Friday, May 10, 2013


My title is not just a title from some old, cheesy TV show that my parents found beyond hysterical. This was just one of those weeks, where something had to “happen” every day. It was a happenin' kinda week. Yeah. And with all of the hoo-ha, me and my pal, PD or non-PD, THAT is the question, it takes 87 times longer to do any one task and I'm knackered after being on my feet for half an hour.

Here I am, already breaking my promise to poor #ROW80, but I did get nominated for the Liebster Award and it took me a whole day, what with the typee-typee, linky-linky, thanky-thanky, and my own general batshit behavior. Y'know, the kind where you get out of your blogging chair, walk into the kitchen or outdoors and start something else. Slam-bang! There goes 2 whole hours, so maybe it's not quite fair of me to say it took a “whole day.” Whatever. There it is.

No, I had to go to the DMV with proof of my blindness, which is odd, since I don't have a Florida license and I applied for and received my Florida ID card. I had my ID stolen awhile back by one of the fine denizens here on Nebraska Ave., 33605, a crack ho, unsurprisingly. If it had been one of Tampa's socialites... what? Oh, yeah, General Petraeus and his mistress and that socialite are in Tampa... never mind. I wouldn't be surprised if a Fortune 500 heiress here in Tampa stole my ID either. All the weird and con-artist stuff happens here, too. I digress.

Yes, this really happened. Yes, I almost peed my pants laughing. Yes, JC had to pick me up off the floor. I LOVE Florida. 

To get a new picture ID, I had to get a copy of my certified birth certificate. This took forever, because I wasn't born in Florida, but in Michigan. My parents weren't born in the US and since I've taken to tormenting Governor Rick “Sparkles” Scott at every opportunity and starting Moveon.Org petitions, I know he was probably looking for a reason to pull the “birther” nonsense and ship my happy ass back to Scotland to go live free with the other Wallaces. Scott, who has all the charm, charisma and intelligence of a crowbar tried to get rid of all the “non-registered” people and wouldn't allow early voting here (which I started a petition and raised national attention with) and spent oodles of money on, netted exactly one guy. I can't even remember where dude was from. France or Neptune. I dunno.

Meet Governor Rick "Sparkles" Scott-FLA (R). This is as charming as he gets. I suspect it's the lamp that gives him his charm. He'd be charmier, if he were wearing said lamp.

Well, after we went round and round about the ID, because by rights, I should have just been able to get a replacement. Florida (Governor “Beelzebub” Scott) said no. I said the hell with it and went to the Michigan state people and the county I was born in (why I didn't think of this first and finally was able to procure a copy of my certified birth certificate. So, that's done.

Meet Governor "Beelzebub" Rick Scott-Hell (R) without his charm lamp. (Actually the sophisticated program called "Paint" allowed me to bring out his true nature.) I'm sure he'll write me a nasty-gram. We're not on good terms these days.

Wednesday, I was at my own doctor, who was able to pull some strings with my supplemental insurance company, so I can continue to see her. She's a great doctor and I really don't want to start over with someone else. Not with what's coming up with the Parkinson's Foundation Center of Excellence in June, on June 6th, D-Day. I get to be General Eisenhower. I wanted to be Rommel; he's so cool. But he's already taken. So's Omar Bradley. Montgomery is too, and Ewww. So, I can be Ike. Great! I looked at the Facebook page for the USF Parkinson's Center. It looks like a bunch of dancing. I hope we get to do “Gangnam Style!” That would be great. Or the Harlem Shake. Well, I pretty much do that now. Hell, when I walk in the house, it's more of a controlled fall, where I aim for the spot I want to land, and shuffle my feet. Actually, I haven't fallen since that day when I was homeless and I fell behind the washing machine; when I knocked myself out briefly.

My brother-in-law became a colonel in the U.S. 3rd Army and quite a good one, he was such a fan of Rommel. Much to admire here. I would love to have met the man. I would love to drive tanks! Whee!!!

I came to just as the Pimp and the Drug Dealer were rushing around, trying to get me a chair and pick me up, as I was bleeding from the head, and screaming for 911, as Ray stood there, like a rock, watching. I looked him in the eye. Two killers. Me, should the need arise and he, because. I made him blink first.

That's been almost 2 years now, so I'm not really afraid of falling anymore. I'm a lot stronger now. It's mostly the eyes; 2 of everything and I'm done with trying to pick which one is the right one, so I settle for “general direction of,” and go for it in the house. I'm much more disciplined outside of the house; plus I have a cane. Pretty secretive about it, too. You cannot show weakness; in some ways, it's like never having left 7th grade. I'm really good at playing “Statues.” I get to my bus stop and just stand there, like a still life. After a while, other people forget I'm there, then I start hearing the trash talk.

Yesterday, some girl came up and was trying to buy drugs from this guy, who was already wrapped way too tight. One young lady was leaving her shift from Checkers to go home and was ignoring him. He'd been trying to get me to sit down, but I never sit at the bus stops. He keeps jabbering at me; so my selective deafness kicks in. When this other woman shows up and tries to buy from him, he freaks out and starts waving his ID around.

Here's a new tactic to avoid arrest? Show everyone your ID? Soz, if the Po-Po do come looking for you, and talk to people, some tapioca-head like me(?) will say, “nah, couldn't be him. He's honest as the day is long. I saw his ID and the other 112 IDs he was sporting, so he's good!” Another WTF moment on Nebraska Ave., 33605. The bus finally arrives.

I'm just going after some of my new prescriptions, after my Dermatologist's appointment, which was a howl. Turns out the lip cancer, which was extensive was not as bad as we first feared. The doctor is a gem and I'm glad I found him. He walked into the office, looking like some kind of hippy, or one of the denizens of Nebraska Avenue. Shapeless pants, colorful shirt, faded; washed many times. I'm glad he's not in Hair and Beauty; seriously, that's the worst dye job ever, but he's affable. He looked me up and down. It was our first meeting. As he was checking out my hands, he noticed the braces. “Carpal tunnel?” “For the left.” He noticed my right hand, looked at my knuckles; 2 of which had sustained crushing injuries.

If you can get past the whole French Queen nonsense, the story has a good deal of truth, although, Sir William died with no issue. They did get the ranginess and color of that branch of Wallaces correct. The line is carried down from a second son (not mentioned in the movie) and the family eventually reunited and went back to crofting (farming.) The larger mystery is this: "Wallace" is old welsh for "foreign" or "alien," although the Wallaces were pretty established in 1297. This means they were not from any waves of Viking invasion, nor were they Picts. Best guess? Eastern Europe (Wallachians) or Ukraine or possibly around the Black Sea. The Scythians did garrison Hadrian's Wall. Like I said, best guess, or WAG.

What happened here?” I sigh, “Fighting.” He said, “Well, you're here, so I presume you killed the other guy.” I laughed. Wallaces are like that; we don't take kindly to being agressed upon. We agress back and then some, so that said aggressor will think before repeating. Anyway, the doctor is outstanding, checked over my skin, took care of the little tumor on my lip, some barnacles on my arms and head and sent me on my way. I was so glad to get home after that, and the pharmacy. JC, dear JC had made up my side of the bed, so I could sleep for a while. I was exhausted.

A note about Parkinson's Disease and an important one: at my own doctor's office, it was discovered for the first time, that I have a higher than normal (actually VERY high amounts of antigens (unspecified) in my blood) which have never been present prior to my psychotic break. This is consistent with Parkinson's Disease as being described sometimes as an autoimmune disorder and would also explain higher rates of breast cancers, and possibly skin cancers. I, being fair, redheaded and blue-eyed have had dealings with skin cancer all of my life. Parkinson's Disease is also considered a psychological as well as a neuromuscular disease, so it wears many hats and is one of the reasons it is so very difficult to diagnose and treat. My own primary doctor pointed out the Allergen-PD link to me on the very same day that Penny Adams over at P.A.N.D.A. wrote about it. YumaBev over at is facing her own battle with breast cancer, which can also be seen as an opportunistic disease. Due to our lowered immunities, we're all dealing with strange conditions and illnesses. What I thought was my 87th bout of pneumonia, may be no more than a very severe reaction to... something undetermined. Stay tuned. Sunday Check in coming up! And This Was the Week That Was.

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