G.H.E.Y. IN. H.D.

"God Hates Euroranger, Yes INdeed He Does"

  • April 2012
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Dear Diary…

Posted by Euroranger on April 17, 2012


My pre-Vegas prayer

I'd just wished I'd happened across this image BEFORE I went to Las Vegas...

So, I have waited to accumulate enough of recent happenings to fill out a decent sized blog post.  I won’t be going on about Treyvon Martin or Zimmerman or Iran being perpetual douches or the Secret Service banging Colombian whores or how Obama might try and spin that as “the Secret Service created/supported 15 new jobs”.  No, I figure I’ll just toss out the latest items in the life of Euroranger because, I know you guys hang on my every word like that.  Prepare to be riveted!

Item 1: Starting about 3 weeks back, I applied for a life insurance policy.  Don’t know what in particular prompted it but I’m thinking it was the amount of time we spent with Mrs. Ranger’s uncle and aunt in Las Vegas a little over a month back that finally pushed me over the line.  I made passing mention of it here somewhere but my wife’s uncle (who is a year younger than me) has been diagnosed with Stage 4 adenocarcinoma and is actually classified as “terminal”.  He’s cashed out his life insurance policy, has the family fairly well set up and he’s now kinda sorta doing a “bucket list”.  Las Vegas was on that list and when I mentioned many moons back that I was taking the lovely and talented Mrs. Ranger to Vegas for her milestone birthday, he announced they’d be attending.  Turned out, my mother in law and her husband, my brother in law and his baby mama (God in heaven I fucking can’t believe I just used that term) and a couple more couples from our neck of the woods ended up going.  We had a blast and…well…I have no idea how that inspired me to thinking about life insurance.  Anyway, that process has gone mostly smoothly and the phlebotomist came by this morning bright and early to my house to lance me and take the drippings.  I now have a new hole in my arm.  Oddly this was the second time in a week I’d been lanced thusly because…

Item 2: …I now have a new physician.  While this news isn’t of particular import (switching doctors) I did so this time because, while I was in Vegas, I had yet another gall stone/gall bladder attack (this would be my third).  In the midst of the 4-5 hours of feeling like someone had run me through with the world’s largest steak knife, I pledged that “by God, that’s enough” (edited to remove the copious, newly invented profanity I was producing in truly heroic amounts at the time).  I said that as soon as I got home I’d start the process for getting rid of the damn thing if it was going to do this to me.  Anyway, I had my first appointment with the new doc last Wednesday and they too have a fondness for leeching or blood gathering and whatnot.  Anyway, they took an amount and got back with me to tell me that a previous blood glucose level that was high (I had my annual physical with the previous doc back in…December I think it was) was now not high and that a pesky liver enzyme (that had come back also as out of range high) was now back in range.  I now believe my gall bladder, liver and pancreas are plotting against me and simply didn’t suspect a second check of their activities so soon after the previous one.  And I have a second new hole in my arm.  Anyhow, I also went back on Thursday of last week…

Item 3: …for an ultrasound.  Because I had described the experiences of my recent gall bladder episode in such glowing and exquisite detail, the new doc thought it prudent that I should undergo an ultrasound to ascertain my bile organ’s villainy.  He also felt the need, for some unknown reason, to assign Nurse Jackhammer to this task.  Nurse Jackhammer is clearly from the “no pain, NO PAIN?!?!” School of Spanish Inquisitorial Medicine as she sought to remedy the clearly mistaken notion that an ultrasound is a non-invasive procedure.  In addition to her somewhat unsurprising discovery of my gall bladder secretly producing two more stones for my future surprise “ago-nastics” routine I was also gifted with a series of bruised ribs, a well kneaded liver and possibly a punctured diaphragm…and a referral to a surgeon for preparations to have this offending piece of bilious tortuous gristle removed (as an example to my other internal organs as to what’ll happen to them if they don’t shape the fuck up).  So, I have to complain that Nurse Jackhammer hurt me…

Swingset

Our swingset wasn't quite this gold standard of bastardry but it still needed to go all the same.

Item 4: …but not nearly as bad as the kids’ backyard swingset.  Pursuant to my foolishly unguarded stated desire to be rid of the wooden monstrosity from my back 40, my ever so attentive wife arranged to give the structure away to some unsuspecting strangers.  In the future I will need to exercise studious care in my expressions as my version of “be rid of” involved visions of chainsaws and vigorously burning wood or pretty much anything that resulted in the swingset’s demise that did not also involve excessive physical effort on my part.  The lovely and eternally talented Mrs. Ranger however felt that the edifice deserved another good home and astonishingly, even after having to come see it themselves before agreeing to beforehand, some other couple from the next county over agreed to come remove it.  They showed up Saturday afternoon to, nimble as you please, pluck the offending recreational device from my yard and whisk it onto a rental truck they brought especial for the occasion.  They’re also Jewish and Israeli so I discovered that the words “nimble”, “pluck” and “whisk” either aren’t in the Hebrew dictionary or, if they are, they are used only in a sarcastic manner.  Describing the removal of the behemoth as “physically taxing” is like describing the Great Flood as a “couple of sprinkles”.  Nurse Jackhammer would have heartily approved in any case.  As is my habit with much of humanity to whom I generously ascribe the basic IQ levels you would take to be common amongst steaming piles of dog crap, I assumed that had the people actually come to see this thing first they might have considered measuring it to…oh, I don’t know…see if it fit on their truck.  I am frequently disappointed with much of humanity however and no such foresight was exercised.  That these folks are Israelis REALLY doesn’t speak well about Palestinians who find they are consistently outwitted by these Colossi of Planning and Execution.  Anyway, in addition to 2 new holes in my arm and a series of abused and indignant ribs I am now also the proud owner of a virtual insurrection amongst most of the musculature along my back left side as well as a right elbow (coincidentally the same site chosen for the exsanguination merriments) who, I believe would very much like to call 911 to press charges against me for assault and battery.  The swingset did indeed make it onto the truck but I am also now without a side gate and accompanying fence panel.  This would be the same gate and fence panel my dumb-as-a-sack-of-hammers Golden Retriever has been diligently excavating for the past 5 or so years…surely in far-sighted anticipation that I would one day like to move something the size of the Titanic out of my backyard but lacked the requisite iceberg to make it happen.  I wonder if he realizes that digging down just another few inches would also qualify his proud archaeological “piece de resistance” as a “shallow grave”.  He is undoubtedly incredibly fortunate that should my hand even likely approach a shovel my entire central nervous system would likely implode just from the anticipation.

Item 5: Mrs. Ranger broke her wedding/engagement band.  This has actually happened before and we have actually had it repaired before.  She hadn’t actually selected a weekend like “pay-the-government-every-single-penny-you-have-left” weekend on which to announce the destruction of the physical manifestation of our vows love and eternal devotion…that is until now.  We are now awaiting the return of said ring set from the jeweler and my wallet has already suffered a grievous although not-lucky-enough-to-actually-be-fatal wound.  As a pleasant aside, the nice lady who took the ring advised Mrs. Ranger that her band combo has, apparently, skyrocketed in value since last we discussed it’s possible replacement price.  This lady gave her reason to believe that the ring set that we had, once upon a time, been told was worth somewhere around $2500 was now dancing somewhere in the neighborhood of $12K – $13K.  This naturally necessitates a new appraisal for which we will need to advise our homeowners insurance so that we are adequately covered should the Mrs. actually lose this small fortune from her finger.  It would be rude not to give State Farm a chance to prepare an adequately worded rejection of our claim in advance, you know.  Anyway, I mention this because some of you too might find that your jewelry has appreciated in value (mostly due to the ridiculous prices for precious metals these days) and you may wish to consider having them re-appraised for that reason.  Lord knows, the only reason the pantheon of hateful Gods has deigned to let me know of this change in value is likely so I cry all the harder when my lovely wife manages to lose it in the next few months.

Anyway, that and playoff hockey started this past week.  I may have mentioned it before but if I hadn’t: playoff hockey is, by far, the best and most entertaining sports available on television for your viewing enjoyment.  You don’t have to like hockey, know how to spell hockey or even ever having witnessed iced in its natural habitat (outside of a highball glass) to enjoy playoff hockey.  It’s that good.

My name is Euroranger and I approved this message.

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