More specifically, this quote (although you should check out the whole article/video):
”Theories flooded the Web about his motivation for this strange bit of hockey voodoo. One theory claimed that a coach accidently touched Kennedy’s stick during the clip, and the Penguin was licking off the bad vibes. ‘No, no that’s not it,’ he said.”
So I guess I posed a theory which was considered valid enough to be part of the Kennedy interview. Sure, he shot it down, but I feel as if I made a valuable contribution to the sports journalism world.
*****************************************
whoot
*edit* I just got done talking Tommy out of falling for a mail scam. Seems someone sent a letter to him, even though they didn’t use his first name in the address – just his last name and the “Jr.” Evidentally, he won exactly $50,000 from a random drawing in England, and he needs to contact them soon to collect. He puzzled over whether it was valid for a while until I explained that there was just no way he was picked randomly for this exact amount, in an overseas contest that he never entered…let alone by a company that doesn’t even know his first name. He then assured me, “Oh yeah, that’s what I was thinking…” even though I know full well that he’d have contacted this people on his own in a heartbeat without my input.
Afterwards, he mused that it’s probably best that he doesn’t win money, since “I made money last year so not having this might mean I’ll actually get some back at the end of the year.”
Now, I’m allowing for the idea that he could be onto something, but Tommy had me baffled earlier tonight. I talked to him at approximately 9:30 PM tonight, and he mentioned how he had a load of dishes ready to run in the dishwasher, but he wanted to run them at 1:00 in the morning. I, being an idiot, asked why.
“So I can brargle flossum guhr ready bin la morning.” (So he can have them be ready in the morning)
“Then why don’t you just run them now?”
“pringle dink ween mess hand bridge…”
As far as I can tell, the answer had something to do with “using less amperage” at that time of night. Being around him and knowing how he thinks, I can only assume that he believes that the dishwasher running at that time, won’t be influenced by other appliances running at the same time, and will work a lot more efficiently. I…just don’t know what to say. I’m not an electrical engineer, so I could be wrong, but this seems a little odd to me.
For some reason, I’m reminded of this scene from Blazing Saddles:
So I’m about to leave PT’s apartment, visit him, and then pack up my stuff to head home. I had been there for a long time, and was getting antsy. That, and his AC is on the fritz during a particularly hot period. It works, but it condenses so much water that it drips. How much, you ask? I put a bucket underneath it and it only takes an hour to fill up. Kinda makes it pointless to leave on unless I know I can monitor it. Leaving it on overnight isn’t an option.
I also needed some time away to unwind a bit. I came to a scary realization when I was wandering down the hall in just my bath towel. Since the fans were on, there was one big-ass fan in the hallway to circulate air and I paused when I walked past it. It blew straight up my towel, which gave me a bit of a thrill. I twisted this way and that, while letting the air flow around my naughty bits, while PT’s fat, mouthy cat stared at me with a look that was a mixture of apathy and disgust. Right then I realized, that I’m this guy:
Yes – I’m John Arbuckle. That kind of hit home, so I retreated back to the bathroom. I might be worried that I’m beginning to have some mid-life crisis or something, but I’m fairly sure that I had that when I was 19. According to my math, I’m gonna be dead before I hit 40. Whee.
Anyhow, as I’m about to head out the door, I get a call from DJ. He asked me, “Um…have you been outside yet?” When I said I was heading out to see PT (although I was going to head to the apartment parking garage and take his car), DJ said I should take a look at my car. I peeked out the window to see my bumper half-attached and lying on the road. FUCK. Seems some girl hit my car while trying to make too sharp of a turn into a side road. I was parked legally and well before the turn, so it was not my fault. Her mom left a note, which was cool, and asked me to call her. I called “Tekla” up and got her insurance info. She and her 18 yr old daughter have the same agent, I guess. All and all, not really what I needed. I checked the mailbox labels in the lobby and realized this woman lives right next door, on PT’s floor.
This has not been the first run-in I’ve had with PT’s neighbors, particularly the ones on his floor. There are 3 floors to his building, and the first 2 floors have 6 apartments each. His floor is a bit nicer, and there are only 4 apartments taking up the same amount of space as the 6 per floor did below. The neighbor directly across from him unfortunately thinks I’m a creepy pervert. Be that as it may, she still got the wrong impression. A while back, Pt and I were getting on the elevator on the 1st floor to head to his. This was during his 1st stay at home, way back before his transplant. I was half-asleep, as I had gotten little sleep before waking up early to take him into the hospital for blood work, and then to another doctor in a seperate building. We then spent most of the day doing random errands and shopping for the apartment. We needed something from his place, so we had to make a brief pitstop. I wasn’t paying attention in the elevator on the way up and the door opened. Some 20-something, reasonably cute woman came in – I assumed that this was our floor, so I got out. PT started to say something like, “Um…uh you might want to…” I figured he was going to head back down to the car and wait or something, so I just assured him I’d be right back. The confused woman got on, and I took a right towards PT’s door.
I went to unlock the door and got confused. On PT’s door, there’s a regular keyhole and a deadlock keyhole. I only saw one keyhole and it wasn’t in the right place. I was too tired to figure this out, so I tried my key anyways. Nothing. I wiggled it, retried it, and even tried the deadbolt key. Suddenly, the door opened up and some very confused/wary black dude in a wife-beater tank top stared at me. I looked at him, looked at the stairwell to my right, and realized there were still stairs going up. I was only on floor 2. Oops. I mumbled to the guy, “Um..sorry, I must have the wrong door” and retreated upstairs. As I left, I heard the door close and lock. With me looking as tired and confused as I did, he must have thought I was some crackhead in the wrong neighborhood. I made it up the steps and came out on the 3rd floor. There I saw the woman from the elevator coming at me. She got very confused. Now let’s look at it from her point of view:
She gets on an elevator, and it opens up with 2 strange guys inside. Knowing she can’t back out gracefully, she still gets on and sees one of them bolt for some strange reason, while the other guy mutters something almost unintelligible. She stays on the elevator with the remaining guy, who clearly looks like he has some type of medical condition, both due to his appearance and his slower, uneven walking style. She rides the seemingly slow elevator to the top and slides out past the strange man. As she’s leaving, she becomes very aware that this guy is following her. As she gets halfway to her apartment door, the door to the top of the steps (beside both her door and her neighboor’s door across the hall) opens up and the OTHER guy from the elevator comes bursting through. She now realizes she’s trapped between 2 strange men, both looking slightly worn down and crazy, and pauses. I somehow figured out what this seemed like, and merely turned towards PT’s door without a word to him, and opened it up. She had to have thought it was a clever plan to corner her and have our way with her or something – I let both of us in and heard both the lock and deadbolt quickly slide into place in the neighbor’s door. Nothing like creeping out 2 neighbors in the span of a minute, huh?
That isn’t the only time I’ve creeped her out, though. When it came clear that PT needed to go back to the hospital a few days ago, the visiting nurse called 911 and had an ambulance crew move him out. I heard them buzz in below, so I figured I’d go out into the hall and direct them once they got off the elevator. I stepped into the hallway and saw the woman from across the hall and some dude hanging out next to some boxes while waiting for the elevator. I stopped, unsure of what to do while they stared at me. Do I stay there and wait, further creeping her out? Do I announce my intentions and tell them I’m waiting for ambulance people? I figured both of those options were kinda weird, so I did the least weird thing I could think of and turned around back into the apartment. Of course, they still had to wonder why I would come out, stare at them, then wander back inside without a word. I heard her say something like, “what the hell was…” but at the time I was worried more about PT than being labeled “crazy neighbor guy.” I listened at the door until I heard the elevator open. I peeked outside, saw the ambulance people, and let them in. I was kinda hoping the woman saw me doing that, so she’d know I was waiting for them, but who knows if she did. Sigh.
Although I’m fairly sure this guy didn’t live in the apartment building, what exactly is the proper ettiquette for this situation? I was heading into PT’s garage under the building with 2 bags of trash. The dumpster is located behind the building, so the easiest way to it is through his garage door. The door is automatic and will close at random intervals unless something blocks the sensor. I had planned on quickly throwing the bags in, so I didn’t bother blocking the sensor first. I walked through the door to see some guy piling different objects from the dumpster into piles. Upon seeing me, he quickly said, “Don’t worry – I’ll clean it up!”
Do I say:
A) “Thanks – I appreciate it.”
B) “Doesn’t bother me a bit – I don’t even live here.”
C) “Here are 2 more bags if you want.”
D) mumble something that sounds like, “uh, ok.”
Looking back, I wish I had picked something similar to B. I figure A comes across like he has to answer to me, and C comes across as being kind of a prick. Unfortunately, I had no ready answer, so I chose D. Just then, the garage door came down, so I had no easy way back out. I just dumped the bags and said, “Take care” while he muttered something about, “The things people throw away…man.” I walked the entire way back around the building and luckily had my key so that I could get back in. So tell me – what’s the proper thing to say in that situation?
Getting back to the woman whose daughter hit my car, I was actually kind of worried that it might be the one from across the hall. It was the one on the same side of the hall as PT, though. That’s 2 out of 3 neighbors on his floor that I’ve had issues with. The only one left are a korean couple that keep to themselves, so hopefully I won’t complete the floor.
Before I sign off on this puppy, I’ll leave you with a video I’m about to post in a sadly relevant topic on another message board. Enjoy “Chinese M.C. Hammer:”
PT got readmitted to the hospital today. Over the last week, I had been taking care of both him and the apartment. The hospital initially released him to help his mood, in hopes of that triggering his appetite. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. Over the last week, he probably ate as much as I do in one sitting. His legs/arms are frighteningly thin, for a guy who used to play defensive line in high school football. At one point, he used to weigh in the 230 lb range. Now? 155 lbs. His musclature (fairly sure i misspelled that) is equivalent to that of a 6 year old, his physical therapist told him. I tried to lighten the mood by assuring him that he could still kick my 3 year old niece’s ass, but it had mixed results.
I now have a ton of respect for those in the health care industry, especially nurses. As PT was so weak, he really couldn’t get out of bed after the first night home. That night gave me a crash-course on what I was going to be called into duty for. I checked in on him late that night to find him in the bathroom and an ungodly smell was coming from his bedroom. Evidentally, the bed pan was put into use. After covering my lower face with my shirt, I attempted to hold it out at arm’s length and dump it in the spare bathroom toilet. Normally, I pride myself on having a strong stomach, but I started dry heaving and realized I was about to puke inside my own shirt. I kept it together and cleaned things up as best I could. I then ventured back to the bathroom and checked in on PT. From what he told me, he woke up, knew he wasn’t going to make it, and afterwards tried to clean up as best he could in the tub. He then found he couldn’t get back out. I steeled myself, opened the door, and did what i could to both help him out and make him feel less self-conscious. Unfortunately, there was no easy way to help him out. I still have a shitty knee, and there was a good amount of blood smeared around both him and the tub. For some reason, his finger was pricked near the cuticle for a blood test, and hadn’t healed. It continued to drip blood for 4 days straight. I ended up calling PT’s friend DJ to help me get him back to bed.
The next morning, the home care nurse arrived. She showed up every other day to take blood samples, and flush out the lines that he has attached to his arm to allow easy sampling. That’s done with saline syringes. On the days she doesn’t come, it fell to me or DJ to do this. PT also has a “t-tube” which is a tube running directly from his gall bladder through his abdomen. It drips bile into a bag, which needed dumped out every day. When I first got the crash-course on doing all this, I was a bit overwhelmed. Before the nurse arrived, however, I went in his room to find something that looked like a M*A*S*H unit. PT was in bed, bedpan mercifully empty, but blood was EVERYWHERE. He had it soaked through his shirt, all over the sheets, soaked into both the pillow cases and the pillows, and caked on his wrist/hand. He has a tendency to fidget with bandages, and the bleeding soaked through them, so he just took them off. I cleaned up as best I could before the nurse got there, but I wasn’t that effective. The previous night’s events had gotten to me, so sleep wasn’t happening. I maybe got 3 hours. In the span of 24 hours, I had to deal with blood, piss, shit, bile, puke, and needed to inject saline into his veins. I was also responsible for making sure that he got every single medication at the proper time, from 8am to 8pm, with stops along the way at noon and 5. Needless to say, I was a bit frazzled.
It got easier to deal with throughout the week, although I never got used to bedpan duty. PT got weaker and weaker, and refused to eat. Both the depression and the meds he was on made food taste bad, but he wasn’t even trying. He just had no desire. He’d drink a supplement drink every now and then, but had hardly any solid food. The thing about PT is that he’ll go out of his way not to do something if you’re pushy about it. I didn’t know exactly the best method of getting him to eat, all the while letting him know how fragile his health was appearing. I tried everything – taking a written inventory of what was available that I could make, asking for requests, placing unasked for food under his nose, guilt…everything. After Monday’s blood test results came back, the transplant coordinator called me to give me the news. His protein levels were a tad low, and his white blood cell count was something like…1200? I think 5000 is normal. I don’t know what that means, other than he had 1/4 what he should have had. She asked me if I wanted him readmitted.
I think I covered the whole role reversal thing earlier, and I was just starting to get used to the idea that my main role is to keep PT alive. Now I’m supposed to make the call to get him out of his home? He may not have been eating well, but he had his own bed, and could curl up with his cat. He could sleep without being woken up repeatedly by nurses. I didn’t know what to do, so I decided to let him stay there but reinforce the food concept. Unfortunately, it didn’t work. Today, the nurse came and got his vitals. PT was weaker than before, and after being weighed, we saw he lost 9 lbs in the last week. He had a low-grade fever at 100.2 and low blood pressure. The decision was a lot easier, although I let the nurse play a bit more of the “bad guy” role. I would nod my head up and down behind PT when she’d make a case for admitting him. With PT being as stubborn as he is, he can hold a grudge for a LONG time. I didn’t need him to hate me for wanting what’s best for him, although I obviously supported the nurse’s opinion. She called 911, as I had no hope of getting him down his hallway, through the building’s hallways, and into the elevator and down 3 steps to his jeep. They came quickly, and loaded him into a chair. PT wasn’t thrilled, but he later confessed that he knew this was coming. I did as well, and that’s a major reason why I’m running on 2 hours worth of sleep.
They took him into the emergency ward. I stayed behind so that I could shower (bed pans, blood, and bile – oh my!) and gather up stuff he needed. Luckily, a lot of it was still packed together. I kinda wish I had decided to nap first, since I got there to find he wasn’t in a room yet. I could either sit in the tiny room he was placed in for the time being, or spend it with the colorful cast of characters you find in the emergency room waiting area. I chose the waiting area. I stayed out there for 3 hours, trying not to make eye contact and avoid the guy who would randomly get REALLY LOUD, and then either burst into tears or fits of laughter, while confined to a wheelchair with a guard nearby. He finally got moved up to his old floor, which was kinda nice, as he already knew the nurses. The doc came in pretty soon after, and checked things out. Evidentally I didn’t look so good. Not only did one of the receptionists in emergency ask if I was admitting myself, but the doc upstairs told me I should go home and rest. After checking PT out, he discovered that PT’s T-tube (bile) was funky, and that bile was gathering in PT’s abdomen, causing pain. Lovely.
He needed to go under for a minor surgery to correct this immediately. I figured it would take a while, so I wanted to get back to the apartment. To be nice, I asked, “Well, I guess I’ll take…um…unless you want me to stick around.” He then said that’d be nice, as he was being wheeled away.
…
I sat in his empty hospital room for 2+ hours. No sign of PT. I was drifting off, my head nodding like crazy, and finally realized that I could very well be in there for a long ass time, miss the Pens game, and find that PT was still conked out from anesthesia. I didn’t feel great about leaving, but I at least left a note. After all was said and done, I had been at the hospital for about 8 hours, and was barely running on any sleep. I got back without crashing, drank some Mt Dew, and watched my Penguins lose the Stanley Cup to Detroit. Honestly? I was half-watching the game. I had little interest in it. Usually, I see the Stanley Cup and get chills. When the Pens get eliminated from the playoffs, I always get depressed and sad. I saw both the Pens lose AND Detroit win the Cup. Nothing. I just looked at the tv, shook my head, and switched it off. After today, I guess it really didn’t matter. Maybe a week from now I’ll randomly start swearing, but I just have no reaction for now.
In other news, I think I just got another reader – my cousin just got a link to this puppy. Hi Anne. No sharing anything incriminating, or I reserve the right to edit that puppy right out.
In honor of getting what appears to be my 3rd or 4th reader, I figured I’d make this entry a shout-out to Durin. PT’s home now, although I had to wait over 6 hours from the time he was supposed to be discharged, to the time that he was finally able to leave. I brought along his PSP to help entertain me, but my patience only lasts so long, and the agonizing wait caused me to find new ways to entertain myself. That included: Stealing hospital socks, stealing rubber gloves, inflating a glove into a beach ball, trying to fit a glove over my head and then inflate it, playing with PT’s new cane, balancing his cane on my toe/nose/forehead, balancing the cane on my knee with counterbalances consisting of a pitcher and breathing measurer on either side, making impromptu squirt guns out of syringes, and watching about 2 straight hours of People’s Court knock-offs.
Not only did I hardly get any sleep last night, but I was unable to nap while waiting at the hospital. This would normally mean a nap in the evening, but Tommy called last night while PT and I were watching the Pens game at the hospital. Apparently, Tommy planned on staying the night at PT’s. I asked him if PT knew about this, and while hearing the garbled answer which amounted to “not yet,” I looked over and saw the fear register in PT’s eyes. I handed the phone to PT, and silently gave him my sympathies. See, Tommy is headed to Nashville this weekend, and figured it’d be easier to stay at PT’s, then head to the airport tomorrow morning. He told PT that while he was down there, Steve’s ex-wife was taking him to some party and would introduce him to a few of her friends. Tommy then told PT that he planned on meeting one worth a couple million, hitting it off, then marrying her and getting a nice prenuptial agreement signed. Right…because he’s just THAT damn smooth that he can pull it off. I’m not saying her friends can’t be approached. I know for a fact that they can. However, there’s a big difference between me hooking up with one of her bridemaids a while back, and Tommy getting hitched based on a short, 2-day weekend. Then again, this is the same guy that uses the phrase, “When I hit the lottery…” about 6 times a day, so hoping against hope shouldn’t surprise me.
I knew this was going to be a long day, because Tommy can tire a person out quicker than anything. When the person is already tired, this is a deadly combo. I don’t know how to explain it – he literally sucks the life out of you. As soon as he got to PT’s (for some reason, he went to the nearby restaurant first, and left a voicemail that he was there and he’d see me there. I guess I was supposed to get him or something? I ignored it, of course, and waited till he buzzed the intercom. Why, I have no idea, as he has a key to get in the lobby.) Once he got in the apartment, he was talking a mile a minute about NOTHING. He mainly bitched about work, and felt the need to comment on anything and everything. PT was in pain as it was, so this was clearly annoying him no end. Tommy has no concept of other people needing downtime. Even when my mother called, Tommy kept trying to comment on the one side of the conversation he heard.
He DID buy KFC tonight, so I’ll cut him some slack. Still, his thought process is a bit weird. He actually left the apartment because he saw a parking space open up out front. He went to his car, drove around the block, then parked in that spot. He then came back up. I guess this is to get out of here easier tomorrow (which I’m all for), but he really caused himself more hassle than if he had just walked to his car where it was, tomorrow. He’s now presumably passed out on an air mattress in the living room.
In other news, I’ll be heading home for the first time in a while tomorrow. I’ll head back up after the soccer game on Sunday, and then who knows when I’ll be back home again.
I guess it’s been a bit since I updated. I added a few quick comments to let the 2 or 3 readers know what was going on, but I ought to do it in an official post.
PT’s big gay liver is hooked up, and seems to be working well. I went to visit him in the ICU right after the surgery, and man – he looked like hell. He had tubes coming out of everywhere, and was unable to speak because of it. His eyes were glazed, and his face was swollen to the point where one eye was swollen shut. He was unable to see out of the open one, as well. I was there with my mother and uncle Tommy, and I have to say that I was a bit disconcerted with how he was doing. He was semi-with it, though, and was able to gesture a bit. He pointed to his eyes and waved his hand to show he couldn’t see a damn thing, and did the universal “I could use something to drink” gesture, which showed him raising an imaginary glass and tipping it back. Obviously, that wasn’t a possibilty, and you could see how aggravated he was by being unable to do anything but lay there in pain. I let him know I was there, but there wasn’t much of a conversation. Tommy just stood there, patted his arm a few times, and mumbled something. I actually think PT made more sense, but I digress…
The next day (or maybe 6 hours later - I forget), DJ and I showed up and he looked a LOT better. He couldn’t talk yet due to the intubation, but he could gesture more coherently, and was even able to write stuff down on a clipboard to communicate. He could see a bit, which was nice. Unfortunately, while the nursing staff in the ICU seemed very capable, he got the misfortune to have 2 male nurses assigned to him for the 1st 24 hours. Their names were Richard and Tomo. Richard was noticably gay (not that there’s anything wrong with that), and PT was asked by me whether his new liver was requesting Richard’s services, specifically. I got a pantomimed bitch-slap for that. Tomo was from some european country, I think, and was a bit more butch. Since that first day, though, the nursing staff specifically charged with checking in on PT has been a lot more feminine and way cuter. Although PT wouldn’t mind getting out of there, I’m sure they help make his stay a little better, and they make my visits fun, too.
The usual routine for my visits are that I call before I leave to see if PT needs anything other than the usual. He only had the intubation tube for 2 days) I always go to the nearby store and pick him up a newspaper. Sometimes he asks for a Sprite, sometimes other things like VHS tapes. While the ICU rooms don’t provide cable, they wheeled a tv/vcr combo into his room. It has an antenna that lets him pick up a slightly fuzzy NBC feed, as well as a fuzzier PBS feed. That’s about it. I brought it some classic movies that he still had VHS copies of, and this apparently made him popular in the ICU. Nurses sometimes come in to watch with him, and other patients with similar tv set-ups have borrowed a few. I drive the 10-15 minute trip, pull into the parking garage, and make my way to floor 3. While the posted visiting hours are pretty strict for the ICU (they have 10-10:30AM, 2-2:20 PM, and 8-8:30 ONLY), I usually stay longer. Apparently PT’s nurses are more easy-going about this, or maybe someone pulled a string. I usually just go back to his room whenever I get there instead of waiting till 8, and then hanging out until at least 9. For the first few times, I had to wear gloves and a face mask, but now they just ask that I wash my hands.
PT’s been recovering fast, though. In fact, the docs/nurses are surprised by how fast. Soon after the surgery (and re-surgery, although it was minor – some connections weren’t tight enough, apparently), I got a call around 1AM. It was PT telling me, “I took a shit!” I wasn’t sure what else to say but “Congratulations,” but evidentally this happened well ahead of schedule. The nurses actually didn’t believe him when he said he felt the need, but he proved them wrong. What I find amazing, is that he did this while 2 female nurses were in the room doing their thing. I can’t even piss at a urinal with some due nearby, so I couldn’t imagine pooping with 2 strange women in the same room. He informed me that through this whole process, modesty has pretty much gone out the window.
Other than that, not a whole lot’s going on. I feel slightly better and more accustomed to spending so much time away from home, but I still hate being away from everything. I actually need to figure out what I’m doing for Easter tommo….today. I think my mom is doing dinner at her place, but I’d feel bad about leaving PT. I could maybe visit him in the afternoon, then head home, then head back to Pittsburgh later or the next day. Thing is, I don’t know if I really feel like driving that much in so short a time. PT said he wouldn’t feel slighted by any means if I went home, but I’m just not so sure what I want to do. Hopefully I’ll figure it out soon, as it’s already technically Easter. To celebrate and explain my post title, here’s a pic:
As I type this, I’m currently down at PT’s place in Pittsburgh. I guess his new liver is imminent, as he would have gotten one a few days ago, had the guy above him on the last been incompatible with it. Since all the hospital was really doing was charging him rent until the liver came, they agreed to release him as long as someone would be able to be with him should anything change, and to be able to drive him to things like his tri-weekly dialysis appointments. This is where I come in. I packed enough clothes to last me for a while, and between me and his friend DJ, we’re pretty much going to be around him 24/7.
I suppose I’m being petty, but I know it’s going to be driving me nuts after all too long. I already miss my nook at home, with all of my stuff. Obviously I have internet here, and can still remain in contact with the outside world, but I guess I just feel really uncomfortable knowing that I could be here for a while. And then I realize that things are 100x worse for PT, so then I just start to feel guilty…either way, I’m still doing whatever he needs done, and that isn’t so bad. He’s a bit cranky, though, not only with the medical issues, but the fact that his friends had cleaners come by his place and now he can’t find a ton of things. He keeps going on about how they left 2 blankets worth $25 each, yet they tossed away a $500 duvet. If I knew what that was, I’d sympathize more. I guess it’s a pretentious blanket.
Tomorrow I’ll be heading into Wheeling, WV with my mother and sister. The 28th was my mom’s birthday, so we’re taking her to a concert at the casino in Wheeling. The concert is probably one of the weirdest combos ever. It’s Don Rickles…and Regis Philbin. I bought 2 tickets and then suckered my sister into going while I go play cards. She’s probably going to fight me over who sees the concert, with the loser having to go. My poker game has been ok, lately. I’m not doing so well in large tournaments, and I keep busting right before we make the money. That’s called bubbling, and it sucks balls. The ice skater is still around, although she’s ONCE AGAIN pissed off. It goes in cycles – she gets all huffy, then hangs up in mid conversation, and refuses to make contact again. For me, being hung up on is one of my top 3 pet peeves, so I refuse to get a hold of her. If she hangs up on me, she can fucking rot for all I care. This time, she just logged off on me, so it’s tricky to judge. It began when she slipped up and mentioned that she is paying some dude to mentor her at poker. I was instantly curious to hear details, as this was the same girl that just LAST NIGHT told me sincerely that the best way for anyone to learn the game of poker is to learn by playing. Books or any other method are unnecessary. So yeah - I wanted to hear why the complete 180, to where she thinks it’s a good idea to actually pay someone for lessons. She became instantly evasive, which of course irritated me and got me even more curious. Why hide the details? She finally told me that she was paying a guy friend of hers $20 an hour, and while she just started doing this yesterday, she and he had discussed the idea for a while, now.
Yeah. Didn’t make sense to me, either – especially with the conversation from last night in my head. So I kept asking questions, all the while taking great care not to comment one way or another as to if I approved or not. She assumed I hated the idea, even though I never made a comment that would confirm or support that point of view. Here’s the tail end of the conversation we had:
xxx: i think it is a good move
doox: ok then
xxx: therefore
xxx: it is a good move
xxx: i wouldnt work with him if i didnt think i could get anything from him
doox: good luck with it then
xxx: and im pretty sure i can improve my game by working with him since he is a master of online poker playing
doox: you don’t have to justify yourself – my opinion is unnecessary
xxx: this is how i came to my results of working with him
doox: ok
xxx: and he doesnt offer this to many people
xxx: he watches people
xxx: he doesnt look for rich suckers with no brains
xxx: he dumped midnight cuz he was too stupid
xxx: hehe
doox: ok
xxx: fuck i just folded a hand i wanted to play
xxx: this is why i cant do this while in a game
doox: don’t blame me – i told you 5 minutes ago that i had yet to give my opinion and wasn’t asking you to justify yourself. i’ll log off so i don’t get further blame
xxx: nice jealous reaction
xxx: ffs (stands for “for fucks sake”)
xxx: whatever (she logs off, here)
doox: don’t tell me what it is – i’m refusing to be blamed
doox: that’s your interpretation, not mine
If you’re confused, she blamed me for her missing out on a hand that she folded. Even though I was clearly not trying to actively continue the topic. I kept my feelings to myself, but I definitely wanted to hear the details. I’ll continue to keep my opinion to myself on the topic, as the only 2 people that read this don’t play poker, so it doesn’t really matter. I copy/pasted this and emailed it to her as well, so that she could read it after she predictably flamed out of her tournament. I refuse to be the scapegoat for her results, as it’s clear her inability to control her emotions is her biggest downfall at the poker table. I went out of my way to not be opionated on this, as I knew she’d get pissy, defensive (as she obviously did by her constant need to justify herself), and then blame me for her mistakes. The ball is in her court – I’m too preoccupied with other shit to lose sleep over it, and I’m no longer willing to settle for the constant blow-up, cold war, reconnect cycle that keeps repeating itself. That’s pushed me to the point where it’s easier to get along with her than to deal with the roller coaster.
Anyways, i’m going to finish up the game I’m in (57th out of 122 left. 468 signed up and 63 get paid. I fully plan on doing my best, but past history shows that I end up taking a bad beat and then get whittled down to nothing, eventually busting out within inches of the payout) and head to bed – I gotta be up in the morning to get PT to his appointment. To close this emo-filled bitch-fest that is sure to cause more angst if the skater ever remembers how to find the blog link, here’s an awesome collection or 2 of GI Joe PSA’s. Remember that cartoon? They used to do PSA’s where cartoon kids were in certain “bad” situations, and would have the Joe’s come by and help them out, then give them valuable life lessons. Some geniuses have taken those PSA’s and dubbed over them. The results are some of the funniest, most random shit ever. (I dare you not to bust out laughing at “pork chop sandwiches!)
PT has taken a slight turn for the worse. He’s still in good spirits, and my sister has cut his hair for him, but his liver isn’t doing so well. A transplant looks more and more like a real necessity, and to be honest – what are the chances of that for a guy who drank as much as PT did? I thought about a House episode I watched a week ago – it had a sister with liver issues, and a brother who donated half of his to her. (He had Hep C and she died later, but that’s irrelevant) It made me wonder if I’d be brave enough to be able to do that for him. I still don’t know, and I feel like shit to admit that. Who else would do it and possibly be a match? My mother? Her’s probably isn’t in great shape, either. Tommy/Steve? Neither one of them are related to PT by blood, so who knows if they’re a match. (Steve’s a former foster kid my grandmother took in, and Tommy was adopted by her) That leaves me, and I have no idea what my blood type is, let alone his. I don’t drink and am in reasonably good shape, but the thought of donating part of my body while I’m still alive is beyond me. Knowing PT, he probably wouldn’t let me. Either way, I feel like a horrible person, which really doesn’t help matters.
Poker is probably a bad idea right now. Downswings happen, and I seem to be in one. I had someone on the ropes a few times in a winner-take-all type of game, and I kept on getting in with the best of it…yet losing to the only 2-3 cards in the deck that could help my opponent. Since I’m close to the edge, I uncharacteristically snapped and swore at the guy. I entered a few other games, and they all ended the same way. If I got my money in with a 50/50 chance, I’d always lose on the last card dealt. I got fed up and self-excluded myself for a week from both sites that I play on. I’m tired of losing money as well as my peace of mind. I’m tired of seeing players who I felt better than, seem to excel, while I muck around and slowly bleed my bankroll away. I’m just not in the right frame of mind to do anything but get in trouble, so I’ll try to eliminate the ways that I can do that. My knee is still fucked up, but slowly getting better. I’ll be missing tomorrow night’s game, which is just as well. I’d most likely end up getting in a fight. The last time I felt like this, I screeched my car to a stop, got out, and challenged a pedestrian to a fight just because he was looking at me a bit too long. That was shortly before my grandpa succumbed to cancer.
I’m not really sure what to do with myself. When I get like this, I start eliminating things from my life – whether it be people, ways to entertain myself, or whatever. I’m not sure what’ll be next. For the sake of my one reader (Hi Jen), maybe I should eliminate my emo-ish writing style, because reading this last entry would make me want to carve My Chemical Romance lyrics into my arm. Speaking of, I still really like this song that I’ll end the blog with:
*edit* Jesus, did this turn out fucked-up or what? I forgot this site doesn’t let you link pics. It makes you use their shitty uploading system that insists on sending up a spam “mini-window” everytime you hover over a hosted pic. Editing the pics in after uploading them is a major pain in the ass, so I’ll just delete the img bookends and hopefully you can copy/paste them or something. My apologies.
I just uploaded a bunch to photobucket, so let’s see what we got:
We’ll start with some Vegas assortments…a few night pics of the Strip:
I earlier mentioned that my brother is a Star Trek nerd and went to Vegas to go to the convention. Here’s my “disguise” that I used to crash the convention:
Here’s my shower. The weird thing about it, is that it has water jets above the on/off handle. They spray water at chest level, so I simply call them the “nipple cleansers.” I kinda like ‘em, but I don’t get it:
Here’s a shot between the last 2 pics, with my favorite seat in the house. You can also see the “bed” that I used for several hours that I mentioned in my last entry:
I’d include pics of leaves turning colors at this point, but the ice skater originally requested those and she’s being what my friend Parker refers to as a “C-word.”
I uploaded a few other pics – mostly funny gifs and pics that I use to randomly spice up internet chat forums. Here’s just one – yes, it’s totally wrong, but I lol’d anyways:
So I’m sitting here, donking it up in a cheap-o tourney, since I don’t trust myself not to go on mega-rage if I play higher and lose once or twice. I’m now wearing a knee brace as a result of my game tonight. Let me back up and go chronologically on this one. I may be a bit distracted as I’m tired, in pain, and playing a game…bear with me.
So the same night I made my last post, I called PT up to see how he was. He sounded ok, actually. He told me exactly what all was going on, the outlook, and his chances as he understood it. He said he was given about 80/20 on him getting through this ok. The 20% was a matter of conversation on his part, and thought it would be best to explain to me what he wanted to happen if he didn’t make it. Great. I now know what type of service he wants, how his “remains” should be handled, and where his most valuable things are, and how to go about putting them in my possession. Yeah, it’s nice to know he trusts me with this stuff over everyone else in the family, but it really wasn’t a fun talk. I later told him we’d be down to see him, to give him a heads-up.
I didn’t get to sleep until late. Or early, as the sun was peeking through while I was still staring at the ceiling. I finally dozed off and woke up at around noon. I felt like crap – I figured it was due to the late-night snack I had. Apparently chili and donuts don’t mesh well – who knew? I stumbled into the bathroom and realized I wasn’t doing so well. Let’s just say things got a bit…explosive. I soon felt nausea creeping in, and the “bubbleguts” weren’t going away. I didn’t want to go back into bed, since it was too far from the bathroom, so I made do. I ended up curled up in the fetal position on my shower bath mat, wearing only my boxers, and covered up with 2 beach towels. I laid there shivering, and twitching for an hour or so, until my mom called. I had thought to bring the phone in with me, as I knew she’d be calling. We had planned on going in to visit PT. I told her that I wasn’t doing so well, and asked her to give me an hour or so. It felt like 10 minutes later, the phone rang again. It was actually another hour, though. I still felt like shit, and was still writhing in pain while trying not to spew anything from anywhere. I told her I most likely couldn’t go, and she said she’d be over a bit later and still needed to tell my uncle Tommy what was going on. As he can’t really handle bad news without becoming neurotic, it wasn’t something to be looked forward to. I hung up, then proceeded to puke and shit my guts out. I guess my nerves were so bad that I got pretty sick. I was just pleased I managed not to puke and shit at the same time. Lovely, huh?
I started to feel a bit better, but was still dizzy and not quite…right. We ended up telling Tommy (handled it ok for him, but he was still trying to be “Mister Take-Charge” and took the opportunity to be “Mister I-Told-You-So” as well. Standard. I decided to accompany my mom, sister, and Tommy after all. I felt obligated, and figured PT felt a lot worse than I did. Plus, he’d probably feel bad if he knew his situation made me react the way I did. PLUS, I wasn’t about to abandon him when he faced Tommy for the first time in years. I sucked it up and went.
PT looked thinner. He was a bigger guy and while his face still seemed full, his arms were definately smaller. His stomach looked a bit enlarged, but that was most likely due to fluid that was accumulating. He said the night before that the doctors/nurses had drained a TOTAL of 40 liters of fluid from his abdomen so far. That can’t be good. His hair was also REALLY long for him. That, combined with his facial hair made for a strange combo.
He was pleasant, complained about the food a bit, but seemed ok for the 3-4 hours we spent there. His nurse was cute, so that was good. We ended up leaving, and interrupted the hour+ drive back home to stop for food. My stomach wasn’t having much fun, so I was only able to eat a salad. When the menu has steak, I’m not paying, and I STILL only order a salad you KNOW I’m sick.
That night, I got to be relatively early for me. I ended up sleeping 15 hours straight. Seriously. I felt a bit better the next day, but I was still woozy. Today, I felt better and went to my soccer game earlier tonight. I think I’ve mentioned that the team I fill in for kinda sucks, but they were playing an equally sucky team with a horrible goals against stat. I figured this was the game for me to figure out how to put the ball in the net. Within the first 5 minutes, we were losing 4-0. Amy’s hubbie was in goal, and while he is a nice enough guy, he’s not really a goalie. He can’t play any other position, though, so if I go in – he sits. I feel bad, so I usually just volunteer to play the field. When I finally took a shift, I seemed to be doing pretty well, and soon assisted on Amy’s goal. Later, I got the ball, drove into the attacking zone, flipped the ball past an over-committing defender, and rocketed a shot over the goalie’s shoulder. It was awesome. Later in the game, I scooped up a rebound, and slipped it in the goal with my left foot.
We were still down by 1 or 2 goals, though. I had just taken the shift where I scored leftie, and was having trouble getting my breath. Someone asked me why I was so pale, and I tried to explain that I had been pretty sick just 2 days beforehand. I told a few of the players that since we had 6-7 minutes left, I might be ready by the time we only had 2 minutes left to play if nobody else was ready to go. I really wish I had just taken a walk or something, though. With 3 minutes left, someone came off the field and Amy and a few others all looked at me and said, “You go!” I guess I’d try, so I went out to even the score. I had a chance or 2, and tried to chip one over the goalie’s head. I hit him in the face instead, so the ball bounced high and over my head. Since the arc was high, it landed nearby, and I now had my back to the goalie with a high bouncing ball in front of me. I wildly thought about attempting a bicycle kick, but that was quickly dismissed as I didn’t feel like breaking my already-sucky back. I’m not sure exactly what I tried to do – I think I tried to pop it in the air, spin around, scoop it past him…or something. I ended up trying to turn and I heard my knee make a soft ”pop!” The world flashed white, and I hit the ground face-first. I was good, though – I didn’t yell, scream, or shout profanity. I probably had a nice grimace going, and I writhed around on my stomach a bit. Somehow, the clock buzzed, and I realized that that must have been the quickest minute and a half EVER. I tried to get up, and ended up crawling towards the bench area. I realized that looked really wussy, so I stood up slowly. I could tell my knee wasn’t quite right, so I ended up hopping off the field. I obviously forgot about doing the post-game hand shake, and sat on the bench with my head on the boards. I kept thinking that there was no way I was going to pay a few hundred bucks to have a doctor tell me it just needs time to heal again, as they did with my ankle. As I sat there, I started to get queasy. I’m not sure if it was the shock of the injury, or me running around too much. Either way, I stumbled to my feet, asked someone to watch my stuff, and limped off to the bathroom. I almost fell over at one point, but grabbed a wall to keep going forward. I composed myself as much as possible and tried to test out the knee while nobody was around. It holds my weight, and I can even raise and lower my body on one leg. Thing is, it gets weak when I straighten it. I can feel a little pain when I shift weight side to side on my knee on the left side of it. I have no idea what all this means.
I ended up getting an ice pack and telling those guys there’s no way I’d be able to play on Thursday. They seemed surprised by that. I guess they thought I was kidding when I said I heard a pop. I walked around Wal*Mart a bit with the ice pack wrapped in a tube sock and tied to my knee. It wasn’t pleasant. I really don’t know if I can play Friday or not. I’ll just wear the fucking brace and hope. Maybe I can get by in goal. It just blows, because everytime I start playing well on the field – I get hurt. Then it takes me a while to get healthy…or at least close. Then it takes me a while to remember how to play again, and good enough to the point where I know how to score and dribble again. Then I have a good game for me….and get injured. This is the 3rd time for this cycle to go on, now. The last time, I had scored 5 goals in 20 minutes before messing up my ankle. Tonight, I had 2 goals, 2 assists, and was pushing for the hat trick. It’s beyond frustrating. In the meantime, I’ve since busted out of that cheap tourney. I ended up mildly berating someone for bluffing a dry side pot (poker talk) and shoving all my chips in on his big blind with KJ suited. Of course, I ran into pocket aces, and off I went. I usually don’t steam like that, let alone seriously berate someone. I’ve since jumped into a cheap Omaha tourney, and have even once picked on someone after they called all the way to the river to steal 1/4 of the pot from me. This is why I’m not planning any serious poker for a while.
I go see PT again tomorrow. Should just be me, my sister, her daughter, and my mom.
