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Frank Gumola - Journal | Weblog

It's Oh So Quiet

My Stepfather is home from the hospital, his body couldn't handle the chemo/radiation treatments.

Two of my other brothers are flying home next week to spend some time with him. I just got a week's vacation time approved and I'm thinking of using some of that time within the next week or so to go back home myself.

I spoke with a friend a few days ago and offered my condolences on his Mother's recent passing. He then offered some somewhat soothing words, letting me know how he was coping (his Mother passed from complications with cancer) and how this was all so terrible for us to endure but at the same time it's something that, if we're lucky enough to be around long enough, we know we're going to have to deal with.

I'm not quite ready to deal with it.

I'm getting there.

Waiting Is The Hardest Part


David and I entered the drawing, here's hoping one of us scores a ticket.

Sprout

My nephew is going to be three in August. The last time we were together he looked like this:



Here he is today:


Gah, indeed.

Escape From University Circle

My Mom phoned rather early Friday morning (6am-ish) a hint of agitation and fear in her voice. I calmed her nerves, called my employer, and took a personal day to be with my family.

I've always had the stereotypical fear of hospitals, and the sad state of certain sections of the VA Hospital (a great deal of renovating and remodeling is taking place) makes me want to just break down and cry if I'm inside any longer than a few minutes at a time.

A few talks to the doctor concerning certain pain killers and the effects they seem to be having on my Stepfather's motor skills ("Hi. Should he be drooling like that?") were certainly in order.

I feel as though I'm doing nothing. And it's taking everything I have to do it.

David and I left and I decided I needed to laugh about something, anything. And quickly.

So we stopped at the only place I could think of where I could get a good chuckle at 4pm on a Friday without spending a penny: hello, Marc Norton. If you live in Cleveland, I need to explain nothing. For those of you outside the local television viewing area, or unfamiliar with absolutely insane late night local television commercials; welcome to Marc's world.


David and I both started feeling better immediately upon entering the store. Freakishly larger than life props greeted us around every turn until we were asked if we'd like to meet Marc.
    "YES. I need to meet the man responsible for all of this insanity."
Voila:
(click for full size)

After thanking Marc for his time, David and I continued on our merry way; but not before getting a few gifts from Marc, in t-shirt form.

A much needed escape from reality. Thanks, Marc.

Allegedly

At the time of this writing, and using the search terms 'Brady Quinn gay slur', Google News returns only two results; our local newspaper being one of them.

I for one, don't give a damn. But I can think of someone who does.

I really hope this matter gets some clarification.

David loves the local sports teams. And when I say loves, I mean loves. He doesn't miss a game of any kind whether it be on television, radio, being there in person, or me tuning in to a live stream on the laptop; in spirit, he's always with his team.

Mr. Quinn, I sincerely hope you haven't hurt his spirit.

Otherwise, I'm really going to give a damn.

Deserts, Rain, Etc.

David has gone back to Warren to spend a few days with his family and I couldn't be happier.

Don't get the wrong idea; I miss him terribly. Especially when I'm tossing about in bed wondering where that extra warmth has gone. Miso Kitty is cuddly and all, but she's got some middle of the night commitment issues.

David and I are never apart for very long. He usually leaves for work at about six or seven and I head to my job a few hours later. He's home when I get home from work and this cold snap leaves little desire for either one of us to make plans to leave our warm apartment.

So, for the past few months it's been quite a boring routine: get up for work, return home from work, how was your day, I want to play on the internet/my video game/ohmygod leave me alone for a few hours you sonofabitch.

Of course I've embellished a bit.

I appreciate my alone time. He'll return home on Wednesday evening to a clean apartment, clean laundry (including his cute underwear), a special dinner I've perfected (thanks to cooking it a few times at work), and a nice Valentine's Day surprise.

The surprise, of course, will be ruined if he reads this while he's home. Which I doubt will happen because he's got about a million people to see in four days.

Here's hoping he forgets about the internet during family time.

Lord knows I do.

Reach Out And Cut A Bitch

Count 'em kids. Four, four unsolicited sales calls during dinner this evening.

Let's review how I handled them from mild language to OHNOYOUDIDN'T:
    1.) "Please press one to hear more about this fantastic travel offer." *boop* "Thanks for holding. My name i-". And that's all I heard before reaching for 'Honk Honk' the air horn. Poor thing now needs a hearing aid or surgery on her ear canal.

    2.) "Your car insurance is about to expire! Press one to speak to an operator about renewal!" *boop* "May I have the make and mod-"
    "Hi. Hold please." I then placed the receiver next to the speakers on my laptop. I fired up gay porn. Loudly.

    3.) "May I speak to the lady of the house?"
    "Speaking." *click* *dial tone*

    4.) "Did you know that I can cut your heating costs in half?"
    "Did you know that I can Google this number, find your place of employment, show up wielding an ax and chop off your balls?"
I'm surprised I was able to complete that last sentence before the caller hung up on me. I've been calling that last number back for about a half an hour now, loudly playing the more disturbing scenes from the 'Hostel' movies in the background.

I swear I heard the poor thing quietly sobbing once or twice.

Googled, Again

Sometimes (and I do mean sometimes) having an online presence is a good thing.

A young man I haven't seen in over ten years decided to Google me. Suddenly my schedule for next weekend is cleared, apartments are being scouted (he's thinking of moving to Cleveland), and the travel itinerary has been confirmed.

I'm rather excited about the possibility of having such a good friend around again.

Even if he is currently sporting a Mohawk.