'cause it's Friday; you ain't got no job... and you ain't got shit to do.

I purchased 1/7 of what I'm allotted for two weeks. This will last me a month or two, easy.

I started my morning by removing bucketloads of landscape river rock from the front of our home so we can plant milkweed and native plants before winter arrives, because we are all about pollinators here. It's backbreaking work and there is no good way to do it. Also, I can't effectively use a shovel nor carry much weight so everything takes forever. My phone rang at about noon and it was the dispensary. SWEET. I was informed that I could make my first purchase. SWEETER. I quit what I was doing, cleaned up and headed over.

When I arrived, my paperwork was lost and I thought I was going to be asked to leave, because they finally realized that I shouldn't be buying medicinal marijuana. Alarms were going to sound, bars would lower from the ceiling to cover the exits and a red light would start flashing, but then they found the paperwork. I sat down in the lobby with two other consumers, a young woman and an older man. It was the woman's first time purchasing, like me, and of course the man had to share everything he knew about cannabis and, well, how he felt about the world.

Some of Chong's quotes:

"There's a sign on the dark side of the moon that says, Don't go down there. They're crazy."

"I've been taking hydrocodone for seven years. My doctor says I'm addicted to feeling good."

"I can smoke an ounce a day, easy, and I'm talking the dank shit."

"It smells good in here. I used to think it was just my natural odor. Like, sorry officer, that's just how I smell."

At one point the older man asked the receptionist if the dispensary was going to sell to the public at the beginning of the year or if they were only going to continue selling only to us. I wanted to let him know that I wasn't like him in any way, but I was so close to making a purchase that I kept silent. Younger me would've told him to shut up and informed him that he was acting like a stereotypical pothead, but I'm nearly 40 and I really just don't care anymore.

My name was finally called and I went to the backroom where the sales take place. Inside was a large window counter and three desks for three separate sales transactions. I was told all the legal mumbo jumbo and then I was presented with a menu that consisted of a binder that was filled with pages of items available. It was overwhelming. The sales representative went slow, because I really don't know anything about marijuana.

Richard, the sales representative, did a fine job explaining what was what and how it may affect me. I settled on Green Crack (because of the name, duh) a sativa, then a hybrid named Orange Herijuana, and indica joints, Mag Landrace. I also went with a pain cream. Richard told me to experiment, take notes and to go "slow and low." I replied, "that is the tempo." It went over his head or he isn't a Beastie Boys fan and then I remembered to cool it, because I was about to acquire drugs legally, so I better not mess this up. My script was taken to the counter and after a few moments another worker brought up my items up in a little basket. So fancy. Excellent choices, sir. Truly, you have great taste. 

I finished my purchase and returned to my car, smiling the whole time. The smell from my bag of goodies filled the car before I even left the parking lot. My God. When I got home I had to put the product into another jar because the smell was so strong. Have a happy holiday weekend everybody!.. on weed.

UPDATE: While visiting a local business, I saw the young woman who was also at the dispensary for the first time like me. She saw me and before I could say hello she said, “lookey here. Hey, it’s you from earlier.”

"Yup, I thought that was you. So, did you try it yet?" I asked.

"Oh, fuck yeah! I’m high as shit right now," she said giggling.
Awesome.

The Dispensary

I took this photo as undercover as I possibly could.

Yesterday, I gathered enough cash money to get the necessary paperwork required to apply for my medical card. This morning I filled out my paperwork, acquired a passport-sized photo at the drugstore and went to the dispensary, but it was closed and so I had to come back after another session of dry needling.

I've come to find that dry needling is great for about two days and then the tightness in my lower leg and ankle returns. My therapist said we'd try a couple more times before throwing in the towel. I think the therapy is beneficial, but unfortunately my CRPS is ruthless and the sprained, wrapped too tight in ACE bandage ankle pain returns after a few days. I'm happy it hasn't spread elsewhere like some people I've read about. The leg is bad enough.

After my needling session I headed back to the dispensary. The business is located just off an interstate in a rundown looking strip mall where everything is covered in blacktop and concrete. The business is flanked by a fitness gym and, of all things, another nail salon. I'm certain the lot is used by junkies that exit I-80 to purchase heroin. The storefront is covered in vinyl wrap so you can't see inside. I tried opening the door and it was locked, so I pressed a doorbell and waited. Eventually a woman opened the door and brought me into a waiting area just outside the lobby. A wall of marijuana smell hit me. I almost giggled. Tee-hee. I quickly looked into the lobby beyond my temporary glass enclosure and saw about a dozen people sitting in comfortable chairs in a mod-decorated room with a flat screen television on the wall. Not what I imagined from what I saw on the outside. The woman who let me in asked what I wanted, but it felt like she was demanding to know why I had rang the bell. I started feeling like I didn't belong. I said that I was here to get my card, so she asked for my driver's license and then allowed me entry. I felt way out of place, but my wife and I always tell our kid that nobody is ever born knowing how to do everything, so I told myself that and I felt better. Fake it till you make it.

Once inside I was then taken to another room just outside the lobby where all the people were waiting on the cushy IKEA furniture. Inside there was a person sorting school supplies and she told me to pay no attention to her, so I did, because I was nervous and I wanted everything to go smooth and without a hitch...but what was she doing with those supplies? God, it was killing me not knowing. I sat down and another woman, Krystal, entered the room and began typing away at a computer and soon she started asking me questions. At one point she left and I began looking over the area. I noticed surveillance cameras in the rooms. I was being watched and recorded. "Be cool," I told myself. So I started looking over the printed materials on the table in front of where I sat and I found 'Bubba Fett' and I nearly busted out laughing. OMG. I feel as mature as a middle schooler. That's so fucking punny! Bhahahaha! Get it? Instead of Boba, it's Bubba. Ha! Krystal was still gone and I wanted to get a photo to send to my wife, but I kept thinking about Big Brother and HIPPA laws. Should I or shouldn't I? Then I heard one of the patients in the waiting room talking on their smartphone so I covertly snapped a quick photo and put my phone back into my pocket before Krystal returned. I've observed Philip and Elizabeth Jennings spy techniques while watching The Americans. The Jennings may have been great undercover agents, but they have to be the worst television parents of all time. Goddamn KGB.

Krystal returned and took some more information and, of course, more money and then told me that she'd call me tomorrow and then I can come back to purchase. What? That's it? Holy shit balls! I can come back tomorrow and purchase? Answer: YUP. Keep cool, Rob. Breath. She said to allow myself at least an hour so I could get a crash course in selecting cannabis. Looks like we are definitely in business. I'll probably update again soon. Stay tuned.

Dr. Love, Smoking

Nobility (left) and Quail hang on a wall of a room within Dr. Love's office.

I went to a new doctor today near my home. It's so close that my wife dropped me off on her way to work and I walked home. As she drove off I took a deep breath of fresh air before opening the door to the office because I half expected there to be patients smoking in the waiting room, because that's what people do in Ottawa. It's nothing new to me. I was smoking and drinking wine in the womb before my birth, that is according to my mother. She even shared that my brother ate cigarette butts from an ashtray once as a baby. Delicious. It's always been around me and eventually I became a smoker. However, I'm a recovering smoker now and it makes it hard seeing it and smelling it everywhere. Heck, if the habit was benign to my health, odorless and cost nothing, I'd be sucking them down, too. You'd think in 2019 there'd be less smoking, but it's thriving here. It's a Phillip Morris dream. Fuck vaping. That's some weak millennial shit. It's all about burning tobacco and kicking it old school. Mmmm...Turkish domestic blend. I think the town is just behind on the times like the South and I expect to turn down a new alley one day and I'll run into a group of Insane Clown Posse juggalos drinking Faygo, wearing JNCO jeans while covered in face paint. YIKES.

There was a news story I saw last night that informed me that the new Illinois governor is making it illegal to smoke in a car while a child is inside. That'll be a challenge for the citizens in our town, because it smells like an early 2000s bar when within a block radius of the elementary school because moms and dads must hotbox a cigarette on the way to school. Driving or walking. It doesn't matter. I wonder if the teachers still smoke in their break room at the school like they did when I was young?

When I entered the doctor's office I found no one else inside, but a receptionist. She took my I.D. and insurance. I then followed her to a room with the beautiful art (above). Once inside the receptionist asked me if I was here for primary care, medical marijuana or both. I answered C. Then she tore off a sheet of paper towel from the wall (the kind that you can only use a half sheet if needed to reduce waste) and asked for my date of birth and name again which she wrote on the towel. Then, almost empathetically, she tells me I'll need to fill out some paperwork and I'll have to come up with $250 cash. I assure her that I can get the money. Then as if a large amount of endorphins were released by her brain she began grinning from ear to ear.

The receptionist leaves me and I was alone for quite some time. I heard a chronic hack, like a smoker's cough coming from a woman a few rooms away as I waited for Dr. Love. That's right, Dr. Love. Cue the Marvin Gaye music. Let's Get it On. The coughing subsided and a little more time passed and then I swear I heard Lucille Ball in the waiting room. It must've been that lady hacking her brains out. Jesus. Stop smoking, lady.

Suddenly Dr. Love enters. He asks me about my ailments. I tell him about my chronic pain and how it came about. He asks me about my hobbies, which I share. Then he tells me to keep doing them because they are great distractions from the pain. He actually listens and tells me that I'm a candidate for the medical card. He goes in depth at explaining everything. It's refreshing. He tells me that I will probably try a variety of methods when using the drug and it'll take some time to figure out what works best for me. From edibles to drops under my tongue, smoking isn't the only way to take it he tells me, but I imagine that's how the residents of Ottawa consume it.

Before finishing with me I tell him about my neck pain. He says it is stress and he makes me lie down. Easy, Dr. Love. Then he grabs onto my head and starts yanking my head back and forth and then cracks it to the right, then attempts to crack it to the left, but it doesn't give and I'm in agony. He tells me I'm fine, it's fine and that I'll feel better in an hour. I then go to the lobby for my paperwork. 

Apparently, I needed that $250 cash at that moment. So now I'm in the process of completing that. It's like The Legend of Zelda, everyday. Once I collect enough rupees it's off to a new unexplored area on the map for another task to complete so I can hopefully obtain the magical elixir.

Dry Needling

I went with an illustration this time, because the real thing looks boring.

I had my fourth session of dry needling today. Dry needling is supposed to help loosen up my muscles that are constantly tight in my leg and ankle area as well as help with the chronic pain.

While waiting for my therapist I listened in on more old people conversations, because that's really the main clientele at these rehabilitation clinics. One man told the young female receptionist that there's a new nail salon down a couple doors, as if she's unaware of her surroundings, and now she could get a pedicure after work. She said she didn't like having her nails done. He didn't like that answer. Then he asked if the women in her family enjoyed having their nails done. She said yes, but it wasn't her thing. He then proceeded to tell her that when the women in his family start talking about manicures and pedicures he leaves the room. So then, why are you so hung up on nails you creepy old bastard?

Another woman was doing the exercise bike and was asked by her therapist what her pain level was at and she answered a 7. Good grief that's high, I thought. When asked how bad it gets she then answered a 10 out of 10. The therapist, flabbergasted too, asked her to confirm it's the worst pain ever, because that's like GET ME TO THE HOSPITAL OR I'M GOING TO FUCKING DIE pain and the patient said yes, indeed. One time I asked a doctor about having my leg amputated when I was actually in the hospital and I was at a pain level of 7, maybe 8 tops. I was advised that I'd probably suffer from phantom leg syndrome and then all I could think about was Venture Brothers.

Finally, my therapist was free and I began another session of dry needling. The needle looks like an acupuncture needle, which is very thin and a few inches long. The therapist takes the needle and pokes the trigger points over and over instead of leaving it in one place as if my calf is being tenderized and made into Soylent Green. IT'S PEOPLE!!! It feels like electricity that shoots down to the bottom of my foot, even though I'm being needled in the calf. My therapist told me the first day that my trigger points are like spongy phenolic foam used for floral arrangements. She said it was difficult to needle me. I even dulled the needles quickly. I'm so proud.

My therapist tried a new area where she had felt tightness, but I don't feel pain. Afterward, my ankle and the bottom of my foot felt much looser, which is what I've been searching for. I don't want to get too excited, but I'm hoping this was the breakthrough and it will last. At the moment it feels like a Charley horse where the injections, or needling, occurred in my calf. That pain improves after about a day. I'm optimistic because six hours later my foot and ankle are still loose. I have two more planned sessions and if I continue to improve there will be more.

I'm Batman VIDEO

This post has nothing to do with CRPS or the DRG, but it's entertaining.

I had no idea what time it was because we still don’t have a clock in our bedroom. I knew it was early because it was still dark outside. I first heard what sounded like a balloon bouncing off the walls and my brain went straight to a ghost, since our home is haunted. After a few minutes I no longer heard the ghost so I dismissed that theory, kind of, and then I heard our dog walking around which my brain focused on. I forgot all about the balloon sound. Maybe it’s thunder keeping him up? Then I heard our kid telling the dog to go to bed. Soon he meandered into our room and I got up to escort him downstairs so he wouldn’t keep the house up.

I made it downstairs with a little bit of trouble because of a dry needling session I had the day before which left my leg feeling like a noodle (more on that in a later post, hopefully). My best friend and I got to the kitchen and I checked the clock. It was just before 4 a.m. Ugh. I let him outside and he took a piss on the gravel driveway instead of in the yard as usual, which is so weird to me. Then he came back toward the house walking all wonky like a seizure was coming on and I started feeling emotional. Poor guy.

We got back inside and he started looking at me like he needed water in his bowl. As I began filling up his bowl I saw what looked like an apparition floating through the room and I freaked out. I dropped to the floor in an instant. Holy shit! That’s no ghost I thought to myself, IT’S A GODDAMN BAT! OH MY GOD! On the ground I went full on G.I. Joe army crawl as if there was gunfire above, while my dog just stood there watching me, anxiously swallowing as loudly as he possibly could. He was never going to have a seizure. He was trying to tell me about the bat. He’s Lassie.

I found my phone and I typed “bat in house.” First thing I came across said to open a door. Duh. So I did. I also learned to stay close to the walls. I watched the bat as it flew ever so close to the open door over and over only to turn back the way it came. Idiot. I started thinking about The Great Outdoors. John Candy and Dan Aykroyd got geared up for battle while holding weapons consisting of tennis rackets, a broom and a net. Shit, I didn’t even know where a hooded sweatshirt was at that moment and we don’t have any tennis rackets. I remembered the Wiffle Ball bat being packed up for the move with the birthday and Christmas wrapping paper...wait we have a broom! As I got the broom from the closet I heard footsteps coming from upstairs and knowing it was my wife I yelled out, “Don’t come down here! Go back upstairs!” She then entered the room. FOOL! “There’s a mother fuckin’ bat!” I exclaimed. She just stood there just like the dog looking at me. Yeah, right, I’m the crazy one. I wasn't in the mood to assess the situation and question my behavior because the vermin continued it’s air raid from above. (Later, she told me that she thought our dog was dead because of the way I was reacting. Why would your brain even go there? That’s nuts.)

My wife reminded me that our kid has a butterfly net which she then retrieved from the garage. I don’t think we’ve ever caught an actual butterfly with it. Moths yes, but I don’t think the net has ever captured its intended target, let alone a flying mouse that probably has rabies. I didn’t want to get rabies shots like Meredith on The Office. Wait, like me she had her pelvis fractured in that episode...sorry, I got sidetracked. 

After a futile attempt by my wife to catch the bat, I finally put on my big boy pants and entered the Thunderdome, AKA the living room. Besides, I thought to myself, my wife still has a future and I’m already past expiration. I watched, no, I studied the Red Baron’s path. Made notes in my head. It was time to strike back. Now or never. And I took that net and reached for the bogy knowing I had this one shot...and I missed and then missed about five more times, but then on try seventh attempt I netted that fucker. FIST (FUCKING) PUMP! I’m Steve Irwin, bitches! I gleefully yelled out that I caught the beast and that I needed a glove to protect me from its frothing rabies infested mouth, ASAP. I swear I could hear the little bastard trying to chew through the net. Revenge was on its mind. Quickly, I got the bat outside and released it safely and I believe unharmed into the night. It was time to go back to bed. I can’t wait for my next adventure. 

And just as I was finishing up this post my dog was going bananas because someone was at the front door. I called down our nine-year-old to help with the dog, so I could open the door to two Jehovah's Witnesses that asked me if I felt God was responsible for the recent mass shootings. For Chrissakes, really? My dog is going bonkers and my kid is right here. It felt quite inappropriate and I declined to comment, because I'm looking forward to a better adventure. I don't think I'm going to be bored living here, though.

A Brave New World

I really thought Zagnut candy bars were fake. I had only ever saw one in Beetlejuice and I thought it was just a trick by Tim Burton, but I was wrong. Yesterday we purchased one at our new local hardware store. Mind blown. It tastes like a Butterfinger without the chocolate.

UPDATE: During my last post I mentioned that I had turned off the DRG stimulator. I lasted three days and my neck pain didn't improve, but my leg/foot pain kept increasing so I turned it back on. My neck still hurts slightly, but I did use my Magic Wand on it and it helped alleviate much of that pain. (Yes, really, that Magic Wand. During a month-long pain management clinic in 2016, a therapist had me use one on my damaged sciatic nerve. It helped, so I have my own, and it is still pure and untainted.)

"Shouldn't have bought it...IT'S HAUNTED!" yelled a passing motorcyclist at my friends as they were unloading our belongings from a moving truck in front of our new home in the new city. We've been here for a week and there's yet to be a dull moment.

Last week I was able to walk over 25 miles total. I have become obsessed with checking my health statistics on my mobile computer trying to break my records. I'm jazzed, but I think that'll be my pinnacle and it's all downhill from here. Warmer weather, especially hot, humid summer temperatures, make it much easier for me to move compared to the cold which adversely affects my pain tolerance. Another reason I've been able to walk so much is because everything is new and exciting. I don't have any clue what is around the corner until I actually go around the corner. Exploring our new area has provided a great distraction from the pain. 

We are pretty sure that we live in the gayborhood...not that there's anything wrong with that. I've noticed that three of the homes on our block are flying the pride flag. Also, according to one of our two next door single male neighbors, we won't find many kids on this block for our daughter to play with. 

One challenge that we have been forced to confront head-on since the move is technology. Our home has a garbage disposal, dishwasher and the refrigerator even dispenses ice, cubed and crushed, and water. Wow. The three of us gathered near each piece of technology, puzzled, but willing to learn together. Imagine the beginning of 2001: A Space Odyssey during the dawn of man when the hominids find the monolith that appears out of nowhere. I believe there was a lot of screaming and jumping at first, but it's brought us closer together. Hopefully, we will continue to evolve and not be left behind.

I almost forgot to mention we have a DVR again. It's been 11 years since our last and I don't know how we survived. Even though it's probably on 50% of the week already on MTV, I will surely never be without an episode of Ridiculousness ever again. We also receive channels that my daughter never knew existed. Turns out she has an appetite for violence as she seems to really enjoy Looney Tunes and Tom and Jerry. I swear I didn't influence her at all. Her brain is going to melt and I didn't do it this time.

Later today I'll have my initial visit at a new physical therapy location where I'll discuss a new treatment for my pain called dry injections or needling, which sounds like what our fixed dog does to the pillows on our bed. The treatment is similar to acupuncture. From what I understand, I'll have needles inserted into the trigger points located all along my leg. Sounds pleasant for someone who suffers from chronic pain that includes acute pain to the touch. Cheers!

Pain in the Neck

I've had this neck pain that has lasted for nearly seven weeks. I briefly mentioned it in a previous post and I thought it'd get better by now, but it has yet to improve and it's driving me nuts. So much so that I turned off the DRG stimulator yesterday to see if that was somehow affecting my neck. I swear it feels a little better, probably just psychosomatic, but my foot pain has once again increased. However, I think I slept better last night. I'm a teeter-tottering mess. I'll keep the stimulator off a little longer to see what happens.

I've really noticed the neck pain while trying to back out of the driveway at our new homestead. According to the plat map that we received during closing earlier this week, the driveway is 9.8 feet wide with brick on one side and an iron fence on the other. It's damn near impossible for me to get down the drive without destroying my neck as I try not to clip the side mirrors off of the car.

We are fully moving into the new home this weekend. Even though I will probably move boxes over my prescribed weight limit, I do plan to take breaks to bitch and moan about friends/family carrying my stuff like Danny Murphy's character calling Ben Stiller a dipshit in There's Something About Mary. "You already put a fucking nick in my piano!" "Heavy!?! What I wouldn't give to know what heavy feels like, you insensitive prick!"

Speaking of pianos, my wife was looking for a piano recently to fill some space in the house and for our daughter to learn how to play. My wife found online listings for cheap and free pianos. Lots of them, in fact. Turns out it's difficult to give them away. A day later I came across a story in the Washington Post about how nobody wants a piano because it's impossible to get rid of them. I clicked on the story using up one of my free stories you're allotted monthly as a non-subscriber that I've been saving for the impending impeachment stories that, at this point, seem like they are never going to happen. I do have a sneaking suspicion, though, that we are actually living in the Twilight Zone, or at least I am, and in reality I'm probably dead or in a vegetative state where the Cubs never won the World Series and Donald Trump is actually in prison for tax evasion and sexual misconduct, not the Leader of the Free World. 2016 was something, right?

For the past few days since our closing we've been dropping off fragile and oddly shaped items at the house and familiarizing ourselves with the area. To date, we've visited our kid's new school as well as the DMV for updated drivers' licenses. Wednesday night we even brought our dog to check out the house and his new stomping ground, something our daughter felt was necessary for him to get acclimated to his new surroundings. That night we found a bar that allows dogs on their outdoor patio and had some cheap chicken. On the patio we met our first local who was  the proud owner of a young poodle that wouldn't stop trying to hump our elderly dog's face. The owner of Facehump, Matthew, informed us that as a child he grew up in Ottawa and moved away to Chicago when he was older for theater. (Or is it theatre?) In the city he lived in the same building as John Cusack. I guess that is a big deal? Coincidentally, my sister-in-law lived there, too. Matthew asked where we lived and according to him, he's spent plenty of time in our home as a neighborhood kid and divulged that there used to be a dumbwaiter inside. Damn! I wish the dumbwaiter was still there and I could be like Webster going between floors without using the stairs. You know, I think I may look into getting that re-installed and we can nix that Gremlins chairlift idea because I don't want to go crashing out a window. We also learned Matthew enjoys drinking to excess and I'm hoping he forgot about meeting us already. Matthew said his mother lives near our home and we may see her walking Facehump on our block because she takes care of the dog during his benders...I think we may need one of those Ring video doorbells or at least I have to find which box we packed up the bear spray in. ASAP.

Also, outside the bar on the patio, my wife and I listened in on a group of 20-something males who were taking a cigarette/vape break next to our table while they discussed their Pop Warner football draft. In regard to seven and eight-year-old children, here's a little of what we overheard: "We gotta find a way to get him the ball in space." "There's no way he's 98-pounds. He's at least fucking 120, dude." "Here's the thing, it's a draft and you're going to end up with some pussies on the team." These men, I'm guessing, fantasize that they are Jerry Jones, the Crypt Keeper-looking billionaire owner of the Dallas Cowboys. Now, I almost spoke up, not only since it was going too far, but I was tiring of inhaling vaporized caramel pear e-juice and because my kid wanted to collect the $33 dollars for the swear fund (three of which I owed), but Matthew couldn't stop distracting us while he talked to us about dogs and dog etiquette. Meanwhile, his dog CONTINUED TO MOUNT OUR DOG'S FACE!

I'm still anxious and nervous about moving, but this will be a good, no, a great experience when we look back on this move down the road.