Friday, February 27

Ulcers Be Damned!

So, I went to the Doctor today to see what he could make of the crippling stomach pain that has since replaced the tolerable heartburn I used to have. (What a long sentence! And grammatically correct, too!) After some poking and prodding at my tummy, and some uncomfortable talk about stools, the verdict was constipation.

Yeah, it's not a pretty thing to have. And it's not very fun to talk about, but I'll allow myself to be the trendsetter here. Plain and simple, I need to change my diet, because the train just isn't leaving the station anymore. This is not an attractive thing for a 22 year old man to have. And a relatively healthy one at that. The pessimist in me knew it was going to be an ulcer, so I was pleasantly surprised. Gas I can handle, but stress-related stomach holes? That's another story.

You know what? I'm not going to share any more details of this with you.

Moving on, a guy from Eau Claire won $100,000 on Super Millionaire last night. Good for him! He had a great attitude and appreciated the cash. If I see one more already-wealthy lawyer in that "hot seat", I'm going to climb the nearest Clock Tower and start shooting.

Well, I'm off to ingest a large helping of fiber.

Thursday, February 26

40 Degree February.

Well, I feel a lot better now.

Hey, don't forget to check out the archive section on the right hand side of the page. It contains all the stuff you missed, or is no longer on this main section. Don't miss out on something WACKY! (makes wacky face) Allright, get the hell outta here.

Wednesday, February 25

Idiot Box

Oh, happy day. Things finally seem to be falling into place here on said web page. The images work, the comments are enabled again, and my Angelfire account has yet to be suspended. If any of these things should happen again, be patient and check back later. I'm only a man.

I got a lot of errands done today, and for a good reason. As you see I, Ryan Olson, lover of all things television, have decided to wean myself off of daytime TV. Sure, it seems easy. But television is a way of life for me. It's always on, not for entertainment and my constant attention, but for company. This has gotten out of hand, so I decided that from the time I woke up every day (usually between 7 and 9am) until Jeopardy comes on at 4:30, I will refuse to turn on the television. This is a grand total of about 8 hours less TV than I watch each day. This is a huge undertaking for me, and as with most things I refrain from, I'm doing it just to see if I can.

I gave up meat 2 years ago. I gave up caffeine 3 years ago. Neither of those things I thought I would get through, as they were huge parts of my life. I would hit the caffeine harder than most people would do any illegal drugs, and there would be weeks where I would eat nothing but meat, as my arteries and heart just looked at each other and shook their heads in disbelief. Giving up those 2 things was difficult to say the least. Meat was easier because I had Celia, who was already a vegetarian, to kick me in the ass when I stumbled. Caffeine was much harder. I would shiver like I had hypothermia, my knees and joints would ache and atrophy, and I wouldn't be able to hold anything steady for any length of time. But eventually, it didn't bother me anymore, and I never looked back. Now I'm telling the TV to go straight to hell, at least until prime time. I'll let you know how I'm doing as the days roll on. So far, day 2 has been just fine. I'm fixing things around the house, I called MMI to find out where the hell my diploma was, and I made a much-needed doctor's appointment for this searing pain in my stomach. I'm pretty certain it's an ulcer considering the stress I've been under. (Yeah, make the jokes about an unemployed white male being under stress. I can take it.)

Monday, February 23

Infant a Go-Go.

I don't think I've ever looked more forward to the end of a weekend than I did this previous one. Subsequently, I've never awoke to a Monday morning with so much joy and relief. Today, I slipped back into my quiet routine of general housework, television and naps.

The wedding went better than it could have, I'll give them that. When Celia was talking about the night before, during the rehearsal and dinner, I was certain that I would witness a meltdown of the most severe church proportions. And while it came close at times, everything remained just smooth enough for everyone to go home not angry.

Celia was already at the church when I showed up. I drove her Mother there, and the two of us stood in the lobby for 15 minutes, desperately looking for anyone that we knew. Finally, we saw Celia and the other bridesmaids, looking fantastic and confirming that we were indeed at the right church. Eventually Erin, Ben and Sherry showed up and we all took our seats uncomfortably close to the front. The ceremony started, nobody tripped over anything, and everyone settled in.

Then the minister spoke, and promptly made an ass out of himself. He was a greasy-type who looked more at home selling you real-estate or plea-bargaining for his client on death row. He was trying to teach us that there was a "right way" and a "wrong way" to have a wedding. To establish this point, he told a truly revolting story about when he decided to cook a rabbit for dinner, and instead turned it into a disgusting mess which he fed to his also repulsed dog. And that's where the story ended. No moral, no lesson. Just horror and stunned looks from the crowd as he begrudgingly moved on to the next part of the ceremony.

The rest was just standard fare, as the wedding ended and we all filed into the lobby to discuss what to do next. Everyone I sat with disappeared until the reception started that evening, as I hung around with Celia as she had pictures taken with the rest of the wedding party. The photographer was a jackass, and I made fun of him behind his back, because I'm mature like that. Finally, we hopped in the car and went to the reception at the Legion Hall in Oshkosh.

I've never been here, but I soon found that it held 8 people comfortably. This wouldn't be a problem, but there was a little over a hundred people there, stuffed into long dinner tables like bridesmaids stuffed into barbaric, sadistic shoes. The sheet that was made so beautifully by Celia was shining like a beacon behind the main table, and it received a good share of positive comments. I like to think that I was partly responsible for its beauty, because I did nothing to wreck it while it sat on my living room floor.

Vegetarians always get screwed over at reception dinners. I helped myself to a bun filled with cheese and 2 pounds of potato salad (I didn't put 2 pounds of potato salad in the bun, just next to it). I then spent the next 10 minutes talking to a complete stranger about what I did in college. This was the same guy that thought that me and Celia were brother and sister (which we are). Dinner was over, the chairs were cleared and the rockin' dance began.

Remember, there was no alcohol served. This means several things. Mainly it meant that most people left and nobody danced, but small children. (there was one baby who just sat in the middle of the dance floor by himself just completely rocking out. It was absolutely fantastic) This fit right up my alley. So me, Celia, Ben, Sherry, Lindsay, Amy and Amy's boyfriend (who's name I cannot spell, respectfully) crowded around a table and talked loudly about nothing. Hopefully I didn't come off as annoying, but it was just so staggeringly boring that I resorted to lame jokes and accidentally throwing a cup of ice into Lindsay's lap, as I frantically apologized and turned red. This went on for about 5 hours, until we decided that we had been polite enough and left. We went to Perkins to eat again, as dinner had sucked out loud, as previously stated.

Tired and cold, we all retired to our separate quarters, where I'm quite certain we had the best sleep of our lives.

(Lots of other things happened during the evening, but I'm no longer going to bore you with the details. I sang too much, and danced like an ass way too much. Enough of that. If anyone who was there wants to comment on this night, please do so in the comments section.)

Oh, and on Sunday I told my Grandmother that I was going to change my name. There were tears and sadness and an awful feeling in my gut that's sure to keep me sick all week. That's all I want to say about that.