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."

The Disabled Guy prefers just a handshake...

So, most of you all know that I do the renaissance faire thing. I dress in garb and
  I also happen to take a lot of photos while I'm there.

A group of friends- who I refer to collectively as "My Sea Captains"- play a game called Spanish Towers. It is also known as "Sword Point Towers" and "Giant Jenga"... originally, they played with a set of blocks that came in a nice little box with terribly sharp handles and they'd just drag that around from location to location. I'm not entirely sure what prompted the change (something about swords, stabbings, splinters)- but now they have different blocks and no box to cart them around in and it is a little bit of a pain in the ass. That's a lot of blocks and they're not very big blocks, so the odds of losing one or two is pretty good.

Here are a few photos of My Sea Captains and the game of Spanish Towers-








You get the idea...

Well, at the most recent Gathering of Rogues and Ruffians, I suggested to my sea captains that I'd ask the Disabled Guy if he could/would make a box for them to tote their blocks around in. And of course, he said he would.

Today, the Disabled Guy started "wondering" about the box he was going to create (and he's got like, six months as they technically don't need it till Janesville Renaissance Faire).  He was asking me dimensions (it happens to be written down- the measurements) and I thought he was confused by how big it had to be. The tower measures 32 inches by 10.5 by 10.5. So, I kept re-explaining it to him.

When you translate English into Stroke English, sometimes it takes a few different tries to get to one the Stroke person can understand. But he finally got it across to me- he was asking if the box had to be a perfectly-shaped rectangle.

DG: "This box... what if I made it look like a treasure chest? You know, with the top [hand gesture] that isn't flat? Rounded on top?"  and he kept making a slightly round-on-top gesture with his hand.

Me: "They would probably love that. They would love it a lot. You know, if you did that, the sea captains would woo you. They would woo you so hard!"

DG: "What does that mean?"

Me: "Woo, you know, like romantically... I have a video where the captains are teaching Andrew how to woo a lady."

DG: "Who is Andrew?"

Me: "That's Anne-Drew. A girl named Kait plays Anne-Drew, Frobisher's ship's boy..."

I could see I was starting to lose him- too many names, too much detail- so I said: "I have a video. C'mere... this is where the sea captains teach Anne-Drew how to woo a lady."


After he saw the video, he chuckled. "Woo a lady... tell 'em a handshake is just fine. They can woo someone else."

For the record, I sent a text to Captain Hawkyns with a very shortened version of that conversation and his reply to the treasure chest was: "Yup, we'd like that a bit."

Unfortunately for Anne-Drew, that means there probably won't be wheels on one end for ease of dragging. But at least it'll look cool, right? And he said he'd make sure the handles don't cut into fingers- he hates hat too.

Oh, and just in case anyone forgot about his box-making skills...

Textually Speaking, the Oreo NASCAR edition

I love Oreos. A lot. Not so much that it takes over my life or causes me to do silly things with them, like, say... put them in a 365 days photo.




No, that's not weird at all.

Well, today, I took a break from my work (photo editing) and had some Oreos as a snack. Okay, so maybe I had Oreos for lunch. Whatever... don't you judge me, dammit!

Where was I? Oh, the Oreos... Apparently, Oreos is having some kind of contest involving NASCAR and their cookies are imprinted on one side with random NASCAR stuff. So, while I was taking my break from photo editing, I took cell phone photos of the Oreos and sent them, without any explanation, to the Disabled Guy.

Me: "I'm about to dunk Tony Stewart!"

DG: "No! Not Tony! What did he do 2 U?"



Me: "HE'S NEXT!!"

DG: "Run, Newman! RUN!" (Ryan Newman)



DG: "Well, suck my dick, you done ate my drivers!"



DG: "I hope you enjoyed eating them. Meanie."



I told him that they tasted like Oreos and that's all that mattered. So, I went back to work, he went back to watching the race. A few hours after our cookie exchange, DG sent me another text.

DG: "Matt Kenseth won. Tony was down a lap."

Me: "Are you telling me this because I ate the #14 cookie?"

DG: "Yes. U 8 his MOJO!"

Me: "Eww, gross!"

DG: "U did it!!"

Me: "His mojo tasted a lot like an Oreo cookie."

DG: "Whatever it tasted like, you done killed my driver! Boo-hoo-boo-hoo!!!!"

I caused Tony Stewart to lose today's race because of my love for Oreos.

And you know what?

I'd totally do it again.

There's a new squirrel in the neighborhood...

In case you just found this blog and haven't gone through the YEARS of old posts, here's the story of the
~Squirrel Protection Agency and the Squirrel Bureau of Investigation~

and

~Part two of the story~

That brings us to a text convo from today:

Me: "There's a new stumpy-tailed squirrel."

DG: "Maybe they're related."

Me: "Maybe he's a witness to another Squirrel Mafia hit."

DG: "It could be. It COULD be. hmmm..."

Me: "His tail isn't AS stumpy as the other one, but it is definitely stumpy."

DG: "Okay. You keep an eye on things there."

Me: "Is that what you would do? Observe and report but not engage?"

DG: "Yes. The birds are narcs."

Me: "That explains why there are so many of them."

DG: "Yeah, and the bunnies."

Me: "What about the little chipmunks? [Christine asked]: Are they dealers because they're always saying: 'Izz goo-oood'?"

DG: "Damn, I forgot about them. The bastards."

Me: "I'll watch out for them too. You can't trust them, they're shifty."

Our squirrels don't stick around much when a human comes outside because we also have dogs (and the German Shepherd has actually caught a squirrel before), so if I can, I'll get a photo of the new squirrel. Odds are, it'll run as soon as the door opens, because you never know when Gypsy will conquer the Doorknob.

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.

"She's smart! She figured it out!"

We have too many dogs. Gypsy the German Shepherd, Luna the Taco Bell Chihuahua, Jasper the tri-color chocolate, Bruno who was the result of Luna and Jasper, Gregg the Girl Dog with a Boy Name and right now, we have Tempest- the Tasmanian Devil of Chihuahuas (but she's leaving soon). We also have cats. Up till a few months ago, we had four cats but our oldest daughter took two of them to live with her in her apartment (which she moved to a couple years ago, she just had to convince the boyfriend to let her bring two along).

We ended up having to put a gate on the stairs to keep the Chihuahuas from getting into the cat boxes and cat food. The cats used to be able to jump over it and come and go, but they don't anymore and seem to have no interest in the downstairs. Except for tormenting the dogs through the gate. Which they do on a multi-daily basis.

Gregg the Girl Dog is usually the first leading the brigade in Barking.

DG gets irritated (because a lot of Chihuahuas barking, harmonized by a German Shepherd.... little irritating). Among the stuff he shouts at them ("shut up! knock it off! Stop barking!"), he threatens them... ridiculously.

"I'm gonna shoot you!"

Ceej: "Dad. Gregg has no idea what that means."

DG: "She knows I'm gonna get a gun and shoot her!"

Ceej: "She doesn't know what a gun is!"

DG: "Yes, she does! She knows what a gun is!"

Ceej: "She's a dog, Dad. She's never been out of the house- out of the yard. She doesn't know what a gun is or what it means to be shot."

DG: "She's smart! She figured it out!"

Me: "She's smart? What, is she reading books and shit?"

Even DG couldn't keep a straight face... he said: "Didn't you know?" but it was laced with laughter.

For your viewing pleasure- Gregg the Girl Dog with a Boy Name



And, a shot of Gregg the girl Dog with her pup- Tempest.

Wrong words, Extra words, Words!

The whole point to the "Conversations" thing is that I'm sharing the humor with you. Sometimes, DG's disability makes him say the goofiest shit. Sometimes he's so funny, we drag it out by asking followup questions ("Rats with little Nike shoes") and sometimes, he just randomly inserts words that make no sense to the situation. That's all part of his disability. And, I only post the conversations and videos that he approves of. I would never make fun of him unless he was in on the joke.

Sometimes his disability makes him say the absolute wrong words- like the time the kids were running around and making noise (they were much younger). He was trying to get them to sit down and watch a movie. So, instead of coming out as a stern: "Sit down and be quiet!", in the same stern-father voice, he declared there was a steering wheel in the coffee table. We didn't have a coffee table at the time.

And sometimes, the disability makes him say extra words that eventually get to the point, when anyone else would have simply gotten to the point. ("You know that guy...")

Years ago, I had a Rottweiler puppy. He was the greatest dog in the world. I read several Rottie books before I brought him home, because I never owned a dog like that before. His name was Kodiak. I still miss him. I shouldn't have worried about training him. That dog was so brilliantly smart that he balanced my checkbook when he was just four months old. (that might not be a true story). So, I trained him with simple, one-word commands. "Sit", "stay", "down", "up"... easy.

Then came the time to train the disabled guy. Sit became: "Sit down". Stay became: "Stay there". "Lay down", "get up"... Luckily, the dog was killer smart and figured it out pretty quickly. But, even with simple one-word commands, the disabled guy's brain just added on extra words.

Today, he's outside fixing a bird feeder. Its a round one, with a plastic tube and a rounded wood-shingled topper on it. Well, it has seen better days. The bottom was almost completely rotted off. So he cut up some scrap wood and made a new round bottom for it. Except now he can't get the top to thread the cable back through. He asked me for help. While were standing there, trying to cram that cable back through the opening that was now half-blocked with rotting wood from the rounded topper, I asked why couldn't he just make a new topper that wasn't all rotted.

With what, he wondered. I threw around suggestions- how about that broken plastic plant pot? Take that bottom thing off, run that cable through, bam, done! No? Then how about you make a roof like on that other birdhouse, run the cable through, bam, done! That other bird feeder is rectangle-shaped and has a straight peaked roof. Can't do it, he says. Its round, that's rectangle. So, I said, you made this (the round bottom), make another one, drill two holes in it for the cable to feed through into the bird feeder frame below and bam, done!

DG: "Huh... that might actually work."

Me: "I know. Tell me I'm smart."

DG: "You're smart."

Me: "Tell me I'm inventive."

DG: "You're so inventive."

Me: "Tell me I'm pretty."

DG: "You're pretty enough." and there was a split second where he paused and then burst out laughing.

Me: "You couldn't say that again if you tried."

DG: "No, I can't!"

At least I didn't have to traipse through a maze of words to figure out what he was saying.

The Wheelchair lady

We were coming home from the grocery store the other day- he goes with me on the "big shop" on the last day of the month. The route home takes us across a shopping center's car park. It's got one store in it now (a dollar store of some kind, I don't remember which chain) and a hospital's "this-side-of-town clinic" and that's it, just a vast expanse of sparsely-used parking lot. It is also within view of a couple apartment complexes that are for seniors. By "seniors", I speak of our elders, not the hyperactive teens in their last year of high school (or is mine the only one that seems hyperactive?). Not a nursing home, but an actual apartment complex that caters to the older generation and has activities but everyone lives in their own flat. My grandmother lived in one and it was quite nice.

Anyway, we're shooting across this car park- and it was windy that day, and it was starting to sprinkle- and there's an older woman in one of those electric wheelchair/scooter things. She had an umbrella tilted against the wind and was obviously heading toward the grocery store. She's one of a handful you can see on a regular basis. What they usually do is leave their electric scooter at the grocery store's cart section, plugged in, and use the store's electric cart. Which is kinda cool, because the store could totally be jerks about it, but they're not.

DG looks at her and says something along the lines of how much that has to suck. So, I point out the elderly-living complex and say she's probably from there, so it isn't a biggie.

DG: "What if she breaks down?"

Me: "You mean, what if her battery dies?"

DG: "Okay, that then."

Me: "You don't think she knows if her battery is fully charged or not? I think she'd take care of it before leaving, but okay."

DG: "So she'd get stuck out here, in the rain!"

Me: "You don't think someone would stop and offer to help? Or at least stop and offer the use of a cell phone if she didn't have one?"

DG: "No, people are jerks."

Me: "I'm not. I'd stop and offer a ride or at least my cell phone."

DG: "You're not normal. Normal people wouldn't stop. She'd be stuck there all night."

Me: "It's noon. You don't think in the eight hours between now and 'dark' she'd not get help?"

DG: "Let's say she left in the dark."

Me: "But she didn't, she left in the daytime. It's NOON, she'll be fine, even if she loses her battery power."

DG: "Let's say she leaves at like four o'clock..."

Me: "It doesn't get dark till around eight, she's got four hours. I think she'd be fine."

DG: "Let's say she leaves at four o'clock in the winter and then she has a blowout!"

Me: "Now she's having a blowout? A second ago her battery died."

DG: "She's stuck there and nobody will help her because you're not there and then the thugs come out."

Me: "The thugs only come out at night?"

DG: "You didn't know? So they put her up on blocks and steal her tires! They got rims on those, you know."

Me: "So, you're saying that she would leave her house an hour from darkness and her battery would die-"

DG: "Or she'd blowout."

Me: "Or she'd have a blowout and then nobody would help her. Nobody would help a woman in an electric wheelchair in the middle of a parking lot, just stranded? They'd just leave her there?"

DG: "People are jerks, man."

And then we got home and he dropped the entire subject, fast. It was as if, once home, the poor, stranded wheelchair lady was of no consequence. We can only assume she made it back to her home, unscathed. I mean, there was nothing in the news about a wheelchair lady, put up on blocks and wheel-less till morning.

A video...

Our son has a baby corn snake that he named "Chuck Norris". He feeds it every few days. And he has to feed it a "pinky mouse" which is, sadly, a baby mouse only a few days old. When he gets bigger, he'll be fed (thawed) frozen mice. When Jase fed the snake the last time, he asked if I'd do a video for him to post on a forum for "Herps/inverts". He's been a member for years, having had various lizards as pets.

So, I did. It wasn't really gross and I've seen it happen in the wild (not to a mouse, but I've seen snakes eat spiders/eggs/other things that don't make noise). But, at the end of the video, I got a text message. Jase said, "Every time..." because nearly every time I've done a video for him, I get a text alert. Then the disabled guy came into the room.

Now, he saw it get fed a few days earlier. And apparently, it was much noisier than the day I did this video.

I've edited it down to just the ending and I added a bunch of text to explain what I did and why. So, read on, you have plenty of warning. And if you don't want to read it- basically I tell you there's nothing gross going on and aside from seeing the snake barely moving, there's nothing... But if you don't want to watch it or see the snake, but you want to hear it, then go ahead and push play and minimize the browser (or go to a new tab- you know what to do). When the weird versions of Mozart end is when the video starts.



See? That wasn't so bad. And you got to hear DG act like an idiot. And that's what counts.

Speed-talking and Buff... uh... parts

This is about two conversations. They have absolutely nothing to do with each other, but they happened within days of each other.

The first one- speed talking. Sort of. Since the stroke, the Disabled Guy doesn't speak as fast as normal people. Not all the time. Sometimes, he gets on a roll and he can rattle just like the rest of us. He keeps a conversational pace, but he doesn't talk fast.

So, the other morning, I was upstairs after I showered and dressed, watching the end of the Daily Show when DG came into our room. He was excited.

DG: "Did you know that guy was in Street Fighter?"

Me: "Jon Stewart was not in Street Fighter!"

DG: "No, not him. That guy. You know that guy?"

Me: "Yeah, I always know that guy..."

DG: "That guy, he was in Geronimo? You know, Geronimo? He was in Geronimo. You know who that guy is? In Geronimo?"

Me: "Which guy? There are lots of guys in Geronimo."

DG: "That guy you like." and he paused and repeated: "In Geronimo. I said Geronimo, right? With that guy?"

I started to chuckle, I couldn't stop myself. He repeated "Geronimo" so many times and so quickly it just started to sound funny. I replied, "Yeah, you said Geronimo."

Then he hollered it like he was jumping from an airplane, including fading his voice out at the end.

I made an assumption- "Are you talking about the guy who was in Last of the Mohicans?"

DG: "Yes!"

Me: "One of the good guys? One of the bad guys?"

DG: "Not that one but the other one you like."

Me: "Wes Studi?"

DG: "Yeah! That's him. He's in Street Fighter."

And now onto the "buff... parts"...

DG is watching NASCAR. And the stations show their share of ridiculous and sport-related commercials. One of those commercials is the Jimmy Johnson "Extenze" ads. DG exclaimed, "I need that."

I don't watch NASCAR and most of the time, I'll have headphones on while the race is on. So I asked, "What do you need?"

DG: "That stuff... see..."

Me: "You don't need Extenze!"

DG: "Yes, I do! What does it do?"

So I told him what they meant by "natural male enhancement" and because it's the Disabled Guy, I had to be blunt about it. "They say it'll make your penis bigger... and uh... stronger."

DG: "I totally need that."

He doesn't. Okay? Everything he's got works just fine and there's nothing wrong with... uh... his parts. And I said so. Because, good gravy, what the hell?

DG: "I could take it and then make it STRONG!" and he flexed his arm in front of him. "I could make it do push-ups! MAKE IT BUFF!"

Me: "You're going to do push-ups with your dick?"

DG: "You don't know because you just don't have a penis. But a strong penis... STRONG!"

Me: "That shit doesn't work."

DG: "You don't know that!"

Me: "What would you do if it did work?"

DG: "I don't know if it works."

Me: "Let's just say it DOES work... would you make it run up and down stairs?"

DG: "Yes! PT! PT! PT! I'd make it SWEAT!" (PT, for those not in the know, is short for "Physical Training" and they do it almost every morning in the military).

Me: "You'd make your dick sweat?"

DG: "Only if that stuff works. Hey, you're not typing this are you?"

Me: "No... I was just wondering what you'd do with your penis if you had that stuff."

DG: "I think you're typing this. Well, he's got to do PT and he's got to do it on his own. I don't know, he comes with me when I go on my walk. You know it's true."

Me: "What?"

DG: "Are you typing this?"

Me: "A little."

DG: "I kinda figured that. You're telling the world about my little penis."

Me: "It's not little. You're fine."

DG: "You know it is... *holds up his pinky* I know most guys wouldn't say that about their penis."

Me: "So why are you saying it?"

DG: "I know I got a small one. You might as well have fun with it. They can't laugh at you if you make the joke first. *his tone dropped* You don't even know, do you?"

Me: "Are you still talking to me?"

DG: "No, I'm talking to myself."

Squirrel Hitman and the Squirrel Witness Protection Program-

I'll skip the long-ish backstory that led up to DG going with me today, but I will say that because I had to wait on him, we didn't leave the house for two and a half hours later than I wanted. But I'll digress and get straight to the story.

I had a couple things to do today and mistakenly asked if he wanted to go along to get some fabric for the new sofa. Burlap or something to put under the cushions, over the springs. He said he did and that's how we ended up on the other side of town. To get home from that part of town, we have to turn down a one-way street. And if you live in any kind of town, you know how some squirrels seem suicidal. They'll dart out in front of oncoming vehicles only to dart back or they'll wait till the last moment and dash across the street.

We had one do just that as we turned onto the one-way street. I was going slow enough that if I had to stop, I could have. But Mister Squirrel ran, diagonally, across the street and dashed up a tree on the side of the road. He stopped halfway up the tree and glared at us in that squirrelly way. You know the look. The one that says, "HA! I did it! You stupid humans! You'll rue the day you tried to run me down when we take over the world! But I've said too much! Look, I'll twitch my nose and you'll forget what I just said!"

Yeah. That look.

When he darted out in front of us, we both said the same thing: "Wow! Look at that fat squirrel!" And he was quite portly. He probably needed the exercise of running across the street.

DG: "He ate another squirrel. That's how he got so fat."

Me: "Why is everything fat that way because they ate another one of their kind? I'm fat and I haven't eaten another human."

DG: "Animals are different!"

Me: "So the squirrel in the tree outside our house that only has a stub of a tail- he got that way because another squirrel tried to eat him and he got away?"

DG: "Yeah, this squirrel went over there and tried to eat him."

Me: "Why would a squirrel go all the way across town to eat another squirrel when there are plenty of squirrels in their own neighborhood."

DG: "I don't have any idea. I'm not a squirrel."

Me: "How would a squirrel get all the way across town and across the river to get to a squirrel that lives in our tree?"

DG: "I don't know. He's a hitman and it was his job."

Me: "The fat squirrel is a hitman for the squirrelly mafia and he went all the way across town- which is like going to Florida for us- to kill another squirrel because it was his job."

DG: "Of course."

Me: "But he failed. He's still alive but he has a stump tail."

DG: "He was the one that got away."

We approached the stoplight where the huge bridge is that takes us back to our side of the river. As we started up and over the bridge, I asked again how a squirrel would get across the bridge. "Did he walk or did he run along the railing?"

DG: "I don't know the squirrel's story. You're the one saying all this shit."

Me: "No, you're the one saying it. And like any good listener, I'm asking pertinent follow-up questions about the subject matter."

DG sighed. There was a moment or two of silence. Then he said: "The squirrel with the stumpy tail... he's the one that got away. And they had to put him in protective custody."

Me: "You're saying he's in the squirrel protection program?"

DG: "I don't know, but yes."

Me: "Wouldn't he be easy to recognize with just a stump tail or is his tail stumped as an attempt to alter his appearance? So the hitman squirrel sees him and says, 'Hey, you look like that squirrel I was supposed to kill- oh, wait, your tail is stumped, you must not be him.' Like that?"

DG: "I told you that I don't know the whole story."

Me: "Oh, you don't know the whole story about the squirrels, but you know all about the Rats and their Nike shoes. And squirrels are just rats with fluffy tails."

DG seemed shocked! His jaw fell open and he exclaimed: "They are not! Rats are weird, pinchy-faced ugly things and squirrels are all cute with their little noses and faces."

As we got closer to home, the stumpy-tailed squirrel ran out in front of us to the trees alongside our house. I said, "There he goes."

DG hollered (with the windows rolled up, no less): "You better run! We saw your hitman!"

There's a long video conversation today...

He's bored. Despite the warm-up in the weather, DG hasn't been out in his shop. Anyone care to guess why? C'mon... you know him. What's he like?

If you said "rich guys driving in circles for four hours every week" you're right. NASCAR is upon us. This past week has been full of NASCAR practices, interviews, the Bud Shootout, and who knows what else.

With all that going on, he hasn't been going into the shop- where he has a half-built sofa waiting to be finished. (Oh, that sofa... there's a story there, but for another time). So, NASCAR it is... The TV stuff ends in the afternoon, but that's "too late" to go out into the shop. I have no idea why, but that's how he works.

And today, he was bored. NASCAR was over, "Spartacus, Gods of the Arena" isn't on for hours. He stood about ten feet to my left and started making noises. I asked what he was doing. He said nothing. Then he'd make a noise, then make a face, then act like he wasn't doing anything. Back and forth (what are you doing? Nothing. *face-making*) for about ten minutes. It continued when I went upstairs (I have to walk past him to do that). When I sat back down, he kept it up. So, I picked up my camera.

I couldn't point it AT him, of course. Because he stops acting silly when he knows the camera is on him. So, unfortunately, you get a view of my horrifyingly messy desk. Then I sit for a while on a photo frame you've all seen before, then on to the computer monitor for the blog page. Eventually, I rolled back a little so I could see that he was making faces. And he was, but there are none on the video. Just him. Talking, singing, making noises and denying that he's doing any of those things. Its about seven minutes long.

Enjoy.

And I'll tell you the sofa story in a few days.

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.

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.

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.

"I can't sing! Doo-dooo-doooooo!"

I had to leave the house, such happens from time to time. Apparently, while I was gone (with Shawn, to the grocery store), Ceej (our 16 year old, if you've been keeping notes) had a conversation with DG of which she tried to get on video. She had some on her own camera, but filled up the memory too quickly. She got my camera (which has a much larger SD card in it) and took three videos of a strange conversation. From what I can piece together through DG denying he ever spoke to her (despite the video) and his arguing with her about how "Mom will find out" (that's right, he calls me "Mom"- but we covered this- he does it because the kids do it), he was going to go take a shower, sang about it, then giggled like a maniac. And she tried to get footage of it for all of you.

I uploaded this short video from my camera. Mostly because DG was laughing and you can hear him say "Ooooh!" which goes into some kind of weird "Oooh, woooo-hooo-dooo-dooo!" singing in his attempt to stop laughing. (I mentioned this before- when he laughs so hard he can't stop, he says "ooooh" over and over till he can breathe again. We refer to it as "making Dad go 'oooh'...").

Then, of course, he declares he can't sing... but he sings it.

Enjoy! And special thanks to the adorable Ceej for her valiant efforts to get video footage for all of you. (Oh, and the dogs in his lap- the fawn colored one is Luna- his "girlfriend" and the smaller, darker one is Jasper).

An ACTUAL Conversation with the Disabled Guy!

I know, I know, three posts in three days. I don't mean to do it. I'm sure you've all got better things to do than rush over here and read this. But today is special!

Today, I got video of an actual conversation with the Disabled Guy. The file was so big that I couldn't upload it to my desktop. Its really old. Well, old for a computer, that is. Compared to me, it isn't. So, I uploaded it to my Netbook, that was gifted to me by my friend, Michelle, who was mentioned in the Name Game post from yesterday.

Then I uploaded it to MySpace. When I played it back, it sounded like it was on "Alvin and the Chipmunks" speed. I've had videos do that before on MySpace, but I don't know why and I'm not tech savvy enough to figure it out. So, I deleted it and attempted to upload it to YouTube.

For over an hour! A bloody hour of my life wasted, watching that progress bar barely move. I had to keep moving the mouse around so the netbook wouldn't go into hibernate mode. So I canceled it. Then I broke it into two parts- which is what you'll see here. First, I wasted even more time, uploading the video from my netbook. After it stalled at 50% complete, I canceled it again. Finally, I came back to my desktop, uploaded the two parts to this computer and then uploaded them to YouTube. I seriously wasted my entire afternoon on this damn video- er, these damn videos.

After I took the footage, I played it back for DG. He laughed so hard he "ooh'd". Then he denied it was him. Sure. I believe that, don't you? During my first trial and tribulation of failure to upload, DG was eating the food he'd prepared during the footage. He said, "People are going to think my brain fell off the paper."

I asked: "What?"

He replied, "You know, that I'm crazy."

What he meant to say was "my cheese slid off my cracker", which is a colloquialism I picked up somewhere in reference to someone being a nutter.

So, on to the videos! Please excuse the disorder of my house. He's disabled, I'm still recovering from a joint replacement surgery and my teens are lazy.



I edited the videos so the second picks up repeating a little bit of the first, so we all know where we are in the conversation. Gypsy even started barking because she thought it was play time.