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."

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 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...

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."

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.

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."

A topic of a "delicate" nature...

The disabled guy has decided to start walking for exercise. What annoys me is that I walked for years (four miles a day, every day, rain/snow/cold/hot) and I know how far many of the intersections are from our house. Obviously, I can't walk as far as he does anymore (I will be, eventually). So I have told him, "X-street and Y-street are exactly a half mile from here, then you turn on Y-street and go to Z-street and that's another half mile..." and I've told him several routes that are not only all sidewalk or bike path, but also well-lit (he goes right before the sun comes up).

Leave it to him to zig-zag his gimpy ass all over the place. I told him he needs to pick a route and stay with it (or pick a few different ones and use only those) because if something happens and he has to call for a ride, I'm going to need to know where he is... and his phone call of, "I dunno, I'm near a blue house..." isn't quite going to cut it.

But I digress... on to the "delicate nature" promised in the title.

Here's a fact about the disabled guy you don't want to know. He goes commando. That is, he doesn't wear underwear. Once in a while he will, but not under normal, everyday circumstances. The other day, he was getting undressed for a shower after his walk and I said, with some surprise, that he was wearing underwear.

He said he had to. I asked why.

DG: "Because it gets hot. And nobody likes it when it gets hot like that."

Me: "Hot? It's 24° outside." (that's Fahrenheit).

DG: "Not that kind of hot. But you know..." *waves his hand in the general delicate area* "Hot."

Me: "Ohhhh, ohhh, I see. That area gets hot... and... underwear helps that?"

DG: *sigh* "It gets all hot and then it falls out the bottom."

Now, I'm quite shocked. I'm not sure we're talking about the same delicate area. So, I ask directly: "Your balls get hot and fall out the bottom... of what?"

DG: "Yes, my balls! What else would I be talking about?"

Me: "How do your balls fall out the bottom of anything? Of what are your balls falling from?"

DG: "Not falling out of! That's ridiculous! They fall down and get hot, like in NASCAR, the bottom just falls out and..." *wiggles fingers upwards while making a crackling sound* "Like fire! HOT!"

Me: "Your balls catch on fire from friction?"

DG: "Almost! And there's PAIN!" *more fire noise*

So, what I understand is that when he's walking all willy-nilly around the neighborhood, if he's not wearing underwear, his delicate man-parts get rubbed the wrong way and apparently burst into flames.

Then he said, "Plus, if I get hit by a car, it would be embarrassing not to have any drawers on!"

(for the record, when he had the stroke fifteen years ago, he was not wearing underwear. He sometimes still brings it up and says he's glad he was unconscious when they undressed him. I told him not to worry, the ER staff sees a lot worse than a guy without underwear).

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.

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.

Classical Music, Furry and Naked Bees, Godzilla, King Kong, and new tires

I needed new tires for the front of my truck. Why just the front? Because I got new tires about two years ago (maybe less, its really hard to say because this past year has been a long one). I do know that I was still walking with a cane and that it was still wintertime. I had to go all the way to Madison (about 60 miles away) because we had to use the Goodyear credit card. That time, we had everything pre-approved and I didn't need DG to go with me (his name is the only one on the card).

Well, March 2009, I was in the hospital for two weeks having a total knee replacement surgery. I heard countless times how much DG hated driving my truck. He has a full-size, two-door Chevy Silverado. I have a mid-size, four-door Chevy Colorado. Because mine is four-door, he had to drive mine to drive the kids anywhere. But I digress...

DG was driving my truck and somehow got a screw in the tire. No problem. He removed the screw and patched the tire. He's done it many times before. Except that now the tire has a slow leak. Every couple weeks (more in the cold weather), I would have to fill it with air.

A couple weeks ago, our son, Jase, was driving home after taking his girlfriend home. Up the street from our house, he slid on the slick road, ran a little into the freshly plowed-up snow on the side. No big deal... it happens. He came home and that was that... till the next morning when I discovered a completely flat tire. After the spare had been put on, DG examined the tire. There was a chunk of glass about the size of an index-finger fingernail. Not big, but it was a slice, not a small hole, and it couldn't be patched.

Well, that did it. I needed a new tire. Since we were going to have to get a new tire for that, we might as well get the new tire for the leaky side as well.

Here we are, in small-town Wisconsin with a Wal-Mart and no mall. There are a few small, independent tire stores, but not a single Goodyear shop. Long story short, we ended up going back to Madison. I had to order the tires because my Colorado doesn't have standard tires on it. Not my fault... we bought it used.

Here's a little nitpick, then on to the story involved in the title.

Both times my tires were damaged, I wasn't driving my truck. In fact, I was IN the hospital for the first one and sleeping at home for the other. And when the Goodyear guy asked if we wanted the "tire protection package", DG said, "Yeah, we better get that... you destroy your tires."

Hardly! I just wanted it out there that no- I did NOT destroy my tires. And yes, we got the tire protection package.

Onto the story...

My truck, my music. On the way up to Madison, we listened to the band Say Anything. Incidentally, their new album is also called "Say Anything". On the way back, I put in a CD called "Classical Thunder". I get these CDs every few weeks in the mail- with a "genuine leather-bound" book that details the music on the two-disc set. On this particular CD, when it reached track three... that's when the fun started.

Bach's "Toccota and Fugue in D-Minor" came on. You all know it. You probably have the opening notes as a ring tone on your phone. Its heavy with organ music and the fodder of the old-time silent horror films.

DG said, "This reminds me of Dracula."

Me: "That's because it was probably in one of those old black and white movies."

DG: "Yeah, like a silent movie. You know when they got the words up you have to read because they're not talking."

Me: "They're talking, we just can't hear it."

DG: "Well, no shit! And they show the women always like this-" He put the back of his hand on his forehead, his head tilted back and he let out a shrill, "OH!"

Me: "The damsel in distress."

DG: "Exactly."

The music picked up and took on an almost cheerful tone as it went on.

DG: "They killed the monster! They're so happy!"

Me: "It does sound like they're dancing."

DG: "In the square, you know, that town square. And the Gyp- Japanese- Not Japanese. You know, the people with the ladies and dancing?" He raised his hand up and moved it in a circle and said, "Whooooo!"

Me: "Gypsies?" (for the record, our German Shepherd's name is Gypsy- he says that word several times a day)

DG: "Yeah, the Gypsies. They're dancing with the scarves and everyone is having a good time." *heavy sigh* "Its a good thing they killed the monster."

When the next song came on- "Russian Dance" by Stravinsky, he exclaimed, "KING KONG!"

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

DG: "You know, it sounds like when he's in the bay, crushing buildings."

Me: "When did King Kong walk through a bay?"

DG: "Godzilla."

Me: "Uh, you were talking about King Kong."

DG: "Same difference."

Then we got to "The Sea and Sinbad's Ship" and DG declared cheerfully: "BEES!" Where I put the ... is where he'd pause. There are a few times when I'd repeat what he said, just to keep the story going, but this is pretty much the conversation we had about the bees.

DG: "Oh, the bees! The bees! They're flying! Oh no! A bear! The bees are chasing the bear because he stole their honey! Run, bear! Sneak to the lake... he'll never make it in time. The bees will get him."

Me: "They'll get him? He's a bear."

DG: "They're in negotiations with a contract."

Me: "For what?"

DG: "For peace talks. Peace between the bear and the bees... They'll shake hands on it."

Me: "How is a bee going to shake hands with a bear?"

DG: "They got six hands! No, there's two to stand on, so they have four. Four hands to shake with, two to stand on... they gotta make a deal with the bear for a truce."

Me: "Does the bear have a cousin who is a lawyer?"

DG: "You know it... They have to get ready for the killer bees because there's going to be a gang-fight with the bumblebees. *loooong pause* Bees are fuzzy."

Me: "That they are. I bet you could make a coat out of them."

DG: "They're always cold."

Me: "They're wearing fur, how could they be cold?"

DG paused again. For a long time. Then he started to giggle.

"Imagine shaving a bee? They'd be shaved. Naked bees! They'd be so embarrassed!"

He started to laugh. Hysterically. When he laughs, if we can get him going, he can't stop. He'll laugh so hard that he can't catch his breath. He has to say "ooooh!" over and over to catch his breath. In between his words, he would try to catch his breath.

"Naked bees! *oooh* The other bees would make fun of them! *oooh* They're naked, with no clothes! *oooh* Standing there! *mmmmmm* Covering their privates! Naked bees! *oooh*..."

I said: "Their wings are transparent too."

DG caught his breath and said, "Oh... ooooh... they're trying to be sexy little critters with see-through wings."

He broke into laughter again. "When the killer bees come, they can send a naked bee out there. The killer bees will die laughing and they'll have a victory!"

After he caught his breath again, he discussed how these naked bees would have to lift weights to get buffed up. They have four arms, so they would have to lift four times as much. They'd start small, with grains of sand, then work their way to dirt, then to pebbles.

I asked why the bees would have to buff up if the killer bees would laugh to death.

He said: "Because what else are naked bees going to do?"

I said to him: "You know where this conversation is going, right?"

DG: "Where?"

Me: "The blog."

DG: "I'll deny it. I'll deny saying anything!"

Me: "Who do you think they'll believe? Me or the guy who talked about rats with little Nike shoes?"

DG: "I wonder if bees wear shoes? No, they'd need gloves for their four hands. Shoes for the two feet. They don't need gloves in California."

Me: "What's in California?"

DG: "That Muscle Beach place, where the bees would lift sand weights."

I personally like how he denied this story, then wrapped it up with bees wearing shoes and working out in California.

When the next song started (Beethoven's "Symphony No. 9 in D Minor"), DG put his hand on his forehead and exclaimed: "OH!" as the damsel in distress.

A pictorial of an alien invasion...

I mentioned a blog or two ago how the Chihuahuas get inside DG's zippered hoodie and snuggle all in and get warm. Well, I now have photos of the "alien" invading his body. With each step, imagine DG crying out in terror: "ALIEN! AAAAAAAYYY-LEEE-UUUUNNNN!

Step one: Climb to the top.



Step two: Step down slightly, paw at the opening of the hoodie till the human cooperates.



Step three: Start the downward climb into the warmth.



Step four: Get all situated and comfy.



Bonus shot- Look over your shoulder at the crazy lady sitting at the computer who keeps taking those flashy pictures.



So, there you have it. Bruno the twelve pound Chihuahua (who is the single offspring of Luna- the six-ish pound Chihuahua, and Jasper- the four pound Chihuahua) is an alien.

The next bit has some swear words. Nothing overly bad, but I don't want to offend. So, this is your warning.

We also have cats, but they don't venture downstairs much- except for Samantha, because we suspect she thinks she's a dog. But, one of our cats- Arwen- is missing a rear leg. She can run and play like the other cats, but she can't jump. She does sort of a "rock-climb" technique to get up on our bed upstairs. Every time we get an animal addition to our family, they eventually learn that DG can't pick them up normally. They have to turn their back to him so he can pick them up one-handed with his left hand. Arwen learned that pretty quickly. She would thump-thump into our room (you can always tell when its her) and go straight up to DG. Then she would turn her back to him, look over her shoulder and meow loudly. His response was to lean over and pick her up. She wanted on our bed and instead of climbing, she'd demand DG lift her up. When he's not in the room, she climbs up without any assistance.

I told him: "She owns you! She's got you trained."

He said: "No, she doesn't!"

I replied: "You're her bitch! She OWNS you!"

He said: "She does not!"

I pointed out that she comes in, turns and meows at him- in essence, ordering him to pick her up! "Meow, bitch, pick my ass up!"

We started to refer to Arwen's doing that as "Meow, bitch!" As in, "Uh-oh, you've just been meow-bitched!"

The Chihuahuas don't meow or bark for their orders. They simply step up to him and stare till he responds. The most common thing is when Luna wants him to get a blanket. She sits next to the chair and stares at him. He'll look down and she'll wag her tail. He responds in one of two ways- he gets up and gets a blanket or he moves to the sofa (where the blankets are) and sits there so Luna can join him. In essence, Luna "meow-bitched" him. All the dogs do it- except Gypsy the German Shepherd. She just voices her loud opinion in her German Shepherd-y way.

Here's a photo of Arwen with Luna. She got up on the sofa herself. DG wasn't in the room when she wanted up.

Dogs are aliens... at least in our house.

I mentioned before how DG is cold a lot. We keep the thermostat at 68 degrees in the winter because its expensive to go higher. In the summer, I rarely put it above 72 (and most times, its at 70). That's because anything warmer, I swell up and have my own health issues. See, you can always put on a hoodie, you can't always get naked. Plus, you can always add another layer, you can only get naked and that's it- you can't get MORE naked if you're still warm.

But back to the dog aliens.

We have those Chihuahuas. And Chis by nature, are cold. Ours absolutely hate wearing sweaters. When we put a sweater on Luna, she runs around the house in a frenzy, rolling on the floor and in the dog bed and on blankets till she wriggles out of her sweater. Jasper does the same, but I'm not sure how because he's very stealthy about it. He's got the sweater on... disappears... returns without the sweater. When we put one on Bruno, he walks sideways and falls over like we've drugged him. But all three will climb inside your shirt if you let them.

Whenever DG is wearing a zippered hoodie or even a blanket, at least one Chi will climb inside. And when that dog wakes up and climbs out, the result is always the same.

DG screams and wails, "Its an alien! AAAALLLEEEEE-AAAANNNNN!" and he "dies" in his chair till the "alien" gets bored with it all and jumps down to venture forth on Earth.

Sometimes, if nobody is in the room to enjoy the above spectacle, he'll declare loudly, "I've given birth!" and then he baby talks whichever dog spilled forth from his sweatshirt.

Here is photographic evidence of the "alien invasion".



ALIEN!!

Killer blankets and Brain Cells

I wake up very early. Back before my knees went bad, I used that early time to walk for exercise. And I mean WALK! I walked four miles a day, every day. Eventually, my knees went bad and I kept getting up early. I figured that I'd eventually get back out there and walk again. Well, in March (2009), I had total knee replacement on my left knee. In the hospital, my whole sleep schedule was completely out of whack. I spent two weeks in the hospital (worry not, future knee-replacement patients, I was "in the hospital" because the rehab therapy place was in the hospital) and then two weeks in my parents' fully handicapped-accessible home. That was a long month for everyone, especially the Disabled Guy because he found out just how much stuff I actually do around the house.

But this isn't supposed to be about me. I just wanted to explain why my sleep cycle is messed up. Nowadays, I'm doing much better in the whole knee recovery thing, but I'm still not walking (especially not now on the icy pavement). I still get up early, but now, around 5 AM, I go back to bed. The doctors all keep saying, "Sleep when you're tired." Well, I'd sleep all the time then, wouldn't I?

Back to the topic at hand.

The other morning, I went back to bed to find the Disabled Guy wrapped up like a burrito in the sheepskin blanket (that's only for him, it is HIS blanket), the bed sheet, and the soft fleece bedspread. The big down comforter was wadded up in a ball on my side of the bed. As I was straightening it out so I could use it, DG woke up and looked over at me.

I asked: "What's all this?"

He looked at the comforter in the near-dark. "What?"

Me: "This. Why is the comforter all balled up on my side of the bed?"

Him: "Oh. It attacked me. I had to kill it."

Me: "The comforter attacked you."

Him: "It did."

I motioned to the blanket burrito he was wrapped in. "What about those?"

He glanced down and then closed his eyes. "They won't hurt me. I scared them when I killed the comforter. They done learnt their lesson."

And, for your entertainment...

Every year, we ask him what he wants for Christmas and every year, he says: "Don't get me nothing."

So, I go one of two ways. I either go practical and get him tools or clothes. Or I go joke-y and sarcastic. Like this year. I got him a Snuggie (which he likes and you've seen a photo of) and a petri dish full of brain cells. Seriously.

There's a website called ~Giant Microbes~ and they sell plush versions of various cells and germs and such. I originally wanted to get the petri dish of three brain cells and one large red blood cell. Then I was going to cram the blood cell into the petri dish with the brain cell... get it? Yeah, I thought it was funny. The kids thought it was mean and talked me out of the blood cell. He asked me: "Are these replacements for the ones that are damaged or are these in memory of them?"

The kids have taken turns tormenting him by shaking the plastic, over-sized petri dish with the three plush brain cells inside. He yells out, "Stop playing with my brain!" or "Oh, that hurts!" Sometimes, the kid in question yells: "Concussion!" and shakes it violently.

You're right in assuming we're a pretty warped family.

So, I took some pictures of DG with his new brain cells. Enjoy.

The brain cell is 1,000,000x magnified (according to the petri dish information).



"OH! I'm losin' my mind!" he blurted when I put the brain cells on his head. (Incidentally, I've been asked if he looks like he's had a stroke. On the outside, the only real way you can see it is that his right eye doesn't open as wide as his left. And this picture really shows the difference. But he doesn't always look like that. Obviously he's playing it up for the camera).



And here we have: "Arrrrgggh! It hurts so much!"



So, as you can see... he's nothing if not a good sport!

You know that movie with that guy in it who does that thing?

That was an actual comment from the Disabled Guy to me at Wal-Mart one day. He was going through the "2 for $10" DVD bin for old movies. We "converted" to DVDs several years ago and while there's no shortage of newer flicks, the old ones are harder to find. And of course, a DVD for five bucks is a heck of a deal. (We had hundreds of VHS tapes. We now have 650 DVDs and counting. And yes, we've watched them all.)

That day at Wal-Mart, I asked him what he was looking for and he replied, "You know that movie with that guy in it who does that thing?"

I replied, "Oh, of course, that movie." There was some random customer looking through the other side of the bin who chuckled at us. Sadly, I did know what movie he was talking about- but not because of any psychic connection or anything. We had been talking about what movies he was looking for earlier that day.

Now, a few weeks ago...

I posted this conversation over on the snopes board the day it happened. And, for some reason, that day, the board was acting peckish and sometimes not loading, so I copied my posts before the Interwebs ate them. Then I saved this conversation so I could share it with my mom, who thinks some of the stuff I put up with is funny. (and it is, otherwise you wouldn't be reading this blog).

I'm in a DVD club where we get pretty good discounts and free DVDs from time to time. I take the discounts on older movies and we end up getting them practically for free. So, I ask the DG (as he will be called in the future because I'm getting tired of typing it out) if there was any movie he wanted me to look for. He laughed out that reply (the title) and then said he was looking for an older movie with "that guy" in it. So, I asked, "What guy? What else has he been in?"

That usually jogs his memory to tell me the actor's name or if he remembers another movie, then I can figure out who he's talking about.

him: "Dennis..."
me: "Dennis who?"
him: "That guy, you know that guy?" (with a chuckle, going back to that time when he said, "You know that guy in that movie?")
me: "I need something else to go on."
him: *tapping his forehead with his fingertips* "You know, Denny-Denz-Denz-ill..."
me: "Den-ZEL? Denzel Washington?"
him: "Yeah, yeah, that guy... and Dennis..." (here he trails off saying "Dennis" a couple of times).

So, I start scrolling the Denzel Washington movies and saying their titles. And then he comes up with this:

him: "LA Law- Confiden... you know...?" (he held out his hand, palm up).

me: "L.A. Confidential?"
him: "Yeah, you know that guy who looks like that guy in X-men but it isn't him? (and before I could say Guy Pearce, he said) Not that guy, but the guy he's arguing with?"
me: "Russell Crowe? We have that movie- American Gangster."
him: "No, no- well, yes, we do, but no. The one where the guy is a computer guy."
me: "Virtuosity...."
him: "Yeah! That was cool."
me: "We just went through all that shit to get to Russel Crowe and you could have said: "The guy in Gladiator"?"
him: "Yeah, we did."
me: "Why didn't you just say Gladiator?"
him: *pausing for a second* "It wouldn't have been as much fun!"

So you see, sometimes, he "gets it". Some days he's on the ball and he knows his brain is working overtime on a simple task. And on those days, he's generally in a good mood and we all have fun and joke about it. Very rarely does he get so frustrated that he gets angry about his speech and comprehension. The times he gets upset and hard to deal with are more related to his physical limitations than the mental ones.

And on another note, I know I've posted three blogs in three days. I don't want to get your hopes up and make it a regular thing. I'm mostly just typing these out as they come to me. That kind of sucks a little because it isn't in a chronological order. You'll adapt to this weirdness... just like I did.

A quick intro...

The Disabled Guy- I started referring to him as that online because that's what he is and he knows it. He is aware that he's disabled. He despises the softened, politically correct things people use to describe him.

"Differently-abled"

"Physically challenged"

He is disabled. Handicapped. If he wasn't disabled, he'd have a job and be earning a paycheck instead of living off disability from the Veteran's Administration.

He was twenty-eight years old (six months and ten days after his honorable discharge from the Army) when he was felled by the stroke. And that's literal- felled. He fell down. He was unloading the trailer to the semi-truck he drove (he became a long-haul trucker after the Army) when he staggered, dropped the box he was carrying and crumbled. This was told to me by the man who caught him. He said that Jerry had been talking and walking just fine and they were about half-done with their work. That's when he stopped talking, staggered and fell. The man, who looked like a black Arnold Schwarzenegger, caught him before he fell all the way down. Jerry ended up with only a scraped knee (as opposed to a broken arm, broken hip, head wound).

I've told this story so many times before- we were living in Savannah, Georgia. He had the stroke in a suburb of Washington DC and was in the hospital in Laurel, Maryland. Our kids were 5 1/2, 3, and 1 1/2 years old at the time. They have no memories of their father from before the stroke. He is paralyzed on his right side, has no use of his right hand and arm and walks with a slight limp.

The last fifteen years have been a challenge and filled with ups and downs and sometimes spirals and loop-de-loops. It hasn't all been good and it hasn't all been bad.

The disorders Jerry has- aphasia and apraxia- are common with brain injuries.

~SOURCE~

Fluent Aphasia (also called Wernicke's aphasia): People with Wernicke's aphasia usually have great difficulty understanding speech, and they are often unaware of their mistakes.

Non-fluent Aphasia: They often omit small words such as "is," "and," and "the." For example, a person with Broca's aphasia may say, "Walk dog," meaning, "I will take the dog for a walk."

There are other types of aphasia, each of which results from damage to different language areas in the brain. Some people may have difficulty repeating words and sentences even though they can speak and they understand the meaning of the word or sentence. Others may have difficulty naming objects even though they know what the object is and what it may be used for. **end of source**

Jerry has a combination of those three types. Sometimes he's unaware of his mistakes. We don't laugh at him or tease him when he's unaware. When we're alone (without our kids around), I'll let him know what his mistake was, but I don't make a scene out of the situation. He also drops words or adds words to what he's trying to say. Such as: "I beg to differ" comes out as "I beg to be differ". Plus he has trouble coming up with seemingly easy to recall words. He interchanges gender pronouns, calling our pets him or her (despite the actual gender of the animal). He also calls the kids by the wrong name at times- and by that, I mean he will pull a name out of his past from 25 years ago and call our kids by that name.

From the same site as above- the definition of Jerry's type of Apraxia.

Apraxia of speech: A severe speech disorder characterized by inability to speak, or a severe struggle to speak clearly. Apraxia of speech occurs when the oral- motor muscles do not or cannot obey commands from the brain, or when the brain cannot reliably send those commands. Children with apraxia can be helped significantly with intensive speech therapy.

And, of course, the more tired he is, the worse it gets.

I asked Jerry if he would mind if I started a blog about the "crazy shit" he says. He didn't care. I share snippets of our conversations with a few message boards I frequent. I have to say, the snopes Urban Legends Message Board group is by far the most appreciative and are part of the reason I thought about starting the blog.

The first few posts will be done from memory as I try to recall some of the more extensive conversations we've had. Today (Christmas Eve), Jerry had an argument with my Magic 8 Ball. You know, the toy you ask a question, shake up, and it presents a reply in a little window. This is the third argument in two weeks that he's had with my Magic 8 Ball. This argument culminated with him asking if I was insane (because I yelled at him to stop arguing with the 8 Ball). It kept saying: "Reply hazy", "ask again later", "cannot answer now". He sighed and shook the 8 Ball: "Why are you bein' so hard-headed!?"

I stood up, took the Magic 8 Ball from him. He was questioning MY sanity by asking a toy. Scratch that- by arguing with a toy.

He has also been known to refer to "disabled" as "disassemble". And he realizes it and says: "No disassemble, Stephanie!" (that's a reference to an 80s movie called "Short Circuit").

Another tidbit to leave you with- today he was watching the holiday episode of "iCarly" (he loves that show). Carly's brother built a magnetic Christmas tree that caught on fire. Kat (our 20 year old daughter) has never watched the episode and asked, as they were setting the tree up at the end of the episode, "They set it on fire again, don't they?"

The Disabled Guy replied: "No. They start humming the Snoopy song from Charlie's Angels."

For your enjoyment- here's a photo of the Disabled Guy.

We have three Chihuahuas and they're "his babies". The two pictured with him are Jasper (smaller, dark) and Luna (larger, fawn-colored). We have a puppy that is the result of Luna and Jasper- named Bruno. We also have a German Shepherd named Gypsy and four cats.



Oh, and just to show you, so you don't worry about him so much, Jerry is talented. After the stroke, he spent a lot of years puttering around the house. He'd follow behind me, doing the housework that I just finished. He'd reload the dishwasher after I loaded it, he'd dust the living room and vacuum. I finally stopped doing it. I figured, "Why bother?" because he'd just do it again ten minutes later. Before the stroke, Jerry used to build precision models. Airplanes, battleships, cars, trucks, helicopters, we even had the Starship Enterprise and a Klingon ship. Obviously, after losing the use of his one hand, he couldn't do that anymore.

He still managed to find his niche.

He builds things out of wood. Amazing things. ~Link to his Photobucket album~ All one-handed, left-handed.

Another quick sample to leave you with:

He asked: "What are you doing?" (his DVD just ended, so he had to get up)

I replied: "I started a blog called 'Conversations with the Disabled Guy'."

He exclaimed in mock anger: "WHY!?"

I answered: "Because you said I could."

He sighed, "Oh, yeah. Okay. So, is it good?"

I told him: "Not yet, but it will be."