Yes, Kevin, Bret does indeed have a red Strat. Here’s my favorite picture of Bret and his baby:
He’d donned my Halloween wig, and was posing as an ’80s rocker. I had to throw my nightie over his lap ’cause he was nekkid.
Bret despises everything Slowhand (he likes earlier Clapton). His guitar heroes (heh) are Ritchie Blackmore, Adrian Belew and?Buckethead. He’s also a big fan of?Tool. And Stone Ales.
[tags]Stratocaster, guitar, Stone Brewing Co.[/tags]
Weird, yet appealing, dream last night. Bret and I were at a blogger gathering at a venue that strongly resembled Nine Fine Irishmen on a much larger scale, except for the multicolored lights and disco balls here and there. About 50 people were in attendance, including some of my friends who are not (to my knowledge) bloggers. There was a small stage, and a band was playing Clapton’s “It’s In The Way That You Use It,” really, really well.
Here’s the thing: The band was made up of bloggers.
Karl was on drums. I can only assume that he’d shed his shirt for artistic freedom, because he was wearing a white ‘beater and shades, and as drummers do, keeping the beat with his head. Dave2 was on keyboard, which is somewhat frightening just to think about, especially because he was making wild gestures and faces a la Tom Waits. Standing shyly in the back playing?bass was Suze’s fiance, Mike. Diana, clad in a startling black reptile/pink maribou outfit that no one seemed to even notice (!!!), was wailing on her sax and shaking her booty. Fronting the band and totally kicking ass on his red Ibanez was Mr. Kevin Apgar. And he was smokin’ that thing, let me tell you. He had a beret on (???), pushed backward, and?his singing?sounded more like Clapton than Clapton does lately.
There was a throng of people in front of the stage, mostly dancing. I spotted Sizzle, and Neil, and Miss?Britt ? who was wearing that same outfit she?had on in?her cheerleading video (probably because I was showing that video to Bret just last night).? A guy I went to high school with was also in the crowd, and so were my daughter and her boyfriend. Then some guy that turned out to be Wil Wheaton stepped up to the stage and handed Kevin a bottle of Ruination beer. Kevin took a long swig, then started sliding it down the neck of his guitar while he played! Clearly he was channeling Jimmy Page.
I turned to tell Bret he’d get us kicked out if he didn’t put out his cigarette. I could see Governor Schwarzenegger walking toward us in his Terminator clothes, looking like he meant business. Just then something hit me in the chest, almost knocking the breath out of me. I jerked awake to find my cat Data standing on me. Damn, now I’ll never know if we got kicked out or not. 
But obviously, this dream could not possibly happen. Everyone knows The Governator is a smoker himself.
[tags]Clapton, dreams, Stone Ales, no more chili dogs for dinner[/tags]
One shot to your heart without breaking your skin
No one has the power to hurt you like your friends …
(Get it together)
You wanna heal your body?
(Get it together)
You have to heal your heart
Whatsoever you sow you will reap …
(lyrics by India Aire)
UPDATE: Never assume anything other than a secret identity.
This may come as a surprise to you, but this isn’t my first blog. Heh, I’m kidding. Most of you know this is my latest in a string of blogs over the past five-or-so years. Hell, even I can’t remember the names of all the abandoned. In blogging, as in off-screen life, I tend to run and hide when trouble rears its head. I don’t like confrontation, mainly because of my tendency to blurt things out without considering the consequences. Yeah, venting. Which should be okay on your own blog, right?
Umm, not so much. Even when you don’t use names, family members recognize themselves and throw a hissy at your audacity in “humiliating [them] in public.” Because you know, two-thirds of the known universe reads my little blog ? including ALL of said family member’s friends and co-workers. [BTW, that was not a reference to last week's vanished post.]
When I first launched Pseudotherapy, I planned to keep it anonymous. I used the pseudonym Fruitcake and had fake names for Bret (Nutcake) and Juli (Cupcake). Because I sent invites to all my blogfriends, most of my readers knew it was me, but they played along. However, I shortly found that to be too restrictive because I couldn’t use any of my own photographs on Pseudotherapy (meaning photos I’d taken, not photos of me). When Hilly and I met for the first time, the photos we took that day became my unveiling. You can’t very well remain anonymous while publishing pics of yourself with a woman whose blog really is read by two-thirds of the known universe! So that was the end of the Cake family.
Still, I’ve managed to keep most of mia familia from discovering my little blog. It helps that most of my kinfolk have only the most basic of internet interest, and don’t go looking for reasons to prolong their surfing. Juli is, of course, a regular reader with my blessing. Bret finds reading to be torturous, so I read it to him when so inclined. Bret’s brother Randy drops by now and then, but is kept pretty busy by his own music blog. My side of the family, I believe, remains unaware of Pseudotherapy’s existence.
So imagine my surprise upon learning that a family member with no previously-indicated interest has begun reading. Imagine my initial dismay. Crap! Does this mean I’m supposed to start watching every little thing I say again? Does this mean I have to freak the hell out every time I write impulsively and publish without thinking? Oh wait, I already do that. Okay, never mind that one. But seriously, is this a red flag, a giant flashing CAUTION sign?
I refuse. I’m taking a stand here. Enough! This is the most honest, most ME blog of them all, and I’m not giving it up. I have walked into the light, and refuse to retreat again to the shadows. Regardless of who happens to find their way here, I’m not going to edit my content down to verbal pablum. I will continue to not use names or other identifiable info. But I WILL speak my mind, and write from my heart.
So, dear family member, you are welcome to read my blog. But understand that it is MY blog. If you read anything here that upsets you, just click the red X in the upper right corner of your screen and walk away. Life doesn’t come with a Close box, but blogs do.
Bret and I did our Christmas shopping last night. He got me a lovely set of x-rays and a bottle of my favorite antibiotic, and I gave him a state-of-the-art cystocentesis and coordinating blood panel. Lynksis gave the nurses new respect for the power of Zen, and we gave the vet my entire paycheck. Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la.
Lynksis is sick. Sicker than we knew. Mucho dinero sick. “We’ll try this first, but it may come down to surgery” sick. “Watch for these signs, and if you see them, get her to emergency immediately” sick. She has stones in her bladder, two that were clear on the x-rays, a possible third that wasn’t so defined. The stones are shedding crystals into her urine, causing irritation in the urethra, resulting in an infection. We will find out later today whether the stones are caused by highly-alkaline urine or highly-acid urine, and that will determine the course of treatment. One type can often be dissolved by a special diet, the other type has to be removed surgically. I can’t remember which is which. With both types, if a stone gets lodged in her urethra and isn’t removed quickly, she could die within 24 hours. Hence the danger signs we have to watch for.
Anyone who knows me, knows how much I love my cats. For Bret and me, they are the children we never had together. Our three human girls are all grown up and living on their own, so our three kittygirls are our kids. We would pretty much do anything for them, and we do our best to provide them with a high standard of living. We are both grateful for a good, caring vet hospital and steady paychecks so we can afford to get Lynksis the treatment she needs.
That said, I am crying right now. Because that check I wrote to the vet last night? That was supposed to give Juli the Chrsitmas I couldn’t give her last year because I was unemployed. I knew I couldn’t give her the sofa she so desperately wants/needs, but I’d planned to give her a gift card of as high an amount as I could manage, money she could put toward the sofa purchase. Now, there’s no money. Now, I won’t be able to give her that gift card until January. Now, I have to greet her on Christmas Day bearing nothing more than a filled stocking and the few small gifts I’ve already purchased. It’s killing me to know she’s going to have a crappy Christmas again this year. I feel like a total failure as a mother.
My two inner moms are totally at war right now, and my heart is the battlefield.
