Monday, November 11, 2013

Sunday, You Kicked My Ass

  Yep, I slept a goodly amount the past few days, and I should stop bragging about it or I'll be wide awake for the next two weeks.
  We go to see THOR at the new theater that serves food, and has these neat seats that allow you to lean back a bit with very little effort. Sounded good to me. My tiny heart sank when I saw you buy everything  from a computer kiosk except for the food. I hate those damn things with a passion. Grocery stores just love the "self check" lanes, they don't have to employ a person to fill that, and they haven't cut prices proportionately to cover the lack of human employees. And they fuck up. It's bad enough dealing with inattentive staff, but relying solely on a computer pisses me off. Anyway, that rant over, we get the tickets, head to our seats and find out 2 minutes before the movie start we are in someone's seats. I watched Liz put in the movie time, so I know that was correct on her part. Turns out the kiosk didn't want us to see an 1145 movie, it wanted us at the 1445 movie. I was on my feet a lot Saturday night, and my legs felt like jello when we left to go to the movie, so all the extra walking around and standing waiting just beat me into the ground. I got the shakes from my hands down to my feet, that made me more pissed off. Looked for a place to sit until Liz got things sorted out, but the able bodied men 16 to 60 that were covering up the benches wouldn't allow me or the pregnant woman a place to sit. Now I'm at fucking boiling point. Even as shaky and tired as I was getting, had I been sitting down, the pregnant woman was going to get my seat. Rude sons of bitches in this so called friendly city are really beginning to wear thin with me. Sadly I'm in no condition to brace up these lazy, worthless, butt munching bastards. So I stand and shake and get additionally pissed. This time at my body for not having the reserves left to call the pricks out. Oh well, damn. So, we get into the movie, after I said I didn't care where we sit, and with so few options left we got in on the low end of the seating. Not so close to the front you could look up the actors dresses, but close enough. I also didn't realize that I was so exhausted. I fell asleep and missed about the middle third of the movie. What I did see was pretty damn good though. Maybe I'll be around when it comes out on DVD or Pay Per View.

  That was the Sunday that kicked my ass. The problem with me and my temper is that unless I have a really good outlet to vent it, it stays with me for several hours. I do try to contain the ugly thing, but it won't have any of that at all. Therefore I was touchy and a little bitch when I got home. Fortunately I fell asleep then, as well, so I was over the temper when everyone else was home. I apologized to my son for getting to be an ass while we were waiting to get into the movie. That's not hard to do, apologize to the family. It's damn hard to apologize to anyone else, and in most cases I won't do it, unless I was blatantly out of line. When I get overly tired, I get to be a real asshole.  And lately I'm more tired all the time. At first I blamed it on the drugs, but that's being a bit of an escapist. It's not all the drugs, it's the drugs and the cancer. No two ways about it. Fortunately, for my own good, I know that I can't just jump out the people that are being rude and tell them they are rude. I'm glad I can't, because I'm not the diplomatic type, and definitely not the beat around the bush type. I'd have told the men on the bench to move their lazy asses and let the pregnant woman sit. That would have possibly been a little confrontational. And the physical shape I'm in now, confrontational is a bad thing. As hard as it is to believe, I'm still a little pissed off at myself for letting something as trivial as a movie ticket redo get to me. That's one of those things I've got to learn to just drop, something that may be hard to do with limited time that I have.

   I watched some of American Horror Story: Asylum with my oldest. I slept through a couple of hours of that too. What I did catch in full episodes was really weird. I may have to go back and watch the first one.  Not knowing what the hell is going on in a series is not a good thing. There's quite a lot of characters in some not so easy to follow story lines. And if I knew what was what from the beginning, it might make it easier to follow. Without knowing the entire story line, I can't say if it's good, bad, or indifferent. Although I know several people that love the series. On another front, I just never did get into Breaking Bad. People rave about it, love it, never wanna see it end. Me, I could not have found less to care about with the show. And yes, people have tried to explain/show me and I still am so ambivalent about it that I suck the fun out of it for other people. That's just me though. I like Boardwalk Empire, Strike Back, and several other cable TV series. As far as pretty decent drama goes, TNT has great series, as does A&E. So I'm not sure why I don't fall into the "I love Breaking Bad" group. Perhaps I should do a little introspective search to find that answer. Naw, I'll just go on as I am.

  Cancer chat: As I talked about earlier, my chicken legs are going. Getting weaker. I've tried walking, but that distance gets shorter with every trip outside. I've worked on making them stronger at home. No such luck. I'm not sure why, of all things, my legs are misbehaving. Some more of what my body is  losing in it's fist fight with Baxter and his minions. My blood O2 is getting lower. Used to run 96-98. Now it's 91-93. A three week swing. About the time I started to mention that it was harder for me to catch a breath when I was exerting myself. Walking a little makes me sound like an asthmatic steam engine. My nurse says I'm clear in my lungs, no rattling. Probably true, but that doesn't explain why I get so short of wind and then find it hard to catch it again. Nor does it explain why my blood oxygen  is so limp. Hard to say. The Lymphedema is getting a little worse, and requires more therapy in more places to help hold the swelling down. If I swell too greatly, then I have a hard time breathing, period. I'm able to breath through my mouth and nose, some. But to lose those little pieces of sunshine, doesn't help me out at all. Sharing the breathing duty with the trach is a good thing, I hate to not have that option.

  In order to piss off the people who do wellness screenings at your place of employment, requires several things. I had them all, BTW and managed to make the Wellness Company that covered our company. distrust their machines. It was some fun watching them check their equipment, recalibrate some, and argue with me. That's what cracked me up more than anything. Last year, I'd not been diagnosed with cancer yet, although I suspect it was creeping in on me by the time I got screened. Here's the stuff that made the screeners scratch their heads.
 I smoked between a pack and two a day. With about 10 burning up without smoking them other than to light it.
 Resting pulse: 64
BP: 120/70
Blood Ox: 98
They caught me on the government Body Mass Index. For my frame and height I should have weighed 165, I scaled in last year at 225. Sixty pounds over my "Ideal" body weight. Fat content based upon that, so they said, was 35%. I called bullshit and asked if the had a pinch test fat content set up. They did. It was 13%. They said that can't be, we did it again. 13%. That was even less than the average for a man of 51 years.
  I asked them what kind of pencil neck geek set the standards for the BMI, they did not know. If the military went by Federal standards, nearly everyone that comes out of boot camp would be obese. My ex son in law put on weight in the Marines after going through boot. It was muscle mass, though, not fat. The Fed can't get it through it's thick assed skull that using generalities for a body mass index is not only short selling the physically fit, it makes them look stupid. Like they need help with that at all.

  Weird blog today, my apologies. I'm going to let it stand even after rereading it. It came off as a bit bitchy and piss and moan. I don't like that, but that's what it is this morning.

Book Of Rock: I don't suffer rude people well. It's less effort to be even half way decent to people than it is to be a prick by words and/or actions.
 It seems to me that the country on the whole is becoming less and less polite and far more self centered. It's one thing to be confident in yourself, it's a completely new animal to be so narcissistic that you have no thought of even the simplest form of proper social etiquette.
 I'm reminded of a story a fella told about being pissed at Starbuck's coffee price, so he turned his cup over on the counter and walked out. I told him he was a total asshole, and so fucking stupid he couldn't read the price list on the big sign that's over every Starbuck's counter. He got forty shades of defensive. I found more humor in his telling me I must be some pencil necked floor mat. Gotta love that. I figured I hit the right spot with as defensive as he got.

 Have fun, eat some carrot cake with that great frosting. One slice won't kill ya

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