How Many Shan's Does it Take to Change a Light Bulb?...

...It only takes one, but she has to be very tricky.

My house has very tall ceilings. I'm not sure how tall exactly. What I do know is that they are tall enough that a chair is not even close to good enough when a light bulb needs changing. A couple of days ago a light bulb in my bathroom burned out. Unfortunately, the bathroom is one of those places that you need to have all the light you can get so that when you put your makeup on, you don't look like Tammy Faye Bakker when you are done. If you didn't grow up in North Carolina with the Bakkers, or if you happen to not have spent a lot of time in the 80s watching tele-evangelists, then here is a photo to illustrate my point:Nobody wants to look like that. So, I'm faced with the dilemma of how to change the light bulb. You might say, "Use a ladder. What are you, daft?" To you I'd say that I don't have one. So, I'm pondering my dilemma when I see my brand new Ikea table. I've got to put it to good use now that I have it. I drag that thing into the bathroom, thinking how smart I am, and once I had it situated exactly where I wanted it, I looked at my work and this is what I saw:

I have to tell you that I laughed right out loud. The kind of laugh that even though you are all alone, you still look around to see if anyone is listening because it is embarrassing how loud you just laughed. I think this is what you do if you are serious enough about your eating that you don't want to take a potty break.

Even though this may not be best light bulb changing option, it sure beats what I used to do:

Queston...

Are glue sticks supposed to be moldy? I didn't even know that was a possibility.

I'm Over It

Thanks Lynne for your "there, there" yesterday. I think I was just at my whit's end with the last week and a half of sleep deprivation because of my shoulder, and that little dog just pushed me right over the edge. I'm over it. On a happier note, look at my new shoes I got yesterday:

A good pair of shoes makes everything feel better. I'll have to admit, however, that these shoes are even more fabulous with little Miss Rox's feet in them. Regrettably, I don't have a photo. I went by that Kesk zoo yesterday because while I was out and about I found a pair of socks that I believed that Monkey girl could not live one more day without. Then, there was this "pretty, pretty dress" as Rox says, that I didn't know if she could live without. And then of course, the Zebra boy might need a cute, new pair of shorts for that blessed day when the sun shines and it is warm every day. The only thing happier than buying myself new shoes, might be buying them new stuff because they are always so excited and so grateful. They immediately strip off the clothing they are currently wearing and put on the new stuff. It's happiness, I tell you.

Bone to Pick

Last night I had my first big outing since surgery. I went to pick up a couple of cds from a friend of mine in Highland. It felt so good to get out. Upon my return home there was a little dog at my door. This dog to be exact:

Her name is Daisy. She's a sweet puppy, but silly, silly me thought she'd have the good sense to go back to her home. That's exactly what I thought she'd done until 2:00 a.m. when she started barking, whining, and scratching my solid, knotty alder door. At this point I realize she's probably lost, only what do you do about it at 2:00 a.m.? I didn't want to let her in because she was a little neurotic and I knew she and Hank would make each other crazy and that translates in me wanting to beat them both. I also didn't want to take the chance of her going potty on the floor. Sure, I could lock her in the bathroom, but then I've got her barking, whining, and scratching my knotty alder bathroom door all night, and that would be lots louder. In short, I didn't sleep last night. Neither did Hank. Not that I care if he slept or not, because about 20 hours of his day is usually spent sleeping. Here's what he did all night:
I called Daisy's owner this morning and she came to get her. Apparently, she was only one street away from her house and I realized I wasn't dealing with the sharpest pup in the litter. However, now I'm grumpy and sleep deprived and I have a bone to pick with you cat haters of the world. I get a lot of guff from people who say things like, "the only good cat is a dead cat", or think maybe the only use for a cat is to torture it. I don't hate dogs and even if I did, I wouldn't tell people that I think their dog should be dead or tortured. Here's what I know about my cat experiences vs. my dog experiences. Keep in mind, I've owned plenty of both.

Like a dog, my cat greets me at the door every single day when I get home. He also comes when I call him about 90% of the time. Unless you have a super-trained dog, I don't know as you're odds are a lot better for a dog. My cat snuggles and purrs and is really quite good company. He never smells and is actually really clean all of the time. Dogs, on the other hand, stink. Period. End of story. If you try to tell me you don't have a stinky dog, then you are just used to his/her smell, you bathe your dog several times a week, or you are lying. My kitty doesn't whine or cry or beg. It's rare I hear a meow out of him at all. I can leave my cat home alone over night and I don't have to worry about chewed up property or cleaning up pee and poop because there was no one to let him out. He doesn't bark at or try to attack people when they knock at the door. In fact, unless you happen to have someone with you under 4 feet tall when you come to my house, after a few minutes, he's actually quite friendly to company. (He used to like little kids too, but he's had more than his fair share of little people chasing him, pulling his tail, and carrying him around by the neck.) I'm not trying to tell you that cats are perfect. There have been times when I've wanted to drop kick my cat across the room when he's playing in the blinds, using the couch as a scratching post, or incessantly snatching tampons to play with. For those of you that want to use the whole loyalty argument, my cat loves me better than anyone and 10 times out of 10 will pick me over anyone or anything else. I also think that, generally speaking, I've probably got an above-average cat and have always been lucky when it comes to my cats. What I am trying to say is that I think cats are a lot quieter, neater, and cleaner than dogs, and do not deserve the mean, hostile feelings some people have for them. Plus, also, I read and absolutely loved Marley and Me but that only further proves my point. In short, unless you have been brutally attacked and injured by a cat (which, by the way, dogs do every day) I'm not really interested in hearing your mean comments about them.

P.S. Inkey, it just occurred to me that you might think this is directed at you, but it's not. I'm just bitter about my dog barking, scratching, whining sleepless night and needed to get that off of my chest for cat lovers everywhere. I love your very cat-hating guts.

Kitty Abuse

Cabin fever has officially set in. Earlier tonight I was minding my own business and it began to rain. I know, the nerve, right? I decided that I'd like to open my door and take a look at that rain and breathe in some fresh air. Once I opened the door and I saw how hard it truly was raining, I got this one evil thought. I know two things for sure about my cat: 1. He loves to run outside as fast as he can when he gets the chance because he knows it's naughty. 2. Water (what that is not in his bowl) is public enemy number 1 in his book. My one evil thought was this: If I pretend to not be watching him very closely, he will run like a cat out of hell into the pouring rain and that will be funny for me. I was correct. That was sooooooo funny for me because he ran out and got only a few feet into the rain and freaked out. Only he wasn't sure where to run to get away from the wetness because it was everywhere and he was not about to run back into the house and be humiliated by his failed escape attempt. I laughed and laughed and laughed. Only in my haste to torture my cat I didn't factor in this:
I wish I could tell you that I didn't deserve all the brown kitty prints he left as he raced back into the house and stepped on EVERYTHING. Only in the end, I still got the last laugh because Hank had to have a bath.

I'm in need of some human contact. For Hank's sake.

Two Things

I know two things this day:

1. I went to the doctor and we had a good visit about my pitiful arm. I actually told him that we were not friends anymore and that he should be ashamed wearing such a bright, happy tropical shirt when I'm doing my best to be mad at him. He laughed because I don't think he took me seriously. His nice medical assistant lady took out my 3 baby stitches and told me it all looked great. That's funny, because it doesn't FEEL great. Mr. Tropical Shirt Doctor Guy came back into the room and sidled himself right up next to me on the table so he could show me all my photos and tell me about them. He just plopped himself down like we were old friends about to look over some photos of the cruise we went on together last fall. He was starting to grow on me and I found it harder to be mad at him. Basically, my shoulder was really owie, but in a good way. He did have to clean out jacked-up cartilage and shave some bone off, but there was no damage that he couldn't fix me up good as new. He assured me that when I saw him next, I'd be bringing him cookies because I'd be sooooooo glad he inflicted all this pain. We'll have to see about that. What I am looking forward to is the arm wrestling contest he promised me on my next visit. Apparently, if I can beat him when I go back in 5 weeks, then I'm all better and I don't have to go back any more. I hope he wears one of those t-shirts that makes it look like you are all muscley when we arm wrestle.

2. I also know that I am not appreciative of "Touched by an Angel" on this day. I'm guessing you all remember the show that used to be filmed in Utah. The storyline is the same for all the shows: Someone is sad, or mad, or hurt, and the angels come and show them how to make peace with God and that He loves them. It's on the Hallmark Channel every morning. I'm personally a fan of this show because I get the warm fuzzies every time I watch it and "7th Heaven". This morning, however, they took it too far. It was about a kid named Petey that was dying. He had a single mom (Wynona Judd) and a cute little best friend. He made a list of things to get done before he died and of course they were all wonderful, thoughtful things not for himself, but for his mom and friend. He wanted his mom to finish writing a song she started when he was born, his friend to meet Celine Dion, a flag in his yard telling the angels where to find him when he died, and several other things for his mom. The last 2 minutes of the show, his mom had finished that song and everybody he knew was in his yard singing it to him as his little friend raised the flag that said, "Petey lives here." And wouldn't you know it, he took that very minute to die and I cried and cried and I'm very angry with those Touched by an Angel people. If I wanted to be depressed and cry all the day I'd have watched "Little House on the Prairie" or maybe The Notebook.


This is Petey. Only don't get too attached, because he's dead. Nobody told me ahead of time to not get too attached.

Those are the 2 things I know this day.

The Anatomy of Shoulder Surgery

So, I'm alive. Only just barely. I wasn't even sure about that until earlier this evening. The last 4 days went something like this:

I had to be at American Fork Hospital at 10:00 a.m. on Thursday. I was extremely hungry but I hardly noticed because I had to go potty so badly. Life was much happier after that sterile plastic cup and I had some time together in the bathroom. After a potty break I got to get all dolled up in some fancy thigh highs:
Then they asked me to give them permission to knock me out, cut me up, and leave me much worse off than I was when I arrived. I happily agreed:

This is one of my anesthesiologists...I believe he is in the witness protection program.

Of course, they have to poke you:

This is my very own Dr. Wells. He's a nice guy. Plus, that nurse in the background was really happy. I'm glad someone so jovial was in my operating room perking that place up a bit.

They also gave me a nerve block in my neck to make my shoulder and arm feel dead for several hours. It's pretty much an epidural for my arm. I don't have any photos because it weirded Aunt Kaye out too much and I don't believe she had the presence of mind to take photos of it. Apparently, one wrong move and they puncture your lung or do some permanent damage because of all the nerves that go straight to your head. The nerve block procedure was my first tip off that this was not going to be a pleasure to recover from. My Amy friend's mom had a shoulder scope one week earlier and did wonderfully. I decided that I would have that same experience. Only too bad for me...

My second tip off that this was not going to be my favorite was when I woke up and threw up for a few hours. I never felt so sick. When I stopped with the throwing up and came to my senses, a nice nurse man named Larry came and told me all about my pain pump. (This was the third tip off, 'cause I've never even heard of a pain pump you take home until that minute.)It lived in my sling and hooked up directly into my wound. It gave me a constant drip of pain numbing goodness, and I could also push a button and get an extra shot of it every half hour. FYI, if you ever go to the doctor and he wants to give you a nerve block and a pain pump, you should probably leave speedy quick because he is up to no good, I tell you.

I also had a Polar Care thingy. That is the blue thing with the number 1 on it in this photo:
It is my favorite parting gift they gave me when I left. It wraps around your afflicted body part and is connected to a cooler with an electric pump. It constantly pumps ice water over your owie.

Hank is not pleased with this whole situation because his perch of preference is on my chest. He's liked to sleep there since he was a kitten, only now he feels terribly displaced:

He wouldn't even sleep on the rug to make me feel a little less sad about his life. He went straight to the cement. Kids innately know what to do to make you feel the most guilty.

On Sunday a nurse came to my home and removed my pain pump. I did not know how in love I was with that pump until about 3 a.m. this morning. I'm glad that the Hallmark channel plays Golden Girls most of the night because I was too owie to do any actual sleeping. The good news about the pain pump removal was that the bandages came off and I could shower. Here's a peek of under the bandages:
Apparently, my doctor believes he is also an artist. Or at least a topographer because that looks suspiciously like a map on my shoulder. I know for sure he believes he is a photographer because he took lots of photos of what the inside of my shoulder looked like.

This is what happy healthy cartilage looks like. Nice and smooth and white. I'm not sure where this is located in my shoulder, but I think it's pretty. Then there's this:

That is a big old hunk of cartilage hanging down amongst some more really jacked up cartilage. I honestly don't know how I did that to myself, but I'd hate to think what I could do if I was trying.

That's the long and short of it. What I would like to mention is all of the people that have helped me the last several days. Auntie Kaye took me to the hospital and waited for me and held the tub while I threw up. That's love, I tell you. Then my Amy friend let me spend the night at her house that night. Also, many others had to help me because I was not totally prepared for the recovery phase. I really thought that this was not going to be so big of a deal. I've had my knee scoped and I survived that quite well. I was not anticipating lying on the couch on Friday afternoon and literally not able to get up to do anything for myself. It was a really scary feeling. I called up my Kristen friend that lives here in town and she totally hooked me up. She couldn't get away from work that minute, but within 20 minutes of me calling her in near hysteria, her friend, Cheryl came over with food. I hardly even met this lady before, but she was sure an angel of mercy that day. She also came back on Sunday and brought me ice for my polar care pump, homemade chili, soup, and bread. Just because she's nice. That really touched my heart. Kristen came on Saturday and brought me food and visited for a while. A teacher friend/lady in my ward came on Sunday with some homemade brownies and movies. Lori came Sunday night and spent the night. Auntie came back today with enchilada casserole, and my Nan friend called several times to make sure I was alive. Plus, Laurie called a few times and Hillyerie texted me even though she's been helping her own curly headed animal recover from having her tonsils taken out. Then today my very own Kesk came by and brought me those 3 sweet zoo animals I love so much. Nobody can feel sad with that kind of cuteness around. Pretty much, I am so blessed to have so many people care about me.

One more thing...have any of you ever woken up from a drugged induced near coma to this?...