Pooh and Oz

I swear, I do not feed them crack.


Pooh and Oz

Hair Idol: Day 3

The flip

Fancy do's coming on Sunday

Happy Friday!!!!!

Hair Idol 2

Here are some details... Bro's wedding is at 3pm. Church wedding, ballroom type reception Black strapless dress, jewels, and fankle-mandated flats for dancing... stupid fankle! I soooo wanted to wear my ha-cha-cha stilettos! The crazy hairstyles will have to wait for the weekend when I have enough time to do them. I already get up at 5:30, people. There's not another minute of early-riser in me.

This is fun party hair. Which was perfect today because it was GP's birthday (see below).

Views from the sides and back. I wish my arms were just a bit longer!
This is GP. It was her birthday. We got her a tiara (okay, I did that. I love a birthday, and really, there's no better reason to wear a tiara on Thursday.)

God bless a girl who loves a mexican fiesta... aye yi yi yi!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hair Idol

Today will be the first installment of "Hair Idol". Commenters are required to follow my hair trials over the next few days and vote on their favorite to wear for the bro's wedding. Today's offering is the "sleek and chic" take on the current 'do. Of course, I'll be wearing a black strapless dress and fancy jewels for the wedding. My first as a grooms-maid!

And this is how I'll look when I'm dancing!!!

Haiku of the day:

As gout settles in
Lana's breath reeks of old feet
Irony's a bitch.


Quote of the Day:
TK: Uh-oh, my earring fell out.
Patient: (looking inquisitively at my many piercings) How can you tell?

Joke of the day:
I haven't done any work since noon, and my last patient hasn't come yet.

Meet the new whipping boy

(This is a close replication of a conversation I had with my whipping boy sometime last week)

Voicemail: (Jay, my whipping boy) Hey, Tiffany, I need to talk to you. Call me as soon as you can.

(inside Tiffany's head): Shit. I'm getting fired. Or Jay's getting fired. Probably Jay. He's always saying crap that can get him fired. So am I. (If anyone cared.)

TK: Did you get fired or did you quit?

Jay: Neither, but I do have a new job.

TK: Are you f'ing kidding me?

Jay: Nope. I'm still with the company, but I'm taking a different position and moving over to the marketing side of the business.

TK: Are you sure you didn't get fired?

Jay: Yes.

TK: What the hell's going to happen to me? This sucks! (continues to rant and rave for several minutes about how this will affect me me me!!!)

Jay: I had to match my travelers with new recruiters (aka whipping boys) based on personality.

TK: Shit. I'm getting fired aren't I? No one else can handle me.

Jay: Nope, you're getting handed off to (something unintelligable that started with a C).

TK: Did you just say Carl? I can't possibly be handled by a Carl. Carl can't be good.

Jay: I didn't say Carl. I would never give you to a Carl. You couldn't possibly be handled by a Carl. I'm giving you to Chris. He sits right next to me. He's cool.

TK: I don't like the sound of this. (But I do have some good Chris's in my life.)

Fast forward to today. I talk to my new whipping boy. We'll be calling him CL. He doesn't think he's cool enough to go by initials, but I'll be the judge of that. Everyone wave at CL... he's probably reading this right now. *waves and does a high-kick... Hi CL*

My first impression? CL must be as big as a house. He has a big voice. Big like my cousin Chris, who played college football. Sweet jesus, I'm being handled by a jock. I'll bet he was a lineman. Why a lineman? Because they're (some of) the only ones who actually get a degree. And he sounds big. Linemen are big.

Conversation with CL goes great. I'm thinking he must be one of those weirdos who has a voice that doesn't match his body. Until this:

TK: blah blah blah, something about watching "Friends" reruns, at work, because that's what I do.

CL: Yuck. I hate "Friends". I never got it. (or something to that effect)

TK: Because you clearly don't have a sense of humor. Dear god, you're into SciFi, aren't you?

CL: Define SciFi

TK: Did you stay up last night to watch the premiere of "Heroes"?

CL: Well, I didn't stay up.

TK: We're breaking up right now. Go find me a recruiter who liked Friends.

CL: Well, I can say that I like Star Wars, but I'm not a Trekkie.

TK: Which one of the Star Wars movies do you think is best?

CL: Some crap answer about one of the new ones (the prequels)

TK: boooooooooooooooooo.

CL: Something about getting cool points for meeting David Schwimmer at a Northwestern promo-type thing (Schwimmer's an alum) when he played football for them.

TK: (in my head: ding ding ding! We have a winner!!!) Yes, 10 cool points for meeting David Schwimmer. blah blah blah, something about a guy who high-fived Jay Leno.

CL: I shook his hand once, but I didn't high five him. We were filming some segment for his show before we played in the ROSE BOWL.

TK: You know I'm going to find that on YouTube.

CL: I don't know if they actually showed it since we lost.

TK: LAUGHS OUT LOUD!!!! Oh my god, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to laugh out loud. That wasn't nice. (Ya, I know, I'm driving the bus to hell.)

CL: Ya, thanks.

So I do a google search for CL. I got a lot of hits, mostly about a comment he made about the football recruit sex scandal at CU a few years ago, and that he was on ESPN2's ColdPizza (about the same topic). And he was a lineman (at least that's what Paper Boy said, since I don't actually know what a split-end does. I only know what they are in hair and what product to use to prevent them.) **addendum: Paper Boy says he DID NOT tell me that a split-end is a lineman. I obviously am incapable of understanding the basics of football positions. I will stop trying to understand, and simply go back to rooting for my favorite players in tight pants, regardless of what team they're on. Case closed.**

Maybe he can handle this.

By the way, if you google me, you get NOTHING. Nada. What a crock. I'm totally google-able. Well, I should be.

Hey, CL, sorry about the Rose Bowl. **and the Citrus Bowl**

This week's game

We're tired of band names. This week's game is "Patient Haiku" by Paper Boy. As always, names have been changed to protect the innocent. I provide the patient, Paper Boy is the wordsmith.

So far?

Stretch, creak, huff, spin, groan
Can't catch me Jimmy Stiff Legs
Your bike goes nowhere

Li'l Joe Walker-Cane
tipsy with or without scotch
god bless Sani-wipes
(Li'l Joe Walker-Cane is his indian name, and it's only scotch b/c Colt 45 doesn't fit the requirements of haiku.)

Clammy in my palms
Like shorn, sweaty chinchillas
Mimi's skin heebs me

Haiku is 5-7-5, right? If not, Paper Boy has some revisions to do!

Was is something she said?

So, how much anonymity can you expect on a blog?

I don't think it's much. My friend Carey was astounded that Amanda (my sister) had her real location listed on her profile. "Anyone could really find her!" she said. Well, I don't have a location on mine. Hell, half the time, when I have to list my address, I have to go through a half-dozen of them before I get to my current city of residence.

I have a list of blogs I check regularly. As I checked in to one of my favorites this week, it was with shock and horror that I read a message like this: My mother found my blog. And she's pissed.

Now, this blogger had ranted and raved about her mom on many occassions. She laid it out. The good, the bad, and the ugly. Her mother had asked for the URL previously, and she said no, it was private. Well, mom went on a hunt, and about 2.2 seconds later, found it. And was pissed. Britt (blogger) had one post up about it for a few hours, then *poof*, the whole blog was gone. Just like that, one of my Bloggerville buddies was gone.

I understand the blogger's feeling that her privacy was violated. I understand her mother's hurt. But when it comes down to it, if you're blogging on the internet, you're writing a public journal. I started my blog so the people in my life, near and far, could keep up with my travels. I hope it gives them a way to check in and see what I'm up to, to hear the funny stories, and laugh that some things never change. I purposely don't include the private thoughts that I have and don't wish to share. I keep a written journal (gasp and horror!) that records the things that are not for public consumption. They are not blog-worthy in my life. The blog is by far too public to have those things posted.

So, in the end, I guess it was something she said. Whether self-auditing should be the norm, or if we should all respect the privacy of the blogs we are not invited to read (whatever! Oh, wait, that would be "do as I say, and not as I do") is a decision that's made on our own.

Not that I don't miss her. Miss Britt, you are definitely more interesting than a grocery list. And I hope you find your way back here one day. With or without the familial baggage.

What I did today...

First, I found Amanda a new boyfriend... I mean, tutor.

Then I went Hummer hunting...

And flipped them off in honor of Amanda and Beck McVanagon

Then, when I got home, my deadbolt broke into pieces. So Pooh King and I got to spend some quality time with the maintenance guy while he changed the locks. Not that it was as exciting, or as soon as it was in Denver, but quality none-the-less.

At least I'll sleep well knowing that I won't have to throw Oz at anyone's face tonight!

And everyone say Happy Birthday to Ma King!!!!!!!!!

Premiere night

8:00 My Name is Earl
8:30 The Office
9:00 Grey's Anatomy
10:00 ER

Cancel all future Thursday night plans. I'm busy.

See you tomorrow. I know I'm pathetic. Don't you judge me.

By the way, here's bonus points for me...

This is the secretary at my clinic. We call her Metalhead. She loved the big time wrestling. She was in the 2nd row... on purpose. She got there early. This is why people I work with can't know about the blog. Shut up Paper Boy, you've been begging for this picture all week. She doesn't have a mullet, but she is a 2nd row sitter at the Bruiser Wrestling Federation show at the Five Counties Fair.

perfect weather

I LOVE FALL!!!!

I swear, it is my favorite season. Winter and spring run neck and neck, and summer can kiss it altogether. Except in Alaska. I love summer in Alaska.

My perfect weather day happened today. Morning bike ride (with dog, tongue hanging out side of mouth, running along side) at a cool 57 degrees. Noon lunch run (that being the walk across parking lot, drive to Wendy's for a salad, and walk back across parking lot to clinic) a gorgeous, mostly sunny, light breeze, 72 degrees. Evening bike ride (see above description of dog) 68 degrees as the sun sets. Currently? Probably mid 60s, windows thrown open, wishing I had a screen door, listening o the beautiful silence in the woods. *11pm update- it's 48 in Farmville! Whoo hoo!!!! (I know, it's past my bedtime, but I had to brush up on Grey's Anatomy before tomorrow night's season premiere!!!)

Wait a minute. What the hell was that? I think someone's being tortured in the woods! That is almost the worst sound I've ever heard. (The worst sound being during the elk rut while camping in Yellowstone. And the elk slept next to my tent. I swear, I didn't sleep a wink, and I could hear that bastard breathing on the other side of my very, very thin tent wall.) Quick! Shut windows and lock tight. Prop broomstick into window to keep said torturers out. Shove cat into corner of window to look scary in case torturer still tries to get in. Turn air conditioning back on to make apartment feel as though windows are still open.

Oh, wait a minute. I think that's a deer. A deer in love... or hoping to be in love soon. Remove cat from corner of window. Return broomstick to proper storage place in laundry area. Open windows wide again. I can live with that sound until it's time to sleep.

But I warn any wanna-be torturers... I have The Great and Powerful Oz. And I'm not afraid to throw her right at your face.



She's a ninja, you know.

Yesterday was hair day! Those who know me well know how exciting hair day is for me. I love it! I love it! I love it! (Done SNL style, of course.) The results? The color is beautiful, the style is different than the last (a bit) but cute, if not a little on the short side. The good news is that it grows, and will look fantastic by the time Ryan gets married. Very chic indeed. Pictures will come after I've had the time to take a few. Hair day ended at 9pm. Whew!

Hee hee. I've been bad. I hijacked Amanda's blog!

Oh no. I just wrote hijacked. Damn! I did it again! And now the feds are probably watching my blog. Poor guys, trying to unravel the incessant rambling that is my life.

I'm going to have to move again, aren't I?

Funny dog tricks

So, I'm about done talking about the fankle. Really. I'm getting tired of the whole thing, and really I'm pissed that it even happened and I can't cure myself. In 6 to 8 weeks I'll let you know how it's going. Until then I'm really going to try to not complain about it. The bad fankle should not be given attention when it acts up. Like an unruly child, it's getting the cold shoulder from now on.

Except for this...

Since having to stop running (due to said fankle) I have figured out Pooh King's favorite form of exercise. We can't use chasing tennis balls anymore, since he's an old fart and will only chase a few before giving up and needing to take a break. When I fell, Pooh just looked at me like, "hey, lady, what are you doing laying down? This isn't laying down time, this is running time. Why don't you pull up your big girl panties and keep hitting the pavement?" Every morning after fankle-injury-Sunday, Pooh would just look at me and wonder how his life got so bad. Enter, the bike. My cruising bike, Goldie Hawn, to the rescue! When living in Philly, Pooh used to run next to me while I rollerbladed, and I figured he can run next to the bike too. We did it in K-Falls, we can do it in Farmville. Off we went.

After a few "OH MY GOD, POOH!!! STAY ON THE RIGHT!" *SCREEEEEEEEECH!!!* Semi-thrown over the handle bar moments, we were on a roll. Now, he's a maniac. He jogs politely around 3/4 of the loop, then he busts it on the back stretch like Secretariat coming into finish line.

Except I'm pretty sure Secretariat's tongue never hung out quite like Pooh King's does.

*note- an addendum if you will... this is a list of your first thought after sex, not Jenga. Sorry Paper Boy*

I totally stole this from here.

I definitely thought it was funny.

All other comments about truth and accuracy are being withheld.


Aries... I' m hungry, pass the pizza.
Taurus... Okay, Ok lets do it again..
Gemini... Have you seen the TV remote?
Cancer... When are we getting married?
Leo... Wasn't I fantastic?
Virgo... I need to wash the sheets.
Libra... I liked it if you liked it.
Scorpio... Perhaps I should untie you.
Sagittarius... Don't call me, I'll call you.
Capricorn... Do you have a business card?
Aquarius.... Now let's do it again and again and again and again...
Pisces... What did you say your name was?

Melancholy and the Infinite Madness

iTunes should be shut down. At least between the hours of 10pm and 5am on Friday night/Saturday morning. I mean really, they're profiling. And I fit the profile. Single, sitting at home, and in the mood for a shopping fix. Thank god I have a music fetish and not a QVC fixation. Not that I spent less money, but it's music, not porcelain dolls or the Bedazzler. Last night's purchases?

Shawn Colvin's new album: Four Walls - 10/5 stars (but I'm slightly biased since I heard it live before it was released... thank you Britt Fest in Ashland, Oregon!)
The Soundtrack from The Last Kiss - 5/5 stars
The Gray's Anatomy Soundtrack Volume 2 - 4/5 stars
Patty Griffin's new album: Impossible Dream - 5/5 stars
Bare Naked Ladies' new album: Bare Naked Ladies - rating to be determined, but they never disappoint.
India.Arie: Acoustic Soul - rating yet to be determined, but please, it's gonna be great.
And the coup de' tat: Lionel Richie's new album: Coming Home - 4/5 stars. (Go ahead, judge me... but it's good.)

And what's worse? I totally got sucked into the new Friday night show "Men in Trees". Again, profiling. So there I sat, on Friday night, getting my music fix, watching a show which is totally unrealistic (hello, it's a television show) about my Alaska, and being homesick. But I liked it anyway.

I have got to get a social life.

What a day!

5:30am- up with the chickens. Feed the cat. Walk the dog. Suck down first cup of coffee. Open eyes.

6:00am- eat breakfast. Make lunch.

6:30am- shower. Mmmmmm, shower.

7:00am- second cup of coffee down the hatch. Hair and makeup in process.

7:30am- now-coveted-extra-third-cup-of-coffee in travel mug for emergency use on way to work. Final walk of dog.

7:40am- begin commute to work

7:45am- Arrive at work, put lunch in fridge, check schedule of patients.

8-11:00am- full patient load. No downtime.

11:00- patient no-shows. Spend some gratis time with a patient who technically doesn't see PT due to idiotic insurance company, but really does see PT because my boss is cool and I'm nice... and patient deserves it.

11:30- spend time with coworkers deciding where to order lunch out since the stuff we brought seems too boring for Friday.

12-1:00pm- pick orthotist's brain about a better brace to put on f'ankle (my new name for my f'ing sore sloppy noisy ankle), eat lunch... very exciting buffalo wings... and shoot the bull with coworkers. Very fun.

1:00pm- pain in the ass patient comes (despite my attempts at controlling the universe and making him cancel) but must have smoked up (the wacky weed) before coming because is not only pleasant but downright chatty. Work my ass off with Paper Boy attempting to get said patient to be able to stand up straight.

2:00pm- spend the hour figuring out why patient is having shoulder pain then attempting to explain it to her and her husband, using skeleton. Doesn't go well, but in the end, patient and husband have their "a-ha" moment and get it. Are very excited to come back to PT for treatment.

3:15pm- Get started late with next patient, but is okay since don't have a 4:00 patient. Should be done with all paperwork by 5:00.

4:15pm- Patient left. Paperwork started. Noisy front office due to capital budget due by 5:00.

4:45pm- Definitely not going to get done by 5. But neither is front office. Should be done by 5:15.

5:15pm- Not done yet, but closing in on the finish line. Still noisy in front office. Lots of laughter. Cheering.

5:30pm- contemplate leaving. Don't want to take chart home. Don't want to have work to do Monday morning. Front office quiet. Must be crunch time for everyone.

5:45pm- Aaaaaahhhh, done with paperwork. Desk clean. Carry charts to front office. Holy shit, the lights are off. No sound coming from front office.

5:46pm- Holy crap. I'm alone. In the clinic. Everyone left. They didn't even say goodbye.

5:50pm- Sweet jesus. The doors are locked. THE CLINIC DOORS ARE LOCKED! And I'm on the inside, and, well, everything else is on the outside.

5:51pm- PANIC!!! I CAN'T GET OUT!!!! Is there no mercy?!?!?! It's FRIDAY! AND I CAN'T GET OUT!!!

5:52pm- It can't get that bad, there has to be a phone list around here somewhere. Must figure out where the lights are first.

5:53pm- Holy crap I can't find a phone list. Or the light switch.

5:54pm- Cling to glass door, attempting to get ballerinas-in-training from dance studio next door to go get their mommies to help me.

5:55pm- See the back-view of 4 terrified tu-tus.

5:56pm- slide down glass door in despair. Contemplate calling 911 to get out of office.

5:57pm- Look down in despair. Realize I have a key attached to my nametag.

5:58pm- realize that it's the master key to all office doors. Including the clinic entrance door.

5:59pm- Key out of clinic, looking sheepishly at previously mentioned ballerinas-in-training, and go to car.

Geeze. I could really go for a drink and a two-step right about now. It's 5 o'clock somewhere, but it's later than that here!

Don't forget my birthday!

Your Birthdate: January 27

You are a spiritual soul - a person who tries to find meaning in everything.You spend a good amount of time meditating, trying to figure out life.Helping others is also important to you. You enjoy social activities with that goal.You are very generous and giving. Yet you expect very little in return. Your strength: Getting along with anyone and everyone Your weakness: Needing a good amount of downtime to recharge Your power color: Cobalt blue Your power symbol: Dove Your power month: September

What Does Your Birth Date Mean?

I stole it from Maigh, who got it from someone else.

Band name o' the day

The Triple-E Grammas, featuring songs such as "Swing Low, sweet Harriet" and "Heads, shoulders, knees and Those", "Low Rider" and "Thanks for the Mammaries."

Jimmy Stiff Legs

Names have been changed to protect the innocent. Everyone else is named by name.I know I shouldn't make fun of my patients. But I do. So pull up a chair and enjoy a good one...

I work in a small office. Nice people, sometimes quiet, sometimes not. Okay, mostly it's me who's not. But I digress... There is one man and six women. That poor dude. All day long he's subjected to girl talk. I call him Paper Boy (he used to work for the newspaper). He calls me Crack Whore (since I am willing and able to crack his back on demand.) We are pals.

There is a fair bit of downtime for me at this job. Patients who don't show up, patients scheduled but with an hour of downtime between them. And whatever downtime I have, it's probably about tripled for Paper Boy. He and the other techs do a lot of (okay, almost all of) the grunt work around the place. Getting the treatment areas ready, cleaning up my mess when I'm done, wiping down equipment, making handouts, etc. During the downtime, Paper Boy and I have started coming up with potential band names and song titles. Now, considering my line of work, a lot of the patients are older. Paper Boy and I tend to come up with names for geriatric bands... headliners for nursing homes... and the songs they would sing. It's a great game. Frequently we'll be mid-conversation (or overhearing a conversation) and just look at each other and know we've just stumbled onto a new name. Paper Boy keeps a list. So far we have such gems as "Doris Has Gout" and "What Betty Said". They sing songs like "They brought me here to die", "Turn your hearing aide up", and "You Bastard, You're out of the will." We figure there should be a Christmas album featuring the hits "What Child is this? No, really, who brought the kid?" and "Silent Night... Bernie must have died." Really, it's probably not nearly as funny to read, but we're cracking our own butts up on a daily basis.

So we have this patient who had both knees replaced at the same time. It's a bold decision, but it can be done. My own Gram did it a while back (and was a rockstar, I must say!). So here comes this guy to his first visit, after having been at rehab for a month, with only about 80 degrees of bend at the knee. That is not good. You have to have 90 degrees just to sit in a chair normally. He's a complete pain wimp. And he's a smooth talker. "He could have been a used car salesman!" yells Guinea-Piglet, the PTA I work with. And she's sooooooo right! So after 3 solid weeks of us telling this dude that he has got to start pushing himself and quit the whining (okay, those were my words. GP is much kinder) he goes to the doctor, who tells him if he doesn't step up to the plate he's going to have to have a manipulation to get the range. (This is where they anesthetize you, pick up your leg, and forcefully make it bend fully. You can hear the tissues rip apart. It is violent, and is the last ditch effort to get range back.) So the patient gets to work, GP comes into the office and says "Jimmy's stiff."

I look at Paper Boy, he looks at me. We break into a whole discourse on nicknames we could give this guy (and you all know how I love to name things!) Stretch, Bend, Gumby... really, the potential is unlimited. I'm all for naming the band "Jimmy's Stiff." Paper Boy, being way more politically correct, morally intact, and ultimately, socially acceptable, decides that "Jimmy's Stiff" can go way too many bad places, and the band's name should be "Jimmy Stiff Legs." He looks at me and says "That sounds like the most ineffectual mob name ever!" We're dying laughing. GP comes back in from treating this guy and we tell her what we've come up with. GP is a fairly serious lady, but we got her going, and by the end, Paper Boy said something that got her laughing so hard she literally had to grab onto the cubicle for support. She said "You won't ever say that to him!"

So, out of the chair I go. I meet Jimmy Stiff Legs at the receptionist's desk where he's making his next appointments.
"Hey! Tiffany! How're you doing?"
"I'm great, but I hear we're calling you 'Stretch' now."
"Well, on the golf course, they call me 'Hack'! Ha ha ha ha!"
"Really? 'Cause now in PT we're going to call you Jimmy Stiff Legs."

Plus 10,000 for getting to call a patient 'Stretch' and 'Jimmy Stiff Legs' in the same sentence.

Now, if we can only get him to say "Fogeddaboutit"...

No wonder

Every morning I make 6 cups of coffee. I only drink 4, but I make six. I have wondered for a while why I do this. I'm wasting coffee. And you all know how much I love the bean.

So, today, I only made 4 cups. It should be perfect. My two large mug-fulls prior to work, then out the door. No waste, no haste.

So there I was, getting ready for work. Shower? Check. Work clothes? Check. Make up? Check. Time for hair care. Oh, how I love my products. So I put down the coffee cup to reach under the sink and grab my stuff. All of the sudden, a terrible crash. My coffee cup had slid from its precarious resting spot into the bowl of the sink, losing the whole cup of coffee. The good news? My "Boys are stupid. Throw rocks at them." cup is not broken. Bad news? My second cup of coffee is dribbling down the drain. And there's no more in the pot. Because we all know that "2 cups" in the coffee pot = one real cup of coffee. Damn. I guess I had that extra coffee just in case. And today? No extra coffee.

Tomorrow, back to a 6 cup brew.

the serious me

First off, my apologies. I feel like I should have posted something about my feelings regarding the 9/11 anniversary, but I didn't. I couldn't. I kept reading other people's recollections about the date, the events, the feelings, their reactions, and I just couldn't. You know why? Because in the moment, when I woke up in Alaska, and it was happening over and over again on the tv screen, I thought there was some grotesque movie on. I heard what it said, I watched the images, and I couldn't figure out when Matt Lauer had time to do a cameo in a movie. I couldn't process it. I turned it off. I reached out and turned my television off because I didn't want to watch nonsense like that first thing in the morning. I got in the shower. I got dressed. When my neighbor knocked on my door to see if I knew, I realized that it wasn't a movie. And I didn't turn the television back on. I couldn't process it. I didn't cry, I didn't wail, I didn't drop to my knees, and I didn't want to watch it over and over again. I went to work. We listened to the news reports repeatedly on the radio. I didn't cry. Reports of the tower collapses, the people inside, the firemen and policemen who were first responders, the deaths, the deaths, the deaths. The hope of having found live bodies in the rubble. Then more deaths, and more deaths, and more deaths. For days. I didn't cry.

For a long time I didn't cry. I wrote in my journal that I was sad for the deaths, and I was. I wrote that I worried and sad that it would cause a war. It did, and I am. But my day to day life was the same. I went to work, I walked the dog, I slept. I didn't cry.

Now, I can't watch a damn show about 9/11 without coming unglued. Diane Sawyer did a special about the women who were pregnant on 9/11 and had children without their husbands, and now how they're doing five years later. I cried. I read Tish's tribute, and dozens of others, to people who died on 9/11, and I cried. I watched the ceremony at Shanksville, at the Pentagon, and at Ground Zero, and I cried.

I think about the changes in our lives since 9/11/2001. All the bad, the frustrating, and the time-consuming (aka airline stuff, mailing packages, etc) changes I can tolerate. For the passengers on Flight 93, I am grateful. There is no way to thank them. But I know that their bravery, taking that plane down in a field in Pennsylvania, has taught us a lesson. There will not be another plane that is taken without the passengers rising up, calling on the memory of those brave people, knowing they can make a difference. We all know that we can make a difference. For the people in and around the Twin Towers, I am sad. Lives taken violently, unexpectedly. Some taken quickly, unaware of the situation, and some clinging to phones, to colleagues, to hope until the moment it was gone. For them, for their family and friends, and for the rest of us, I am sad.

And now, I am crying.

I planned to write the story of my patient, Jimmy Stiff Legs, tonight. But I can't. I'm still busy crying.

See you tomorrow.

The Five Counties Fair

The guy on the right is hanging up the "PRO WRESTLING!!!" sign. A treat is in store.

I think these folks didn't finish high school. Or Geography.

Oh Sneaky Pete, you are such a tease. How else do you get people to pay to ride you. And they go again and again, feeling sure that you won't beat them twice. Or three times. Or more. Not that I would know anything about that. Neither would the guy in red (coming up).

A girl after my own heart. She's wearing a tiara. *sigh*

This is the NRA booth at the fair. On the right (look just under the giant blue camo hammer) you'll see that a kid has a rifle. On the screen to the left are nature videos of deer. The yello splat in the middle is where the kid just hit the deer in the "kill zone". The NRA rep sure was proud. And so was his Diddy.

Five Counties Fashion

Ummm, what to say? Yep, that's a wife-beater shirt. Yep, that's Tinkerbell spelling out her name tattoed to her back. Yep, the only reason for the shirt to be tucked into her bra is to show off the tat. Bless her heart, she doesn't know what she looks like.

I saw Brittney Spears! I saw Brittney Spears! She sucks at riding a bull. Maybe because she's about to give birth. Otherwise, I bet she'd be pretty good.

This guy was at the Hootenanny. This is a MUCH better picture of him. Not that he looks better, just that the pic is more clear. You know what I mean.

The modern day version of my "Wrangler Butts Drive me Nuts" bumper sticker.

Mullets, mullets, and more mullets

Look close. These are different women. Proving the mullet is non-discriminatory.

I claim 500 thousand points for spotting a mechanical-bull riding mullet!

I think she's confused by his hair.

The rare "double mullet" photograph. One in the front, the other in the back.
And more bonus points for having her stroking her mullet. Of course, this all took place outside of the "PRO WRESTLING!!!" ring.

Bruiser Wrestling

Gotta freakin' love the Five Counties Fair. I had no clue the treat I was in for. The $7 admission fee not only got a world of mullet viewing, it also bought me a seat at "PRO WRESTLING!!!" I warn you now. This is not pretty.

How many bonus points is a "pro" wrestler mullet?

The only thing I can say about this is that this guy has on a purple speedo with a gray star on the butt. And a mullet. A sweet sweet mullet.

You can check out the Bruiser Wrestling Federation here.

And, of course, there are more pics over there.