Gunshots and coffee...

So, guess what woke me up this morning? Gunshots. Oh not from the local gangsters. Not a drive by shooting. Nope. It's deer season. Which in case you don't live in central Illinois is something of a holiday. Yep, kids are excused from school if they bring in their deer tag. Gas stations and restaurants put up signs...Welcome Deer Hunters! Open at 4 AM! Nope. I am not making this up.

My own intrepid hunters (Larry & Jethro) arose at the startingly early time of 2:30 AM. I grumbled, told them to be safe and promptly fell back to sleep. They were leaving at 3:30 to meet Larry's relatives at the boat dock in Hannibal to load the boats. Now, why they can't a~ hunt in our county of Adams, they have to hunt in the neighboring county of Pike and b~ load the boats on the other side of the river (Missouri) to hunt in Illinois are both totally beyond my comprehension. I think Larry tried to explain last night but I'm pretty sure my brain was bored and shut down and I only stared at him in complete glazed eye confusion. What I also do not understand is how anyone can motivate themselves to get up at o'dark thirty, layer on massive amounts of clothing (because it was coooolllddd here), top all this with a hideous blaze orange vest and hat (that hurt my eyes to look at), and then ride out in boats on the river (becoming even colder and possibly damp) in order to possibly shoot a poor defenseless creature. (Having said that, there are one or two persons I might be able to do those things in order to hunt...but we'll save my homicidal rage for another day). But off they went. Either they are doing well or they fell asleep or the truck broke down because they've now been gone for 11.5 hours and I haven't heard from them.

I prefer to spend my day in my warm cozy house. Hopefully, none of the hunters get to close. I told the deer they could all hide in my yard...

♥Gert

The Um. Gee. I Don't Want To Do This Test

So dear Hildi I did it. I went in for the stress test. Now, let me just say that this was totally my doctor's idea and I wasn't really on board from the start. I did ask around and was told that your didn't have to run. Because I was really worried about that. I mean, I was worried they wouldn't provide motivation. And everyone knows I don't run without motivation! Like a bear is chasing me, or there's one snickers bar left in the house and I must beat the kids to it. Something that makes it worthwhile. So I get to the cardio lab and Jethro and I sit in the waiting room filled with old people. I get us both a magazine. Me a Redbook and him a Parenting because, well you can't prepare to early, right? Finally, they call my name.

I follow the perky little nurse back to a room, that houses a gurney, a crash cart, a huge machine and a treadmill. She tells me to take everything off from the waist up and sign the consent form and she'll be back. So I disrobe and then read the consent form, which basically says that if your heart explodes while they're doing this test you can't sue them. Also you can't sue them if you fall off the treadmill. And you can't sue them for saying you're fat and out of shape. Basically, you just can't sue them.

So she comes back in and hooks up all these little electrode thingys and I start to wonder, between xrays, ekgs, this test, mammograms is there a medical person on the planet who hasn't had their hands on my boobs? Seriously, I think the medical community gets more access to my boobs then poor Larry. So after I'm all hooked up and she takes me blood pressure she tells me we have to wait for my doc. So she leaves again. And I wonder around the room (as far as my wires let me) because I'm bored. Then she comes back in and says he's on his way. Get on the treadmill. So I hop up there and she asks if I've ever been on a treadmill before. I say yes, I love treadmills. I've been trying to get our parents to give me theirs for years but they are very busy using it to hang clothes on. The treadmill is going at a nice easy pace and I think. huh. maybe this won't be so bad. WRONG! The doctor comes in and I'm all

Me: Haha. We started this party without you.

Dr: *smile* well that's good. Okay, I want to get your heart rate up to 168 so I'm going to increase the speed and altitude in 5 seconds. Okay? * Is that a real question? Really? Do I get to say no here?*

Me: Bring it on doc. *He then increases the speed and incline and I start to huff a little. Asthma anyone?*

Dr: Now if your chest starts hurting or you can't breathe or you just can't go on, let me know. *Yeah right. I'm not a wuss. I continue huffing along*

Dr: Okay, I'm going to increase you again. How are you doing?

Me: I stopped having fun about 5 minutes ago.

Dr: You've only been on the treadmill for 3 minutes.

Me: Seriously? Well if feels like 5! *speed increases. I'm really huffing and puffing and my calves are tightened up like bowling balls. If I wasn't so committed to not wussing out, I'd have totally told him to stop. At home, I'd have been like "okay, I'm done". Damn stubborn pride*

Dr.: Okay, well we got your heart rate up past where I wanted. I'm going to stop the machine now. But it slows gradually so don't stop walking.

Me: What? You don't want to see me shoot off of here like a human projectile?

Dr: *totally straight face* I've seen that happen. It's not pretty.

Me: huff, puff, huff, puff.

Dr.: So how do you feel? Does your chest hurt?

Me: Um. No. It's a little heavy and hard to breathe but I think that's just asthma.

Dr.: Well your heart looks fine, your BP's great. I think it's just muscle pain from the Fibromyalgia. The heart is a muscle after all.

Me: Fabulous. That's why my calves feel like rocks now too.

Dr.: I think you should start walking though. Twenty minutes three times a week.

I'm pretty sure that was him calling me fat. And out of shape. But I signed the paper so I can't sue. I think they should change the name of the test though. Instead of "Stess Test" they should call it "The Let's See How Glaringly Out of Shape You Are Test". The nurse did say that they get the incline a lot higher then most people ever do on their own. So while I wasn't really running, it was like I was walking up a mountain as fast as I could. It sucked. So I went to the mexican restaurant and had Flan. Because Flan cures everything. Including wounded pride.

♥Gert

Why this is not the funny post I intended. Or why it's all Larry's fault.

So the previous post was deleted. It was funny too. But apparently Larry could get into trouble. I told him next time he does something he shouldn't, he should probably give me strict instructions on not blogging it. The conversation went much like this:

Me: so that one thing, that was totally okay, right?

Larry: No, I didn't exactly go about it right. I should have made a call first and gotten permission beforehand. Not after the fact.

Me: Um. So you could possibly get in trouble if someone say blogged about it for the whole world to see?

Larry: YOU WHAT??!

Me: I think you need to learn to be a little clearer about what you don't want me to blog.

Larry: Well why would you blog that anyway?

Me: Duh, because that sh*t was funny!! And my readers like the funny!! They deserve the funny!!

Jethro: Um...mom? You know you're not like some investigative journalist delivering the unvarnished truth to your readers, right? You're just a blogger.

Me: *stamping my foot and throwing my hands up in the air* I get no respect!

Me: And frankly Larry, I'm a little disturbed by your utter lack of conscience and blatant disregard for the law. Next time, please mention that before I blog. I'll go delete it so you don't get arrested or anything but I.Am.Not.Happy.

Larry: I wouldn't get arrested. A fine, maybe. I'm sorry I screwed up your post.

Me: *sniffing and walking off* whatever.

And so...you should totally blame Larry for this not being the incredibly funny post about him looking like Elmer Fudd. Because it's all his fault.

♥Gert