Dear Charlie:

So I have a Jewish mother for a doctor. Heh.

Yes, I finally broke down and went to the doctor. The constant shrieking in my pressure-clogged ear as I lay in bed at night convinced me to worry about permanent hearing damage. There are two things I don't mess with health-wise -- my eyes and my ears. Oi.

So anyway, despite the fact that I HATE going to the doctor and that I hate taking medication and that I hate admitting I'm sick at all, I finally swallowed it and went, knowing full well that I would only invite a stern lecture on taking better care of myself and on coming in when I first get sick, rather than waiting.

Yeah, got it.

First question after the general "what brings you in...finally?" one? "Are you taking vitamins?"

Um...yeah...sorta.

"How sorta?"

I have them. I'm taking them on a hit or miss basis.

"How hit or miss?"

*starts to feel inquisitioned* Um...mostly miss?

"...Thought so."

I knew I was in for it. Heh.

Luckily, I have an excellent Doc for all the crap I give him. He agreed that neither my ear nor my sinuses are infected. He agreed that there's no fluid build-up causing the pressure. He agreed that I shouldn't have come in two weeks ago when I first got sick because it was just a cold that made my nose run like a faucet.

He didn't, however, agree that I shouldn't have come in last week when I was dehydrated, suffering from a migraine, and wondering why everything sounded like I was living inside a metal trash can.

Apparently, all this congestion/snot has severely inflammed my sinuses, throat, esophagus...the whole works. This inflammation has basically pulled everything really tight inside my head -- as if there wasn't enough room up there in that gasping attic space -- including my ear drum. Yup. It's not infected and swelling out. It's pulled tight and sucked IN.

Bizarro.

So, I have to get rid of the congestion and drainage and swelling so my poor ear drum can pop back out. Or I could let him poke a hole in my ear drum to release the pressure.

HELL no. And he was kidding.

So, since he knows as well as I do that I dry out when I get sick, he was hesitant to prescribe any powerful decongestants. However, he really wants the inflammation gone, so he prescribed some nasal decongestant -- it's not supposed to DRY so badly -- and made me promise to squirt some saline solution up there and take my friggin vitamins.

*grumbles*

And to call him IMMEDIATELY if:

a) my ear starts to actually HURT, instead of just giving me a headache from the pressure, or

b) my temperature comes back, no matter how slightly.

Sheesh. Jewish mother, I tell ya. Heh.

Oh, well. I can't complain. I heard Nickelback's newest single -- "Animals" -- this weekend, and it ROCKS. And the Chiefs beat the hell out of the Patriots this weekend. Which ROCKS. And I got to spend the weekend among the family. Which rocks enough, anyway.

*feigns disinterest*

Heh. Don't thwap me, beloved sister! I'm KIDDING!

Dear Charlie:

Well, I'm kinda glad to be alive right now.

Heh.

See, while I was at my beloved sister's house with the whole fam-damily, my home county was under a tornado warning. My town, in fact, was under that great swirling red dot on the weather station. Heh. Good thing I was two counties away, ne?

Anyway, while it never really STORMED either here or at Sis's house, it was MIGHTY windy on the way home. So windy, in fact, that it came quite close to blowing me right off the road. Like twenty times. It was hard to steer.

Put it this way: I rarely go less than 5 miles per hour over the limit. If the speed limit is 60, I go 65. If the speed limit is 70, I go 75. Or so.

Heh.

However, even I was forced to slow down to 68 or so. *grins* Once. Although I went 70 for five whole miles. Yeah, it was that bad.

So I was pretty lucky to even get back into town alive. And that's where the REAL trouble started. I hadn't even gotten back onto the main drag when someone cut me off about two inches from my front bumper, forcing me to slam on my breaks to avoid a five car pile-up. Nice. Welcome home, Geeb.

Then, I decided to stop by Wal-Mart for some toilet paper, as we only have one roll left. *snerks* Well, Wal-Mart...was black. No power. AT ALL. The parking lot was dark. The store was dark. The entire surrounding area was dark. It was as if Wal-Mart had slipped into a black hole.

Don't we all wish? Ha!

Anyway, knowing better than to push my luck with a bunch of people whonky on a power outage, I turned around before I even got past the first ranks of cars and left...but not before watching someone drive smack dab into a parked car. Sure, the parking lot lights were out. But the guy DRIVING had his LIGHTS on, and I know he surely saw his own lights reflected in that car's paint before he plowed into it. Geez, people.

*snerks*

Needless to say, I was glad I'd already left. So I'm driving down the main drag to go straight home -- I know when my luck is good and when it's likely to drop me like a bleeding tarantula -- ALL the power goes out. Remember: it's not storming. Blowing, but not STORMING. Up and down both sides of the main drag, all lights go out -- buildings, the arc-sodiums, and probably half of the street lights.

And what does everyone in front of and around me do? Why, they start swerving as if they can no longer see the glowing white and yellow lines marking the lanes! I shit you not!

If I hadn't been trying not to die, I'd have been laughing my ass off! I've never seen anything quite that stupid in my life! The power goes off, and everyone just started swerving! One guy nearly jumped the median, he veered so sharply.

*facepalms*

Brilliant, folks. Just brilliant. Needless to say, I again had to slow down. Chafed my ass to do it, but it was either go 40 in a 45 or DIE. While I have no fear of death, I promised my nieces and my beloved sister that I'd drive safely, so I figured I'd better actually do so.

I slowed at every powerless light to make sure no one would come flying heedlessly through the unguarded intersection, then turned off the main drag at the earliest opportunity. I got back into the lighted area...and the lights went out there, too!

And when I got home, we had power just long enough for me to sit down on the toilet with a kickin tune on the radio and BLIP!

No power.

It was off for about half an hour, during which poor Dave -- a self-proclaimed victim of the Nintendo Generation -- nearly lost his mind with boredom and during which I though about story plots and laughed at poor Dave's distraction and frustration. It was cool.

Heh.

Anyway, the power's been on since about 9:30, but it had apparently flickered on and off for a while before I got home, so we didn't trust it for our computers until now. Watched some MonkeyBone. Watched some Hulk. Talked some shit. Laughed our asses off.

Good way to spend a holiday evening, ne?

Who has more fun than us?

Dear Charlie:

So, I'm an idiot.

History tells me that when I get sick -- as I was last week with the Mystery Sudden-Onset Mega-Snot-Inducing Cold -- I immediately dehydrate like a bucket with a hole in it. I know this. It's no surprise. Neither is the relatively mild migraine that seems to follow a certain level of said dehydration.

Dammit.

So, I have no one to blame but myself for having to suck down Gatorade and cranberry/apple/raspberry/mango/kiwi/whatever-the-hell-else juice today until I had to pee every half hour, despite my dizziness upon getting up to head for the lavatory...and for having just such a relatively mild migraine.

Double-dammit.

Everything sounds tinny and distorted...and echoey-loud. And my computer screen is inordinately bright. I'd almost swear someone snuck in and tweaked my laptop's screen contrast. Heh. I'm down to a single dim lamp in the room, and I'm still squinting.

Luckily, the headache itself isn't so bad at the moment. A lady at work who also suffers from the occasional migraine offered me some Exedrin Migraine about 4 hours ago, and it's still holding off the worst of it pretty well. I usually make due with an aspirin and a Coke.

Last time -- the time I had a migraine for a week without really knowing or acknowledging the fact -- the Good Doc prescribed Maxalt, but I really, really don't like taking medication.

So, I'm making do. One ear is worse than the other, which makes my poor Mom worry that I may have an ear infection from the Mystery Sudden-Onset Mega-Snot-Inducing Cold from last week. I'm hoping it's just a side effect of the incredible volume of snot I blew out and from the migraine itself.

*crosses fingers*

I hate, hate, HATE going to the doctor. Even my Good Doc.

So, here's hoping the four-day weekend does me some good. I'll be driving to my best friend Kristi's house Friday afternoon, then to Mom's Friday evening. I'll stay there Friday night for the Thanksgiving feasty thing Saturday. I'll drive home Saturday evening for another good night's sleep, then drive to my beloved sister's house for another Thanksgiving.

*grins*

Good things come in twos, don't you think? Heh.

Anyway, despite the seemingly roamy nature of the weekend, the four days off from work should do me a world of good. I've worked without a day off -- and no, weekends don't count because I'm usually busier those two days than any other, heh -- since that part time job back in August. Well, I guess I had Labor Day off before I started this job...but otherwise....

Yay for four day weekends!

Dear Charlie:

Boy, did we need a win like that! Woo-hoo!

Now, I told poor Pesh -- who was subjected to my football ramblings until she took pity on herself and left the room to watch Family Guy before halftime -- that it would be a good idea for the Texans to just kneel down when they got the ball just after the two-minute warning at halftime. See, it's silly to risk us intercepting. The score was already 24 - 7 at the time, and an interception at halftime, even if it doesn't lead to a touchdown, is just disheartening.

I think I put it something like this: "I want to beat them. I don't want to kick the heads off their puppies."

Heh.

Of course, poor David Carr just couldn't resist a try, and Eric Warfield read the play like a book. Interception. Touchdown. 31 - 7 going into the locker room.

Ouch.

Now, the Texans made a good try of it when they came back for the third quarter...but after that interception/run-back, it was never closer than a two-score game. When it came down to it, I gotta say that my Chiefs were just out for blood tonight. They didn't go overboard, but--

Wait. Who am I kidding?

Let's see:

1) Tony Gonzales caught more passes tonight than some wide receivers catch all year...and he's a tight end. He became the first NFL tight end with eight straight 50-catch seasons...and we still have six games to go. That's the first tight end in NFL history, folks. How cool is that?

2) Larry Johnson -- our back-up running back, mind you -- broke our franchise record for rushing yards in a single game with an impressive 211 yards. And a couple of touchdowns.

3) Eddie Kennison -- who scooped up several incredible catches tonight -- scored two touchdowns. Hell, even Samie Parker got one. It was like "touchdowns for everyone"!

4) We forced three turnovers -- two of which belonged to my adored cornerback, Eric Warfield, who took his interception back for a touchdown.

5) We gained twice as many first downs as the Texans...and our running back gained nearly as many yards as the entire Houston offense -- 211 and 259, respectively. Ouch.

6) Jared Allen -- that fine defensive fellow whose name we fans have been hearing so often lately -- stepped in as our long-snapper when good ol' Kendall Gammon went out with an injury...and he looked like he'd been doing it all his life. Great snaps. Bizarre. Who knew he was so multi-talented? He sacks. He forces turnovers. He eats offenses for afternoon snacks. And he long-snaps. I call that a well-rounded individual. A consummate athlete. Heh.

7) And perhaps best of all, we scored 6...count 'em...SIX...touchdowns. Offense and defense. SIX. That's a lot of end zone dances.

That, my friends, is just what we needed after last week's game. Sure, it's the Texans, who are now sitting on 1 - 9 and are surely sweating their jobs. Sure, we let them score 10 offensive points when I was sure we could've held them to that one special teams score.

But DUDE. It was 45 - 17. That ain't no cabbage.

Dear Charlie:

So this is what it takes to make the Ice Queen cry. A bunch of huge, powerful, seemingly indestructible men in various tights and speedos all hugging each other and sobbing...or trying damn hard not to.

Yup. I watched SmackDown last night. The "remembering Eddie Guerrero" episode. It plays on Friday night for almost everyone else, but I get it Saturday at midnight here. And I stayed up until 2:00, just for the tribute.

It started hard. Batista -- that huge beast of a man -- drove out one of Eddie's low-riders, and damn if he wasn't already sniffling and swallowing hard before he even climbed out of it. He hit the ring and tried to laugh about how Eddie would have been amused to see big Dave Batista cryin' like a baby, but tears were already trickling out behind his shades. Damn.

And it only got harder from there. And it ended with Triple H fighting Chris Benoit. The ultimate Eddie rival versus Eddie's best friend. Damn. And when Benoit won the match, The Game stood up and the two hugged like they were trying to hug Eddie between them and both were just about sobbing.

Yeah. That's the one that did it. Niagra Falls, baby.

Okay, I didn't sob. I just leaked a little. Very quietly. Without fanfare.

I don't cry, dammit!

*sheepish*

So anyway, that's what it takes. A bunch of big, invincible men crying and hugging each other for comfort.

But hey! It's Sunday now, and it's football! Yay!

I'll be headed over to Pesh's house for the Chiefs game, as it's an evening game -- read: ONLY ON CABLE -- sometime this afternoon. That's always fun. They don't like football, so they get a big kick out of listening to me hoot and holler a bunch of football mumbo-jumbo.

Heh.

What can I say? I shoulda been a commentator....

Update:

I'm sure you all are just on tenterhooks about poor Eddie Guerrero's cause of death. Heh.

Well, I was. I knew he'd been clean for four years now, and I was sooooo afraid that he'd...you know...fallen from grace. I would have hated that because I really do admire him for kicking his habits and for staying as much a contender after the drug use as before. That's hard to do.

It really is.

So, I'm pleased to announce that, while the past lifestyle was a major contributor, Eddie Guerrero died free and clear. He died of heart failure. Sad, but definitely honorable. He went out a fighter.

A clean fighter.

I'm sure it's a huge weight lifted from his family and friends -- though I'm sure they never doubted him for a minute -- to know there will be no media slurring of Latino Heat's good moral character and courage.

Now...well, now they can grieve in peace. They can simply grieve.

Gut-Wrenching Sidebar:

WWE fans all over the world mourn Eddie Guerrero today.

Yup, the lyin, cheatin, stealin Latino Heat passed over the weekend. Details are in short supply, but those of us who were so proud of him for kicking his habits and standing up for himself and his family hope the scheduled autopsy will prove that our favored wrestling hero died a free man. He's one of those celebrities I want to hold up as a man who lived up to his mistakes and rose to the challenge of getting and staying clean. I like to think of him like that.

After all, no one played a good guy like Eddie Guerrero, and no one played a bad guy with quite as much relish. An excellent wrestler, a deeply attached family man, and a force to be reckoned with inside and outside the ring, he will be sorely missed.


Viva la raza, Eddie. Your memory will live on.

Dear Charlie:

Oh, frabjous day! Calloo! Callay!

Heh. Sorry. Jabberwocky just kinda sneaks in there.

You see, my boys finally got more than just a brief mention or a "stat of the week" recognition in my beloved Tuesday Morning Quarterback's article this week! Woo-hoo!

Check it out!

The football gods did indeed smile upon my adored Chiefs. May they continue to do so for months onward! Woo-hoo!

Funny Sidebar:

This is why I get SUCH a kick out of Carl Peterson. He really, really loves his team.

*grins*

*beams proudly on her Chiefs*

That's my boys.

Marvelous Sidebar:

That was the BEST WIN EVER!

Oakland vs. KC is always a tough football game, no matter which side of the Rockies they're rockin, but this one was TENSE!

And it all came down to whether or not our offense could get one...single...yard.

27 - 23, baby! We GOT it!

*does a little dance*

Dude, I just about broke my throat hollering, but it was worth every lozenge I'll be suckin on today. Good times, man. Good times.

The first half was a field goal jubilee. It was a defensive standoff. Neither offense could seem to really complete a drive. Punts. Field goals. FOOTball, in other words.

But the second half came alive. My boys in red scored the first touchdown, then intercepted, then scored another touchdown thanks to the interception. We were riding the crest.

But the Raiders -- or the Faders, as I like to call them -- came roaring back, getting a touchdown in short order, though we stopped them from getting a two-point conversion. Then?

Nothing for a while. It was a back-n-forth. It was almost a stalemate.

And then...the Faders scored another touchdown with about a buck-forty left on the clock. Disaster! Woe! Agony!

Let the hollering begin.

We drove and stalled. And then...Larry Johnson, you beautiful, beautiful back-up, you! He broke free and ran, arrowing for the end zone, and only a miracle for the Faders kept him from reaching across the coveted line. And the ball came out. And scooted into the end zone.

And Chris Horn fell on it. Touchdown?

No. Denied. Johnson was down by contact on the one yardline with 5...count 'em...FIVE seconds on the clock.

We had one play. Kick the sure-thing field goal and tie it at 23 - 23? Or try one, single play that would either win or lose the game.

And bless Dick Vermeil's heart, but he backed my boys. The offense stayed out, the kicking team came back in...and Oakland called a timeout.

DAMMIT.

The tension built. I veritably coiled in my armchair, sitting sideways to have an unadulterated view of the game, my knees to my chin and my fists clenched at my cheeks. I waited those interminably long 30 seconds. The announcers insisted on a quick, short pass.

I wanted a run. Larry Johnson could do it. I just KNEW it. Hell, even Trent Green could have gotten that one yard, especially with everyone and their grandmother preaching that you can only do a short pass in this situation.

Run it. RUN it, dammit!

And run it they did. Larry Johnson from the I-back, and TOUCHDOWN, KANNN-SAAAAAS CITY!!!

No substitutions, exchanges, or refunds.

That's my boys. *beams with pride* Good times.

Dear Charlie:

Okay, the song of the moment for this...errrr...moment is a little odd for me. The Ice Queen, you know. It's kind of...I dunno...mushy. But I like it.

I really, really like it.

Part of the attraction is that it's so accoustic. It's strumming, a little thump of bass drum, and a guy with a microphone. It's very subdued without being anywhere NEAR boring. The melody is engaging and the beat makes you nod your head or tap your feet.

The rest is purely the lyrics. They're...sweet.

Yeah, I know. The GutterBall thinking something is sweet without that being a bad thing. Pshaw, right?

But I like it. It's...beautiful.

If you're curious and you haven't heard it yet, go here to Rise Against's website or click here directly to the song. If that second link doesn't work, just go to the "downloads" link on the Rise Against site and scroll down to the "Swing Life Away Player".

It's worth it. Seriously. Excellent song.