Mother....grumblegrumble.... insurance.
Those @$$hats must think we're all a bunch of sheep. Rich sheep.
I called the bastards BEFORE my appointment yesterday to make sure on the front end what expenses I'd be looking at. I kinda thought the words Magnetic Resonance Imaging might get mentioned by the Doc, so I wanted time to prepare myself to actually purchase an MRI and learn to use it. I figured it'd be cheaper. But, lo and behold, the insurance dude said that if I had any imaging done either at the doc's office or in an "in-network" imaging center that Humana would cover it. If I got sent to a hospital, I'd be looking at the deductible.
Cool.
I get a call yesterday afternoon from the doc's office to let me know the estimated cost that I would be looking at for the MRI. 'Bout $430. Uhh... where's the insurance company now? I could almost hear the poor girl getting ready for a heapin helpin of pissed off. She told me that when they ran it through the insurance it got kicked back to Deductible-ville. I told her that I'd specifically asked the insurance moron about that (and that I wasn't angry with her). She said she wasn't clear on all the details, but she'd have the girl that handles that stuff get back to me muy pronto with some answers. When the other girl called back, she said she had run it past Humana AGAIN, and they were going to cover the MRI.
#!$@ing health insurance...
Anyhoo, I had the MRI done... sloooowwwly. I had no idea that stuff took so long! Half an hour.... wow. Went back to see the Doc (who is a great guy and fantastic doctor, and happens to be the team doc for the San Antonio Spurs) who told me that I was not looking at surgery. He then actually showed me the MRI to let me know that I wasn't out of the woods.
What I have (and have had for years, apparently, to explain the "bad knees") is a condition known as chondromalacia patella. The long and short of it is that the cartilage on the back of my patella (kneecap) is rough and inconsistently shaped instead of smooth and shiny. That's why my knees sound like gravel when I squat or otherwise bend them under load. That's also why they hurt so often. The injury just exacerbated the issue, causing some swelling inside the knee and the accompanying pain/limp/whining/etc.
*sigh*
At least I'm not looking at surgery. In fact, the good Doc told me specifically NOT to allow anyone to operate on my knees. Some surgeons want to go in and put some spit and polish (through scraping) on the back of the patella. Problem is, cartilage doesn't grow back, so what they scrape is gone permanently. He said that bad cartilage is like bad breath. Bad breath is better than no breath at all.
So I'm looking at a lifetime of glucosamine and chondroitin horse-pills, a couple weeks' worth of physical therapy, and learning to strengthen the quadriceps and calves.
Better'n surgery fo sho.
tweaker
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Hurtin' For You
After roughing it up with The Little Girl last night, I have the gift that only a five-year-old can so obliviously give.
Pain.
She slid down my left leg, catching my kneecap on the way down. Felt like she took it down to about foot level before releasing it to spring back near its normal home like a rubber band. I say 'near' its normal home because it's not actually where it's supposed to be. It's a little... off.
X-rays this morning showed no obvious bone damage, so tomorrow's MRI should tell me how bad we're looking at. The way the orthopedic described it, the downward movement under posterior force could have literally sheared cartilage off of the back of my kneecap. That will show up on an MRI, along with any longstanding ligament or tendon damage that I suspect he may find to explain my historically bad knees.
So I'm trying to stay off of any type of painkillers, etc. as I really don't like taking pills. The mixed case of Widmer in the fridge will help, though. Broken Halo IPA is hoppy goodness.
And, DAMMIT DAMMIT DAMMIT!!!!!!! I caught a guy walking into the local pawn shop with a bonafide Ruger Mk. II in mo-faboluss condition who would have let it go with three mags and a leather holster for a mere $200. And I can't come up with $200 to save my #!@%&*! life! Dammitall!!!
Oh, well. Anyone wanna contribute to the Buy Me a Target Pistol Fund lemme know.
In an effort to end on a good note, here's a video that made me laugh hard. Emphasis on 'hard.'
tweaker
Pain.
She slid down my left leg, catching my kneecap on the way down. Felt like she took it down to about foot level before releasing it to spring back near its normal home like a rubber band. I say 'near' its normal home because it's not actually where it's supposed to be. It's a little... off.
X-rays this morning showed no obvious bone damage, so tomorrow's MRI should tell me how bad we're looking at. The way the orthopedic described it, the downward movement under posterior force could have literally sheared cartilage off of the back of my kneecap. That will show up on an MRI, along with any longstanding ligament or tendon damage that I suspect he may find to explain my historically bad knees.
So I'm trying to stay off of any type of painkillers, etc. as I really don't like taking pills. The mixed case of Widmer in the fridge will help, though. Broken Halo IPA is hoppy goodness.
And, DAMMIT DAMMIT DAMMIT!!!!!!! I caught a guy walking into the local pawn shop with a bonafide Ruger Mk. II in mo-faboluss condition who would have let it go with three mags and a leather holster for a mere $200. And I can't come up with $200 to save my #!@%&*! life! Dammitall!!!
Oh, well. Anyone wanna contribute to the Buy Me a Target Pistol Fund lemme know.
In an effort to end on a good note, here's a video that made me laugh hard. Emphasis on 'hard.'
tweaker
Sunday, January 27, 2008
We Love PETA! Screw Dead Animals!!!
Oh, wait. I got that backwards.
We love dead animals! Screw PETA!
There. That's better.
Had an out-of-body experience last night over several versions of various critter. Me and The Wifey attained babysitting services from the in-laws and went out to dinner. We should be doing this AT LEAST once a month, if not more frequently.
We chose Saltgrass Steakhouse for our dining pleasure. Got there just in time, too. Our hostess had to check her floor twice before noticing the last available table. Right near the door, unfortunately. On the bright side, the draft that invaded our table EVERY TIME THE DOOR OPENED wasn't too bad, as the temp was in the upper 60's all day.
A couple of drink orders later (mine to include Jack Daniels, hers Maker's Mark) and we were ready to order.
First, an appetizer of Beef Enbrochette. Here, prepared as a nice morsel of beef tenderloin (almost) cooked with a sliver of pablano pepper and wrapped with hickory smoked bacon, served over a bed of the most perfectly grilled onions EVAH (to the point of carmelization, but still with that lovely hint of onion flavor) and a bowl of Southern-style barbecue sauce. There were six of these little delights, and they didn't last. I was a gentleman: she got half.
Dee. Vine.
Since neither of us could choose, we decided that one of us would get a Ceasar salad and the other would get the baked potato soup. The Ceasar was cold, crisp, with the perfect amount of a rich, almost bitter dressing and the most flavorful fresh Parmesean I've had that didn't cost me more than a day's pay. The soup? Nice. Good. I just can't call it 'great' because The Wifey made some last Tuesday that would stop the rotation of the Earth.
Anyhoo.
Once the prelims were out of the way, along with a touch of beer-bread and some more of that whiskey-stuff, it was (what seemed like) a long wait for my dead critter. Just as I was ready to belly up to the bar, our tray arrived. Her New York Strip was a mild Medium Well (I begged her to stop at Medium), pepper crusted and drizzled with a Cognac Pepper sauce. WOW. Mine, well...
You must imagine a Spring day, with a lovely field of wildflowers, birds chirping, and rays of sun over the horizon to accompany the sound of Angels singing forth from Heaven.
THEN.
You can picture one of those Angels grabbing a Bovine Angel and carving off the Mother of All Ribeyes (painlessly to the Heavenly Bovine, of course, who would just grow a new one for the next trip). That Ribeye then falling from Heaven and landing for a VERY short stay on the grill, while being hit with their "secret spices" and then delivered to a smiling, happy me.
I tried my absolute best to finish it, but I packed it in on the goodies that came before the steak. So I had couple-three ounces of yummy deadness to enjoy this morning.
Life is good. Enjoy the steak. And if you don't dig on steak? To heck with ya; more for me.
;)
tweaker
We love dead animals! Screw PETA!
There. That's better.
Had an out-of-body experience last night over several versions of various critter. Me and The Wifey attained babysitting services from the in-laws and went out to dinner. We should be doing this AT LEAST once a month, if not more frequently.
We chose Saltgrass Steakhouse for our dining pleasure. Got there just in time, too. Our hostess had to check her floor twice before noticing the last available table. Right near the door, unfortunately. On the bright side, the draft that invaded our table EVERY TIME THE DOOR OPENED wasn't too bad, as the temp was in the upper 60's all day.
A couple of drink orders later (mine to include Jack Daniels, hers Maker's Mark) and we were ready to order.
First, an appetizer of Beef Enbrochette. Here, prepared as a nice morsel of beef tenderloin (almost) cooked with a sliver of pablano pepper and wrapped with hickory smoked bacon, served over a bed of the most perfectly grilled onions EVAH (to the point of carmelization, but still with that lovely hint of onion flavor) and a bowl of Southern-style barbecue sauce. There were six of these little delights, and they didn't last. I was a gentleman: she got half.
Dee. Vine.
Since neither of us could choose, we decided that one of us would get a Ceasar salad and the other would get the baked potato soup. The Ceasar was cold, crisp, with the perfect amount of a rich, almost bitter dressing and the most flavorful fresh Parmesean I've had that didn't cost me more than a day's pay. The soup? Nice. Good. I just can't call it 'great' because The Wifey made some last Tuesday that would stop the rotation of the Earth.
Anyhoo.
Once the prelims were out of the way, along with a touch of beer-bread and some more of that whiskey-stuff, it was (what seemed like) a long wait for my dead critter. Just as I was ready to belly up to the bar, our tray arrived. Her New York Strip was a mild Medium Well (I begged her to stop at Medium), pepper crusted and drizzled with a Cognac Pepper sauce. WOW. Mine, well...
You must imagine a Spring day, with a lovely field of wildflowers, birds chirping, and rays of sun over the horizon to accompany the sound of Angels singing forth from Heaven.
THEN.
You can picture one of those Angels grabbing a Bovine Angel and carving off the Mother of All Ribeyes (painlessly to the Heavenly Bovine, of course, who would just grow a new one for the next trip). That Ribeye then falling from Heaven and landing for a VERY short stay on the grill, while being hit with their "secret spices" and then delivered to a smiling, happy me.
I tried my absolute best to finish it, but I packed it in on the goodies that came before the steak. So I had couple-three ounces of yummy deadness to enjoy this morning.
Life is good. Enjoy the steak. And if you don't dig on steak? To heck with ya; more for me.
;)
tweaker
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Yes, Indeed
This post from Crystal inspired me to reflect and thus define my dream.
I, too, have a dream.
I have a dream that we all look inward before we look outward. That we realize that our own flaws cause us to deliberately seek out what's wrong with others, that we may be more satisfied with ourselves.
I have a dream that our superiors realize that they are not our superiors at all; rather that they are there to serve a simple service: service.
I have a dream that everyone realizes that our rights are not only unalienable, but undeniable. That our rights are ours, regardless of others' definitions, and that we will fight for them tooth and nail.
I have a dream that, while we cannot be forced to accept our own responsibilities, others stop seeking to accept them for us. Our choices are our choices, and the sooner we realize that, the better.
I have a dream that people will realize that evil resides in men, not in tools.
And, most importantly, I have a dream that, one day, my daughter will look up to me with her little green eyes and say, "Daddy, this place ain't so bad."
tweaker
I, too, have a dream.
I have a dream that we all look inward before we look outward. That we realize that our own flaws cause us to deliberately seek out what's wrong with others, that we may be more satisfied with ourselves.
I have a dream that our superiors realize that they are not our superiors at all; rather that they are there to serve a simple service: service.
I have a dream that everyone realizes that our rights are not only unalienable, but undeniable. That our rights are ours, regardless of others' definitions, and that we will fight for them tooth and nail.
I have a dream that, while we cannot be forced to accept our own responsibilities, others stop seeking to accept them for us. Our choices are our choices, and the sooner we realize that, the better.
I have a dream that people will realize that evil resides in men, not in tools.
And, most importantly, I have a dream that, one day, my daughter will look up to me with her little green eyes and say, "Daddy, this place ain't so bad."
tweaker
Monday, January 21, 2008
All Mondays Should Be This Funny
I just couldn't resist this when The Wifey sent me this pic in an email. That's why I love her: she gets me.
Bonus points to who can correctly ID the make, model, and caliber.
Nothing else to report.
Enjoy!
tweaker
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Mysterious Ways
It's not only The Lord's modus operandi.
Ambulance Driver gives us a peek into a world previously understood only by those wise (or, depending on who you ask, insane) enough to appreciate it. As I started to comment, I waxed poetic and began to type. Then I thought to myself, "Why stick this into a comments section? This is "A" material. This is going in MY blog!"
I convinced myself it was funny. These are the jokes, people.
At any rate, I don't usually have the time to spend reading particularly long posts. But, anyone who regularly reads AD's blog knows well enough that it's the kind of thing you make time for.
Like a few of the others to comment on his most recent post, I also fall into the "shooter not hunter" category. Truth be told, I've never been hunting in my life. Of any kind. It's not that I'm opposed; I'll take any opportunity to discharge a weapon (recreationally). But it's not a family tradition, no one has ever invited me, and I'm not brave enough to take the self-taught route.
I also despise cold. Ask anyone who knows me, and they'll tell you how much of a sissy I am when I'm putting on long johns - that's "thermal underwear" for those of you scratching your heads - when the temp drops below 60. No kidding. I love South Texas because it's HOT. Not temperate year-round like South Florida or Southern California. I don't like temperate. I like hot. So, hunting to me sounds like two tons of fun right up until I would have to venture out into the grasp of Old Man Winter.
How-by-Gawd-ever.
AFTER reading Winter Wings, I truly believe I could muster up the strength for a day just half as good as that one.
AD, I have little more than long johns and an old Sears and Roebuck Model 20, but I'd be yourpack mule hunting buddy anytime.
tweaker
Ambulance Driver gives us a peek into a world previously understood only by those wise (or, depending on who you ask, insane) enough to appreciate it. As I started to comment, I waxed poetic and began to type. Then I thought to myself, "Why stick this into a comments section? This is "A" material. This is going in MY blog!"
I convinced myself it was funny. These are the jokes, people.
At any rate, I don't usually have the time to spend reading particularly long posts. But, anyone who regularly reads AD's blog knows well enough that it's the kind of thing you make time for.
Like a few of the others to comment on his most recent post, I also fall into the "shooter not hunter" category. Truth be told, I've never been hunting in my life. Of any kind. It's not that I'm opposed; I'll take any opportunity to discharge a weapon (recreationally). But it's not a family tradition, no one has ever invited me, and I'm not brave enough to take the self-taught route.
I also despise cold. Ask anyone who knows me, and they'll tell you how much of a sissy I am when I'm putting on long johns - that's "thermal underwear" for those of you scratching your heads - when the temp drops below 60. No kidding. I love South Texas because it's HOT. Not temperate year-round like South Florida or Southern California. I don't like temperate. I like hot. So, hunting to me sounds like two tons of fun right up until I would have to venture out into the grasp of Old Man Winter.
How-by-Gawd-ever.
AFTER reading Winter Wings, I truly believe I could muster up the strength for a day just half as good as that one.
AD, I have little more than long johns and an old Sears and Roebuck Model 20, but I'd be your
tweaker
Thursday, January 17, 2008
For Westboro:
KISS MY ENTIRE ASS.
Those "God hates fags" bunch are up to their same old tricks. Having apparently become a one-trick pony, they have decided to picket the funeral of the slain Marine, Lance Cpl. Maria Lauterbach. Singing the most recognizable one-note song since Sarah and the Brady Bunch,
they are sure to show up to explain via bullhorn how LCpl. Lauterbach was slain vicariously by Gawd-All-My-Tea because the Marines are merely enablers for homosexuals.
Lawdog clues us into the story here.
I was inspired to post on the subject the moment I read someone's comment to that post:
I wonder if the members of that garbage they call a church have ever even read the Bible.
Rest assured that the lot of 'em, especially that Phelps bastard, know the Good Book from cover to cover. What got lost is the meaning, but I'll bet two fingers and a toe that the oxygen-theives over at Westboro Church have indeed read the bible. Can't no one quote scripture like the devil himself.
But then I sigh, and, with a piece of Scripture,
Tell them that God bids us do good for evil:
And thus I clothe my naked villainy
With odd old ends stol'n forth of holy writ,
And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.
-William Shakespeare, King Richard III
tweaker
Those "God hates fags" bunch are up to their same old tricks. Having apparently become a one-trick pony, they have decided to picket the funeral of the slain Marine, Lance Cpl. Maria Lauterbach. Singing the most recognizable one-note song since Sarah and the Brady Bunch,
they are sure to show up to explain via bullhorn how LCpl. Lauterbach was slain vicariously by Gawd-All-My-Tea because the Marines are merely enablers for homosexuals.
Lawdog clues us into the story here.
I was inspired to post on the subject the moment I read someone's comment to that post:
I wonder if the members of that garbage they call a church have ever even read the Bible.
Rest assured that the lot of 'em, especially that Phelps bastard, know the Good Book from cover to cover. What got lost is the meaning, but I'll bet two fingers and a toe that the oxygen-theives over at Westboro Church have indeed read the bible. Can't no one quote scripture like the devil himself.
But then I sigh, and, with a piece of Scripture,
Tell them that God bids us do good for evil:
And thus I clothe my naked villainy
With odd old ends stol'n forth of holy writ,
And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.
-William Shakespeare, King Richard III
tweaker
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
No Good News
I think everyday we wake up hoping that today will be a better day.
Then I reckon some of us start thinking about what will go wrong to teach our dumb asses to hope.
Today, two of the guys at work crashed into each other. It was a minor fender-bender, but they were both in work vehicles. That can only end badly. The place I work likes to "add to" the employee handbook in much the same fashion that liberal democrats like to legislate. They haven't banned everything. Yet.
Then I find out that today, The Little Girl's fifth birthday, she gets in so much trouble in school that they had to take away her birthday party. On her birthday, she got her party taken away. I'd like to interject something humorous here, but I just can't laugh about it. Now I may have to be a rampaging asshole to get her to straighten up and fly right. This part of parenting sucks.
And to top it all off, what could have been a steal of a bargain on a Smith .357 ended up in nickel-plated revolver that's probably spent the last 15 years in a sock drawer or something. Someone went to considerable measures to get it cleaned up, because the action was as smooth as glass ('80's Smiths really DO have fantastic triggers). That did NOT make up for the rust pitting that covered every bit of the gun, and the solid layer of rust that disappeared behind the grip panels. I really wanted that gun, too. DAMMIT!
It just hasn't been a good day. Sorry, y'all. Maybe tomorrow will yield better results.
I guess it wasn't all bad. On the way to her school today The Little Girl told me she wanted me to play Pantera's "This Love" for her every day in the mornings. This she says after she tried to sing along to "Walk." She's definitely my kid.
tweaker
Then I reckon some of us start thinking about what will go wrong to teach our dumb asses to hope.
Today, two of the guys at work crashed into each other. It was a minor fender-bender, but they were both in work vehicles. That can only end badly. The place I work likes to "add to" the employee handbook in much the same fashion that liberal democrats like to legislate. They haven't banned everything. Yet.
Then I find out that today, The Little Girl's fifth birthday, she gets in so much trouble in school that they had to take away her birthday party. On her birthday, she got her party taken away. I'd like to interject something humorous here, but I just can't laugh about it. Now I may have to be a rampaging asshole to get her to straighten up and fly right. This part of parenting sucks.
And to top it all off, what could have been a steal of a bargain on a Smith .357 ended up in nickel-plated revolver that's probably spent the last 15 years in a sock drawer or something. Someone went to considerable measures to get it cleaned up, because the action was as smooth as glass ('80's Smiths really DO have fantastic triggers). That did NOT make up for the rust pitting that covered every bit of the gun, and the solid layer of rust that disappeared behind the grip panels. I really wanted that gun, too. DAMMIT!
It just hasn't been a good day. Sorry, y'all. Maybe tomorrow will yield better results.
I guess it wasn't all bad. On the way to her school today The Little Girl told me she wanted me to play Pantera's "This Love" for her every day in the mornings. This she says after she tried to sing along to "Walk." She's definitely my kid.
tweaker
Monday, January 14, 2008
More of the Same...
The Little Girl made teh bubie remark again tonight. What the hell am I gonna do?
Ugh... It seems like I am suffering from a case of CRS lately. It's been plaguing me at work more than anywhere else as of late, but it's kicking my arse. And that's particularly painful, as when it comes to work I'm usually especially attentive to detail. It just seems that as of late I'm distracted.
Who knows why, but maybe it has something to do with the recent possibility of acquiring a firearm that may be Sunday Smith worthy? It seems that a friend of a friend has a father who's experiencing technical difficulties in the marriage department, and has decided to part ways with an 80's vintage, slightly customized Smith and Wesson Model 581 .357 Magnum. I figure I can pull it in for around $300-350. It's a 3" with adjustable sights and some sort of custom grip. I haven't seen it yet (maybe tomorrow if I'm lucky) but it may be just what I want for a "car gun." Now I've just got to come up with the dough...
I don't suppose anyone wants to donate money to a Gunnie's First Smith Fund?
tweaker
Ugh... It seems like I am suffering from a case of CRS lately. It's been plaguing me at work more than anywhere else as of late, but it's kicking my arse. And that's particularly painful, as when it comes to work I'm usually especially attentive to detail. It just seems that as of late I'm distracted.
Who knows why, but maybe it has something to do with the recent possibility of acquiring a firearm that may be Sunday Smith worthy? It seems that a friend of a friend has a father who's experiencing technical difficulties in the marriage department, and has decided to part ways with an 80's vintage, slightly customized Smith and Wesson Model 581 .357 Magnum. I figure I can pull it in for around $300-350. It's a 3" with adjustable sights and some sort of custom grip. I haven't seen it yet (maybe tomorrow if I'm lucky) but it may be just what I want for a "car gun." Now I've just got to come up with the dough...
I don't suppose anyone wants to donate money to a Gunnie's First Smith Fund?
tweaker
Saturday, January 12, 2008
A Lovely Evening at Home
Dinner this evening was a simple one, but was entertaining.
It started out like this:
I tend to purchase beer by the case. It's cheaper that way, especially when it comes from wholesale. That, ladies and gents, is Stella Artois. A lovely little golden gift from our friends in Belgium who normally are recognized for a world of Ales, this one is a lager by definition. And a fine, FINE little lager it is. I can drink this stuff by the, well, by the case! Not all at once. At any rate, there's one missing. I'm drinking it. Sorry, but I didn't get the idea until after I opened it.
So the entree for this evening's fine dining experience? Tuna salad. Simple and light, a meal I've known for my entire life. This one falls under "Comfort Food," and I try my best to recreate it just like my Daddy does. Very simple, actually:
1 can (6 oz.) white Albacore tuna
1 heaping teaspoon sweet pickle relish
1 heaping tablespoon Miracle Whip
1 hard boiled egg, chopped
Combine ingredients in bowl. Spread over bread. Eat. Don't get much easier than that without sacrificing a little too much in the taste department. We usually double the recipe, because one don't feed to adults and a four-year-old.
Course, if I only made a single recipe's worth, I'd be lacking in the tuna department. I'll explain.
You see, in addition to The Wifey and The Little Girl, I also have Corey (my Corgi/Terrier/??? mix), Rhinestone, and Bootsie (the competing Feline Queens of All Existance). Corey is an eating machine. He'll eat nearly any people propellant you toss his way. I've hand-fed him avacado before. Rhinestone, a lovely, albeit a touch overweight Russian Blue, is a fan of most forms of dead animal, with particular focus on pork, but a shared affinity for poultry and fish. Finally, Bootsie, a traditional Black and White Kitty, is probably the most typical of domestic cats: extremely picky about everything, especially food and company. But, her weakness is canned tuna.
So.
When I begin to concoct my tuna salad (which, by the by, we actually just call Tunafish) it doesn't take long for the animals to convene right behind me in the Kitchen. Corey paces, barely able to contain his excitement. Rhinestone expresses interest, then loses her patience and jumps up on the counter nearby. She's quickly returned to sea level. Bootsie, however, cries out her one-note-song over and over while I prepare everyone's share. Two paper plates come out for teh kittehs and the dog's share gets scraped directly into his bowl. Stoney enjoys hers on the dinner table. Bootsie runs ahead of me, bouncing from one piece of furniture to the other, across the Living Room and ever up, until she comes to rest on top of her tower, where she turns to "sing" some more (which I'm sure is more of a, "Hurry up with the #$!&@ tuna!!!"). It is only then that I can prepare sustenance for the bipeds of the house without being stalked.
Well, I'm off. I gotta go get another Stella, and prepare for The Little Girl to thoroughly beat my ass in another game of Wii Bowling. Here's to ya!
tweaker
It started out like this:
I tend to purchase beer by the case. It's cheaper that way, especially when it comes from wholesale. That, ladies and gents, is Stella Artois. A lovely little golden gift from our friends in Belgium who normally are recognized for a world of Ales, this one is a lager by definition. And a fine, FINE little lager it is. I can drink this stuff by the, well, by the case! Not all at once. At any rate, there's one missing. I'm drinking it. Sorry, but I didn't get the idea until after I opened it.
So the entree for this evening's fine dining experience? Tuna salad. Simple and light, a meal I've known for my entire life. This one falls under "Comfort Food," and I try my best to recreate it just like my Daddy does. Very simple, actually:
1 can (6 oz.) white Albacore tuna
1 heaping teaspoon sweet pickle relish
1 heaping tablespoon Miracle Whip
1 hard boiled egg, chopped
Combine ingredients in bowl. Spread over bread. Eat. Don't get much easier than that without sacrificing a little too much in the taste department. We usually double the recipe, because one don't feed to adults and a four-year-old.
Course, if I only made a single recipe's worth, I'd be lacking in the tuna department. I'll explain.
You see, in addition to The Wifey and The Little Girl, I also have Corey (my Corgi/Terrier/??? mix), Rhinestone, and Bootsie (the competing Feline Queens of All Existance). Corey is an eating machine. He'll eat nearly any people propellant you toss his way. I've hand-fed him avacado before. Rhinestone, a lovely, albeit a touch overweight Russian Blue, is a fan of most forms of dead animal, with particular focus on pork, but a shared affinity for poultry and fish. Finally, Bootsie, a traditional Black and White Kitty, is probably the most typical of domestic cats: extremely picky about everything, especially food and company. But, her weakness is canned tuna.
So.
When I begin to concoct my tuna salad (which, by the by, we actually just call Tunafish) it doesn't take long for the animals to convene right behind me in the Kitchen. Corey paces, barely able to contain his excitement. Rhinestone expresses interest, then loses her patience and jumps up on the counter nearby. She's quickly returned to sea level. Bootsie, however, cries out her one-note-song over and over while I prepare everyone's share. Two paper plates come out for teh kittehs and the dog's share gets scraped directly into his bowl. Stoney enjoys hers on the dinner table. Bootsie runs ahead of me, bouncing from one piece of furniture to the other, across the Living Room and ever up, until she comes to rest on top of her tower, where she turns to "sing" some more (which I'm sure is more of a, "Hurry up with the #$!&@ tuna!!!"). It is only then that I can prepare sustenance for the bipeds of the house without being stalked.
Well, I'm off. I gotta go get another Stella, and prepare for The Little Girl to thoroughly beat my ass in another game of Wii Bowling. Here's to ya!
tweaker
Friday, January 11, 2008
Breaking News
Normally, I'd make a mental note of something I find blogworthy and file it under "Tomorrow," as I have already posted for today. But something has transpired that requires immediate blogging.
The Little Girl turns five in four days. She's getting to the point where she needs to be covered; i.e. boys shouldn't see certain parts of girls. It's funny, to me, because I bathe her every night. That doesn't bother her. But when she's changing clothes, Heaven Forbid, I can apparently no longer be in the room.
I walk towards her bedroom with some Benadryl in hand (she's got some sort of little rash on her arms) when her mother closes the bedroom door about 12' in front of me. I walk up to the now closed door and open it to view the slightly panicked expression on my daughter's face.
"What's wrong?" sayeth I.
"MOMMY?! Daddy can't be in here!" she says, barely able to maintain composure.
"Why not?" I ask.
"Because I don't want you to see my boobs!"
What have I gotten myself into...
tweaker
The Little Girl turns five in four days. She's getting to the point where she needs to be covered; i.e. boys shouldn't see certain parts of girls. It's funny, to me, because I bathe her every night. That doesn't bother her. But when she's changing clothes, Heaven Forbid, I can apparently no longer be in the room.
I walk towards her bedroom with some Benadryl in hand (she's got some sort of little rash on her arms) when her mother closes the bedroom door about 12' in front of me. I walk up to the now closed door and open it to view the slightly panicked expression on my daughter's face.
"What's wrong?" sayeth I.
"MOMMY?! Daddy can't be in here!" she says, barely able to maintain composure.
"Why not?" I ask.
"Because I don't want you to see my boobs!"
What have I gotten myself into...
tweaker
Lunchtime Laughter
I'm home for lunch. It's nice to work on jobs that are a five minute drive from the house. Usually I'm much too far away and end up either brown-bagging it or blowing $$$ on the garbage that passes for fast food.
So today, I'm reminded of a guy that I've mentioned on this blog before. I see this guy pretty regularly these days, as I have more than a few clients who live in that neighborhood. If you've read the post in the link above, you know about his nylon holster with the strap that goes from the belt side over and to the outside and his carrying of the 1911 with the hammer down.
Well.
It seems that our favorite little security guy has actually graduated to mall ninja. I figured he may when I actually heard him speak in that totally faked white-boy-trying-to-sound-urban crap accent. Its official, now. He got rid of the nylon holster and replaced it with molded kydex job with an open muzzle design.
Not bad, right?
Not unless you count that it exposes the remainder of his Springfield Mil-Spec's business end, complete with about 1.5" barrel extension and grotesquely overdone muzzle break.
Just wow. I'll see if I can't update this with a few pictures later.
tweaker
So today, I'm reminded of a guy that I've mentioned on this blog before. I see this guy pretty regularly these days, as I have more than a few clients who live in that neighborhood. If you've read the post in the link above, you know about his nylon holster with the strap that goes from the belt side over and to the outside and his carrying of the 1911 with the hammer down.
Well.
It seems that our favorite little security guy has actually graduated to mall ninja. I figured he may when I actually heard him speak in that totally faked white-boy-trying-to-sound-urban crap accent. Its official, now. He got rid of the nylon holster and replaced it with molded kydex job with an open muzzle design.
Not bad, right?
Not unless you count that it exposes the remainder of his Springfield Mil-Spec's business end, complete with about 1.5" barrel extension and grotesquely overdone muzzle break.
Just wow. I'll see if I can't update this with a few pictures later.
tweaker
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Blogging is Hard
You know, when I got into this, I was exited to have an avenue to express myself to the whole world (or whoever I could get to read it). I could fill it with feelings, thoughts, or observations. I could use it to share joy, ventilate frustration, or pose to my reader(s) the same questions that keep me up at night.
There's only one problem. I use it to express myself however I feel like. The problem is, and has been for a few weeks, that I don't feel like it. I HATE that feeling. Don't think it's just here, either. It's like I'm having a total communications breakdown. I can't talk to The Wifey, people I work with, you folks, or anyone else and get my point across, so I have lately just been saying very little if anything at all to anyone. Don't anyone DARE ask me how that's working. It's not.
I hate only posting once a week. It's really a sign of how much communication is transpiring in my life as a whole. I don't like it one bit. So, it is with great humility that I write this post, with great hopes and aspirations of popping the clutch on the old thinker I got running in my head. I even started up iTunes and played some Lyle Lovett to try and set a mood.
*Quick sidenote: "The Road to Ensenada" is one of the most beautiful songs I have ever heard, hands down. I don't know where Lyle draws his inspiration from, but he was right on target the day he wrote that song. Someone lays some peaceful electric guitar soloing over the calm of the song after the second verse that is like rays of sunlight over the horizon. You can almost feel yourself looking back at everyone you've ever walked away from as you listen...
Sorry 'bout that. *clears throat* Anyhoo.
So, it is with this post that I will attempt to put things back in order. Or at least into perspective. I could use some encouragement (hint, hint). It's not like I don't have anything to say. It's like I've just forgotten how to say it.
So, someone prod a couple times. Maybe I'll drum up something good for the next few days.
The road to Ensenada
Is plenty wide and fast.
And this time through Tijuana,
It won't be my last.
It won't be my last...
So listen to your heart that beats,
And follow it with both your feet,
And as you walk and as you breathe
You ain't no friend to me.
You ain't no friend to me.
Oh, you aint
No friend to me.
Yeah, that man knows how to write.
Oh, and that little bit of song there? That ain't for y'all. Y'all are all friends to me.
That was for me.
See you soon.
tweaker
There's only one problem. I use it to express myself however I feel like. The problem is, and has been for a few weeks, that I don't feel like it. I HATE that feeling. Don't think it's just here, either. It's like I'm having a total communications breakdown. I can't talk to The Wifey, people I work with, you folks, or anyone else and get my point across, so I have lately just been saying very little if anything at all to anyone. Don't anyone DARE ask me how that's working. It's not.
I hate only posting once a week. It's really a sign of how much communication is transpiring in my life as a whole. I don't like it one bit. So, it is with great humility that I write this post, with great hopes and aspirations of popping the clutch on the old thinker I got running in my head. I even started up iTunes and played some Lyle Lovett to try and set a mood.
*Quick sidenote: "The Road to Ensenada" is one of the most beautiful songs I have ever heard, hands down. I don't know where Lyle draws his inspiration from, but he was right on target the day he wrote that song. Someone lays some peaceful electric guitar soloing over the calm of the song after the second verse that is like rays of sunlight over the horizon. You can almost feel yourself looking back at everyone you've ever walked away from as you listen...
Sorry 'bout that. *clears throat* Anyhoo.
So, it is with this post that I will attempt to put things back in order. Or at least into perspective. I could use some encouragement (hint, hint). It's not like I don't have anything to say. It's like I've just forgotten how to say it.
So, someone prod a couple times. Maybe I'll drum up something good for the next few days.
The road to Ensenada
Is plenty wide and fast.
And this time through Tijuana,
It won't be my last.
It won't be my last...
So listen to your heart that beats,
And follow it with both your feet,
And as you walk and as you breathe
You ain't no friend to me.
You ain't no friend to me.
Oh, you aint
No friend to me.
Yeah, that man knows how to write.
Oh, and that little bit of song there? That ain't for y'all. Y'all are all friends to me.
That was for me.
See you soon.
tweaker
Thursday, January 3, 2008
First Post of 2008
JayG was nice enough to remind me that I still have a blog. "Dooood... Don't make me come down there and get you... ;)" he says. If that's what it takes to get a visit, maybe I should let this thing dry up altogether! Just make sure you bring most of your arsenal, Jay;)
So here's my official First Post of 2008, and it's pretty much a recap of the holidays. No other real news here. My buddy at work did acquire a shiny new H&K USP45 Compact about a week ago, though, so that's pretty cool.
Christmas. Wow. I was thinking that 2007 would be the best Christmas to date, and I was right. Elder Brother, Sister I Never Had, and their sprogs were here from Christmas Eve until that Friday. We had an absolute blast.
Santa was good to everyone, beyond most of our expectations to be quite honest. Seems like, for a change, that everyone had a little extra money, so the kiddos (and even us grown-up-types) got some really nice gifts. The Wifey's music collection expanded by Le Nozze di Figaro and the first Led Zeppelin Box Set just to name a few. I got another magazine for the Px4 and a single mag pouch from High Noon Holsters to match my holster. I can now carry 35 rounds of 9x19 under a bowling shirt. Speaking of which (for all you critics out there;) I got three nice new bowling shirts.
I also got to witness first hand my eight-year-old niece shoot for the first time. Me and Brandon were so proud of her. I was standing by with camera in hand, and I'll share some pics with you, but I'm gonna let Brandon post the good ones. You're welcome, dude;)
You're damn right her finger's on the trigger. She's shootin! And she did a fine job of it, too. That's her six-shooter right there. She took to it like a fish to water.
Oh, and Jay will also be exited to know that I FINALLY took the Model 77 out. She needs some new magazines, as the one I have led to several feed jams, but other than that she ran like a machine! I was SOOOO thrilled with it. Thing is an absolute tackdriver. I can't wait to get it out again!
Quick bleg: Anyone know where I can get magazines for a Winchester Model 77 Clip-Fed?
In other news, if you've given any thought whatsoever to buying Nintendo Wii, do it. It'll be the best $250 you've ever spent. ESPECIALLY if you have kids. We bought one in October as a Santa Present, and sat on it until Christmas morning. After owning it for a little over a week, already The Little Girl is a champion on that thing. The Wifey, The Little Girl, and I all play Wii Sports together, and we have an absolute blast. It's video game time which is good for me, it's Family Time, which makes The Wifey happy, and it's "All Eyes on Me Time," and what 4-year-old doesn't like that? When she bowls a strike life is seldom better.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, things are damn good around here these days. I couldn't be happier. I hope your holidays were great, too!
tweaker
So here's my official First Post of 2008, and it's pretty much a recap of the holidays. No other real news here. My buddy at work did acquire a shiny new H&K USP45 Compact about a week ago, though, so that's pretty cool.
Christmas. Wow. I was thinking that 2007 would be the best Christmas to date, and I was right. Elder Brother, Sister I Never Had, and their sprogs were here from Christmas Eve until that Friday. We had an absolute blast.
Santa was good to everyone, beyond most of our expectations to be quite honest. Seems like, for a change, that everyone had a little extra money, so the kiddos (and even us grown-up-types) got some really nice gifts. The Wifey's music collection expanded by Le Nozze di Figaro and the first Led Zeppelin Box Set just to name a few. I got another magazine for the Px4 and a single mag pouch from High Noon Holsters to match my holster. I can now carry 35 rounds of 9x19 under a bowling shirt. Speaking of which (for all you critics out there;) I got three nice new bowling shirts.
I also got to witness first hand my eight-year-old niece shoot for the first time. Me and Brandon were so proud of her. I was standing by with camera in hand, and I'll share some pics with you, but I'm gonna let Brandon post the good ones. You're welcome, dude;)
You're damn right her finger's on the trigger. She's shootin! And she did a fine job of it, too. That's her six-shooter right there. She took to it like a fish to water.
Oh, and Jay will also be exited to know that I FINALLY took the Model 77 out. She needs some new magazines, as the one I have led to several feed jams, but other than that she ran like a machine! I was SOOOO thrilled with it. Thing is an absolute tackdriver. I can't wait to get it out again!
Quick bleg: Anyone know where I can get magazines for a Winchester Model 77 Clip-Fed?
In other news, if you've given any thought whatsoever to buying Nintendo Wii, do it. It'll be the best $250 you've ever spent. ESPECIALLY if you have kids. We bought one in October as a Santa Present, and sat on it until Christmas morning. After owning it for a little over a week, already The Little Girl is a champion on that thing. The Wifey, The Little Girl, and I all play Wii Sports together, and we have an absolute blast. It's video game time which is good for me, it's Family Time, which makes The Wifey happy, and it's "All Eyes on Me Time," and what 4-year-old doesn't like that? When she bowls a strike life is seldom better.
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, things are damn good around here these days. I couldn't be happier. I hope your holidays were great, too!
tweaker
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