Get that boy a cookie…stat!

I got my yearly physical about a month ago.

At the doctor’s office I was A okay.

I got my blood work done about two weeks ago.

For the most part I’m okay.

I have no sexually transmitted diseases.  And all that time I thought that was what was causing the milky discharge.

My cholesterol is 128.  Considering how overweight I am it should be through the roof.

What was problematic was some of my vitamin levels.

The biggest problem is my Vitamin D.  I’m about as low as you can go.  And I already take supplements.

I’m a little anemic.

My fasting glucose level was in the “risk for diabetes” area.

There was some other stuff in there that kind of freaked me out.

This was all explained to me by my doctor when he called to give me my results.

And he finishes the conversation by telling me that I should go see a nutrionist as soon as I can.

I translate this into “oh my god I’m diabetic, anemic and I’m dying!!!”

So I call and make the appointment.

And I go in.

And I meet with Rochelle.

About 2 minutes into my 2.5 hour appointment I realize that she probably epitomizes what a “nutrionist” looks like.  She clearly does yoga ten times a day, she’s been a vegetarian for most of her adult life, she hates artificial sweeteners, and pretty much hates all food that’s not organic.  She probably owns stock in Trader Joe’s and Whole Foods.

The first thing we do is go over my numbers.

Turns out my doctor might have been a little more excited than he needed to be.

My cholesterol is low.  A little too low it seems.  My good cholesterol needs to be brought up a little so we talked about that.

I’m not borderline diabetic.  Let’s say if the average numbers are from 10 – 15 and the numbers for possible risk are from 16 – 20 and actual diabetic is 20 and ablove.  My test was a 15.1.  I’m .1 percent high.  And as she explained would probably be different the next time I was tested, when it’s that small of a measurement.

I do have a vitamin D deficiency.  So I need to quadruple the vitamins that I’m already taking.

I’m gonna start taking Blood Builders for the anemia.

And.

I WAS TOLD I HAD TO LOSE WEIGHT.

As if I didn’t know this.

She then spent close to an 90 minutes telling me what I should and should not eat.  I’m really not supposed to eat any of the stuff I eat.  And I really should only be eating stuff I buy at Trader Joe’s, Whole Foods, or the farmer’s market.

Hmmm.

She even went so far as to pull up the menu for my restaurant online to tell me what I could and could not eat at work.  I can have the lettuce with no dressing, and I can have the lettuce with no dressing.   Even the broccoli we serve is covered in butter.

I’m absolutely not supposed to have cupcakes.  Or Diet Coke.  Or more than two cups of coffee.  Or homemade ice cream made with real cream, white bread, french fries, cheeseburgers, mayonnaise, did I mention Diet Coke, regular peanut butter, blah, blah, blah….

I stopped listening after a while.  It was hard not to tune her out after she said no Diet Coke.

So we came up with a plan.  Today was day one.

I lasted exactly 30 minutes.

I got to work and ordered the barbecue chicken with out the barbecue sauce, subbed the french fries for the buttery broccoli, and then went off to change clothes.  I get changed and I go to the kitchen where they are being hammered.  There is food every where.  It’s on the top of the counter, it’s on the counter on top of the counter, it’s on the counter below the counter, it’s in the window.  There are cheeseburgers as far as the eye can see.  So I find a nice out of the way place to stand and I wait.  And wait.  And wait.  And wait.  And wait.  The cheeseburgers are taken out of the kitchen and are replaced with even more cheeseburgers.  And I wait.  And I wait.  And I wait.

And finally I see my chicken appear in the back expeditors window.  (The food is put in a window and the back expeditor pulls it all together and puts it in the front window where the front expeditor finishes garnishing everything and then sends it to the table.

So I see it appear.  And I move a little closer.  Tony, the muscular, Italian, kitchen manager is back expo today.  He asks me what I’m waiting for.  I tell him, he pulls it out of the window, adds the broccoli and hands it to me.  I grab a Diet Coke and head off to eat while I wait for pre-shift.

I sit down, plop a piece of broccoli into my mouth and I cut into my chicken.  If it was a piece of steak I’d have loved how it was cooked.  But a juicy piece of medium rare chicken isn’t my idea of fun.  It’s a quarter chicken and when I cut into it the blood seeped out away from the bone.

It’s now 4:30.  I don’t have time for them to recook it.  I’m going to be lucky if I get to eat anything at all.  I take it to a manager and explain that it’s raw and that I need SOMETHING to eat before my shift starts…like a regular house salad.  The kitchen manager tells the salad guy to make me a salad.  If I’d taken the train home, made the salad myself, and then taken the train back downtown I would have had it faster.  Couple that with he made the wrong salad for me.  (How do you screw up a house salad?)  It was 4:45 when I sat down with my salad to eat.  Pre-shift starts at 4:45.  I had about 36 seconds to eat before my shift started.

Now I was hungry and pissed.

Needless to say when I had the opportunity to eat a cookie later I took it.

As they say…

It’s progress.

Not perfection.

We were not singing in the rain.

Tonight has not turned out at all like I expected it to.

I was supposed to work.

Then I was supposed to go to the theater.

Instead I did neither and I’m sitting at my computer while Adam bakes a cake.

I was scheduled to work tonight.  I started my day thinking I was working today.

And then my telephone rang.

And it was Adam.

He said, “I have two things to tell you.”

I said, “You got tickets to Shakespeare in the Park.”

He said, “Yes.  And.  It might rain.”

Fuck.

I hate when I’m tempted for any reason not to work.  When given the choice I almost always choose not to work.

Today however, I was trying to be good.  Adam even told me at one point that I HAD to work and he’d get someone else to go with him.

And then the weather forecast changed.  It was supposed to rain until around 7:00 and then taper off into a slight chance of showers.

He IM’d me and said, “What the hell!  Let’s go for it.”

So I called in and told the answering machine at work that I was sick.  First.  No one ever answers the phone in the manager’s office.  NEVER.  Second.  It’s the only place I’ve ever worked where no one seems to care if people call out.  They will take the worst excuses, no one seems to mind, and there are no penalties.  I have to admit that I’ve called out sick more times at this job than all my other jobs put together.

So I left my message.

Got showered and went downtown to meet Adam.

When I left our apartment, it was sprinkling.

When I got downtown it was heavier.

By the time Adam got off work it was raining ever harder.

We got up town to the theater, picked up the tickets and it was still raining but we were hoping for the best.

We walked back out of the park to get dinner.  At Pizzeria Uno’s.  Don’t judge.

By the time we got back to the theater at 7:45 it was pouring.  It continued to pour till 8:30 when they officially cancelled the first performance.

We then trudged back out of the park to the subway.  Uptown it was raining harder than it had all day.

So now I’m sitting at my computer while Adam bakes a cake.

Fuck.

In the Beginning…

In two hours it will be the four year anniversary of the day I started my blog.

Here’s how it all began:

So I wanted my first post to be funny and witty. I wanted it to be full of insightful observations. I wanted it to be…well you get the point. So instead it’s 3:30am and since I can’t sleep I have decided what better way to start my blog than writing something at some ungodly hour in the am.

So I am Maddog. Well not really. It’s actually a nickname that was given to me years ago while I was attending the University of Kentucky. I saw a co-worker at McDonalds and she called me Maddog. Now I had never been called this before, and had no idea why she called me that then. But my friends heard it and it stuck. I became Maddog to everyone who knew me. This was in 1990. No one calls me that anymore. I have grown up and become Jeff. Well actually I have been called many things but most of my friends call me Jeff. But for the sake of this blog I’ll be Maddog.

And Maddog is moving to the big city. As of July 1st, I’ll be an official resident of the New York City. Again. Not that this is a bad thing. I love the city. It’s home. It’s just that I have been away for three years and a lot has changed. I am no longer in a relationship. I have failed to stay in touch with most of my friends there. I have gained 70 pounds. I have finished grad school. I am poor. I have no job. And so it’s scary, in a good way.

When I get there I’ll have enough money to last me about three months. This gives me a little bit of a cushion to find work. But not much of one. It won’t allow me to be lazy until the money is gone. So the minute I get there I’ll be pounding the pavement looking for work.

What kind of work you ask? I am a lighting designer. I have just finished one of the best theatre design programs in the country and now am about to prove my professor wrong and begin making a living doing commercial theatre. At least that’s what I hope happens. Who knows? In five years I’ll be the manager of the TGI Friday’s in Time Square. You know it’s the largest TGI Fridays in the world. At least that’s what the sign says.

So you guys all get to take this journey with me. I’ll be documenting my search for work, love, happiness and fulfillment in the city. So stay tuned for all the fun that goes with moving cross country and resuming my career.

Paddy Cake, Paddy Cake. Baker’s Man. Bake me a cake as fast as you can!

No complaining tonight.

Tonight is bragging.

A lot of bragging.

My boyfriend is awesome.

In a lot of ways.

Like he always has a sandwich waiting for me when I get home at night with a little hand written note that says I love you.

Like he made me pasta salad tonight because I randomly mentioned that I wanted some last week.

Like he does my laundry.  And doesn’t seem to mind.

Yeap.  He’s pretty amazing.

And he’s also very talented.

In a lot of ways.

He’s an amazing cook.

And an even better baker.  And since I’ve met him he’s started creating specialty cakes and cupcakes.

Here are some of his creations:

These are cupcake cheeseburgers.  He was asked to do cupcakes for a bake sale just after we met.  He invented these and he’s been getting at least one or two calls a month asking him to make more.

The last time he did them he created a little companion piece for them.

Yes.  Help yourself to a cheeseburger and fries.  You’ll find ketchup at the counter.

These are cupcakes he made at Valentine’s Day.  He made special one’s for me with private messages.

Butterflies.  All the wings are made of sugar and are hand painted.

Baseballs.

He also does fun cakes.  He carves them and then hand paints them.

These cakes are my favorite novelty cakes.

A lot of his clients have been found through the original bake sale.  Thus a lot of his cakes are for kids.

As far as novelty cakes go this was his most difficult and most amazing ever.  The face/mask/hat are all hand carved from a sheet cake and then hand painted.  It was for a swanky gay 40th birthday party.  We were both overwhelmed with how immense the party was going to be when we dropped the cake off.  The location was AMAZING.  Clearly I’m not doing something right or my 40th birthday party would have been that amazing.

He did companion cupcakes for the cake.   It’s hard to make a cake to feed two hundred people.  Most of them got cupcakes.

And then he does the most spectacularly beautiful cakes.

This is the cake he made for my mom’s birthday.  The peonies on top are all sugar flowers that are made one petal at a time then hand painted.

This is the cake and cupcakes that he made last year for the wedding in California.  Each cupcake was topped with a hydrangea bloom.  There were more than a hundred.  He made the cupcake tower too.

A birthday cake for a friend.

A birthday cake for a co-worker’s mom.  It’s a Tiffany box.  The ribbon is crafted out of sugar.

And probably one of the most impressive cakes he’s done.

Did you know when you start the decorating of a cake you carve off the top to level it out.  The remaining pieces are “cake parts.”  Those are for me.  When you make cheeseburger cupcakes half the cupcake is left after the process.  The leftovers are for me.  Did you know when someone orders 26 cupcakes that it’s almost impossible to bake them in such a precise number.  The extras are for me.  I’ve gained about 100 pounds since we’ve started dating.

He really is an amazing man.

In the name of the…

Christianity.

It’s such a simple word.

And when you lose most of the rhetoric the ideas of Christianity are quite simple.

Matthew36“Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?” 37Jesus replied: ” ‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’[a]38This is the first and greatest commandment. 39And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’[b] 40All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”

This is pretty simple.  Leaves very little to interpretation.  And for the most part if Christians would live their lives as best they could to these commandments there would be far less strife in the world.

Matthew36“Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?” 37Jesus replied: ” ‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’[a]38This is the first and greatest commandment. 39And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’[b] 40All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”

I felt like these commandments needed repeating.

I started to list all the things it doesn’t say, but I feel like I’d be preaching to the choir.  As far as it applies to me, it does NOT say I’m going to hell because I’m gay.  No where in those two most important commandments does it say that.

Unfortunately.

There are only two churches in the country that live by these commandments.  I’m joking.  There are probably four.  The public is not really familiar with these churches because they don’t have preachers in the news spouting hate.  The truth really is that if they weren’t spouting hate they probably wouldn’t be in the news.

Unfortunately.

I’ve been at the wrong end of a lot of Christian debates.

It started when I was 15 and my friend Lee Anne invited me to go to church with her.  That morning all was well.  I got up.  Got dressed.  Walked down to the church.  It was just down the street.  And joined her for Sunday school.  At the end of Sunday school, the minister/pastor/other loving term said to me:  “Are you ready to accept Jesus as your lord and saviour?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are you ready to spend eternity burning in the fires of hell if you were to die tonight.?”

“I’ll have to think on it.”

I did not accept Jesus that day.

Then I applied to and got accepted to the college in my hometown.  A little liberal arts school that was 150% associated with the Southern Baptist Association.  It’s very ironic that they call themselves a “liberal” arts school.  A friend from there jokingly called them the Fox News of Education.

Before you ask.

The school was in my hometown and costs less than any other school in the state.  When you are paying your own way through college you take what you can get.  Going there will always be one of if not THE biggest mistake of my life.

My first encounter there during Freshman Orientation.

“Hi.  I’m Karen.  Are you saved?”

I can still see the day.  It was one of those hot, sunny days in the middle of July.  Humid.  I was wearing shorts and a polo.  She was wearing khaki pants.

I should have run screaming then.

What I did do, was bury who I was deep deep down to a place where no one would discover it.

I didn’t come up for air for five years.

At the end of my time there, I was part of a production of Godspell.  For a short time it really did change my opinion about Christianity.  I was part of a group of mostly outcasts.  Everyone was as accepting as they could be at a VERY conservative school.  There were at least five men in the cast who were gay.  I’d slept with four of them.  I really wanted to sleep with Rich, the fifth.  Roger, one of the three, had slept with Jesus, who is straight now with a wife and four kids.  Lisa had been threatened with expulsion because she kept writhing tirades to the school paper. She had a way with words.  Paul was just a loving gentle man.  His girlfriend, now wife, was equally amazing.  He now calls himself a Buddhist.  Emily and Amy both got pregnant before the end of that school year.  Roger, one of the five gay guys was the father of Amy’s child.  They got married, but for the life of me I don’t know how no one explained to them why it was a bad idea.  That’s 11 out of the 13 in the cast.  The two left were and are still ultra conservative Southern Baptists.

It lead to:  Getting baptized on April 12, 1987.  It was my birthday.  I liked that it worked out that way.

I tried to be devout.  I tried to be good.  I even went a month without masturbating because we were taught that was bad.  I’ve been making up for that month for years now.

I went to church for about three more months.

Then I made the mistake of going to a new church after moving to Kansas City for the summer.  I didn’t like what they preached and it was finally clear to me that I wasn’t going to find what I was looking for in church.

I found it three months later.

The church of gay.

I got hired at Bennigan’s as a waiter at the Lenox Mall in Atlanta.  I got the job after sleeping with _________ )for the life of me I can’t remember his name).  His boyfriend worked there and he told me he’d get him to put in a good word for me.  The moral of that story.  Sleeping with married men can be a good thing.

I started there in November of 1987.

I didn’t know it then, but there were only two male front of house employees that were straight.  I was not one of them.  At my friend’s Stacy’s first annual Jewish Christmas Party, I made out with Stacy and went home with Dwayne.  Two things of note here.  Stacy was the first Jewish person I ever met.  I was 22.  She didn’t speak to me for six months for leading her on, but I now count her as one of my oldest and dearest friends.

By the January 1988 I was becoming comfortable with my sexuality.  And in turn I was becoming comfortable with myself.  By the summer of 1988 I was having the time of my life.  I was dating a guy named Matt.  Everyone in Atlanta knew that I was gay.  And I was finding the acceptance and love that I’d never been able to find in college and by default church.

I’ve never been a regular church goer since.  I’ve attended with my mom and dad when I was home.  I attended with my friend Curtis in San Diego.  I haven’t been in a church since I left San Diego.

I’m pretty sure I don’t believe in god.  I have a hard time believing that there is an all powerful being up there that is really concerned with what I’m up to.  I have a hard time getting Adam to be concerned with what I’m up to.  There’s no way the former is true.

I also have a hard time believing that if there was a god there’d be so much suffering in the world.

I have a hard time believing that men of god would be allowed to reek such havoc on the world in the name of Jesus/God if there was a god.

I have a hard time believing that priests would be allowed to molest 10000000’s of children.  If there was a god.

I have a hard time believing that there is a world of gold, and harps and angels singing where I will lie around on clouds forever in the after life.

I have a hard time believing that just because you are not dunked in a wading pool painted blue in front of a whole congregation that you are going to hell.

I believe there are toooo many people already living in hell for there to be a place that is worse.

I don’t believe there would be so much poverty in the world if there was a god.  The catholic church has billions if not trillions of dollars in it’s banks.  If they spent even a small amount of that wealth on the needy think how many people could be helped.

I don’t believe that a book that was written by a bunch of old white men, and then revised by a bunch of old white men, and then revised again by a bunch of old white men, and then revised again by a bunch of old white men is the word of god.

Yeah.  I’m pretty sure there is not a god.

That being said.

I try to live a decent life.

I try not to Lie.  Steal.  Cheat.

I try to be nice to people.

I take the high road whenever I can.

Do I do this perfectly?  Of course not.

I do however, think I come closer than a lot of Christians that are on TV blowing their own trumpets.

I believe what I believe.  I think I have the right to believe what I believe.  I think you have the right to believe whatever you believ.  As long as your beliefs don’t infringe on my rights of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.  If they do then your right to your beliefs end there.  And just for the record my being gay does NOT in any way infringe on your right to your religion.

I hope I haven’t offended you Catrina.  I don’t mean to.  This post started as an email response back to you.  I figured when it was all said and done it would make a better post.  The fact that you are a loyal reader proves that you are not of the mindset of the people I speak of.  Based on the comments you’ve left along the way you seem to be a loving, caring person.  I will however, challenge you to this.  Have your church become the drum beater.  Demand that  your minister to make as much noise as Fred Phelps.  Or Ted Haggard.  Or the Pope.  Wouldn’t it be nice if your church made CNN’s headlines on Friday because of the things they are doing.  Perhaps if enough of us demand that the people fighting the good fight stand up and yell we’ll drown out everyone who gives the rest of us a bad name.

PS.  While doing some research for this post I found this as part of the First Baptist Church of Richmond Kentucky’s Vision Statement.  It was added in 1998.   I know I have a few women who read my posts.  I find it highly offensive.  Give me your opinion.

The husband and wife are of equal worth before God, since both are created in God’s image. The marriage relationship models the way God relates to His people. A husband is to love his wife as Christ loved the church. He has the God-given responsibility to provide for, to protect, and to lead his family. A wife is to submit herself graciously to the servant leadership of her husband even as the church willingly submits to the headship of Christ. She, being in the image of God as is her husband and thus equal to him, has the God-given responsibility to respect her husband and to serve as his helper in managing the household and nurturing the next generation.

Unfriended…yet again!

So my friend Melissa.  The one I posted about just before I took my hiatus.  You know.  THAT ONE!

She finally unfriended me on Facebook.  And blocked me.

Whoops.  I think I pissed her off.

I actually have to admit that I don’t miss her/them/it.  I’m actually calmer on Facebook.

Things finally came to a head about three weeks ago.  I don’t remember what was exactly being discussed preached about but I do know that Melissa’s only other liberal friend Kristen, at least the only one that would engage her, was being called a liar, stupid, an idiot, and lots of other Christian names that I won’t go into.  I only point out the Christian part because it never ceases to amaze me that those who are most vocal about their faith/religion are the least kind, least understanding of any people I’ve ever met.

Anyway, Kristen, the friend was being beaten up on pretty badly so  me being me, and my inability to just let things go, I got out my trusty typewriter and had at them.

I won’t go into what I said, but I think the reason Melissa finally unfriended me is because as a part of my tirade, I finally asked her something I’d been wanting to ask since I first started hearing her rants on healthcare.

Some background:

Melissa has never been in good health.  She was sickly when I knew her and based on her Facebook status updates she still is.  To make matters worse she is disabled and has to have a scooter to get around.  None of this is important…

unless…

you are rallying the troops again Obama and his healthcare plan.

So I asked the question:  You are unemployed.  Your husband is unemployed.  You just moved to a new city without a job.  You are constantly talking about your trips to the doctor and you railed for DAYS about the problems you’ve had with your new motorized chair.  What I would really like to know is who pays for all of this? Who is providing your healthcare?  Who’s footing the bill for this new chair?  Who is it?  No really who is it?

Her response:

I was unfriended and blocked so that I can no longer contact her.

I guess I shouldn’t have asked the question publicly.  But I always say you’ve got to call a spade a spade.  If you are going to preach about the socialist nature of the healthcare bill then you need to pony up and start paying your own way.  Then perhaps your argument will hold some water.

Sleeping 101

I wish my boyfriend was a horrible cook/baker/chef.  Unfortunately he’s not.  Tonight I came home and found vanilla cupcakes frosted in salted caramel butter cream icing.  I’m eating one right now with the homemade vanilla ice cream he made over the weekend. Do you think he’ll still love me when it takes a fork lift to get  me out of the house?

Speaking of being overweight.

November 2005, I spent Thanksgiving with a bunch of  friends from grad school at my friend Angie’s parent’s house.  We all spent the night there.  The next morning everyone HATED me.  Seems my snoring had kept them all awake.

Sorry.

Angie’s mom suggested that I get checked to see if I had sleep apnea.

I did not.

Until last winter.

I trudged off to the sleep disorder place, was hooked up to about 40 wires, told to go to sleep (close to impossible) and then monitored all night.

Seems I have sleep apnea.

About a month ago, I trudged off to the sleep disorder place, was hooked up to about 40 wires, told to go to sleep (even harder than the first time) and was monitored all night.

Last Thursday I got my sleep apnea machine.

Continuous positive airway compression machine.

CPAP.

I strap it on, turn out the light and try to go to sleep.

I’ve figured out the strapping it on part.

I’ve even figured out the turning out the light part.

I still haven’t figured out the sleep part.

I lie there, listening to myself breath, hoping that I’ll fall asleep.  I went to bed last night at 5:00 a.m.  At 8:00 a.m. I finally gave up, took off the mask, turned over and promptly went to sleep.  I know that it’s supposed to help me breath better while I sleep, and get a better night’s rest.  But it seems to me that it’s all a moot point if I DON’T get any sleep.

And to make matters worse.  Adam and I can’t cuddle.  When I crawl in bed next to him I snuggle up next to him.  This lasts about ten minutes and then we both roll over and stay that way the rest of the night.  Since I can’t nudge him awake when I snuggle up to him, he doesn’t turn over and I’m left wondering how I’ve managed to get myself a boyfriend that I can’t cuddle with.

My doctor says I probably wouldn’t need the machine if I lost weight.

So it’s Adam’s fault I need the machine.

There I feel better already.

He’s ALIVE!!!

Sorry I’ve been missing in action lately.  I don’t really have an excuse.  I keep telling myself that I’m going to start again.  And then I don’t.  Over the weekend I said I’d start on Monday because that was the first.  Of course as you can tell it’s the 2nd, actually the 3rd now and I’m just getting around to it.

So here’s the scoop.

I love my boyfriend.  A lot.  And things are good.

I love my apartment.  A lot.

I HATE my job.  A LOT!!!

There hasn’t been any real drama there lately.  Pedro and I come to an unspoken agreement, that he wouldn’t say it again and I wouldn’t make a big deal about it.  So far it seems to be working.

I do have some theater work lined up.  I’m going to Maine in a week to do a show.  I’m going away for the month of July to do three shows in Kentucky.  I’ll be staying with my mom.  God help me.  I have an inquisitive email about a show at the end of July.  A theater I work for in San Diego is bringing a show to NYC for the fringe festival in August.  And I have a slight, very slight chance that I’ll be working on the remounting of a Broadway tour that will go out this fall.  If it all comes to fruition I’ll not be waiting tables much in the next few months.

If it doesn’t I may kill myself.

I have a teaching application out for a job in the midwest.  It’s a long way from NYC but it’s not far from Adam’s family so he says he’s willing to go with me if it were to come my way.  I’m not holding my breath on that one either but I’ve taken the action I must now let go of the results.

My head doctor actually told me I was sane enough to skip the next few visits with him.  After ten years and lots of medication, I must be making progress.

My “real” doctor (sorry Ur-Spo) said I’m fit as a fiddle.  Or I would be if I lost some weight.  Of course my blood work hasn’t come back yet so I’ll keep you posted on that one.

All of our house guests are gone.  There are no more scheduled any time soon.

A week from today will mark the four year anniversary of my blog.  A lot has happened in the last four years.  Some bad.  A LOT good.  (ADAM!!!)  I’m not rich and famous from my blog.  Of course if I blogged more that might not be the case.

I’ve changed the layout again.  What do you people think out there.

Were you even paying attention?

Say hello when you stop by it would be good to hear from you.

Hugs,

Maddog.