Archive for February, 2010

Connecticut Dreamin’

     I have always wanted to move to Connecticut. For as long as I can remember, the east coast, eastern states look and feel and thought has always been very appealing to me.

     I have never been there, though. I have never been to somewhere that I would love to move to. I have this idea in my head about how Connecticut looks, how it feels, the weather, the people, the lifestyle, the communities. It seems so attractive to this Mid-Western boy, that I have even went as far as gathered information on housing, and jobs. But that was over ten years ago.

     I have seen movies, television shows, news and I have seen pictures on the internet and throughout my life of Connecticut, that have me wanting to move there. I believe everyone has their place they want to live, where they think they belong, and I know mine is Connecticut.

    Ten years ago, when I had seriously looked into moving there, I had decided that it just would not work out. I was established, here in Michigan, with my family, friends, and job. But maybe one day, when my bank account is stuffed, when my kids are grown, and when my wife and I start to hit the twilight of our lives, I may travel over there to see and feel, and realize that my Connecticut dream would be nothing but that, a dream.

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Tipped Her On The Looks Of Her Ass

     I went to our local restaurant tonight to pick up dinner tonight. It was the type of restaurant where they run your food out to you after calling in your order on the phone. It’s fast, it’s easy, and you get the dinner without having to eat there. You can eat it in your own house.

     That’s what makes Applebee’s so convenient.

     As I sat and waited for my turn in the parking spaces provided for the drivers, I had the luxury of watching the one chick running food and money back and forth, in and out of the restaurant. Then I noticed something. Her ass.

     She had a pair of pants on that accentuated her ass. Tight, low-cut jeans that gripped her buns and kept it looking firm and fit.

     I watched her as she ran to and fro. Then it was my turn. She handed my food to me, I paid her, and I think I tipped her more for her ass than I was going to tip her.

     Which makes me ask this, do these women wear these types of clothes to haul in more in tips?

     I live in Michigan. It just snowed seven inches last night and today. It’s cold out. So us Michiganders don’t have the luxury of year-round, scantily clothed people. She was not wearing shorts, or a bikini, or a pair of spandex. These were just jeans.

     Do people tip these waiters and waitresses for how they look? What if she was ugly? What if she was a lardass? What if she had a horrible body? What if she had a nasty attitude?

     What if she was wearing a see-through shirt, where her nipples were busting through just enough to make one question if they saw what they think they saw? What if she had pants on to show cameltoe? What if she was flirty?

     Would I have tipped her any different for any of the above reasons? Maybe. Maybe not. How about you? What do you think?

Grandpa

     I think I may have walked into his room too fast. Too fast to prepare myself for what I had gone there for. It’s as if I purposely threw myself into his room as if I was peeling a band-aid off real fast.

     When I walked into my Grandpa’s room, I saw him laying in his bed. Sleeping. His mouth open, breathing in air, and exhaling. In a rhythmnic way. He had an eye half open, the other was closed. It was as if he was watching the room, but yet he appeared to be asleep, like I remember him sleeping on his favorite chair in the livingroom of his house when I was a kid.

     My grandpa was a big, strong man. Wide shoulders, thick arms, solid body and head full of hair. Not in recent years. Especially not today. Grandpa is all bones now. I had just seen him a couple days earlier. He was thin, of course, but certainly not like this. I don’t know how, but it’s as if he lost even more weight.

     He lay on his bed, in a sack of skin and bones. His ribs clearly outlined in his button-down flannel shirt. His pelvis was visible, as he was holding the bottom of his shirt in his soft fists. His hands were bruised from ivies and shots he received from the past few weeks. Those bruises never healed. His hands, which were big and thick and strong, have given in to age, and deterioration of health, were not my Grandpa’s hands anymore. He is not himself anymore. His age and his dying body now has the best of him.

     My Grandpa lived a healthy, long life. My Grandma passed away just under three years ago. My Grandpa is the last of his generation in my family. He outlived his brothers and sister. He was one of the oldest in his family, and he lived the longest. I think my Grandma has alot to do with it. She kept him in line. She kept him eating healthy. She kept his heart and his affection. She was his beloved wife. She took care of him.

     As I write this, I am saddened that he passed away a few hours ago. I started to write this last night, but could not finish. I loved my Grandpa and my Grandma very much. I wish I had spent more time with them than I did. But I spent alot of time with them nontheless. I have loads of fond memories of times with them. Now they are gone. It’s strange that I lived as long as I have with Grandparents. Most of my friends lost their’s long ago.

     Now they are in a better place. Reunited with loved ones. I know they are having fun. I know they are giving each other those kisses that made me feel funny to see. And I know the family will be ok. Because they will watch over us all, and all will be fine.

Baby-Making With An IUI

     My wife and I are on a mission to make a baby. I have written, in this blog, all about our experiences during our journey to make a baby. We have had close calls, we had our hopes fade, and we have had disappointments. But then we would try again the following month, repeating this cycle.

     I am going to sum up the journey so far, and to get myself acquainted with what I have written, and not written, to this point.

     Fifteen months ago, I had a vasectomy reversal. It was a good decision because it gave my wife and I the chance to make a baby. We had decided to try right before we got married a year earlier. We were excited and willing to “do the do” on time, every month, like clockwork.

     So I got reversed, and a month later the trying began. Every month, according to my wife’s clock and her calendar and her “piss sticks” and most of all, her say-so, we tried.  It was fun for the first couple months. Then frustration set in. Then it became work. Never had I thought that having sex would be work and I would feel pressured.

     Along the way, I had taken in 3 sperm samples to see what my army of baby-makers were up to. I found out they were there. Plenty of them. Some 20 million of them. But they were slow, almost inactive, but they were there. And that’s what mattered because we were able to keep trying.

     Several months went by and my wife and I got to the point where we weren’t watching the calendar anymore. We were doing the deed when we wanted. We tried to take the pressure off. This didn’t work either.

     We talked to a urologist and got advise on what to try to do to help. This is where he hit us with trying IUI, intrauterine insemination. This is a procedure where, after I produce sperm sample, they take it out, and put it in my wife’s uterus.

     My wife was instructed to pay attention to her ovulation times of the month. She bought a First Response pregnancy kit, where she has to urinate on one and it tells her of her hormonal levels, also known as her LH surge. When it peaks, we are to come into the clinic the following day and they will perform the IUI.

     When her levels are high, she has an egg in her uterus. When the IUI is performed, sperm is shot into the uterus. This procedure, in real easy terms, is putting the boy in the same room as the girl without having him have to walk through the front door, walk down a hallway and enter her room. This procedure skips the journey and puts the boy in the same room immediately.

     This procedure was performed a week and a half ago. We are waiting to see if this works. I hope it does. My beautiful wife hopes it does, too. I know my sperm are slow and lazy. I refer to them as a bunch of fat, lazy kids playing video games while eating licorice. I hope that with them being put in the uterus with her egg will motivate them to move their asses and hook up and get my wife pregnant.

     I hope to have news in the next week or so. Until then, I will treat my wife as if she is “with child” by not letting her do any strenuous chores, although the doctor told her to go about living life the same as usual. But until we know, we will wait.


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