Why I love “nap movies” and other meaningless baloney.

In this post: Kvetch report, diabetes, teeny tacos, Amber Lyn Chocolates.

Hey! Congratulations to me! I’ve pretty much been asleep ALL DAY TODAY with exception of lunch in the family room with Sam and two short trips to the bathroom. I don’t know what the hell’s going on, but it might have something to do with the fact that the only time I’m not in pain right now — due to arthritis, plantar fasciitis and diabetic peripheral neuropathy — is when I’m LYING DOWN. Not a very productive lifestyle, unfortunately, but it seems to be making a difference because I felt better when I woke up from my third nap about half an hour ago. I’m just saying.

Waiting for UPS is usually the highlight of my day.

In this post: Kvetch report, an Amazon innovation, the Howdygram’s niche.

In case you’re wondering what the hell I did all weekend, the answer is VERY LITTLE with the exception of sleeping, reclining and limping. My plantar fasciitis has flared up again and the only time I’m not in agony is if I’m lying down. I didn’t spend any time in the study writing Howdygram posts because there’s no bed in here. Thank you in advance for understanding.

I use a cane for balance and walk with a gait like Godzilla.

In this post: Kvetch report, storm forecast.

That pitiful sound you hear in the background is my screaming knees. This has been a productive yet physically challenging day for Queen Kvetch of Howdygramland, involving two loads of laundry, ironing, pantry reorganization and stacking the dishwasher, an activity that I hate almost as much as emptying the damn thing. In case you’re new around here, I am a mostly-friendly senior citizen with MOBILITY ISSUES. A lot of them. These include arthritic knees, plantar fasciitis in both feet, muscle weakness in my lower back and legs, diabetic peripheral neuropathy (nerve damage in my limbs) and autonomic neuropathy that makes me lightheaded and short of breath. I use a cane for balance, walk with a gait like Godzilla and usually can’t stand for more than five minutes at a time. Holy crap, right?

Slippers from FootSmart are recommended for “feet with issues.”

In this post: Happy feet, new connections.

Take a guess what’s new today at Howdygram headquarters. Give up? SLIPPERS! I usually shlep around here year-round in my bare feet but a FootSmart catalog that came in today’s mail convinced me to take a closer look at the cuties pictured below. They’re recommended for “feet with issues” — i.e., plantar fasciitis, swelling and diabetic neuropathy — and made of squishy microfiber terry with REAL MEMORY FOAM FOOTBEDS and have traction soles in case I decide tap dance outside on the snow and ice. Even better, they only cost $24.99, come in huge sizes (I’m a 12 wide) and I ordered them in black. (I order everything in black.)

People are so quick to assume you’re intoxicated just because you tip over.

If it’s not one thing, it’s another. My plantar fasciitis is almost gone (thank God), but now I’m back to an assortment of other peripheral neuropathy issues, such as: 1) burning hot hands and feet, especially late at night (i.e., right now); 2) finger spasms on my left hand; and 3) I get dizzy every time I stand up.

That last item only poses a problem if I’m out in public. People are so quick to assume you’re intoxicated just because you tip over.

The time right now is 2:30 a.m. and I can’t sleep. I tried. My hands and feet feel like they’re on fire (see item one, first paragraph) so I’m having a snack break with a low-carb chocolate bar and a tall Marcytini with extra ice. As soon as the chocolate’s gone and my feet cool off I’ll go back to bed. I wouldn’t want Sam to get lonely.

Here’s a cute video clip for your possible interest. It’s a scene from the movie Deep in My Heart (1954), the biography of composer/songwriter Sigmund Romberg. I actually mentioned this movie in a post back on July 11 but didn’t run across the video until just a few hours ago. It’s José Ferrer (as Romberg) and opera star Helen Traubel singing and dancing to a cute number called “Leg of Mutton Rag.” I apologize if the melody gets stuck in your head. That’s life, folks.

I think I’ll try heading back to bed now. Thank you for putting up with me.

Gene Kelly had a brother named Fred.

I don’t want to knock on wood or anything, but … my miserable feet are a little better tonight. This is the first time in more than two weeks that I can walk through the house without bitching or crying, and I almost feel good enough to make biscuits! To speed my recovery I just ordered a couple of wonder products from Amazon to help with pain management: 1) a Thera-Band Foot Roller (it stretches the plantar fascia); and 2) a jar of Topricin Cream, which is highly recommended for pain from nerve damage, neuropathy, fibromyalgia, plantar fasciitis and general crappiness. I initially found both of these products on FootSmart.com but thought they were a seriously overpriced. Amazon, as usual, saved me a FORTUNE.

In case you’re interested, the National Library of Medicine offers the following definition for plantar fasciitis:

Inflammation of the thick tissue, known as the plantar fascia, on the bottom of the foot. The plantar fascia connects the heel bone to the toes and creates the arch of the foot. This condition is so painful you want to kill people.

That last sentence is mine. (As if you couldn’t guess, right?)

So ... let’s all hold a good thought for my new Thera-Band thing and that jar of Topricin Cream. I can’t wait to start tap dancing again! (Actually, I’d be happy just to walk across a room without swearing.)

I think I’ll take a nice shower now, eat some chia seed pudding and watch TV for a while. I started a semi-drippy musical earlier tonight called Deep in My Heart (1954), a biopic about composer Sigmund Romberg starring José Ferrer and Merle Oberson. The movie is actually pretty dull except for the songs by Helen Traubel (remember Mrs. Wellenmellon from that hilarious Jerry Lewis movie?) and Gene Kelly dancing to “Swimmin’ with Women” with his brother Fred. I didn’t know he had a brother named Fred. Did you?

 That’s about it for tonight, people. Thank you for reading this.

Haitian fashion, busted olives and Wednesday night comedies.

I must be schizophrenic. I love AT&T again but now I hate Wal-Mart. Try to put up with me while I explain. Thank you.

WHY I LOVE AT&T. A multi-talented AT&T indoor repair dude named Robert showed up today — on time! and wearing a hat! — to fix the problems with our fiber optic TV, Internet and home phone service. Turns out it wasn’t the modem/router at all … it was an outdated coaxial connection that had to be upgraded to a high-speed telephone line. I observed from a comfortable chair with a box of TicTacs while Robert ran up and down to the attic, dismantled and moved five tons of furniture in our study (no small feat, believe me) to access the phone jack, replaced and spliced a bunch of wires, moved all the furniture back into place and reprogrammed our U-Verse equipment. He also found a missing pencil that was hiding between my desk and a cabinet. It was like a miracle!

WHY I HATE WAL-MART. Wal-Mart’s shipping geniuses did it again. The big delivery I was expecting today via FedEx was cancelled and sent back to the warehouse due to (according to FedEx’s website) “damage in transit.” In other words, MY OLIVES GOT BUSTED AGAIN. Three beautiful jars of Mezzetta super-colossal Spanish queen olives. This is the same damn thing that happened in the middle of June! Now everything’s all screwy and I’ll end up on the phone for an hour with customer service tomorrow trying to get them to reship my order WITH FIVE POUNDS OF BUBBLE WRAP. I don’t understand why Wal-Mart has such a hard time with this. Holy crap.

While I’m on the subject, this afternoon I got into some obsessive/compulsive horseshit and decided to find and replace (manually!) every instance of “Walmart” with “Wal-Mart” in all of my Howdygram posts. Although I frequently see the name spelled both ways in the news and in ads — even on Wal-Mart’s own website — apparently “Wal-Mart” (with the hyphen) is their legal corporate name. So the Howdygram is now correct and legal, Wal-Mart-wise.

For the record, the word “Walmart” appeared in more than 173 different posts since December 2009. I seriously considered blowing my brains out after changing the first 50.

My plantar fasciitis is spreading. As of yesterday I’ve got it in BOTH FEET, which makes it practically impossible even to walk around the house. I’m a mess, people. This is maybe the worst form of diabetic neuropathy because it’s excruciatingly painful and you don’t want to wear shoes, make biscuits or do laundry! Sam, as always, is being Mr. Wonderful, but he’s gone at least 10 hours a day and I’m on my own to whine alone at Howdygram headquarters.

For my final thought of the day, here’s the latest in Haitian fashion courtesy of Jezebel.com. Apparently a couple of amused photojournalists turned in the following portraits of ordinary Haitians who don’t speak or read English wearing insane and inappropriate tee shirts. I love this, mostly because it makes me stop thinking about my feet for a few minutes.

Sam won’t be home until 4 a.m. so I think I’ll rummage around for food and watch a few old movies. On tonight’s agenda are a couple of comedies: 1) The Teahouse of the August Moon (1956) starring Glenn Ford and Marlon Brando; and 2) an idiotic surfer thing called For Those Who Think Young (1964) starring James Darren, Paul Lynde and Pamela Tiffin. You know it’s a stinkeroo when the official tagline is: “You have to think young to feel real sprung!”

Thank you for reading this.

It’s almost midnight and I’ve run out of productive activities.

Anybody notice the handsome new longhorn steer in the Howdygram’s banner? I haven’t named him yet but I’m considering “Alamoo.” Feel free to share your own brainstorm or make a suggestion, okay?

I’m pleased to report that I’ve had an evening of productive activities that included: 1) injecting insulin; 2) making, admiring and eating low-carb biscuits; 3) watching “People’s Court,” “Hardcore Pawn” and The Goodbye Girl starring Richard Dreyfuss and Marsha Mason; and 4) filing my nails. It’s almost midnight and I’ve run out of productive activities, so I’ve decided to horse around with the Howdygram until I’m ready for bed. Is this your lucky day, or what?

Sam is working late again tonight, maybe 4 or 4:30 a.m., so I don’t really expect to see him until sometime tomorrow morning. I sure hope I have an easier time sleeping tonight than I did last night with all that damn joint pain and plantar fasciitis crap going on. I’m not feeling much better tonight, to tell you the truth, but I’ll bet I’m tired enough to ignore it.

Thank you for reading this.

World-class whining. Deal with it.

Know what? It occurs to me that I haven’t indulged in any world-class whining for quite a spell, and I might be overdue. So get comfortable.

The crap du jour is severe joint pain. The key word here is “severe,” because I’m arthritic and experience joint pain to some degree practically all the time, especially in my knees. Unfortunately, I’m convinced now that the culprit is CHIA SEEDS, because the same damn thing happens whenever I start consuming more than a quarter-cup a day on consecutive days. I was under the impression, from reading everything available on the Internet, that one of chia seeds’ many health benefits is their effect as an anti-inflammatory ... except MY reaction is the exact opposite! (Welcome to my world.)

So ... even though I was convinced that chias seeds were my new best friends, I guess I’ll have to cut back to that quarter-cup maximum and probably limit myself to three times a week. The alternative is really too painful to think about. My knees are so awful today that I don’t even want to stand up, and my hands feel like crap, too. Plus my right elbow. And don’t forget ... I’m still walking like the Hunchback of Notre Dame from a plantar fasciitis flare-up in my right heel. This alone would be enough to terrify an entire neighborhood, so I’ll just stay inside with “People’s Court” and pickles & biscuits.

End of whining. Gracias and smooches for putting up with me.

In other news, we’ve got a handyman horsing around in the master bedroom replacing our cracked bay window, Sam is barely conscious after getting home from work this morning at 6 a.m. (holy crap) and I think I might shlep my bones into the kitchen to bake a loaf of low-carb bread so I’ll have something wonderful to eat today. Thanks for stopping by and don’t forget to floss, okay?

To cheer myself up I stayed home and ate Beanit Butter and Slim Jims.

Inquiring minds want to know … how did you celebrate St. Patrick’s Day? The Howdygram hosted its annual ritual, which included: 1) a brand new bar of Irish Spring in the shower; and 2) watching The Quiet Man on TCM. This was the extent of our observance owing to the fact that we’re Jewish and don’t really give a crap.

As I write this post Sam is unconscious in the family room with The Prisoner of Zenda on TV. Actually, it’s the silent version from 1922 starring Lewis Stone and a bunch of people I’ve never heard of except for Ramon Novarro in the role of Rupert. Personally, I prefer the 1937 version with Ronald Colman, Douglas Fairbanks, Jr. and David Niven.

I’m seriously hoping I can get some sleep tonight. And in bed for a change. Last night I mostly slept on the chaise in the family room because I had neuropathy pain in both feet and couldn’t get comfortable under a blanket. Technically, though, I’ve got a double whammy going on with electric shocks on the sides and tops of my feet plus plantar fasciitis in both heels, so when Sam asked if I wanted to go for a nice drive yesterday afternoon I had to turn him down because I didn’t want to wear shoes!

To cheer myself up I stayed home and ate Beanit Butter and Slim Jims. Holy crap... IT WORKED! Thank you for reading this.

Plantar fasciitis is an affliction from the pit of hell.

Sam is on the way to buy himself a couple of doughnuts, leaving me behind at Howdygram headquarters to recover from yet another low blood sugar incident and wax poetic about last night’s unforgettable dinner. I had a craving that ultimately manifested itself as a pile of homemade CarbQuik biscuits, raw onion and the cheapest dill pickle chips money can buy. It was a feast from heaven that clearly didn’t deliver enough carbs to balance the insulin I injected at dinnertime, because I woke up this morning with a reading of 52, which is at least 30 points too low.

The memory of biscuits and pickles will linger forever, though. I think I’ve discovered a new favorite meal!

On our agenda today is a nice drive in the country with lunch at the China House Buffet in Sulphur Springs. I’m having a major neuropathy flare-up in my left heel — plantar fasciitis is an affliction from the pit of hell — so there are very few options for frivolity right now. Sitting on my ass in the car for an hour followed by unlimited Chinese food seems to be the recommended therapy. I, for one, can’t wait.

It wasn’t my plan to write an entire post about eating things so I’ll end with a portrait of Benedict XVI, a retiree with hilarious hats who just announced he’s too pooped to Pope.

I’m thinking his replacement should be somebody a lot younger with more energy and crowd appeal. Maybe Johnny Depp or PeeWee Herman.

Thank you for reading this.

The thrill of victory, the agony of the feet.

So tonight I decided to bite the proverbial bullet and go to Tom Thumb for a pile of groceries ... the hell with my arthritic knees and the pain of plantar fasciitis. I actually started out pretty well, maneuvering up and down the first few aisles without crying and even struck up a brief conversation with a stock clerk at the dairy case about why is lowfat cottage cheese only available in small curd. (She didn’t know. None of them ever know. I’ve been asking for YEARS.)

Unfortunately, by the time I get to canned soup I’m in serious agony. I can’t bend my knees, my heels feel like I’m walking on red-hot spikes and the expression on my face is beginning to scare other customers. I try to finish up the rest of my shopping as fast as I can, but at this point my gait resembles something from Young Frankenstein and I think I’m starting to moan audibly. I finally make it to the front of the store when a passing manager casually says, “Hi! How you are tonight?” so I screech back, “I’M IN PAIN!” ... which must have been mighty convincing because he opened a checkstand just for me and asked two baggers to escort me to my car.

There’s a plus side to all this, however. I bought a new flavor of sugar-free Jello Mousse Pudding, a large container of Sam’s favorite broccoli salad from the deli and ingredients to make a pot of matzo ball soup. Shalom to all of you and have a lovely weekend. I’ll be stretched out on the couch with a bottle of Motrin.

All about pain and obsession.

Just so you know, I’ve practically been a shut-in for the last couple of weeks. My plantar fasciitis is driving me crazy again, this time just in my right heel. The pain is overwhelming (like I’m walking on broken glass) but it’s still better than the flare-up about a year ago when BOTH heels were so bad I couldn’t even stand. That’s when my doctor recommended SAS corrective shoes designed for this condition, and I haven’t worn anything else since. They look terrific with my cane.

Since I never go out any more I’ve had time to hang around the house and become obsessed with Johnny Mercer, the well-known American songwriter. Please don’t ask me to explain this, because I can’t. It all started a couple of months ago when I watched a documentary about him on TV in honor of his 100th birthday, and from that day on I was hooked. Seriously, I never knew he’d written anything besides “Moon River.” So I started reading about him, found several websites devoted to his life and work, and had fun discovering that Mercer wrote hundreds of extremely famous songs (“That Old Black Magic,” “Autumn Leaves,” “The Days of Wine and Roses”) ... and he recorded many of them as well. I even bought one of his CDs from Amazon.com. And so, to round out this extremely nerd-like post you can click here to take a look at Mercer’s impressive 34-page song list and here’s a rare Johnny Mercer video clip from an old Rosemary Clooney TV show back in the 1950s. Thank you for reading this. You can sing along if you want to.