Over a year- I've moved our updates...

I haven't been updating the blog because I've been posting everything in the Facebook group. Pretty much everyone who subscribes to this blog is also on Facebook. You can still see the group if you're not in it because it is a public group.

The Official Conversations with the Disabled Guy Facebook Group

Feel free to join us there or follow or whatever the Facebook is calling it now. I apologize for the inconvenience it causes anyone, but it just makes it more convenient for me.

Concerts. CONCERTS.

In a conversation about concerts- music concerts, like Merle Haggard and such.

Disabled Guy: "I want to see that show with the guy with the animals."

Me: "What show? What animals?"

DG: "That guy who does those things with the tigers and shit."

Me: "What guy does a concert with animals?"

DG: "You know, that famous guy. John. John something."

Me: "Are you talking about the zoo guy who used to go on Johnny Carson?"

DG: "I dunno. Maybe. He does this thing with animals."

Me: "What *thing*? I have no idea what you're talking about."

DG: "He does things with animals and shit."

I am utterly confused as to what famous guy does a concert with animals. So, I said: "Jack Hanna?"

DG: "Yes! That's him."

Me: "JACK, not John. And that's not a concert."

DG: "Well, no, but I knew his name started with a C."

Me: "J. His name starts with a J."

DG: "Whatever, he has a name, doesn't he?"

Classic Cars and SCIENCE!

Not that they're related. They're absolutely not related. Those are just the two topics we were texting about today. The "SCIENCE" part is actually bragging about one of our kids.

 The Disabled Guy's favorite classic car is a 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air. Barring that, he'd settle for a 1957 Chevrolet sedan. Or station wagon... basically, the '57 Chevy is his favorite classic car. He holds a few Chevelles and a Nova or two as favorites as well. But that '57 is it.

Today, I saw an old Mustang. I'm not sure how old, because I'm not much of a car guy (or a "guy" at all), but I thought it was cool because you just don't see this style of Mustang much anymore. And what followed was about to turn into the same tired and stupid discussion we have whenever I think a classic car is cool enough to point out.

I only know it was a Mustang, because I read the word "Mustang" on the back.

So, I sent this and said: "Wow. Look at this old Mustang."

He replied: "Okay. Why?"

Me: "I thought it was cool. You don't see too many like this nowadays." (I said that twice, yes. Once to you, and then again. Because it's true!)

DG: "That's because the weather is rough for winter. Most of the classics are kept down South. No salt on the roads."

*sigh* That's what he always says no matter where we are or what the context is in seeing a classic car. Always the same argument. If you point out to him that there are classic cars all over the world, not just in the South, he reiterates that he said "Most" and not "all". So, if you point out that there's a classic car show every single year in the very town you live in, he doesn't care. That's a show. You don't see them on the road (which is not true- there are collectors everywhere who only drive their classics onto a trailer, off the trailer at the show, and then back onto it for the drive home).

So, this was my long text reply that probably got sent to his phone in three separate texts:

"Oh, God. No. I am not having THIS discussion again. 'BLAR! Salt on roads!'... 'Blerg! Salt in the air from the ocean!'... 'Classic cars in the South!'... 'Classic cars all over the country!' Blah, blah, blah! You're pretty, I'm pretty. Let's just say classic cars are cool and move on!"

And his reply to that was: "Did you just call me 'pretty'?"

Me: "Yes. We're both pretty. We don't need to argue about classic cars and the weather!" and I sent him a photo of our dog, Bruno, because he's adorable.

A couple hours later, I let him know our oldest daughter is graduating from college this month. I explained that she's not going to the ceremony (she has two jobs) and she never ordered the cap and gown, so it isn't like she can just change her mind and show up. Because I knew he was telling his parents about it, I texted her so I could tell him her exact graduate title. She's graduating with a "Bachelor of Science in Genetics". I asked her what her job title would be, in a general sense and told her I was texting her dad, who was in turn, telling the grandparents.

So, our daughter, Kathy, is a molecular biologist. Or, just simply- a scientist. And, in her words: "Overqualified for this bullshit job". (at the moment, she works in retail. One job is slightly connected to her science background, but still in retail- a pharmacy).

This, ladies and gentlemen, is what a molecular biologist looks like.



And this... this is what she looks like too.

St. Patrick's Day Conversation...

Normally, when we text, I'll screen-cap the shit out of our convo and share it. You'd think that'd be less work than typing it out, but it really isn't. Well, in this case, I'm going to type it out because the Disabled Guy's texts were full of misspellings and in between our discussion, we had a few random things and I just don't feel like editing out those random things. But, the conversation that follows is the actual conversation with his misspellings and text-speak corrected because even though it's great that he can text, his text-speak annoys the hell out of me. (actually, anybody's text speak annoys me).

This all started with him sending me a text, wishing me a Happy St. Patrick's Day. And if you know him, you know he doesn't even like the real holidays- like Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving, family birthdays, our anniversary.

DG: "Have a good Saint Patrick Day."

Me: "I don't drink. Or have anything green to wear. DEAR GOD! I'M GONNA DIE IF I GO OUTSIDE!! Saint Pats celebrators are like zombies. "Green. GREEEEN!"..."

DG: "I don't have a green shirt either. Of course, I don't have brains either."

Me: "You have a green t-shirt. I can see it from here. And St Pat's people don't want your brains. THEY WANT YOUR GREENS!"

DG: "Well, I don't have it here. But you can wear it."

Me: "I wear 3XL, I can't wear it."

DG: "Ok."

Me: "We're gonna die! St Pats are coming to get us!"

DG: "Not me."

Me: "Oh, they'll find you. THEY ALWAYS FIND YOU!"

DG: "But I'm blessed."

Me: "No one is! SAINT Patrick's Day. We're all gonna die!"

DG: "You're so negative."

Me: "No, I'm just realistic about the green zombies."

DG: "Yes, you so are."

Me: "GREEN ZOMBIE!!" and I sent that with this picture (I Googled "green zombie" on my phone).

DG: "Good God. You are going to die!"

Me: "He's on his way there. I gave him directions to your parents' house. It'll take a few weeks, he bought a ticket on Greyhound."

DG: "Good to know."

Then he sent me a photo of himself, wearing a towel, and said: "Watch out. The one-eyed monster will get you."

Me: "Not here. I'm safer from that than you are from the zombie."

DG: "Ok, but it's out there."

Me: "Not any that are interested in me. Those don't exist anymore."

DG: "You keep thinking that way and then it's going to eat you up."

Me: "Are you talking about zombies or your dick?"

DG: "Both."

Me: "Well, your dick is too far away and the green zombie is on a Greyhound bus."

His reply to that was a photo of him wearing a "Bazinga!" T-shirt with green lettering on it. He said: "I'm saved!"

I sent him a photo of a closeup of my eye and said that I have green flecks in my eye. He then informed me that I might be saved.

And just as quickly as the story escalated, it ended.

Textually Speaking 2015

I'm sorry I haven't updated in quite a while. It isn't because we haven't had conversations. We have, but they're not always memorable or sometimes I just plain old forget them. The new pain meds for my fibro sort of scatter my brain cells into different realms and if I don't write something down, I'll forget it.

I have posted a few things in the Facebook Group. It's a public group, so you don't really even have to be a member of it to see the posts.

I've been meaning to post this conversation for a couple days, but I kept procrastinating myself out of it. Well, here it is- Textually Speaking 2015 edition. (he's yellow, I'm blue; in case you didn't know)

This is just as random as it seems. We were talking about something related to finances just about an hour and a half before this (as you can see in the time-stamp above his first text). So I was literally cooking dinner when he just texted that word to me. And this happened.

A story, but it's about the Disabled Guy- and a convo at the end...

This story was brought on by this article about epilepsy on Cracked-dot-com. I started to share the link on Facebook, but the story about the Disabled Guy became kind of long and I thought, "Hey, dumbass, why don't you update his blog because you suck at that lately..." so, I did...

The Disabled Guy doesn't have epilepsy, but he's had (at least) two seizures related to his stroke. (he's very well-maintained on daily seizure meds). I've witnessed two of his seizures, one in our home in the middle of the night and the other in the ER. The first was very movie-worthy with all the flailing and noises. The second was in the middle of the day and I'd called an ambulance because the way he was behaving pre-seizure made me think he was having another stroke.

At the ER, he was both combative and incoherent. I had to leave his side to call in to work and let them know I couldn't go in that night (I was a night shift security guard, and to complicate things- it was a holiday weekend and I was a shift supervisor). When I got back, he was shouting and grasping at the door frame and swearing at the nurses because they were trying to take him for a cat scan. I grabbed his hand and said: "What the hell are you doing?" (or something similar) and he replied: "Where the hell have you been!?" Before I could reply, he started seizing. I immediately let go of his hand and took three giant steps away from his bedside as the doctor and nurses swooped in. They were getting ready to sedate him and the doctor told the nurse to go ahead with it.

So, that second seizure wasn't quite as violent. After they took him to run the tests, the doctor told me that was the first time he'd seen any family member react "so perfectly" to a seizure. "You let go, you got out of the way..." sort of thing. I just shrugged and said something along the lines of: "You guys deal with this thing, I was just trying to get out of the way", except not nearly as clever, I'm sure.

And a few months ago, he decided to say "fuck you" to reason and cut his seizure meds in half.

But, if you read that article, it talks about the driving restrictions and such. In Georgia, he had to wait a full year, so he never actually got his license back in Georgia. In Wisconsin, it was six months. Since he's been seizure-free for so long, he doesn't even have to have followups related to his license. It's been since 1997, so my memory is fuzzy on the followups, but I seem to recall having to go in every few months to make sure things were all fine and dandy.

Anyway, go on and read that article. It was funny and informative. And here's a little conversation we had last night, shortly before I gave up trying to sleep and got out of bed. I went to bed at 1030 PM, DG came to bed around midnight and I was still wide freakin' awake. (I wrote a blog post about it on my fibro blog).

So, first a little explanation- we don't really have "a favorite movie" because, as you may know, DG is a bit of a collector. (we have well over a thousand DVDs). But, we do have movies we love and will watch over and over. The list is long and it changes from time to time. Right now, one of my favorites is a ridiculous and silly action flick called "The Baytown Outlaws" starring Clayne Crawford, Travis Fimmel (from "Vikings"), and Daniel Cudmore (he played "Felix" in the Twilight flicks, apparently). In smaller roles- there's one of the Evas (Longoria) and Billy Bob Thornton. Now, I love me some Billy Bob and the fact that Clayne Crawford was in it too? Well, I knew I'd enjoy this flick. The movie is hilarious and violent and ridiculous and Crawford is awesome and Billy Bob is at his evil drug-lord best. And it is one of the few movies I will watch when I catch it on cable (plus, of course, I own the DVD).

Last night, when DG came to bed to find me wide-ass awake, it was on TV. Crawford's character is named "Brick" and as I was getting out of bed, I said: "Who the hell names their son 'Brick'?"

DG said: "Block did. That's his last name." (it isn't, by the way, not in the movie).

I asked: "Did you say Block?"

DG started giggling. "Block. They had a neighbor named Cement. Brick Block and Asphalt Cement dated in high school." (he pronounced "Asphalt" as "Azz-fault"). He continued to giggle.

So I said: "But what? It didn't work out because they were from two different worlds?"

Through his giggling, he stated: "One is for buildings. The other is for roads. They were doomed. DOOMED!" and then his giggle-fit turned into a full-blown laugh-out where he had to "ooh" to catch his breath.

But if you like action-y flicks that are ridiculous on their action level, check it out. I know I enjoy it.

OH- and completely unrelated- DG said he'd pose with me for another photo, so we can update from this one. (I no longer dye my hair black). So, that'll be cool... maybe this time, he'll cooperate and it'll take fewer attempts to get a shot.

From 2012- (click on the photo if you'd like to see the details)



Edited to add- the new photo!

So many missed conversations...

I am so sorry for not updating this blog more often. I really am. I have no excuse other than I've been forgetting details of our conversations too quickly. I usually write little notes with key details so I can remember them later, but I haven't been doing that very much. (sometimes, like today, I will text to my email the entire conversation as it happens, so I can go back to it and write it up).

Anyway, where to start? So many conversations are just *poof* gone now. And there are a few updates in The Official Conversations with the Disabled Guy Facebook Group. I'm sure I could have put a few of those into a blog post, but I've been so lazy about things lately (even my fibro blog went a month or so without updates). It was partly due to the fibro. In the last six months, I've gone through two medication changes (because they weren't working for me). That sorta Swiss-cheeses the brain for short-term memory. I'll link to the short updates, so you don't have to scroll through everything on that page.

October 28th- Setting things on Fire

November 3rd- Teslacon and Thee Bluebeard

November 15th- "Welp, it's snowing."

November 28th- "Falmunctioning Angel"

December 6th- Thee Bluebeard and Santa

But... here I am! And today, I texted a conversation to myself.

Firstly, I was invited to an event in January. There's a fee. And it happens ON the Disabled Guy's birthday. I was fully expecting him to say something about it, like he didn't want me to go or the fee (which is $30) was the killer. But this is the conversation that took place...

Me: "I was invited to a thing on Janu-"

DG: "Okay."

Me: "-ary 11th."

DG: "I said okay."

Me: "But that's your birthday."

DG: "So? Just a day. Go to your thing. Go."

Me: "You're totally cool with spending the whole day by yourself?"

DG: "Have fun."

Me: "Alright... gonna be $30."

DG: "I *SAID* 'okay'!"

I suspect that there is either something NASCAR related happening on TV (because his birthday is about a month before the Daytona 500) or he's got some train building thing already planned and doesn't care if I'm around. (also, he hates it when anyone makes a big deal about his birthday. I bake him a cake, that's about all he can handle. If I get him a present, I don't even wrap it).

Today, we were at the store and in the checkout line, I noticed there was a bit of cobweb from our basement ceiling on his baseball cap. So, I pulled it off and said: "You had cobweb on your hat."

He exclaimed: "Hey! I was savin' that!"

Me: "For what?"

DG: "For one of those days. You know, when I'm out there and I have it on my hat and I can just [swooshing sound with hand gesture] throw it out there and crawl across it."

Me: "And then what?"

DG: "And then I get away. Didn't you read the script?"

Me: "I didn't know they were making this into a movie."

DG: "Psh, don't you know? They make everything into a movie."

Me: "Even disabled guys and cobwebs?"

DG: "Yeah. Because that's a good story there."

"I'm gonna shoot you!" (spoiler alert- we don't own any guns)

This is one of our dogs- Gregg the Girl Dog with a Boy Name (we just call her Gregg). Uh, I didn't name her.



She's approximately six pounds... with two hundred pounds of adorable attitude.



This morning, she did what she usually does- she was barking at imagined things. She barks up the stairs at the cats, even if the cats aren't sitting where she can see them, because they MIGHT BE THERE! And her style of barking is a slow and steady beat of a high-pitched: "BARK! BARK! BARK!" as if a human were just yelling: "HEY! HEY! HEY!" (except for twenty-seven consecutive times).

The Disabled Guy usually tells the dogs to hush by saying: "I'm gonna shoot you!" and today was no different. So, I asked: "With what? A rubber band?"

DG: "Maybe! You don't know. I could have a gun."

Me: "Except you don't. We don't own any guns."

DG: "I have a gun. I just don't have ammo for it."

Me: "Right, because they just don't make ammo for guns anymore."

DG: "Not THIS gun!" [and he held up his hand with his thumb up and index finger out.]

Me: "You're going to shoot the tiny dog with an imaginary gun... but you don't have the ammo."

DG: "I can't afford the ammo for this gun anymore."

Me: "Well, it IS rather rare. Of course it's expensive."

DG: "It isn't out there! I've looked!"

Me: "Right. Your imaginary gun isn't going to hurt anyone."

DG: [still holding his hand out all this while] "Hey, I could pistol whip someone with this."

Me: "That would be called 'punching' or 'slapping'."

DG: "Not with this GUN!" [and he held his hand higher.] "I'll just give you a whack and go to town."

Me: "How are you going to hold me down to pistol whip me if you can't hold me with your hand that IS a pistol?"

DG: "I'll just whack you upside the head, fall down on you and then just go to town, pistol whip the shit outta you."

Me: "Okay then... well, I'll keep a lookout for that expensive ammo for your imaginary gun so you don't have to pistol whip anyone to town. It sounds exhausting."

DG: "It is. That's why I don't do it anymore."

Me: "... 'Anymore'? Like you've ever pistol whipped someone with an imaginary gun."

DG: "You don't know. I could have!"

All the while this conversation was going on, Gregg was Bark-Hey-ing up the stairs at the cats who weren't anywhere near the stairs. Gregg is apparently not afraid of an imaginary gun without ammo.

The Great Train Environment!

The Disabled Guy finally said I could take photos of the progress he's making on his train set. He hadn't let me take photos before, so despite only having my phone on me, I took photos. I didn't want to give him time to change his mind by going downstairs to get my real camera. He's quite proud of himself- and he should be, because he's tackled this task with the same focus and dedication he has for carpentry.

First off, he created the framework for this, an almost-chest-high table with very large drawers and a cabinet underneath. The base is pine and the foundation of the train area is Styrofoam over plywood. The mountains were made from newspaper wads and some kind of plastering agent (he got it at "the train store"). He built the trees by hand, gluing bits of greenery on the little plastic trees. He even went outside and found twigs and dead leaf/sticks to use for his fallen trees. The smaller rocks (and the rocks that will be in the corner) are plaster from rubber molds he bought from the train store. He used the molds as a base, then sanded/added things after it was dry to change their appearance.

And I don't need to remind you that he does all of this one-handed. He wants me to stress- THIS IS IN PROGRESS! It isn't in any way close to being done yet. Also, you should admire his headlight. He thinks he's hilarious by wearing it for model-building. I tried to bring him back to earth by telling him that's one of the intended uses, but he doesn't care.

LOOK AT HIM WITH HIS HEADLIGHT!

Also worth noting, he needs a haircut!

The Disabled Guy is an enabler...

My name is Patty and I have an addiction. I love Dr Martens boots. I have spent far too much money in the last year on boots and despite some exceedingly killer sale prices, I was done. That's it. No more till I NEED them (and with the amount of boots I currently own, that won't be for YEARS).

Anyway, I'm always on the lookout for anything that can be used for Steampunk clothing because the youngest kid and I have only recently joined the Steampunk ranks of nerdism. On the Dr Martens website, they had a hat that I knew the kid would like and it was on sale for $12 (marked down from $40!). She has a similar hat, made of leather...

So, she asked if I could get it for her... and I went upstairs to 'The Train Room' said to the Disabled Guy: "Now I have to buy that pair of boots."

DG: "Which pair?"

Me: "The ones I've been wanting for Teslacon."

DG: "How many pairs do you have now?"

Me: "Hang on, I gotta count..." (I literally started counting on my fingers)

DG: "If you gotta think about it, then you have too many."

Me: "You can never have too many Docs!"

DG: "Yes you can!"

Me: "I have eight pairs, six if we exclude the two pairs specifically for faire." (I didn't get those eight pairs in the last year, I had a few of them already)

DG: "And you only got two feet!"

Me: "I know, and don't they look fantastic?"

DG sighed. I motioned my arm to all his model train stuff laid out before him (which isn't even ALL of his model train stuff) and I sighed. He sighed again and said: "Alright."

Then I said: "And that's how you do things... you tell your spouse you're buying something useless to anyone else but them."

As I was closing the door to the Train Room, DG said: "I gotta stop at the train store tomorrow."

I sighed in a dramatic, overacting way.

He replied: "You know it."

All my words.

We got a notice in the mail saying we hadn't made our house payment. Well, that's insane because we have an automatic payment thing because our home loan is at the bank where we have our accounts. A few years ago, there was a similar problem but it turned out to be a computer thing. They'd changed over their computer system and a bunch of us had our payments made, but not recorded, so the computers spit out the late notices. They had fixed the problem, but weren't able to stop all the notices.

ANYWAY, I called the bank, ready to be told it was something similar. Except this time, it wasn't them. It was us. Our account balance was below the amount our house payment was (basically, we were about $300 short for that day of the month). When the bank lady told me what the balance was on the day of payment, I realized what happened. I thanked her for her time, told her I'd be in the next day to straighten it out.

I hung up the phone and turned to the Disabled Guy- who was standing there, ready to back me up with indignant sighs and proclamations that the bank lady wouldn't have heard.

Me: "Remember when we helped Christine with that rent thing?" (long story short- our daughter is moving into her own apartment this school year and miscalculated her move-in date and needed to pay rent for August instead of September. We helped her out till her paychecks become regular).

DG: "Yeah."

Me: "Did you deposit the check to cover it?"

DG: "No. You told me not to."

Me: "I never told you not to. I told you TO deposit it."

Then he recited this to me- which was almost word-for-word correct: "You said since we were giving her the money from this bank, I didn't need to write her a check from my other bank."

Me: "Yes. I DID say that. Because she needed a cashier's check to pay the rent, since she's mailing it. So I told you on payday I'd give her that check [almost $300 for her share- she has roommates] and then you could deposit the $300 in OUR account so she wouldn't be late on her rent having to wait for the check to clear."

He opened his mouth to debate then stopped. I could see the wheels turning in his head and it clicked. He only listened to half of what I had told him. He does that a lot. Now that we have that house payment thing settled (and totally his fault for not listening to ALL MY WORDS), we went on with our day- me finishing up the last of my ren faire photos for last week, him playing with his model train.

Around 6 PM, he came out of the basement and as he walked past me, he asked what we were having for dinner. I replied we were having frozen pizza. That's what we'd talked about the night before.

DG: "No, we didn't. We had hot dogs last night."

Me: "I know. We talked about it because Christine's work hours are fucked up. We decided to have hot dogs last night and frozen pizza tonight because she could make her own when she got home." (she's working on a movie set about an hour away- great experience, low pay).

DG: "I thought the frozen pizza was for Friday [tomorrow]."

Me: "She's not even going to be home for dinner tomorrow." (Fridays, she goes out to the faire and stays on site because her call time is so early in the AM).

DG: "But the pizza was for tomorrow."

Me: "No, we talked about it..."

Then, those wheels in his head clicked again.

ALL MY WORDS.

I exclaimed: "OH MY GOD!" at him, much like I did when I got off the phone with the bank when I realized it was his mistake and we weren't actually missing a random $300.

He said: "Man, now I want some Kool-aid."

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

DG: "OH YEAH!"

Me: "Uh.... what?"

DG: "You keep saying it- OH YEAH! And now I want some Kool-aid."

Me: "I said OH MY GOD, not OH YEAH."

DG: "Are you sure?"

Me: "Yes. I'm positive. I'm positive you're a lunatic."

DG: "OH YEAH!"

ALL MY WORDS... 

Now, on a much lighter note...

And, as I mentioned many, many times before, I go to ren faires. Last year, I met this guy and his wife at Bristol. He looked familiar to me, but I thought it was because I had met him previously at faire. Well, sort of... he's familiar because he's been on TV. That's Mike Trykoski from the TV show called "Wrecked". It was a show about the O'Hare Towing company and the many "adventures" they had on the job. And the Disabled Guy loved that show.

The day I took this photo, he was wearing a kilt. Now he dresses like a pirate- tricorn hat and all. His wife- Mary- dresses in long, flowing, comfortable dresses. They come to faire frequently and are season members of the Friends of Faire (which, as you recall, the Disabled Guy built benches for).



So, once, when I saw them, Mike told me that he had a T-shirt and hat to give to the Disabled Guy. Since they only come to faire every couple weeks (as his job allows), we didn't see each other for very long... anyway, he gave me the shirt and hat last week. I didn't tell the Disabled Guy about it- the hat and shirt, that is- I told him who I met the day I met them. Anyway, when I gave them to him, he didn't believe me. I had to remind him of how I knew Mike and Mary.

Then I took a terrible cell phone photo of him wearing them so I could show them next time I saw them at faire.

Then I took one with the flash and discovered the grey stripes on the hat are reflective.

The Disabled Guy hates needles, another Textually Speaking...

I gotta say, these text convos are way easier to share now that I have a phone that does screen captures. I used to have to type them all up manually...

Anyway...

DG hates needles. Which makes the fact he has a monthly blood check even funnier to me. His fear of needles is so bad that he looks away when it happens in a movie. We all do that with some things- for me its anyone causing an injury to themselves. Especially a knee/foot injury, because I've had so many issues with my own that I KNOW how bad it really hurts.

Now, he doesn't faint with this fear of needles. He just can't watch the action. (I can, if they let me. And I'd photograph it, if they'd let me). His fear is that while they're jamming the needles into the flesh, that the needle will break off just under the skin and you'll die before they can stop it. Which is ridiculous and he knows how ridiculous it is- but, phobias make no sense.

This came up because a month ago, I had a steroid shot in my foot for a very long-term plantar faciitis issue. (also known as "bone spurs" and "Pain so bad it feels like a burning hot railroad spike is being hammered into my heel").
Here's a link to my blog about it- with pictures! Well, that shot didn't take. It started out okay, but within a week, I was back to the original level of pain. So yesterday, I had another appointment. My options were limited to: "Get another shot and hope for the best" or "get surgery".

Normally, I'd jump on that surgical bandwagon with the speed of the Flash. Anything to rid myself of this pain. However, one needs at least six weeks to recover (three weeks in a cast) and I don't have that kind of time. In about five weeks, I'm going to start my busy time. The funny thing is- I have about six weeks between all that and the opening of Bristol. But the problem is that I also have fibromyalgia and there is no way to predict how long a delay I'll get from that... but I digress... Today, I sent a text to DG and told him what the doctor told me while I had the needle in my foot.

What he's saying is that he walked into his room, saw a new message 

on his phone and was shocked and grossed out to read what I sent. 

Textually-speaking about sofas and lobsters

A few years ago, DG wanted to build a sofa for our living room because our old one (which wasn't all that old, really) became irreparable. He was looking for a specific type of sofa to copy. You know which kind- from the 1970s- heavy wood construction, bare wood arms and frame, with three cushions with the most god-awful, ugly 1970s style upholstery ever. To do this, he needed me to find a photo of one for him.

I am pretty experienced in Google-fu. I can find almost anything and do so quite quickly. I was so good at Googling things that my dad used to call me and ask me to search for something because it was quicker than him trying to do it himself. But no matter what kind of keywords I put in, I could not find that specific style of sofa. I finally asked in the general discussion area of a message board I used to frequent called "Bonesmart". It was a place for folks with joint replacements and I was one of the youngest people there. And guess what... someone had a photo. Not just a photo, they had the actual wooden frame (without cushions!) in their garage and they literally took a photo for him.

And he built the sofa, which is what we were talking about in this text conversation. I told him that "Raising Arizona" was on and I realized that Nic Cage's character had the entire living room set of that furniture. All those weeks I spent searching the internet for a goddamn photo and it was right there in a DVD that we owned and could have taken a photo of on the TV. So, I've told you all this solely to explain that DG's "I know" is in reply to me telling him that "Raising Arizona" was made by the Coen Brothers, who also made "O, Brother, Where Art Thou?" (a movie that not only he likes, but his father likes too).

So, we went from a discussion about sofas to lobsters, literally like this:



And the "Huge lobster"? Here's that very photo he sent to me.



That is definitely a huge lobster!

Textually-speaking version 2014

So, as you can see... the Disabled Guy is gone again. I won't bore you with the details, because like I just said- BORING.

I was sitting in the living room, as one does when one is trying to watch a movie, and  I was being smothered under Luna and Gregg, as one has happen when one sits down in my house. I snapped a photo with my phone and sent it to DG with the caption:

"I have a slight problem." 

He replied with a non-committal "Okay."

Then I sent this photo.

"Well... then this happened." 

And here is a screen cap of what happened in our conversation next. I'm in blue, he's in yellow- in case you were not familiar with android smartphones.  (for those who don't know, I recently got a smartphone for the first time. My kids have had their own for years, but this is my first real smartphone- Samsung Galaxy Metrix, in case you were wondering). 

*Click to see larger* 

Ahh... good comeback, Disabled Guy... very good comeback! (and he could do it too, you all know it!). 

Cracker BARREL!

The Disabled Guy has this really annoying habit. Our son once went on a long road trip with him and said he did it every single time they passed a sign. So said Jason: "Do you know how many Cracker Barrels there are between here and North Carolina?"

I'm not positive, but I'd say a lot.

I get treated to this little symphony every time we go... well, anywhere. There's a Cracker Barrel restaurant in the next town. Today, I begged DG to go with me to Madison so I could take a photo of a billboard that two of my photos are on. (those are links, you can click them, we'll wait)... Along the way, we passed a few signs for Cracker Barrel. So, I got to hear the Cracker Barrel Symphony. A lot.

After the fourth time, I said something like: "At least you don't say it when you're alone."

I was met with dead silence. I looked over at him. He had a small, smirk-y smile.

"Oh, God. You say it even when you're alone."

DG: "No... [stifles a snicker]... I don't."

Me: "You do. You actually shout out 'Cracker BARREL' when you're driving some place alone."

DG: "I do not." And then he couldn't stifle his laughter.

Yes. He does. He shouts "Cracker BARREL!" when he's alone in the truck.

And now to give you a taste of it, enjoy this short video of me trying to get him to say it so I could record it and move along in my blog-writing. Enjoy the view of part of the Wall of Awesome.




Also worth noting, while on this trip to and from Madison, he sang along to this song- sang every single word.

Long time, no updates part forty-seven-fifty-two...

I just made that number up. I have no idea how many times I've taken this long of a break. There have been some small updates, in the Facebook group- but other than that, not many long conversations. At least, nothing I'd consider long enough for a blog post.

But that brings us to today.

We have dogs. You all know that. We have a lot of dogs. Five Chihuahuas and a German Shepherd. So, technically, we have three dogs, tops. And, in order of them joining our family, we have: Gypsy (German Shepherd), Luna (Taco Bell Chi), Jasper (Teacup chi), Bruno (result of Luna and Jasper), Gregg (The girl dog with a boy name) and Beefy (the chi who went to someone else and then had to come back).

I put a lot of thought into their names- except Gregg and Beefy. I had no hand in naming them. Beefy's name was Tempest for a bit, but Beefy is the name that stuck. And I'd rather call her Houdini, because she's an escape artist.

But I digress.

Today, while we were eating dinner, The Disabled Guy motioned to Jasper and Luna, sleeping on the floor, near him. "You better watch it, I'll sic my beasts on you."

Me: "Beasts? Really?  Beasts?"

He nodded toward Gregg, who was burrowed under the blankets on the sofa. "I got one over here, too. I call her The Sleeper."

Me: "The Sleeper?"

DG: "Yeah. And that's The Mouth."

I pointed out another: "What about that one?"

DG: "That one? That's the Bouncer."  I pointed at another and he said: "That's the Squiggler." And the last one: "That's the Instigator."

So, I now introduce you to the apparent Canine Mafia that lives in our house.


Gregg, aka: The Sleeper.



Jasper, aka: The Mouth.



Bruno, aka: The Bouncer.



Luna, aka: The Squiggler.



Beefy Houdini, aka: The Instigator.



And last, but not least, Gypsy, aka: The Ears.




EDITED TO ADD:

DG just said: "Gypsy is the Boss. She tells everyone what to do. And Jasper, The Mouth, he always gets into arguments. You know that's true. Never shuts up."

Me: "What about The Bouncer? What's he do? And The Squiggler, what's her thing? The Sleeper?"

After a pause he relied: "I don't know, but when you wake up with a horse's head in bed, you'll know the Mafia was there."

You ask a simple question...

I can't see the sofa in the living room from where my desk is situated. Our living room and dining room make an L-shaped area that is open. But he's at the other side of the L, around the corner. My desk is in the dining room because its the largest room in the house and even before we had the Internet, I had a desk here with a typewriter (then a small word processor called "Desktop Publisher" made by Brother) because I fancied myself a writer.

Our stairs make a distinctive sound when different people walk down them and I thought I heard him come downstairs. But he didn't say anything. And he didn't change the TV channel. When I'm on the computer, I have the TV on as background noise because without it, the dogs bark at all the outside noises. From the wind, to cars driving by, to a leaf gently brushing against another leaf. So, its on the USA channel with a "Law & Order SVU" marathon on right now.

Me: "Are you down here?"

DG: "Yeah."

Me: "I thought you would have changed the channel."

DG: "Not yet."

Me: "Isn't your race on?" [NASCAR]

DG: "Yes."

Me: "Then why aren't you watching it?"

DG: "It isn't on yet."

Me: "Dude, I just asked you if it was on."

DG: "Oh... [pause] No... [pause]  Not yet."

You had one job, DG.

Textualization

All my friends know that I do a 365 self-portrait project. The kids taking notes for the test later will know that I'm about a month into my fourth year (and haven't missed a day yet).

DG doesn't care about my 365. It has become just something I do. He doesn't even acknowledge me when I say: "I gotta do my 365" and then disappear from the room for about a half hour while I take random photos of myself till I get one I like or fits with a theme. He has been in a few, very reluctantly.

Day 65 of Year One

Day 216 of Year Two

Day 238 of Year Three

There are a few others that have him in the background or just his hand in the shot. But the amount of cajoling and nagging it took to get him into those photos was ridiculous. Even now, I say to him: "I need you for my 365- JUST YOUR HAND..." because if I don't say it fast enough, he will whine. Literally whine out: "Oh, man! Why!?"

I've been doing some creative self-portraits in the last few months (Link to Facebook album of the Creative Self-portraits). Some requiring Photoshop special effects. But even when I say: "Hey, look at my 365...", he almost always glances and says, "Okay." and that's that. No feedback, no compliments. I don't talk about the negative stuff related to his disability much, because that's not what this blog is about. But most of the time, we're more like roommates. There's a line between "spouse" and "nurse" that I've had to cross more often than I'd like and there's pretty much no romance. Definitely no passion. Day-to-day, he acts mostly like I'm a piece of furniture till he needs me to do something for him.

Last night, I got a text out of the blue.

"Why don't you wear lipstick? That 365 was hot."

I wasn't sure it was him. He doesn't compliment my photography and he damn sure hasn't called me "hot" in years. So, I told him that lipstick tastes terrible and is messy. And the particular lipstick I wear in my creative 365s is black-red, so it even stains things (all things, actually). It isn't something I'd wear every day even if I did wear lipstick.

We proceeded to have a conversation through text about my 365s, the Photoshop techniques I use to get the color-select effect, "sexy" poses for my 365, and makeup. I had to explain the 365 rules to him because he didn't get the whole "rejected" shot thing. The rules are simple, take a photo of yourself, once a day, every day, for a year. You can only submit one photo a day. But once in a while, my "reject" shots are just as cool or I just like them, so I keep them. I'll use them on Facebook or upload them to Flickr for a different group.

I really don't know why I didn't give up on him when it came to my 365. I don't get feedback around the house. Just online. But in the past year, I've been saying: "Come here and look at this photo" because I've impressed myself and want to share it. Not just 365 photos, but all photos. He begrudgingly gets up and comes to look at the monitor. He'd mutter an "okay" and a few times, he's said "whatever" when I told him how I got the shot or what I did to it in Photoshop.

But last week, I sent him a text and asked if he'd like to see my 365. He said sure. He replied with: "Cool."

And then that random text last night.

"Why don't you wear lipstick. That 365 was hot."

The end of our text conversation last night:

DG: "What's a sexy pose you can do for a 365?"

Me: "I dunno. Anything, really. The one you liked was an accident."

DG: "You should do that. I bet people like that."

Me: "I'm sure some do." There was a long break, so I said: "Did you just ask me to do a sexy 365 for tomorrow?"

DG: "Did I? Okay. I did."

I don't know what the hell is going on, but I'm gonna do it.

Textually Speaking 2013 (and, long time, no update...)

DG is down in North Carolina again. We all know that he's got some communication issues. He has trouble expressing his own thoughts and, obviously the basis of this blog, sometimes he'll blurt the absolute wrong word or phrase, resulting in hilarity (mostly). Now, we're closing in on eighteen years since he had his stroke. It is what it is and it isn't going to get better.

That said... his mother talks fast. Really fast. I'm not exaggerating when I compare her to an auctioneer. And, being from North Carolina, she's got a Southern accent. Really fast. Really Southern. She makes almost no effort to change her speaking rate or whatnot when she's talking to DG. Granted, she doesn't live with him like we do, but when he's visiting for an extended period of time, one would think that an effort would be made. (this is actual fact, she also knows this, so it isn't like I'm being a big meanie to point this out).

This is a text conversation that happened yesterday. (all spelling errors are as they are in the text because in texts, he spells phonetically)

DG: "Mom wants a updayed pics of the kids & us."

Me: "Okay. What size?"

[long delay in the reply, partly because he doesn't have a QWERTY keyboard on his phone]

DG: "She would like 1 big pic all 3 kids, 5x7 single the kids & 8x10 of us"

Me: "What about 5x7 of Jason and his girlfriend? Kat and Tyler?" (Jase has been with his girlfriend for over a year now and Kat and Tyler have been together for, I don't know, fifteen years? Three years?).

DG: "Yess she said she would love that."

So, I start looking through my Flickr account because I have a folder there of just "the kids" and I back up most of my stuff there as well as my backup hard drive. I have no recent photos of Kat and Tyler, no recent "studio" shots of the three kids, but I have Jason and his girlfriend and a shot of Christine- from December- and the shot of us from October. So, I tell him this in a text: "Got no recent of Kat and T, none of Kat or Jase alone, no recent group shot of the kids."

Ten minutes later, my phone rings. Fuck that noise, he's calling. Texting ain't gonna happen. He tells me: "Hey, Mom says..." and his voice trails off as his mother talks in the background. Before I could even utter that he should give her the phone, he says: "Here, talk to her yourself."

So, his mom gets on the phone and starts talking. And talking. We work out that I'll upload the photos I do have to Walgreen's and arrange for pickup in their town in North Carolina. I'm not overly thrilled with that, because the one-hour Walgreen's only offers the option of "glossy" finish. Plus, they're hugely overpriced compared to the website I get my photos from now (Adoramapix-dot-com). For example, on Walgreen's website, it costs $1.99 for a glossy 5x7 and it doesn't specify what type of paper they use. At Adoramapix, I can get a Kodak Professional Supra Endura in matte, lustre, glossy, or metallic. And I'm extremely fond of the metallic prints (not to be confused with their Metallic prints, which are actually on metal) because they look bloody sharp. And, I can get a 5x7 in the metallic finish for 84¢. That's CENTS. BUT, I digress...

After I made the proper verbal arrangements with his mom, DG got back on the phone and he did a short, slightly nervous chuckle. "You get all that?"

I replied, "Of course."

DG: "I wasn't gonna be able to text that whole thing."

Me: "I know. It's okay. I got it."

DG: "Crazy."

Me: "A little."

In the time I was talking to his mother, I found the current photos I had and told him of what I did and didn't have, to make sure he knew I didn't have ALL the photos. And we hung up. I then uploaded the four photos I had (one of me and him, one of Jase and his girlfriend, one with Jase, girlfriend, and her daughter[no public photo], and one of Christine- cropped slightly), and texted DG with the pickup time info. When he replied "okay", I told him how pricey Walgreen's was compared to the Adoramapix prices.

DG: "Really? That's stupid."

Me: "I know. I'm glad this isn't one of my art photos."

DG: "They don't like art."

Me: "I know."

DG: "Mom has a coupon."

They ended up getting the $10-something photos for $7-something. So the coupon did come in handy. Even though my photos are bleh on some unknown paper with glossy finish. And as luck would have it, I was able to wrangle the three kids together for a photo shoot on March 26th. And I've got it arranged for Kat and Tyler on the 24th. BUT, since I'm going to need prints for myself and my dad, I'm just going to order them at Adoramapix on good quality paper with a nice finish. Because dammit, my kids deserve pretty pictures.

After it was all over, I asked: "She still doesn't slow down for you?"

DG: "Nope."

Me: "Doesn't even try?"

DG: "Nope."

Me: "How do you listen to her?"

DG: "I don't. lol."

Precision drops...

Our oldest daughter is moving this week. Well, today, actually. (for those not keeping track, we have three kids- Kat, 23; Jason, 21; and Christine, 19). Kat is moving from where she's lived the last two or so years with her boyfriend, Tyler. They've moved to a town that's actually closer to home than they were before because of Tyler's job. (he's an EMT/firefighter/paramedic/MacGyver/chess prodigy/acrobat/juggler/fire-eater... some of his occupation may be fictionalized for fun). Kat is in college and had no problem transferring (within the University of Wisconsin schools, they have several of them. My other daughter is at a UW school in another town).

Anyway, Kat calls the Disabled Guy this morning and informs him that they didn't get a big enough U-Haul truck and could he please come over with his trailer and truck and help them out. Of course he can. She lived an hour and a half away. So, DG gets dressed and has to unload his trailer so he can then go help her. I was in our room, blowdrying my hair when he came in to tell me about it and change clothes.

Among the explanation of what he was going to do and me sending texts to the girls (because Christine was helping Kat move) about meeting DG at the highway exit so he wouldn't get lost in town, DG tells me he needs to find the lid to his coffee cup. He has a HUGE insulated cup. I mean huge. It holds half a pot of coffee. He's had it for more than ten years, there is no way we can even think about the lid much less find it. So, I logically suggest he needs to use one of the insulated travel mugs we have that are of normal size.

Me: "Just use the one Christine uses for tea."

DG: "It ain't big enough."

Me: "Yours is too big to fit in your truck."

DG: "I don't need it for my truck. I just want to take it outside with me."

Me: "Why do you need a lid for that? Just take it outside with you."

DG: "What about birds?"

Me: "What about them? They're not going to drink- oh, you think they'll poo in your coffee?"

DG: "Shuh-yeah. You don't?"

Me: "I doubt they can fire with that amount of accuracy to land inside a coffee cup, even one as big as yours."

DG: "I had it happen! They done flew right through my window, crapped on the seat and flew out the other side!"

That's allegedly what happened. When we were stationed in Kansas, we had an El Camino (I'm going to skip the discussion that we had where I told him to get a car with a back seat, because eventually we'd have kids, but he got an El Camino. Google it, Kids) and he left the windows open while he was home for lunch. He thinks a bird flew in through the window and out through the other. I think it was more of a gravity plus flight trajectory that resulted in the errant poo on the seat, but whatever...

Me: "You think they can just drop with precision?"

DG: "Don't you know? They're like those Japanese Zeros. They fly down- [he makes a hand gesture to indicate that it is a Japanese fighter jet] and zzcchoooooooom! They drop their load and fly away, laughing at us. It's what they do."

Me: "You think a bird can fly down, drop a load in your coffee cup and fly away?"

DG: "Don't you? Yeah, it could happen."

Me: "No, it couldn't. Unless it was an accident."

DG: "That's what they WANT you to think! But they're always thinkin'. Planning..."

Birds... you can't trust them with an open cup of coffee. Apparently.