, I did a short reading on video of a book called "FLU" by Wayne Simmons. Mr. Simmons approved of my silly video and I made it visible to the Facebook world. Then on YouTube so he could use it on any sites he wanted. Then, I figured since his first novel is set for re-release next year, I would do a quick reading on that. I had to do several takes of the video because I'd either screw something up too much to read through or the light was wrong or whatever. Just as I was getting ready to hit the record button, I heard DG coming up the stairs. So I waited.

When he saw me sitting on the edge of the bed, next to the window, book in hand, camera on a tripod, he exclaimed: "What are you doing!?"

Me: "I'm going to do a video of myself reading from "Drop Dead Gorgeous" for Wayne like I did with "FLU", you remember?"

DG: "Oh, then go ahead." and he waved his arm dismissively.

Me: "Sure, I'm going to do a video of myself reading from a horror novel while you strip for a shower in the background."

DG: *by now, his shirt is off* "I said I don't care!" and he did a jerky version of the bacon dance. The difference between the real bacon dance and any other dance is the noise he makes when he does it. This time, his noise was a high pitched: "Woooooo-wooooooo-woooooo!"

So I turned the camera on...

And he stopped!

I turned the camera off again. And he undid his jeans. Camera on. He stopped. Camera off. He started making the "wooooo-woooooo-wooooo!" sounds and doing a slow version of the bacon dance. Camera on. He stopped. Camera off. And I let him go ahead and get naked without fear of video. He was decidedly not willing to let you all see the "Doodle/Bacon Dance".

He just said: "There's just some things you gotta have to yourself."

Me: "But what about the Bacon Dance?"

DG: "What about the Bacon Dance?"

Me: "You did it on video."

DG: "I was framed! It was my twin! No! It was my stand-in! You know, like that guy in the movie who looks like that guy!"

And he walked upstairs, "woooooo-wooooo-wooooing" and when he reached the landing he let out a "Yeee-haaaawww!" in the same high-pitch.

A pre-blog conversation with the Disabled Guy-

I started this blog on December 24, 2009. And part of the reason I did was because I shared the "Rats with Nike Shoes" story so many times that I figured I should find a place to compile all the conversations.

In perusing my Facebook profile today, I found a conversation that took place about two weeks before I started the blog. And here it is, directly copy/pasted.

December 11, 2009-

I was in the shower. I was nearly done in the shower. I should point out that I'm also hard of hearing, so add the shower noise to enhance my non-hearing-ness.

Disabled guy: "*mumble-mumble* ...battery for my truck?"

Me: "You want me to get the battery for your truck?"

DG: "Well, do you want to go with me?"

Me: "Do you need me to go? I have to go to Woodman's (grocery store) today." and I listed the few things I had to pick up. "Are you going to go with me to Woodman's?"

DG: *pause* "Well, you'll need to *mumble-something-truck-mumble* I mean, my truck's full of snow."

Me: "I see... I'll have to go with you to get your battery, come home, get my truck and go to Woodman's alone?"

DG: *pause* "Kinda."

Me: "Can I finish my shower first?"

DG: "I suppose so."

I wouldn't go if he didn't actually need me to go. He's been worn out this week from the cold and all the activity, so his speech is slurred and he can't remember the year of his truck. But I digress. I'm showered, blow-dried, and dressed... even though that wasn't part of the agreement in the conversation.

Upon reading this earlier today, I realized there are many, many conversations that I've forgotten. I need to shake the cobwebs from my brain and remember more. We had some terrific video footage of DG arguing with my Magic 8 Ball, but when I played it back on the computer, the TV was too loud and the loud, smashy, robotic sounds of the second Transformers movie drowned out most of the human conversation. But, I can tell you that according to DG, the Magic 8 Ball is a "lying shithead" and "it lies so bad".

And he still doesn't trust HDTV.

The Disabled Guy, the handicapped man, the crippled dude, the differently-abled male...

Every night at 10 PM Central US time, DG turns the TV to channel 188, which is "Centric" on our cable system. At 10 PM Central US time, on the weekdays, Centric shows episodes of "Miami Vice". DG loved that show when it was on back in the 80s. He has several episodes on VHS. When he got those, he thought he was buying the whole series, two episodes at a time. Turns out he was buying a "best of" collection.

Even though he has acknowledged the show is horrifyingly dated and cheesy, he still watches. Sometimes, the channel repeats episodes often enough for DG to decide not to watch that night. Last night was one of those nights.

Jase was watching some martial arts thing on a sports channel. DG noticed the time and demanded the channel changed to "Miami Vice". We have an interactive cable box that shows a summary of a show when the channel is changed or if we hit the appropriate button (you're saying, "Yeah, we get it, move on..."). The summary read: "Miami Vice; Pilot- Part ONE...."

DG said in a dead-even tone, without a hint of humor or sarcasm: "Its the pilot. The first one. The episode that started it all. The very first show. The show that let us know what the whole thing was about." and he trailed off there.

Jase and I broke into laughter. "Really?" Jase asked. "Are you sure?"

Then we started with our own versions.

Mine-

"That's my dog. A German Shepherd. A canine. A female dog. Man's best friend."

"Pharmacy. Where you get your prescription filled. A drugstore. An apothecary."

Jase-

"That's my cat. A feline. The kitty. Arwen."

"That's my shoe. Nike. Sneaker. Footwear."

DG has become a thesaurus. At least about cheesy shows from the 1980s.

"Those poor rats..." followed by a heavy sigh.

You're saying, "Wait, we already know the story of the Rats with the little Nike shoes."

That's true, you do. This is an update. You didn't realize that it could be updated, did you? You thought your rat history lesson was over at the end of that story. Well, it turns out that it is not.

I've made mention about how we need to raise funds for our youngest daughter to go to New York City with the high school orchestra. And there's an Interweb person who is going to help us out by mentioning the attempt at fundraising on her insanely popular website. I have to set up a Paypal and an Etsy shop and the lovely and psychotically funny April Winchell of Regretsy fame will tell her brethren about us and hopefully we can raise enough money to send two kids (our own and another). There's no set goal in cost, because any money raised will be put into the pool and lower the overall cost for everyone. But, more on that later...

Thursday (April 29) I had parent/teacher conferences at the high school. I told Mr. P (the orchestra teacher) about the fundraising we were hoping to do. I had to talk as fast as I could because the high school conferences are set up in the gymnasium and the teachers are alphabetically set up at tables. You go to who you need to and that's that (lots of walking and standing). Anyway, I'm one of those courteous bastards who tries not to take up too much time. Anyway, Mr. P was very interested in our proposal and wrote down this website (Hello, Mr. P!) and to Regretsy.

The plan, thus far, is to have DG make up some little birdhouses or bird feeders. You know, something small and easily mailable. April Winchell of Regretsy fame told me how to price things so the shipping is included and all the profits will go to the orchestra fund. Now, along with small wooden things that DG can make, one of us ("us" being me, Kat or Ceej) will draw up a picture of a rat wearing little Nike shoes (or wearing "globally trademarked athletic footwear"). We'll get prints made and sell those too. And there is where the conversation today started.

We were going over what we have planned in the near future- Jase's high school graduation, our dog is having puppies, Ceej's 17th birthday is coming and DG needs to drive down to North Carolina to take a big porch swing and a plant stand to his parents. And I told him about talking to Mr. P last night (because as I type this, its still Friday). I said, "You have to make a bunch of small stuff for me, birdhouses or bird feeders- your choice." DG agreed and said something about how he knows he has to do that... and I added, "I still have to draw up a picture of the rat wearing little Nike shoes."

Then, I told him about Ceej's concept of what the picture should look like: A rat, sitting down, reading a book ("Rat History" of course), wearing globally trademarked athletic footwear, and a group of younger rats are gathered around to listen to the story... and they are also wearing the little Nike shoes.

DG: "You know that's sad. They have to listen to that story so they don't make the same mistakes. Always wear your little Nike shoes. You don't wanna get stone bruises and blisters on your little rat feet."

Me: "That's why they take rat history class."

DG: "They're wearing little T-shirts too, not all of them, just the ones who do it- the 'Walk for Life'."

Me: "Whose life? All the rats on the road are long-dead. It happened in Shakespeare's time."

DG: "I know. They walk in a marathon- some of them run- and they raise money for the rats."

Me: "Why would they raise money for dead rats?"

DG: "Not for the dead ones, for their families, you know... what's the word? They're desss... [I said "descendants"]... yeah, their descendants. So they never have to go without little Nike shoes. And those rats who can't afford little Nike shoes. They have to get shoes somewhere. But you know those poor rats, they're not wearing Nikes. They're wearing cheap-ass shoes. But that's okay, because if they wear those, they won't get bruises. Nikes are better, but any shoe is better than no shoe. [pause] Well, shoes, really, because who only needs one shoe? Rats need four."

Me: "How is the rat holding a book if he's wearing shoes on both sets of feet?"

DG (looking at me like I'd grown a second head): "What? Who- what are you- OH! Yeah, yeah, okay, the rats walk on the back feet. Like that rat in that movie. You know that rat? He was in the movie?"

Me: "Ratatouille?"

DG: "Yeah, he walked on his back feet and he did just fine. But he was a city rat. They don't have to walk on rocky dirt roads."

Me: "So, let's get this straight- rats wear little Nike shoes to keep from getting little stone bruises and blisters because their ancestors all died on the 'Road of Death' leading out from London and they hold a walk for charity to buy shoes- not always Nike shoes- for poor rats who can't afford it?"

DG: "That's right. [pause] You know those shoes that are on the wires?" (you see them in cities/towns, thrown over power lines. Some say its a gang thing, but its also a military thing). "Those are put there by rats to honor their dead ancestors who died on the road. And its a reminder to never go on a long walk without your little Nike shoes."

So, there you have it. Rats listen to the story, go on charity walk-a-thons, and throw old shoes over power lines all to honor the poor dead rats from Shakespearean days who needlessly died on the way out of London to the Royals' "country home" ten miles outside of the city's walls. The next time you see a pair of shoes over a power line, you will remember the rats and you will mourn for them.

EXTRA UPDATE: I finished typing the above and before I could add links and such, I had to get up from the desk and deal with "real life" (who needs that?!). I told DG that I was getting ready to post the updated story. He said, "Why? They don't do nothing."

Me: "Who doesn't do anything?"

DG: "The rats. They already know the story."

Me: "But don't you think the story should be shared with humans? Rats can't share it, they don't speak 'human'..."

DG put his hand to his head and said in a gravelly, intense voice: "They come to me in my sleep! They share things with me! Gruesome things! The rats! The bruises! OHHHH!" and then he pretended to pass out.

DG is nothing if not dramatic.

And a photo bonus. Some of you may have heard about "Boobquake". If not, you should Google it. There's a Facebook group for it. The gist of it is, an Iranian cleric blamed women who dress provocatively for earthquakes and leading men astray, and contributing to pre-marital and extramarital sex. So, to prove this person was... insane, they staged "Boobquake". Women the world over wore cleavage-baring shirts. I got DG in on the act.

This is my photo from Boobquake (I added text in Photoshop, it isn't official text). Mine is also my daily submission in my 365days Self-portrait project on Flickr.

Now, after I did my photo, DG decided he should get in on it. As you recall, DG likes boobs. So, he showed his support for Boobquake in his own way. He suggested putting his shirt up like that and he posed, making that face all on his own.

Rock the boobs... rock the boobs.

High Definition is brainwashing!

A few years ago, we gave in and got a new TV. The big-ass console TV (forever now to be referred to as BACTV) served us well, but had started to die a slow and painful death. Randomly, BACTV would cut to black and white. It would get a weird green-ish arc across the top of the screen. To get it back, we'd have to tap the sides. Really hard. Plus we had picture-in-picture, which was handy when we first got it, but then cable companies started to only offer movie channels with a cable box and lo and behold, PiP is gone!

So, we got a wide-screen HD TV. Its nice. It also has these settings we don't understand. For a few years- and I've told this story before- HD sat on top of BACTV. We were almost a Jeff Foxworthy joke in that we had a new TV sitting on top of an old TV- but the old one was still a working TV (unplugged). Then, finally, DG made that aforementioned and photoed cabinet.

One of the settings we kept screwing up (and Shawn can attest to this) was the screen. We had it set to "automatic" so it would switch itself when we changed channels. But it didn't really. So, we put it on wide-screen and left it there. After a while, we never noticed how stretched out and flat-looking everything appeared, even people's faces. When Shawn came for his visit in March, he showed me that it did, indeed, look bad. I tried to convince DG that it was bad, but he kept switching the picture view back to wide-screen.

In March, the cable company offered us a deal we couldn't refuse. Basically, we'd get ALL the movie channels, plus the Internet upgrade, plus HD channels and we'd get our phone switched to them- cutting our overall output for it all by about forty bucks (which is what our landline cost us). Along with the HD movie channels- which I really like- we got some regular TV channels and some cable channels- to which you're saying, "Well, duh, Patty, we get it, you got HD now."

The HD cable box, as some of you know, comes with the HDMI cable thingy (that's an industry term, I swear). So, our TV now automatically switches from wide-screen to not-wide-screen for the older shows. And the picture looks great- even if seemingly cuts off the sides for the older shows. We (as in, me, Shawn, each of the kids) have explained to DG how and why HD does what it does and how much nicer HD is in just a general way. DG swears he can't see the difference. And he says we're wasting "three inches of screen!" on the sides. I asked him why we weren't wasting three inches of screen on the top and bottom when a movie on DVD is "letterboxed" (which is old-timey speak for wide-screen). He had no answer (because you can't fight the brain-washing, I suppose).

We have showed him, literally, the same show- in fact, with NASCAR. "See? See how vibrant the colors are and how shiny the cars are? Look, you can see the wrinkles in Mark Martin's forehead!"

DG replied: "They're all stretched and skinny!"

Me: "That's how they're supposed look. That's normal."

DG: "No. They're stretched."

Me: "No, it means the other way is wrong. They're not supposed to be wide and flat."

He doesn't believe us. No matter how much we show him the difference. And thus brings today's Conversation with the Disabled Guy.

DG: *yelling in mock anger* "They got you brainwashed!"

Me: "Who?"

DG: "The stuff that looks real!"

Me: "You mean, real life? We're brainwashed by how things are supposed to look?"

DG: "Yeah! And they got you thinking TV is supposed to look real! The TV people, the real life people! They got your brain all washed up! You don't know, but they do!"

Me: "But that's how things are supposed to look... bright, vibrant, not flattened out and stretched to the sides."

DG: "You're all just brainwashed! Things don't look real! They look fake!"

As I was typing this, he changed his story- apparently, "the government" has us brainwashed into believing HD TV is better than regular TV.

"High Definition is a LIE!" he declares, raising his hand in the air. "You don't see things in real life! You just think you do!"

I told him: "I'm using my eyes. I don't think I'm seeing things, I AM seeing things."

DG lowered his voice and hissed: "You're in the Matrix! You see what the Matrix wants you to see!"

Me: "Now that's a movie that would look good in HD!"

On top of this- the HD being a lie enforced by the government and brain-washing all of us into believing stuff looks better- the DVR we have is "evil and from the devil!"

How is that?

Because he's recording the race that was canceled from yesterday and Jase is recording the new episodes of "The Simpsons". At the moment, we have I think, three things recording at the same time.

"How is that possible!?"

Kat said, "Its magic, Dad. Magic!" followed by a gesture with her hands implying she knows magic.

We had chicken for dinner tonight (bawk-bawk!). DG asked if he threw the chicken bones on the floor, which one of us could read them... because we're all brain-washed, evil-machine owning magicians.

But he's watching the new episode of "The Simpsons" in HD. So... we won.

You can't have my eyes, I'm still using them

Kat, our oldest (she's 20), resembles DG more than Ceej, our youngest (16). DG exclaimed that she does not look like him. We all declared that she has his eyes.

DG: "No! She doesn't have my eyes!"

Me/Ceej: "Yes, she does, look!"

DG: "If she's got my eyes, what the hell am I seeing with!?"

I explained that Kat does have his eyes (really squinty eyes) and Ceej piped up that she had his chin.

DG: "Not my chin! What is this?" He stroked his chin. "I have a chin of my own."

Ceej: "I look more like Mom. I have her eyes, and luckily, her eyebrows. I wouldn't want your eyebrow."

DG: "What do you mean? Eyebrow? I have two!"

Both girls declared that he does, in fact, only have one... over both eyes.

There the conversation disintegrated into a discussion of eyebrow plucking and wild "old-man eyebrows". Then... out of the random blue, he said: "You know Bruno?" (of course we know Bruno, he's the 14 pound puppy of Luna and Jasper). "He's like when a tiger and a lion have sex."

Dead silence. Finally I said, "What?"

DG: "You know, when a lion has sex with a tiger and it has a baby and its a Liger. You take a toy (Jasper) and a standard (not really Luna, but okay), you get a Liger."

All three of us stammered around another: "What?!"

Apparently, in DG's mind, Jasper- who weighs four pounds- and Luna- who weighs six pounds- are like a tiger and a lion being bred to create the giant "Liger". DG is comparing a Chihuahua puppy to a 1400 pound cat of prey.

I really don't know how to explain the entire randomness that was this whole conversation.

Three Conversations in less than ten minutes

DG loves the show "iCarly". Its a teen show on Nickelodeon and the kids have watched for years. DG just discovered it in the last six months and now we have to watch it ALL the time even though he has caught up on all the seasons he missed. Every now and then, he'll ask a question about an episode or a character, so I go over to the IMDb website and look stuff up. Why me? Because I'm ALWAYS in this computer chair.

I don't even remember the original reason for looking stuff up today, but it became about the actors' ages. If you know the characters, the three main ones (Carly, Sam and Freddie) are all under 18, but "Sam" has her 18th birthday this summer. There's another character named Gibby who is a chubby kid who likes to take his shirt off. I know all this sounds ridiculous, but if you know the show- you know what I'm going on about. So, I said something about Gibby that someone posted on an IMDb (which is a hilarious place to read because some of those people are insane). DG came into the room in the middle of my reading it out loud (that Gibby looks like a kid on "Cake Boss") and asked me who I was talking about.

I asked if he knew who Gibby was (and I have to call them by their character names because he hasn't a clue to their real names). He did- "the chunky kid who always takes his shirt off." So, I told him- and of course, he had no idea who "Cake Boss" is, much less his nephew, who looks like Gibby. So, I continue reading and saying little facts out loud.

Me: "Hey, Gibby has four siblings. Three brothers and a sister. But it doesn't say if he's the youngest or not."

DG: "How old is he?"

Me: "About fourteen years old."

DG: "And he's got KIDS?!"

Me: "No... he's got siblings."

DG: "What are siblings?"

Me: "Brothers and sisters."

DG: "Oh, thank God... because fourteen is way too young for him to have kids. Even though he's famous and stuff."

He kept muttering- about the "iCarly" kids and about the new DVR thing we've got on our cable. As you all recall, DG is an avid NASCAR fan. He was looking to set a reminder about the race tonight (its a night race) and suddenly realized he could set the DVR to record it tonight and then watch it in the morning. He's been busy in his shop, building a swing (done) and a wooden trunk for his mother. He doesn't like to stop working- seriously, sometimes I have to remind him to eat.

So, those of you with DVR know that it gives you the option to record "beyond the program length" because of it being a live sports program. And NASCAR is like football- it can and does go past its scheduled time. DG was muttering to himself and saying random things louder that made no sense.

I sighed and said, "Oh, my gawd."

DG: "Yes? Can I help you?"

Me: "You're not God."

DG: "You don't know that, I could be."

Me: "But you're not 'God'... you're not even 'a god'."

DG: "Fine, be that way."

Me: "God, or 'a god' would know how to program his DVR..."

DG: "Oh, then YOU do it!"

Three seconds later, I had the DVR set to record the entire NASCAR race and two hours past it. He called me a showoff then said, "Wait, can I get this in that dee stuff?"

Me: "Yes, you can get it in HD." So, I deleted that recording and then had to find the HD channel for the local FOX network.

DG: "Oooh, you're not so fast now, are you, you showoff?"

Me: "If you don't shut up, I'll punch you in the face."

DG: *feigning shock* "That would be uncalled for!"

Me: *as I clicked the buttons to add the program (plus two hours) to the DVR* "But I would feel better." and I handed him the remote.

DG: "It wouldn't be a good feeling."

Me: "I just said it would make me feel better, BETTER is good." And I touched his cheek with my fist. "Just imagine that in high speed."

DG: "OH! I've been hit!"

Now, I was all ready to leave you with these three conversations that took place in less than ten minutes. But, as I started to type this up, an anti-virus scan update started. So, I saved the first paragraph and went to make lunch. By then, DG had gone to his shop and come back in. He's staining that wood trunk and was washing out the rags and stuff he uses to stain with, in the sink. I loathe sandwiches. I will only eat a cold sandwich if it is from a nationally-known sandwich chain or if I'm really hungry. So, I decided to make a sandwich.

I said, "Don't tell Kat (our oldest child who buys her own lunch foods for work), but I'm going to eat some of her spinach on my sandwich."

DG: "Are you Popeye the sailor man?"

Me: "No, but if I have to eat a sandwich, I'm going to have spinach leaves on it, its good and I need the dark, leafy green stuff."

There was a slight pause as I made my crappy sandwich (crappy because I don't like them). Then I added, "I suppose its not a big deal that I eat this, if I don't, it'll go bad."

DG: "Why would it go bad?"

Me: "Because Kat doesn't always eat fresh stuff fast enough."

DG: "Is that her spinach?"

Me: "It usually is when I say 'Don't tell Kat, but I'm eating her spinach'... that should have been a big clue to you, don't you think?"

DG: "Yeah, you'd think so, wouldn't you?"

Me: "Are you having a conversation in your head without me? Because if you are, you're not going to understand our conversation."

DG: "I might be, but I can't tell you. Its classified."

Now DG is a spy in the secret conversation network.

So, we had four conversations today- three within ten minutes and the other about fifteen minutes later. And for all three, he was having some other conversation in his head.

I asked him, a few moments later, if the world in his head was a pretty place. He sighed and said it was. But there were no unicorns. "Everyone knows unicorns are cranky bastards."