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.

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.

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.

If you think that you no doubt have not met me.

On a whim ( and noticing how long it has been since I posted here) I decided to sit down and get my (hopefully drunken) audience into tears of laughter with one of my amazing and funny anecdotes. Unfortunately, as soon as I sat at the computer, my huge list of amazing and funny anecdotes flew right out of my mind.  Just like when person A asks you person B’s name, and no matter how long you might have known person B for some reason at that moment in time you completely forget the answer.

As I often do when I am trying to think of something to write … I headed to the kitchen. Nothing like snacking on unnecessary foods to get the brain creating. Noticing the time, I kept a wary eye out for Ninja Cats, seeing as Lucky usually appears in a puff of smoke about this time of day to try to make me fall flat on my face. Usually after she attempts to kill me, we have a good conversation. She has become quite vocal lately. Admittedly, my grasp of catese is still highly limited, but that does not prevent her from having a lot to say. In a brilliant flash, I thought what better thing to share on the blog than the wisdom of one of the Ninja Cats? So I got out my trusty iPhone and started an interview.

Brace yourself for enlightenment, for here it is …

So much for THAT "interview". Maybe next time.

The post Interview with a Ninja first appeared on thrumyeyes.

1. It’s a bar. Need I say more? No. But I will anyway.
2. Bars often have these working at them →
   
3. Bars have food.
4. Bars have music.
5. Bars have people.
6. People like to talk.
7. Bars have booze.
8. Booze makes people hungry and talkative.
9. Booze and food (and sometimes talk) costs money.
10. Typing requires manual dexterity.
11. Booze and full stomaches don’t promote manual dexterity.

I am not at all saying that I regret the decision to move my ailing brain this way. I still get exercise out of it (when I don’t get rides). I don’t ALWAYS spend all the money I have (thus ensuring I will have no food to worry about on my upcoming hike simply because I can’t afford it). The mental stimulation of actual human interaction has actually improved my creativity, and I seem to actually produce SOMETHING (even if it is not quality something) when I am there. It certainly is more productive than lying in bed watching cartoons all day. But there are still a few wrinkles to iron out. Fortunately I never really let wrinkles bother me. I don’t even own an iron.

I hope I have helped any potential starving artists here. Gotta know what you might be in for! In the mean time I have to go for now. The bartender seems to want my attention!

The post A few hiccups first appeared on thrumyeyes.

I am sure I have mentioned a few times about Lucky being a very … vocal … cat. At least to me. We chat all the time. Now me being slow in the uptake, I don’t always quite get what it is we are chatting about. But Lucky seems content on those occasions when she feels she got her point across. She also makes her displeasure well-known when she has not.

I guess I am starting to understand her more (respond to her training?) because she seems fairly content with me lately. The other day, though, she took communications to a whole new level. I was lying comfortably in my bed, doing something no doubt of EXTREME IMPORTANCE (like exploring the backside of my eyelids or watching cartoons). Lucky got up next to me and started meowing something. It took me a few seconds to realize she was not just talking … she was SINGING. And of all songs … she was singing the NATIONAL ANTHEM (of America … brave kitty). Kind of pitch perfect too. I was so amazed that my first reaction is "I need to post that in the Ninja Cat Journals!" My second reaction was that maybe I should get another witness. Fortunately my father walked into the room and heard it too … he even ran to get my mother, laughing the whole time!

I short while later, I realized it was a dream. You know what gave it away? My dad passed almost a year ago. And I was in the room I grew up in 40 years ago. But somehow the idea of Lucky singing does not seem all that odd!

The post Cat-chy tune first appeared on thrumyeyes.

The other day, I was getting a little annoyed at my computer’s constant contrariness. Always taking it’s time to do things, refusing to do others, and simply doing it’s best to NOT cooperate. The biggest annoyance at the time was the fact that the DVD Drive one day just refused to work at all. Not even that homey vzzzzt sound when the computer is turned on. And now the mouse was doing it’s best to pretend that I was not actually touching it at all. The machine was just going too far! So being the skilled technophobic techie, I got myself a small enough screwdriver, and flipped the culprit over with every intention of doing unspeakable things to its backside. I unscrewed ten or so tiny screws, and removed the back cover.

I have to admit I was a little surprised by what I found.

There before me was a nest of … well … Dust Bunnies. But they were no ordinary Dust Bunnies. These all had "nasty, big pointy teeth"! And they growled fiercely. I am no expert, but I am pretty sure this is not what the interior of a computer NORMALLY looks like. I out from under the table that I had dived under (two rooms away), and prepared to do battle with these terrifying creatures. First I sent the cat in, but she ran back out almost as quickly, in obvious fear of her life. I guess it was up to me! I got myself a weapon or three, dust rag, little brush, a blowie thing (and wishing desperately for a Holy Hand Grenade) and did battle with the ravening horde of Dust Bunnies. I don’t want to get TOO graphic, but barring a few minor flesh wounds, I prevailed.

I am glad to say that my computer has a much better demeanor right now. It vzzzzt’s again, and even plays DVD’s. And the mouse seems much more cooperative. I guess this time I owe the bugger a bit of an apology.

The post Anybody have a spare Holy Hand Grenade? first appeared on thrumyeyes.

But since I seem to attract demons of ALL varieties, I will instead focus on the Irony Demon, who seems to love messing with me. I am sure many of you have met this critter. It is the one who ensures that every single event you might want to participate in on a given month happens on the exact same day. The one who ensures it rains on the one day that you leave your umbrella at home; the one who breaks the air conditioner on the hottest day of the year. This demon loves to mess with most people, but seems to have a special fondness for some. I am not sure what dating site it found me on, but I think we have a special relationship.

Today it seems to have decided to mess with none other than WordPress itself. Here I am with five blogs, and helping one or two others with theirs. That means a lot of editing and pretending I know what I am doing. I usually make a good pretense of appearing like I am a blogging wiz, but it is really a skill at guessing which button to push.

So when said buttons disappear, it kind of gets difficult.

Now anybody who has used the WordPress content system knows that every new post is supposed to have a way of adding media. It used to me multiple buttons, but recently it has morphed into one very flexible button. But for some reason it is playing hide and seek with me today. I have no problem finding it on my blogs that are predominantly words. But on the one blog I need it the most, namely my photo blog, it has seriously camouflaged itself.

So basically, I can’t put photos on my photo blog.

If this is NOT a demon, someone please explain what else it might be?

The post In need of a good exorcist first appeared on thrumyeyes.

Oddly, me being me, these are the questions I find challenging. I am known by different names depending on who I am around, so am never quite sure how I should name myself in certain crowds. I usually manage a sufficient answer, but the work one always gets complicated. Especially since I am now a confirmed … well … you see, I don’t even know what to call it. Lately I just go with writer. That way people can form their own conclusions.

Now that social networking sites have taken on the duty of removing small talk, I guess all I really need to do is give them a web address. No doubt they can look it up on their smartphones and get all the juicy details then and there. However I have noticed that recently such pages as Facebook have been probing for a little too much detail. For instance, my current job listing on FB is a Life Process Engineer for the company Life. I have had that job for 46+ years so far, and I don’t see me leaving it any time soon. But Facebook, in its infinite wisdom and curiosity, has recently asked me "Where did you work before Life?"

I have to admit this question has me a bit stumped.

The post Tough questions first appeared on thrumyeyes.