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November 30, 2006
The Rules of Dating: Part IV
Today we start with the dating rules that I've set ... that I've broken. And we'll start with the first rule that popped into my head as I was typing them down.
Don't date friends of friends
Due to several reasons we'll go with the short version of this story and omit -- wait, it just occurred to me, I have at least a couple of examples here. We'll see how this unfolds.
A buddy of mine ... ah ... this might be hard to tell without coming off sounding like I'm full of myself. If you are new to What's a Delmer Look Like please take some time to read through the blog making note of the many insecurities that are evident throughout.
Anyway, I met a woman as a result of an invitation to hang with a buddy of mine and his wife. Things didn't work out -- and this was my doing. Weeks would pass, and the buddy would invite me over, again, to hang with him and his wife again. He told me that whats-her-name was there just in case she was likely to make me feel uncomfortable; I assured him I'd be fine. The evening came and went and as I left whats-her-name said she'd leave too.
We said 'goodbye' as we walked out the door one after the other.
The next day my buddy called and asked, "What did you say to whats-her-name last night when you left?"
"I said 'goodbye' and then we walked away from each other."
"She claims you called her a bitch" and several other things that were unflattering and untrue.
"Do you think I said that?" I asked.
"No. We know you didn't say anything like that. There's something wrong with that girl."
Alright. So that isn't really a good example of why not to date friends of friends due to the fact it might screw up the relationship with your friend.
Let's try this one. Same buddy. Different girl. And I remember her name (first and last, actually) ... but we'll call her Carol.
Carol and I saw each other casually a couple of times. She seemed to have a keen interest in me one day ... and then a few days later, without any additional interaction with me seemed to have zero. Looking back, I understand what happened and I think women refer to it as changing horses (which is, honestly, flattering all the way around -- for both guys; changing hamsters ... not so much), but at the time I was sort of puzzled.
Some time would pass and some sort of party would eventually come up. Carol told my buddy's wife that she'd be attending, said she'd be bringing Tom and wondered if "Delmer would be bothered by that."
My buddy's wife innocently said, "He won't mind. When we go out he has girls hanging all over him."
Which I'd never noticed, but I appreciated the buddy's wife's comment.
Still not a good example of endangering friendships via dating friends of friends. Of course, both of the women in these examples were sort of psycho. The first one, truly. But you never know that at the time. And both girls were friends of my buddy's wife more than my buddy.
Wait wait wait. One of the other reasons you don't date friends of friends is because the friend may have to set you up with the date, you know, by setting something up specifically to bring the two of you together; which I think would be sort of pressure packed. Then, if she doesn't care for you, it will get back to your friend and there's that whole bit of awkwardness where your friend will know the date didn't care for you because you have big feet, smell funny, are boring, have no taste, blah blah blah. (You and the friend will know she's just being a bitch, but she and the friend will agree that you've never been interesting and that, despite the friend's best efforts you still insist on wearing plaid and stripes together.)
It was an embarrassment thing. A making-yourself-vulnerable-in front-of-your-friends thing. Yea that's it ... in addition to all the other stuff I typed up earlier in the rules series.
This doesn't apply in the above examples as the girls in question seemed to like me. At least initially. And neither time did it feel like a situation in which a friend brought us together for the sake of going out, so there was no pressure-packed special getting-together event.
But that is the primary fear. Being embarrassed in front of your friends.
Not long ago a female friend let me know that she had a bunch of other female friends who were 'looking' if I was interested in being set up. Is this what women do? "Look?"
Anyway, I declined. For every reason I've listed (the other day and today), although I didn't tell her any of the reasons. I mean, really, it's a lot to say, especially without the dashes, ellipsis, and parenthetical phrases.
And it sounds a little weird.
Posted by delmer at 4:14 PM | Comments (4)
November 29, 2006
The Rules of Dating: Part III
(I really need to put a proofreader on staff. How did I go from II to V missing III and IV? This is part III; in a couple of day's Part V will appear again ... with a bonus entry, quite possibly titled Rules of Dating: Part VI)
The past couple of days we've decided to accept, in order to make things a big more simple, that all women (except my ex wife) desire me. This is not a fact -- just something we're going to go with in order to keep a lot of other disclaimers from popping up in this, and subsequent posts.
We've also established that the rules I try to abide by when dating are as follows:
1. Don't date friends of friends.
2. Don't date women you go to church with.
3. Don't date women you work with.
4. Don't date your buddies' sisters.
5. Don't date anybody who lives more than one hour away from you.
6. Don't date your buddies' exes.
7. Don't date Britteny Spears.
And now, the reason behind the rules.
Don't date friends of friends: If something goes wrong you don't want any hard or funny feelings to exist between you and the friend and you don't want the friend to be put in the position of having to invite either you or the other person to an event. (Yes yes yes ... you and I both know it would be no contest ... he'd pick you.) If something goes right, well, face it ... you're pretty much going to disappear from the face of the earth and make yourself unavailable to your friends as you date the new person. That new person will also be unavailable to the mutual friend -- thus, the mutual friend has lost two friends. That is, until something goes wrong, and he/she is forced to pick between the two of you. (He'd pick you.)
Don't date men/women you go to church with: If something goes wrong you'll have to change churches. If she dumps you and the end of the relationship leaves you devastated and hating women you'll not want to be reminded of the relationship every seven days; daily if you are Southern Baptist.
This is the rule that most fundamentalists should follow. As you know you belong to the only true religion and are God's favorites. You are the only ones going to Heaven. Relationships that go seriously wrong may require more than just changing churches; you may need to change religions ... to something lesser and more likely hell bound.
Catholics come off a little easier as there are about ten masses each weekend so you'll have just a 10% of running into your ex. As you'll know she's already sleeping with someone new your best chance of missing her will be the Sunday morning 7:15 mass since there's no way she'll be able to pull herself out of bed that early following a night of raucous sex with the new guy. In any case, you'll still eventually stumble across her in church.
I've recently added an exception to this rule: if you are a gay, by all means date within the church ... they could all use a little bit of shaking up and self-examination.
Don't date women you work with: If something goes wrong you'll have to see her at work making you uncomfortable five out of every seven days. Kismet dictates that she'll eventually become your supervisor even if she works in HR and you work in IT; this is especially true with Government jobs in which ability has nothing to do with promotions (I want you to think Supreme Court Justice here).
Don't date your buddies' sisters: A lot could go wrong here. Your buddy may never hate you but your buddy's parents may.
Don't date anybody who lives more than one hour away from you: If something goes wrong on the date you'll have that long drive home to hate yourself for ever having broken this rule.
Don't date your buddies' exes: I established this rule twenty-five years before it appeared in Glamour Magazine (recently ... Sandra Bullock is on the cover with a new haircut). Glamour looked at things from the should-you-have-sex-with-your-ex's-buddies point of view and had a one-word answer that applied to close buddies of your ex and friends that the ex knew only as someone he said 'hello' to as he collected the mail. The one-word answer: don't. 
Glamour has a lot more knowledge about things like this than I do. They have a never-ending staff of seemingly-always-horny women with incredible fashion sense and if they say it's a bad idea I can only assume they've poured some serious research dollars into a study.
Me. I just think it's a bad idea. If the relationship with the woman doesn't work out, you've lost her and a buddy. Regardless of whether or not it works out you've lost the buddy and you'll no longer have access to his power tools.
Don't date Britteny Spears: I'm not sure they make a condom thick enough to make this a safe proposition.
Posted by delmer at 8:03 PM | Comments (1)
November 28, 2006
The Rules of Dating: Part II
I'm going to reduce the statements I made, yesterday, about women's dating criteria to this single line: Assume all women desire me.
So, if we were to assume that all women desire me you'd think that dating would be a fairly simple exercise. After all there are women all over the place -- there might be one near you right now ... unless of course you're a male, freshman, engineering student at, well, any college anywhere in the world (and if you are then you should really refer to this article before continuing, just so you know what we're talking about.)
All a person should have to do if, in fact all women desired him, would be to find a woman and ask her out. And, again, we've already established that women are almost everywhere. (That car that has been sitting in front of you at the green light, unmoving for the last 20 seconds, likely has a woman driving it. BTW, kudos on your ability to read my blog while driving.)
Dating, however, is not that easy. And why not?
Well, because of The Rules. I used to have a lot of dating rules -- I've listed some of them below. Actually, I may have listed all of them below. I'm not sure ... there may have been more that I've forgotten as I've gotten older. Which suggests that as I age dating may become less complicated as I forget more and more of the rules. By the time I'm 90 I suppose I'll be down to the single rule a pulse would be helpful.
Anyway,
The Dating Rules.
1. Don't date friends of friends.
2. Don't date women you go to church with.
3. Don't date women you work with.
4. Don't date your buddies' sisters.
5. Don't date anybody who lives more than one hour away from you.
6. Don't date your buddies' exes.
7. Don't date Britteny Spears.
I wish there were ten rules. Ten is a nice, round number that would receive Monk's approval. Seven, while a fine number with some Biblical good-luckness attached to it isn't all that good. And without the Britteny Spears rule, there are really only six rules. (The Britteny Spears rule doesn't really need to be written down. This one falls into the common-sense category.)
If a man were to follow these rules -- and women may be able to make them work as well by simply dropping the wo as needed and changing sisters to brothers and Britteny Spears to K-Fed-- life would be much simpler.
Sure, sure, sure, there'd be very little dating going on but in the end there'd be far fewer life-sucking end-of-relationship issues. I imagine this alone would cut down on the number of electrical engineering freshman who eventually find themselves in bell towers with sniper rifles or electrical engineering seniors who eventually find themselves in bell towers with high-powered laser weapon prototypes. This would be a winning situation not only for society in general but also for the Department of Defense.
Tomorrow we'll start talking about some of the rules in more detail, the rules I've broken, and the consequences that followed.
Posted by delmer at 6:57 AM | Comments (4)
November 27, 2006
The Rules of Dating: Part I
As you know, the woman who used to be my wife divorced me at some point during the last few years. I think it was almost two years ago and I think it will be exactly two years at some point in February. In the past I would have been concerned about forgetting an important date like the wife at the time's (TWATT's) birthday (January 1) or my wedding anniversary (January 18) or Bruce Springsteen's Birthday (September 23) because I wouldn't want to give the appearance that a date was so unimportant that I'd forget about it -- this is important as it applies to TWATT's birthday and our wedding anniversary as not knowing somehow bothers women. Men don't seem to have as much give-a-damnness about things like this; I don't think Bruce would be troubled if I forgot his birthday (by the way, it is one month after mine) as I never send him a card.
I'm fuzzy on the anniversary of the divorce as the date has never been important. I'm thinking that this year, however, I may dig out the decree, find the date, and on that day have some white cake with white icing and a bit of vanilla ice cream with Oreos. I may have chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream. You're invited to have some wherever you may live.
I know what you're thinking: How could anybody divorce you?! You are obviously a delight to be around. You seem to know a lot of words of varying lengths and you often use them correctly with just a modicum of misspellings.
I understand your confusion. Just let me say that grammar skills only get you so far in this day and age.
This entry, however, is not about my divorce. The really really funny things that happened during the divorce are not likely to appear in the blog even though one, two, or three years have passed since the divorce and they'd appear in an entry unaccompanied by the words evil and/or uh, the "b" word. (And I only say it like that as a weak attempt at humor.)
This entry is about how difficult it is for me to date due to the dating rules I've set over the years. For the sake of this dating-rules exercise we'll assume that there are plenty of women out there whose dating-a-man criteria are:
1. He must be a delight to be around
2. It would be a help if he were tall so he could get things off the tall shelves
3. He should not be married, currently, to anybody else
4. Straight would be nice
Sounds simple enough, doesn't it? All I would have to do would be to run across one of these women and, as I've said a few lines ago, we're assuming there are plenty of these women around.
So how complicated could dating be?
Very. And we'll start talking about this tomorrow.
(To the women readers: I know my use of the word modicum has set you all atwitter in a manner you can't describe. Please forgive me for teasing you. I'd apologize further, but there's something on a high shelf I need to get down.)
Posted by delmer at 11:49 AM | Comments (2)
November 26, 2006
June 9, 1980
Way back in 1980 a couple of friends and I had a running joke involving the number 69. It is probably worth noting that the two friends were female. I'm not really sure why that's important to me -- the friends were just friends and this was way back before the friends-with-benefits days.
Maybe it's because, at one point, we baked a cake together and I don't want you to think that I got together with a couple of guy friends and baked a cake. Oddly enough, my guy friends and I used to get together quite a bit and play basketball and, while there was never any cake baking going on, there was a fair amount of nice-shot butt slapping going on.
The point being, there was a lot more touching with the guy friends than the female friends. But, no joking about 69.
I don't remember all the jokes.
What I do remember is baking a cake in the shape of 69 for the anniversary of one of the girl's parents. It wasn't their 69th anniversary, but we thought it would be funny. We took a heart-shaped cake pan and baked a cake. We then cut the cake in half and flipped part of the cake over and did some carving to make the 69.
One day I noticed that several items that had just come from the supermarket had 69-cent stickers on them and suggested it might be fun to make a 69 collage. I pulled one of the stickers off a loaf of bread and turned it over to write the date on the back; I figured since it was the first sticker I'd date it so we'd know when the quest to make the 69 collage started.
"What's the date?" I asked.
"June ..." started one of the gals, and I wrote '6.'
"Ninth." she finished, and I wrote '9.'
It was as if a higher power had been directing us to start the collage that day.
Or maybe it was coincidence.
We never finished the collage but I've never forgotten the cake nor the date thing keeping both memories way back in one of the unused and dark corners of my mind.
Just a few moments ago the lights in that corner were turned on when I went to The Gematriculator to check on the Good / Evil rating of What's a Delmer Look Like.
When I saw that the Gematriculator currently had me at 69% good I thought to myself, "Well, sit on my ..." "Well, whattaya know. I'm 7% less evil than I was last time I checked."
Not bad.
And yet, I guess, overall it's still a D.
Is anybody else surprised by the following?
Ted Nugent is less evil than I am?
Posted by delmer at 12:09 AM | Comments (2)
November 25, 2006
How long does rye bread keep?
Two nights ago I threw together a peanut butter sandwich on rye bread.
Rye bread is not my bread of choice, especially with peanut butter, but it was all I had and, well, I'm a guy and I'm pretty good about taking the easy way out when it comes to eating. I didn't want a peanut butter and cheese sandwich on rye ... but ... I didn't want to go to the store even more.
The first part of the sandwich hit my mouth funny. The bread felt sort of moist and uncomfortable on the tongue. Uncomfortable enough that I pulled the sandwich away from my mouth and checked the bread for mold. There was no tell-tale dark spot on the bread and the rest of the loaf looked good too.
I finished the sandwich.
Last night I had a friend over. We were going to run some errands but before leaving I decided to make some turkey sandwiches. On rye.
"Your bread is moldy," pointed out the friend.
"No it isn't," I said, looking for and pointing out the obvious lack of a dark, moldy area on the face of the bread.
"Look at the crust," said the friend.
Oh man. There was so much mold on that I had assumed it was a feature of the bread. You know, like some sort of special powdery crust thing. Closer examination -- and I don't mean high-tech electron-microscope examination, I mean common-sense look-before-you-eat examination -- revealed that the light powdery areas with darker centers were most certainly mold.
We had turkey on plates.
I'm guessing I won't need a flu shot for the next couple of years.
Posted by delmer at 12:04 AM | Comments (2)
November 24, 2006
My Thanksgiving in Review
Yesterday morning I was awakened by some serious chest and belly itching brought on by regrowing belly and chest hair (which is the opposite of how I thought it would happen).
Faced with the proposition of forcing myself to go back to sleep for a bit and then make a drive to Franklin, or climbing out of bed and driving to Franklin at 4:30 a.m., I chose the latter and was on I-70 at 5 a.m.
Prior to starting the trip I stopped by the local Speedway to pick up a Diet Pepsi and a gas station sub. I've got to admit I had some second thoughts about the sub; I've bought them there before and never had a problem but realized I might be taking a chance that I shouldn't be inasmuch as it was Thanksgiving and I really didn't want to run the risk of eating bad meat; I had a big day planned and food poisoning just wouldn't do.
Traffic was light on the way to Franklin and I made pretty good time. I showed up at Granny and Big D's shortly after 6 a.m. and found mom busy with meal prep. Dad was busy watching the news.
It was just the three of us this year. My brother (who lives 12 hours away) and sister (seven hours away) weren't able to make it so mom dad and I had plenty of time alone to discuss how I was the only one who ever really cared and why I should get most of their stuff when they make that fast, final run toward the bright light.
We had turkey, dressing, cranberries, green beans, mashed potatoes, rolls, gravy a small piece of apple pie and even smaller piece of pumpkin pie. A bit of ice cream too.
I hit the road around 4 p.m. and was back in Hilliard by 5:15; the city seemed to have fared well enough in my absence.
I caught the 7:40 showing of Casino Royale.
All in all, it was a very relaxing Thanksgiving.
Ah ... and there was no itching last night; I slept better than I had in several weeks.
Posted by delmer at 11:53 AM | Comments (4)
November 23, 2006
Thanksgiving Tights
I ordered some cool-weather riding gear from Nashbar this past Sunday. I ordered gloves, socks, tights and a jacket of some sort. My goal is take the Schwinn out once in a while during the winter months.
I'm a little concerned about the tights. You've probably seen people wearing tights on bikes and thought to yourself they looked a little goofy (or hot in the case of women). I was a little late to the game when it came to wearing bicycle shorts and, well, this is what I said ...
I will never make, even to myself, snide comments about bikers wearing Lycra. I always thought these were Tour de France wannabe poseur-types. Really, they just had a better understanding of the equipment needed to ride comfortably.
So, regardless of the goofy factor, I'm going to squeeze into these babies and see how far they go toward keeping me warm. They must be popular for a reason.
Shortly after I ordered the stuff from Nashbar I ordered a Cateye EL 530 front light on Ebay.
The light arrived today and I had hopes the stuff from Nashbar would as well. It didn't.
It wasn't a big deal though. It was 52 degrees F today (11.11 C) -- plenty warm enough to hit the bike path in shorts and a jacket, I thought, so I pulled the Mighty Schwinn out of the garage.
This would be the first ride since surgery.
I'm happy to report that sitting on the bike was not uncomfortable in the least. There were no odd pulling sensations. No pains.
Unfortunately, about 4.5 miles (7.2k) into the ride I started feeling like crap in a weak sort of dizzy way. Rats. It was going to be another 4.5 mile ride home if I turned around giving me a total of 9 miles for the ride. As I'd only planned on doing 13 anyway, I decided to trudge on.
At no point during the remainder of the ride did I start to feel any better. I guess that by the end, though, I only felt a little worse. A little more puny.
At least I wasn't wearing a goofy pair of tights. I'll save that experience for next time.
Posted by delmer at 12:30 AM | Comments (2)
November 22, 2006
A note from my son
This came in the mail, addressed to The Parents of Haydn Wells
Dear Dad,
I am writing this because I have to for Science class. I am also writing this letter to say thank you for caring for me and loving me. You have always helped when I really needed you to. You took me to football practice and supported me driving to the games. You have paid for my admissions to the dances for me. You bought me a guinea pig. For all this, I want to say thank you.
Sincerely,
Haydn
While I try not to embarrass my children with my blog, I just had to post this.
Posted by delmer at 9:17 AM | Comments (5)
November 21, 2006
Twelve Steps
I just had a WTF-am-I-doing moment. As the phone rang for the third time I thought, "WTF am I doing calling the CEO at home at 6:45 a.m.?!"
Now, he's got kids in school, so I'm sure he'll be up soon enough, but, you know, that last 15 minutes before the alarm goes off is the sweetest 15 minutes of sleep a man gets. Unless, of course, he's got to pee really bad and has had to for the last two hours but was too lazy to get out of bed.
I was watching Seinfeld last night. It was the episode in which George needs to break a one-hundred dollar bill and he and Kramer go to a newsstand to buy gum. The newsstand guy, an African American, tells the boys that gum is not enough. Kramer ends up buying a paper, a Penthouse Forum, and a Clark Bar. As he opens the Clark Bar he gives the newsstand guy a sly wink and says, "I like my women like I like my candy. Chocolate on the outside and nutty on the inside."
The newsstand guys says, "I hear you brother. But aren't they all a little nutty on the inside?"
Anyway, this all happened before I saw the bit about Michael Richards destroying his career. I was going to post the above bit, highlighting The Clark Bar and leaving out the stuff about women (which, as you know, I fabricated), up until I started flipping channels and stumbled across Mike's rant. WTF was he thinking? It was so way beyond calling the CEO as 6:45 a.m.
The news story I saw had a creeper across the bottom of the screen. The "n" word was represented as "n****r." When I was little we used to toss the word out conversationally because we didn't know better and it wasn't a derogatory term (Well, we were kids and didn't know it was. This was the mid- and late-60's). Now, I can't bring myself to say it, or spell it out. Sort of like c*nt,
P*ssy and c*ck also bother me when used to describe portions of the anatomy. It's one of the reasons I never had a speaking role when I was a porn star. I could never sell a scene in which I had to say one of those words and "Take it all bitch" only gets you so far. Eventually my roles were reduced to being the guy who gets involved in a hot lesbian twosome and turns the girls back to our team. The catering on those movies suck and I decided to leave the business for IT. Now the only racks I see on a regular basis are Hubbells.
There you have it. Full disclosure.
I've never had a bad experience brought on by a non-dirtbally white person, black person, or Asian person.
Any sucking-the-life-out-of me I-want-to-kill-myself experiences have all come as the result of relationships I've had with women. There have been a handful of these over the years (and there's some pretty good blog material there) and there have been times I've hated all women as a group without regard to race, creed, or choice of footwear. I've always been able to overcome my hatred of women by focusing on the good that I know exists in each and every one of them.
Once I participated in a 12-step program that helped me a great deal. Months before I'd been devastated by a short redhead which left me hating women. One night I found myself with a medium-height blonde. Between the two of us we had 12 articles of clothing on and by the time the last article hit the floor I was pretty much cured.
We should always try to look for the good in people.
Posted by delmer at 6:51 AM | Comments (8)
November 20, 2006
Where is Hilliard, Ohio?
This started out as a reply to Pen's comment. As I have a hard time being concise it didn't take long for it to become entry-length. So here it is.
Q: Where is Hilliard, Ohio.
A: Hilliard is right next to, and a bit north and west of, Columbus, Ohio. 
just below
and between the
'O' and 'h' in Ohio
Columbus, while the capital and mostly dead-center in the middle of the state, is very hard to find even for Americans. The New York Times, when talking about local multi-millionaire Les Wexner (of the Limited stores and Victoria's Secret) said he lived 2 1/2 hours south of Cleveland. He lives in New Albany which brushes up next to Columbus. The city of Columbus was very upset by this. Columbus so badly wants to be a one-name city like Cincinnati, Cleveland, Detroit, Atlanta, Paris, London, Cher, and Madonna. Geez, even Dayton. But anytime you say "Columbus" you have to say "Ohio" with it. Poorly worded New York Times articles don't help. 
know that Victoria's Secret
sold sweaters.
Ohio is in the Midwest which doesn't really narrow things down too much as the Midwest is huge. The Midwest may start in the western bit of Pennsylvania and it works its way westward through Indiana, and Illinois where it sort of gains some thickness, taking in Iowa, Missouri, Oklahoma, Kansas and Nebraska (which, according to a hat I owned 20 years ago is "Big Cock Country." It would seem when it comes to pheasants, Nebraska has the John Holmes variety.)
So, the Midwest sort of starts in the eastern portion of the country and goes westward to just a bit left of the country's center. I have got to believe that Ohio is more Mideast than Midwest. Oddly enough, Ohio is nowhere near the Mideast, though we keep sending our National Guardsmen to that location.
My description of the Midwest may not be totally accurate. And I'm not married to my description.
bigger in Nebraska
I'm pretty sure Kentucky, a commonwealth more than a state, considers herself to be part of the South right along with all the states south of her. Colorado Wyoming, and Nevada, maybe Idaho, and the states around there, are Western states -- and I base this simply on the number of Westerns I've seen that supposedly took place in those locations.
I'm not sure what Michigan is. It's north of us, but generally speaking, We Don't Give a Damn About the Whole State of Michigan (it's a song that is popular during the Ohio State/Michigan game week) and we ignore her like you would a bitchy aunt.
There are simply too many states to keep track of. North and South Dakota and Minnesota I'd put in the freakin' cold north. But, Montana is right next door, and a lot of Westerns took place there, so I'd call it a Western state more than an cold state.
Anyway, we've continentally drifted off track. But certainly you can see how confusing things are here.
To get back on track -- as much as I ever do -- if you go to Google Maps and type in Hilliard, Ohio, the green arrow that shows Hilliard is damn near right on my house. When you zoom all the way it it's two blocks off. If you go south down Rome Hilliard Road just a short distance, you're in Columbus; a quick left and you're at Salvis. If you go up Scioto Darby Road and stop at the new Sunoco station you'll find they sell Clark Bars ... they sit in a box right next to the Zagnuts.
To clarify things even further, for the New York Times reporters among you, Hilliard, Ohio is about 543 miles east of New York City. Google directions can get you here in about 28 steps.
Posted by delmer at 7:36 AM | Comments (4)
November 19, 2006
Don't feel cheated.
I don't put everything that happens to me in the blog. I know I put a lot in as I like to live life as if everybody knows everything about me. I try not to have any secrets; it makes life easier.
Still, there are things I leave out. I have to. I wouldn't want you to think I'm bragging, for, not everybody can live in Hilliard, Ohio.
Sure, sure, sure. There are plenty of local developers who are trying to make it so everybody can live in Hilliard and they take a keen interest in slapping homes together as fast as their crews are able. But it is unlikely that they'll ever be able to squeeze enough homes in to house everyone. And it isn't like homebuilders won't be successful due to the lack of roads. Poor infrastructure never slows them down as the developers are more than happy to put 10,000 new single-family homes, a dozen strip malls, a Meijer, a WalMart, a Sears, some condos, and a bunch of restaurants along a two lane road that, not too many years ago, would have seemed busy had a combine and a tractor been on it at the same time.
I'm conviced that Dominon Homes, upon finding a chunk of land accessible only by goat path, would still build. And somebody would buy.
And yet, it is unlikely that Hilliard will ever be home to 6 billion people. So, some of you will never live here.
I know this and as I hate to brag about my good fortune, I sometimes leave things out of the blog.
Please don't feel cheated.
About that ... or this lame-ass entry.
Posted by delmer at 11:36 AM | Comments (3)
November 18, 2006
I shopped like a woman
Today was incredible. It was the day of the Ohio State/Michigan game. THE DAY as it is known in Hilliard and all of central Ohio. A day you just know is going to rock.
And rock it did.
I went shopping.
And due to the game I was one of just a handful of people in any store I went into.
And, I shopped like a woman.
I started out at the new Staples. Not because I could think of anything I needed but because it was there (hence the shopping like a woman part). I bought a new computer chair, (which I did need: shopped like a man) , 100 CDRs (on sale: SLAW), Gel Pens (caught my eye: SLAW), a DVD storage solution (caught my eye: SLAW) and a Diet Pepsi (could go either way).
Next I went to Radio Shack to buy a new splitter for my TV/DVR/Cable Modem. My cable modem had been losing the connection to the Internet and Time Warner expressed dismay with the fact I had several splits between the line coming in and the modem. They wanted the modem to have a direct line in so I set it up like that; and, while it worked perfectly in that configuration it required the modem to be in another room and I was unable to enjoy its flashing lights from my recliner. So, I moved it back to the living room and put a better splitter in-line. How did I know it was better? It was gold in color. And it seemed to work flawlessly -- after several months of being resplit my Internet connection has yet to fail.
But ... some of the channels were fuzzy.
I've been doing some computer consulting and the client is having trouble with her Internet connection; a connection that was split as mine was. I stopped by Radio Shack to get her a better splitter (the target item: SLAM) and picked up a new one for me (another target item: SLAM). I also picked up two packs of DVDRs that I didn't need (on sale: SLAW).
I then set out to buy some tall shirts. The local Macy's didn't have anything approaching my size so I shot off toward Carriage Place where I'd been told there was a Big and Tall shop. I didn't find a Big and Tall shop there but I did find Bike Source and stopped in to look at tights (just because: SLAW) and bicycles (just because: SLAW). I didn't buy anything (I didn't need anything: SLAM).
The Eddie Bauer Warehouse isn't far from where I live and I don't know why I didn't think of going there first. I bought five shirts (on sale, but I needed them: SLAM) a sweater (I don't have any that fit: SLAM) two jackets (I sort of needed one, they were 70% off: SLAM, SLAW), a neck warmer and ear warmer (I hope to use these to replace a more expensive keeping-warm-while-I-bike solution: SLAM). I tried on leather jackets -- I really want one but can't think of a good reason to buy one (so I didn't: SLAM).
I didn't worry about whether or not anything I bought made my ass look big (I'm 6'4" tall and weigh 225 pounds ... I just assume my ass is larger than most: SLAM).
Posted by delmer at 7:06 PM | Comments (4)
November 17, 2006
The Big Game
This Saturday the #1-ranked Ohio State Buckeyes will meet the #2-ranked Michigan Wolverines in the game of the century. The game will be a home game or an away game depending on whether you live in Columbus, or Ann Arbor.
I don't know where it's being played.
I do know that one of the sales guys thinks the score will be 7 to 3. My brother hopes it will be 30 something to 30 something. The guy in the next office thinks it will be 14 to 7. Everybody thinks Ohio State will win ... and really, so do I.
The congressperson for my district may be Deb Pryce (the incumbent). It may be Mary Jo Kilroy (the Democratic challenger). We don't know ... the race is too close and there are too many ballots left uncounted. The deadline for getting the count done is tomorrow ... Saturday ... game day. The deadline has been extended as whoever is in charge of the office that does the counting has given his staff the day off (and he probably did this a while back).
So, we won't know until Monday who the winner is.
Both candidates are OK with this.
Really, would you want to be the candidate who bitched about the OSU/Michigan game inconveniencing you? Probably not. Further, if Deb Pryce wins we'll quit talking about it in two weeks ... if Mary Jo wins we'll quit talking about it in two weeks ... if Ohio State wins (or even loses) we'll never stop talking about it.
I was telling my brother (a rabid OSU football fan) , who lives in Williamsburg, Virginia, about this last night and he stopped me. The story had been covered by his local station.
Another portion of our conversation went like this:
Jim: You know who Ted Ginn is, right?
Me: No.
Jim: How about (somebody else, who, it would turn out was an OSU Football Player)
Me: No. Is he an Ohio State football player?
Jim: You don't know who Ted Ginn is?!
Me: Jim, I can name all the cast members of How I Met Your Mother, but I'm not much on knowing OSU football players. I know Eddie George owns a bar in town.
Jim: OK. You know Eddie George ...
Me: Was he a running back?
Jim: So you know Ted Ginn is a running back.
Me: Wait, I'm not saying Eddie George was a running back. I'm saying he could have been a running back. I know he owns a bar in town.
Jim: Ted Ginn is a running back. You know the success Eddie George had?
Me: Yes.
Jim: Ted Ginn is having the same kind of success now. There's a song called Ted Ginn Did Everything... blah blah blah.
(By the way, it's by the Dead Shembecklers. I think Shembeckler may have been a coach somewhere. I don't know that he's really dead. You can buy the album at iTunes.)
If Ohio State loses I'm pretty sure I people could not come to work at all next week and when asked where they were all they'd have to say is, "the game" and their employer would understand.
Of course, that wouldn't work for me. Too many people know I lack the give-a-shit-about-sports gene.
One more aside: Any screw-ups regarding Ted Ginn and Eddie George being running backs is all on me. My brother knows the positions they played. I'm pretty sure I butchered Shembeckler; I don't care.
UPDATE: Ginn seems to be a receiver.
UPDATE: Bo Schembechler died today.
Posted by delmer at 6:29 AM | Comments (3)
November 16, 2006
Open the #$%@#$ door
This is one I thought I'd posted before. I've searched the site and can't find it, which could simply mean my regular-expression skills are piss-poor. Anyway, I was reminded of the following while reading Triggerfish Twist this morning. Whenever I think of this I laugh ... so here it is (again?).
This was about 1984. Ted (not his real name) and I had gone back to Miami University (Oxford, Ohio ... Miami was a University when Florida still belonged to the Spanish) to visit some friends.
We decided Cindy would be one of the friends we visited.
We walked into Cindy's apartment building and up to the second-floor landing.
Boom boom boom, Ted banged on the door and using his best Eddie-Murphy-playing-a-street thug voice shouted: "Open the door."
"Who is it?" came the meek and feminine voice from the other side of the door.
Now, my recollection had been that Cindy lived on the third floor, but as Ted was normally better with things like directions and because he seemed so sure of himself I didn't say anything.
"What do you mean 'who is it?' Who the f*ck do you think it is. Now open the goddam door!"
"Ted?" came a voice from above us.
We looked up and there stood Cindy on the third floor landing. We scurried up the steps to her apartment.
As it happens an older woman lived on the second floor. Cindy said she'd take care of smoothing thinks over. Ted and I wondered if she'd ever leave her apartment again.
Like I said, I think this might be in the blog somewhere and I was, initially, worried that I'd bore some of the more regular readers with a repeat. And then it hit me ... when I see my old friends we talk about the old stories time and again (you can bet that next time I see Ted this story will come up and we'll laugh about it).
So ... if you are a longer-time reader and this story sounds familiar, you and I have reached that old-buddies stage of our blogging relationship. If you're new, hang on for a while; I'll probably repeat this in a week or two.
Posted by delmer at 7:57 AM | Comments (0)
November 15, 2006
You may be sort of far from a Clark Bar
Just the other day I started a blog entry with, what I think, is the Clark Candy Bar jingle from my youth.
Clark Candy Bar
Again, it's an old memory and I'm not certain all the words are right. Though, I am sure "You're not far, from a Clark Bar" is dead on. And maybe in the 60's and 70's a person was never too far from a Clark bar.
In Hilliard, Ohio, in 2006 things are a bit different. It seems you are far from a Clark bar. What's worse is, if you are at the right store and talking to the right young person (about 20 years old or so) he might tell you that he's heard of Clark Bars but never seen one.
I didn't make tracking down Clark Bars my primary mission one day or anything like that, but over the course of several days I checked out a CVS Pharmacy, Kroger Supermarket and a local carry out. There were no Clark Bars to be found.
So, I turned to the web and found Clark Bars aplenty. Without getting into the boring Clark-Bar-ordering details let me mention my goal and the company I bought from.
My goal was to have Clark Bars by the end of the week.
The company I chose, based on closeness to Ohio, was The Mike Feinberg Company. Which, I'm guessing, might not be Mel Gibson's first choice when seeking out Clark Bars. (I've checked, the do not sell an item called SugarTits.)
If you click that last link you'll see that MFC sells a tub of 100 mini Clark Bars for $11.05. Shipping was $6.27, which was more reasonable that some other places I looked. As I recall, the $6.27 guaranteed delivery in two to three days which was good enough ... but ... for something like $3.50 more I could have expedited delivery (and this price was a lot better than I'd seen elsewhere); so, I went with expedited delivery when I placed my order.
I placed the order Monday, sometime before noon. I'm thinking right around noon.
A minute or two passed and I received a confirmation mail. Four more hours passed and I received a shipping confirmation with a UPS tracking link. I checked the order and saw that my expedited delivery had been missed. I was a little bummed but realized I'd still have my Clark Bars by Friday.
I clicked the tracking link and noticed that my delivery was scheduled for delivery on Tuesday. Sweet. Using the link I was able to track my package's trip from Pittsburgh to Columbus and I knew it was sitting on my doorstep withing an hour of its delivery and about 25 hours after I'd placed the order.
I don't know if it is MFC's policy not to charge for expedited delivery when it isn't needed. I don't know if it is UPS's policy. But I do know I've been charged for expedited delivery when (as I'd learn later) regular delivery would have been just as good ... and ... I've paid for guaranteed 3-5 day delivery for products coming from a short distance away, figuring it couldn't possibly take 3 to 5 days, only to have it age a day or two in a location so, I can only assume, it doesn't arrive too soon.
Anyway, I was very happy with my shopping experience. And the Clark Bars.
Posted by delmer at 11:07 AM | Comments (3)
November 14, 2006
Corrections
Do you remember this photo? It's one I took during the 90-mile bike outing and is of a building I identified as a church. I based this identification on the simple fact that it had a belfry and most one-room school houses I'd seen were belfryless.
The following pictures come from a schoolhouse in the Historical Village which, according to Gmap Pedometer, is about .35 miles from where I live.
So, I am now more inclined to think the building I came across while riding is an old school.
Do you remember yesterday's blog entry? The one in which I suggested Google Maps had done some redrawing of an itsy-bitsy Hilliard street because, well, they've got nothing better to do.
I was pretty sure that I'd seen Columbia as going unbroken from the corner of Madison and Columbia to the Fairgrounds -- which was incorrect -- and suggested the City of Hilliard paved the break in the road to keep Google Maps from looking bad. As I collected evidence for my case I found this:
Google Maps shows the road as broken.
As I looked for DiCarlo's Pizza's phone number today I went back to a blog entry from September of 2005 and found the following map:
So it would seem that even then -- a year ago -- I knew that Google Maps did not show Columbia Street going all the way through.
And we come to tonight. About 20 minutes ago. As I was doing the Gmap Pedometer calculation I called up this version of the map:
At this zoom level Columbia seems to go straight through. Sure, there's an area that looks like it has hips. It must have been this zoom level that I was thinking of when I convinced myself that Google Maps had it wrong.
And, despite what I may have suggested yesterday, I knew, deep, down, inside that somehow I was the one at fault. I'm just glad I was able to figure out where I made my mistake.
I'll sleep better tonight.
Posted by delmer at 5:07 PM | Comments (3)
November 13, 2006
The Google - Hilliard Relationship
The street just behind me is named Columbia. If you were to look at Google Maps, and don't just yet, you'd notice that it starts (or ends depending on your perspective) and proceeds sort of northeast (southwest) until it ends (or starts), about a half mile away, in the fairgrounds. You'd also notice that it goes this route unbroken.
If you were to walk on Columbia from Madison to the fairgrounds (and we're done with parenthetical bits concerning start/end points and direction) you'd notice that a big chunk -- the portion between Center and Franklin Streets -- of Columbia is missing and that a grassy stretch that used to be railroad tracks is responsible for the break in the pavement.
And that Google Maps is wrong.
This would not do. Google has done so much for us ... me ... you ... the guy looking over your shoulder while you read this at work ... yes, us, that I felt something had to be done.
I fired a letter off to Google and advised them of the mistake.
And then I realized. Google is huge. It may take forever for them to get to my letter. Even their resources are limited in some respects.
Hilliard, if you've never been here, is very Google friendly. In 1984 the city adopted the motto "Do no evil" and was very flattered to find that Google had adopted the same as its own. In an unspoken, unwritten, and unknown agreement between the City of Hilliard and Google it was agreed that, in return for sharing our motto, the city of Hilliard would always appear in the top 10 hits whenever Hilliard was Googled. Both Hilliard and Google benefit from this agreement almost daily.
Knowing of the Hilliard/Google relationship I thought it might be easier, and better all the way around, to get the city involved; I fired a letter off to them. After all, it wouldn't do to have lost tourists stuck at Benito's Pizza and trying to get to the Dairy Queen with the Google Maps Directions taking them through the impassible Columbia Street grassy patch.
Lo and behold. Within days surveyors showed up at the corner of Columbia and Center streets. Shortly thereafter there was some digging, some grading and finally some asphalt rolling.
The new road was in.
I took pictures. I took a stroll. I composed this blog entry in my head.
When I got home I went to Google Maps and went to the area in question. This is it.
You'll notice that Columbia Street breaks between Franklin and Center Streets. I would swear ... I am certain ... dammit! What happened ... I'm positive that a few months ago Columbia Street was shown as going straight through. Yet, I'm certain this teeny, tiny, little piece of the world is not significant enough for a map redrawing. Yes, I know the Google/Hilliard relationship is incredible -- it is the envy of the Chicago/Yahoo and Boston/MapQuest relationships -- but a redrawing just didn't happen. Did it?.
Anyway, this is what it looks like now.
You'll notice the new pavement and the freshly sprayed grass on either side of the road.
I'd like to explore, further, just how the city could have tweaked a road in at the same time Google tweaked it out of their maps but I've got things to do. I've got to crank out a letter to Google and another to the City of Hilliard. The map either needs to be redrawn again, or the road has got to go. To leave it as it is would be to do evil ... and we just can't have that.
Posted by delmer at 9:19 PM | Comments (2)
November 12, 2006
For Her Pleasure
I just returned from a short walk. The next three blog entries you read will be of things that came from that walk. I'm half tempted to drone on for several paragraphs about how amazing it is to be able to get three blog entries from a short walk -- giving me four blog entries ... but you deserve better.
I walk the same route every night. Up Main St./Avery Road to Weaver Middle School, a few laps around the track and then back home.
About half a mile up the road is a gas station/convenience store. It's a Citgo station. Citgo, I believe is Venezuelan-owned and the president of Venezuela is, of course, Hugo Chavez. You may remember Hugo Chavez as the man Pat Robertson wanted to have whacked and as the man who compared Bush to the devil (which really doesn't narrow things down all that much, but he did it in front of the UN).
I've been stopping at the Citgo station, almost daily, for about a year and would still be stopping there had it not recently closed following the death of the owner. 
Not long after I started stopping there I was standing in line and sort of checking out the things behind the counter. There were the tobacco products, lottery tickets and, of course, soft-core porn DVDs.
The DVDs caught me off guard. I'd been in the store dozens of times and I'd never seen them. They weren't displayed in an in-your-face manner and I wondered if they ever sold any of them. Despite the fact I sometimes make reference to Ron Jeremy I really don't know all that much about porn (except for the fact that, like most guys, I like it ... and I say that just for effect, Mom ... if I liked it I'd probably know more about it) but it seemed to me, based on the titles, that this was probably B-level soft-core porn; not your high level hard core stuff. I doubt that any of the titles would have been a current-day Debbie Does Dallas, Behind the Green Door or Deep Throat (which I think are hard core titles, but, for all I know, are pretty tame and available behind the counter at United Dairy Farmers and In-N-Out Burgers all across the country).
Wait, I did see a really bad copy of Debbie Does Dallas about 22 years ago. This, if your porn-history is as bad as mine, is the porno flick that doesn't start with a young guy delivering pizza to a group of women having a Longaberger party.
Months passed. One day I noticed the porno DVDs were gone from the Citgo. The guy behind the counter didn't know where they'd gone but said he was never aware that they'd sold any of the movies.
Now, as I've said, the Citgo station is closed.
Today as I strolled I stopped by the Gas Station/Mini-Mart about a 1/4 mile past the Citgo. As I stood in line with my Diet Pepsi I took a look at the things behind the counter. There were lottery tickets, some cold medicines, and magazines of an adult nature. As I glanced upward I noticed condoms.
I don't buy a lot of condoms these days as I've had the magic operation. (And it was awesome! I went to the doctor on a Friday, he painted everything between my navel and knees iodine-purple, I got a shot, there was some snipping, and I was sent home to spend the weekend holding a bag of frozen peas on my sore spots. I'm pretty sure peas are used so that, just in case one gets out of the bag and works its way into a man's underwear, as he digs it out he'll be provided the opportunity of seeing just how much bigger than a pea his testicles are and he'll think to himself, "Sure, you guys are no-longer baby producers, but look how much bigger than peas you are!" Really, this can be the only reason, especially in Ohio, that peas are used. We don't grow a lot of peas here so, basically, we're using an imported frozen vegetable to provide comfort to our wounds -- physical, spiritual, and manliness-wise -- when frozen soy beans and/or corn would be better for the local economy. Of course, both of these vegetables are larger than peas. Ice cubes from the tray are way too big.
Generally speaking, let's try to keep in mind that introducing anything from the freezer to that region of a man's body is going to lead to some shrinkage, so the smaller the frozen item introduced is, the better.)
So, I don't buy a lot of condoms these days. And, as I think back there are only a couple of condom-buying experiences that stick out.
I remember the first time I bought condoms (of course). I'd gone to visit a blonde gal at another college and I wasn't even sure I'd need condoms ... but I wanted to have them and not need them rather than need them and not have them (and as I sit here, 25 years later, without a 24-year old offspring, it seems to have been a good move.) I went to a drug store not too far from the university to make my buy. I didn't know what to get and was afraid that when my date went to introduce me to her just-returning-from-work roommate it would be the coed who I'd made the purchase from. When I went to pay for the condoms (Trojans, unlubricated and maybe with a powder of some sort on them ... they were very dry and this was the last time I bought unlubricated condoms) I nervously fumbled the money out of my pocket and spilled it across the counter as I choked on whatever I was trying to say ("double bag this, please," maybe).
The next time that sticks out was May 1986. I know the month because I was in Columbus working 18-hour days. One night after work I was in a King Kwik (probably) and was the only patron. I still hadn't gotten past being nervous when I'd buy condoms and figured since I was the only person in the store it was a good time. "Is this all?" asked the guy behind the counter.
"Yea. No! Wait! Let me get another box." As I retrieved the additional box I wondered how I'd sounded and felt that some more explanation was needed. "It's not that I think I'm going to get incredibly lucky over the next couple of days ... but I figure they'll keep until I need them. "
The guy laughed and I was able to pay him without throwing bills or change all over and behind the counter.
The other time that sticks out is tonight. I know the day as it was just a couple of hours ago and my memory hasn't gone all to hell just yet.
Why would a guy with a vasectomy buy condoms? Curiosity.
Tonight, when my eye caught the condom display my eyes played over the titles. Three titles anyway ... I started with Trojans Lubricated (and made the mental acknowledgment that 'lubricated' is always the way to go), moved over to Trojans ... for Her Pleasure and then stopped at Trojans ... for Her Pleasure ONS.
I couldn't imagine what For Her Pleasure could mean. Ribbed, For Her Pleasure have been around for years, but this packaging was different. The boxes were bigger than the plain old lubricated and pleasure-inspecific Trojans ... but not big enough to contain even an airline-sized bottle of Baileys. The only thing that made sense to me was that the condoms were super thick, providing a little extra girth and a little less sensitivity for the male (and thus some longer pre-get away from me I wanna lay here and drool time, you know, for her pleasure) or they came with some sort of extension or both.
Curiosity got the better of me and for just a few dollars more I was able to one, make a Clint Eastwood reference and two, satisfy my what's up with today's condoms curiosity.
When I pulled down the Trojans ... For Her Pleasure the guy behind the counter gave me a knowing smile. When I put the Trojans ... For Her Pleasure ONS next to them the knowing smile turned to a puzzled look and he said, "You might be the first guy I've ever sold those to. I normally sell those to women, late at night after the bars have closed."
I spilled a bunch of ones, some change, all my credit cards and kids pictures, my insurace card, and several business cards out of my wallet and onto the floor before being eventually able to make the purchase.
And what's up with today's prophylactic products?
The Trojans ... For Her Pleasure look like the condoms of yesterday. The difference, and the reason for the larger package, is that the box has a cut-out picture of Brad Pitt that can be strapped to the guy's head.
The Trojans ... For Her Pleasure ONS, which were $1.00 cheaper, comes with a simple brown paper bag. In very small print on the inside of the bag it is marked: Trojans ... For Her Pleasure / One Night Stand.
Man. That was a long way to go for that wasn't it?
Really, when I saw, Trojans ... for Her Pleasure I just wondered what the hell it could mean. You got a guy laying on you. He probably has bony elbows smashing your hair into the pillow. You know you could do better but you tell yourself you're tired of playing the game. You keep asking yourself why you didn't marry that other guy ... he seemed to really care a lot about you and he went on to sell his software company for a small fortune. Your mother hates this guy and your dad just seems to like him because he gets Ohio State / Michigan tickets. You're pretty sure you need some new shoes ... nothing you have matches the new purse. What was that noise!!! Got to get away before the drooling starts!!!
I mean, it would take one hell of a rubber to overcome all of that.
Posted by delmer at 5:39 PM | Comments (0)
November 11, 2006
His first "F" Bomb
This involves a friend of a friend.
The son came home from school -- I think he was in 4th grade -- and went to the bathroom to wash his hands. As he was sudsing up he yelled out to his mother, "Mom ... is 'f*ck' a bad word?"
The mother, a bit taken aback said, "Yes. Why do you ask?"
And the son replied, "I said it in school today and got in trouble."
Posted by delmer at 12:19 AM | Comments (1)
November 10, 2006
Post Gyno Surgery
Hey. I just discovered that I forgot to post details about the BJ I got at the hospital. And the tummy tuck.
The 'BJ,' of course, refers to my gyno surgery and the 'tummy tuck,' the tummy tuck. And now that the 'BJ' joke is out of the way, we'll quit referring to anything having to do with my chest as a boob job.
I'm never sure how to word blog entries that rely heavily on other blog entries. I know some readers are totally up-to-date while others may have happened across the site while Googling 'gyno surgery.' To make me feel better, and like I'm not leaving anybody out, I'll type out the bit about how I have a pituitary tumor that screwed with my hormones (testosterone very low; prolactin high enough to be problematic). My libido tanked, the tools quit working, breast tissue formed, and I'm checking to see if low testosterone is somehow related to varicose veins. If you care to read more click the Low Testosterone category. (Pituitary tumors are not terribly uncommon, those that cause hormone trouble are sort of rare, and those that cause gyno are more rare.)
Now, on with our blog entry.
Surgery started about 7:30 a.m. and was over about 4 hours later. I really don't remember when I was wheeled into my room and I'm sort of fuzzy on the things that happened the rest of the day. When Wednesday rolled around I was unsure about who I'd called to tell I'd survived and who I'd missed. What's sad is the list was only about three-people long.
(UPDATE: This next paragraph will sound a lot like yesterday's blog entry. I'd forgotten I'd posted it. I may still have some residual drug stuff floating around in me.)
I spent most of the next two days sleeping the sleep that only percocet can bring on. Once, in the past, I'd doubted just how much good a particular prescription was doing with regard to pain control and had quit taking that medication only to discover that without it I went from hurting a helluva lot to a freaking helluva lot. With percocets floating around in me I wasn't in a lot of pain -- unless I laughed or coughed -- but I wasn't sure what the pain would be like percocet-free. Rather than quit taking the drug and finding out things hurt a lot more I decided to medicate and play it safe. After two days of full-time grogginess I thought I'd take a chance and go drug free.
Maybe the timing was good. Maybe I could have gone off the percs sooner. Whatever, it really wasn't a big deal. As long as I didn't move I was OK. Whenever I stood up to pee there'd be a brief period of pain but after two or three steps I'd be good (not that I was walking straight up at this point.) Laughing and coughing caused searing stomach pain and I could tell that struggling with a bout of constipation would push me into a coma [(Fortunately I was tanked up on stool softeners. (I threw that in there for the TMI crowd)].
Overall, and aside from laughing and coughing, I was never in a great deal of pain. When asked by the nurse, immediately following surgery, I rated the pain a 2 or 3 on a scale where 10 is worst. Of the two the gyno surgery hurt the least and, really, I'd have to say the gyno surgery never hurt at all. There was an instance or two of a nipple-burning pain ... but not much.
By the way, my first word upon being awakened from surgery was, "F*ck." It was one of those where the hell am I moments that f*ck seems to capture best. Of course, a second later I knew where I was and felt bad about the whole thing and apologized to the surgical team. They did not seem to be put off by the remark.
Thursday rolled around and so did my follow-up visit. I had a 9:30 appointment and arrived at 9:22. I was taken in right away, the doc unwrapped me, looked me over, we chatted, he removed the drains, he wrapped me back up and I was out of the office by 9:50.
In the past I've mentioned that were it not for the fact I have children I'd post pictures of everything. Having seen the pictures during the follow-up I'm not sure that I would. The before photos look worse that I thought; I think this is due to the fact that I'd always seen myself in a mirror from a front view. I'm not really sure how to describe the photos.
The doc had photos of the stuff he'd removed from my chest, which I'll simply describe as baseball-sized and sort of rubbery. These items were not tumors or anything to worry about, just tissue that shouldn't be there, but probably pictures you wouldn't want to see.
I'm happy with the way everything turned out. I have another visit with the doctor in a week.
Posted by delmer at 5:49 PM | Comments (0)
November 9, 2006
These go to 15
Years ago I had a pretty bad sore throat brought on by a virus. My throat was raw and I was in constant pain. My doctor had given me some sort of medicine that didn't seem to be doing anything at all to ease the pain so with a how much more could this hurt attitude, I quit taking the meds.
And I found out it could hurt a lot more. A throat that had never hurt that much before in my life went from pain-level 10 to pain-level 11; it was very Spinal Tap.
And really, I'd have to say the pain increased to 15. However, saying that loses the Spinal Tap reference. It hurt a helluva lot more.
So the last couple of days I've been in a small amount of pain. None, really, so long as I remain seated and there is just an instant of burning sensation when I stand. Tweaking my back has hurt a lot more than this has. I figured it had something to do with the attention I've paid to my pill-taking schedule. That is, I've been sure to take the percocets every four hours (maybe five) to keep the pain at bay.
About half an hour after taking the percocets I drift off into an incredible sleep that lasts hours.
Yesterday, at noon, I took my last percocet. I still have more, I just haven't taken any. I can't say I'm in any more pain and I've gotten up once or twice to pee.
Despite the fact I'm not in constant pain I do have a constant awareness that the wrong move could have horrible pain-related consequences. I just don't make those moves.
Belly laughs are particularly hard on me. A couple of times, last night, while watching Seinfeld and Everybody Loves Raymond laughs came upon me that almost brought tears to my eyes before I could stifle them.
Nigel Tufnel: The numbers all go to eleven. Look, right across the board, eleven, eleven, eleven and...
Marty DiBergi: Oh, I see. And most amps go up to ten?
Nigel Tufnel: Exactly.
Marty DiBergi: Does that mean it's louder? Is it any louder?
Nigel Tufnel: Well, it's one louder, isn't it? It's not ten. You see, most blokes, you know, will be playing at ten. You're on ten here, all the way up, all the way up, all the way up, you're on ten on your guitar. Where can you go from there? Where?
Marty DiBergi: I don't know.
Nigel Tufnel: Nowhere. Exactly. What we do is, if we need that extra push over the cliff, you know what we do?
Marty DiBergi: Put it up to eleven.
Nigel Tufnel: Eleven. Exactly. One louder.
Marty DiBergi: Why don't you just make ten louder and make ten be the top number and make that a little louder?
Nigel Tufnel: [pause] These go to eleven.
Posted by delmer at 4:50 AM | Comments (1)
November 8, 2006
Blood Clots
I've been in a drug-induced haze most of today. About the time I wake up it's time to take some more pain pills.
If I feel alert enough I'll check some e-mail, do some reading, etc.
About 30 minutes later I'll be dozing.
I did take a walk this morning. Getting active soon seems to go a long way toward keeping blood clots at bay. I walked a mile.
Posted by delmer at 11:44 PM | Comments (0)
November 7, 2006
I needed a new shirt
Back when I was heavier I used to make the joke that back when I was thin I'd shop at the Big & Tall store for tall sizes ... now that I'm fat I get to take full advantage of the store.
Now I'm thin. Or, at least not fat. I don't know that I've ever felt thin, even as I look back at photos in which I was obviously too thin to support my massive noggin.
But that's not what this entry is about.
I needed a new shirt. All the shirts I have are short sleeve due to the fact that none of the long-sleeve shirts I have hit me right. Now, I'm not complaining about the length of my arms -- just today the ape-like-ness of them came in handy when I was able to reinsert some weatherstripping in my office window without the use of a ladder. Granted, needs like those are few and far between while ill-fitting shirt problems occur far more often.
I knew I wouldn't be able to get a shirt at someplace like a Target (I'd already tried). So I shot off to The Casual Male, a local Big & Tall store.
The sales gal there offered to give me a hand and steered me toward the casual-wear tall shirts. An XLT hit me in the arms about right but had far too much belly for what I need these days ... I've got a bunch of shirts like that at home. We decided a large tall might be what I needed. Naturally, they didn't have any.
I decided to look at dress shirts while I was there, as much to find out what size I need as anything else. What I need is (and I post this as much for my later reference as I do for you should you want to send me a shirt ... and really, I prefer oatmeal cookies) a 16-inch neck with 37/38 sleeves.
I think I've groused before about how nothing can be 37/38. It is one or the other. Carpenters don't say things like, "Be sure to space your studs 16 or 17 inches apart on center."
Anyway, the shirts that had 37/38 sleeves had an 18 1/2 inch neck.
So, the store isn't so much a Big & Tall as it is a Big or Tall. Which is, in no way, the fault of the staff. I'm pretty sure I can get what I want from them on-line.
And, at least now, I know what size shirt I need. For the record, I'll be buying 16 1/2 - 38's when I can find them.
Posted by delmer at 10:55 AM | Comments (1)
November 6, 2006
T-Minus 90 Minutes
I'm up, showered and ready to go. I haven't eaten or had anything to drink since last night. I didn't put any deodorant on. I did brush my teeth, being very careful to not swallow any water during the rinse cycle.
Granny spent the night and is taking me to the hospital this morning. Last week several people I know -- a couple of guys I work with, a woman I've known since high school, a guy I used to work with -- offered to take me to the hospital and said they'd be more than happy to drop food by for me this week. Just yesterday another female friend offered to come by and sit at my place following surgery even though she knew she'd have to do all the work. This was sweet, though I couldn't help but notice the offer came after I told her I'd spent all day cleaning [which, in all fairness was the first thing I said after "hello." (I like the sound of "I've spent all day cleaning" so much that I'm thinking of changing my voice mail message to include it.)]
I didn't sleep terribly well last night. I knew I had to get up early, was afraid I'd oversleep, and to combat that fear managed to wake up just about every hour. Three hours from now I'll have a gas mask on and will spend the four hours after that catching up. Based on past getting-gassed experience, I imagine I'll be groggy the rest of the day.
It is currently 4:30 a.m. and I need to be out the door in 15 minutes.
I wish I could move my bowels. I'm afraid yesterday's marathon-house-cleaning session has managed to bind me up somehow; which is why I don't do hard-core cleaning more often.
Posted by delmer at 4:10 AM | Comments (2)
November 5, 2006
Starts with P and that rhymes with T
Something happened today that I wish I could tell you about. It was funny, everybody involved would laugh and you'd laugh along with us. Unfortunately, this isn't the time to tell the story. A little bit of time needs to pass and the tale needs to be fictionalized some. I'm thinking it will appear here after the new year. Maybe spring.
I spent a lot of time yesterday and today cleaning the house. Yesterday I did the bathrooms and today I did everything else.
Speaking of bathrooms -- toilets specifically -- can anybody explain to me how it is boys can urinate on the back side of a toilet? I looked at all the angles, applied some fluid-mechanics engineering-type thinking to the situation, and still came up puzzled. It almost looks like a boy would have to be standing behind the toilet to hit some of the surfaces that were peed on.
I ran this puzzle by my sister and it set her off. She went into a micro-fit about how she's tired of cleaning urine off floors, the outside of toilets, the sides of vanities, and the outside of bathtub before finally calming down and apologizing for having gotten carried away. I told her not to worry about expressing herself -- it's better to get upset about urine on the floor than it is to hit the highway with a loaded gun and shoot at people who cut you off in traffic. (Just for a minute I imagined my sister ripping down the road shooting at bad drivers and screaming, "And I'll bet you pis on the floor at home too ... take that ..." BLAM)
I go under the knife in ten hours. I'd best get to bed.
Posted by delmer at 9:33 PM | Comments (0)
November 4, 2006
The Upcoming Surgery
Monday morning, at something like 6 a.m., I'm having surgery to correct an problem caused by my pituitary tumors. If I were childless I'd gladly post before-and-after pictures of the whole thing on the chance that the information I provide might help someone else down the road.
As I do have children, I've decided to opt out of posting photos. For those of you new to this blog, I'll just say I have a bit of gynecomastia caused by a hormone disorder that, itself, is caused by pituitary tumors.
The pituitary is one of the body's mystery glands with the primary mystery being just where the hell is it?
It is just behind and mostly between the eyes, which, makes it a brain tumor.
I say the brain tumor part as twice in the past several months when the subject has come up I've had people tell me that if I were to mention I had a brain tumor to women I'd get an incredible amount of action -- where action means exactly what you think it means.
The most interesting part of this is that one of the people telling me I'd get an incredible amount of action was, in fact, herself, a woman, and I'd like to think she has the inside track regarding what women think.
I'm just not sure. I think that having a cool car might be a better way of getting an incredible amount of action.
(And I sometimes suspect that even women don't have a clue as to what other women are thinking.)
Posted by delmer at 9:26 PM | Comments (3)
November 3, 2006
Did I ever tell you ...
About the time I got arrested in Missouri? The charges were aggravated menacing, attempting to gain entry and burglary ... does it sound familiar now?
Well. It's early in the morning and I've got to get to bed. The boys and I need to be at McDonald's in about 7.5 hours.
If you're new to What's a Delmer Look Like, maybe you could take today, perhaps some of tomorrow too, and read some past entries, just so that when I get around to the Missouri story you won't find some of the things (one thing, mostly) I write so hard to believe.
I imagine the Saturday and Sunday entries will be about my upcoming surgery. Monday, of course, I have the surgery and who knows what I'll feel like typing. Maybe I should do an auto-post for that day.
A prescription for pain medication comes with this surgery, so next week's posts could have sort of an abstract feel to them (like having a Hooters in Hilliard.)
Oh. And while I have your attention, I've decided to make myself the unofficial voice of Hilliard, Ohio. The other day someone pointed out that anytime he Googles for a business in Hilliard my site comes up. So far I've only been able to make this work for Oties, but I'll take his word for it.
The title, and once again it is self-proclaimed, doesn't come with any sort of monetary award and I don't think I'll be leading any parades soon -- after all, the only people that know about this are you and me -- but I'm hoping to eventually get one of the new traffic circles named after me.
Posted by delmer at 12:46 AM | Comments (0)
November 2, 2006
November Search Phrases
We're almost two days into the month. At 12:01 a.m. on November 1 I checked the search phrases for What's a Delmer Look Like. At that time there was one search phrase and it was: granny gallery. Meaning that 100% of the people that came to WADLL using search engines came here looking for porn featuring mature women.
Now, a day and a half later we have:
Posted by delmer at 10:06 PM | Comments (0)
November 1, 2006
Clark Candy Bar
This jingle came to me as the boys and I drove home tonight. It's old and I'm not certain all the words are right.
I hope this weak blog entry doesn't disappoint. Not everything can be Jell-O baths and dream interpretations.
In other news, I went in for my pre-surgery physical. I told the nurse looking me over that I didn't want any super-human effort made to save me if I died on the table -- if I see a white light I'm going to be running for it. I also told her that I didn't want a big fuss made over me after I die and that rolling me out next to the dumpster would suit me fine.
(Wouldn't it be sweet if they could deposit me in a big pile of yesterday's thrown-out hospital cafeteria Jell-O? Maybe it would have fruit in it. What if Lisa, from Miami, was the doctor cutting into me that accidentally killed me?)
The nurse gave me some Living Will paperwork to fill out. I haven't read it all yet, but I have the feeling that I can set some pretty specific if-I-die parameters in there.
With that in mind I asked my sister, an RN, how long I should be dead before I suggest people give up on me. I figured that if one or two good thumps to the chest could bring me back, well, I don't think that would be too much of a bother for the staff. My sister asked how long I could hold my breath, which led to some other questions, and in the end we decided that I could probably be dead for five minutes, brought back to life, and not suffer any serious long-term damage.
She assured me that the staff would probably be more than happy to provide five, or even six, minutes of chest thumping and that doctors and nurses get a big kick out using the paddles (and not just on each other late at night when they're all alone).
Still, keeping track of five minutes may be easier than keeping track of six minutes. Especially if I code, which is what I think they call it, at, you know, five, ten, fifteen etc. past the hour.
Of course, maybe when someone codes they have someone in the room whose job it is to simply count one-Mississippi, two-Mississippi, etc., all the way up to 300-Mississippis (360 for the really hopeful).
I can hear it now, "One Mississippi, Two Mississippis, CLEAR," zap, "Four Mississippis, Five Mississipis," you know, because the "Clear" could count as a Mississippi.
This job probably goes to someone with a really cool head.
Posted by delmer at 9:01 PM | Comments (3)