Take one puff or two, and call me in the morning!

When I was in Virginia Beach, VA in 1997, I had packed a 40' moving van with a 2nd floor apt. full of furniture.  That is a LOT of wear and tear on an ankle that really wasn't designed to bear weight  at all.  After we packed the truck, we went to a local diner for supper.  My Ex had to help me back to the truck after we ate, because I couldn't touch my foot to the ground without screaming my damned head off.
The next day, we were planning on driving back to St. Louis.  I had to crawl through the house because I couldn't stand up.

Anywho, he got me a little "help" from an acquaintance's house.

Back story:
When I was 17, and fresh out of my parent's house, I was in a horrible "straight roommate" situation that I don't care to ever repeat as long as I live.  When I first met this roommate, he was an attractive young man.  Virile, muscly, bushy red hair, a full, thick beard, and from across the room, at any rate, it didn't seem like he was hurting anywhere else, if you know what I mean.

This young man spent the entire check from his job on pot and beer. He chain smoked - POT!     We could drive (!!) at highway speeds in his 1974 Chevy Nova, with all 4 windows rolled completely down, and when I got out of the car, my eyes were beet red.  I had never touched the stuff, but you can bet that I was building up a tolerance by getting a load of his smoke when I was anywhere within a 10 mile radius of him.

A couple years later, I was offered a joint.  Smoked this joint, and I looked at the people that were in this circle, and did my best imitation of Peggy Lee... "Is That All There Is?"  Keep in mind that just a couple years earlier, I shared an apartment with the world's biggest pot head.  Just by knowing this people and what they were about, I can testify that they did not have "bad weed", but that my tolerance was still very high, considering the fact that I had never actually touched a joint in my life.

That was in 1989.  Fast forward to 1997, Virginia Beach:

My helpful friend rolled me a FAT joint, and, based on my previous experience, I smoked the whole damned thing.  Mind you, I hadn't been anywhere near the stuff in almost 10 years.  You know that from my personal medical experience, I had been on morphine and other strong pain killers as a child, so my tolerance (when I was YOUNG!) was very high.  Pot is no match for Morphine, Vicodin, etc.

To end this storied saga, I thought my tolerance would still be sky high, so I smoked this fat joint.  THEN, my friend takes me to lunch WITH HIS JEWISH MOTHER! at a snack shop that was inside a grocery store.  By this time of the day - considering that I inhaled an entire fat joint - I was feeling NO PAIN AT ALL.  Even with no pain, I was fighting like Hell to walk across parking lot to go inside the grocery store.  The problem was simple. I was so fricken high that I couldn't stand up!

We entered the snack shop, and I approached the counter.  I asked the gent if he had any ONION ice cream!  When I realized my folly, of course, I thought I was fricken hilarious, and I laughed my ass off for probably 10 minutes.  THEN....I had to go sit at a table, act as if nothing strange was happening, and have decent conversation with his Jewish mamma!  (Hindsight being 20 / 20, the whole day was hilarious, but at the time... not so much!)

I know you are asking, "What happened to the buff red head?"
Answer:
In excessive amounts, the active ingredient in marijuana (THC), decreases testosterone levels.  What is left? ESTROGEN!  In other words a side effect of excessive pot use can be increased secondary female sex characteristics in men.

This man's beard grew sparse and shaggy, his voice raised considerably, his hips widened in a womanly fashion, and he grew noticeably large BOOBS! Worse yet, I witnessed him frustrated, storming out of his bedroom on more than one occasion.  He had his girlfriend in there, they were trying to "get it on", and he couldn't!  His testosterone had decreased so much that his penis and testicles shrank, and could no longer get it up when he wanted to.

I don't know if this man has completely drugged himself out yet (if he is still alive), but if he EVER decided to decrease his pot use, his voice MIGHT lower again, and his facial hair MIGHT grow back. But - he is probably stuck with those womanly hips and his huge honkers!

The moral of this story:
#1) I would like to take Marinol - the active ingredient in pot in a legal pill form, and since I quite smoking 2 years ago, I think inhaling ANYTHING would hurt my lungs more than it would help, if you know what I mean.
#2) Since I like my manliness right where it is, occasional medical use is OK, but even though I have in the past often played "a woman on TV", I really don't want a pot-induced sex change!  :)

Marinol:



More info:
http://www.justice.gov/dea/ongoing/marinol.html
- Michael

Late For An Important Date

So....


Yesterday, I have a conversation with another random visitor at the Missouri Botanical Gardens.  At the same time, we both stopped to watch the 20+ turtles sunning themselves on a raised ledge in the quickly growing Lotus area of the Japanese Lake.


This lady tells me that the 2 people in her group, herself, her husband, and her brother, drive twice a year from Ohio (485 miles!) just to see the Botanical Gardens.  She told me that they normally visit around this time of the season each year, and once more later in the growing season.  They visit at this time specifically to see the Azaleas, Tulips, Daffodils, etc.  (I know that you, astute dear reader, have already figured out the gist of this tiring saga!)


Let me present to you the moral of this story even before I reach the end:
Those dear people drove 485 miles to see "something they have always seen at this time of year".  Although they were enjoying their visit, they TOTALLY missed the Daffodils, 99.99% of the tulips are gone, and what ever Azaleas remain are in their death throes even as we speak.  Magnolias are definitely, finished, but the Rhododendrons are still breathtaking and beautiful.


Most of the tree peonies have long since bloomed, and have lost their petals, but even though a few of the 'ordinary' variety of peonies have completely finished blooming, most have yet to take center stage.  I know that by the last of this month, or the first week of May, most likely all of the peonies will have finished - a month early.


Speaking of early finishes (Dorothy: "Keep it out of the gutter, Blanche!), the LARGE Iris  beds are, even as we speak, in full bloom.  The Iris' started blooming a couple weeks ago, and anybody that knows Iris' well enough will know that an Iris that bloomed in early April is a month to a month and a half early. They are usually an early-to-mid May bloomer.


You knew that there was another moral to this story!


If you want to see the Iris' - go NOW, or some time this week.  


If you do the same thing that these dear, weary long distance travelers did, and you wait for a particular plant's  "normal" bloom time to visit, you will, in essence, be sitting in the bleachers of Busch Stadium the day after a game. You will miss the entire show. SO... adjust your minds, your visits and your calendars accordingly - or you will miss it.

- Michael

The Saga of The Doozie Cookie

The bakery departments in St. Louis' Schnuck's grocery stores will often sell a sweet concoction that is a cookie sandwich which is composed of two large chocolate chip cookies, about an inch of icing in between the cookies, and a HUGE amount of icing in the form of various decorations on top.

I LOVE THESE THINGS!

However.... the bakery in the Schnuck's store that is 2 blocks from my home doesn't makes these 'little' treats on a regular basis. I was in that store on Thursday evening with my sister, and I talked to a lady that worked in the bakery. I told her that I would often drive to another Schnuck's store that is over 4 miles from my home to buy my Doozie Cookie if this Schnuck's Store - 4 blocks away - didn't have any made up.

On this particular Thursday evening, we continued our way through the store. A couple minutes later, this same bakery employee found me walking through the store. She was carrying a Doozie Cookie! She made one up especially for me! I felt like running to the front of the store, and doing my own version of Sally Field's, "The like me! They really like me!" The lady told me that she would have to go back to the bakery dept. to put a price on the Doozie Cookie. I told her, "That would be $1.89!"

Chapter 2 of this saga:

Last night, Mark went to "our" Schnuck's to get necessary ingredients to make tacos. When he walked back in the house after shopping, he sat a shopping bag down on the counter that contained two Doozie Cookies, and he asked me, "Just how many times to YOU go to Schnuck's?" I asked him why he was inquiring. He said, "Some lady at the bakery told him that they were going to start carrying Doozie Cookies on a regular basis because 'some little guy keeps coming in there and asking for them!"

OMG, indeed! My cravings are getting as famous as my face is at local events and venues!

- Michael

Titanic's Nemesis

I do love all flowers', and *if* I was absolutely forced to choose a favorite, it would be difficult, but I would have to choose the Iris.

Here in the 'Loo, at the Missouri Botanical Garden, we have a HUGE iris bed that is breath taking each season. Believe it or not, they are already beginning to bloom!

Anywho.... I know the names of most of these Iris', and where they are planted in this Iris garden. My favorite Iris is probably "Titanic's Nemesis". It is named so because it is HUGE, slightly off-white, and it's center looks like cracked ice: An iceberg - Titanic's Nemesis.

I watched and admired that Iris for a couple years, then... she disappeared from the Garden. I know the manager of this side of the Botanical Garden on a personal level. I asked him, "Hey, what happened to Titanic's Nemesis?" His answer: "That Iris isn't a reliable bloomer, and we like them to bloom on a predictible basis, so we replaced it with something else." A couple days later, I saw a couple elderly volunteers that were caring for this section of the Garden, and I mentioned the removal of Titanic's Nemisis to them. They corrected the story that Jason, the manager, told me by adding, "That's not why we removed that Iris. That Iris is such a prolific bloomer that it fell over in the pathway, and we didn't want to take the time to stake the plant, so we removed it!" To pour salt into a fresh wound, Jason - the manager  - took that plant home, and put it in his own garden!

(Disclaimer:  I have nothing personal against Jason.  He is a hard working and very talented man.  As 'they' say, "It's not personal, it's just business!" he he)

I tracked Jason down, and I said, "BRING BACK THAT DAMNED IRIS!" He did just that. It took another year for Titanic's Nemesis to restablish itself, and from that day forward - with stakes applied! - that Iris is the biggest, the most prolific, and in my opinion, the prettiest Iris in the park! :)

Titanic's Nemesis:


- Michael

Bitch Fest #481B: Being a young Medicare / Essence Health Care patient

I just made a call to Essence Health Care (yes, I'm on Medicare!) to change my Primary Care Physician. I had to make this change because although my previous doctor is a nice person with good intentions, I will have to quote Dr. Phil McGraw and Saint Bernard of Clairvaux in saying, "The road to Hell is paved with good intentions!"

Via Facebook, it is not possible for me to accurately relay to you the looks on all of the employee's faces in the Doctor's office (including the Dr, himself!) when I walked into the office. They looked at me as if a beautiful, young alien just landed in their midst.

Granted, I am well aware that I do not look like the Average Joe that limps down the street, and that is intentional and by my own design. However.... When I walked into the tiny waiting room of this doctor's office, I noted that by at least two and a half decades, I was the youngest patient in the room. This information did not deter me, and I pressed forward.

Red flags started to go up when I signed in at the receptionist's window, and they had no record of my scheduled appointment. That error was corrected when I showed them the letter that they mailed to my home, with the appointment date and time written on the top of the first page. That did not stop the folks in the office from putting me last on the list to see the doctor, rather than at the correct time slot. Patients with later scheduled times were taken in before my appointment time. Although it took all the power in Heaven and Hell to keep my mouth shut, I tried to choke that one down, and I continued with my visit.

When I finally did get into the exam room, a nurse practitioner who was acting on the behalf of Essence Health Care came in to examine me. Although I firmly believe that she had good intent (see St. Bernard, above), I could tell that this well-paid woman from Essence Health Care really didn't have a clue. That was especially apparent when **I** had to explain to her Erb's Palsy, and it's effects. I am a nurse, I am not a Dr. Even though she really isn't a Dr, she is just a half a step below, and *she* should know more about Erb's Palsy than I do (as just one example...)

At any rate, the nurse practitioner did an exam (and nobody took my vital signs - ever!) , and the Dr. came into the room a few minutes later.

He was far more interested in my knit socks, my 3/4" gauge ear piercings, and my well groomed beard than he was interested in the myriad of crap that is ailing me. It had become clear to me that I was the youngest person that they had **EVER** seen in that office, and that since I was "so young", and rather unique looking, there possibly couldn't be anything wrong with me! What were they expecting of me? Should I have arrived at the appointment with food stuck in an un-groomed beard, bad mismatched Hoosier clothing, my big thick eye glasses stuck on my face in a crooked fashion, and my teeth out? If I had arrived looking like that, I might have captured their attention. Otherwise, it wasn't happening for me.

I will not use this space to whine about the reasons that I went to this Dr., but I can make a guarantee to you, dear reader, that I didn't take time - and money - out of a busy day to go see this man to help build an addition on his home in the Frontenac area of St. Louis. I went to see him BECAUSE I NEED HELP, DAMN IT!

Even though he is the nicest person that I have met in a while, and he is a TRUE fan of mine, he is clueless, and this Dr. simply couldn't see a zebra among the herd of horses. His patients are ALL much older Medicare patients. I am a younger Medicare patient. Because of his inability to switch gears, I now have to go through the pain-in-the-ass of switching Dr's.

"The road to Hell is paved with good intentions."

The new Dr. that I have selected is more of a Family Practice Dr.  I hope he has seen a wide range of patients in his practice.
- Michael

 

I'm so glad that somebody has my back!

This has the standard answer that I have always given to people when they ask that dumb question re: my tattoos and piercings.

It's either that response, or I say, "Baby, it's only skin, and even YOU aren't going to take it with you when you go. When compared to the history of this Earth, your life is only a microscopic SPECK on that timeline, so in other words, your time here on Earth is VERY SHORT. Don't you think you should live, rather than exist, while you're here?"

There is no way I can possibly relate to you the looks on people's faces when I rip that one off. I can see a **tiny** light flicker on in their eyes (sometimes!), but I know it is usually extinguished the moment they walk away. Sometimes. OCCASIONALLY, somebody says, "You know.... I never thought of it that way!" I hope that particular individual goes forth, and lives purposefully, rather than existing.

I'm sure you have heard the story of the little boy standing on the beach, among thousands of starfish that have washed ashore. He is picking up the starfish, one by one, and throwing them back into the water. Some calloused person who has MADE themselves old walks by and asks him, "Son, what are you doing? You can't possibly save ALL the starfish!" He answers, "No, I can't. But I can save THAT one... (throws another one into the water).... and THAT one... (throws another one into the water).... and THAT one... (throws another one into the water)....

The only problem is that you can easily throw a wayward starfish back into the water. They can't fight back. Humans, however, get a little pissed and a little resistant when I tell them that they need to venture back into the water!

- Michael

Thanks to this cold that some generous person (!!) gave me, I have been a bit out of sorts - worse than usual - the past couple days.


Yesterday, I did the body piercing version of 'your dress being tucked up in your panty hose!"


When I take my daily shower, I take the 3/4" plugs out of my ears, and my 00 gauge septum plug, and I wash....er... I wash my holes.  My other major piercing, which shan't be mentioned, can fend for itself.  


Anywho, I took the 3/4" plugs out of my ears, soaped and rinsed the holes, and instead of putting BOTH plugs back in, I forgot, and I only put the right plug back in my ear.  So.... I go go the Missouri Botanical Gardens, and I go shopping at 5 different stores.  NOT ONE PERSON mentioned to me that I had only one plug in my ears, and I had a huge, gaping, floppy hole in the other ear!


I guess this is proof that I don't spend as much time in a mirror as I am often accused of doing.  After my shower, I blow dryed, moussed and hair srayed my bear and 'stache into it's normal place, and I **STILL** didn't notice that I was missing a plug.  When Mark pulled up in the driveway after he got off work (About 5:30 PM), he yelled out his car window as he was driving up, "Hey, MOO, why do you only have one plug in?"  A flash of terror shot through me as I felt my left year.   Yep.  It was gone.  I went into the bathroom, and looked in the window sill above the bathtub.  There sat the missing plug.  I had gone without it all day!


Still, I feel like the lady that leaves a public restroom with the back of her dress tucked up in her panty hose - and she's not wearing underwear!

- Michael