A person can live a humorless, hysterical existence for only so long (especially a person who used to laugh at everything). So I made a decision to once again approach the world with my clown glasses on. The decision didn’t make me any more social or leave my cave more often … it just made my perpetual grimace more of a shady smile and I look up from the ground once in a while now.

Scene: Beautiful sunny day. Main camera is focused on a fairly busy intersection in a suburban neighborhood. Two cars are waiting at a red light. The camera is focused in the second car. I rocker looking dude in a sporty vehicle with the windows down is clearly enjoying the classic rock music he is playing. The radio is not blasting but loud enough to share with anyone in the vicinity. Suddenly Roy Orbison’s voice starts that that iconic song …

Pretty woman, walkin’ down the street
Pretty woman the kind I like to meet
Pretty woman I don’t believe you, you’re not the truth
No one could look as good as you, mercy …

Cue sidewalk camera: in slow motion, to the rhythm of the music, the camera is focused on a dog with a leash walking up from the direction behind the car. The focus expands back to the dog walker, smile on the face, hair blowing back in the breeze with a slight head shake, enjoying the day, the walk and the general ambiance. The music is the only sound.

Right out of an 80’s movie, right!

Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech! < that is the needle being pushed back on the record (to blatantly mix metaphors and probably confuse anyone younger than 40). The image is spot on except the dog walker was … you probably guessed it … ME. Everything described happened, EXCEPT I don’t actually have any hair and it is quite evident that I am NOT a pretty woman. I am pretty sure I am not a woman at all.

The slow motion part may be accurate.

This amusing(?) anecdote brought to you by a recovering grumpaholic. Hopefully it will bring a smile to someone’s day!

The post Movie Moment first appeared on thrumyeyes.

Headaches fell into the rarity category for me. If I got them, it was almost always because I somehow maltreated myself, such as doing  my best to empty all the bottles in a bar or trying for records in sleep deprivation. So when I suddenly had a rather intense (definitely on the migraine side of the affliction) headache that lasted a week, despite living a chaste and quiet life of late, it seemed likely that something in the old bod needed a bit of tuning up. I swallowed  anything left of my pride and went to ye old human body mechanic. They did the required poking and prodding, and came to the conclusion that … dun, dun, dunnnn …

… I had a headache. Why I had a headache was as much a mystery to the doc (technically Nurse Practitioner) as it was to me, since there are about as many different causes for headaches as there are stars in the sky (very slight exaggeration). Further testing was suggested, and some pain killers to help with the actual ACHE part of the issue were prescribed.. The pain killers helped, but they had the standard long list of possible side effects, top of the list being …  well … headaches. The MRI was done with little difficulty, the only exception being the resultant headache. It revealed that I had a sinus infection, so I was given some antibiotics, with a long list of side effects that included headaches. The antibiotics had little effect, prompting a visit to an Ear, Nose and Throat specialist, who verified that I had an infection, though the infection seemed in the wrong place for my headache. So he put me on an even stronger antibiotic, with similar warnings and results as the first one.

By this time, the intensity and persistence of this demon headache had significantly lessened, so I decided that I would call it a day and just take Tylenol when the monster returned, which it was now doing frequently. For the next few weeks I had an uneasy alliance with the creature that insists on inhabiting my cranial space, and life went back to what passes for normal to me. Just a few days ago, I went to see the doc for the semi-annual emissions testing (I got my new sticker with no issues), and mentioned that the headache demon had taken up permanent residence, though Tylenol seemed to mostly keep him from partying it up. Doc kindly informed me that there is this wonderful phenomenon that occurs when you take too many quick pain relief meds to deal with headaches … namely something called Rebound Headaches … so I should probably stop taking the Tylenol.

Let’s recap. Headaches are when the head part of us … well … aches. There are a gazillion reasons for headaches. Tests to isolate the reason might result in headaches. There are medicines to help headaches, which usually have headaches as a possible side effect. Quick working painkillers that will stop headache pain can result in having rebound headaches, so it is best to NOT take said painkillers to avoid getting a headache as a result of making your headache feel better.

Moral of this story: the best cure for a headache is to not have one in the first place.

The post A cure for headaches first appeared on thrumyeyes.

One might imagine that someone with such a full social calendar will not have all that many phone calls. One would possibly be imagining incorrectly.

I have a cell phone, which would quite possibly ring off the hook … if it had a hook to ring off of. It would drive me to wild acts of violence if I did not use the simple trick of turning the ringer off. Just ask anyone who has a LEGITIMATE reason to call me how easy I am to reach by phone. Why am I so popular in the telephone world? It’s simple really.

I have a phone number.

Apparently, the fact that one has a phone number basically means that one is brainless, and easy fodder for just about ANYONE who wants to scam a few dollars. It is amazing how many loans that I don’t have that I can refinance, or how many vacations I have won that I never signed up for. Not to mention how many time shares that I have never owned that I can now resell. I would be rich if I took advantage of all the get rich from home by using THIS method offers I receive. I have to admit all these phone calls and texts do occasionally make me feel popular.

The land line in the cave has a similar issue … with the ringer still ON (there are SOME calls that are legit). Recently, there has been a wave of calls to my mother from the feds about her persistent criminal activity. Yep mom is a criminal mastermind, though apparently not a very good one since she seems to keep getting caught. The most recent message was worth a giggle. Our message service transcribes the messages and send them as an email. This particular gumment agent had a rather thick accent that confounded the transcription program a bit:

Hi this message is intended to contact you. My name is Kevin Mason and I’m calling regarding an enforcement actions executed by US pleasure Way. Intending you see this attention. Ignoring this will be an intentional attempt to avoid initial appearance before a magistrate judge or a grand jewelry for a federal criminal offense. My number is 973-528-8225. I repeat 973-528-8225. I’d wife you to cooperate with us and help us to help you. Thank you.

I really wish mom would curtail her tendency to nefarious doings. Maybe the phone would ring less.

The post Criminal masterminds first appeared on thrumyeyes.

Unfortunately, as much as it sounds like I am describing a video game, we rarely have the option to reset when those challenges don’t go the way we choose.

As we get older and more experienced, we will often find that these tools get lost, or broken. Sometimes they are repairable, or maybe replaceable, but until the repairs / replacements are managed, we might find that certain tasks that were on the lowest difficulty level might suddenly be quite the opposite.

Needless to say, this can be quite frustrating.

Technology being the scary monster evolving being that it is, the repairs / replacement can be quite frightening impressive, and we might find facing our various challenges quite different. We night also find that the repairs / replacements are a challenge in themselves. Get a flat tire, replace the tire … mundane. Lose an arm, replace the arm … kind of neat but takes adjustment. Lose something more critical, like a cell phone or maybe your heart or something like that … now we are talking serious heebie jeebies.

A while back, I lost my colon. This, as you may guess, has caused me some serious difficulties. What’s more, it seems to be causing other things to fail. I have tried the repair option to no avail, and lack the means to replace. Now with the other pending losses, I am truly at a … well … loss. I am not sure how I will continue to function, and fear what the future holds. I have searched google, and while it offers some temporary solutions, they will not work in the long run.

I mean seriously, how is a writer supposed to get anything done without a colon, let alone a semi-colon. And now my quotes are giving me trouble. I might have to start a Go Fund Me campaign soon!!

The post A tough colonectomy first appeared on thrumyeyes.

That said, anyone who has a pet recognizes that limits need to be set and boundaries established. If too much freedom is allowed, chaos will most definitely be the word of any given day. Some rules need to be created, and to be sure that they are enforced a certain level of training must be involved. The how of the training will be different from case to case, but usually it will involve some combination of “carrot and stick”.

Personally I prefer focusing on the carrots, but that may just be my inner libtard.

With my nomadic existence, it was only a matter of time before I found myself with a non-human companion. Brown Dog (aptly named because she is brown-ish and a dog) is very smart, and has a very distinct personality. If stubbornness is a positive character trait, she is a veritable saint. Since I kind of can be described in a similar fashion (except for the brown-ish dog part), it became apparent fairly quickly that training would definitely need to come into play.

Distasteful as it may be for me, sometimes punishment is necessary, but usually it is no more than an expression of displeasure. Usually offering reward … or denying it as may be needed, is sufficient. Thanks to diligent and efficient training,a routine of sorts has been established, and chaos has definitely been kept at bay.

Yep, Brown Dog has firmly established where and when I can sleep, what and when I can eat, and when and for how long I am permitted to do my own thing. She even regulates my exercise, letting me know when I can walk and / or play, and for how long. My failure to comply results in severe punishment … usually being pestered every ten minutes with either over the top cuteness or simple barking and staring until I do as told. Occasionally I may actually be rewarded with a treat, such as some peace for enough time to watch ONE T.V. show unhindered, or maybe room to sleep all stretched out, but it is rare. She is a pretty tough trainer.

Sometimes rules DO make for peaceful living. At least for the one who sets the rules!

The post Dog Training first appeared on thrumyeyes.

I am bringing my brag on because I did not realize how effective my efforts have been. Due to some local road work that promises to be eternal, during peak travel time traffic is rerouted to side streets … specifically the one that I usually find myself on during my tri-daily harvesting of dog poop. Being a nice, quiet domestic neighborhood, it practically screams, “Embrace your inner racing demon!” In the interest of public safety (or maybe just for personal record keeping) the wise powers that be … instead of actually speeding up the construction project, thus re-rerouting the traffic … has placed one of those signs that tells one how fast they are going. No doubt this sign will fill these speed demons with remorse so that they change their evil ways.

So there I am, walking at a leisurely pace (when not being dragged one way or another by Brown Dog), and I see this new addition to the street decor. It specifically catches my eye because it seems to be registering me. Walking. I glance over my shoulder, to make sure there is no car creeping along behind me, but no … B. D. and I are the only objects moving towards the sign. It kind of surprised me that the sign actually registered a walking pace. It even surprised me more that it told me I was walking at 8 miles an hour. I would have said it was a fluke, except it has happened every time I’ve walked by the sign now. It varies from 5 to 9 m. p. h., but seems to settle at 8 most often.

Apparently I have been vastly improving my fitness without even realizing it. Sure it is not inconceivable for a human to move at that pace. It is not even fast. But it does require actually … well … RUNNING. Not ambling along in glorious apathy. I can only explain my taking a half an hour to walk our average mile walk (2 m. p. h. by MY math) as my failure to adapt to the new math, because there is no way the technology would LIE to me.

The post Just call me speedy! first appeared on thrumyeyes.

My social life these days has been reduced to catering to my one and only companion, Brown Dog. Her blog has also been on the quieter side lately, as her adventures are sadly tied to MY adventures … or lack thereof. She has had to settle for the life of a house dog, complete with leash controlled walks, a regulated diet, and such routine and unwelcome concepts as regular visits to the vet. I don’t think she is any more into that life than I am. That said, her most recent visit to the vet generated the need for a … gasp …

… urine sample.

Between Murphy’s Law, lack of aim, performance anxiety, and volume control issues, I question my ability to get my OWN sample for the doc. So imagine the scenarios that popped into my head upon hearing I needed to procure one from my dog. They told us that we could pick up a “kit” to make things easier. I had a tough time imagining what this kit could entail. Was it some sort of clever diaper with a bottle? B. D. is amenable to clothing, but there may be limits. Maybe some crazy pump creation? Would I need training to complete my task? Mom got the kit, and it was simply a plastic tray and a bottle. Simple and basic concept, easy to do under ideal conditions.

It was obviously designed by someone who has never actually walked a dog.

Since my life these days basically revolves around walking B. D., I realized that I would have to plan my campaign carefully. I spent a few days studying my copy of Sun Tzu’s The Art of War, and despite the wisdom learned there, there was not very much that seemed directly pertinent to obtaining urine samples from canines. So I basically realized that I would just have to wing it. It would take excellent timing, lightning reflexes, and a fair amount of luck. In short my chances of success were practically nil.

When walking, Brown Dog loves to randomly stop, if she is not randomly running ahead. In both cases, she generally does some body shifting on me worthy of a chiropractor. The random stops will mostly be for sniffing, but it might be for bladder release … whether for relief, marking ownership, or simply cuz she can is immaterial. It WILL be without warning. This is the doggy equivalent of social networking. Though she seldom gives warning of a pending pee, there are certain areas that have a higher likelihood of it happening (such as right in front of the Keep Dogs of the Grass sign on the property).However, Brown Dog, being actually a mischievous faerie being in disguise, decided it was time to shake up the “routine”, and started watering a whole new collection of dry spots … some without even a prior sniff. She also made sure to frequently pick terrain that was NOT conducive to sliding a plastic tray under her nether regions.

She IS a tricky one.

To cut this overlong anecdote short (primarily because the denouement is actually NOT all that funny … sorry to disappoint), I managed to get the requisite sample thanks to B. D. being half asleep on her walk the other morning, thus not up to par in her mischievous ways. Not exactly a PMSL moment, but we take what we can get!

The post Urine the money first appeared on thrumyeyes.

I have masterfully managed to completely separate myself from almost all things connected to humanity. This makes it rather difficult to relay the humor I encounter, since I really only encounter me and I am boring. But as much as I would love to, I can’t seem to escape the world of social networking, which somehow means I also can’t escape the political world. This is a world that is ripe with humor. In fact, it is such a joke that any humorous commentary I could possibly conjure up would pale in comparison to the ludicrousity (it needs its own word) of modern-day politics. So what HAVE I been doing to … er … um … WITH … myself? Watching a lot of bad TV. Playing a lot of pointless games. And taking … SHUDDER … surveys.

I am not proud of this fact, but I cannot deny it either. I take online questionnaires, for “fun”, to relieve boredom, and to ”earn money”. Of course the last is by far the funniest, unless earning 10 dollars for hours of answering questions that may or may not have been written by trained chimps is actually called earning money. The one thing that all these surveys HAS done for me is provide me with an unwavering surety, verging on pure faith, that humanity is …

DOOMED.

Most of the surveys are presented by advertisers to see if their intended audiences are actually as brainless and easily manipulated as the advertisers assume they are, but some of them are political “activists” seeing if THEIR intended audiences are actually as brainless and easily manipulated as the political “activists” assume they are. What scares me is that the advertisers and political “activists” may be right. I suspect there must be several classes for proper survey writing, such as Forcing Answers 101, and its sequel Making Completely Unreasonable Assumptions 102. There is also a follow-up course … Interpreting Statistics to Say What You Want (a 300 level course at the very least).

Questions are almost invariably multiple-choice. However the choices will rarely allow for the concept of independent thought. For instance, none of the above, or maybe even all of the above … or worst yet … it depends on the situation … will rarely be offered as options. So one is forced to pick from a selection of answers that may not really apply … thus providing the questioners with undeniable “facts” that they gladly force down our throats at a later date, once their extremely (non)scientific questions are answered. In other words they are modeled after the tests that define the education system these days.

I could give many examples of how ridiculous some of these questions are, such as asking the personality traits of THINGS, or asking how much we spent on a random item bought twelve months ago, but that would make this already rather long bit o’ nonsense REALLY long. So I will focus on the specific questions that prompted me to write this rather long bit o’ nonsense.

• Do you drink beverages in the afternoon for a specific reason? Some of the possible reasons … a pick me up, a snack … those are the ones I picked, though to me they are basically the same thing.
• What kind of beverage is it? … several varieties except the one that happens to be the correct one for me, which is a fruit smoothie.
• What are you doing when you drink this beverage? This was the question that really threw me. I am not sure how my answer will help them, since what I do while I drink my beverage is drink my beverage.

If the average human actually thinks the way those who create these questionnaires think they think, then I am pretty sure of two things … I am not human, and humanity is most definitely a failed experiment.

The post The question is … first appeared on thrumyeyes.

As we grow way from normal, face to face human interactions, it seems we find it more and more difficult to actually find safe conversation starters with people we don’t really know too well. I say this, but realize that it really has nothing to do with the desoicalization trends of technology. I am just grasping at another chance to shout from my soap box. The truth is I think this may actually be something genetically coded into humans.

There are so many topics two people can explore, no matter how well they know each other. The thing is, many of these topics are ripe with emotional context, and basically an invitation to battle. It’s one thing if you are talking with your BFF’s or your family members. Then battle is perfectly acceptable, depending on your specific relationship. But the average, peace-loving individual may want to steer clear of these subjects when circumstance force us to actually TALK to people we don’t know very well. For instance, if you are walking your dog, and the pesky critter insists on dragging you to that other guy over there, walking HIS dog, what do you say to each other. Do you discuss the dogs? For a moment, mainly out of sheer embarrassment. But it gets awkward leaving it there, so the need to extend the conversation … you know actually have an END point, compels you to say more. Do you discuss politics? Danger, Will Robinson!!. Maybe religion. Don’t even go there!! How about sports? That could make the other two topics look like a love fest. So what WOULD be a safe topic?

Then the answer hits you. It is right there all along … and all the time. The safest topic in the world, one which can be discussed with ANYONE, and even if there is some disagreement will end any conversation smoothly … and more importantly …  PEACEFULLY. So you pick your phrase, and all is well with the world. “How could you not enjoy a day as beautiful as this?” Or maybe, “I can’t believe it is so cold?” Or any of a whole list of any other trite but accurate comments about the weather, some positive, some negative. The other guy gives an appropriate response, which may or may not actually relate to what you said, and you both go on about your business, potential disaster averted.

Lesson of the day … if you are not sure what to say, just mention the weather.

The post Weather or not … first appeared on thrumyeyes.

The typical daily routine:

• up by 7:30 am to escort B. D. on her morning toilet
• back in bed by 8
• up by 9 for breakfasty activity
• between 930-ish and noon-ish twiddle my thumbs clockwise, then for variety counterclockwise. Do computery things
• lunch at noon-ish
• between 12:30-ish and 4:00-ish I resume my pre-lunch activities
• 4:00-ish escort B. D. on her evening toilet
• between 4:30-ish and 6:30-ish resume previous crazy non-eating, non-dog escorting activities
• dinner at 6:30-ish.
• between 7:00-ish and midnight-ish resume resuming, until sleep beckons

O.K. it’s not much of a routine.

Part of the routiniousness of my routine non-routine involves bagging Brown Dog’s poop to keep the neighbors, the civil authorities, and presumably various lawns happy. Often the bags I have are not up to the task, resulting in some of the poop getting on my fingers.

Finally I get to my whole reason for the post!

Has anyone else noticed how often we do things like, say, smell our fingers when they get coated with something we absolutely know will stink? It’s as if we need to verify that the shit does in fact … smell like shit. It’s an actual reflex for some. Then there are those who will take it to the next step, and stick it in someone else’s face and ask them to smell it. Of course the someone else will do exactly that. With the same LACK of sane reason.

I even have a friend that will smell, gag, and repeat.

I ask you, does this make any sense (even if it makes scents)?

The post Aroma Therapy first appeared on thrumyeyes.