Chuck Norris

• Chuck Norris tears cure cancer. Too bad he has never cried.
• When Chuck Norris has sex with a man, it is not because he is gay, but because he has run out of women.
• Macgyver can build an airplane out of gum and paper clips, but Chuck Norris can kill him and take it.
• Chuck Norris once roundhouse kicked someone so hard that his foot broke the speed of light, went back in time, and killed Amelia Earhart while she was flying over the Pacific Ocean.
• Chuck Norris doesn't read books. He stares them down until he gets the information he wants.
• If you ask Chuck Norris what time it is, he always says, "Two seconds till." After you ask, "Two seconds to what?" he roundhouse kicks you in the face.
• Chuck Norris only masturbates to pictures of Chuck Norris.
• Rather than being birthed like a normal child, Chuck Norris instead decided to punch his way out of his mother's womb. Shortly thereafter he grew a beard.
• Chuck Norris appeared in the "Street Fighter II" video game, but was removed by Beta Testers because every button caused him to do a roundhouse kick. When asked bout this "glitch," Norris replied, "That's no glitch."
• Chuck Norris lost his virginity before his dad did.
• Since 1940, the year Chuck Norris was born, roundhouse kick related deaths have increased 13,000 percent.
• Chuck Norris sold his soul to the devil for his rugged good looks and unparalleled martial arts ability. Shortly after the transaction was finalized, Chuck roundhouse kicked the devil in the face and took his soul back. The devil, who appreciates irony, couldn't stay mad and admitted he should have seen it coming. They now play poker every second Wednesday of the month.
• Filming on location for Walker: Texas Ranger, Chuck Norris brought a stillborn baby lamb back to life by giving it a prolonged beard rub. Shortly after the farm animal sprang back to life and a crowd had gathered, Chuck Norris roundhouse kicked the animal, breaking its neck, to remind the crew once more that Chuck giveth, and the good Chuck, he taketh away.
• Chuck Norris's girlfriend once asked him how much wood a woodchuck could chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood. He then shouted, "HOW DARE YOU RHYME IN THE PRESENCE OF CHUCK NORRIS!" and ripped out her throat. Holding his girlfriend's bloody throat in his hand he bellowed, "Don't fuck with Chuck!" Two years and five months later he realized the irony of this statement and laughed so hard that anyone within a hundred mile radius of the blast went deaf.
• Chuck Norris does not sleep. He waits. Chuck Norris built a time machine and went back in time to stop the JFK assassination. As Oswald shot, Chuck met all three bullets with his beard, deflecting them. JFK's head exploded out of sheer amazement.
• Chuck Norris is not hung like a horse... horses are hung like Chuck Norris.
• Chuck Norris was the fourth Wiseman. He brought baby Jesus the gift of "beard". Jesus wore it proudly to his dying day. The other Wisemen, jealous of Jesus' obvious gift favoritism, used their combined influence to have Chuck omitted from the Bible. Shortly after all three died of roundhouse kick related deaths.
• To prove it isn't that big of a deal to beat cancer. Chuck Norris smoked 15 cartons of cigarettes a day for 2 years and aquired 7 different kinds of cancer only to rid them from his body by flexing for 30 minutes. Beat that, Lance Armstrong.
• There are no disabled people. Only people who have met Chuck Norris. Chuck Norris does not have AIDS but he gives it to people anyway.
• Chuck Norris uses ribbed condoms inside out, so he gets the pleasure.
• There is no chin behind Chuck Norris' beard. There is only another fist.
• Chuck Norris once lined up to kick the winning field goal of a high school football game. When the football went flat, he persuaded the referees to let him kick the field goal with a 3 month old child. Chuck roundhoused kicked the baby 60 yards through the uprights and then proceeded to bang every girl in the stadium.
• The original theme song to the Transformers was actually "Chuck Norris--more than meets the eye, Chuck Norris--robot in disguise," and starred Chuck Norris as a Texas Ranger who defended the earth from drug-dealing Decepticons and could turn into a pick-up. This was far too much awesome for a single show, however, so it was divided.
• The chief export of Chuck Norris is pain.
• Chuck Norris is currently suing NBC, claiming Law and Order are trademarked names for his left and right legs.
• When Chuck Norris plays Oregon Trail his family does not die from cholera or dysentery, but rather roundhouse kicks to the face. He also requires no wagon, since he carries the oxen, axels, and buffalo meat on his back. He always makes it to Oregon before you.
• It was once believed that Chuck Norris actually lost a fight to a pirate, but that is a lie, created by Chuck Norris himself to lure more pirates to him. Pirates never were very smart.
• Chuck Norris recently had the idea to sell his urine as a canned beverage. We know this beverage as Red Bull.

Psst...

I'm watching my 3 year old nephew right now for a couple hours.

I snuck away long enough to tell you that in the half hour of being plastered to the television with him, I've stimulated my mind more than in the last 3 weeks of being home from work!

Shh...Did you know they teach kids about Dvorak and Monet on Little Einstein? In the same 5 minutes?! It's slightly unnerving, honestly.

I'm Back!

Well, I'm back! I've actually been back since around March 4th, but I'm on drugs, so I actually "arrived" around last Saturday, lol.

My surgery only took about 4 hours. I stayed in the ICU for a night, because they left me with that nasty tube in my throat for an extra few hours due to protocol. For some reason, because the surgery is done with the patient on their bellies, they have a ton of swelling afterwards and have trouble breathing on their own. And by swelling, I mean excessive facial swelling. I looked as though I had received a new kidney and was rejecting it. I'll have to post pictures if I ever get the balls.

On the bright side, I got a toy called a PCA for the first few days of my stay. Full of dilaudid, which I played with a lot. So the pain didn't actually set in till my dilaudid pump went away and I developed a wonderful thing called "ogilvies syndrome," which is something that occasionally happens in response to major surgeries like mine. It's some sort of rush of your fight or flight hormones, which causes a wonderful array of symptoms, such as feeling like I was having heart attacks, and even more fun than that, my guts stopped working.

So when I thought the most fun I ever had throwing up was when I was 8 months pregnant with food poisoning, I was mistaken. Replace it with throwing up constantly right after major back surgery.

The ironic thing about it was that the pain medication was actually making my problems worse. So the doctors basically told me that I needed to cut down on my pain medication as infrequently as possible as well as eat nothing until it resolves itself. By the way, I haven't mentioned that I honestly had 30 different doctors telling me completely opposite things. So I stopped taking my pain medication, and they stopped feeding me. That's when I realized that I felt exactly like anyone would expect me to feel. Like I had a cookie rack down my back.

It took 10 days to resolve itself. I was in terrible pain, and they started a long term IV in my arm to feed me with IV nutrition. Day 7, my surgeon came in and told me I was nuts for cutting down on my pain medication and who the heck ever told me to do such a thing, (his idiot white coats told me to do it). It was like being on bad acid. A different story with every doc. So, with little argument, I went back on my pain medication and I was better in 2 days and home on the third. I felt a hell of a lot better.

There have been constant battles and adventures every step of my recovery, most of which may turn out to be a great blog, but I'm home now, and I feel great. I can definitely vouch for a good bowel obstruction to take some weight off you- I'd rather exercise next time, but hey, I'm skinny again (lost about 20 lbs), and straight. (In all senses of the word.) You can barely even see my scar, my surgeon did a great job stitching me up instead of stapling, and I even bought my new summer swimsuit from Vicki's last weekend!

So since I've nothing better to do, maybe I can work in some of the adventures I had along the way. I have a good 5 blogs or so to catch up on. Peace.

Perverts

I'm not going to be going into great detail here, chances are you'll all be hearing about it on the 6:00 news or Dateline itself, soon. I just need to vent.

I'm having a real hard time staying calm and sane right now. I'm holding in a true Irish rage that I'm honestly afraid of. My only possible salvation is my innate faith in the corrupt legal system, which through experience, tells me to turn away from.

Please, someone tell me, WHY, being a pervert in a huge position of authority and public service is only punishable by a few hours of community service and a slap on the wrist? Why is it not a big deal to rob someone of their dignity and privacy and, thus, only take a slight slap on the wrist for it?

Why is it the person with nothing that pays greatly for the indiscressions of the person with everything, only because they don't have the means to fight back? It's too bad that in America we have no control over this. Law and Order? CSI? Bah. Real justice only happens on TV.

Something had better happen, something big- or I will be forced to earn a degree in law and devote my life to going fucking nuts (pro bono) on these assholes.

Mr. Authority Man, you'd better watch your fucking step. I'm all over this shit, and my rage is fueling me.

I just read the funniest goddamned thing ever. A secret Santa sent me a bag-o-books (hmm...all published by Simon & Schuster...), and instead of folding the 6 giant piles of laundry which have accumulated over the past 2 weeks, I plopped my ass down and started in on one called Mortified, by David Nadelberg.

To summarize the book, it's a compilation of the misery of, mostly, prepubescent strife. Copied directly from diaries, love letters, and the most personal accounts of the most despairing times of their lives, it's a public display of humiliation. And, as it turns out, humor.

Note: I am not exempt from this. I could make my own book out of the 3 diaries I've kept in a footlocker buried deep in my mother's basement. I vowed never to read them again, because it was just too horrifying to have to relive those experiences. But after reading this particular story, I just might have to share.

The story I read was called "The Porn", and it was introduced like-a so:

This is an excerpt from a little something I like to call "The Porn," a forty-plus-page story I wrote when I was twelve.

Obviously all of us go through puberty. But most people handle this onset of new feelings by playing doctor with a friend or learning how to masturbate in the bathtub under the faucet or something. Instead I went the road less traveled and worked it all out...by writing this epic dirty story.

The most interesting thing that I realized about "The Porn" when I reread it as an adult was that I didn't
understand the concept of an orgasm. I got that you'd feel something down there, and I could tell that the feeling would build and build and that ultimately some sort of something would have to happen. But I simply could not conceive of what that might be. And so in my story, at the climactic moments, all the characters just...pee. They just pee everywhere and all over themselves as a means to release.

The lead character, Jenny Wilkinson, spent forty-plus pages wandering around her suburban town getting humped by varying high school boys....

And then I'll stop plagiarizing the book and let you read the rest. But first...my favorite line:

OK. I'll just wear, you know, some lacy underwear and bra and you should just wear some loose pair of shorts. I prefer Umbros. I'll pick you up 'cause I have this car and the seats are great for doing it. O.K., so I'll see you in five minutes.

I'm a loser.

I've been self-absorbed lately, and I apologize.

In my defense, I've been uber busy dealing with some large scale things:


Christmas:

I originally planned for Christmas shopping to be done online, wrapped and shipped directly to me to avoid the terror I witnessed last year called "Christmas in Findlay: The Nightmare Continues". If you don't know what I mean by that, picture a medium-sized town with one general road for shopping, 500 stores on it, and no side roads to take you there. Then picture Every Single Person in such city (and surrounding areas) shopping Every Single Day (at ALL hours) from Thanksgiving until Christmas. I made the obvious mistake of going out the morning after Thanksgiving at around 8:30 to purchase some wine glasses I needed for my family dinner I was having at my house. I didn't even find the ones I planned on buying, but because it took me nearly an hour to find a parking spot, I figured I'd gotten that far and I was leaving with something. I returned home (after waiting in the checkout lane for over an hour) close to 11, which barely gave me enough time to warm my ham up. (I'm thankful for pre-cooked hams.) So needless to say, as much as I did find online, you still have to put in a little sweat, and here it is, the weekend before Christmas and I'm not even close to being done.


House shopping:

We're buying a house. Our lease ends at the end of April, so we decided we'd start looking now, because these things take time. Well, we found the perfect house almost immediately- huge, affordable, and forclosed, so here we are, not even into the new year, and we're making offers and counter offers. Since we're first time homebuyers, I've had to educate myself on all these things, and it's been very time consuming, although we're moving so fast with the purchase of this house. Well, to make a long story short, our offer was counteroffered, but they accepted our price, just putting in a few little stipulations. My dumbass decides Thursday that since they're pretty much forcing us to do all this over the holidays, that they should cough up another $250 to pay for most of the inspection. Brandon thinks this is a stupid idea, but I say that if you had $250 in the bank and it disappeared, you'd probably miss it, right? (I know I would.) So I accepted all their terms, just asking this one small thing. So, today is Saturday, and I haven't heard back. If I'd done the math I'd have realized since they're in California, and maybe this would take us till Monday to find out, and people could actually offer them something better over those 2 little days. I'd actually pay someone $250 right now to remove this rock I have in my stomach. Shit, I'd probably pay them $500 to know we had the house Friday. In conclusion, Brandon was right.


December is a traffic jam of occasions:

Trying to find the right 2 year anniversary present for Brandon while shopping for his Christmas gift is a bitch. I plan on changing our anniversary to July next year. I finally found him the perfect gift: a "discovery pass" that he can cash in on any number of outdoor adventures, such as skiing, whale watching, deep sea fishing, bungee jumping, parasailing, etc. Oh, and a scrapbook of all our adventures to date. What I got? Dinner for two at a local establishment. In his defense, it was the restaurant of our first date. But now I wish I hadn't put so much thought into my gift. I suppose his gift is the house (he's actually buying it), so I'll quit bitching about it.

Also in this category is my little sis's graduation, which didn't cause me any stress, except for seeing her starting this new grown up chapter of her life. Plus I got drunk in front of my mom at her graduation party and tried to fake sobriety. THAT was a little stressful.


Surgery:

Probably the biggest thing of all going on right now. My surgery is actually scheduled for February 21st, in Chicago. (And our closing date is scheduled for January 25th.) I'll be having it done at Northwestern Hospital, downtown. I'll be there for close to a week, so anyone wishing to see me completly snorked on narcotics, this is the perfect time to make fun of me. (But bring presents if you're planning on doing this. I won't remember you were there unless you leave something behind.) I'm having the bionic woman treatment, which will put me out of commission (and work) for close to or more than 6 months. I have come up with a business idea to pay for things while I'm off, so if you're broke and unemployed, call me. I need drivers.


Well, that about sums up where I've been over the past month or so. I'm really needing some "me" time here, so you may see me out at the bars soaking up alcohol. If you do, buy me a beer, 'cause I don't have any money left.

You know you're Irish if...

For Harachis, back 'atcha.... (Pass this to Kevin, he'll enjoy it.)

You know you're Irish if...

• The condensation on your pint of Guinness takes the shape of shamrocks.
• You don't believe there is a God, but you are damn sure of the infallibility of the Pope.
• You believe that to forgive is divine, but you don't excercise it yourself.
• You won't eat meat on Friday, but you'll drink a pint for breakfast.
• You consider any Irishman who has become successful a traitor.
• You have great respect for the truth, and you only use it in emergencies.
• The further you get from Ireland, the more Irish you get.
• You eat homefried taters for breakfast, potato bread for lunch, and potato stew for dinner.
• You cry at sad movies, but you cheer in battle.
• You will never play professional basketball.
• You swear very well.
• You think you sing very well.
• There isn't a huge difference between losing your temper and killing someone.
• You're strangely poetic after a few beers.
• Many of your sisters are Catherine, Elizabeth or Mary and one is Mary Catherine Elizabeth.
• You can't wait for the other guy to stop talking so you can start talking.
• Much of your food is boiled.
• You are, or know someone, named "Murph." If you don't know Murph, then you know Mac. If you don't know Murph or Mac, then you know Sully, and you'll probably also know Sully McMurphy.
• Your parents were on a first name basis with everyone at the local emergency room.
• There wasn't a huge difference between your last wake and your last keg party.
  You drink beer from a longneck bottle because your doctor told you to distance yourself from alcohol.
  You think St. Patrick's Day is THE major holiday of the year.

Well shit.

For some reason I found myself in an awesome mood all day today. It was a good day; I drank heavily on a Thursday night with my co-workers and then spent the day working together hung over together. I went home excited to think the kids were going to spend the weekend with their dad (at their grandma's under strict observation) but nonetheless gone, and I'd have the weekend to myself.

Well, I've been trying to get ahold of Asshole since I got home from work (he was supposed to meet me ASAP) to no avail. Which usually means he is full of worthless promises (big suprise) and I won't actually have that wonderfull weekend to myself afterall. (Big suprise.)

Then there's this neigborhood kid who spends every waking moment at my house tearing up my house. She seems like a good kid for the most part, but I can't keep my house clean when she's here. She gets here as early as humanly possible and doesn't leave till late. (Her mother has NEVER called looking for her.) She rides the same bus as my kids, gets dropped off one stop before mine do, and today she is here ringing the doorbell 5 minutes before they even get here. I don't answer the door, just to make a point. She wants to come in. I say the kids have to pack 'cause they're leaving tonite for their dad's (I thought.) She wants to know if she can spend the weekend with their dad too. I say no. She leaves. She's back in 10 minutes wanting to know if she can play with them after they're done packing. I say no. She finally leaves after 15 minutes of negotiating. GO AWAY!

Then, I read a very disheartening blog of my dearest friend that very nearly made me cry.

Oh, and did I mention that I scheduled an appointment with a neurosurgeon in Chicago for like next week? For life-changing, dangerous, expensive, old person-making back surgery? Oh yes, a whole new blog. Someday.

P.S. I hate the fall. It's shitty outside, cold, and it's been raining so much that the dogs are covered in mud. And they forget that they're not allowed to jump on you when you're wearing your nicest clothes.
Well, shit. It appears I've gone and put myself into a crappy mood.

You know you were an 80's kid if...

You know what "Sike" means.
You know the profound meaning of "Wax On Wax Off".
You know that another name for a keyboard is a Synthesizer".
You can name at least half of the members of the BRAT Pack.
You know who Tina Yothers is.
You wanted to be a Goonie.
You felt ashamed when Rob Lowe got into trouble for sex with minors and videotaping it, because you liked him.
You know who Max Headroom is.
You ever wore Flourescent, neon clothing.
You could breakdance, or wish you could.
You wanted to dress like the Hulk at Halloween.
You believed that "By the Power of Greyskull," you HAD the POWER.
Partying "like it's 1999" seemed sooo far away.
You thought that Transformers were more than meets the eye.
You wanted to be on StarSearch.
You remember what Michael Jackson looked like before his nose fell off.
You have worn a Banana Clip, or knew someone who did.
You owned a doll with "Xavier Roberts" signed on its butt, or knew someone who did.
You knew what Willis was "talkin' 'bout".
You HAD to have your MTV.
You hold a special place in your heart for "Back to the Future"
You know where to go if you "wanna go where everybody knows your name."
You thought Molly Ringwald was REALLY cool.
You actually thought "Dirty Dancing" was a REALLY good movie.
You have heard of "Garbage Pail Kids".
Punks actually "shocked" people
You knew "The Artist", when he was humbly called "Prince".
You actually saw Ted Danson as the MacDaddy he played "Sam" to be.
You remember when ATARI was a state of the art video game.
You own any cassettes.
You were led to believe that in the year 2000 we'd all be living on the moon.
You remember and/or owned any of the CareBear glass collections from Pizza Hut, Or any other stupid collection of glass they came out with.
Poltergeist freaked you out.
You carried your lunch to school in a Gremlins or an ET lunchbox.
You have ever pondered why Smurfette was the ONLY female smurf.
You wore biker shorts underneath a short skirt and felt stylish, or know someone who did.
You ever had a Swatch Watch, or three.
You had a crush on one of the Corey's (Haim or Feldman). ORYou had a crush on Bo Derek or Heather Locklear.
You remember when Saturday Night Live was funny.
You had WonderWoman or Superman underoos.
You know what a "Whammee" is.
You had a crush on Jon BonJovi, or knew someone who did.
You thought eating Reeses Pieces would attract your own Alien.
Your name is Jennifer or Ja(y)son.
You have ever called 867-5309.
You had a poster of Rob Lowe, Kirk Camron, or Michael J. Fox on your wall.
You held the top score on PacMan.
You had MALL Hair or know someone who did.
You owned a T-Shirt that said, "I shot J.R." or know someone who did.

I got a promotion! I got a promotion!

So now I'm actually telling the truth now when I say I'm BVH's new "General Surgery Specialty Coordinator Nurse".

And, no, I won't be abbreviating that. The funny thing is, all it's really good for is a nice title for another resume, not that surgery jobs are hard to come by- I think they turn over nearly as fast as the fast food industry. Why, you ask? Well, being able to survive surgery is mastered by perfecting the skill of taking and giving out perfect balances of shit, and being on your toes at all times. Ok, sure- and you have to be able to look at a person's insides, but none of that matters if you don't have that skill.

General surgery is actually pretty gravy once you get the hang of it. And I can come home and say, "Oh Gawd, I had such a terrible day at work, we had a guy with dead bowel come in coding, we took out 400cm of small bowel, half of his colon, his gallbladder, his appendix, and left him wide open so we could come back tomorrow and put him back together," and if I get to the end of that story (which I usually don't) I can usually pull off an easy, "get me my dinner- I'm parking it for the night" type of a thing, and there's no questions asked. I even sometimes get a good backrub out of the whole thing.

Honestly, though, this is a pretty cool deal, and if I hadn't just posted the whole story an hour ago and had it deleted mysteriously, it'd probably be a lot more interesting to read.

Halloween... my second favorite holiday.

Ok, it's a tie. But when St. Patrick's day comes along, it always seems like my favorite too.

Anyhow, every Halloween I'm plagued with the problem of what to do for this wonderful holiday. There's nothing better than scaring the shit out of yourself and others, and there's nothing more fun than exploring the unknown. All of this together can make for a great Halloween.

With this said, I hate put-on haunted houses unless I'm doing the scaring. I've worked in several in the past, and that's a blast; I'd suggest it to anyone. But when the tables are turned, it's not as much fun. The reason those places are scary is that you know there's someone waiting at every unexpected turn to jump out and give you a heart attack. That's all well and fine, but add in a few strobe lights, and a prison bar maze, and I'm laying on the floor having an epileptic fit. That's just not fun anymore.

So I need something new to scare the crap out of myself. And I think I've discovered it. I started looking up real haunted house legends, you know- Screaming Mimi, Crybaby Bridge, The Headless Motorcycle Man, Holcomb Road, that kind of stuff. My original plan was to get a group together, like old times, watch some scary movies and head out to explore the legends.

While I was doing my research though, I discovered something much, much more fun. There's something called "Urban Exploration", and it sounds like a blast. Not just for Halloween, either, but as a hobby. (And I have been on the lookout for a good hobby...) You just find an abandoned building and, well, explore it. The exciting sounding ones happen to be old tuberculosis hospitals, insane asylums, prisons, old amusement parks. etc. That stuff is everywhere. Eventually it's all going to get torn down, but while it's still standing, why not check it out??

Obviously it's dangerous, and slightly illegal. But that's what makes it exciting. So one night this weekend, I'm going to be taking some people to an undisclosed location, telling its infamous ghost stories on the way, and really scaring the shit out of myself. How much more fun can Halloween get. If that rocks, well, I'll just keep on doing it throughout the year.

Some of the more interesting places I'd like to visit (in Ohio) include:

Squire's Castle

Squire's Castle: Squire's Castle sits alone in the Chagrin Reservation section of the Cleveland Metroparks. it was built as a caretaker's house for a luxury mansion. The "castle" was built by Feargus b. Squire, an extremely wealthy man who was one of the founders of the Standard Oil Company. In the 1890's, Squire purchased 525 acres of land outside of Cleveland, planning to build a summer estate for his family. Evidently, Mrs. Squire didn't care for the country or the summer cottage and was left alone in the city while her husband and daughter left for the country. Mr. Squire was busy drawing up the plans for his magnificent castle and, against his wife's wishes, he began spending more and more time on the isolated estate. Mrs. Squire worried constantly about being away from the city, and the loneliness of being forced to spend every summer at the cottage. In all of her worry and agitation, she developed insomnia and began walking about the house at night, carrying a small, red lantern to light her way. One fateful night, Mrs. Squire wandered into the trophy room of the house, a place that she usually avoided. No one really knows what happened, but it's been surmised that Mrs. Squire became frightened of something in the room, or perhaps even the mounted animals peering at her in the dim light. Regardless, she began screaming in terror over something and in her haste, she tripped and broke her neck. She was discovered dead a short time later. Squire was distraught and blamed himself for his wife's death. He abandoned the plans for the house and went back to the city, never returning to the cottage again. People who knew of his plans to build the grand summer home started calling the cottage "Squire's Castle". In 1922, Squire sold the property. The legends say that Mrs. Squire still roams the summer cottage where her life was tragically cut short. People who pass by the castle at night can sometimes hear the screams of Mrs. Squire, or catch a glimpse of her red lantern as the ghost walks past the windows of the house.

Moonville Tunnel

Moonville Tunnel: In the southeastern Ohio town of Lake Hope sits the MOONVILLE TUNNEL. This long forgotten railroad tunnel is one of the only remaining remnants of a small mining town that thrived for a short time. The town of Moonville was born in the late 1850's when the Marietta and Cincinnati railroad was built to transport the coal and iron out of the Ohio mines. Many accidents supposedly happened in the tunnel, so naturally, many legends have made their way into the local folklore. The most well-known story is that someone who worked for the railroad, possibly an engineer or a brakeman was crushed under the wheels of a train. It's been said that he was a conductor murdered by a vengeful engineer who asked him to inspect underneath the train and then started it up. One source even said that he was trying to get the train to stop because Moonville was in the grip of a plague and was running low on supplies. A newspaper article from the McArthur Democrat on March 31, 1859 featured this Moonville story; "A brakeman on the Marietta & Cincinnati Railroad fell from the cars near Cincinnati Furnace, on last Tuesday March 29, 1859 and was fatally injured, when the wheels passing over and grinding to a shapeless mass the greater part of one of his legs. He was taken on the train to Hamden and Doctors Wolf and Rannells sent for to perform amputation, but the prostration of the vital energies was too great to attempt it. The man is probably dead. The accident resulted from a too free use of liquor."

The Morge, Lima TB Hospital

Lima Tuberculosis Hospital: The Lima District Tuberculosis Hospital, opened April 5, 1911; a 24 bed facility. It was one of the earliest hospitals in the state to treat tuberculosis. The hospital launched a 50 year battle against the disease. The hospital was enlarged in 1927-28, when the number of Tubercular patients increased, almost $900,000 was appropriated by Allen, Auglaize, Mercer, Van Wert, and Shelby Counties. At this time patients were required three to five years hospitalization treatment. It was remodeled in 1957, providing room for 138 patients, with the latest physical facilities and equipment to care and cure the sick. By 1961, the hospital was a joint venture of the five counties since the hospital district was formed. Approximately 5000 patients have recieved treatment.[1960] The number of patients entering the hospital is constant, but with modern methods and medicines the time of stay has been cut in half. As late as 1962, people who worked with the public, serving food, were required to obtain a TB test at the Board of Healtheach year. Between January, 1914 and May 1917, surveying 140 people, 18 died of tuberculosis. It ranked with pneumonia as the leading cause of death among this group. The hospital's name was changed in January 1960, to the Ottawa Valley Hospital. With the decline of tubercular patients, non-tubercular patients were admitted. Modern chemotherapy rapidly reduced the number of tuberculosis patients and the need for long term care. In 1970, the Ohio Department of Health designated two regional TB hospitals as eligible for State subsidy. Lima Tuberculosis Hospital was forced to close with the loss of these funds.

Think anyone's watching??

Roseville Prison: The prison at Roseville is one of two satellite prisons which once belonged to the Ohio Penitentary in Columbus; the other is located near Junction City. The town of Roseville, like Junction City, is in Perry County, but Roseville's prison stands just across the county line, in Muskingum County. Good behavior inmates might be sent from Columbus to either of these reduced security pens to work the ovens and make bricks which were then used in state building projects.

Millfield's Smoke Stack

Millfield Coal Mine Disaster Site: On a rural road in Millfield stand the ruins of the worst mine disaster in the history of the state of Ohio. The Sunday Creek Coal Company, which also ran the mines at San Toy, operated mines all over the Hocking Hills region. The Millfield site, in Athens County, was the hub of hundreds of shafts. On November 5, 1930, gases in the mine were ignited by a spark between a trolley car and its railing. The ensuing explosion killed eighty-two people, including the company's top executives, who were there to inspect the new safety equipment. Nine hours later, nineteen miners were discovered alive three miles from the main shaft. The disaster had the effect of pressuring Ohio's lawmakers to improve mine safety regulations in 1931. As a monument to those killed, the site was left as-is, and a historical marker was erected there. It consists of a clearing, two hollowed-out buildings without roofs, and the towering smokestack. Also nearby are wooden planks and other rubble left over from the blast.

Ghosts??

The Haydenville Tunnel: This tunnel runs for nearly a mile beneath a wooded ridge in southeastern Ohio, between a sealed-off mine and a long-demolished manufacturing plant. Its recesses have remained dark and forgotten for decades, and despite the fact that it's still a thriving (sort of) Hocking County town, in a very real sense this derelict corridor through the earth is all that remains of what Haydenville was really all about.

Mudville Mansion: off limits?

Mudhouse Mansion: Mudhouse Mansion is both abandoned and haunted, which makes it pretty damn cool in my book.According to all reports, a woman named Jeannie Mast is the primary owner of Mudhouse Mansion. I've also heard that she lives on Lake Road nearby.Yes, Jeannie Mast watches her property. I know the stereotypical "crazy lady" property owner is usually just another part of the legend, but in this case it's true. Jeannie seems to have free time on her hands to match the chip on her shoulder about people sneaking into her ruin of a building. You're welcome to go ahead and try to get permission to go into Mudhouse Mansion...but this is one haunted house you won't be visiting legally.

Reminds me of the Gingerbread House...makes you wonder which witch is watching...

Sidwell House: Avondale is a little town located just west of Zanesville on Route 22, at the intersection with 93. There are no other roads in this town, which contains only a handful of residents. The largest and nicest home in Avondale stands on 22 just a few feet from the intersection and has been abandoned for roughly thirty years. This is the Sidwell House--one of Muskingum County's best-known and scariest haunted houses. Here's one story: Back in the late 40s/early 50s a family of about 6 lived in the home--four children, a mother, and a drunken father. The father, who was also very abusive, came in late one night very drunk. He climbed the stairs to the bedroom and began fighting with his young wife, and stormed away. The next morning she arose from bed to find him gone. She searched the upstairs, but he was nowhere to be found. Descending the stairs she looked everywhere and finally found him stitting in a chair in the living room with his bottle. She began to cook breakfast. Arising from his chair he grabbed the shotgun from the closet, went to the kitchen, and found his wife standing in front of the stove. He raised the shotgun and repeatedly shot her from the back of her head to the back of her knees. He then quietly walked up the stairs to his childrens bedrooms and shot all four of his young children in their beds, then proceeded to shoot himself hours later. This is the story I had heard from my grandma for as long as I can remember. She said you could find it on every radio station and newspaper cover for a hundred miles.

The most interesting place I found on my online hunt was "The Ridges". On its opening in 1874, it was known as "Athens Lunatic Asylum" and then "Athens Asylum for the Insane", in 1911.

Its last patients left its halls in 1993, the closing trickling down from Reagan's "deinstitutionalization" era, which shifted the burden of the country's asylums to a state level. Homeless levels shot up all over the country as asylums closed their doors, and put their patients out on the streets. The Ridges ultimately is now owned by Ohio University, which has renovated all but one of its buildings, the tuberculosis ward.

One of the most interesting stories of The Ridges is a story of a mysterious stain. Here's the story- I got it from Ohio University's own website. (UPDATE 8/18/07: The webpage no longer exists. Apparently the university longer finds this peice of strange history useful. But here is the story that the page had available, verbatim...)

The stain traces back to the late 1970s when the hospital donned the name Athens Mental Health and Retardation Center. The floor in question was formerly a contagious ward to house seriously infected patients, but at the time of the incident was abandoned. On the first of December 1978, a female patient from an open ward disappeared. It was policy that patients in an open ward could leave the grounds by signing in and out. However, patients must follow a curfew of 8 p.m. in the summer and 6 p.m. in the winter. After realizing the woman's absence after curfew, the hospital conducted an intensive 3- day search of the building and grounds and a week of follow- up searches. The woman was missing.

After six weeks, on January 12, 1979, a maintenance man found the woman's body in the abandoned ward. Dr. Robert Butts, Athens County Coroner, said the woman appeared to have been dead for "four to five weeks." An autopsy was performed in Columbus. The Hospital "Death Roster" attributes the 54- year-old woman's cause of death to heart failure and records her date of death as 1-11-79.

Hospital staff believe that the woman wandered into the abandoned ward at a rare time when it was unlocked. Dwelling alone on this floor for some time and being of secretive nature, she hid from those searching. Upon inspecting the ward and not finding the woman, the entrance door to the ward was locked from the outside. As days passed with no hope of exit, the woman began to lose hope and prepared to
die. She took off all of her clothes and folded them neatly on the window sill, and laid down, arms crossed, on the cement floor beneath the tall windows. There the woman died. It is reasoned that the stain, the imprint of the woman's body, was created due to the chemical reaction with her body composition and the
direct sunlight that shown in the windows in the weeks that followed.

Here is a closer picture of the stain:



Sounds interesting, eh? It sounds like any visitor can see the stain, although I'm not sure how public the area really is.

Anyhow, thus has been the basis of my new hobby. Halloween or not, I've caught the exploration bug. Screw it. Everything is owned by somebody anymore, so what are we to do but a little B&E?

lessons of the laundromat

So.

Today I did some spring (or fall) cleaning. Lots of laundry, mostly. I just got back from taking all our oversized comforters and pillows, etc. to the Laundromat. As I was loading everything into dryers, a strange smelly man carrying a black leather jacket came up behind me.

"Excuse me, ma'am? Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," I said. He was dirty and didn't have any teeth. I'm going on a hunch and guessing this guy is homeless, or very near it.

"How would you like to buy this leather jacket for $5?"

I thought to my coat closet at home that is full of men's jackets and coats which haven't been touched in years. Then to my $2 in my back pocket that I was planning on using for the dryers. I didn't honestly have anything for the guy.

"I'm sorry, I don't have $5, and besides, I don't really need a men's leather coat." A dirty torn up men's leather coat. But that's not the point.

"I bought this coat for $100 and it's too heavy to carry around with me everywhere. Please? 5? 10 bucks?"
He bought it for $100 when he had money and just recently found it too heavy for his travels? Or he bought it recently for $100 not realizing it's large mass...

"I'm really sorry. I don't have any cash."

That is when he lost it. The garble was a bit too much to understand; he lost his enunciation when he started screaming, but I could pick out an, "Am I living in America?". I then strapped on my indifferent Findlay face, and proceed to ignore him. My daughter was with me and he was losing his mind in front of her. Besides, there is no logical political argument you can get into with an unstable homeless person.

I left; I had more errands to run, all of which I had planned on running after my laundry was finished, but I wanted to get Liv out of there, since he was, although outside, still there.

When I returned 20 minutes later, everyone was gone. Mr. LeatherJacket as well as the other woman that had been sitting there. I checked to see if my comforters were dry. They weren't. I grabbed the things that were dry out of the dryer, and realized that I was missing a couple things.

My daughter's princess comforter, and my son's Spiderman comforter were both gone. I was positive I had put them in the dryer, I had checked on a couple magic marker spots I was hoping to get out in the wash.

Now, the thief could have been the nice woman waiting on her laundry to dry- the woman who had offered Liv a nickel so she could afford a pack of gummy strawberries, or it could have been some random person who raids Laundromats in less than 20 minutes, or, more logically, it could have been my lone avenger, returning to claim something, anything from our meeting.

And let me say, damnit, if that stupid leather coat was too heavy to carry, what's he gonna do with two children's comforters? Maybe he found someone who would buy the coat, and figured he'd need something to keep him warm.

I actually had given it half a thought to give him the sleeping bag I had brought with me to wash. It weighs about 50 pounds, we don't use it for anything except for sleepovers, and I would have absolutely rejoiced to see it stolen. Same for a scraggly old comforter we just keep for snuggling up on cold nights watching the tube. TAKE THEM, PLEASE!

But I left the stupid things there. It's my own fault. I know better, and I know what happens. Plus, who calls the cops on a homeless guy stealing blankets? No, it's one I just gotta take for the team.

I may be the first person in Findlay (besides the dude that owned the leather coat) to be robbed by the homeless. Fair enough. But I will say, he better be using the damn things and not bartering them for crack.

Big Brother

I went to Kroger's today to buy some cold & allergy medicine, and I was accosted by Big Brother twice. First was when I was innocently attempting to procure myself a box (a small one) of Sudafed. I had to take a little card from the shelf and give it to the pharmacist. She then asked me for my identification, and proceeded to enter my most personal information into a computer. I informed her that there were a hundred other ways to get high in those aisles, that sudafed was the least of her worries. No, she said- it's to keep people from making meth. Oh. Gotcha. Keep up the good work! The second time was whilst I was in the process of paying for my sudafed and merlot.

I have been going to the self checkout lane because I am insane from hearing the cashier ask for my Kroger card and wait. All my purchases are piling up on the conveyor belt, and she's still waiting for my card. I ignore her, because I like swiping it at the end; it makes me feel like I saved more money, watching all the cents drop off one after another. This showdown always ends poorly one way or another. So, I now go to the self checkout lane. This time, the scanner jams up (again) and the lady in charge of all the self checkout lanes has to come over and push some buttons on my screen. And then she says, "OH! I see the problem- you haven't swiped your Kroger card yet!" "No," I say, "I don't WANT to swipe it yet..." "Oh..." she says, and retreats.

The thing is, I don't even use MY Kroger card, I always use my mom's number (Helpful hint #1- if you forget your Kroger Card, you can enter in your 10 digit phone number into the keypad instead.) because I don't trust the personalized computer generated coupon mailing I get every so often. That means they give my shopping too much thought. I just don't want them knowing how much sudafed, or alcohol, or fertalizer...or gunpowder...I buy. And to trick me into using this big brother card as the only way I can save money is just sad. But since I'm boycotting Wal-Mart and Meijers, and Great Scot is overpriced, and since I live in a non-cultural city, and these are my only choices, I drop my head in defeat. But when my mom gets arrested by the government illegally wiretapping her Kroger Card activities, I shall say I told you so.

Hot

In an attempt to preserve hottness at it's best, and to find out why bad equals hot, I've decided to make a list of the 15 hottest badguys in cinematic history. Some things to discuss: Why is it that the badguy is way hotter than it's heroic counterpart? What is it about these guys that makes you want them to throw you up against a wall? What does this have to do with my love life? Er... anyway, here it is:


15. Ralph Fiennes in Red Dragon (Francis Dolarhyde). Nope, it’s not the hairlip. It’s the tattoos and the homicidal tendencies. (Note- hairlips can be hot, ahem, Joaquin Pheonix...)

14. Colin Farrell in...well...anything. I’ve never seen him play a good guy. He's the ultimate slimeball. But he's a hot slimeball.

13. Stuart Townsend: Queen of the Damned (Lestat) Maybe it was the combination of Aaliyah and hardcore metal meets stripper soundtrack...whatever it was did it for me.

12. Angelina Jolie in Alexander (Olympias) If she can own Colin Farrell, she’s definitely badass.

11. Edward Norton in American History X (Derek). I’m not justifying racial violence, I’m just saying he’s hot.

10. Julian McMahon in Nip/Tuck (Dr. Christian Troy). Shit. Quitcher bitchin’, Kimber. Also, The Fantastic Four as Victor Von Doom. Bad and Rich. Yummy.

9. Lucy Liu in Kill Bill I as O-Ren Ishii. Even the anime was hot.

8. Arnold Vosloo in The Mummy (High Priest Imhotep <-- see? He even knows he’s hot!!!).

7. Marlon Brando in A Streetcar Named Desire (Stan). He was uber hot till he got old and fat. Oh, and then he died. But still.

6. Johnny Depp in Once Upon a Time in Mexico (Sands) and Blow (George Jung). Johnny is hot in goddamned everything, though.

5. Aaliyah: Queen of the Damned (Queen Akasha). See number 13.

4. Christian Bale in American Psycho (Patrick Bateman). What is it about serial killers?

3. Justin Theroux in Charlie’s Angels: Full Throttle (Seamus O’Grady). When he came walking out of those flames, I gobbled it up, fake Irish accent and all.

2. James Dean in Rebel Without a Cause (Jim Stark). The title says it all.


1. Al Pacino in Scarface. Ultimately, hands down the hottest badguy in history.




Then there's the honorable mentions: I can explain these. Tough is hot. They're not badguys, but badass...


Hugh Jackman in X-Men: Wolverine, and Van Helsing


Clive Owen Sin City, King Arthur. He’d make a wonderful badguy, unfortunately I haven’t seen him in the role yet. (Only in my dreams.)


Vin Diesel in The Fast and the Furious (Dominic Toretto), xXx (Xander Cage), A Man Apart (Sean Vetter), and Pitch Black (Riddick).


Antonio Banderas in Desperado (El Mariachi).


Brad Pitt in Fight Club (Tyler Durden) and Troy (Achilles). It's Brad, for God's sake...did you think I would leave him off my list??


Russell Crowe in Gladiator (Maximus)


Michelle Rodriguez: The Fast and the Furious (Letty) I could watch her make out with Vin all day long. And I have.


Gina Gershon: Face/Off (Sasha). She's got "Jolie appeal". It's in the lips.


Viggo Mortensen in The Lord of the Rings trilogy (Aragorn)


George Clooney in From Dusk till Dawn




Did I miss anyone??

I'm sick.

I'm home sick today. And I'm not faking it. I have a terrible head cold and I just discovered body aches this morning. Being sick yesterday prolonged my hangover recuperation, so that may be part of it too. Nevertheless it never ceases to amaze me what doesn't get done when I'm under the weather. The dogs didn't get out for 12 hours because football season started last night and Brandon was hypnotized. Went straight to bed without letting them out. This morning I got up and there was poop to clean up. A lot of it. (Did I mention that I'm sick?) FURTHERmore, there was a dead mouse in the mouse trap. I cleaned up the poop, but I'm not touching the mouse. I called Brandon at work and he's coming home on his lunch break to take care of it.

Murder...part II

We have mice. Or... we had them.

I heard the scurrying of tiny mice feet a couple weeks ago, but without further evidence, I dismissed it as ghosts. (I'd rather have ghosts than mice any day.) Then yesterday morning I woke up and found mouse poop in my silverware drawer. A LOT of it. (Which sort of makes me wonder where they've been pooping up until Saturday night.) Anyways, Liv reminded me of a couple mouse traps in the garage, so I took matters into my own hands, setting the traps loaded with, what else-- cheese. Since I've never set mouse traps, and I was pretty sure only cartoon mice really like cheese, I never expected to actually catch anything. Imagine my surprise then, when, this morning, I found a (very large) mouse dead in one of my traps! (They DO like cheese!)

Once it registered that there was a dead mouse in the trap, I closed the door and ran away. I have a feeling it died a terrible death, by the looks of things. The picture is burnt into my head: the trap was snapped over his eyes, and there is a puddle of dried blood on the cheese from his nose. Oh, Gawd, how tragic.

First birds, then mice. Karma will catch up with me eventually, I'm sure of it.

I have graduated into adulthood... And it only took 28 years.

My job is not for the weak minded. Some days it's not even for the strong minded. Surgery is an area ignored by most labor laws of the civilized world. It's a place where if you make the business (a lot of) money, you are allowed to treat the employees who are hired to help you like pig shit. No, not cow or horse or chicken shit, like stank ass, you can smell it 10 miles away with a good strong wind, pig shit. It's a place where anything goes. Sometimes working in a place where you're not professionally hindered by silly things like sexual harassment laws, well, that can just make the day go a lot faster. But then there's those other days.

The thing about doctors is that they're psychologically changed by 20 years of schooling. This can be for the better, or for the worse. Some keep their sense of humor, and they stay human beings, and they're genuinely a blast to work with. You are able to use your knowledge and work with them, for the better of the patient.

Surgeons in general are different than other doctors, in that they are an extreme of their specialties. They just don't just make decisions, prescribe drugs, or give advice, they actually screw with people's insides, and make immediate physical changes with their hands for the better, instead of indirectly with drugs, therapy or advice. That changes things.

Then there's orthopods. Orthopaedic surgery is the main moneymaker for hospitals. Without them, there is no money. The personality difference between them and other specialties is a mystery to me. Maybe it's the ability to break a human femur with your bare hands that makes you different. Maybe it's the empowerment that they get from hospitals being scared to lose their business, and letting them get away with murder (not literally). I don't know.

One doc, in particular, is the epitome of nasty high school football captain all grown up. Picture the one jock you remember that beat up all the squirrelly smart kids just cause they could. He was very smart but mean, and generally speaking, better than you. Well, he grew up and became a doctor. A very very good doctor.

Most people in surgery are scared of him, because if you don't anticipate his every need, you get verbally mutilated. Sometimes, if you do anticipate him, that pisses him off too, and you get verbally mutilated. By default, if he's had a bad day, which you don't know because he doesn't talk on his best or worst of days, just stay away from him.

You have to be a personality chameleon to work in surgery. Of course you have to have skill- you have to know each case, but be flexible to change with moods, with events, with doctors. You have to know your anatomy, your instruments, and most importantly, your surgeon. You have to know the right time to do or say anything. If you're good, you can work with anyone on any case. The bonus level is defeating the "boss" without losing your dignity. Wednesday, I defeated the "boss", although I'm not done with the game. (There will be many more bosses to defeat.)

A week before, I worked with him on a case which uses 2 scrub nurses. One (the first scrub) runs the table, and hands off instruments, and the other (second scrub) just stands there and holds the leg, bending it into uncanny positions by order of the surgeon to facilitate access to the joint. Mostly, that person stands there and looks pretty. If they're nice, they backup the first scrub person while she is busy putting together instruments. This case is very difficult. Especially with a difficult surgeon. And he had already done 3 total replacements at another hospital, and he was on-call. So he was in a bad mood.

The first scrub I was working with had her back to the surgeon excessively. It's necessary sometimes to prepare your stuff, but that day almost every time he needed something, she was there, back turned, and, as I was second scrubbing, I had to hand him whatever he needed. He had to ask for things twice, sometimes three times. Which is never good in any case, for any doc. I had her back, to an extent, but I was doing my own job. There wasn't a lot of room to give, and really, I was going above and beyond, since it was not my job. But I'm just nice like that.

By the time it was my turn to take orders, he was pissed. Mega, ultra, uber pissed. And instead of raising his voice, he was mumbling. Behind a mask. He wanted external rotation and abduction. But did he say abduct or adduct? Did he want the neck exposed or was it time to pop the hip back into its socket? He had to trial another cup so I wasn't sure. I cringed as I asked him to repeat himself. At that time everyone in the room could feel the intensity, so everyone spoke simultaneously. The assisting orthopod, the PA, the first scrub, the circulating nurse, and the rep all answered. At the same time. "A-duct!" Was it a "b" or a "d"?! Fuck. I knew I was dogfood if I asked again, so I just externally rotated and stood there, neither ab nor adducting.

That was when the first scrub adducted the leg for me. That was apparently the wrong direction, because the surgeon blew a gasket. An industrial sized orthopedic gasket. Curse words flew, insults; it was an attempt to make me feel 2 inches tall.

And, yes, I was humiliated, mostly because the first scrub set me up. But I refused to let him see me defeated. Most times when this happens in the OR, people get all stirred up, nervous, start apologizing, and sucking up. I stood there, silent. Pissed. I didn't talk back- I knew better (he'd have my job) but I didn't break. He finished up, and as he was suturing, it was tense. He was silent. I forced an indifferent, pissed look onto my mug as well, as I cut his knots.

Unwavering. He finished his first layer, and looked to the first scrub for his second layer of suture. Her back to him was like a knife into the suffocating intense air. Instead of asking for more suture like any other doctor would, defiantly, he stood there- silent. As a second scrub, if you're nice, you help the first scrub by alerting them to situations like that. But furious, I, too, stood there silent, refusing to facilitate things any further. 3 days later, she turned around to find us both standing around the patient's pelvis, our arms crossed, having a silent showdown.

He finished closing the wound. After the case, he left the room, his black aura following him out the door. The broken people in the room bore him farewell, feigning unbroken voices. He said nothing. I said nothing.

After cases like that, the surgeon bans you from his room. (If you're lucky.) But he can't really do that realistically because of the limited number of staff who actually know those cases. Some of them now refuse to work with him. So that leaves maybe 2 people for him to do his cases. Unrealistic.

I'll be honest. I wanted to not work with him again. He doesn't forget and he never forgives. So normally when you do continue to work with him after cases like that, he just gets more and more pissed, treats you worse, and you get more and more nervous and naturally screw up more.

I saw him in the hallway the beginning of the next week. He rounded the corner and accidentally began to apologize for running into me, till he realized it was me. His apology stopped short. I checked the schedule that day and found myself scheduled to be in his room the following Wednesday. 3 staff members are needed for those cases. One to be unsterile, one to second scrub, and one to first scrub.

Instead of worrying about it, I decided I would take the bull by the horns, and chose to first scrub that total knee replacement. He was not going to scare me out of his room. It had been several weeks since I had the opportunity to first scrub his style knee replacement, and the last time was with another doctor who does it a little differently. But that was no matter. Wednesday was D-day.

It takes me about 40 minutes to set up my tables for those cases, and you usually have 20 minutes between cases. There is tons of room for error, and since I just learned totals a couple months ago, and had only scrubbed one or two with him, it was slightly nerve wracking. My chances of failure were worth betting a lot of money on. But luckily, the case ahead of his moved to a different OR, so I had more time than usual to set up.

He came into the room and saw me setting up the table. I could feel the tension instantly. I kept my cool, not letting him see me nervous. When you are 100% sure you are in for a terrible case, it can make you a little nervous, even me. I fumbled at first, but then fell right into the case. He picked up speed to catch me slipping, and held his hand out silently to make me anticipate incorrectly his next instrument. I was all over it. It wasn't flawless, but it worked. At the end of the case, he broke scrub, said my name, held my eye and said, "Thank you."

This is absolutely unheard of. Especially in this case. I won! Things are back to normal. Not better, mind you, but we're back to square one. All that for square one. Jesus.

Poo... Winter is nigh.

Well, kids, here we go again. It's 12 noon and it's only 66°. I can feel the depression setting in. Soon, it will be time to retire my cute tubetops and 37 pair of flipflops in exchange for dumpy frumpy winter clothes. Which, honestly, isn't my biggest complaint, considering I'm not 22 anymore. No, it's just the muddy funk that comes over me once this time of year starts setting in.

Ohio winters aren't terribly cold, or horribly blizzardish. That's actually one of the reasons I hate them the most. If there were a solid 2 feet of snow the entire winter, I might honestly not head so deep into depression this time of year, every year. No. It's the combination of cold, and frozen solid ground, and gray skies that does it for me. It leaves nothing to do. No snowboarding, no sledding, no snowmobiling, and usually no iceskating. It's just cold.

This time of year, fall, is almost worse than winter, because I spend a lot of it anticipating winter, not to mention, tending to my horrible hay fever. The combination of allergies and spending 75% of your workday scrubbed in at the surgical site, sterile, is never a good combination. You spend a lot of time hiding runny noses and watery eyes behind your mask and eyewear. There aren't a lot of things worse than sneezing into a mask.

I compare the feeling to this: I've had jobs I've truly hated. But you do what you've gotta do for the sake of eating and surviving. Eventually you get to the point that when Friday comes along, you get excited. I mean you're counting down the hours and minutes to the weekend. Staring at the clock. But then once you clock out that Friday, the countdown begins again for when you have to go back to that shithole again. Sundays are ruined because Monday is the next day, and this anticipation for it becomes overwhelming. It gets worse and worse every weekend. When you get to that point, you start calling in for no good reason. You wake up to your alarm clock with it already in your head you're not going in. You call in to work, with that guilty feeling in your gut, cause you know your aunt really didn't die, or you aren't truly passing kidney stones. But you've got the bit down perfectly. This is when you know it's time to move on.

I've got the same knot in my stomach about winter. It gets worse every year. This year I made a good anxious attempt to get out of our lease and move to the south. And not the south of Ohio, the south of America. Some place close to the equator would be great. I don't care how hot it is, just find me a place with grocery stores or restaurants that chill the place to arctic so I can cool down. Some place that rain is something that happens but instead of it happening for 12 days non-stop, it just rains and then it's beautiful again.

Anyone that knows me, though, knows I have a pretty bad case of ADHD. I like a change of scenery about every 3 months or so. This includes living arrangements, jobs, boyfriends, pretty much anything stable. And if I can't find a reason to change them, I make one up. (Subconsciously, or otherwise.) So I'm wondering if this is what's going on. Winter is such a boring time of year.

But then I went to the kids' open houses at school, and I found a brand new feeling. It had something to do with the comfort of seeing the same teachers, the same kids, the same parents. It felt a little okay. I realized something then. I can be all the ADHD I want, but I think my kids need a little stability. So, here I go again, another year in northwest Ohio. Maybe this year will be like the third month of my relationships. Once I get over the three month hump, it's all downhill from there.

Yes, I said it. (Not appropriate for all genders.)

Let's talk a minute about the once monthly flood that plagues women. Yes, men, I mean what you think I mean. (You may exit now.) There's nothing worse, aside from torture or death, (or the raw squid at Tokyo Steakhouse), than having to deal with this horrid female problem. At least not that I can see. If it were just once a year, I could MAYbe deal with it. But once a month is...well...torture. And in some cases I would actually prefer torture over having it. I know, I know, this is like you're 13 and sitting through a tampon commercial with your dad and your boyfriend both watching. But hey, it's me this time. You're safe. So. Let's line up the facts:

1. Cramps: I put this as #1 because it was the absolute most awful part of my pubescent life. I was immobilized by them. I had to lay down on school floors, people's lawns, and then compound that with bloating, and a big plastic back brace, and you have a miserable little girl. Compound all that with running suicides at basketball practice and you have a quasi unconscious, and at that point, a semi-comfortable little girl.
2. P.M.S. OOOOooooh, if you think I'm a bitch now, you should see me premenstrual. And that's just the angry side. I remember crying for 2 hours straight after watching the movie Cadence. Not just crying- sobbing and hiccupping- the whole deal.
3. Cleanliness. Enough said.
4. Too many choices. Three words: tampons vs. maxi pads. A decision that no woman should have to make.
5. Self consciousness. (I'm assuming by this point it's only women reading, I'm positive I lost all the men at the word "tampon", and even if any of you guys are still accidentally reading this, you of all people know what I'm talking about.) As we all know, women are extremely self conscious little creatures. If we ask our mates how we look, and they say "fine", as opposed to "hott", it can be the downfall of a wonderful evening, and in some cases, of a wonderful relationship. Having said that, the last thing we need to worry ourselves with is having to have our girlfriends "check us", or, if you choose to go the more "topical" route, having a lumpy maxi pad interrupt the sexy curvature of our scrumptious bottom parts.
6. Sex. I want an uninterrupted sex life. I want it when and how I want it, and no, "not waiting" is not an option. This can't possibly be too much to ask.

The only things that I can see come good with Aunt Flo is that your boobs swell up to three times normal, and some women say that they appreciate her coming because it's a sign there won't be any further unwanted products of conception nine months from now. Understandable.

Having mentioned the unmentionable, I will now admit that I speak this freely only because I have not had the pleasure of meeting this terrible mysterious female relative for nearly 7 wonderful years! I put myself on Depo-Provera after Liv was born, even after all the warnings of friends. And I love it. For the first 4 years on the shot, I smoked (I know, big Depo-no-no.)

*F.y.i.-- smoking while on most forms of contraceptives increases your chances of blood clots (i.e. heart attacks, strokes, and deep leg thromboses) immensely. Sorry, it's the nurse in me.

But, for all those who know what I went through from the years 2000 to 2004, let's just say it's a wonder I didn't take up stronger pollutants. So smoking kept me skinny. And when I stopped smoking forever in 2003-4ish, I put on about 20 pounds. But that solved the problem of my boobs not swelling up. If you're lucky like me, you'll gain most of those pounds in your bazoombas. Also, a .05% chance of conception are pretty good odds.

So there I was, a free woman. Sure I had to get stuck with a huge needle every 3 months. And sure I put on 20 pounds. But I hear it was 20 pounds I needed to gain. (Thanks, mom.) Freedom, sweet freedom.

In every good story there needs to be an antagonist. Enter osteoporosis. Enter villainous music. Turns out a study put out last yearish says that you should only be on the shot a maximum of two years. If on it any longer, it basically sucks the calcium from the bones, like slurping the juice from the slurpy before the ice melts, I guess.

If I never mentioned I have terrible back problems, I have terrible back problems. I have to get surgery- big deal, complex, all the way to Arizona back surgery, and with or without it, I am guaranteed severe arthritis throughout my back. That's without any extra help. So if luck was ever on my side to begin with, I just killed it with 25 hypodermic needle stabs.

I had to sign a waiver last year that says I understand what I'm doing to myself if I continue to progress with this (wonderful) therapy. They told me I need to take calcium and vitamin D supplements. But I already take them. (Or I should and forget.) So I know I just need to quit. Like I quit smoking. But this is so much harder than that. I can't go back to those old ways. I can't imagine dealing with any of that again. And what is going to happen to me after 6 long years of no PMS? What if it's been building up all these months and I just explode emotionally?! I could be a danger to myself and others.

So, I'm weaning off of it. And by weaning, I mean I'm overdue for a shot by 3 months. Yesterday I experienced what I think was my first cramp. It was a very Daryl Hannah moment from Splash in that I had no friggin clue what was going on. I nearly collapsed in surprise. But quickly (20 minutes later) I regained my senses and associated the uncomfortable feeling back to 8th grade basketball.

The only other plus I can figure out, you know, asides from, you know, literally breaking into a million pieces by the age of 50, is that I suppose I can fit back in to normal female conversation. So if any of you ever find yourselves at a restroom mirror applying lip gloss, and you find me there also applying lip gloss, we now have a conversational piece. Oh yippee.

Apparently I do have a little religion in me!

You scored as Buddhism. Your beliefs most closely resemble those of Buddhism. Do more research on Buddhism and possibly consider becoming Buddhist, if you are not already.
In Buddhism, there are Four Noble Truths: (1) Life is suffering. (2) All suffering is caused by ignorance of the nature of reality and the craving, attachment, and grasping that result from such ignorance. (3) Suffering can be ended by overcoming ignorance and attachment. (4) The path to the suppression of suffering is the Noble Eightfold Path, which consists of right views, right intention, right speech, right action, right livelihood, right effort, right-mindedness, and right contemplation. These eight are usually divided into three categories that base the Buddhist faith: morality, wisdom, and samadhi, or concentration. In Buddhism, there is no hierarchy, nor caste system; the Buddha taught that one's spiritual worth is not based on birth.

Buddhism 92%
Satanism 83%
agnosticism 83%
Islam 67%
Hinduism 58%
Paganism 58%
atheism 42%
Christianity 25%
Judaism 25%

Which religion is the right one for you? (new version)created with QuizFarm.com

BTW, I'm not really a Satanist. I'd have to actually believe in Satan to be a Satanist. But as a fun little fact, I just read that Satanists aren't really all that purely evil like I always thought (thanks, Mom.) They don't go around killing people for fun, or act like vampires or beat Christians senseless. "They celebrate a pre-Christian notion of Satan, one that is centered on individuality, sensuality, and an aversion to mainstream convention." (From the book I just read.) So aside from celebrating Satan, I guess you could probably, according to that definition, call me a Satanist. Wow. Did I just say that? If there's a hell, I'm definitely going. So for all you out there who are hovering over the "delete friend" button, STOP! I'm actually just really open minded. But not to the point that I'd eat your children for dinner.
Good greif, Charlie Brown. Where has my good blog gone?