Diagnosis - The Living Wake Saga

I have always said my head was a noisy place.  I say was, because it has apparently exploded.  No, really.  That’s what the doctor said.  When I first told him what was going on, he looked at me like I had two heads.  I had to insist that I only had the one, but it was awfully noisy in there, like sudden, window shaking thunder out of the clear blue sky.  He was dubious, but pulled out his iPad (I love that they have those at Creighton.  Always on the cutting edge!) and after a few “hmmmms” and “interestings” he excused himself for a moment.  When he came back, he said he’d spoken with his colleagues, and they came up with a diagnosis.  Ladies and Gents, it should be so fitting that I have Exploding Head Syndrome.

*Disclaimer - This post is part of a series.  It is meant to build up to my party for my 35th birthday and is a work of fiction

Doctor's Visit - The Living Wake Saga

Grrr.  Forty minutes and $150 later and I’m still sitting in the waiting room.  For this, I’m going to ask for the doctor to look at every single thing that I have questions about. That’s going to be everything from these repeated batman noises *bam!* *kapow!*  *bang!* in my head to whether or not these new brown patches are age spots or cancer.  I’m getting my damn money’s worth.

*Disclaimer - This post is part of a series.  It is meant to build up to my party for my 35th birthday and is a work of fiction

First Attack - The Living Wake Saga

Holy FUCKNUGGETS! Apparently, my inner monologue is celebrating the 4th of July instead of Halloween this year.  I just heard an explosion that was like what the last sound a suicide bomber might hear.   I hit the deck like it was all out war, and my neighbors looked at me like I sprouted a second head for doing so.  They didn't hear a thing.  It happened while Moxie and I were outside and let me tell you, she’s not the only one to crap on the grass this afternoon.  I gotta call a doctor.  Thank goodness my primary care guy has evening hours.  

Man, why couldn't it be voices like any normal crazy person?

*Disclaimer - This post is part of a series.  It is meant to build up to my party for my 35th birthday and is a work of fiction

It Begins - The Living Wake Saga

Ug. Rough day. I really don't feel right. So help me if Web MD tells me I'm going to die again. . . Might be a good day for an early bedtime tonight. Going home from work early, gonna walk the dog, and take some Advil to see if I can shake this.

*Disclaimer - This post is part of a series.  It is meant to build up to my party for my 35th birthday and is a work of fiction.

For My Birthday, I'd Like A Midlife Crisis

For easily the last 18 months, I've had this idea in my head about how I wanted to celebrate my 35th birthday.  I had this fear that my wish would go the way of my 32nd, which I wanted to be my saccharine 32 since I had a sweet 16.  Alas, time, money, and circumstance kept that from becoming a reality.  Which is really too bad.  I mean, I could have kept Deb in business with all the pseudo prom dress sales that would have come out of that.  However, celebrating my mid life crisis with a living wake seems like it's going to be a thing.

Pass the Beer and Banish the Ghost.

From the "This town is so damn small" files, have you ever found yourself in the presence of someone who was a part of your life during some of your lowest moments, years later, only to have them not realize it was you?  There's some real satisfaction in that, isn't there?

Lessons, Doggy-Style

I'm sure you've heard the phrase, "Once you go black, you never go back.".  And it's true.  There's something subconsciously dangerous about them, menacing even.  But, I can tell you for certain, my big love of a black, mixed breed dog is one of my proudest associations.  Moxie has taught me an awful lot over the years, but most of her lessons have come in the last several months.

Canine Houdini

Tally ho!

I grew up in a household where my dad, my sister, and for a while, even I, foxhunted.  I'm talking, dress up in fancy clothes, gussy up your horse, and head out to harvested corn fields in Iowa at the break of dawn, foxhunting.  I say I did it for a time because I frequently was awarded the groundtester achievement.  Meaning I was able to prove gravity was more than a theory on a very consistent basis.  The funny thing about that though is that I managed to hold on for dear life until the horse came to a complete stop.  Only then would I hit the dirt.

My sister continued hunting until a severe back injury put an end to her Sunday morning rides.  My dad, however, still gets up on winter mornings when you can see your breath and hear the turkeys in the fallen corn, scavenging for breakfast to go out and chase the elusive, furry scoundrel.

I tell you about the hunting because it was regular thing around the house.  When it wasn't hunting season, my sister and I would participate in dressage or jumping competitions at the stable where we kept our horses.  (Yes, I was that kid who asked for a pony as a kid and actually got one.)

It was at a horse show when  I was little that we first ran across Jack Russel Terriers.

2:00 AM Paranoia, X-Files Style

I’ve found myself telling this story twice this past weekend, so, I figure it’s time to write it down.  That, and it's a continuation on a theme of rednecks gone wrong.  So, it's a gimme, really.

As a teenager, I was a fan of the X-Files.  I watched the entire first season on the couch with the then love of my life.  For later seasons, I was in college, so I’d catch them when I could.  It was tough since it was on a Friday, but now and again, I managed to catch a new episode.  I’d either find myself in one of the campus lounges, or I’d be perched in my desk chair, craning my neck to see the picture on my tiny 13” TV/VCR combo.  Home was one of those I saw as a first run.

A Very Deliverance Breakfast

After I wrote the sea beaver piece, I was talking to Stumpy about it, and how we've got a bunch of stories that really need to be told.  I think I'll be working on a few of those in upcoming posts.  However, as a followup to the honeymoon sea beaver story, I gotta tell you about my Deliverance Breakfast. 

Contrary to popular myth, there is not a buffet open 24 hours a day on a cruise ship.  They shut down for a few hours each day.  Not many, mind you, but they do.  I guess they eventually have to do dishes, or something.  Now, because Stumpy can't get central standard time out of his head, when his internal alarm hit "breakfast o'clock" he was awake and ready for his pop tart.  Or, whatever he was eating those days.  So, groggy as I was, we tromped up to the Lido deck to get ourselves good and gorged on the breakfast buffet.

Let us not forget that this is the fogey boat, so half the guests have been up for over an hour, and the dining area is a beehive of activity by the time we get there.  The only place we have the option to sit is at a table that makes up half of a two-table booth horseshoe.  Not a problem.  I like people, and I'll talk to anybody.  We'll take it!