Monthly Archives: May 2011

Doo, doo, doo. Looking Out My Back Door

I am starting to believe that there is really no such thing as aging gracefully.

As I pass through my middle forties on my way to the big five 0, I have found that my body has begun to revolt against me.  There are pains in my back, in my knees, in my hips, and just about every joint that I have.  When I get up in the morning, my body is a virtual cacophony of cracks and snaps as I walk across the floor.  My hearing is going bad, there has been a constant ringing for about ten years now, and my eyes can’t seem to make up their mind as to whether I am near-sighted or far-sighted.  Then this past weekend, my body got tired of fighting on the front lines and swung around to attack from the rear.  I got a hemorrhoid.

You can pretty much set aside any hope of retaining even the slightest bit of dignity when you have to step up to the counter and explain just where the pain is, when the pain just happens to be where the sun don’t shine.  It gets even worse when it starts to set in that someone is actually going to have to take a look at what just happens to be ailing you.  Worst still when the first person who has to take a look is a young nurse half your age.  Now, I would never assume to know what someone may be thinking, but I have a suspicion that the last thing the young lady really wanted to do that night was to take an upclose and personal look at my back side.

There is really no way to ease into the examination.  Shorts needed to be dropped, and bending over needed to commence.  Then parts were poked and prodded that the nuns told us would make us blind if we touched them. All this only to find out that, yes indeed, I had a giant pain in my tookas.  Then there was a lot of talk, using big words that made me squeamish.  Words like insert were used in conjunction with some more medical terms, and a prescription was given for something that needed instruction about insertion into the said medical term.  Then things got worse as the doctor explained that if the treatment didn’t work, the area might then need to be lanced.  Suddenly the word suppository sounded much better.

An attempt was made to go to work this morning, but I only made it a few hours.  I hate to say it, but as I have aged, it seems that my threshold for pain has decreased.  I can’t stand, I can’t sit, and getting from one point the other is almost unbearable.  The mass itself seems to be getting bigger and more painful despite the promise that the little white bullet thing was going to relieve swelling, itching, and discomfort associated with the condition.  I made a futile attempt to pick up the blue recycling bins when I got home, but decided that it would be best to send my son out to retrieve them instead.  When sitting or standing is not an option, bending over to pick something up was a real bad idea.  And trust me, you don’t want to hear about what happened when I sneezed.

So here I am.  Lying on my stomach in bed attempting to type to keep my mind off of things.  Judging by my choice of topic, I would say I have failed miserably.  I have left the kids to their own devices downstairs while I grumble to myself.  Molly stops up to see me every now and then.  I have simply told her only that dad is not feeling well.  I have all the confidence that at 14 Alex is more than capable of making a frozen pizza without burning down the house, and that they have both done their homework.  Certainly my kids would never take advantage of poor old dad in his time of discomfort.

Certainly, every parent has had those times when they wanted, or actually uttered a certain phrase to describe their offspring at a time when maybe they were not behaving.  Or maybe the words have been used in reference to a spouse or perhaps an ex-spouse when things were not going that well.  Although I can’t promise that I will never use the phrase again, I will certainly be more careful when I do.  Because if there is anything I have learned over the past two days, I certainly have come to understand the real meaning behind the phrase:

Pain in the Ass.

It’s Dance Friday

No, no, no, I am not going to shake my groove thing to Hit Me Baby One More Time for a chance to win Britney tickets at the United Center, although she will be playing on my birthday this year and Maureen did offer to take me.  No, instead welcome to the first Friday edition of a dance through my brain.  I think it.  You read it.  Ready?

I had no intention of going to see the movie Thor, until I read in the paper this morning that  it was directed by Kenneth Branagh.  That combined with some good reviews have peaked my interest.  Although I was told I could not see any movie until I took my lovely wife to see the current adaption of her favorite novel, Jane Eyre.  How does Tuesday at 8:05 sound?  Yorktown Theater.

My oldest daughter turned 20 on Tuesday.  Happy Birthday, Stephanie.  You can stop that now.

I have no desire to see picture of Osama bin Laden with his face blown off.  Since Al-Qaida itself is not contesting the fact that he is dead, why do we need to prove to the same people who still think the President’s birth certificate is a fake that he is really, really, truly dead?  I thought that the whole point behind a covert operation is that it is covert.  I am perfectly ok with the fantasy world were Jack Ryan gets Willem Dafoe to fly a helicopter which he bought with a government check to head over and take him out.

The Sox are so bad right now, I almost can’t watch them.  Almost.  I am a glutton for punishment.  And since they don’t start tonight until 9:10, I have at least half an hour of a Bulls victory high before I am slammed back down to earth.

The song Rhinestone Cowboy has been running through my head all day.

Donald Trump has decided that driving the pace car at the Indianapolis 500 would be a conflict of interest with his potential campaign for president in 2012.  The only conflict I see is that the people who run the Indy are no longer interested.

This was teacher appreciation week.  In case you forgot, go out and appreciate a teacher.  If you’re in government, maybe appreciate them enough to keep their pensions in place.  I appreciated my favorite teacher last night.  What?  Librarians are teachers too.

I found myself in the strange position of agreeing with Michael Savage this week, but he was correct.  You don’t have to agree with someone’s political views or opinions to say someone did a good job.  He congratulated President Obama for a job well done Monday.  I congratulate him for saying so.

Wow, I haven’t mentioned William Kelly in my blog in months.

Although I knew I turned the coffee pot off this morning, there was a part of my brain that refused to accept the truth until I actually got home and saw it turned off.  Even then it still kept asking to see the long version of the off button.

Why is it that the jelly beans I put in the candy dish only disappear one color at a time?  And who ate all the orange.  Those are my favorite.

Lord of the Flies is still as bad now as it was in Junior High.  But Dammit!  I swear I am going to finish it this time.  I can’t believe it has taken me three weeks to get as far as I am.  It’s only 184 pages.  I read The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest in less time than this, and it is almost 600 pages.  Only 66 pages to go.  Hell I should be able to finish it before the Sox are back to 500.

I did it again.  I turned my pillow into a taco.  This is why Maureen can’t buy me anything nice.

I think I need to take a refresher trip back to Ireland.  I still haven’t finished the whole story of our Honeymoon trip.  Is it like the thank you notes?  Do I have a whole year to finish them?

Spent the last month pissing and moaning at my son about not doing his math homework.  Excuse after excuse came out of his mouth.  I knew he was just being a stubborn little shit, fighting against me the more and more I pushed at him.  I know it was not for lack of understanding, he always scores well on the standardized tests.  He just wasn’t doing his homework.  Then I explained to him that if he got another D in math, he was going to have to take it over again in summer school.  Four days later all the work is done and he got an A on his test.  God I hate it when I’m right!

Thank God the second Blagojevich trial has started.  The paper was starting to get boring now that Carol Moseley Braun is no longer calling people crack whores.

I can’t believe we still have leftover ham from Easter.  How come the leftover beer never lasts this long?

This Sunday is Mother’s Day.  Give your mother a big kiss and a hug for me, and if she is no longer with us, close your eyes and travel back in time and give her one anyway.  Mothers are one of Gods best inventions.  Don’t take them for granted.  Love you Mom!