Don’t think that just because I was adrift in Bipolar-land and/or Cranky Hanky Panky-ville on the actual dates that I didn’t dress loudly and over-the-top appropriately for Valentine’s Day and Mardi Gras. I certainly did. (I’m doing a combined fashion reenactment in this photo.) If I put on a Bow Tie o’ the Day in the Bipolar Forest, and nobody’s there to write a TIE O’ THE DAY post about it, it does—in fact—still happen. Yes, it does still make a sound, which you are hearing right now. 👂🏻✍️ And for Lent, it appears I decided to give up my hair.
FYI Skitter liked wearing her bell-bedazzled Mardi Gras collar, but she decided to pull a face for this photo anyway. She has moods of her own, that’s for darn sure.
Call me Heathcliff. I woke up feeling a bit Wuthering Heights-y today, which means I just had to don a snooty Ascot o’ the Day. It’s odd that I ever find myself in a silky, ascot-y, Wuthering Heights-y mood at all because I never really got into the vibe of the book. I admit I do overly enjoy the 1939 Laurence Olivier/Merle Oberon movie version of the book. And it is also true that the Kate Bush song of the same name gets pleasantly stuck in my head for hours, at least once a year, prompted by who-knows-what. All I can tell you for sure is that when I’m in a Wuthering Heights mood like I am today, the only logical thing for me to do is to head off for a drive in my truck—in search of windy, foggy, muddy moors over which I will aimlessly run while alternately crying out “Heathcliff” and “Cathy” to all ghosts everywhere in my vicinity. The ascot-less Skitter will surely accompany me and wonder what’s up. Or—more likely—I will just sit here in my ascot and re-watch the old movie until I get the moors out of my system.
I donned my hairscuttin’ shears wood Bow Tie o’ the Day, and Suzanne and I zoomed off to our hairs appointments with Miss Tiffany—the craftswoman who is in charge of our manes. Suzanne just needed a quick trim, but you can clearly see I was in the mood for a bigly change. Miss Tiffany is always happy to oblige my hair ideas. Suzanne is not a bigly fan of my rare adventures in baldness. She prefers my asymmetrical styles o’ longer hair. Before we went to visit Miss Tiffany, I was thoughtful enough to warn Suzanne of the drastic hairstyle change I intended to make, and she said she would kindly endure my head hairs being shaved as long as it’s a strictly temporary hairdo. Suzanne has to look the other way—both literally and figuratively—somewhat regularly when it comes to my hairs and fashion style choices. She’s a very good sport, if you ask me.
I decided my Big Willie’s Plumbing Repair t-shirt was appropriate to wear to my appointment with my innard doctor at Huntsman today. I threw in a nautical-themed wood Bow Tie o’ the Day to encourage the “smooth sailing ahead” vibe. My doctor appreciated my choices.
Suzanne had to work, so I took the Saddle Purse with me as my official hospital escort. As you can see, Saddle Purse doesn’t always obey the rules we mere mortals do. As I sat in the waiting area to be called to the exam room, Saddle Purse just had to strike up a protest against the tyranny of scientific facts by flagrantly sitting in the restricted chair beside me. I felt kinda bad for my rebel pal, the Saddle Purse, because no one took offense at its blatant civil disobedience. There ensued neither yelling nor scuffling at the Saddle Purse’s public defiance. A few passers-by pointed directly at the Saddle Purse and told me it was “so cute.” It’s mighty difficult to create a newsworthy brouhaha when we, the people, are slinging compliments at a full-fledged protester. There’s a lesson in that for us all if we will pay attention, I am sure. Just sayin’.
The actual appointment with my Cranky Hanky Panky surgeon went pretty much as I had imagined it would. My doctor read the organs in my abdomen like they were written in Braille. He did not particularly like what he read when he poked the area of my pancreas. He especially didn’t like that I nearly jumped off the exam table in a shot of pain when he poked my Cranky Hanky Panky point-blank. Still, my doctor and I agreed to not worry about my teensy, wayward organ until we know anything specific about its current state of being. I told him we might as well assign all the worrying to Suzanne, since nobody’s gonna be able to stop her from from doing it anyway. But there’s certainly no need for the rest of us to suffer needlessly.
After my chat with the doctor, I gave what felt like a fishing pond full of my blood for lab tests today. The first available CT scan I could schedule is in mid-March, so I have plenty of time to study for that test. And then the first available appointment I could schedule with my doctor to discuss my various test results is in April. That’s gonna make for a long month of uncertainty. I resolve to be patient and hopeful, while still allowing myself occasional fits of childish impatience and mortal fear. Fun times ahead, boys and girls! And, as always, y’all are free to join me for the entire tour.
Everyone needs a cow-covered Face Mask o’ the Day and a crossword puzzle Bow Tie o’ the Day—as well as a pair of Bernie-Sanders-at-the-Inauguration socks. Okay, maybe not absolutely everyone needs these things, but I do. They keep me somewhat grounded in my authentic style during my times of roller coaster brain chemistry. The spirit o’ Bernie has warmed my feet on some of these days. Yes, the spirit o’ Bernie’s mittens has been punching right along with me through my most recent boxing match with my own complicated, manic-depressive head.
As my head finally started to find its balance a week or so ago, I was finally able to jot down some tblog ideas for updating y’all about my shenanigans you missed out on while I was not up to the demands of writing TIE-O-THE- DAY content. I went to bed that night, fully intending to get up at the crack of dawn and write a bigly original post the next morning, when—WHAM!—the ghost of my bum pancreas (my Hanky Panky) woke me up at 3AM with lightning strikes o’ pain. Two-and-a half years ago, I had successful Hanky Panky surgery, which left me with only one-third of my pancreas. Despite my Panky’s smaller size, I have been in relative Pancreas Heaven ever since the operation—until that night last week. Just my luck: I was thrown out of the bipolar frying pan, and into the pancreatic fire!
The sudden, old Panky pain felt entirely too familiar to me. Since then, I’ve been trying to ignore the discomfort, which has ebbed and flowed but hasn’t completely gone away. I luckily managed to wrangle an in-person appointment with my Hanky Panky surgeon at the Huntsman Cancer Institute tomorrow. I have bigly confidence that my doc can figure out what the Hell-en is going on with my Cranky Hanky Panky innard. A battery of tests and scans will follow over the next few weeks, I have no doubt. I am not askeered. Suzanne is askeered for me, but she shouldn’t be. She made me promise a long time ago that I won’t die before she does, and I consider it my main job to always keep my promises to Suzanne.
After much contemplation, I have decided I will gladly take painful flak from my teeny Hanky Panky any day of the week, over being lost in the dangerous labyrinth of my bipolar brain. Physical pain only hurts. Bipolar anguish, on the other hand, can trick you into thinking you can instantly make the world a better place by simply jumping off the nearest craggy cliff into your own annihilation. Hey, folks, how ’bout let’s none of us buy into that slick trick o’ the mind.
Anyhoo… I’m crossing my Cranky Hanky Panky that TIE-O-THE-DAY is back for a while, whether you’re ready for it, or not.🤠👔
Bow Tie o’ the Day sports molecules, and Face Mask o’ the Day is covered in mathematical symbols. Chemistry and math have never been great areas of interest to me. I do know enough about each to respect and appreciate those who work in fields requiring a keen understanding of each. Personally, most of my high school and college math was unnecessary for the needs of my adult life. Honestly, all I’ve ever needed to do is add and subtract from whatever amount is in my bank account. And the reality of that is that I mostly subtract. I know I am not alone in this.
So why molecule Bow Tie and math Face Mask? That’s easy. I am a chimpanzee when it comes to my clothing and accessories. Like a chimp, I am all about bright, shiny, busy things. I am distracted to the point of attraction to them.
BTW Yes, as you can see in the background of the photo, our Chuck Brown Christmas trees are still atop Suzanne’s Ultimate SewingBox. We are thinking about keeping them there year-round, where we can see them every day.
Face Mask o’ the Day looks like I was marauded by a wandering band o’ paintballers. I think designs resembling paintball splotches are almost always a good look. And, like paisley and polka dots, the argyle design—here, on Tie o’ the Day—is a perpetual eye-grabber. Be ye cautious, however. Do not underestimate the powers of these designs. In the wrong hands, some patterns can overpower entire personalities, leaving you alone and adrift on the sea o’ fashion. Do not wear patterns that your spirit can’t live up to. That’s a key to any style you choose to wear: it must fit your authentic self. If it fits you, it works for you. If you try to project something you aren’t, you will downright disappear behind your attire. Disappearing behind your clothes is a good thing, only if you’re a spy—and most of us aren’t James Bond. Dress accordingly.
Because I own about 500 holiday ties and bow ties, I imagine you think I have many Groundhog Day pieces o’ neckwear. But I don’t. I own this single Groundhog Day Tie o’ the Day, and unless I run across some ultra-spectacular one in the future, I’m content with this one. I mean—Groundhog Day is not an actual holiday. And it’s not even a party day, like St. Patrick’s Day. It’s just a day to gab about a groundhog named Punxsutawney Phil, about how long his shadow thinks winter’s going to stick around this year, and how we’re already ready to move on to spring.
Anyhoo… I had a virtual appointment with my pain doctor this morning. So I sat at the kitchen island at the designated appointment time, and some unknown-to-me dude starts talking to me on my laptop. I knew exactly what he was going to say, and he did. He told me he’s a doctor-in-training, working with my normal pain doctor, and then he asked if it was okay if he asked me a bunch of questions before I talked to my official doctor. Of course, it was fine with me. We chatted for probably 10 minutes, and as he was wrapping up his note-taking , he said, “Your doctor told me I was going to see a bow tie today when I talked to you.” Oh, I immediately felt I had disappointed the whole world. I have worn a bow tie to see my pain doc at every appointment I’ve had with her for the last 8 years, partly because her name is Dr. Bow. This morning, I felt like I had disgraced myself. Sure, I was wearing this Groundhog Day Tie o’ the Day, but ties are too long to be as visible as bow ties on virtual appointments. I lifted Tie so the guy could see and read it, and he liked it so much he told me he was glad I chose it. I apologized profusely to him for not having a Groundhog Day bow tie. I guess I ought to shop for one, whether I want one or not. I can’t just go around letting people down. I felt so bad for not being the authentic “me” for Dr. Bow’s trainee. How could I not present as the bow tie wearer which she had clearly advertised me to be when she prepared him for my appointment?
When the doctor-in-training signed off, and Dr. Bow joined me a few minutes later, the first thing she said was, “Where’s your bow tie?” I was disgraced, yet again. I felt as if I had disappointed her. But Dr. Bow liked the tie, too. She also said, “It’s just that I barely recognized your face without a bow tie under it.”
FYI Check out my new Face Mask o’ the Day, complete with a secret hole built into it for a drink straw. Oh, happy Diet Coke day for me!
My Hat o’ the Day is from a real place: Toad Suck, Arkansas—from one of our travel adventures about 18 months ago. We had a splendid time in Arkansas, and I honor the name of this place with a couple of hats, as is my touristy way. I wear the hat today as a symbol of how I feel about my day’s bigly household chore, because the chore kinda sucks. When I have occasion to do so, I vacuum and clean the couch and love seat. But the best vacuums in the world—pet vacuums, included—cannot suck up the Skitter fur that somehow gets caught in the furniture’s seams. My mission today—if I choose to accept it, and I do—is to tweeze the trapped fur from the seams of the living room furniture. Yes, I pluck my eyebrows AND my furniture—with different sets of tweezers, of course. As Glen Campbell and I always sing, “Such are the dreams of the everyday housewife…”🤡
FYI Bolo Tie o’ the Day is a good choice to wear when cleaning. It saves the “real” neckwear from possibly being harmed in the course of housework—while still allowing me to wear my signature clothing item.
I came home from the dry cleaner’s and found Bernie Sanders levitating and guarding this rack o’ Ties o’ the Day for me. Thanks, Bernie, for keeping the citizens of the Tie Room safe against all enemies, foreign or domestic.😎
