June 30th, 2005 by C.A. Dubois

Okay folks, I’m begging you to help me out here. Below you will find a Petition I created. In an effort to save my laptop keyboard from any further coffee being spit upon it during a hysterical laughter outbreak, I am petitioning Thomas from Heads or Tales to add a disclaimer to his Thursday – Joke of the Day posts. The disclaimer will warn me (and other viewers) not to be drinking while reading Thomas’ Joke of the Day on Thursdays.

You see, I have this routine. When I first get on my laptop I check and then promptly ignore my email. (I answer it later after I am done blogging…. A girl’s gotta have priorities right?) After email ignore, I head out into the blogosphere and check my favorite ‘must see’ blogs.

Heads or Tales is within the first three blogs I check. Because it is one of the first ones I check, I am moving through the blogosphere one handed while sipping my coffee as I read.

That is where I get into trouble. Thomas blogs using ‘theme days’. On Heads or Tales you will find Weekend Re-cap Mondays, Ranting Tuesdays, Erotica Wednesdays, Factoid Fridays and the problem day for me; Joke of the Day Thursdays.

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday I am fine. I don’t spew sticky sweet coffee on my laptop. Thursdays – oh gawds, that is the torture day.

Every Thursday I get to Heads or Tales and I start reading. At the time the punch line of the joke is being delivered, I have a mouth full of luscious coffee. I read the punch line, I start to burst out laughing. This causes me to immediately try and keep the coffee in my mouth. It doesn’t work. Coffee ends up spewed all over my keyboard and screen as I laugh, choke, and cough violently.

Every, Single. Thursday.

Every Thursday I clean up my poor laptop and then post to Thomas. Every Thursday I say the same thing, I DID IT AGAIN. A few Thursday’s ago I begged Thomas for a disclaimer.

This Thursday I posted in Thomas’ comments that I was starting a petition. I told Thomas I’d get people to sign my Petition to show support for Cyli Disclaimers.

Now I’m an easy going type Gal. This Disclaimer doesn’t have to be about only me. I just want to stop the heinous effects of coffee spewage before it’s too late! (My N key and H key are already worn off!)

So if you folks could be so kind; please read my petition below and sign it by leaving your name and link in the comments! Maybe, if enough of us sign it, I can get that disclaimer I so desperately need! Thanks everybody for your support!

Why Not – Right?

We the Undersigned hereby Petition Thomas of the Heads or Tales Blog to begin using a Drinking Hazard Disclaimer on Joke of the Day Thursdays.

While the immediate wording of said disclaimer is still open for consideration, we ask that it includes a phraseology such as, “Do Not Drink While Reading This Post. To do such may be hazardous to your keyboard health.”

Actually, We the Undersigned do not care how the disclaimer is worded, as long as it is there so Cyli stops whining!

Respectfully Requested & Petitioned Via Comment Below,
The Undersigned

June 30th, 2005 by C.A. Dubois

Earlier yesterday evening (Wednesday Evening), I got up from my spot and my pc to try and get some other chores completed. When I left the rec room, David was sleeping fitfully on the couch. His arm hurts like hell, I’m sure; but he is a good patient, he doesn’t complain or whine. Unlike me, he’ll ask for help. He’ll also follow Doctor’s orders to the proverbial “T”. So when I left him sleeping on the couch, I figured he’d be there when I returned.

David wasn’t on the couch when I returned to the rec room. He wasn’t in his room, my room or the bathroom. Doc started to grow nervous, he was going to have everyone begin searching for David, but I knew where David was. After calming Doc down and promising to return post haste if David wasn’t where I suspected, I grabbed two bottles of water, some sandwiches and David’s medication and I went in search of my husband.

I found David right where I knew he’d be; sitting in the middle of the living room floor in the house on the property. The house that daddy gave us. He didn’t turn around when I came in, but his voice alerted me to his deep thoughts. “I knew you’d find me” He exclaimed with a heavy, deep sigh.

His tone, his slumped shoulders, the fact that he wouldn’t turn to look at me told me something was on his mind. It also told me he didn’t expect me to join him. He was waiting for me to scold him and take him back to the barn.

“You pick the best spots for us, you know that?” I confessed. I kept my voice light but sincere as I quickly shut and locked the door to the house. Then I joined David on the floor. There was no mistaking the surprise on David’s face as I plopped down beside him with my mini-picnic in tow. Handing him a bottle of water and his pills, I kept talking. “At least in here we have some privacy. I miss that, the privacy of our house.”

David cocked his head to one side and stared at me. He was amazed and nervous, obviously trying to figure out what I might be up to.

“You miss our house?” he whispered.

I nodded and smiled. “Of course I do, I love our home, I miss it a lot!” I admitted to him.

David started to say something, but thought better of it. Instead he put his pills into his mouth and then handed me the bottle to open. Due to the heavy splint on his forearm, he couldn’t do things such as open bottles. After I gave back the water he swallowed down the pills and sat there quietly.

“I brought your dinner. You’re lucky, I didn’t cook, I just made sandwiches.” I teased. I handed David his sandwich and poured him a glass of milk from the thermos.

David took one look at the sandwich and his mouth fell open, “Peanut butter and pickles; you remembered!” he gasped.

“Dude, that one is hard to forget – its nasteeee!” I groaned. Since I had known David he had eaten the horrid combination. To this day he is the only person I know who eats peanut butter and pickle sandwiches. David chuckled and tore into his sandwich. It really is one of his favorite things to eat! (GROSS)

We ate our impromptu dinner. I moved the coffee table out of our way so we could prop ourselves up against the couch. I retrieved a few pillows from the guest bedroom and managed to help David make his arm as comfortable as possible. Finally David seemed to relax for the first time in ages.

A strange silence settled over us.

“This is nice.” He said awkwardly. I looked at his face and I laughed. It was obvious we didn’t know what to say to each other now that we had some time alone.

“Have we gotten that bad?’ I asked sadly.

“Not bad, just careful” David replied. I had to smile. There were no truer words then the ones he spoke. David turned so he could look me straight in the eye. “I’m sorry.” He pleaded.

I knew he was apologizing for his accident. The idea was preposterous to me and I said as much. “It was an accident sweets. No need to apologize, it wasn’t your fault.”

“I could have been more careful.”

“Or you could have been killed – but neither of those things happened. What did happen was an accident. A normal, everyday type of accident – please don’t apologize its okay! I reached for and found David’s good hand. I think my touch did more to ease his nerves then my words. He forced a weak smile on his lips and nodded, but the squeeze of his hand spoke volumes.

“At least you paid homage to me in a nifty way.” I teased him as I leaned my head on his shoulder. I was referring to the fact that the three laceration scars spelled out Cyl on his forearm.

“Oh Crap, who else could I have paid homage too? Who else do I know who only has three letters in their name?” He joked.

“Doc”

David took one look at me and burst into laughter. He shook his head and put his arm around me. “You’re hopeless woman, god damnit, doc, oh hell!”

 We laughed until a comfortable silence once again embraced us.

For the first time in eons, we sat there cuddled up enjoying the quiet. Okay – for many couples, sitting in silence together would probably kill them, but for David and I, it had always been one of our favorite things to do.

At one point I felt David shift slightly. “Can I ask you a question Cyli?’

‘Sure” I purred. I am just like a cat when I am content. I will use little to no energy and attempt to stay in my position of comfort for as long as possible. I closed my eyes and listened, awaiting David’s question.

“How come you didn’t tell them about our house?” David suddenly asked. I opened my eyes and looked up to him.

“Huh? Tell who?”

“Your blog friends…you didn’t tell them about our house.”

I blinked. Of course I told them (You) about the house. I distinctly recalled writing and posting about the shock of waking up in that home.

“I know you told them about the house when you first saw it. I read your blog, I know what you write. But I’m not talking about that first morning you woke up there. I’m talking about that night we sat up in bed and you told me ‘their’ story.”

Now I understood precisely what David meant when he said I didn’t “tell them about our house”. I shifted nervously. “No,” I began slowly as I sat upright and reached for my water. “I guess I didn’t.”

“Why not? It’s the best part, I think.” David was rubbing my tensing back. “You’re afraid they will think your insane, or worse, lying; aren’t you?”

I turned and raised a skeptical eyebrow to David. “Dude, I have an entire blog devoted to my life as I lived it with Spies R Us agents….and how I got sucked into their world….trust me, if I was worried about people thinking I’m lying…my blog would be empty! I don’t care if people believe me or not.”

David only smirked at me. “So if it’s not fear of disbelief…what is it?”

That my friends, is the key question; what has kept me from sharing the full story of David’s house and how it came to be precisely like the home I always knew deep in my heart, in my dreams? Even as I sat there with David lightly rubbing my back, I started feeling extremely uncomfortable. I didn’t have an answer for his question, at least not one I was willing to admit to yet.

It was time to switch footholds. “Why don’t you write it? You have a blog…”

“No way, Cyli sweet woman. I’m not the writer in the family. Plus I have the screwed up arm. I can barely type now and you want me to write that?” David gently placed his good hand on my thigh. “You have to write it if it is to be shared. Only you can do it.”

“Why only me?” I whined inadvertently. I was losing this battle and I knew it. David knew ‘his version’ of the story. He could tell it, if he wrote it down.

“Cyl, you don’t have to write it. Nobody’s forcing you to. But if it’s to be written, you have to do it, you’ll bring their story alive, and you’ll make them real…” David gently brushed his fingers across my cheek. “I think it’s too good not to be told.” He confessed when I looked away. “And it’s part of our story, in a way…something is missing without it.”

Damn, damn, damn! I hate it when he’s right. It’s the part of our story that shows some of the proverbial ‘demons’ we both had. It sounds insane, it is ludicrous even by weirdo standards, but our home stands as proof that it’s ‘real’ in some way, shape or form.

David didn’t push the issue anymore. Instead he pulled me back to his side and we cuddled until he could barely stay awake. We walked back to the barn and I put him to bed. From that point on I’ve contemplated his request.

So, over the next few days, I’ll be writing and posting that missing part. I may not post as quickly as I should, there is a lot going on here. But for some reason, this is important to David and that’s good enough for me.

Why Not- Right?

June 29th, 2005 by C.A. Dubois

Yessiree folks, it is my lucky day! I got my second, official piece of hatemail! (See here for the first Hate Mail I received. I still adore that hate mail author!! LoL)

In classic Cyli style, you KNOW I simply can’t ignore these luscious emails. It’s my nature, my gift..I have to reply!!!

God I love these….

Is it wrong or am I sick for loving hatemail? Phhhft…hell if I know Lol.

Actually, Hell if I care! Hahahaha

Anyway this one thrilled me to no end. Here goes:

From: g(azzcorn@*****.com)
Reply-To: g(azzcorn@*****.com)
To: “C.A. Dubois” (cylithria@gmail.com)
Date: Jun 29, 2005 10:43 AM
Subject: Hate Mail

Ms. Dubois,

I am writing to inform you that I find your ‘talent’ as a writer to be an abomination. Having read your blog, in its entirety; I find your constant, improper use of grammar, form and style to be sickening. You should consider looking into furthering your education before ever considering the idea of publishing your work.

Your spelling is atrocious. Give it up Ms. Dubois.

Sincerely,
Not A Fan

~~~~~~~~~~

My reply:

Dear Not A Fan,

Thank you so very much for your polite critique of my blog. I can’t argue with you, my grammar, punctuation and form needs work. While your hate mail was succinctly written, I do have one thing I feel needs to be pointed out.

While technically not part of your actual message, your email address caught my eye. It’s Asscorn, NOT azzcorn – YOU DORK!

Sincerely,
Cyli Dubois
(Who at least knows how to spell asscorn when attempting to insult someone!)

~~~~~~~~~~~

Hahahahaha! I love this World Wide Web, it never ceases to provide me with the perfect laugh, just when I need it!

Why Not – Right?

June 29th, 2005 by C.A. Dubois

Because it’s a GREAT idea!!!

Stop on over to the Complimenting Commentors Site and join The Summer of Compliments!

I am starting my 100 compliments today and will keep everyone informed. So look out blogosphere……. tee hee hee

Why Not – Right?

June 29th, 2005 by C.A. Dubois

My Name Engraved On His Arm – Part 1

My Name Engraved On His Arm – Part 2

The hours tick by. I am trying to write. It isn’t working. The surgical waiting room is filled with people today. Most of them, waiting for loved ones having surgeries of a serious to critical nature. They’ll be no elective surgeries in these O.R.’s today. No new boobs, no pretty noses, no liposuctions or other beautification types of surgeries. Today the staff says the waiting room will be filled with families of cancer patients, tumor patients and heart patients.

Did I mention that the staff here tells me anything too? (Within the boundaries of the privacy act, of course.) Jones says I have ‘some kind of way about you’. I believe that is his way of saying, “I don’t get how you can talk to anyone and they open up to you”.

It’s called open honesty and sincerity. People sense it and will be open with you if you’re sincere.

The staff is good here. They’ve earned my respect. Upon our arrival at the E.R. Thursday, and at some point in all of the mayhem, someone on staff got a hold of David’s real name. Questions arose, Jones ended up with Garrison in the hospital admin office explaining things. I’m sure the hospital admin didn’t get the whole truth, but enough had been told and precautions set up to protect the ID of the Secret Agent Man in their midst.

The staff calls me by my assumed name. As best as I can tell, 98% of the staff think I am David Sutterland’s new girlfriend. Perhaps that explains what happened during the long hours of David’s surgery Monday.

I won’t ever forget it.

I was sitting here at the pc, typing up my last post. I had long since given up writing any of my columns. Every attempt at a column I made, sucked major donkey dick. Slowly, one by one Wagner, Doc, James and Jones appeared in the waiting room.

Suddenly, I didn’t feel good. No wait, that’s the wrong phraseology. I felt like I was evaporating. I know it sounds strange, I’ve never felt like I was evaporating before, but I swear on my life, as I sat there typing, it felt like I was evaporating into thin air. The corners of my vision were going black. The way I breathed changed, I felt like I was choking as I struggled to breathe. And my heart; it didn’t hurt. It felt like it was collapsing in on itself.

I ended my last post. I’m not sure where, but I recall typing my tag line; “Why Not – Right?”

I think it was James who noticed me first. But suddenly Doc was slapping my face lightly and calling my name. I answered with a hallow voice, “I’m fine…I’m fine…” Doc didn’t pay any attention to my words. Someone took my pc, Doc and Jones escorted me back past the waiting area. Doc went on automatic pilot as he started assessing me medically.

As quick as the evaporating feeling washed over me, when it started dissipating, it dissipated just as quickly. The entire event took only 3 or four minutes to transpire, if that. I pawned it off as bad sleep, stress and concern for David taking it’s toll on me.

My blood pressure, pulse and other vitals returned to normal. My color came back. Doc decided he was taking me down for something to eat. That’s when Wagner raced into the small nurse lounge we were in.

“Some nurse is looking for Sutterland’s family…they want to take them to the surgical counseling area.” Wagner announced. All thoughts of my own health were gone as I followed Wagner down to the counseling rooms.

A nurse is standing in the hallway waiting for us. Her garb tells me she has come from the O.R. She begins talking before we’re all in the room. “I need to contact Mr. Sutterland’s next of kin.” The nurse identifies herself and I believe she said she was the float nurse? (Is that a technical O.R. term or did I hear wrong, who knows?)

“I’m his wife.” I announce as she looks to Jones for an answer to her request. She turns her professional gaze my way. One look into her eyes and I see her doubt. I don’t mess around, I produce my ID, all of it while quickly reminding her of the security precautions in place. It’s enough for her. She waves to a chair and sits down with me.

“We’ll have to move your husband to the Intensive Cardiac Care Unit, there was some…” She hesitates momentarily. “Some difficulties during the surgery. When David leaves the recovery room he’ll be going up to the ICCU.”

I didn’t have to say a word. Actually, I couldn’t say a word. I think I was frozen as soon as I heard the words “Some difficulties”. In my mind I kept hearing my voice telling me to be strong and remain calm, for the sake of the unit.

Doc stepped in. “What happened?”

“The surgeon is on his way to speak with Mrs. Sutterland. He’ll be able to give you a better explanation.”

“Then why the hell did you bother to talk to us if you’re not going to tell us anything.” Doc snapped. Doc had a point, but it was a moot one. The fact is this nurse had mentioned some problem David had. Doc’s question was a good one, but not the one I needed answers to.

“Define ‘some difficulties’” I said without thinking. Everyone turned to look at me. The nurse’s eyes looked troubled.

“They had closed the site and were preparing to bring him out of the anesthesia when there were…” The door to the room swung open and in walked Doctor Mickey.

“Define ‘some difficulties’.” I stated to him. I stood up to face him. He pulled that stupid blue head cover off his head.

“The surgery went fine. I repaired his severed tendons; the site was being closed when he began experiencing cardiac arrhythmia.”

That didn’t sound ‘bad’ enough to me. While it may be true, I knew it wasn’t the whole truth. “Define some difficulties” I demanded again. Someone put a hand on my shoulder, I shrugged it off.

That’s when the surgeon began to get into detail. It went something like this. “Your husband’s vitals were stable as the anesthesiologist began to bring him out of anesthesia. Blah, blah, blah…his heart rate deteriorated…blah, blah; blah… his blood pressure dropped… blah, blah, blah… his respirations ceased.”

“He coded.” I interrupted the medical summary.

“Yes.”

All hell broke loose at that point. Those men love David and all at once they were shooting questions to the surgeon. I was trying to comprehend what I just heard when Jones asked the stupidest question I have ever heard. “Did he live?”

I don’t know what happened, but that made me snap. I whirled around and spit out the obvious answer. “No, he died. They’re just going to move his dead body up to the ICCU in order to stink up the place.” I yelled sarcastically.

I stormed out of the room and no one followed me. I know, it was a shitty thing to do to Jones. I know people react oddly and ask odd questions during emergencies…I was wrong to jump on Jones as I did. I later apologized for it.

Once outside I found my cigarettes, stepped over near two bushes next to the smoking area, lit a smoke and proceeded to hunch down into a little ball and let whatever happen, happen.

I hate feeling like that. I hate that trembling, nauseating sensation that washes over you when you realize you almost lost someone near and dear to you. I think that feeling is worse then when you actually lose a loved one.

At least when a loved one dies you have to deal with the grief and disbelief of death. When they almost die, you have to deal with the potential grief and disbelief of death as well as the shock and gratitude for their living through it. What a heap of emotions to swoop down on a person. They ought to be outlawed in my opinion.

Even now as I think of myself sitting between two bushes, only because I felt like I was imploding and exploding at the same time; tears form in my eyes and my stomach roils. Fear is a shitty feeling, I’ll say that much!

BUT, David did live through the code. He recovered very well yesterday. They let home come home tonight. So now I am back at the barn. David is sleeping on the couch. He won’t go to his room; he says it’s too cold. He isn’t referring to the temperature, I know that. He wants to be near us. He’s finally asleep now, most of the men are.

So why on earth did I entitle all three parts of this post “My Name Engraved On His Arm”? Because hellfire, it is.

When the glass came down on David’s forearm, it caused three lacerations. The laceration closest to David’s elbow looks just like a C, the next laceration looks like a Y, and the last one is in the shape of an L. I hadn’t noticed it until David was having his dressing changed before he was discharged tonight. In fact none of us had, until David said something.

He looked at me tonight with his lopsided grin. His pale face lit up by his sense of humor. “Most guys get their wives names tattooed. Not me, I get it engraved.”

I’m not sure what creeps me out the most right now. Is it the fact that I almost lost him yesterday, or is it the fact my name is now engraved on his forearm?

I need sleep. Even re-reading these posts I can sense the lack of emotion I have, the proverbial numbness. I can’t help it, I am drained and I know it.

For the past few days I have seriously reconsidered if anything having to do with daddy is worth it. In fact until I sat down tonight to write this last part, I didn’t think it was. But then I looked up from my chair and saw David sleeping.

He’s in a t-shirt and his glow-in-the-dark whale boxer shorts. (Yes, when the lights go out, only the skeletons of the whales glow….wonder what sicko bought him THAT gift lol ~Cyli whistles innocently~) As I watch him sleep I remember why he came here in the first place. I remember why David is in the line of work he is. I remember the man who helped shape David’s career, if not most of David’s life. I remember the man who either intentionally or unintentionally put the cosmos into motion so that David and I would be together. Daddy.

It’ll all be worth it if I can do just one thing, Thank Daddy.

Why Not – Right?