KK Mommies

One afternoon, looong ago, I was shopping with my sister and my newborn. My first born. He was all of about three weeks old and I just had to get out of my frickin’ house. We loaded up the diaper bag and the stroller and set off for some walking/shopping. Naturally after about twenty minutes he is hungry and starting to fuss. Oh crap. This is a first for me. I chose this particular mall because it was new and equipped with a fancy new nursing room. A comfortable private place to feed your little ones. We speed walk to the family restroom and are relieved to see the sign “nursing lounge”. With my huge stroller *blush* I bust open the door to find another mother, her new baby, and her friend. “Oh, I am so sorry” I say as I am about to slink back out the door. She replies ”there’s plenty of room if it doesn’t bother you, we are fine”. Saved. We stuff ourselves in, all four of us ladies and our two tiny hungry babies. Awkward…

After a few polite minutes we start to warm up. She is from my part of town and her baby girl is a few weeks older than my baby. We start to chat about being new moms and all the unexpected things come with choosing to nurse exclusively. Then she tells me of this wonderful nursing support group she attends. Okay, I’m all ears! Other people just like me who are dedicated to doing what is natural and right by their children? Super. She tells me they meet once a week and where to find it. It is located in a resale shop with a little coffee shop in the front. The bummer was that it was 40 minutes away from where we live. My sister recognizes the name of the place because one of the women she works with mentioned she bought a baby wearing sling there and just loved it. My sister had every intention of gifting me one of these slings so she made me promise to take her. I think secretly, though it was no secret, she knew I would not have gone alone.

Kangaroo Kids is the the name. They are like a thrift store that specializes in maternity support. We walk in and the place is packed! We are also just a minute or two late and everyone is staring. Poop. What looked at first glance as a feminist rally complete with topless protesting turned out to be one of the most wonderful decisions I ever made. These ladies were just like me! A good majority of these women were first time mothers, a lot were using cloth diapers, A good number of them were skilled in baby wearing (which I did not get at the time), we had relatively the same issues and views on parenting and I left with a very good feeling about this place.

I returned for these meetings every week for the next two years. We were a support system, we shared advice, talked with no end, we became friends. These women came from all walks of life with all different incomes, different cultures, religions, values, colors, styles, and countries. Outside of this circle we really had very little in common but here we were the same. Not even all of these moms nursed their babies and even though it was started as a nursing group, one thing was sure: we needed each other.

When our babies started getting bigger we would meet at each other’s homes for “play dates” and we would spend time together outside of the group meetings. A monthly “Mom’s Night Out” worked its way in along with holiday parties and babysitting swaps. I would say there were about a dozen of us who kept touch regularly. We had all watched our first babies grow and together we started having seconds or thirds. Life was changing fast for us crunchy stay-at-homes. Some in the group stayed closer than others and some had to move away. One thing has never changed though, even though we never find ourselves in Kangaroo Kids the doors are always open. It does not matter how long you have been away these Moms are happy to see you back.

This morning I had breakfast with a group of my KK Mommies. My “Mommy’s Group” I call them. It was so comfortable to just sit and visit with these women. Just like the old days. I have not been around in a while, lives get busy, I think it has been since the holidays since I have seen most of this group but it never feels weird. It always feels like I am welcome. These are all great people who are stronger for all of their differences.   

It was a little bittersweet this morning since all of our “first babies” for without whom we would surely have not met have gone off to school. Only a few of our younger kiddos came along today. We laughed, we grieved, we did what we do best and ate!

Not everyone I wanted to see could make it this morning so… Can’t wait till next time!

Thanks KK Moms!

Clinic Day (3)

It was in this same waiting room, about two years ago when I realized I was not okay. After the initial shock of diagnosis there are about six months of on and off intense treatment then you get put on a maintenance program for a little over two years. My little guy was through the hardest things his body would ever experience and into maintenance much to everyone’s relief. Or so I thought. If you asked how I was I was fine. I was not. I didn’t even know it. I was waiting in the little area outside the gift shop for Bubs to come out of a procedure much like the one I just described. No big deal, right? I got my snack and sat down to wait. I took one drink of my soda and the world went quiet and started to narrow in on me. I had blacked out. It took all of a millisecond, which felt much longer, for me to come around. The reason I know it was not any amount of time is because there was a waiting area full of people and no one had noticed. I had enough of anxiety and stress and my body was pushed to the brink. I didn’t even feel all that stressed. My doctor would soon after tell me that the dark circles, bad complexion, hair loss, and unexplained twelve pounds were a sure sign that even though I thought I was okay I surely was not. It figures, ya know, he was finally out of the really scary stuff and I start falling apart. One fancy prescription (I will tell you about that Dr. visit some other time, it was funny) and two extra yoga classes a week and I start to resemble the living. 

So once again, here I wait. When my pager goes off I gather up my things and rush back to my buddy. He is sleeping soundly and this time he has what looks like a hanky gag from a horror flick in his mouth. Yikes! What the? Aaahhh! The tooth! Why is it still bleeding? Can he breathe? Was it not ready to come out? The adorable little nurse looks at me and smiles. I am acting like a rookie. Again. Breathe. It was fine, he did well, the tooth was ready, they didn’t want him to choke on the little bit of blood, if he were awake and it came out he would have just swallowed it without knowing, he needs to stay lying down for 24 more minutes. Whew. I pick my book back up and settle in to wait.

I like to let him sleep as long as he wants. Coming out of anesthesia is hard and requires rest. Something like 35 or 40 minutes later he starts to stir. He notices the dollar bill folded into a ring on his finger. The nurse explains that the tooth just popped out while he was sleeping, and since he was sleeping the Tooth Fairy made a little visit, but since he didn’t even know his tooth was out she left it for him to put under his pillow that night. Double prizes, that’s what Children’s is good for, the spoiling. He is surprised and happy. He slowly munches and sips. He watches a little  bit of cartoons through heavy eyelids. After half his snack and about 20 minutes he is wobbly but antsy. We ask for a wheelchair and head off. The day is thankfully over.

I maneuver him to the parking garage and get him settled in. We have the long winding journey to the outside world and as we are leaving the gate I am positive it is Sigourney Weaver’s voice I hear telling me to have a good day through the garage gate machine. Huh. Hope fully only one more of these before chemo ends in December. Thank God. 

Boy, I’m on a roll today! I will tell you later how the rest of that night went.

‘Till then…

Clinic Day (2)

Joe. My kids LOVE Joe. Joe is a guy who is retired and volunteers at he Hematology/Oncology clinic at Children’s Hospital as well as other wonderful places. He is a little older, not too much older, bald, not tall, not big, not really what you would imagine as a child’s playmate. He has a dry sense of humor, is intelligent, and really friendly. The kids just love him. I think he’s a pretty cool dude too. So after my little guy gets his port accessed he likes to run back to the play room to find Joe. I take this time to visit along the way with the nurses and staff that have become friends over the years. By the time I make it to where the playing is going on the two of them are engaged in a serious game of Battleship. I get out my book. We are simply killing time until we have to head down to the first floor to the Ambulatory Procedure Center. His appointment down at the APC is at noon so we have to check in at 11:00. We have about 40 min to play. After a looong game of Battleship the guys try their hand at some Guess Who, I receive the paperwork I need to make next month’s appointment and we are off.

We take the elevator again and head to registration. This is a pain in my butt, necessary for billing and all that jazz but stupid all the same. They call us back to the APC and we get settled into our curtain lined cubby hole. Little dude finds some cartoons to watch and I settle in with my book again. We wait. And wait. This is sheer torture, he’s NPO remember? It is almost noon and we have done all the formalities, jumped the correct hoops and signed all the right papers. I have not eaten either (what kind of mom would I be?!?) and about this time I get quite pissed. What the frick could be taking so long?!?! Don’t they know he’s starving? And whining? When the Anesthesiologist finally comes to talk to me I start to see a light at the end of this Great Wall of China sized tunnel. She asks me all the regular questions except this time when they ask if he has any loose teeth I proudly exclaim “yes!”. Then jokingly I ask if she could be a dear and help me out with my dental co-pay, you see if it is just a cleaning it is covered 100% but this one needs to come out (shark teeth) and would be considered an extraction = co-pay. She said, excitedly (for an Anesthesiologist), that she would be happy to pull it while he is out,they do it all the time she tells me. Whoa! Really??? Cool!

This used to be a procedure they would perform in the clinic under sedation, for which I would have to write a whole other novel about cruelty in its simplest form, and even though we have to wait it is much better this way. His procedure is an LP (lumbar puncture) with chemo. A spinal tap in which they remove spinal fluid for testing and replace it with Methotrexate which mingles with the other spinal fluid, surrounds his spinal cord and protects it from this nasty disease. They test/poison his spinal fluid every three months to make sure the mutated white blood cells have not seeped into his central nervous system and affected his brain. So far every spinal fluid test has been negative. This is wonderful for two reasons: he has never had cancer cells in his brain and he has never needed radiation.

Finally it is his turn. 12:17. They wheel his bed back to the procedure room. It is bright and scary and full of instruments. They do all kinds of Medieval torture on kiddos here. Everything from tubes in your ears to an MRI. The Anesthesiologist hooks up the white tube of Propaphol, I kiss my baby and tell him I love him, and she starts to squeeze. My brave little guy is nervous and starts to protest and is quickly rendered unconscious. I am handed a pager (what am I waiting for a table at a steak house?!) and told to leave and they get started on my buddy. I walk out the door and it is shut behind me. When I hear parents of healthy children that need a simple procedure like tubes in the ear (I actually had this done a few times as a kid) freaking out about the sedation and all the worries they have about thier babies I tend to be insensitive. Like “Really?! That’s a big deal to you? They don’t even use an IV anymore, just gas! And gosh it takes care of the problem instantly”. But it is in this moment that I am helpless, same as them. It is a big deal, no matter how small. That is my baby in there. If a doctor told me he had to have something simple like tubes I would first look to the sky and scream “anything else?!?!?” and then I would freak out same as you. Now, I have been here a million times and there is something about this moment when I am helpless that always makes me cry. I shed my tiny embarrassing tears now that I am used to it, I bawled like a baby back in the day. I make my way to the gift shop, Bubs needs his own little bag of Cheeze-Its and a Coke for when he wakes up. I need a little snack too and I head to the waiting area with my munchies to wait for my pager to flash, vibrate, and scream. It always seems to take forever, or about 20 minutes.

Looks like this is a three part-er. Sheesh! Sorry.

Clinic Day (1)

Every month we have a clinic day. Always on a Tuesday. Every three months my buddy has to have a procedure on top of the dreaded clinic visit. This has been going on for about two years. I should say he has a clinic day but since I have been to every one of them and it is usually an event everyone (me and both boys) is forced to endure, I will say “we”. Shall we walk through this one?

This ordeal has changed quite a bit in recent months and has been evolving as my son has aged. In the beginning I would have panic attacks. Lately I have found it a perfect opportunity to get some reading done. It is never okay. I wake my son extra early. Today we have to take little brother to Grandma’s house. It is 6:45 in the morning and I have already showered and laid clothes out for both my boys. My alarm went off at 6:00. I know there are tons of you that get up at dawn, exercise, eat whole breakfasts, shower, and are off to the daily grind by this time but this is not how we function. Imagine yourself and your routine, now do it two hours earlier. I wake my little dude and he is already whining. He doesn’t want to go and is trying to plead his case against it. I assure him I understand his protest and calmly explain that we don’t really get much choice, it is all for the better, and he needs to get dressed before we are late. He replies to this with more hostility as if I am not listening or just too stupid to get it. He tells me he hates the clinic and wants to stop taking medicine, he says he is done and it breaks my heart. I remind him that we are not quitters. I have to get little brother ready too.

After some prying both kids are ready. Teeth are brushed, shoes are on, bodies are in the car and everyone is very unhappy. There was no breakfast today. NPO, roughly translates to nothing by mouth. This is a simple form of torture for everyone. Even though it is for his safety, and there is no explaining that, it is a recipe for crabbiness. My son will receive general anesthesia around the same time everyone else is enjoying their lunch. I have a cup of milk for the little guy, a cup of apple juice for the big one (that has to be taken away in an hour) and my tea is ready to go. It’s 7:25 and we are headed to Grandma’s. Lucky for us she is an early riser. She is waiting for us and meets us at the door. Goodbyes are said and she tells my dude to be brave. He cries that he wants to hang out for just a minute longer. We can’t stay.

The drive to Children’s Hospital is roughly the same distance from my Mom’s as the moon is from Earth. At least it seems that way in morning traffic with a disgruntled five and a half year old boy. I already miss the baby, he usually comes with us. It would be nice to have him here, he helps big brother keep his mind off things. The highway in the morning is a huge source of anxiety for me. Don’t these folks commute to work everyday?!?! It would seem that setting the alarm five minutes early or maybe switching your schedule around a bit would be for everyone’s safety. Pump iron after work or lay out your clothes the night before so that you don’t have to drive like your car has a meth addiction all while filing papers, taking phone calls, and eating your breakfast. I have planned accordingly so that the only thing I am doing right now is driving. With my son in the car. I would appreciate arriving in one piece thank you. We can talk this over properly some other time, I can see you are very busy.

We arrive! Alive! May the whining commence. I know he sits in the back seat and frets about this visit the entire way. Which only makes matters worse, as if fighting Leukemia weren’t bad enough. It is a disaster trying to find parking in the garage, at 8:47am, which is really the only place to park. They try to make small attempts to be kid friendly, the speed limits are quirky- 4 1/3, not2fast, 3.1415 (get it?) and there is a different animal/color theme to every floor but let’s face it, it is still a concrete eyesore with crappy tight turns and tiny spaces. So I always go up. Around and around and around. There is always better parking on one of the top levels. It is here where the whining turns into whimpering. Poor baby un buckles and crawls up front so I can put on his magic cream (lidocaine) and place a plastic cover over it. This cream is to numb his skin where his port will be accessed so that he doesn’t feel it. He hates magic cream. We pull ourselves together and head for the elevator. Regardless of how upset he is he always remembers what floor we are parked on. Orange kangaroo-level 5.

The whole place is done up to appeal to kids. Everyone is friendly and since Bubby looks healthy, no one is staring or acting overly helpful. To another elevator, up nine flights, we are finally to our destination. It is 9:00. It is here my son is back to his old self. He is talkative, friendly, plays with the trains in the waiting area, greets everyone with a smile, you would have no idea of his turmoil on the way to this point. He has always been this way. Even at his most ill, he is brave and sweet in the waiting room. His name is called and we head back for vitals and measurements, which he likes. Then assigned a room. We wait for the doctor, or since he is no longer on death’s doorstep, the nurse practitioner (who I love). She checks him out, they chat about school, we chat about kids. Then the nurse comes in and all hell breaks loose. He has been seeing the same nurse(s) for well over two years now. He talks about them favorably, can’t wait to tell them about things that have happened since last visit, loves them as people but you come in with a tray of sterile stuff and it is on. When he was a baby they said this would get easier. It hasn’t. He just gets stronger. I take his shirt, he sits in my lap and cries. He is scared. I hold his arms while they clean the area and hold him tight and cover his eyes while he is accessed. This involves jamming a 3/4 inch needle through his skin into his port that is connected directly to an artery. I can clearly see the hole in the needle, it is that big. In relation, so you can understand, this needle is roughly the length of the tip of your thumb from knuckle to nail. It is mine anyway, go measure 3/4” and see. The magic cream is supposed to numb the skin but if you remember things that are asleep feel prickly and weird and he associates this with pain. He is crying and shaking and when it is all over he is limp. Exhausted. With tubes hanging out of his chest. These are good though, it saves his arms (which would be way more painful) and is less of an infection risk than other devices. He hates his port and is looking forward to its removal. 

Bing. He is a new kid. a slightly hunched over kid but much better. He heads back to the playroom to see our favorite guy Joe.

This is a lot. I am going to break it up.

It’s a random morning

My buddy comes up to me after being outside with the dog, tennis ball in hand, and whines at me “Mom, all Pepper wants to play with is her coochie. She won’t play with me”. Then my little guy walks up after enjoying some early morning Jaws with Daddy and asks “Mom, are you allergic to sharks too?”.

Mmmm… now lets all have some Pop-Tards!

Good morning!

Things I am addicted to:

• Chapstick- cherry only please. Just because the tube for strawberry isn’t black, don’t think for a second it will do.
• Lipton Instant Tea- yep, nothing good about it really, just have to have it.
• Chocolate- I prefer the good stuff, but in a pinch any will do.
• Books- I have preferences here but in a pinch any will do here also.
• Facebook- I am not proud, nor do I like this addiction. I just feel compelled to pop on everyday and check it.
• Kraft Bagelfuls- why are you so expensive my lovelies?!?!
• The same four pairs of shoes- While I own a bajillion pairs, I only seem to wear like four pairs. My dear husband will work with a close friend of mine and together they will run an intervention every couple years so that I don’t embarrass myself.
• Fart jokes- sorry folks. It is true, I don’t think there is even one that is not funny.
• My watch- not fancy but if it is not there I am naked.
• Lotion- I am a girl with sensitive skin, it is necessary!
• My wallet- I have had the same one for years and I LOVE it!
• Neiman Marcus Dip- nuff said.
• My journal
• Making lists

I will stop now before my true neurosis is discovered, or before you all think I have a serious eating disorder. The next 23 items I would have added to the list were all things to eat. Oh well.

Happy Sunday!

This could be considered a problem.

It is 11:00pm here in my part of the Mid West and I just had a romantic interlude with an expired can of croissant rolls, a cup and a half of veggie oil, and some baker’s sugar. What?! What was I supposed to do with them? Mr. Croupenstien and Sir Hackington have been tucked gently away for the night, my dear husband is manning his station (asleep) on the couch, and I am left to my own devices here in the kitchen. So by the light of my brand new Scentsy night light I fried up some yummies. I was really craving a doughnut since I am two chapters in to the new Evanovich book and all they can think of is doughnuts. As far as dough goes in this house, without making it from scratch (anyone notice the time?) I had cinnamon rolls, frozen biscuits, or expired croissant rolls. I talked myself into the rolls by remembering how delish the fried croissants that the local grocery chain makes and stuffs into the doughnut case. Though the cinnamon would have been nice I guess and it comes with its own glaze. Enough. Into the pan you go! They are wonderful but very rich. I am saving the rest for the kiddos (of all ages) in the morning. See:

I had to treat myself. I spent the day with little crabalicious doing MAJOR groceries. All day. I saved $86 in coupons, sale ads and freebies. I went to six different stores, seven if you count the detour to the mall. I needed a bonus. Now I’m having a beer. Don’t say it. Diet-shmiet. I hate being cold in the winter anyway. So what if I had to go up to a large at Victoria’s Secret, stupid free panty. Ugh. Starting tomorrow I will go to the gym everyday for at least an hour. Seriously. Stop laughing.  

Crafty as promised.

I would like to say first, that I am not posting an original idea. I am merely posting my completion of a project that I found on another blog. I am always on the scout for some really cool projects for no other reason than to put them up in my own home. This particular item is also keepsake in nature and is already proudly hanging on my wall. I have two kiddos, I made two. Look:

Here lets get closer…

Do you see how the trunk is their hands?! I just loved this! My trunks look a little splotchy in the pictures because I couldn’t wait for the Modge Podge to dry before I hung them! They look much better now, it dries clear, but I am way too friggin’ tired to re-snap so you will just have to trust me. I love the two pictures of my boys and will never take them off the wall. They were taken when each boy was 9 months old. My older is the one on the left and the baby is on the right and he is actually playing with big brother’s glove. Awww…

Now to give credit where it is due. The blog I got this idea, and awesome tutorial from is At Second Street and it is very well done by Kalleen. She is incredibly crafty in a very bright way. Everything makes sense and her tutorials are wonderful! Here, take a look: http://atsecondstreet.blogspot.com/2010/03/mod-podged-hand-trees.html

I am actually lined up with a half dozen unfinished projects right now but the second I am cleared for takeoff I am going to jump head first into this one http://atsecondstreet.blogspot.com/2010/03/etched-window-tutorial.html

Update on a previous completed craft? OK. I finally found a home to hang my giant C. It looked a little plain so I jazzed it up with old fake flowers I found in my craft bin in the basement. It’s not super fabulous but it is home.

I am straight off to bed. Hopefully my monsters are feeling way better in the morning and I will actually take all my soft parts to battle in a Pilates class in the morning.

Wish me luck!

Should I?

Today I was sitting here updating my pathetic resume and I lost interest in what it says. What I really, passionately, whole heartedly want to do is write a book. Heh, me and the rest of the free world eh? I have thought about this and talked it over with friends and I think I really could. I just don't know where to start, so I thought I would start here and talk it over with you all.

On this blog site I try to be as much myself as I can while leaving personal details of those who surround me out of the picture. It is really hard. I am an avid reader of fiction but I think I want to delve into some non-fiction. I keep, and always have kept a journal of things that happen to me and stuff I have done every day for over 17 years now. Pretty good, or neurotic, considering I'm in my early thirties (I heard that!). I started doing this for fear of ever forgetting how my life was lived. I know that over time the power of perception weighs heavily on your memory and I never wanted to forget the way I see things today, for tomorrow. I have also kept journals of wedding planning (this would make a comedy), both of my kids since conception, and the journey of our family since my son was diagnosed with Leukemia. I think it would be the latter of these that I would be passionate about writing a book about. Think anyone would read it?

Have you ever read anything by the Sadaris clan or that hoot of a wench Laurie Nataro? I love these folks because no matter how serious or devastating the situation is they always have me laughing 'till I pee. I would like to write a semi funny (I'm funny right? Don't answer that.) but entirely true account of a mother in the most challenging role of her life: survivor.

I know I don't have a big following here, yet, but anyone with an opinion on writing a book PLEASE speak up. Talk me out of it, stroke me and tell me I'm great, warn me with personal experience, promise to read it. I am going to sort this out soon and get movin'. Wish me luck!

P.S. Since I am also totally ADD in life, I also have my latest crafty project that I will post later this afternoon, or whenever I can get around to it.

XO

3 1/2 Years old

Things collected on the walk to take bother to the bus stop:

One bottle rocket stick

A tiny metal washer

A tiny metal nut

A rubber screw cap

One soda bottle cap

In response to why he was picking up trash off the street (hoping the answer was to throw it away) “this is my treasure, I’m a pirate so I can say booty”.

Alrighty then.

Photo by Christy Mayer Photography she always seems to catch my devils being angelic.

Turns out one man’s trash is definitely a little boy’s treasure.

I get bad mood, you get funny story.

Last week was quite the challenge. The weekend pretty much just coasted by. Now this week (I know it’s only Tuesday) has sucked. I can’t seem to shake this sinus issue I have had for what seems like nine years and to kick things off Monday morning my son was sick. So for the past two days I have been caring for a sick kid, no ordinary sick kid though but the one who is immune-suppressed. This means that the fever he woke up with didn’t get Tylenol and a free pass to sleep it off, it won us an all day visit to our Children’s Hospital.

Enough. When I’m down and need a pick-me-up I usually find it by making others laugh. Easiest way to do that is just to dive in with a funny experience. Enjoy.

For many years I was a bartender. I worked for quite a while at this smokehouse restaurant/night club that has volley ball leagues, pool tables and some of the craziest people come through there that I have ever seen. This place was really cool. As a bartender in a couple places before there I thought I has seen most all. Nope.

One evening I was working at the main bar with two of my favorite co-workers. We weren’t that busy and were just shooting the shit to pass time. This guy walks over to my side of the bar (farthest from the restroom this time) sits down on a barstool and orders a Jack and Coke. No biggie. Four dollars. Back to my conversation. Don’t think for a second that I didn’t get a good look at this guy, a good bartender always does. He was tall and very thin, long stringy salt and pepper hair tied in a ponytail at the back of his neck, dark grey tee shirt with an eagle on it, tanned with a close cut beard also pretty grey. Oh, and he only had one arm.

He drinks only a third of his cocktail slides two bucks across the bar and says “Honey will you keep an eye on my seat?”. “You betcha”. I had turned my back to him for just a second to grab the ticket at the service bar and hear this loud crash. People are all standing where they were all seated half a second ago, commotion, and two of the bouncers are on the way over. This guy fell down. My bar back saw it when it happened and rushed over to help. Mr. Jack and Coke was flailing on his back like a bug. He was wide eyed and not making a sound but had his mouth open looking panicked. The bouncers were trying to help him up without much luck. It finally took three men to right him and they started to walk him to the men’s room, ironically his original destination.

I was upset. Freaking out upset. It looked to me like he was having a seizure. I couldn’t understand why the manager was just standing there instead of calling 911! “The men’s room?!?!? Why didn’t someone offer him a chair and wait for the paramedics?!?! Why did you move him in the first place?!?!?”. Then the manager said he needed to talk to me, he was grinning like a fool but I couldn’t imagine what for. We get to the office and he closes the door all but a crack and the smirk dropped off instantly. In this restaurant the manager’s office is right in the game room so we had privacy but anyone walking by could see in or hear us. He starts in on me. “How many did I serve him? Was it an honest four count pour? Did he appear intoxicated before I served him his drink?” He sternly went through the liability speech. I swore I was not in the wrong here and I was actually getting pretty pissed. Then he says with the utmost seriousness “Next time you plan on getting one of our patrons so drunk they can’t stand you better make sure they have a leg to stand on”. Huh?! “WHAT?!?!” Then he loses all composure, as did the eight or so people standing outside the door (who had seen and were in on it). This poor guy didn’t have any legs!!! He was amputated mid thigh on his left and below the knee on the right. He had fallen out of one of his prosthetics and literally could not get himself up off the floor. I defend myself with “I could see he had one arm but how was I to know he didn’t have any legs?”.  Sheesh! Good thing I can take it because I seem to be the butt of the joke a lot.  

My one armed friend came back to his seat after a bit and drank his drink, ordered another and left me another two bucks. Like nothing ever happened. I, on the other hand, had to listen to “your boyfriend One Arm Willy” jokes at my expense for another week.

Until I did something else dumb.           

Finally moved.

I am completely moved over to Blogger. The switch from Livejournal was not hard just tedious.
Hope to *see* you here!