Cowboys, Bums, and Doctors

There's an old cowboy who hangs out in the parking lot of my apartment complex. He has an adorable Australian Shepherd named Belle. He also has a beat up old truck, a cowboy hat, huge belt buckle, boots, an a leather whip...you get the point. I made the mistake of petting his dog one day and I'm afraid I've found a new friend.

His name is Buddy. His dog knows to lie down and play dead when he says, "I'm gonna shoot you dead, bang!" He offered to take in some of my groceries for me one day, and I couldn't really resist (this was before I realized he could be slightly crazy). Afterall, I am slightly handicapped, and it would have taken me a few trips without his help. But then he came into my apartment for a chat. At the end he told me that I don't tawk like I'm from Delaware, I tawk like I'm from Texas--which might be the scariest thing anyone has ever said to me.

Another day he gave me a painted feather--I guess he makes them and sells them. (He always acts like he and Belle have some cattle to round up somewhere, but I've never actually seen him leave) But he then followed me to my apartment again, sat down on the edge of my coffee table, and started spitting chew into an empty sprite can that I had left out. And he proceeded to tell some crazy stories about bull riding, his brother the vet who took him out on a turtle hunt, and dead wife who used to be a surgical nurse. I was able to get him to leave--I'm pretty sure hes just lonely and likes to talk to people, but someone may want to tell him that its strange to follow young ladies a third of his age to their apartments.

I needed a cheap and easy Halloween costume this year for a party at Chris and Melissa's. Last year was stupid, I went to a party where I hardly knew anyone and we didn't dress up because we were just lame. I had to call Angie to come bail me out, which she did, thank goodness. And I spent Halloween night in my bedroom doing work on the annual report. Anyway, this year I has plans for a pirate with my hook like hand, but couldn't quite pull it off. I forgot my "safari" hat in Delaware. So, I took my sisters advice and dressed as a bum. In other words, I dressed as myself. An old plaid shirt, some pants with a hole in it, a sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off, etc. I carried a bottle of Boones wrapped in a brown paper bag (yum) and I wore a sign that said "My family was kidnapped by ninjas, need money for karate lessons". Worked out better than I thought it would. The party was full of other great costumes--some elaborate, some simple yet creative. We had a good time. (And the Phillies won, which makes me happy--not because I like baseball, but because I know someone who hates the Phillies. Ha.)

Doctors. I now despise doctors. And America for having shitty healthcare. Even with insurance I'm up to my ears in doctors bills. If you ever get hurt, don't go to the emergency room because $1,000 later you will still be injured. That was my biggest mistake, but when you are out of town and don't have a doctor to go to, what are you supposed to do? Then I paid a doctor lots of money to look at my finger, tell me that it wasn't working properly, that I needed surgery to fix it, that he couldn't do the surgery, that they don't take my insurance, and that I won't ever get a ring on my broken finger. Thanks loser.

Now, I have a slightly absent minded hand surgeon. No, those words should not go together. But he never explains what is wrong, what hes doing, etc. And when I ask, he sorta avoids it. I assume because he doesn't really know. He doesn't know. He didn't even give me the box that the digit widget came in, or the bands that go with it. He admitted that I'm basically a science experiment and he has never used one of these things before. So I've learned more about my own problem from google than anywhere else. I just spent 4 days in absolute pain because a doctor didn't tell me how to operate the contraption that he screwed into my finger 2 weeks ago. It was hyper extending, and there is a hex wrench that will stop it from doing that. Once I figured that out--no more pain. How did I figure it out? I read the 30 page manual on the digit widget. The good news? My finger is almost straight, if the widget is on (pulled straight by a rubber band), and it doesn't hurt much anymore. But it is rather annoying. The bad news? My finger is now straight and does not bend. Therefore, the solution is finger therapy, 2 times a week. Finger. Therapy. Just shoot me. Today he took pictures to send to the manufacturer of the digit widget in Sacramento. I think I should be paid for this instead of paying for it.

This one is for Amber who loves pictures of my screwed up finger--and other creepy things. I had the stitches taken out today--the "Frankenstein" phase was only seen by Amber and my parents, although this is not much better. Probably not for those with a weak stomach. Hehe. My finger is obviously not straight in this picture because the widget isn't doing its job.