Guess Who’s President

I was elected the President of the Farmington Valley MudHogs Youth Football & Cheerleading Association on Thursday night.

I ran unopposed so there really wasn’t much suspense in the final outcome. It’s a job that you take because after awhile it just ends up being YOUR turn. After eleven years of holding various positions on the Board, it was MY turn.

It’s not as glamorous of a position as you might think. The new VP picked me up in a fifteen year-old little Honda or Nissan or something like that. There were no armor doors. I’m not even sure if it had airbags.

Nobody introduced me to the Chamber as I entered and gave my acceptance speech.

The First Lady and I were ready for a night on the town at the conclusion of the meeting.

We had both chosen our favorite fashion designers to dress us up for the big night. My wife decided on Dress Barn and I chose Larry Levi and Don Docker.

We stopped by several homes of the newly elected Cabinet. They didn’t answer their doors and even after knocking on the windows, we were greeted by drawn blinds and barking dogs.

We went to Taco Bell. They had no idea who we were. I very nicely pointed out that we were the President and First Lady of the MudHogs and that several of the others in line were probably the Secret Service assigned to protect us.

The little twerp taking our order called the store manager over. Even HE became rude when we informed him of the occasion and how the cost of the food surely had already been taken care of.

We decided to leave and head to our new home. Maybe we had the wrong night.

When we got to the home of last season’s league President, he and his family were still there. In fact they slammed the door in our faces when we questioned them as to when they’d be vacating the premises. They’d been the First Family for five years and I knew the move was going to be hard on them but they’ve known since last November that it was coming to an end.

The police that arrived shortly thereafter had no idea about the situation at hand and treated us like common folk. They were even going to handcuff us if we didn’t remove ourselves from the property immediately.

I was beginning to think that something was not right in Mudville. The Secret Service assigned to us must have missed a turn along the route to the President’s residence because we couldn’t find them anywhere.

The night was not proceeding as I had imagined. We even had a gift for the former First Lady. She threw it at me while yelling, “Get the f**k out of here!”

There was a major disconnect someplace along the transfer of power. It was shaping up as quite a challenge for us. I just wanted to get down to the business of running the Kingdom that had been handed over to me.

I was the freaking President for goodness sake and nobody seemed to care outside of that Board meeting!

We decided to head back to 24 Circle Drive and spend the night there as we had for the past twelve years.

There was a car parked out front. Its lights were off, two men sat in the dark and watched our every move. The Secret Service must have finally figured out where we were. It was comforting to know that they’d be watching our every move.

For the next several days they stuck to us like dirt on a sweaty kid. We were finally getting the respect that my new position demanded.

I was worried about an attempt on my life. Several coaches were in jeopardy of not being recalled to their old positions. There was some chatter on the Internet that an attack was imminent.

I didn’t let any of it affect me. The First Lady and I still attended our ten year-old’s last basketball game of the season. The car that had stood watch over our home each night followed close behind as we made the three mile drive to the school.

In fact they even waited out in the parking lot during the entire game and made sure we arrived safely back home.

I’m hoping that the house situation will take care of itself very soon. For some reason, the Secret Service agents won’t let us get close to our new home. It’s been a frustrating few days since the Inauguration.

Being the new President sure has its challenges.

Pay no attention to the man behind the keyboard

He didn’t mean to hit the PUBLISH button and expose you all to the rhyme below.

The fact is that I am waiting to finish a Scrabble game on Facebook but my opponent is not around. That’s the problem with people that you don’t know. They don’t know that you’re waiting for them.

I like making words with little tiles. I like how the tiles rise and then fall into place with a star displaying your score for that word.

I like how you can hit SHUFFLE and the tiles on your rack jump over each other and switch places.

Speaking of racks. I’ve played against a few different women and at one time or another they all say, “I have a terrible rack” or “I hate my rack.” I laugh out-loud every time. I feel like typing, “They make special bras for that” or “Don’t be so hard on yourself.” But I don’t even know these people. So I resist the urge.

So that’s my Scrabble story tonight. If you like playing Scrabble and promise not to be too self-conscious about your rack, I’d love to play sometime.

I guess I’ll go to bed now. Jack Bauer has made the country safe again… at least until next Monday night.

in the shower with a sock

i stepped in my shower
looked at the clock
lost my left crutch
and slipped on my sock

the water was cold
i hit my fat head
the crutch punched the floor
the water turned red

my butt hurt now too
it must have hit first
three things were hurting
but which was the worst

i looked at the ceiling
i looked at the clock
what the hell was i doing
in the shower with a sock

the water was warmer
the red was shampoo
this was my first bath
since about ‘92

i was doing too much
up till today
i put my head back
and decided to stay

i did learn one thing
it won’t be a shock
when taking a shower
take off the freaking sock

Dad is moving

I can stand on my porch and almost spit far enough to hit the side of my father’s house.

Well after tomorrow it won’t be his house anymore. And that will be strange because there wasn’t a house there at all until he had it built.

At one time or another all three of my older kids left my house to move next door and help Gramps out. It saved me a lot of extra work but gave them a little too much freedom at times.

It doesn’t really matter why he won’t have the house anymore. It’s just sad for me that it won’t be the place where my older kids live and hang out with their friends. Yes, they’ve done some stupid things over there and it’s time for them to move on, but I’ll miss having them show up at my door for a slice of bread or to talk about the Giants.

I’ll miss my dad too. Many of the stupid things that went on over there had to do with him. But I still love him. He’s the only father I have and when he’s gone I’ll never have another one.

My ten year-old likes going over there to play table football or whatever else they do when he goes over there. They’ll both miss that.

I won’t know what to do when the ten year-old is sick and I need to be at an appointment or when he forgets his key and I’m running ten minutes late.

We won’t be able to play Wiffle ball in the back yard anymore either. The side of his house was a double and over the roof was a home run. I don’t think the new neighbors will appreciate little plastic balls banging against their siding and windows all summer.

It might be hard to play basketball in the driveway now too. The ball is always bouncing off his house and when you are inside it sounds like a small bomb has gone off.

He was tolerant like that.

I also used his basement as a home gym and storage bin. I’ll be losing that too.

I guess I worry about how my father will be on his own. He’ll be almost twenty miles away and if he falls out of his wheelchair in the middle of the night, I won’t be able to run across the yard anymore. And the boys won’t be there to help me to get him up.

I guess there’s no use in worrying about such things. I’ll just have to take them as they come.

It’s probably a good thing that there won’t be another season of Wiffle ball. The ten year-old’s home run totals where very high over the past two years and there has been talk about a banned substance.

I’m not good when it comes to change. Especially when it involves blood and spit.

Pain meds can be addicting

I’ll make this post short and tart.

I totally understand now how people can become addicted to pain meds.

After my surgery almost three weeks ago, I was sent home with some top-shelf pain medication. They were very low doses. And I must say, any time you have any type of invasive surgery, I don’t think anyone can blame you for taking them.

So this was the second time in a year that I’ve had bone-munching tumors removed from my ankle and I was definitely in a wee bit of pain for a couple of weeks. Not to mention (but I will mention) the fact that I am a terrible patient and was trying to do daily chores just a few days after the operation.

So the freaking meds were great man. Like really freaking great especially when you’d like to be outside doing anything else but elevating your foot higher than your heart to keep the swelling down.

So, like… wow man… the meds just take you for a teeny weeny little ride to a happy place and makes the pain go bye-bye. “Bye-bye pain. See you later just before the next happy pill.”

Anyway… yeah… like you keep taking them and taking them and then even when there’s no pain you take them because the bottle isn’t empty yet.

So I decided to cut the dosage down slowly over about three days. Well, I did take an extra one on a day when I tried to make a couple of cold calls (you can read all about cold calls if you scroll down the page).

Two days ago I stopped altogether. One day ago I felt very depressed. I was tired. I couldn’t concentrate. I wanted to throw my crutches through the window. Today I stayed in bed until 10am. I couldn’t get up. I didn’t want to get up. I was dizzy. Everything in the world was bothering me.

Did I say I was going to keep this short?

The lesson is this: yes pain pills are great. If I could, I would be wasted all day long and probably love it.

The lesson is this: hmm… not sure what the lesson is because if you need the freaking pills then I guess you have to take them and then stop taking them when the pain is gone. Hmm (again)… that’s what I did.

OK, anyway… i think I’m feeling a little better now. I’ll set the alarm for 630am, risk my life taking a shower on crutches, and then try and do what I have to do to make money.

If I fall in the shower and break something… oh well… there’s always pain meds to get me through the day.

Odds and Ends from the Odd Weekend

MY ANKLE
       I’m an idiot and if my ankle heals at a 67 degree angle it’s all my fault. I don’t like to ask people for help. I like to do things on my own and I usually have five projects going at once. I have my own system and I want it done the way I want it done.
       So I didn’t bother waiting for my wife or my son and his friend before I decided to clear the three-season porch so that it could become a tempory storage area. My father is moving and we are losing the storage space in his basement.
       I began by trying to tip a couch on its side. I knew I couldn’t put much weight on my right leg so I’d have to mostly use my powerful upper body strength. You are all the first to hear about this and I’ll expect you keep it to yourselves. The freaking couch was almost on its side, we were both barely balancing. We landed together. Luckily we landed together and with me on the top.

THE BIRTHDAY PARTY
       My youngest Godchild turned two years-old last week. We had her birthday party on Saturday. My brother and sister-in-law  have three girls. The two youngest are twins. My sister and brother-in-law have also have three girls. The two oldest are twins. Our youngest is a boy. He does not have a twin. In fact none of our children has a twin but if we had to choose which one we’d like to have two of, it would be the girl.
       Even though he was outnumbered six to one, the only boy of the group had a fantastic time. I know this because he told his mom and I all the way home and then again once we arrived home. A year ago he was bored out of his mind at such occasions. It’s a welcome transition.

SCRABBLE
       You can play Scrabble on Facebook! Years ago I was introduced to the game by a coworker. We bought a travel size Scrabble board and hid it in a corner. Throughout the day, we’d mosey on over to our corner, take our turn and return to our job until the other person went. We’d go back and forth all day, all week, for months. She would pound me into the ground and had no mercy.
       I’m doing fairly well on Facebook. I have one friend that gives me a run for my money and has beaten me twice. But besides that, I’ve only lost one other game to some hotshot college kid. I’m sure I am only an average player at this point, but it’s addicting as all heck!

BUDGET
       My sister-in-law is about to take on a huge task. She will be teaching my wife and I how to budget our money. My sister has offered her services many times over the past couple of years too. But now, with my paycheck based on how many groups and companies I can get into, it’s imperative that we get help.
       So whereas I didn’t ask for help with the couch, I am fully aware that I need help in this area. So I want to thank my brother and sister-in-law for everything that they are about to help us with.
       As I have learned recently (beginning with my dear friends that helped us out with oil), asking for help is not admitting that you are weak. We all have friends and family that love us and if we are lucky, can read the signs and know when there is trouble.
       I have been so lucky over the past two-and-a-half-years. Little guardian angels have appeared when I’ve needed them the most. And you all know exactly who you are.
       I’m also lucky to have friends that will guide me in the right direction and share their knowledge like my dear friend that I spoke with today on his way to New Hampshire.

THE CENTURY
       Recreational cyclists have a test that we call a Century. It’s riding 100 miles in one day. 
       I want to do that this season. I did it once on my only attempt and it really is something to be proud of.
       I’d like to get as many of my friends together as possible to join me this coming September. The plan is to train during the summer and little by little work up to the big day. I’m thinking perhaps the second Saturday in September but that is subject to change.
       We can even collect money to donate to cancer or another cause. It’s not a race and you don’t need a $3000 bike. I’ll write more about it in the upcoming months. I’m still at least a month away from ditching my crutches so if you think you are too out of shape to even think about it, I DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT!
       Let me know if you are interested.

MMM
       I’ll be getting out of the house tomorrow to attend the Monday Morning Meeting at work. As you have all read, I need to jump-start this train and follow some leads to the bank. It won’t be easy following the new budget if I can’t make any money. So please read the last few posts and if you can help me out at all, I would appreciate it more than you will ever know.

Those amazing little tumors

It’s fascinating how these tumors attack the bone. Last year the tumor had grown to the point where it was wrapped all around and through the bone as well as the tendons and whatever else was in the way.

 

This time there were two much smaller tumors that found the bone on the other side of the cement and began burring two little holes into it. Even the doctor was impressed and why shouldn’t he be? It’s almost a 1 in a million chance that he’d see this type of tumor.

 

It didn’t compromise the ankle joint itself. If that were to happen again, we’ll be talking about something altogether different.

 

So I have a boot on again but can’t put weight on it for 4-6 weeks. I’ll be using my crutches and shouldn’t drive (yeah… sure).

 

He won’t be surprised if it keeps coming back. We’ll just have to monitor it from here on out.

 

That’s about it… nothing too exciting unless you’re into creepy, burring, reoccurring, annoying little tumors.

   

When are you too old to have a tantrum?

I always feel that if I give my business to a company, they should at least sit with me and hear about what I have to offer them.

Well… I did have an initial meeting with a certain credit union that I belong to. I met with the assistant to the BIG boss. She was loving Aflac, especially because they have no disability insurance and she knew several young ladies were planning on starting families in the near future. The disability plan would pay them while they were out on maternity leave.

Well the BIG boss said no without even meeting with me. So I took my $39.12 out of there quicker than you can say “A-Roid”.

A few months later we got a letter saying we owed them $40.00 for a check that got posted after I grabbed my cash out of there.

So I got into my car, crutches and all, and drove to pay my debt. As I wrote a check out, the ugly woman across from me said I had to pay with cash because there was a chance that the check could bounce.

I told her we’ve been members there forever and they knew where to find me if they needed to do so.

“Well there was a reason why we closed your account,” the ugly one said.

“YOU didn’t close MY account. I didn’t want to be a member of this STUPID place anymore,” I said. “I want to see your supervisor.”

“OK Sir but she’ll tell you the same thing that I did,” she mumbled as her ugly eyes searched the room before standing up and walking away on her ugly legs.

The only thing I liked about this credit union was that they had those really BIG lolly-pops with the thick sticks that didn’t shred in your mouth when wet.

Maybe she walked past a mirror and noticed just how ugly she really is because she was taking a long time and I was growing impatient. So I grabbed two handfuls of lollypops and put them in my pants pockets. Then I grabbed two more handfuls and shoved them in my jacket pockets.

By now I had the attention of several other patrons, some of which seemed concerned about there being enough lolly-pops left for them.

I grabbed my crutches and headed through the first set of doors and pushed myself through with a stiff shoulder!

What happened next is something that I’m not very proud of. But it had to be done. On my way down the hallway leading to the doors that would lead me to freedom, I pulled two of the BIG lolly-pops out, opened them, and whipped them to the hard floor. They exploded into little tiny pieces all across the hallway.

I gave the doors a hard cross-check with my left crutch and skipped down the ramp faster than my crutches could keep up.

I found the car and collapsed in the seat and in seconds was heading to my safe-house.

Yes it was a tantrum. But a tantrum that was worth the great risk of hurting the ankle that was surgically repaired only one week earlier.

Sometimes you just have to show them that you’re just not going to take anymore of their crap! And what is better than unleashing a good old-fashioned tantrum?

One in a Million…

If you ever have a chance at being one in a million, choose wisely.

But then again you may not be given the opportunity to choose at all.

I had a tumor on my ankle, it was one in a million. A year later two more tumors took its place.

Are they two in a million?

Does that make me lucky enough to say that my tumors were three in a million?

Or is each one its own seperate occurance which would bring us back to one in a million again?

I have to look at the bright side and consider that when something such as a tumor is one in a million, it’s probably looking to conquer everything in its way.

In my case it only tore through an ankle and left it hollow and as thin as an eggshell.

The other good news is that they make cement to fill the empty spaces with.

The bad news is that I can no longer chase down a frisbee or a hockey puck. I can’t jump off the third step of the porch.

But I can watch my kids graduate high school and college (if they decide that’s what they want to do).

Or I can watch them fix my car or air conditioning system (if they decide that’s what they want to do).

I can ride a hundred miles on a bike with them if you want to. I just can’t run a 5k (not that I would have).

Chances are that the doctor that missed the diagnosis won’t be held responsible for missing it.

But the hospitals and surgeons and techs and specialists all charge my insurance company the same amount for a missed tumor.

I guess one in a million tumors don’t look like 400,000 in a million tumors.

The co-pay amounts and extra charges still get mailed to my house and the recordings that ask for payment regarding the missed tumors are the same recordings that ask to be paid for the other tumors that did not get missed.

The short-term disability paperwork doesn’t care if my tumor is rare or special. It just won’t let me scribble my name at the bottom of it.

So even if you are one in a million, you won’t get paid if you can’t make it in to work.

There must be some logic behind that decision although I’ve yet to understand it.

I’m sure an underwriter would be able to explain it. Just as an undertaker would know why you should be buried in a beautiful, airtight, oak coffin.

Of course many of us are probably better prepared to buy a coffin than we are to pay our bills if we cannot work.

I actually don’t care if I’m buried in an oak box or a Styrofoam box. Except the Styrofoam box would probably attract protesters to the funeral.

Not having a paycheck only attracts phone calls from people that get paid to tell you what you already know.

Nothing is more annoying than being told over and over and over again what you already know.

I know how lucky I am. I know how lucky I am. I know how lucky I am. I go to bed every night repeating it to myself.

It’s OK to tell yourself over and over again something that you already know.

I don’t know about everything but I know about ankle tumors now.

Some doctors wouldn’t know a tumor if it bit them on the… umm… ankle.