1. It has been deer season in Wisconsin for the last several weeks and I am not a deer hunter. For one thing, I am a big screaming girl when it comes to guns. I fear/hate them. For another, I think deer, while tasty as can be, are really stunning creatures. Yes, I know there are occasional periods of overpopulation and times that they attempt to eat all the buds off our yellow magnolia. I don't care. They are pretty and I can't shoot them. Eat them, yes. Shoot them, no.
Yet, I think the primary reason that I am not a deer hunter is male bonding. Getting up early, starting the day with 5 beers before loading the gun and talking about- I don't know what (help me out here straight guys)- with your buddies while walking the ditches just doesn't appeal to me. Even less appetizing is what happens after the hunt. Up at the cabin, we get a local news flyer called the Northwoods Shopper that is about 15 pages of business ads and classifieds. Well, let me tell you that during deer season the size jumps up to about 25 pages and is full of "alternate" activities aimed at the influx of deer hunters to the area. For example, a local resort had a special on rooms, a nice buffet and a beer bar. Nice. Okay.
Then there are the other establishments that offer even more interesting alternatives. There is a bar & grill down the road from our cabin about 3 miles called Gruzy's- with the "z" backwards. I guess that's like Cyndi the cyclops with an "i"- just to stand out, you know. During the summer, this place is like any other bar and grill, only with shit for service from the evil waitresses with push up bras to show off their stretch marked boob tattoos who will look at you like you just asked them to felch you if you request a fuzzy navel. (It's true. Ask Marina.) Anyway, what do you suppose this family friendly establishment offers during deer season? You're right if you guessed women's oil wrestling on Tuesday night and exotic dancers Thursday. C-l-a-s-s-y. And you wonder why I'm not a deer hunter. Ladies, don't let your men tell you that they hang out playing cards and drinking beer. Oh no. They are getting greazy- with a backwards "z"- fingers while tipping scantily clad women dripping with french fry oil. Not for me. Not even a little.
2. This past weekend, Curt had a volleyball tournament. So I figured why not go up to the cabin with the pooches and hang out. So what does a real man do at the cabin by himself? He hooks the iPod up to the TV and re-watches the entire season of Glee thus far. He organizes a cabin scrapbook with pictures of all our guests to date. And, of course, he gives himself a facial. (Not that kind of facial, Dean, but I'm flattered you think I'm that flexible any more.) This weekend I brought up a all purpose anti-aging scrub, various creams and lotions and an activated charcoal mask. While waiting for the charcoal mask to dry, which is pitch black, I wandered around the cabin a bit, worked on the scrapbook a bit, started a little kitchen prep, then suddenly got a little paranoid. The thought crossed my head that if I were to cut myself badly with a kitchen knife or fall down the stairs and break my neck, the EMTs or sheriff would find me injured or dead with what would appear to be blackface on. "Chubby Gay in Blackface Dies In Tragic Scrapbooking Accident" would be the headline. Gads. I carefully approached the sofa, waited for the mask to finish drying, carefully headed to the bathroom and rinsed my potentially offensive face off.
3. Speaking of potentially offensive, what I am about to say in print may piss you off. It may not too. I was not saddened one bit to hear that Oral Roberts died today. This man claimed to glorify God, but all anyone can see are monuments (some failed- law school, medical center, etc.) that he named after HIMSELF, a history of financial scams against his followers and putting his scheister son in charge of a university where he absconded with about $50 million that was spent on his luxurious lifestyle. And still the man is revered. Pull your heads out of your asses people. Recognize a fraud. Lots of lousy shit has been done in the name of God. Know it when you see it. Call a duck a duck. Enough said. Another dinosaur extinct. Good riddance.
4. It was reported this week that drinking coffee may be good for the prostate. If so, I have a really, really healthy prostate. I hope.
5. On the health front, my fabulous hematologist Dr. M. told me that there is a clinical trial going on at Mayo for my genetic mutation that has been having really great results. So great that it appears that the mutant gene becomes inactive and many participants are completely asymptomatic. So, I have a choice. I'm doing pretty well on maintenance blood work and blood lettings and can continue that. This risk is progressive bone marrow scarring, which if it gets far enough could be not very good news at all. Or, I could try to get into the clinical trial. However, I wouldn't know for sure that I wasn't in the control group. And, if I was getting the real stuff, I could grow a second head or a third nipple or something since the side effects aren't well known. Hmmmm. What would you do? Not a nice blog topic, but there you go.
6. It appears that we may miss the deadline again this year for sending out holiday cards. If that happens, I want to say in advance "Happy Holidays!!"