Kidney Stones

My friend Renee suggested I write about kidney stones. My first thought was that I have no firsthand experience (THANK YOU GOD) with kidney stones. What would I possibly write that would be helpful to you, dear reader, on this delicate and sensitive topic? Nothing! So I decided to be indelicate and insensitive and make jokes about it.

Now I have met many people who have had to pass these problematic pebbles. One woman said that is was worse than child birth! THAT is hard to believe but I will take her word for it because I don’t want to try to pass one and will never have baby. You know if it were up to men to have the babies I don’t think we would have to worry about that whole overpopulation problem. Extinction would be the new concern!

Another man claimed that the pain was worse than the wound that wound up in a purple heart in Vietnam. Really? Come on!! A tiny little grain of sand like that hurt worse than that bayonet of Charlie? He claimed that the knife was quick and clean while the kidney boulder (his phrase) just took its own sweet time and cause suffering that seemed to last longer than the war.

For those of you who think that kidney stones affect only those who are unfortunate enough to experience them first hand allow me to share a story with you. A Halloween party was planned for a great group of people. The costumes had been selected with great care from the bargain bin at Kmart. My costume was perfect. It was to be a vampire in more of a traditional Bela Lugosi than Bella and Edward. But sadly the party was cancelled due to the hostess being inflicted with a kidney stone. The real tragedy was … it is so hard to write this as I remember the suffering … that I had … prepare yourself for the graphic nature of this … a rash on my forehead from the makeup I tried on!

Can we all agree that kidney stones are something that should be avoided at all costs due to the pain and suffering they inflict not only on those who actually have them but on those of us who… wait a second… why does it feel like I am about to pee a bowling ball?

Smoking

I may be treading on sacred ground here but I want to talk about smoking. I know what you’re thinking: “Doug! Smoking is not politically correct! How can you talk about something like that?” If that is what you really are thinking then this must be the first post of mine you’ve ever read! Political correctness? Bah!! (Am I eloquent or what?) But that does give me a chance to give you a lesson in morphology. Look at the word Politics. Poli – which means many; and tics – which means little things that suck your blood. Is it any wonder Washington is such a mess?

Anyway… smoking. I must confess that have tried one cigar and one cigarette in my life. It is not an experiment that I would choose to repeat. It felt like my throat and lungs had been burned by smoke… wait a second… that is what actually happened! My dad once explained the attraction to me. Nicotine has the ability to energize you or chill you out. It can be a stress reliever or a party enhancer. It can make you look cool to one person and unattractive to another… Don’t ask me. I didn’t get it either. It is not my place or nature to judge others. If another person wants to enjoy the effects of nicotine then go for it.

Other kinds of smoke are much more interesting to me. I have a friend (believe it or not) who is a blond. She mentioned that she was thinking and then asked if I could see the smoke. Have you ever felt the kind of pain you get when you need to fart but don’t want to because you are in an elevator with a really cute girl and know that she will give you that “OMG did you really just take the curl out of my hair” look if you let rip that methane bomb within? The pain I felt as I resisted the urge to comment on that perfect opening was worse than that!

What if our heads really smoked when we were thinking too hard? I have a feeling that all those smoke-free campuses would be smoke-filled in no time! Or perhaps those think tanks would be stink tanks with all the burning brains in them. Wouldn’t it be embarrassing for your brain surgeon’s brain to be smoking while fixing your frontal lobe? It would be a good use for some people’s ears who don’t seem to use them for the original purpose. (You KNOW who you are!)

Well I think that is enough about smoke. Now I need to go look at the leaking gasket that is making my engine smoke like the brain of Stephen Hawking debating Albert Einstein.

A Waist is a Terrible Thing to Mind

I remember as a teenager having lunch every day and eating a hamburger, hot dog, burrito and a large Non-diet Dr Pepper. Looking back now with over two decades (and several inches) under my belt, I think to myself, “What an idiot I was!” After two decades, that particular meal would send me into anaphylactic shock. My body could not process all those carbs, fats and sesame seeds without a mandatory purging of my system. And I don’t mean puking my guts out either. Think the other end.

The singer Steve Poltz once sang the lines, “I drink myself some herbal tea cause it’s healthier they say. Healthier ain’t all that fun. I’ll take a cold beer any day.” I understand where Steve was coming from. These days, the aforementioned meal would cause a gastric phenomenon that would make the raging of Vesuvius seem rather peaceful, meek and mild. And I’m sure that volcano would have smelled better, too. Sulfuric gasses have nothing on the effects of onion rings on a middle aged digestive tract.

The obvious noxious nuisance aside, think of what those calories do to those same waist lines. Back in the day, I was a swimmer who could go miles without a problem. Now the waters where I swim are alligator filled; however, they are not as physically challenging as they affect the mind. Now the calories that seemed so helpful as a youth are the bane of my existence. Those same calories are stored as fatty globules to help us in times of famine. As the rate I am adding to my globulous gain, I should be prepared for the next several lean harvests.

I remember with fondness the blue jeans that had the 32 inch waist. I looked at a pair of those in Wal-Mart the other day. All I did was look. There was this tiny voice in the back of my mind saying, “Why don’t you try it on?” Even though I do listen to the voices in my head on a regular basis, my instinct for self-preservation was a lot louder than that vicious little voice that was trying to hurt me. And I don’t even want to think about the damage the mirror in the fitting room would have done to my psyche as I looked at the fat oozing over the waist of those jeans. Love handles my middle aged butt! Who loves those? Really? Even your Mom would say, “Honey, loose a little of that chub. You can pinch several inches!”

I have come to the conclusion that it is a waste of time worrying about your waist. Why bother? I have been fighting the middle aged battle of the bulge and have deluded myself into thinking I can win. Maybe I will be lean, mean, loving machine when I die at the age of 103. Then again, there is a chocolate malt calling my name at Dairy Queen.

The Streak!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BI-TXC8AEyQ

Ray Stevens is a great singer. He was weird before Al had a corner on the market. The Mississippi Squirrel Revival tells the story of a demonic squirrel in a self-satisfied church. You have to love that! The Shriner’s Convention follows the exploits of Coy at the 43rd Annual Convention of the Grand Mystic Royal Order of the Nobles of the Ali Baba Temple of the Shrine. He is pursued by the Illustrious Potentate – a.k.a Bubba. And the Smokey Mountain Rattlesnake Retreat gives me nightmares! But nothing compares to The Streak.

The Streak tells the story of a streaker in sneakers and the unfortunate family who keeps trying not to look but it is always too late! “Don’t look Ethel!” Well you and I both know when you tell someone not to look… they look! Just ask Lot’s wife.

I just want all of you to know I would be the first to turn my head if a streaker were passing by. Now the direction of the head turn would depend on the gender of the runner. I think a man streaking is disgusting and should be illegal! As to women streaking… I love the Fall colors out there, don’t you? My town of Knoxville, Tennessee has a long a distinguished history of streaking! Walter Cronkite called Knoxville the "Streaking Capital of the World" in 1974. That spring around 5,000 people on Cumberland Avenue took their clothes off... stripping on the "strip". I missed it! I was 6 at the time and living in Kansas where people rarely take off clothes even in private!

I think streaking needs to make a comeback. Think about it. You don’t have to worry about clashing. If you are clashing while streaking you have more problems than the lack of clothing! Now I’m not saying this is something to be done during non-warm seasons. Blue is never a good color for skin tones outside of Star Trek. However I do not think it is something I will be helping. Lending my support and encouragement and gawking is about as far as I will go at this age. But as a single guy I think an all female facilitated frolic would be a good thing. I will be right there cheering you on!

WalMartians!

I’m sure you have seen the people of WalMart website. What? You haven’t? Where have you been and what cyber-rock have you been under. You’ve gotta see this! http://www.peopleofwalmart.com. Go ahead. Click on it. This blog will still be here when you get back!

Here is a new idea for a reality show – What Not to Wear in WalMart. Imagine if you will two fashion designers trying to decide how to tell some of these poor brain-dead individuals that there is something wrong with size 38 thongs in Daisy Dukes while strolling down the frozen food section comparing prices on tater tots. “Oh sweetie! Please don’t ever wear that again! You shouldn’t even wear that in private! Right Rita?” “Oh absolutely, Andre! And what were you thinking wearing green plaid with orange stripes?” Sadly, the episode would end there with Betty Sue calling Billy Bob over to Rita and Andre to duct tape them down and beat them to death with wire hangers and hiding the bodies in the bed of the F-150 under the beer cans.

Being a single guy I have an excuse for not wearing the right things all the time – I’M A SINGLE GUY! But even I look at some of this stuff and wonder, “Do they really think that looks good?” This coming from the man who has Mickey Mouse, Bugs Bunny and Cow ties in his closet. (Sadly, I am not making that up!) But come on people! No shoes. No shirt. No problem! That seems to be the way of thinking.

People watching is a hobby of mine. Take a look at someone and make up a story about them. You can do it. I will pick a random person and make them into something I wish they would be. Imagine a man wearing a leather jacket and blue jeans. Now to you this may look like a man wearing a leather jacket and blue jeans. To me he is a Lithuanian spy who has infiltrated the Ku Klux Klan in an attempt to steal nuclear secrets to fight the lecherous Lithuanians license lords (the Lithuanian version of the DMV.) The master spy has discovered that he may be better served by infiltrating into the most evil, criminal empire in the United States – Congress!

People watching in WalMart takes half the fun out it for me. It takes absolutely no creativity to come up with a story for these people. “He got dressed in the dark.” “She is stuck in the 80s.” “That couple had a shared stroke!” Please help me here people. My mind needs a challenge to channel all my creativity into something productive. At least make it so I have to think a little bit!

Just kidding. Go ahead and wear what you want. I need the laughs!

Dognostics

One of my favorite jokes asks the question: What does a dyslexic agnostic insomniac do? He sits up all night and wonders if there really is a dog. Yes I know it is a bad joke. Haven’t you read any of my stuff? They all are!

I have become a dognostic. There are too many people out there who think their dogs are smarter than a fifth grader. One of my friends is convinced his dog can talk. He may be right because I have listened to his dog and it is more comprehensible than my comrade courtesy of cultured Tennessee tenor to his tone of voice. Yet comparing a pooch to a pal is not fair. Besides the dog likes hockey and I cannot understand that no matter the language.

Another amigo is astounded by the amazing activity of his Akita. Now please understand that my friend is from my great home state of Texas. In keeping with the culture of bigger and better he may be prone to ever so slight exaggeration from time to time. By “ever so slight exaggeration from time to time” I mean that he lies through his teeth; but only when his lips are moving. All that aside I’m sure that this domesticated dog has the ability to fetch, sit, stay and play dead at the sound of a gunshot. However, I draw the line at believing this canine can catch a careening compact disc and place it in a player and hit play. Please! The dog spit alone would be enough to short out the Playstation on which he is purportedly playing the Pretenders.

You all need to follow my example and accept the simple fact that my dog is better, smarter and cuter than yours. Once you realize that my dog can sit, stay, lay down, catch treats flipped off her nose and will wait till you say, “That’ll do” before eating the treat sitting right beside her, far better than yours I think you will be far more humble. Just remember, you may think your dog is smarter than a fifth grader but mine has a master’s degree from MUT!

Forgiven Not Forgotten

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=01mDVRSXY_w&feature=BFa&list=FLpj9WHSn6O2h9HcsmyA4OUg&lf=mh_lolz

All alone, staring on

Watching her life go by

When her days are grey

And her nights are black

Different shades of mundane

And the one-eyed furry toy that lies upon the bed

Has often heard her cry

And heard her whisper out a name long forgiven

But not forgotten

You're forgiven, not forgotten,

You're forgiven, not forgotten,

You're forgiven, not forgotten,

You're not forgotten

A bleeding heart torn apart

Left on an icy grave

In their room where they once lay

Face to face

Nothing could get in their way

But now the memories of the man are haunting her days

And the craving never fades

She's still dreaming of the man long forgiven

But not forgotten

You're forgiven, not forgotten,

You're forgiven, not forgotten,

You're forgiven, not forgotten,

You're not forgotten

Still alone, staring on

Wishing her life goodbye

As she goes searching for the man long forgiven

But not forgotten

You're forgiven, not forgotten.

This song is about a lost love. The passion in her is just amazing to me. It is hard to remember any time I have felt that kind of passion. The loss she describes is all too familiar. The bleeding heart torn apart is something that I have felt more than once. But the craving for the lost one is totally alien to me. Perhaps with the losses I have felt over the years I have become calloused. Have I ever felt that kind of love? If I have I do not remember it and something tells me I would remember that. I have loved and do still love – but not like that.

As I ponder those words I am trying to figure out which one of us is messed up. It may be her for trying to find this one who broke her heart. It is admirable to find that lost love that has been forgiven for all past transgressions. She knows what and who she wants and is willing to leave it all behind to pursue it! That is love without limits. Perhaps it is me for not wanting to replay the memory again. Forgive them but do not give the chance to cause more harm. Be a friend if needed but no longer risk your heart for someone who has proven to be unworthy of that trust. I think we are both a little nuts.

For some reason I’m more a fan of Jaron and the Long Road to Love’s “Pray for You”.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=atBg9zLI2bA&feature=autoplay&list=FLpj9WHSn6O2h9HcsmyA4OUg&lf=mh_lolz&playnext=1

But that may just be my evil sense of humor coming out. Both are good songs but I am more of a praying for you and forgiving and forgetting them. I don’t think that is what God wants when he tells us to forgive and not remember the sins anymore. I’ll work on that.