|
I don't usually sleep in, but 8:30 seemed to come a bit early today. I think I slept well except for those dreams of Jerry Brown, Nancy Pelosi, Harry Reid and President Obama chasing me with chants of "Squeeze The Turnip".
Anywho, it has been a bit of lazy day today (Saturday). Of course we had our dog chores, which gets interesting in a foot of snow. First off, dog poop freezes. But if adheres to the snow around it so you cannot use you kitchen tongs to pick the stuff up because it will bend the metal making them no longer useful in the kitchen. (just kidding.)
You have to kick the turds first to loosen then from the snow then you pick up the ice packed package and put it in your trash bag.
But that is only half the issue because my wonderful wife wants to see clean snow. Yellow snow offends her for some reason. That means, that after you have kicked and picked up turdus frozenus, you must get a shovel and plow under the yellow markers of life. What you can't plow under you must get clean snow and cover it up.
I have tried explaining that the next snow fall will address this issue, but that is an unacceptable excuse and it is just better if Jack and I make the yellow go away.
Now don't think Devin was just sitting in her jammies barking orders at us. She was wrapping copious amounts of packages for the tree. She spent a good three hours wrapping her little brain out.
Now while she was wrapping and doing what ever, I decided it was time to partake of the handful of drugs that keep me alive. I had wisely moved my drug kit to a spare bedroom upstairs as to not bother anyone whilst (I love havin a blog where you get to use words like whilst) arranging all the pretty colored drugs.
I was in the room when Devin yelled something indiscernible to me (more later about indiscernible comments). I answered I was in the bedroom upstairs, to which she went ballistic. "Why are you in there?" she yelled.
Normally Devin is not that territorial. That might be because she has all the territory, except a 2 foot by 2 foot area in the master bedroom bathroom which she has graciously deems mine for a few minutes each day. So this response was bit unusual.
Apparently there was a gift or more than one in the room where I was preparing my daily fix. She is acting as if I have seen it and ruined the surprise. Now this is coming from a woman who gets annoyed because I do not notice a new couch in the living room even though I am sitting on it. I DID NOT SEE THE PRESENT (S).
Let's talk about indiscernible speech in our home. I am concerned because we are getting very serious about the purchase of new home that is sizably larger than the ones we live in now. As it stands, I hardly ever hear what the heck she is saying.
She does have this bad habit of saying something in another room and occasionally on another floor with the expectations you will here and understand what she is saying.
This morning was a good example. I was cleaning up 439 emails and Man Child was killing zombies (redundant I know, as they are already dead), and we heard a muffled yell which included the word "blow dryer".
As you can see I do not use a blow dryer, but the indiscernible noise from upstairs got both my attention and Jack's attention. I looked upstairs to Jack and asked, "What happen?" he looked at me and said "I don't know but it involves a blow dryer."
I cautiously treaded upstairs expecting find the three headed fire breathing hydra, but there was my lovely happy wife. I asked if everything was OK and she said yes, she just could not find her blow dryer. Life was good again.
But there are many times during the day where Jack and I will catch parts of indiscernible words or screams and not know what is happening. In the home we are contemplating we will not hear anything. Is that a blessing or a curse?
Then as I finally got around to getting all squeaky clean, I mentioned to Devin that some sweat shirts she recently bought do not fit me. She replied that they were extra large. I explained her error.
In China there is a Chinese cuneiform XL, which means medium. It is often confused on clothes heading toward the United States.
Devin was not buying it and really did not think the shirts were too small, holding them up and saying, "No Way, it will fit." Now I had tried them on just yesterday, but I have discovered that it would save us both time and energy if I just try them again.
Sure enough, once on even Devin could see these shirts can not contain my manly bosoms. Then it happened. As I was (painfully remember I broke my hand earlier in the week.) removing my hand from the shirt, it slipped as Devin was right in front of me and my broken hand landed a nice right cross to her chin.
In 33 years, I had NEVER struck my wife and I usually would immediately jump to her aid to see how she was, but this really hurt my hand. Man did it hurt. I eventually went to her side and she took the hit really well.
Now the question is, who is responsible? If she had believed me about the shirts, she would not have been clipped. Of course I was blamed.
This morning we all woke up and decided to visit one of our favorite local feederies, Virg's. Apparently during the meal I must have grimaced once too often, so it was decided by 66% of the people at the table that I was going to the emergency room to find out just how badly my hand was broken.
Under duress I was forcibly driven to the emergency room. The facility was absolutely beautiful, new, and state of the art.
I was quickly brought into a private room along with the people who had kidnapped me and brought me to the hospital, and had to explain to the physician's assistant exactly how I injured my hand.
Sadly he acted like it wasn't a new story to him and after a few questions about my insurance status, age, and other medical deficiencies, I was quickly brought into the x-ray room.
The x-ray technician reviewed my pictures and I asked if I had broken my hand. He smiled and said, "Yeah, you did good." As the picture shows
I have what is called a boxer's fracture. If you look close you can see three small bone fragments and the separation of the pinky from the rest of my hand.
I have been splinted now and am honored to have Man Child typing for me as I dictate to him the trials and tribulations of the saga of the broken hand (Not as exciting as it sounds -Jack). As you can see from the picture below typing would be slow and cumbersome.
Due to my injury and Man Child's lack of interest in explaining this weeks summary of Baron's magazine, I will spare you all the stock and economic segment of the blog (Yay! -Jack).
Advice you can live by: when hitting a solid object with your fist always lead with your fore finger knuckle, not your pinky knuckle.
| 
Since 11/25/2012
