Day 22: It's only a dream

(Giorgio A. Tsoukalos from "Ancient Aliens")

I tried to scream...I couldn't get a voice to come out of my mouth.  I tried to roll over, to twitch an arm, to twitch a finger.  I tried like crazy to open my eyes...but they just stayed closed with only a sliver of barely imperceptible light peering through.

I told myself "It's only a dream...any minute now you'll wake up.  Any second now a cat will meow in the hallway and my brain will zap me out of this semi-conscious frozen state that I'm in."

I had seen all the documentaries and looked it up on the Internet.  All those episodes of that wacky-haired guy, the "Ancient Alien Theorist" or whatever he and those dozen other whack-jobs on that "Ancient Alien" show on The History Channel call themselves. I've read all about it: All those people who were visited by aliens in the bedroom...all those people who had their anus probed?  All those people were just in a state of sleep paralysis and were probably just farting.  Sure, I made up that "farting thing" and I thought it was pretty good.  I even tried to make a smile...but my lips lay there just like two limp worms...the ones you see in the driveway when you go to get the mail...the ones that didn't make it all the way across because the sun started drying them out.  I was beginning to feel they were a bit parched, too...but there was no drool, luckily.  I hate waking up with my face in the wet spot.  I hate thinking it lies there "in the wet spot". My thoughts start wandering -- to why women are always fated to "lie in the wet spot"...why can't guys lie in it?  It's icky. Those thoughts.  I'll think other ones instead.

I'm wondering when the Ambien will wear off...it's probably due any minute now.  It's probably only been a couple hours since I've taken it.  It doesn't work well anymore since I've taken it for like eight years.  I take a lot of it, too.  I hate Ambien.  It makes me walk around the house calling people and typing weird shit online.  I'm probably typing weird shit right now and I just don't know it.  I probably think I'm still sleeping.  I bet that's what's going on.
  

Ambien. 

Why can't I clean the house after I take it?  I've weeded the yard before while I was on it.  I've moved huge Belgian blocks from one side of the yard to the other...right by the pool...lugged them over somehow.  Woke up and didn't even realize I had done it.  My son forbade me to ever go outside again after taking it...he says I'll probably fall in the pool and drown.  Maybe I'm in the pool right now.  How would I know if I was in the pool? 

"Oh, stop it, Mariann."  I tell myself.  "I'd be wet.  A helluva LOT wetter than waking up on the pillow full of drool...plus that 'other' thing.  Ick."  I try to shrug - I try to do that funny thing that one comedian lady did...about sex...making that "wuuuhuuuuhhgh" noise...but I can't.  I'm stifling back a laugh...but I'm not making a sound. 

But, wait...seriously...maybe I'm really in the pool.  Nah...as soon as I hit the icy water, I'd wake up.  It's cold outside and I'm only in my nitegown.  I know I'm in my nitegown because I rarely even change out of one nowadays since my daughter's gone off to college -- I don't have to shuffle her to school and back, and I don't have a job...and I don't have to go anywhere...it's kinda silly to change into clothes that only my son and cats would see.  Plus, my bra hurts.  I always can't wait to get out of it when I go somewhere...sometimes, I unhinge it in the car and just throw a coat over what I'm wearing...because it hurts a lot.  It hurts because I had a badoodle amount of lung collapses and two lung operations to glue my lung and the pleura together so it doesn't collapse again.  If I breathe deeply enough...it hurts.  

I'll take a deep breath...that's what I'll do...that'll wake me up.  The pain of breathing in a bunch of air will shock me back into reality. 

"Ready...set...go!" 

Nothing.

Oh, c'mon...this isn't funny now.  Seriously...not funny.

Oh, good...someone just turned on the light.  Whew.

I can just barely make something out through that sliver in my semi-opened eyes.  It's the glint of a knife!  It's a fucking knife!  It's a God-damned fucking knife!  Oh...my God...someone's walking towards me...wearing gloves...and carrying a knife. "Wake up, wake up, dammit!  Wake the fuck up!"

Oh...shit...oh shit...oh shit...it's not just a regular knife...I can see it now...it's...

...it's...

...it's a coroner's scalpel!

Okay, that's my story for "It's only a dream" - I kinda creeped myself out there so I am gonna stop.  I have to take my Ambien right now.

Or...maybe I'll wait a bit.

A long bit.

Now...go on over to "We Work for Cheese" and read what other stuff others have come up with for Day 22 of the "30 Days Minus Two of Writing" challenge.

Day 10: Zombies

"Zombies" is the prompt today, Day 10 of "30 Minus 2 Days of Writing" at "We Work for Cheese" -- do check out some of the other writers who are participating.  But first...read (and listen to) this:

I'm watching the Olympics...so, I'm going to spare you all with a made up zombie story.  Please know that had I done one, it would have been awesome.  

I'll just post a song up by Philadelphia band, "The Hooters".  Yes, their name pre-dates the restaurant chain "Hooters" - in case you were thinking they called their band that just to get more notoriety.  They didn't.  They did, however, probably name it after a euphemism for "boobies" -- because who doesn't like boobies?   But I don't know this for certain and I'm not gonna Google.

 

Below is their song, "All You Zombies" which I remember from time to time (not to be confused with "Time After Time" - see below) and it always brings back happy memories of my youth. They were a fantastic group and I loved them.  Philadelphia radio station, WMMR, also loved them, and would play their stuff all the time back in the '80s (along with Peter Gabriel, whom I love the best, who disc jokey, Pierre Robert, nicknamed "The Patron Saint of Rock & Roll").  Yeah, I loved this radio station growing up. 

"The Hooters" were even the opening act in Philadelphia for the US portion of the "Live Aid" concert...which was a rather big event in 1985...and I still have my T-shirt to prove it (yes, I just dug through all my stuff and threw it on for this photo, again sans make-up).  This, by the way, is as close to a "hooters" shot as I'll ever have on the Internet (I hope).

 

But why "The Hooters" never got more famous than they did is beyond me.  Group member Rob Hyman also won a Grammy for co-writing "Time After Time" with Cyndi Lauper, whose version of that song is probably best remembered.

Here they are singing "All You Zombies".  I hope you enjoy it...and let me know if you ever heard of them (as I'm curious); they had quite a few songs which MTV would play "back in the day".

 

Anyway...back to watching the Olympics for me...until my Ambien kicks in and then I really turn into a zombie. 

 

Day 7: Hint Hint

Today's challenge over at "We Work for Cheese" is "Hint Hint"...and, this is going to be a very short blog...in a way.

 

Some of you might have the same problem I have...and that's trying to draw readers over to your blog.  I get happy when people say they've read it...and incredibly ecstatic when someone takes the time to comment...and I've always told everyone, "I live for comments...good, bad, or anonymous.  Hint hint."

 

So...ummmm...hint hint.

 

I initially started writing a blog for The Montgomery Advertiser back in March 2006 - hoping they would notice my "brilliance" as a writer (or at least my "above mediocre" ability) and hire me.  It didn't work. The previous executive editor even called me in to talk to her for a whopping two hours...but that's all I have to say about that in public.  All the same, feel free to write them/him (as they have a new editor) and who knows, perhaps with the right nudging they might call me back in and give me that shot after all (and, yes, I'm serious).
 
Anyway, here's a sprinkling of some of my previous blogs, a "Top Ten List" if you will. Some are silly, some are sad, and some are just the early morning ramblings of a woman who takes her Ambien way too late and fancies herself a writer.

I don't ask that you read all of them...that would be ridiculous -- just pick whichever title strikes a chord...or choose your favourite number from 1-10...and go with that one. Oh...and leave me a comment. 

 

Again, hint hint.  :)

 

 

1. Viagra...vating

 

2. Esmerelda and the Area Known as 51

 

3. Driven to Tears

 

4.  Hollywood Lights

 

5.  Of Ripples of Butterfly Wings

 

6.  A Small Slimmer of Taupe

 

7.  Two Guys, a Girl and a Tube Tester

 

8.  Ancient Alien Conspiracy Regarding "The War of the Worlds"

 

9.  Potato Farmers - the New Vampires?

 

10.  Halloween is Different for Me This Year

 

 

(I apologize in advance for some of these not having the photo that I yanked off the Internet for insertion into my blog...apparently someone yanked them.  If I went in and redid my blog with a new photo, it would take me 40 minutes per blog to add all the HTML code to make the spacing correct as it always screws up the spacing and fonts when I edit...so I left them without images.  It even managed to mess up the link colours.  Why?  I don't know!  Blogger is indeed maddening. )

It's a Two-fer Bonanza!

I apologize to everyone. I kinda flaked out by not posting yesterday and not posting today as of yet.

I had um...an incident regarding my butt - which probably is way too much information for most of you already.

Let's just say I had some issues I was working toward getting fixed...and one of the things which is a big no-no during the procedures I was in the midst of...is constipation...and the resulting straining.

To make a long story short, I ended up going to the Emergency Room at 2:47 in the morning - to be released at 3:45 - yes...less than one hour...from walk in to walk out, so I can't rightfully even pen an epic "Home at Last" tale filled with phlegm, blood, germs, and people picking up bits of cookie off the waiting room floor and feeding it to their kids while I cringe, further and further away from all of them...wondering whose naked butt sat on my chair (yes, pants way down past your ass is still the fashion in Montgomery, Alabama) and if they ever disinfect them. I'm going to have to chime in with a resounding "NOOOOOO!" as I bet they never even get a glance over with the rag they use from trash can to countertop and back down to the table.

I watch all those things...I obsess over those things. This is what a germaphobe does for fun: Torturing themselves by watching things which people ordinarily wouldn't give a second thought about. I, on the other hand, think "Don't tell me he's going to take that germ-soaked rag and oh my God...he did! He touched the trash can with it and then touched the desk!"

Oh, I never even touch their pens - I have my own.

Also, next time you find yourself in a hospital ER - try to find a place to put your urine sample container down on...without it touching something which would contaminate it. You have to take it apart, making sure nothing comes into contact with the inside lid - yet there are no flat surfaces anywhere within reach. It's a two person job. It's stupid. Incredibly stupid. Like, good luck not touching some other item not already contaminated with someone else's urine or feces. I usually walk in there and pretty much think "I'm semi-balancing it right here - and when I'm done I'm going to wrap it in a semi-wet towel...just...to...show them.

Is it wet from water? Wet from urine? Yeah...you messed with my Howard Hughes/Howie Mandel-like germ issue with no flat surfaces in the bathroom while I try to do a clean-catch sample for you...and this is your payback. I know it's just a wet paper towel as I used it to open the handle of the door...but you don't...so...whatever, dude...how do YOU like it? At least you have little gloves - you don't have any gloves in the bathroom for me. If you had gloves there would be ONE flat object I could put my urine sample on - but nope. Just for that maybe I touched some urine to it after all. Take that you...you designer of the strange germ-laden room of bodily fluid. You'd figure after being on duty for one full day that I wouldn't rectify the whole situation? I would...because I think that way. No one does - they don't care - it's like this all over. It's designed to piss you off. That's it. They are probably videoed and played back during the boring parts at the ER shifts.

But...back to my butt; hopefully it's okay - no one called today from the gastro doctor altho I called them twice - just to get an idea if my area has imploded, exploded, or simply unraveled...or any combination of a myriad of butt logic.

So, here I sit (in pain, mind you) typing this blog which I'm hoping will qualify as a "two-for" or "two-fer" - whichever. I did manage to put to distinct stories and prompts together (possibly not coherent as my Ambien kicked in some time ago)...anyone's guess is if I did it right.

But, for the time being I am indeed home at last...tomorrow we travel to Birmingham (quite a long drive) to my daughter's gastroenterologist for a food motility test and then to see her (with the results - I am hoping) afterwards.

Please wish her luck.

Thank you.

The prompt yesterday was "Whatever, Dude" and today's was "Home at Last".  I decided I would do one blog and work them both in; yes, I cheated.  No one said I could not cheat - at least I didn't hear.  I certainly don't remember as I take Ambien.

Also, please check out "We Work for Cheese" and their non-contest contest for the month of February. People there probably follow rules and don't go to the ER at 2:30 in the morning about their butts...or most of them...and they probably have a lot less icky things they wrote about (unlike I did). Sigh.

Caterwaulking the Halls

This is "Day 5" of the "We Work For Cheese" website's non-contest contest for February...today's prompt is "You better put out".  Please check out the other blogs while you are there as we are all slowly losing our minds trying to fulfill this mission we undertook.

Yes, this could have gotten a lot more sexual with that prompt that should have prompted me to go that way...but it's late and people only read the first eight posts anyway, so I'm going to talk about my cats. Everyone likes a cat story, right?

Right.  Here goes...

We have a couple chatty cats...we're talking cats that walk around meowing something the entire day. I don't know what they're saying, but they are pretty damned determined to get their point across. In fact, I think they're probably wondering, since we're the ones with the opposable thumbs, that we should be the ones who should know what they want, yet we walk around asking them, "What do you want?" -- like they're supposed to just break out in human-speak any second.

Yes, humans are a stupid race.

Well, don't believe everything you've read about cats sleeping 23 hours a day and only being nocturnal. Since we (my son and I) are up at nite and asleep during the day - we know they are up at all hours...and talking. And, cats, especially chatty ones, will wait until you are three minutes into a full sleep and then walk up and down the hallway meowing up a storm.

And they don't shut up...seriously...they don't.

You figure to yourself, "They're going to get bored eventually and jump up on the cat tower and fall asleep...they are going to get bored and stop it any minute...they are going to get the hint and just go away...any second...any second now..."

But they don't. Cats are not only curious, but tenacious as well.

So, the routine around here before we crawl off to bed in the wee hours of the morning (when everyone else is getting up), goes something like this:

Son (to me): "Seriously, if they start meowing up and down the hallway, I'm going to throw them out. They can stay out there."

Me (to my son): "I can't toss them out...it's cold out there. They can't stay outside - they'll freeze...I'm keeping them in."

Son (back to me): "You better put out Pablo...all he does is cry...and he comes into my room and pees."

Me (back to son): "Then close your door."

Son (back to me): "I can't close my door...Binky won't be able to go out to use the litter box. I'm going to bed. Make sure you throw Pablo out."

Me (to son): "Well, I'm not tossing him out...it's too cold. He's sleeping in the cat thingy now anyway. I'm going to bed as soon as the Ambien kicks in."

(Segue to my son sleeping in his room with the door cracked a tad...and me attempting to doze off with a tube sock shoved in the door jamb as the cats can open it up otherwise. I have a couple cats that insist on purring for about an hour when they jump on the bed...and while purring is indeed a nice sound...purring at the decibel level of a small jet aircraft on take-off -- while you are trying to sleep, is not. So, my door is held tight by ugly ingenuity [not unlike my cat-proof faucet baggie fix] while I peacefully slumber.)

Pablo: "Meow...(pause)...meow.  Meooooowwww. Mrrrrrrrow...(pause)... rrrrrrrrr... rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrow. Mrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrow...rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrooooooow...meeeeeeeeeeeeeowwwww... (pause) ...rrrrrrrrrrroooooooow...mrrrrrrrrrrrrrrowwwww. Mrrrrrrrroooow.  Mew....mrrrrrrrrrrrow...mwowwwwww. Rrrrrrrewwwww...meowwwwww..."

Me and my son (to each other - three minutes after my Ambien kicks in...and an hour after my son has been sleeping): "Can you throw that damned cat out already??"

(Pablo...wanting to go outside before the mewfest later on tonite. Yes, those are scratch marks on the door frame.  Lovely, aren't they?  They lend an air of rustic ambiance to the room, don't you think?)



The Times They Are A-Changin'

Well, all this month I am challenging myself to start writing again by attempting to do a blog every other day. Yes, I've seen people do that "blog a day" thing - but I don't like being a sheep...so I decided "every other day" would be much, much, much more original.

I must admit that I used to have some belief in myself that I could write a book...but upon going to Barnes & Noble the other day, I have decided I have no chance in hell as everyone has a series and no one writes just one book at a time anymore. You have to have a set - and they have to be all about sex and clowns and vampires and horror...and basically, I've had the life sucked out of me by a clown I used to have sex with and I don't want to relive that horror by writing about it over and over again.

So, here goes my feeble attempt at writing again. Bear with me...I might take a few tries to get back in my stride, that is, if I ever had one.

(Some of the blogs this month were thought of quite a while ago...but I thought I would write them anyway.)

The Times They Are A-Changin'

So, I laid in bed again until the sun was set. This is nothing new as I'm not a morning person...which baffles most people altho I haven't a clue why. I can totally understand someone going to bed at 8:00 and waking up at 4:00 regardless of the a.m. or p.m. factor.

The only problem I have with it is that other people like to phone me up whilst I'm in my Ambien coma...and then they expect me to carry on a normal conversation which they expect me to remember later. I pretty much answer the phone with a disclaimer, "Hello...uh...since I'm Ambien right now, could you possibly call back later so I can have some idea of who you are or what we just said...or just leave a message on my answering machine?"

But, most times they won't understand, and they keep on talking altho it is clear to anyone listening to me...that I am not listening to them. Now I know I am prone to droning on and on and rambling - but usually not rambling incoherently like I do when I take my Ambien. Then, when I call them later (usually doctor's offices) they act like I should remember my conversation - but they are well aware of what Ambien does to a person...and I find that disconcerting as I am entrusting these people with the welfare of my health.

Anyway...I do digress...

...another problem with waking up much later than everyone else has to do with the time change. Why they still flip-flop the clocks back and forth is beyond me. Supposedly it was because of farmers and the daylight and their sheep being startled when the sun set earlier (like who hasn't used that excuse with the sheep...am I right Scotland?)...or something dealing with their crops and plowing.

But, as I get no sunshine in my body because I see no sunshine...I am left probably feeling like I do because of a huge lack of Vitamin D in my body. Truth be told I could easily be a vampire if it wasn't for that whole biting the neck and drinking blood bit...not because I dislike the taste of blood - I find it kinda tasty, at least my own...but I would be all germaphobic and would have to wait until the tests came back and by that time my victim would be long gone and I'd be toast as the only time the doctors ever call back is during the daytime.

But...honestly, why do they need to switch the clocks around anymore? They've found (the same "they" as always - "they" know stuff we don't) that losing that hour makes people more prone to health issues, causes more traffic accidents, and makes everyone pretty unbearable for half the year. And just when everyone is getting back to normal...they switch it again and everyone is off kilter again.

The strange thing is that not everyone observes it...and you could be working in a place up the road that doesn't...and just think how incredibly annoying that would be half the year. Also, why does Alaska even use it? Isn't it dark half the year there anyway? How would they even know what time it was by looking outside? Why would they care? They could shave off three hours and no one would be the wiser...and it's not like they are plowing a whole hell of a lot of crops in Alaska with the no hours of daylight...unless they are a big mushroom producer (because mushrooms grow in the dark), which they aren't...and I know this because "they" have told me that Pennsylvania is the mushroom capital of the US.

Heaven help me...I know trivia about mushroom production...and with that, seriously, I need to catch up on some sleep. That was sleep, not sheep...so don't you all try to blame it on the Ambien as we are on MY time now and I know what I'm saying even if you don't remember what I've said.

Day 28: Outlier

I have to admit I am a total dolt. You see, I am probably the only one participating in this non-contest who had no clue what an "outlier" was. I knew I was in trouble when both my kids knew what it was - and knew how to pronounce it...I still want to pronounce it like you would "uglier"...and not "liar".

When I looked it up - I still had no clue - that's now clueless I was. All those years of doing "It Pays to Increase Your Word Power" in Reader's Digest...and the ONLY word they apparently left off - was this one. Then I had an idea: I'll do up a SCRABBLE game - and use up a bunch of words (or variants) which we've done here at Ziva's photofest. So, I did it - and I put OUTLIER off to the side, all by itself, but attached to another word. My kids came over and mocked me.

THEM: "It can't be connected...it's an outlier - it has to be separate."

ME: "It has to be connected...it's SCRABBLE...the words have to be connected."

THEM: "You just don't get it, do you?"

ME: "Apparently not...explain it to me again."

THEM: "For example - if you have a bunch of kids..."

ME: "Where am I going to get a bunch of kids? I have to make up something with the stuff IN my house."

THEM: "Ugh!"

ME: "Ugh!"

Then my son suggested I get the plastic pull tabs of all the orange juices and other juices that we've been saving up for the past year - saving for no reason whatsoever...altho someone started to put happy faces on them...and to put happy faces on all of them - except for one with an unhappy face drawn on instead...and that one shall remain far isolated from the others.

I thought that idea was stupid. I wanted to do my SCRABBLE one - I friggen put all the words in there without cheating one damn time.

So...I Google'd. Right on the first image page is a bunch of happy faces...except for one, which was off by itself, with an unhappy face on it. They looked remarkably similar to the juice pull tabs.

Now I don't know about you - but that's just plain bizarre. What are the odds, right? I mean, seriously, what do they have to be??

So...I'm going to be different in a way...I'm going to remain with my first idea...even if I did acquiesce (yeah, THAT word was in Reader's Digest) and not connect OUTLIER (which I still think is stupid as all get out). So, in a way, I'm being an outlier? Right?

Right??

Forget it - I still don't get it.

Day 28 -- Outlier:



Two items I must point out:  1) We did not have to remain in/around our house as part of the rules -- I did because I either took the photo or did the write-up after ingesting Ambien (it was my "experiment").  2) The word "pill" here refers only to me (see above).



Please don't forget to look at everyone else's photographs:

MikeWJ, Nicky and Mike, Mo, Meleah, John, aka nonamedufus, Bryan, aka Unfinished Person, Malisa, Nora, LaughingMom, Tanya, Elizabeth A., 00dozo, Cheryl, Kristen, Katherine, and, last -- but definitely not least, Ziva.

Day 19: White

I feel so crappy still. I am sick. My temperature at this minute is 101.8. My day revolves around trying not to feel sick. But more about that later.

First off...go look at my fellow non-contestants...and don't forget to thank Ziva for coming up with this idea...

MikeWJ, Nicky and Mike, Mo, Meleah, John, aka nonamedufus, Bryan, aka Unfinished Person, Malisa, Nora, LaughingMom, Tanya, Elizabeth A., 00dozo, Cheryl, Kristen, Katherine, and, last -- but definitely not least, Ziva.

Day 19: White

I knew this theme was going to be harder than the others. I was tempted to take a photo of my white cat on top of my white car with the blaring white halogen light bathing them both with an unnatural kind of glow...but I used her yesterday and I didn't want to do two cat photos in a row because Mike would be mean to me again. So, I decided to take some tissues, Ambien and Tylenol and create a little depiction of how I feel.

Yes, it sucks...but I feel so much more sucky. :(

Day 4: The Experiment

This is Day 4 of Ziva's "30 Days of Photographs II" -- the story behind which can be found by clicking the link at her name.

Some of you might have read that I've been doing "a little experiment" of my own since Day 1 here. What that experiment is...can be found below the list of participants and my photo below.

MikeWJ, Nicky and Mike, Mo, Meleah, John, aka nonamedufus, Bryan, aka Unfinished Person, Malisa, Nora, LaughingMom, Tanya, Elizabeth A., 00dozo, Cheryl, Kristen, Pam and Katherine

The gist of my experiment is that I've been taking my Ambien and then, pretty much unbeknownst to me, I take a photo and do a little blurby write-up underneath each one. This will continue every day for the month of April. Oh, sometimes I am more coherent than other times...and sometimes I do things which I didn't know I did. Anyone who takes Ambien knows all too well about the "amnesia" which happens after the drug kicks in. I've written whole blogs under the influence of it...and many times I've been impressed by what I've written...but, when you are so incredibly detached from your own brain when you go about doing things you have no real memory of doing...it's a bit frightening. In fact, it's more than a bit. It's like I've engaged "auto-pilot" or "cruise control" and then taken a nap in the back.

But, I've decided I'm going to stick with "the experiment" here and see what my "other self" comes up with when I'm metaphorically "asleep at the wheel" -- and no, I've never driven after I've taken Ambien...and I would highly recommend that no one does, either. The pity is that I'll never know if I'm a better photographer without it...but, if all else fails -- and I fail with it -- I'll have...well, a fail-safe excuse to fall back on.

(Hopefully you can read what I've written in the photo...if you can't, this is what it says:

In the true spirit of scientific research, I offered myself up as the proverbial guinea pig to prove my theory. I not only did a double blind study...but a double brained one as well. I'm not sure which half of my brain was working when I undertook the "30 Days of Photographs II" challenge...hell, I'm not even sure one half was even engaged...but my theory is that you don't need to know what you are doing in order to complete certain tasks. I fact, some tasks are better left unremembered -- and that's where all of this starts to make sense.

I want you to take a long hard look at the object to the right. Try your best to remember it because tomorrow I won't be able to. I'll just have a vague recollection of Ambien, a camera...and stringing random words together.)

Day 3: From an Ant's Perspective

This is "Day 3" in Ziva's "30 Days of Photographs II" non-contest. All information about the contest can be found by clicking the link above. (My photo and write-up are directly after the list of participants.)

The theme this time around is "From an Ant's Perspective"...which got me quite a few "Get back inside the house already...you're on Ambien!" admonistions from my son. But...I'm sure Ansel Adams was told many times to get his arse back inside...so I persevered.

Here is the list of the other "non-contestants" who have probably risen against adversity and braved public ridicule for that one special shot, too: MikeWJ, Nicky and Mike, Mo, Meleah, John, aka nonamedufus, Bryan, aka Unfinished Person, Malisa, Nora, LaughingMom, Tanya, Elizabeth A., 00dozo, Cheryl and Kristen.

Getting down on the ground to get an ant's eye view was the easy part...the hard part was trying to hold the camera steady with one hand and estimating how it might look without really seeing it and then hoping an ant graces the magnifying glass...all whilst knowing my crappy camera can only hold a charge long enough to take about four or five shots. Then you have to factor in I'm also heavily whacked out on Ambien and teetering on the edge of my swimming pool waiting for the clouds to break so I can get the "burn the human" take on the ant's perspective. While no ants were harmed in the taking of this photograph, I was bit on the hand twice. I now have a whole new respect for those National Geographic "lying in wait" photographers...but I also respectfully decline any invitations to the Serengeti.

Thinking Out the Box

I have been known, on more than one occasion, to have a drink or two...or suck down my Ambien and then start (or attempt) to write.

I've written emails, I've commented at news sites, I've written...and posted blogs I had no real recollection of typing in the first place. The lack of comprehension of the material I've purported to have some remote grasp on is astounding -- and my stream of consciousness when I'm barely conscious is, to me, utterly amazing.

This, of course, never stops me as I do it again and again.

What can I say...I love to write.

Once in a while I'll notice a typo AFTER the fact. That's totally logical -- as alcohol and Ambien, even with the best intention -- and relying on the "spell check" button, doesn't catch everything; especially if you use a word that exists but you put it in the wrong place. This is where re-reading something (out loud if possible) comes in handy. Usually if you re-read something...and do it sober...chances are you will catch things. Not all times. Most times.

I've written to fellow bloggers, privately, about having typos at their blogs...I've even written to big-time reporters at big-time newspapers, and they've always thanked me for doing so. One thing a writer dislikes more than someone catching their obvious (or not so obvious) typo...is making one and not seeing it...and finding out about it later after others have undoubtedly read it countless times.

The point I'm trying to make here is that we are all human and to err is human...to re-read divine.

I always get a kick out of it when someone who is trying to be "oh so knowledgeable" hits that "submit" button on a news story comment before realizing they are a complete and utter idiot. Or, a more likely scenario, having that fact pointed out, over and over again, by numerous people. While we all make silly typos once in a while - it's another thing altogether (or is it "all together") to mouth off and basically stick your foot IN your mouth...especially when you can't edit after.

And if that isn't enough fun...we have people who are placed in positions of power...even if that power is indeed transient or limited...who attempt to make a cohesive sentence and fail miserably. These people are typically referred to as "copy editors".

Okay, okay...while I admit that last statement was a true statement more times than not...it's not what I'm talking about specifically this time. What I'm talking about is an email which was sent to my friend in Texas after he complained about a food order at "Church's Chicken". I haven't changed anything other than the name, address and telephone number. This way, just in case the person somehow reads this, he/she won't go over to my friend's house and stab him to death. I'd hate to have that on my conscience...plus who would I talk to on the phone about people who can't write their way out of a paper bag...or, in this case "out the box"...to save their lives?

Keep in mind this was written by the Regional General Manager...in a state that may or may not be Texas. (Hey, I seriously don't want my friend killed.) This email has also kept both of us entertained for over three years now...

Date: Tuesday, January 22, 2008, 9:08 AM

My name is Bob Smith RGM with Churchs Chicken on Main Street. I'm so sorry to here, 12min was the wait time before you receiving your order. As well as the sauce from the wings was leaking out the box. Your comments will be address with the Restaurant team and staff. I would like to offer you a free complimentary 12 Boneless Wings reg frie and drink for your delay. Thank you for taking the time on letting us know how to better serve you. Please feel free to contact me at 555-4567

Thank You

Bob Smith

Sometimes you just gotta wonder what some people were thinking...and IF thinking was even involved at all.

What can I say...Church's Chicken...gotta love it! ;)

Scaling Literary Heights and Other Fairy Stories

My totally elegant Soehnle scale.

I just weighed myself and I gained weight. I know I did as I have a swanky scale from one of those Norwegian, Swiss, Swedish or other such Norse-type land where they're typically renown for growing beautiful, lithe women whose skin glows with the dewy innocence of one of those ethereal fairies in that "faked fairy photographs" hoax perpetrated by two little English girls. Those sweet little "innocent" girls, along with the "prim and proper" British doctor who snapped the infamous, but equally fabricated, Loch Ness Monster photograph...admitted years afterwards they duped unsuspecting people whose only fault in life was hoping too much for magical, wondrous things.

Whilst innocence lost is a sad, sad thing...weight loss is another thing altogether.

Anyway, my nifty scale lets me know how much I weigh, how much body fat I have, how much water's in my feet (I guess - as that's the only part that goes ON the scale), and how much muscle I have. It does this all in a couple minutes...going to a doctor to ascertain all this would take hours...and then you'd have to wait for the test results they never tell you about unless they were bad...or they forgot...or they said they called but they didn't as you have caller ID and you know damned well they didn't call at all and "just didn't leave a message" because you weren't there to have it delivered personally.

So, I now weigh a whopping 110.8 pounds.

I can hear that collective sigh of contempt mixed with hatred clear across the Internet here. "One-hundred ten pounds??? Are you insane??? I WISH I weighed 110 pounds!"

But, you don't see my plight. Oh, yeah, I have one. Listen...

...I lost about 15 pounds here in the past year. Of course it comes straight off the boobs...but even without that bit of "too much info" - a person who is tiny to start with doesn't have a lot of room to lose weight. When I got down to about 107 I started to worry...when I got down to 105 I started to freak.

When you weigh a bunch, losing a pound or two or five or ten doesn't necessarily cause a sense of panic... I'm sure it's more like a feeling of elation. When you weigh 107 or 105 you wonder "Just how much more weight CAN I lose before I really have to worry about it?"

So, when I stepped on the scale just now and saw I was almost...almost 111...I felt really good.

You see I've never had to exercise. Never had to jazzercise, never had to aerobocise, yogacise or Tae-Bocise. In fact the only "cise" I do where I think I'm any good at...is criticize.

That I do extremely well. And you can lose a lot of weight doing it...especially if you "worrycise" at the same time.

Mostly I'm critical of my own self...but when I, as a wannabe writer, get a whiff of another "writer's" work, especially when I could have possibly done that work and done that work a LOT better (or at least "quite a bit" better) - I go into criticize mode.

Anyone who fancies themselves a writer knows exactly what I mean. You never read a news article as "just a news article" - you read it as a news article with an inordinate amount of grammatical mistakes. You read all comments below these articles and inwardly complain to yourself, "People who really want to be taken seriously should at LEAST know how to SPELL correctly!" You peruse the book aisles in any massive book store and continually balk and roll your eyes and say extremely naughty words under your breath. You can't conceive of anyone actually making money on something you'd have been embarrassed to show your own mother when you were in third grade...but there they all are, as bright as day. Or day to any vampire who could attest to it in any of those 20,092 books they're selling there that has a vampire as a protagonist or an antagonist or a misogynist. All I know -- is the gist of it...is nearly pure crap...as I could surely do better...

...you know, if I actually tried...or knew someone...or lowered my standards enough.

So, after all my criticism is eventually vented out and all is said and done and I finally drift off to la-la-land in my Ambien-induced coma...I'm hoping the only thing I don't lower, other than my perceived high and mighty literary standards...

...is my weight.

And, I do believe in fairies...I do believe...just like I do believe I'll be a real writer one day.

(Thanks again to my friend, Phil, for planting that "cise" seed in my brain and egging me on to write this after listening to me vent...for the umpteen-millionth time.)

CSI: Cereal Sofa Investigation

Cue some "Who" music here...

"I woke up in a Soho doorway...a policeman knew my name..."

Only let's change the lyrics up a tad, shall we?

"I woke up on the couch this morning...a box of Krispies in my arms..."

Now some explanation, which, again, like another "Who" song..."I can't explain".

Many of you know I am a chronic insomniac. Many of you also know I take Ambien. But the thing that many of you don't know is what Ambien does.

Ambien is in a class of drugs called "hypnotics" - what they do is basically make you forget everything you did while under their influence...in varying degrees. It's like short-term amnesia...and you literally walk around in a haze if you get up in the middle of the night or, like I do, wait for them to "kick in" instead of taking them and heading for the bed. Then you do things you have a vague recollection of -- or no recollection of doing. I've written emails, blogs and typed comments to news stories all over the Internet...all virtually without my knowledge.

Hemingway had his alcohol...I have my Ambien. Unfortunately, Hemingway also had something I didn't have: Much more writing talent. But that doesn't stop me from trying. I'm always hoping for that exceptionally great book idea to pop into my head before I forget it and be crowned the next great American writer of "my generation".

Last night was no exception. Or should I say "this morning". My nights I spend writing, watching television and waiting for the Ambien to kick in.

Now, back to the Ambien. Ambien has been implicated in a lot of strange behaviour people do. People have raided their refrigerators, had sex, cleaned their whole house, weeded their gardens, driven to the store, attempted to drive out of their driveways in their SUVs but been clubbed by their now ex-wives in high profile sport careers (if you can really call golf "a sport"), and I'm sure people have even tried to use it as a defense for murder.

As far as I know I've never driven around, I've never killed someone...and I know for certain I haven't had any sex after taking it. The eating, cleaning, and weeding...I've done.

While I don't mind the "magical elves" effect with the cleaning and the weeding...the eating thing I've never really had a problem with...until yesterday.

I woke up and a box of Rice Krispies was on the sofa next to me. I looked at it all perplexed and wondered, "Damn, that's strange...WHY is there a box of Rice Krispies next to me on the sofa?" In fact...I don't even remember waking up (or going to sleep for that matter)...but there it was...right next to me.

There's only two reasonable explanations for this:

Number 1: I got the box of Rice Krispies out of the cabinet and took them back with me to the sofa...for whatever reason I don't know. It's not like I was covered with tell-tale "Krispies dust" all over the place. No bowl and the package wasn't open (unless I ate a handful of dry cereal, neatly rolled the waxy-inner baggie liner and closed the box back up).

Number 2: My son thought it would be fun to play a practical joke on me and put the Rice Krispies package next to me on the sofa while I was semi-comatose. But I don't remember him coming out nor draping my arms lovingly around the box. Certainly he wouldn't have risked doing this as I could have "regained consciousness" at any point and asked him what the heck he was doing.

Number 3: Elves. C'mon...there's three of them on the friggen package...it coulda happened!

Yes, I know I said there were "two"...but I also stated they were "reasonable". The third one, while not totally impossible...is highly implausible.

I really wouldn't have thought too much more about it until I came home after picking my daughter up from school and my son, with total dead-pan delivery, asked me why I was arm and arm with "Snap, Crackle and Pop" this morning.

While I'm quite good at coming up with far-fetched excuses as to why the check wasn't received by the cable and electric companies...I'm apparently not that creative and drew a total blank.

The only thing I could possibly consider is that I wondered how nourishing the ingredients were or that I somehow found myself plagued by a comment at the paper which might have remotely referenced Rice Krispies...and in my altered state decided I would respond with complete and irrefutable information by getting the box out.

While I haven't checked online...that's the one I'm sticking with; I also haven't checked online for any photos of me on YouTube...and I don't intend to.

So let's cue that Who music again, shall we? The opening line from "Eminence Front" sums all of this up nicely I think...

"The sun shines...
People forget..."

It's Just a Matter of Time

Well, it happened yet again to me last night.

I call my on-call doctor at 2:00 a.m. to let her know I have increasing right-side abdominal pain. Pain, by the way, which I mentioned when I saw a physician on Monday. Pain, which I mentioned when I saw another one on Tuesday, and pain, which I mentioned to yet another one, on Wednesday.

But, I guess I broke some unwritten on-call doctor rule: I woke her up.

I didn't mean to wake her up - I don't know what time she goes to bed - if she would have called me at 2:00 a.m., I wouldn't have had any problem with it. And, silly me for not timing the severity of my abdominal pain at a "more convenient" time for her.

I got the requisite "Are you vomiting, diarrhea, fever, etc.?" questions - and I answer, "No, no, no, well, yes...but I'm on a drug that does that anyway." The rest of the conversation (and my fleeting ongoing phone-call thoughts) goes a bit like this...

"My pain? Right lower side - it started getting really severe about 30 minutes ago...altho it seems a bit better now. I was just concerned it was appendicitis."

Well, I'm 48 - apparently not the "ideal" age for appendix problems. Silly me, again...I should have checked online first before I called...altho I've been chastised by nearly every single doctor about online self-diagnosis, even if that diagnosis was via WebMD or MayoClinic.com.

"Can you wait until tomorrow to go to Pri-Med?"

"I hope so...what do YOU think? I called you to make sure it didn't sound like appendicitis or something else to really worry about."

"Well, only YOU know if it's bad enough to go to the ER or wait. Apparently it was bad enough for you to wake ME up at 2:00 a.m. to tell me about it."

Well, so sorry to have bothered you - next time I'll try to time my increasing pain better - in fact I'll just set up on appointment next week to have it. (No, I didn't say this...but I was thinking it the whole time.)

Bear in mind I was once verbally scolded by a doctor who said I shouldn't eat apples at night. It felt like a big chunk was lodged in my throat...and, after waiting about five hours for it to dissolve or slide down, I finally gave up and called. I remember the exact exchange like it was yesterday...

"You should be in bed at 4:00 a.m., SLEEPING, like I'm going to get back to doing once I hang up the phone. If you can still breathe...YOU'RE NOT CHOKING!"

"Well, I didn't say I was choking, it just feels like it's stuck in my throat like right where..."

Click.

Yes, he hung up on me in mid-sentence. This happened about eight months ago.

So, after I hung up the phone last night...I cried and cried.

I don't want to be a pain in the butt - I don't want to call doctors on weekends - I don't want to call them at 2:00 a.m. - but, isn't it also a fact that an "on-call" doctor...IS on-call?

I didn't call because I had an eyelash in my eye. I didn't call because my cat scratched me. I called because I honestly was worried I was having something which could lead to a even worsening situation and/or death.

But, after I cried, I cried and cried some more -- feeling like I'm just a waste of skin and promising myself the next time, if something happens off-hours or on weekends, I'll just ignore it - preferring death to their guilt-trip-laden third-degree "How dare you bother ME!" treatment.

Seriously, I felt worse AFTER I hung up than before I called...each of these times...and just ended up taking my Ambien and hoping I'd wake up the next day.

But after several nonchalant dismissals of this nature (for both myself and my children), I'm wondering how many people actually get treated this way - or is it just that I've gotten the "red-flagged...oh it's that whiner again" reputation? Did I do anything I oughtn't to have done? How should I handle things like this in the future?

I don't sit around my house thinking of ways I can piss off yet another doctor. I don't like going to the Emergency Room to waste six hours of my life. But I don't want to be another one of those "Oh, she shouldn't have waited to call" death statistic, either.

I fear if I call to complain or to report them (it's happened with base doctors several times)...I'm sure to get treated worse in the future...and it's not like I can change doctors like I do underwear. So, have any of you been where I've been with this? And if you have...or even if you haven't, what is your suggestion to me?


Truth be told, I've had some very nice responses from on-call doctors...especially the ones in Birmingham. In fact, I've never been treated badly by any doctors in Birmingham...why, I haven't a clue.

(Written, but not published, about a year ago...on a Friday.)