The Thank You Date

In addition to everything the wife said in her blog entry here, a few other interesting things happened that day.

A first for me at the blackjack table: Some clod sat down and got $100 in chips. He proceeded to bet $70ish dollars on the first hand. He won. He let the whole amount ride. He lost it all. He bet what he had left. He blackjacked. He bet it all. He won. He bet it all again. He won. He bet it all again (over $300) and lost and he just walked away. There is gambling, and then there is whatever the heck that guy was doing. I was dumbfounded.

Another first for me at the blackjack table: A guy to our left was dealt two 6s with the dealer showing a 5 (a classic "bust" card). After some cajoling by someone at the table... ok, it was me.... he split the 6s. I hate the "that guy" handing out advice at the blackjack table, but THIS guy needed some "expert" persuasion. After said 6s were split he was dealt another 6. So he splits that. Then he is dealt.... ANOTHER 6, and he split that. That left him four hands to bet each with a starting card of 6. Given that the dealer had a "bust" card out, he was sitting in a decent spot. He ended up getting a 5 one of the hands giving him an 11, a classic "double down" bet against a "bust" card. So he doubles his bet and gets a 10 to equal 21. All told the guy had five bets down on four hands. The dealer busted and he won every damn one of them.

On the way home from the in-law's house, the wife and I were regaling ourselves with the triump of working over Greektown and how we came home with four perfect tires. And what do I see in the rearview? The spinnings reds and blues. Freaking cop. Apparently I took a rolling stop at a stop sign. "Why period when you can comma?" is my motto. The cop disagreed. He was really staring at me alot as he asked about my record. He then asked for my license and my license only. This was looking up. When he came back to the car HE apologized to ME for taking so long and sent us on our way with a verbal warning. The stars were aligned this night. My guess is he was on DUI patrol since it was so late and in a neighborhood, but once he realized there were no drunks, he let me slide. It was almost 1 a.m. afterall. Thank you Officer Whoeveryouare, I appreciate the politeness and warning. It capped the evening.

Confucius say:

Grease monkey who go to bed without bathing wake up oily in the morning.

I'm a Little Confused...

Perhaps it's my short attention span and desire for new news. Or maybe my slight proclivity towards sleazy hollywood things. Or maybe a minute attraction to all things sex tape.... but I have some of the most amazing new sex tape scandal news:

Mini-me has a sex tape. Yep, Verne Troyer, the star of the Austin Powers movies, has a sex tape. Here is a truncated snippit, a miniature teaser, if you will (big ups to TMZ).

Side note in the comments.

Confucius Say:

Man who run in front of car get tired.

MD Note: These things crack me up in a very three stooges kind of way. I think this will become a regular segment on my blog.

This is Nuts!

LILLINGTON — Rebecca Dawson — the woman who is accused of partially castrating a man with her bare hands — has a new court date.

Dawson’s December 2007 trial ended in a deadlock after four women and eight men could not agree on a unanimous decision. Four jurors voted to acquit Dawson, Wunsch said.

“If this does happen and we do need to go to trial, we will be ready,” Wunsch said. “This is a case that I feel very strongly that my client is and was not guilty. I think it is clear from the first trial that she was acting in self-defense.”

In December 2006, Dawson was charged with felony counts of malicious castration, assault with serious bodily injury, malicious conduct by a prisoner and misdemeanor injury to property after former Special Forces soldier Ken Russ was maimed at a Christmas party. During the last trial, Russ testified that an intoxicated Dawson sank her acrylic nails into his scrotum after he refused to let her drive home.

Dawson testified that she was defending herself from Russ, who had asked her to engage in a sex act with both him and his girlfriend Tanya “Niki” Castello. A naked Russ pinned Dawson to a wall and hit her after Castello became sick from drinking, Dawson testified. She said she had a grip on Russ’ scrotum, trying to defend herself, when he fell over a box and tore the skin.

-ANY wager whatsoever who the four that voted to acquit were?

A 10 Year Anniversary (part 4)

After I got home from the hospital, I called all my family and told them what was going on. Later, my mom left to get me dinner. Subway to be exact. I was in the house by myself. That was the one and only time I cried about my diagnosis. It was scary and I was legitimately scared. But what could I do? Once I dried the tears I committed myself to controlling this thing and not letting it control me. I read and understand as much about diabetes as anyone. More so than most, I wager. And I live my life within those constraints but without limits.

There are a few harsh realities that I deal with and that have floated in the back of my mind every second of every day for the last 10 years:

1) I hate that there is not yet a cure. I hate more that politicians block stem cell research. Stem cell research is the greatest hope of a cure diabetics have ever had.

2) I am always aware of where I am, what food is available should I get low blood sugar, and I know where my insulin is at all times. While I am quite strong mentally and physically, I know that if I am cutoff from food completely or lost access to insulin... I'd be in a world of hurt. If not dead.

3) I am broken. No matter how many degrees I have, no matter how well I did in school or in athletics, no matter what good I do, I am damaged goods. It's not my fault. I know this. But it isn't exactly fair to anyone around me. It isn't fair to my parents when it all went down. It isn't fair to my friends who I spend time with. And it sure as hell isn't fair to my wife. There are HUGE insurance implications. There are endless potential health implications (kidney failure, blindness, amputation, heart disease, ED, shotened life expectancy). The reason I talk so rarely about it, and will continue to talk rarely about it, is because it is my burden and not one I want placed on anyone else. Many, many people I know and have met have no idea that I have diabetes. I like it that way. I don't want anyone's worry, anyone's pity, or anyone's concern. I just want to be me.

4) What the hell caused this? Don't misunderstand. I do not pity myself or ask "why me". I want to know HOW. No one is really sure what causes type I diabetes. There are guesses that it is part genetics (no family history whatsoever here!), but is most likely caused by some trauma or sickness. Given that I was never, ever sick, there are no good guesses. It could be that my lifetime roller coaster of weight loss and gain caused it. It could be the nigh heat stroke I had doing roofing. It could have been a result of something from my multiple mission trips to the backwoods/jungle of the Dominican Republic. It could be plain bad luck. I'll never know and that bothers me.

5) My kids. I don't know when you'll be here, but someday you will be. I don't want you to have this. Like all parents, I want you to have it better and be better than me. I don't want my issue to ever be a burden on you. I want to be able to play ball with you, meet your first love, see you graduate high school, see you graduate college and get your first job, see your face when you itnroduce me to "the one", walk you down the aisle or sit in the pews beaming when you get married. I want to hold grandkids one day. I don't think this is too much to ask for, but who knows, it may be.

So there it is, the psyche of a diabetic. This diabetic. It's not fun and it's not pretty. But it is what it is, and I live my life as fully as possible.

So "happy" 10 year anniversary to me! To you, dear diabetes, the most unwelcome of friends, I say this, "It's been 10 years and I have no complications, I've never passed out or been hospitalized. My eyes are as healthy as they were when I was born. My blood pressure is good and I am healthier than most people I know. So take that! Oh, and one more thing: Fuck you. You haven't gotten the best of me yet. You never will."

A 10 Year Anniversary (Part 3)

So there I am in the summer after my senior year of high school. I was working out and running as much as possible. I was roofing in the mornings to make some money. Sidenote: roofing is the worst and most miserable job ever. Black tar paper and the summer sun = not a good mix. I had what I believe to be a heat stroke because of it. More on that later. At night I had musical rehearsals that involved a lot of dance practices. I was pretty much a non-stop blur of action. All the while I was shedding weight to get ready for soccer in college.

The musical ran its course and ended in late June or early July. By the time the show started, my costume, which I was fitted for in May, did not even come close to fitting. The shirts, jackets, and pants all drooped off of me. We made due.

The last few weeks before the show ended I was dropping weight quickly. I was eating like a freaking horse four or five times a day. I was quite literally drinking gallons of water every day and going to the bathroom every 30 minutes. My eye sight went to shit too. My weight went from 230 the summer before to about 195 by the time the musical started and to about 165-170 by the end of the musical. I was literally three-quarters the man I used to be!

Anyhow, in early July I went to the doctor to get my routine college physical. The doctor went to check my eyes and I told them they were crap but that I had an eye doctor's appointment later that week. We skipped the exam. I went into the exam room and a nurse started asking me questions in general about my health. She asked if anything was wrong or if I had any questions. She had noted my drastic weight loss over the last year when she weighed me in, but we both attributed it to my new-found workout regimen. When I told her off the eating and drinking and bathrooming, she told me to hold on and walked out. I knew something was wrong. The doctor came in and pricked my finger and tested by blood sugar. It was about 330 as I recall. Normal people will have a blood sugar reading of 70-120. He immediately diagnosed me with Type I (juvenile) diabetes. At the age of 18.

The doctor was both amazed and shocked about the diagnosis. Usually people find out because they pass out or go into a coma and get dragged into the hospital. Apparently living such a wild and active life saved me from that drama. I was quite literally burning enough sugar out of my system that I did not poison myself to the point of a coma. That's the "beauty" of diabetes. That which gives me life (food) poisons me at the same time.

I called my mom and she rushed over to the doc's office. We were sent from there to the ER to a diabetes teacher. We went over the implications, how to give myself shots, etc., etc., etc. It was a lot to take in. I had to, and still do, give myself a shot after every meal and one at night. There are lots of types of insulin, so I won't bore you with that... but the types of insulin and how they work is why I have four shots. The way I eat, what I eat, and how much I eat changed. Not a moment has passed in the last 10 years where I do not think about my disesase. It permeates my very being. It has to.

Still to come... the psyche of a diabetic (ooooh! ahhhhh!)

A 10 Year Anniversary (Part 2)

So here I am, fully healed and de-braced. Entering my senior year of high school, I got a new hair cut (thank God), a new car (no stick!), but still rocking the hand and ankle weight. I elected not to play soccer my senior. A decision I regret, but whatever.

Not so largely known fact: I was raised in a theatrical environment. My sister has a musical theater degree and traveled with a professional theater troupe for a few years. One of my brothers was in a lot of high school and civic theater musicals and dramas. The three of us we large in the choir scene: school choir, all-city choir, all-state choir, that sort. I had dabbled in musicals off and on since middle school, but I had not really taken it seriously. I decided my senior year to take this stuff more seriously. My high school choir entered a competition and went to the state championships for choir with 15 other schools. A first in my school's history. I entered the Indiana Regional Solo competition. I got a "first" certification and qualified for the Indiana State Solo competition. I got a first there too. It was something I always wanted to do and that I "knew" I would do well in, but I never did it. I thought, "This is my senior year, enough talk. Time to do." I proved myself right, thankfully.

Next, I tried out for my high school musical. I expected, given my recent vocal successes and so forth, to get a great part. I did not. In my opinion, I had a terrible tryout. I was good friends with the choir director, and she felt bad, but they had to do what they had to do. I understood. I was exceptionally disappointed. In childish form, I took my ball and went home. I politely declined the role I was given and decided to focus my time on working out and getting into shape to play college soccer (it was a DIII school, so it's not that impressive). I lost a great deal of weight and got close to my target weight. Actually, I passed it by a LOT. More on that later.

I learned a number of lessons from this musical debacle that I carry with me to this day.

1) Reputation and entitlement don't get you shit (and they shouldn't). You have to EARN things. I have not underestimated a tryout, interview, etc. since this time. It was not anyone's fault but my own that I did not get the part that I wanted. I had not earned it and I did not deserve it.

2) The best revenge is to show them how great you are. I tried out for the all-city musical (pool of applicants from 8 high schools, not just one). I was ready this time. I nailed the tryout and I got a fantastic part. I was a vocal lead of the musical (as opposed to a dramatic lead). The best moment was when said choir director approached me after the show and said, "Wow. I didn't know you had that in you. How did you learn to sing like that?" Something I would have thought she had known after 4 years. Apparently not. My response, "I always could." It was cocky. It was bold. It felt goooooood.

That summer was hands down one of the best summers of my life. Despite what happened next...

A 10 Year Anniversary (Part 1)

Next month I will "celebrate" an event that changed my life forever and affects me every day. But before I get to THOSE details, let's step back a year.

It was the summer/fall of 1996 and I was preparing for soccer season to start. It was my junion year in high school. I was scrimmaging with my teammates during optional pre-pre-season practices. When racing for a ball, I rolled my ankle. As it turns out, I severely sprained my ankle and fractured a bone. The worst part? I drove a stick and had to drive myself home. It was my left foot. That's the clutch foot for you automatic drivers. I drove home in second the entire time. When I got home I crawled into my house and waited for my mom to come home to take me to the hostpital. I did come back that season, but it was late in the season and I had gained a ton of weight.

After soccer season, still having some of my ankle weight, I started playing basketball quite a bit more often. It was a fateful Friday evening when, on a breakaway, I blew a layup. Frustrated with myself and for blowing the bunny. I punched a wall. A padded wall, but a wall regardless. It hurt. My hand was not right. In my 16 year old wisdom, I kept playing. I drove said stick home shifting with the same right hand I had punched the wall with. After a shower, I went to the ER with my mom and girlfriend-of-the-day. Broken hand. Boxer's fracture. Why it's called a boxer's fracture, as the ER doc so quaintly pointed out, no one knows. Boxers do NOT break their hands like this. They know how to punch properly.

Good bye basketball. Good bye exercise (to a large extent) for a while. Hello hand weight added to the ankle weight. I had to pins placed in my hand and had a cast on my hand for months. (Side note: I have a strong stomach and next to nothing grosses me out. When I had the cast removed and watched the doc pull the pins out of my hand with some plyers, I almost passed out. Watching it happen to someone else? Whatev. To myself? Almost game over. My mom said I went ghost white. This has never happened since.)

After going 16+ years with no broken bones or significant injuries to speak of, this was a helluva run. However, there was light at the end of this injury-ravaged tunnel... it was but a few months later that I had the best March of my life. I turned 17, I got my cast off of my hand, and I had my braces removed.

Just a normal teenage month you say? Not me. I was blessed (Thanks mom and dad!) with some jacked up teeth. Double overbite, large teeth with not enough room for them, slow to fallout teeth. I had teeth pulled so that new teeth could come in so that I could have braces slapped on them. I had a retainer that spread my teeth out so that the braces could bring'em back together, rubber bands, head gear (night only, thanks). And I had my braces for seven years. That is not a typo. I got the bottom braces on in the 4th grade. Tops on in the 5th grade. And I got them both off in the 11th grade. This, of course, ignores getting the wisdom teeth cut out. That came around my 18th birthday and went by uneventfully, I am proud to report. As much as I hated the nigh decade of braces at the time, my teeth are amazing straight and wonderful now. Thanks mom and dad (sarcasm-free)!

This was just the tip of my personal iceberg...

Unlike Gloria Gaynor...

I was not sure I was going to survive. Holy Birthday Party for the wife! The day after was not a pleasant day for me. After a long week at work, I was ready to get down with my old friend Ketel One. I was NOT ready for the aftermath. At least I was not alone in my misery. My number one man and the wife's number one woman were also in Hurtsville (population 3). My number one man and I still cannot figure out how it happened. We didn't drink that much.... or so we thought.

Nevertheless, the celebration was a success and a ridiculously good time. More fun than a bunch of 30+ year olds, a couple of 29 year olds, and, ahem, one 28 year old should have. And the wife willed herself to no hangover. Bravo to you madam, I tip my cap to you.

Top 3 hangovers all-time. Maybe top two. It does not beat that time in my early 20s when I, for unknown reasons, drank a half bottle of Watermelon Pucker and then washed the other bottle down with half-and-half shots of pucker and vodka. And then drank beer. That sucker lasted two days.

Question of the day (or week or month):

What is your all-time favorite Christmas present?

SATC, The Review

NO SPOILERS, so no fear.

The movie was certainly entertaining, but did not really do much for me. I was hoping for a mix-up in the world of the fearless foursome. Alas, the movie was two hours and fifteen minutes of re-hashing old/similar/tired story lines.

There was one character that was entirely unnecessary to the story other than to please a demographic. There was another character whose presence (and time) was minimal and not much more than a paycheck to the acter who played the part. There were few cameos from past characters and bit-players that everyone grew to love and hate.

In short, the movie was like cotton candy. It looks good, it seems like a great idea, it's great for a few moments, but it is largely empty and ultimately leaves you unfulfilled.