The Monkey Exhibit

Since my tennis elbow seems to be a popular subject around here, I thought I’d list some signs/symptoms and the things I was told to do to help cure it. Maybe others could self-diagnose and try to treat themselves before having to see a medical professional.

Signs/Symptoms
Elbow pain: Hold your arm in front of you, palm down. Look at your elbow. Find the bone. The pain is right below that bone, in the valley before the other bone on the actual point of your elbow.
Pain when gripping: Specifically, shaking hands, turning a doorknob, opening a twist-off cap.

Treatment
Forearm band: This really does help!
Wrist splint: This keeps you from moving your wrist up, which pulls on the tendon.
Ibuprofen: To reduce inflammation.
Rest: Try to use the elbow/wrist as little as possible.

If this doesn’t help, see a healthcare provider.

On Monday, the wife will have a wonderful gathering of social misfits and other people you wouldn’t normally invite into your house (except you, of course). This is called a candle party.

How do you prepare for a candle party, astute readers might ask. First the wife sends you outside. This performs two functions. One, it gets you out of the wife’s hair while she tidies up the house. Two, it gets you to perform the arduous yard work you have been putting off for…what…7 months now?

This is how I found myself raking into the dark hours of the night last night. Yes. Raking. What about the tennis elbow, you ask? A candle party is not a respecter of persons. No mere physical infirmity is enough to stop the rolling tide of the candle party. Remember this, men, the next time your physician says it’s OK to be discharged from the hospital following your open-heart surgery.

The clincher, of course, is that our house is already redolent with a mélange of candle scents from every room of the house. It’s almost like Yankee Candle went out of business and shipped us all their back-stock. It’s as if the neighborhood had a candle thief and everyone brought their precious valuables here for safe keeping, since anyone who took one glance at our house would see that it’s not worth breaking into.

But, I digress. And I will get in trouble for hyperbole in this one, you mark my words.

The elephant lifted Maya up to the platform on its trunk. That alone was enough to capture the crowd’s attention. The seemingly docile behemoth took a couple steps back, swaying while moving.

Her salvar pants ruffled in the slight breeze up on the platform. They were just loose enough to billow, but not enough to hamper her aerodynamics, not that she knew such a word. A choli completed the performance outfit. She grabbed her staff and started across the tightrope.

Feats of fleet-footedness came easily to Maya, and she scrambled across the rope without difficulty. Of course, the crowd wanted death-defying, so she wobbled once or twice for their pleasure. On the return trip, she held the staff in front of her, parallel to the ground, and did a forward flip over it, landing perfectly balanced on her feet. Cheers arose from all around.

Maya easily reached the platform where she began, and the elephant’s trunk was there to lower her back down. With a final nod to the audience, she tucked into a ball and rolled down the trunk and up onto the beast’s head. With a final flourish, she smiled and waved.

Why would someone who just joined a message board with thousands of members PM me with a “Hi I’m new. How’s it going?” message, followed by a quote about Buddhism, when I’m one of the least contributing members of the forum? I mean, this guy hasn’t even posted yet; he only seems to have sent out random PMs.

People confuse me.

I have an arm band and a wrist splint for my tennis elbow. This could severely limit my typing for a while.

In his plate armor, carrying his maul, he looked pretty tough…for a gnome. He had heard about this land above. He wanted to look tough. He wanted to look menacing. He wanted people to skirt around him. He didn’t want people getting close to him. He didn’t want them to know he was scared.

Breaking off the rust:

Gairloch stepped out of the cave entrance and into the brisk night air. The sensation of not having a roof over his head was disconcerting at best. Subliminally, he clung to the earth even more tenaciously than before. How did people keep from falling up?

You know how there can be too many chiefs and not enough Indians? Too many people are trying to be the one(s) in charge, but nobody wants to do the work. I’m under the impression that good leaders also make good followers.

Good leaders know the importance of the leadership role. They know that people look for, and often rely upon, a leader. They know that the person best suited for the leadership role is the person who organized the project or the person who knows the most about the project.

Being a good leader isn’t about sharing leadership and making sure all leaders get their fair share. Being a good leader is about looking at the situation, looking at the project, looking at the people involved, and figuring out who has the most know-how or most invested in the project. This person should be the leader, and a good leader should support that leadership role as much as they possibly can. That way, when they are the leader, they’ve already set the example of how the leader should be treated.

Is anyone else sick of foot-long receipts when buying one item?

We should start a grass-roots movement…or something.

What human being was twisted enough to merge figs and whole grain into one fruit newton?

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Seriously, with enough fiber to effectively scrub your colon clean, these things should come with a warning label. They are like a non-toxic version of Liquid Plumr. It’s as cleansing as a lactose intolerant fool eating a large bowl of shredded wheat in whole milk, followed by three large scoops of ice cream.

Who decided to package this bowel-rending experience in innocuous snack bags? Is it the secret colon cleansing society? You take a whole grain, which has a “greater amount of dietary fiber, as much as four times that found in refined grains” and add it to figs, which “are a natural laxative“. How does this not spell a recipe for disaster?

Do yourself a favor. Unless you want to run to the bathroom ten times in one day, lay off the whole grain Fig Newtons.

I actually started raking the lawn beside the road Monday night. I didn’t plan on doing it for long, which is probably why I accomplished a lot more than I expected. Is there some kind of a physical law that the energy necessary to do the work is inversely proportional to the amount of time you’re expecting to spend? Usually when I prepare to rake the lawn regardless of the time and the blisters, it takes forever.

Do you have a problem making yourself understood to others? Do you sometimes wish for someone who could translate what you imply to say into meaningful speech? Are you one of many groups* who has trouble communicating with the rest of average society? Do you wish you had a better grip on not only your verbal communication but also your written communication?

Meet Marcus.

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Marcus is one of many well-educated young adults looking for a position in today’s workplace. Marcus has a degree in English, with a minor in communications. While highly educated, this makes him of little to no use in the real world. However, fortunately, that makes him fully available to you!

Translating your inept communication will not be a full time job for Marcus, so he’s willing to go the extra mile! Marcus would be happy to be your manservant. Dandruff on your shoulder before the big meeting? No problem! Marcus has you covered! Shoes need shining before you see the boss? Marcus can do that, too! Need a shoulder massage in the midst of a stressful Monday? Marcus is your man!

Marcus is everything you want to be, and he can help you rise to the top of the corporate world. Act now. Supplies are limited.**

*Including programming geeks, engineers, physicians, people of extremely high-intelligence, and people of extremely low-intelligence.

**Marcus’ classmates, John, Francis, Edward, and Phillip, are also available, with the same qualification.

I’m currently trying to figure out why I’m so tired all the time.

My normal sleeping hours are from 10 PM – 5 AM. However, I’ve been to bed earlier all week. Usually I’m able to get right out of bed in the morning with no problems. Lately, I wake up and have to force myself out of bed. I’ve also been falling asleep soon after laying down, which is not normal for me at all (though I do like it).

So, for the experimentation of it, I thought I’d not have any sugar today. None at all.

That lasted until 7:30 AM when I had 3 Girl Scout cookies (Tagalongs). :sigh:

However, that’s not really what I meant when I told myself I wouldn’t have sugar. I meant no jelly beans or tea with sugar; I have both at the house. I meant no Swedish fish or soda at work. I meant no PBJ for lunch. And, I meant none of any of those consumables when I get home tonight, either. I want to see if it might make a difference for the better. Maybe I can skip the sugar highs followed by sugar lows. We’ll see, I guess. Maybe I’m just still sick.

I know those Girl Scout cookies had sugar in them. What cookie doesn’t? I’m still not going to count them, though.

It’s a dreary day, if you let it be. Why allow the weather to control your mood?

When it’s hot out, you can use the air conditioner. When it’s cold out, you can turn up the heat. When it’s too bright out, you can pull down the shades. When it’s dark out, you can turn on all the lights. If you wake up and the sky is grey, casting a grey pallor upon everything you see, and it’s misty, maybe drizzling, why let that bring you down?

Is there not something in your life that can make you happy? Do you have family? Friends? A Savior? Hope?

Without any of these, I would think your day would be gloomy regardless of the weather.

If I was surprised when Kathy walked up, then I was amazed to see Mark’s face.

“There are a few more people (family) that want to come to dinner tonight. Is that ok?” The Doughtys were in town and apparently expanding our gathering for dinner on Friday night. I didn’t care who came. I didn’t imagine it would take away from the excitement of seeing everyone again. It had been a bit too long.

I warned them of the potential problems with going to Texas Roadhouse: a little noisy for visiting, horrible seating practices, and problems seating large groups together. As long as they were fine with the place, I was willing to go. I like the food.

Somehow, the noise turned out not to be a problem. The music even seemed lower than I ever remember hearing it. How long the wait was, I don’t know. I was engaged by a beautiful young child and the best friends I had ever known. Most amazing, though, was the fact that our group was able to sit together in three booths all in a row. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a thing. The night was truly magical.

The server played along well, the sweet tea was good, the food was good, and the company was excellent. I couldn’t imagine any group that I could feel more comfortable, more at home, and more close to. I even went and got all sappy.

I’ve been married almost seven and a half years now. A lot has changed in the lives of everyone present at the table Friday night. If I listed each person there, I could also produce a long list of what has gone on in their life in the last 7.5 years. However, one thing remains, and I shared it with the group. If I had to play the groom and organize a wedding all over again, these are the same exact people that I would choose to be by my side. In all the years and all the changes, no one has come closer. I’m rather amazed.

It’s sad, but there was one person from my wedding party missing on Friday night. This wasn’t because they were working or they were out of town. They just slowly drifted apart from the rest of us shortly after the wedding. Because of this, there is an open spot in my current wedding party. Not the best man spot; that is definitely taken. However, I’m down a man and can’t think of many who could possible step into the roll.

Feel free to apply, if you’d like.

I figured it out. I know where we missed the opportunity. We definitely didn’t blow it, but it could have been even better.
There were three of us, all in our early twenties, living together across the street from a lake.

(Wait…suddenly I know where we missed two opportunities….)

We were there, together, the three of us. Why wasn’t there a game perpetually going on at the kitchen table? Isn’t that part of our fond memories of the place, playing cards in the kitchen? Back in the day, Scoob, your mom would have molasses cookies and iced tea for us. We’d try not to get caught tipping back in the chairs on the linoleum. We were young and taken care of and had no worries in the world.

Were we wrong not to try to relive that? Would it have been a denial of all that had taken place since then? Would we only be fooling ourselves if we had picked up and tried to go on, as if we had merely experienced a bump in the road?

I think not. I think we should have done it. I think we should have cleared off the table, sat down, and possibly have healed.
And when more people moved into the house…, well, that would have just been more people to join the game.

But we didn’t. And I’m still playing.

When I arrived home last night, there was a message on the answering machine. My father left a message stating that my nephew had died this past weekend.

This message was from a father I never had while growing up. I didn’t really get to start my relationship with him until the year before I was married. The nephew is a young boy that I’ve never met. His mom is a half sister that I’ve seen twice and haven’t had any significant conversations with.

It amazes me how ready I am to drop everything and be there for them.

Tonight I will call my father, tell him I have every evening free for the rest of the week, and offer my services, whatever those might be. On Saturday, we’ll attend a very sad funeral for a little guy that everyone will say was too young to die. Beyond Saturday, God only knows what will happen between any of us.

I admit I’m not much of a family man, not outside of my own marriage, that is. Either I’m fooling myself, or I’m just empathetic to those who do lose loved ones. I know that this is no time for me to be selfish in any way, shape or form.

Maybe I’m maturing.

Come, all ye who are feeling unwell, yet not bad off enough to stay home from work! Join me in rampaging over those who are not sick in any way! We’ll infect those closest to us, and, after the dizziness passes, we’ll spread out pre-disease thick through the rest of the building!

Coughers! To my right! Your weapon is cruelest. And to my left, the sneezers. The rest of us will follow with regular paper towels and offer to clean up the droplets of our brothers, all the while breathing noxiously on our enemy.

Soon the entire building will groan with the pain that we feel! They will reel with the dizziness we liberally distribute. Bowels will explode from the bugs we have shared with those who force us to work just because we don’t quite feel bad enough to justify staying home.

I swear to the hight authorities of pestilence and disease that this day will find many of my coworkers on their knees…once my head stops spinning.

I prefer not to think of it as belly button lint but instead think of it as emergency rations.

It seems I picked up some kind of superbug at the gym last night.

I was graciously brought to Planet Fitness as a guest of a co-worker. I went straight for the free weights, ignoring the fact that I haven’t lifted weights in many years now. I pounded through some squats, leg extensions, bench press, and a few other machines before hopping on the treadmill. I have a treadmill at home, mind you, but I had some time to waste before my workout buddy was done.

End a refreshing night at the gym. Wake up to this morning.

This morning I can barely walk. Standing up is difficult at best. My chest is sore. My back is sore. To what can I attribute this strange malady?

Everyone seemed pretty good at cleaning off the equipment when finished, but I feel I can accurately conclude that I caught some kind of flesh-eating disease last night. Apparently this disease begins eating away at your larger muscles as it slowly burrows toward your outer flesh. Once my pecs, hamstrings, gluts, and abs have been messily devoured, these strange creatures will surely erupt through my elastic skin, chewing furrows up and down my dermis. It kind of makes me itch.

I feel my only hope now is my meat tenderizer and some Purell.