(L to R:  ChachiAKA8Bit, DjLunchbox, DocRemedy, and FatherSpoon)

As previously noted, I’m laid up with a nasty Kidney infection which means I couldn’t even make it to the YinzTeam game last night to cheer my friends on from the sidelines.  In short, that sucks.  Yeah, we’re all connected through the social media outlets and we’re able to keep tabs on one another throughout the day, but part of what makes the Pittsburgh New/Social media crowd so unique (at least in my eyes) is that we use those platforms to actually get together and have fun.  I’ve met some amazing people over the past year or two, and I’m thankful for all of them.

While balled up in what feels like a permanent question mark position, I got a text from @DjLunchbox to check my email.  The pictures I found waiting for me made me smile for the first time since I’ve been in the fetal position with this illness.  The one above is my favorite, and it means a lot to me.  And Father Spoon (aka Doogle) posted a run down of the madness that was the last regular season YinzGame–I understand there were planks to walk…

Thanks, yinz guys, for making me feel better and missed!  You really made my day.

Well, not exactly MIA–I’ve been in and out of the hospital.  Again.

Saturday I traveled with my family to Ohio to visit my brother and sister-in-law.  It was my brother’s birthday last week and we were having an impromptu cook out and cake gathering.  I have pictures and a post already written in my head, and I fully intended on posting it on Sunday (The post is still coming.  I’ll just have to back date it, so look for that.  It’ll be great!  Wisdom of an 8 year old and delicious Almond Tortes require a good, healthy post).  I went to bed early on Saturday because I wasn’t feeling very well, but had every intention of posting Sunday.  Yeah.  That didn’t happen.

Sunday, at about 6 AM, I woke up with incredible pains in my back and stomach.  It felt as though my actual stomach was trying to turn itself inside out.  The contractions came in waves of incredible, blinding pain.  It was similar to the pain I imagine you feel when you are stabbed with a hunting knife repeatedly in the stomach.  Of course there was also the throwing up every hour and a half which contributed to the bruising of my ribs.  I assumed that this was the source of the intense back pain I was feeling, but it turned out that I had it backwards. 

Monday I tried to go to work and soldier through, figuring that I could muscle through the waves of pain.  I got there, lasted about an hour and a half, and was in so much pain that I had to go to the hospital.  I think I scared my boss to death (thank goodness he was so helpful.  I don’t know what I would have done had he not been there to rush me to the ER).  Once in the ER they asked the typical questions and ran the usual tests, and everything looked wonderful except that I had severe pyelonephritis  (A.K.A.  Kidney Infection). 

I’ve had kidney infections in the past and I mentioned to a family member on Sunday that I was worried that my symptoms were similar to my previous experiences.  The problem with a Kidney infection is that you usually don’t know you have one until it’s serious (that’s when the recognizable symptoms rear their ugly heads).  In the ER they decided that I needed fluids, high doses of Cipro, pain meds, and nausea medicine immediately.  That meant an IV.  If there’s one thing that approaches my fear of clowns, it’s needles.  I was in so much pain, though, that all the fight I could muster was a little hyperventilation and a constant stream of tears.  I just wanted the pain to stop.  After a few hours on the IV, the back pain subsided for a while, but the GI spasms and pain didn’t.  They had to double the pain medicine.  Needless to say, I was a zombie.

So I’m laid up until the stomach spasms stop (that means the infection is under control and getting better), and full of medicines that would knock a baby elephant on his rear.  I can’t drink caffeine (this is leading to caffeine withdrawal on top of everything else), Cranberry juice and chicken soup are my new best friends, and I’ve developed an affinity for Life Saver flavored Popsicles.   If I’m coherent I’ll try and play catch up with my posting, but it might have to wait until the weekend.  Or until I can sit up for longer than an hour without pain.  Or never.  We’ll see.

Friday Five for July 18th:  Bad Food

1.  What was the last meal that caused you to be ill?

I bought deli made Broccoli Au Gratin from a supermarket a few weeks back, and I’m relatively certain it caused my last bout of food poisoning.

2.  Are there any places you never dine anymore because of a bad experience hours after the meal?

Not that I can think of.  I’ve had bad experiences with wait staff, with other customers, and with parking lot availability, but I haven’t had many occasions where I’ve contracted food poisoning from a restaurant. 

3.  What’s your prescription for dealing with a food-caused illness?

A conveniently placed bucket, clear path to the bathroom, mint ginger ale, and either Pedialyte or Gatorade.  If you can keep Pepto down then good for you.  I also tend to turn off my phone and curl up in a ball. 

4.  When friends tell you about coming down with food-caused illnesses, do you avoid the places they name, or do you figure it’s a dice-roll wherever you go?

It depends on the friend, really.  If someone with a touchy stomach tells me about getting sick I might not take any pains to avoid the place.  If they contracted botchulism, that’s a different story.  But if it was just a mild case of food poisoning, and it was only one friend, I would probably still give the place a chance.  If it was a number of friends passing on this info over an extended period of time, I would probably avoid that restaurant.

5.  After numerous citations, a very, very popular restaurant that you’re quite fond of is shut down by the health department until it can get everything up to code. When the health department gives the restaurant the o.k. to reopen, do you go?

Ha… well… yes.  First thing that comes to mind with this question is the Chi-Chi’s incident.  I miss their Seafood Nachos like you wouldn’t believe!  And if they reopened anywhere within 3 hours of me, I’d likely make the hike for a Margarita, Seafood Nachos, and Fried Ice-Cream.

Who Else is Friday 5-ing?  (You know you want to join us…)

*As always, the Friday 5 questions were taken from Friday5.org.  If you join the fun, be sure to let me know so I can add you to the link list!  And don’t forget to send those questions in that you’re itching for us to answer!  Don’t worry, we’ll gladly pimp your blog for the effort. 

1.  Ramen Noodles.  I’m pretty much over these little sodium-filled packs of “soup.”  Every once in a blue moon I find myself craving them… until I make them and remember exactly why I don’t eat them anymore.

2.  Mac and Cheese.  I could eat Mac and Cheese every day with no problem.  When I got bored, I’d add some flair:  Tuna and ketchup (Yes, I am aware that most people think that’s gross), chicken and broccoli, and even beef tips.  I can still eat Mac and Cheese on the rare occasion that it’s served somewhere (OMG the Sixth Penn Kitchen has the most addictive “home made” Mac and Cheese I’ve ever tasted!!), but I’m not likely to make it.

3.  Soup.  I still eat a lot of soup, but I practically survived college eating soup and drinking coffee.  Though it has been my favorite for as long as I can remember, I haven’t had Broccoli and cheese soup since I flipped my tassel.

4.  Pizza.  Some people never lose their love for the pizza.  I can now take it or leave it.  Unless we’re talking about Campiti’s… in that case I’ll have two larges to go in the brown paper bag, thank you.

I have watched family, friends, and even public figures nearly, if not completely, destroy themselves (careers, relationships, friendships, you name it) because they refuse to even attempt to remove their own emotions from the equation and look at facts.  I don’t just mean personal feelings, as in how you feel, but how society plays into your understanding of circumstances as well.  If people were more honest about facts, behaviors, and their contributions, people’s lives would be a hell of a lot more different.

It seems like every year I get word that someone I know ODs, and, unfortunately, they’re usually very young.  Last night I was informed of yet another friend of my cousin’s who ODed about two weeks ago–one year and a day from his own friend who ODed.  Yes, addiction can be hidden.  I don’t deny this.  But how long can the people closest to an addict turn their heads from obvious problems and signals?  I don’t buy that people just “don’t know.”  That might work in your own head to help justify the circumstances, but everyone–including you–knows that’s absurd.  I fought for years with a friend who refused to admit her boyfriend was an addict.  It was always the fault of his friends, or his family, or stress.  Eventually, after he ODed, she admitted that it wasn’t anyone else shoving needles in his arm.  She blamed herself.  Honestly, it broke my heart.  When there are problems with the people closest to you, somewhere–even if it’s that little voice in the back of your head nagging and casting doubt–deep down you know.  It’s that same little voice or feeling you get when you know that something is wrong in a friendship.  You know. 

I’ve never understood why people shy away from doing the hard things, the things that may be painful at first, or embarrassing, or difficult, in order to help someone they care about.  Isn’t the ultimate goal to live happy, healthy lives and help those you love to do the same?  I’ve known people who looked the other way for decades of abuse and addiction because they didn’t want people to “talk” or to feel like “a failure” in the eyes of the people who mattered most to them.  Newsflash!  You and the ones you love are the only things that should matter.  When you’re faced with the disastrous consequences of sticking your head in the proverbial sand, you won’t get any pity from me.  Maybe that’s cold.  Maybe that’s heartless.  But when given days, months, years, even decades to right a wrong or intervene when someone can’t for themselves, and you choose, instead, to go about your merry way pretending everything is just fine, I just can’t help you.  In fact, if you bring that to me the first thing I’ll do is lay the cards–all the cards–on the table.  It’s not an attempt to make you feel worse, but an effort to help you see what actually happened.  That’s not to say I won’t be there to help.

I’m aware that not everyone feels the same.  I’m also aware that there are plenty of folks who don’t believe that their friends or relatives are their responsibility.  To each his own.  Personally, I find that to be colder than brutal honesty.  I just know that I’m tired of attending funerals for people I’ve coached, taught how to swim, or taught in a classroom because no one wanted to upset or embarrass them (or themselves or their family).  Problems are problems and everyone has them.  No one is perfect.  Once we all can admit that to ourselves, maybe our roads will be just a little bit smoother and filled with the people we care most about.  I have enough stops at roadside cemeteries to make through this life, I’d like to avoid adding any more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

*Dedoublement, in this sense, is not the direct translation of “split personality,” but the psychological/literary concept discussed by French author Andre Gide.  In essence, “dedoublement” is the ability to split oneself in two–one aspect that interacts and feels the world they live in, and the other to stand back and observe.  The second “self” is responsible for the detached analysis of the facts of the world around the individual.  Without this second self, it becomes inherently more difficult to act for the greater outcome or good.

For me it happened with the following foods, which you won’t catch me eating unless the world is ending, I’ve already eaten every leafy thing in sight, or I’m about to die of malnutrition (in which case you’ll still have to hold me down and force feed me):

1. Liver.  Just… ew.  Ew. Ew. Ew.  No, no thank you.  There is no way you can cook this to make it even remotely appealing.
2. Salmon.  I know salmon is all the rage these days, but even the smell of it makes me gag.  Cooked, raw, or swirled into a frothy pate, it’s still awful.
3. Anchovies.  The only way I voluntarily eat anchovies is in Caesar dressing and I can only eat it then because I forget that those little bastards are in there.  They’re gross.
4. Added update:  Sardines.  Not only do they stink to high heaven, but they’re all claustrophobic in those cans.  No, no thank you!

I’m pretty sure those are the only ones, but I’m sure others will crop up.  If they do I’ll add them, but for now, you won’t see me piling any of these in my shopping cart.  If you do, it’s clearly an impostor.

Lionel the Creamsicle Kitten - Felony Cute

Originally uploaded by Pixel Packing Mama

There are two frozen treats that I would step over your twitching, prone body for: Creamsicles and Pudding Pops. For a number of years these frozen bits of heaven on a stick seemed to have disappeared from the shelves and there was great sadness in the land. And then, as if in a magical ray of light in the freezer section, they appeared once more in shafts of brilliant illumination and addiction. And the people rejoiced.

It must be noted, however, that not all Creamsicles are created equal. It can all be boiled down to one simple mathematical statement:

Orange Creamsicles > Vanilla Pudding Pops > Raspberry Creamsicles.

It’s that simple. Really.

And for the record, I am not talking about eating frozen Creamsicle kittens. I came across that picture in my photo searches and how could you not love that face? I mean come on! I want to hug him, and squeeze him, and call him…. Pol Pot. Okay, okay… Montague, or Cassio, maybe.  But I’ve already named a tarantula Genghis Khan… I’m working on my evil ruler menagerie here, and that little guy looks like he could do some serious damage to my sheer scarf curtains.

It’s no secret that I hate (and I do mean hate ) “Reality” TV.  There’s nothing real  about it, to begin with.  It’s an obvious placating of antiquated cravings to use entertainment to make individuals feel better about their own lives.  As the seasons pile up, any attempt at opacity disappears.  These shows are pandering to the Star and Enquirer crowds with shameless abandon.  If you’ve been paying attention to any of these shows for the last few years, you could fill out a “cast” list as easily as the producer.  You need one or two members of the cast who are older than the rest, the young, dumb girl, the young girl with the attitude, the athlete, the republican, the homosexual, the homophobe, the bible banger, and the girls who think that sleeping their way to the winner’s circle is the smartest route.  Oh, and don’t forget the men who take that very same approach.  You have a Benetton ad of race, religious, and political diversity.  I’ve said it before, and I stand by it… people watch these shows not to see who wins, but to watch people lose.  Why else are many of the the most memorable “characters” from these “reality” shows the ones who lost, got fired, kicked off the island, made to turn in their chef coat, didn’t get the rose, or who was evicted from the house?  We root for our favorites, but it’s so much more fun to root against the ones we hate, isn’t it?

There are only a handful of these shows that I can stomach to watch, and most of them are only because I enjoy the rantings of my friends about these shows.  Hell’s Kitchen, Amazing Race, and Big Brother  are really the only ones I can tolerate.  I stranded Survivor after the first season when the “tribes” didn’t realize that they had to put up their food so that the animals wouldn’t eat it.  And they did.  And I knew immediately that modern television was in for a dumbing down like this media driven generation has never seen.  Anyone who has been a boy or girl scout–or even been camping, for that matter–knows the basics of survival!  I can’t watch any of those Bachelor or Bachelorette shows without feeling the need to become a nun, and don’t even get me started on Flava-Flav and his atrocity of a show.  Fear Factor  jumped the shark when it became a game of “who can eat the grossest thing without puking on camera” (though I suppose that counts as a game show, not a “Reality Show,” but where do you draw the line anymore?).  And The Apprentice just got worse every season.  I don’t know why people even bother trying to feign friendship or humanity on these shows.  It’s about a dollar amount and winning.  That’s it.  I don’t even understand why people would watch most “Reality Shows.”  America’s Next Top Model?  Celebrity Rehab?  Baby Borrowers?  Celebrity Circus?  Being Bobby Brown?  The Simple Life?  I Want to be a Hilton?  Are you KIDDING ME?!  If finding 99% of the “Reality Shows” on TV  disgusting, low brow, utterly mindless, and more suitable for means of torture for anyone with a shred of intelligence than entertainment makes me a pretentious snob, then so be it.

Of the “competition” shows, So You Think You Can Dance  and Last Comic Standing still manage to maintain the skill level I can appreciate in a show.  The others have turned into jokes (and these are close to the edge too).  I cannot, under any circumstances, stand to be within earshot of American Idol.  And the current season of America’s Got Talent  confirmed my fears that all “competition” shows have tried to copy the success of American Idol  right down to the the need for canned cruelty and catch phrases.  I had high hopes for Nashville Star, but it succumbed to the same fate.

All of that is to say that tonight was the premiere of Big Brother 10, and it lives up to everything you would expect out of a “Reality Show.”  Go check out the cast of characters and you’ll see what I mean.  If you want, you’re welcome to watch the surveillance cams in the house 24/7.  If you do, send me a detailed report.  Three times a week (if I ever manage to watch more than one) is far more than a healthy dose for me, thanks. 

((I actually have a post planned on the positive reasons that “Reality” TV is so popular… okay, so maybe they aren’t “positive” in the sunshine and rainbows sense, but they’re perfectly good reasons.  It has much to do with the reasons people read any series an author writes–or why spaghetti westerns, detective novels, and bodice ripping romance novels have been and continue to be popular.))

 Growing up, I was forced to watch episode after episode of M*A*S*H in the evenings, and I can’t remember hating anything more (Well, I hated Willie Nelson too, but as with most things I grew up loathing, I’ve grown particularly fond of Willie too).  I don’t know when the switch occurred, but somewhere I became enamoured with M*A*S*H and the hi-jinks of the cast of characters of the 4077.  Maybe it was the writing, the predictable format of the show, the comedic timing, or the topical nature of many of the episodes.  All I know is that at some point, I grew to adore M*A*S*H, and I have a sneaking suspicion that my opinion changed once Henry Morgan, A.K.A. Colonel Sherman Potter joined the cast.

I didn’t have the pleasure of knowing either of my grandfathers while growing up–both had died before I could bat my eyelashes at them and drag them to story time.  My uncle’s parents lived across the street from me once we moved back to Pittsburgh, and somewhere along the way my brothers and I took to calling my uncle’s father “PapPap.”  He makes the most mouth watering meatballs (the size of tennis balls if we pleaded long enough), and sauce that tomatoes fight each other to be a part of.  Pap is old school in more ways than one, and even when he joined forces with my father to scare the life out of my dates, I knew it was because he cared.  He’s always had kind words and a kind laugh or joke for us, and I’ll always be grateful for having that as a part of my life. 

And while I have one surrogate Grandfather, I think it only right to fill the missing position on the other side of my family line.  I’ve been watching the entire run of M*A*S*H, and once Col. Potter uttered his first “HORSE HOCKEY!” I knew just the man for the job.  If we had the ability to choose, Col. Potter would be at the top of my list.  In fact, he might well be the only name on my list.  Yeah, yeah, he’s a fictional character, but so what?  If I can’t have the real thing, I might as well aim high, right?  He had a sense of humor, order, and understood when to let things work themselves before he stepped in.  He fought for the little guy and loved the family around him, all while overseeing the organized chaos of life in a battle zone (and sometimes that is exactly  what life feels like, doesn’t it?).  He could take a joke with as much panache as he could play one, and while he wasn’t always a stickler for discipline and the rules, he respected them and what they stood for.  At the same time, he did respect breaking the rules for the right reasons.  When it comes right down to it, you trusted that when Col. Potter was around everything would turn out well no matter what the difficulty.  Having him yell at you showed as much care as when he listened to your troubles and offered down home advice.  He was intelligent, experienced, and there was nothing that could get by him. 

So I’m officially adopting Col. Sherman Potter as my surrogate, fictional grandfather.  And now, under the wise advice of Grandpa Potter, I’m going to “get a belt.”

Friday 5: Midsummer Night’s Dreams

1. What are some recurring dreams you’ve had?

I have a few recurring dreams, but the one that has a nasty habit of rearing its ugly head starts off with me on a beach with childhood friends.  Usually it’s a mediocre beach (the kind with yellow, shelly sand and a long stretch of beach behind between me and the “hotel” while I’m sitting on the waterline), and usually the hotel/resort behind me is mostly made of glass with plenty of palm trees everywhere and an unusual amount of sun shining on it.  Without fail I always notice the sky and water turn dark and foreboding and when the waves starts to pull back from the shore and curl up into a massive, pitch black, sky scraper sized tidal wave I turn to warn my friends, but they’ve already run off.  In the past I’ve tried to run too, but I can never get away and that ominous, massive wave crushes down on me, smothering me, and beating my body against the rocks.  Every bone in my body is broken and I watch myself drown and then slowly, with the rhythm of the waves, get pulled further into the ocean and eventually into the Abyss.

2.  What is the significance of dreams in telling you about yourself?

I think it depends, but recurring dreams (like the one above) can be warnings from my subconscious about things I’d rather not think about or admit to myself about myself.  In my most recent version of that dream it was a Caribbean island I was on, and when the darkness and tidal wave came, I didn’t even bother running.  I just sat there and waited for it to overwhelm me.  Even the smallest changes can alert you to alterations in thought and how you’re handling things.

3.  How do you feel after you’ve had one of THOSE dreams?

It depends on what is meant by “THOSE” dreams, really.  I’m assuming we’re still talking about the recurring dreams, and after I have one of those I always have a bit of an anxiety episode.  Ultimately it leads to me reevaluating the circumstances and people in my life, and 9 times out of 10, I realize what is really going on, or what is likely to happen soon.  Even though they rattle my cage a bit, they end up being helpful in the long run.

4.  What was the last dream you remember?

I was lying in an open field of high grass with a dark forest creating the border of the field.  I was staring up at the clouds, and I remember feeling the grass itch my skin and me watching a dragon fly who came to see what it was I was doing just laying in the grass.  There was an overwhelming sense of peacefulness and calm.  And then, suddenly, the dragon fly buzzed off and I could feel the air change.  Before I felt the ground trembling I knew that men on horses were coming, and that I was in serious danger.  I rolled over and saw the stampede of men with a banner and medieval weapons raised pounding across the field from the far border right toward me.  I had nowhere to run and the grass wasn’t going to protect me, so I stood up.  The circled around me and closed in. I didn’t understand the language they were speaking, but I knew I was going to either be taken prisoner or killed.  I woke up when I was knocked to the ground.

5.  When did you last dream about something that later happened as you dreamt it?

That would be last week. It happens quite a lot, especially when it comes to people appearing in my dreams and then making cameo appearances in my life.  If I’m really stressing over a problem for a while, it’s not uncommon for me to dream about the outcome and it happen almost exactly as I dreamed it.  Every once in a while I dream about a particular woman who always “gives” me numbers in some way, and those numbers usually hit that day.

If you want to join in on the Friday 5 fun (You know you do… I think you should.  You really, really should….), simply copy the above questions or go to the Friday 5 site and answer them on your own blog.  If you do, let me know so I can post a link to your answers too (I’m thinking of fun stuff like little icons of anyone else who wants to jump in that links to your particular post).  If you would like to see @DjLunchbox, myself, and anyone else who decides to jump in feet first here answer a set of Friday 5 questions that you create because they’re burning in your mind, email one of us the questions and we’ll get right on it! 

Have fun!