Feb. 08, 2015 - 5:59 a.m.

Diverticuliiiiiiiiiiiiiitis

Just a couple of lines here while I have time. I've been running around like Bruce Jenner at a mascara sale the last couple of weeks, what with snowstorms, nursing duties ("...are my nipples sore!" hardeeharhar), litter box maintenance (gotta teach NewWifey(tm) the mysteries of the toilet one of these days) and RedTube. Plus, I'm sick of seeing the stupid Jack Stand Story pop up whenever I click my diary. C'mon already, Danger....

So it turns out that cooking for someone with acute diverticulitis is a lot more work when you're the type of person who INSISTS ON MAKING EVERYTHING THEY EAT FROM SCRATCH. I mean, I even make my own jello. Did you hear that? I make my own jello. Who does that?? For a while I was using the boxed crap, but breathing in all that neon powder was turning my snot, ear wax, and - I imagined - lungs, a cheery shade of raspberry. Artificial raspberry. That's worse. (FWIW, I don't go so far as to make my own gelatin from sheeps' trotters and neat's foot - oxen being scarce this time of year - but I do boil and press various fruit for their juice, then mix it with Knox unflavored gelatin to set up. And no, I don't own a juicer.)

(Quick aside. NewWifey(tm) likes gourmet jello. Ie: jello with mini-marshmallows folded in. I am not making homemade marshmallows. It's not that I can't make homemade marshmallows. I actually do make homemade marshmallows sometimes, and they're very good. It's just that, and this is true, I've run out of room to both make and store them! So I buy the $1.79 bag at WalMart and call it a day. God bless her trailer trash taste buds - she doesn't seem to notice.)

Now the doctor says NewWifey(tm) can start ingesting some semi-solid goo along with her broth and jello bedrock. Basically, she can have baby food, as long as it's not high fiber baby food. "Just go down and buy a few cases of Gerbers" the Doc told us.

Ohhhhhhhhh no. Not for MY baby. If I go so far as to make my own jello, you know I'm not gonna rely on factory extruded baby mush. I've been boiling carrots, skinless green and yellow squash, green beans, and whatever else is on her list and then passing them through either my fine chinoise strainer, or a very VERY fine professional tamis. Or rather, I was up until about two weeks ago. That's when my arm finally got so sore that I broke down and ordered a food strainer attachment for my KitchenAid stand mixer. Now I feed it through that. It still takes a lot of time, but the forearm pump has gone down. And it strains fine enough that NewWifey(tm) hasn't been rushed back to the ER in the middle of the night about to explode. At least, not yet.

What else? Oh yeah - the thrush.

From taking enough antibiotics to kill Ebola, NewWifey(tm) developed thrush. If you're not familiar with thrush, it's basically mushrooms growing in your mouth. I'm not kidding. Look it up.

You know what it means if you've got mushrooms growing in your mouth?

Right. No head.

I've mentioned this in a number of entries now. NewWifey(tm) has two, and only two, responsibilities in our marriage: blow the snow off the driveway, and blow me. And now she can't blow me. Because mushrooms.

Oh! Oh! And she can't blow the driveway either!

Ever since we got back from the hospital, whenever enough flakes have fallen to warrant breaking out the snowblower and unburying the drive she looks out the window, grabs where she imagines her colon is, and moans "Ooooooooo, my diverticuliiiiiiiiiiiiiitis! It's flaring up again! Ooooooooooooo!"

After which I go downstairs, put my boots and hat on, start the snow blower, and do her womens work for her. Again.

You know who the beneficiary of all this is, don't you? Gloria. That cat is in her glory. With NewWifey(tm) now more or less permanently affixed to our recliner, Gloria has a lap available to sleep on 24/7. She also doesn't have to go out to poop, since she knows daddy won't kick her out onto the snowy tundra to do her business, like mommy would when mommy wasn't stricken with diverticuliiiiiiiiiiiiiitis. She just has to hop off her lap bed every couple of hours, trot down the basement stairs, and use her litter box. Which she knows daddy will scoop out every. fucking. night. and put fresh kitty litter in once a week. She doesn't have to lift a paw. Or give me head either. Stupid tiny cat mouth....

Oh yeah! Did I mention I have a Pinterest page? I know, I know. I've said time and time again here that I have no interest in social media sites. I'm not on Facebook, Tumblr, Twitter, Tinder, Mixxxer, LinkedIn, or anything else of that ilk. I don't even have a smart phone or other e-device. But now I'm on Pinterest. Why? Because my local grocery store was giving away a new KitchenAid Artisan stand mixer in a random drawing from people who liked their Pinterest page. It doesn't matter that I already own two KitchenAid stand mixers and my counter will collapse if I get another. We're talking a free Artisan stand mixer, people! So I opened a Pinterest account.

Of course, I did it all wrong. I thought Pinterest was where you posted photos of stuff - YOUR photos of stuff. I had no idea that what you were supposed to do find stuff OTHER people took photos of, steal it, and post THOSE to your wall.

"What are you, an idiot?" NewWifey(tm) said when I showed her my page. (NewWifey(tm) is fantastically tech savvy, especially now that she's got diverticuliiiiiiiiiiiiiitis and has to rely on social media for her social interactions during her convalescence. Her convalescence from diverticuliiiiiiiiiiiiiitis.)

Yes, I'm an idiot. But I'm an idiot with a Pinterest page. Although not for much longer, perhaps. I didn't win the Artisan (go figure), so I may delete my account shortly. If you want to see some of my pretty, mostly foodie, non-stolen pics before I do, they're right here. Don't expect much in the way of wit (just like you don't here), and some of the pics you've seen before in my entries if you've been around long enough. But there is one group I want to point out specifically: the tank cakes! Click on the "Panzer Vor" folder. See those? NewWifey(tm) made them for me. They are EXACT replicas of the tank cakes that the girls ordered at the tank cafe in the anime "Girls und Panzer", which I'm still embarrassingly obsessed with. They were amazing! Right down to the exact number of score lines on the tracks, they were perfect reproductions. And - much as I hated to destroy them - they tasted GREAT. (I just pretended they didn't survive the Battle of the Bulge, and had to be reduced to scrap.)

Ok, NewWifey(tm) will be awake soon and I've gotta get started making jello and fresh stock. Because she's got diverticuliiiiiiiiiiiiiitis, you know. And it's Sunday, so fresh kitty litter time. And I have to block off an hour for quality RedTube time, because no head. Diverticuliiiiiiiiiiiiiitis, you know.

I'll end with a joke I actually told here once before, years ago. But now it's actually somewhat apropos:

My uncle recently had to have his semi-colon removed. Now he has to punctuate into a little rubber bag.

Diverticuliiiiiiiiiiiiiitis!

Ciao, kids.

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ps. Since people still can't leave me - or anyone else - notes, I'm going to take advantage of their inability to bitch at me and make my next entry really offensive. I hope.