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8/31/05 Better Living Through Chemistry
Hey A lot of folks have called or e-mailed me today wanting to know how my Mom's surgery went- you people are okay, or at least some of you are- so once again I'm doing that killing many birds with one stone thing and addressing it here, as opposed to multiple individual replies, and while I'm at it I may as well update all those who've also so kindly asked about my Dad. And for those of you asking me, can't you just inform people about your parents without going on about yourself as well, uhm, no. No, I can't. As for Ma Bitner, she came through her surgery extremely well, no complications regarding her damaged heart and anesthesia as feared, she had two big, BIG ass tumors removed, one on each ovary (yuck) but both were benign, no signs of the dreaded cancer anywhere, so that's incredibly good news, at least in this household, after five days plus or minus in hospital she should come home in at least as good, if not better, health than she left in. So thanks to all of you, sincerely, for all your prayers and good wishes. Now start working on that million dollars for Bill, okay? As for my Dad . . . The g-tube inserted last Tuesday has done it’s job in the sense that it's saved his life- again, I believe a lot of his immediate post stroke problems were connected to the fact that he was literally starving, as well as dehydrating- but it hasn't done a whole hell of a lot for his mind. Some, I think, so I still hold out hope, but Lori and I were talking today at the hospital- shit, where else would we have been- that he's really not recovered nearly as well after a month as we both would have hoped.
He's still not sleeping worth a damn, last week while he was still in Thomas- he went back to Rehab last Friday, this time at Charleston General, Room 201, any of you locals who would want to drop in and see him do so at your own risk, but he'd love the diversion- I was spending the night with him, he was grumbling there in the half sleep stage which he'll go into every now and then, just enough to tease you into thinking he's actually going to drift off, when he shoots his right arm out- I'm telling you, his left side may be struggling, but its still Popeye the fucking Sailor Man on his right-where I'm sitting just inches away at his beck and call, grabs my forearm, and just crushes the hell out of it. B: Oooow- JESUS! I jerk my arm away, and start rubbing it, where bruises in the shape of his damn fingertips are already forming. B: What the fuck's WRONG with you?! Later the same night. D: Get me the squeezee. I look around, there's one of those rubber balls you squeeze to strengthen your hand, I figure that's what he's talking about, so I hand it to him. He throws it back in my face. Hard. B: What the FUCK . . ? About then a nurse comes running into the room, all breathless and concerned, "Can I help you?" B: He wants the damn- And as I sit dumbfounded she gets this suction device hanging there behind his bed and hands it to him, he vigorously suctions out the tangles of dried saliva that his stroke ravaged mouth can't seem to either swallow or spit- look, I understand his frustration, I truly do, just quit yelling at ME, Jesus, please- then hands it back to her with a beatific smile- D: Thank you. And then she gives ME a dirty look. How the fuck was I supposed to know he called the suction device the squeezee, and why does he, anyway? Cos it has a soft rubber handle? Maybe, or maybe it's just cos he's fucking NUTS. Crazy mother fucker, I swear. The next morning I run into his speech therapist, she's leaving the room as I'm returning from going down to the cafeteria and mainlining 40 0z. of coffee so I can stay awake long enough to drive home, whenever that may be, I ask her how things went, she sort of frowns and shakes her head, "Mmm, not too good, I'm afraid", she's got a paper in her hand so I ask if I can see it, I glance at it and hand it back to her, "Lady, there's your fucking problem, he couldn't pronounce any of those words correctly before his stroke". True. This was all last Wednesday night into Thursday morning, I stay Thursday night as well, cos I'm leaving for Martinsburg Friday to wrestle, it's another rough night till about 2:30, he's lying there in his bed, I'm in the chair next to him, as always, sort of in that trance state you get in when you are just SO fucking tired and wore down, when this guy in the bed taps me on the arm, and my Dad starts talking to me. Not this stroke busted fucker, but my Dad. D: Bill? Are you there?
It was really quite heartbreaking. I did my best to reassure him, "You don't need to worry about it. If you need fed, I'll feed you. If you need dressed, I'll dress you, bathed, I'll bathe you, whatever. I'll run your errands and cut your grass and pay your bills. If I have to wipe your ass, I'll wipe your ass. I wont promise to do it with a smile on my face (as an aside, there's only two things I do with a smile on my face, one's a given, one you can guess at), cos that's not the type of person I am, but the bottom line is that as long as I'm alive, you don't ever have to worry about stuff like that. I'll be there."
"No shit, it already is. But look, you're my fucking DAD. I'm gonna take care of you, okay? Mom too". He motions me to lean over him, I'm thinking he's gonna be sentimental or something. Instead, he pokes me in the chest with his big, blunt index finger and says, "You better bucko (he's been calling me bucko a lot lately), cos you owe me. You were hell to raise". I'm sure. And so much for sentiment. It's overrated, anyway. That conversation was so unexpected, however, that after it was over I walked out to the nurses station (right outside his room, they knew from the last time he was there that he needed lots of attention) and talked to Lisa, and told her, "I'm gonna ask you in the morning if we had this conversation", cos my bastard, traitor mind has fucked me over FAR too many times by dreaming things the way I want them to be, ultra vivid dreams so real I honestly can't tell them from this world I'm in right now, and then I "wake up" in this (relative) shit hole, heartbroken and confused. And to underscore my point (synchronicity is a strange thing) after our conversation my Dad slipped off into the best sleep he'd had since his stroke, and I drifted off as well, to have the following dream-
So, we're sitting at the table surrounded by hundreds of our good dream friends, you know also how you sometimes, briefly (at least in my case), get that wonderful sense of belonging?- and the winner of whatever award I was up for is announced- and it’s me. Everyone in the whole place is immediately on their feet giving me an ovation, obviously it was a popular choice, and I'm already happy to bursting when my beloved dream wife leans over and whispers, "I'm so proud of you", and we kiss, and I'm thinking, oh my God, how sweet this life is, I'm basking in the accolades of my respected peers, I'm enjoying a deep, passionate soul kiss with my heart's true love, oh PLEASE don't ever let it end- and of course it does, immediately, and I wake up in that canted and sticky chair next to my Dad going, oh FUCK. It wouldn’t be as hard to take if these dreams weren't so almighty fucking REAL- I can still feel my darling's bare back under my hand as we embrace to kiss, taste the wine she'd been drinking- Pouilly-Fuisse, a nice white, these dreams are fucking DETAILED, I'm telling you- as our tongues lock. Dear God, I want to live THERE. It's not just the good dreams that do this, I've felt the salty sting- no, sting is far too mild a word, it's like trying to breathe bricks- of inhaling salt water as a shark pulls me under (I go under fighting, you better believe), I've felt my fucking guts spill out (it HURTS) and the loose hot shit spray down the back of my legs as I've been eviscerated fist fighting an Alien (I was winning, but forgot to look out for it's shitting tail). Still, I'd rather have a million dreams about being eaten by big fish, or murdered by evil outer space bugs, than one dream where things are so much better than here, that I hate myself for waking up. Truly. Okay, let's move on.
As for Sarah, she's away at college (hold on a second, my brain is fucking hurting), Sarah is away at college. Dear God. I talked to her just tonight, she's already made some friends in the theater community there, so I think she's going to be okay. Just GO TO CLASS.
As mentioned previously, I went to Martinsburg to work, ahem, wrestle, this weekend, Loretta came across on Saturday morning to pick some stuff up that Sarah had left at my house, I was interested in Danny's reaction to meeting her for the first time. They (Loretta and the girls) are in and out briefly, once they're gone- B: What'd you think? Things didn't go so well at Hardcore Heat 2, unfortunately. Shawn had said Friday when I stopped by ZMM that someone was gonna get hurt this weekend. How right he was. Danny had gotten kind of peckish- he has that tendency- with Rambo in some recent e-mails about the DVDs from the last show, so we go from winning the semi-main event last show, and a set up for a run at the Goodfellas belts, to curtain jerking (opening match) Hardcore Heat 2 in an 8 man tag match with a bunch of fucking trainees, that we don’t even go over in. Danny: Do you think we got demoted?
He takes the post, I turn to work the crowd- and he's right back on me. Wrong move for two reasons, one, if you've allegedly had your head run into a metal post, you're supposed to stay down, you'd be hurt, not doing that is exposing the business, also, wrong number two, you make the DF look like a chump if he just rams your head into a post and you act like it didn't phase you. Maybe if you're Bruiser Brody (RIP) or someone, but not if you're Cory Bush. I'm not mad at this point, I'm just trying to teach him the business, so I kick him, pretty hard, he went down without having to sell it, stomped him a coupe times and told him "Stay the fuck down, dammit". That idiot Gothik was managing Bush and Slater this match, he comes over to see what's going on so I kick him just for the hell of it- he gets on my nerves terrible- again legit enough he goes down without selling it, start to stomp him just for the fun of it- when that suicidal asshole Bush is right back there again, getting in my face. I just fucking lost it, a lot more than the situation warranted, I'll be the first to admit (and no, it wasn't cos I was all sped up and edgy, I saved my speed for later in the night, and man, am I glad I did). I broke kayfabe myself, horriblly, hollering "Did I not just fucking tell you to STAY DOWN!" I gave Bush a back trip clothesline, a move of my own creation that I give to guys that are pissing me off (or who wont bump at training like DF Sean) that is guaranteed to send you down on the back of your head I don't care how mother fucking big you are (again, ask DF Sean), out there on the floor, then just start putting the boots to him legit. It's as hard as I've ever kicked anything in my life. I was killing this kid. Gothik and Danny come running over, Gothik's screaming, "stop him, stop him", Danny just says "better stay back or that'll be you, too"- smart man- someone runs to the back to get Rambo (fucking tattle tale), Jeff, who's the ref, and Tide, the only other real wrestler in the match, pull me off the kid, who's a crying, bloody mess, and take me to the back.
Still got me a month's suspension from House of Pain- big fucking whoop, my knees can use the rest, (as can my torn quadriceps muscle Lori diagnosed for me the other day, she's getting really concerned about her brother's future as a walking animal but again, what the fuck can I do about it?), although I'm working the next two weekends for XMCW, come down to the Regatta Saturday at 5 and watch the DF in action, why don't ya? Fortunately, I got no heat at all from it in the back, Tide took up for me, "he kept telling Cory to stay down and he wouldn't stay down, what was Falcon supposed to do?" Well, maybe not try to kick the kid's brains out. He just caught me at a bad time is all I can say. Drank a bunch of bottled Rolling Rocks in the locker room with Chuckie Manson and Switchblade, they needed the glass for their Tai-Pei match, (and the buzz for the nerve to go do it), they were both taking BC powders to also help thin their blood, said it works even better than aspirin, I'll have to try that. They had a good match, TONS of blood, they got a lot of incidental cuts as well, which can't be helped when your fists are covered in broken glass, Switchblade got a really nasty one frighteningly (at least to me) near his nipple. Ouch.
I'm going on record as saying I have never, ever, not even one time, or in jest, told this girl that she had to lay the DF in order to be in his movie. No, really, I swear. I've never even implied that that was a prerequisite. But I will say I think that's why she's been so hot to get me to go home with her, and I will also admit I never did disabuse her of the notion, as in saying, "You know, darling, you don’t have to screw me to have a part in this movie." Admittedly, I did not say that. But I'm betting you wouldn't have either. Danny leaves about 2 am, his last words to me being, "Make me proud", I stick around cos Jynx doesn't get off until 3:30, we go to her house and- well. I'm not going into a lot of detail here, but let me tell you what, that night with Molly was just what the fucking doctor ordered. Ever since the feast that was Prague, it's been lean times for our boy Bill, admittedly at least in part due to my being a moody jerk (go figure), I've walked away from opportunities to get it wet twice since Prague cos- I just didn’t want to is all I can tell you.
If erection persists for more than four hours, seek medical attention. My sweet fucking ASS I will, I know the fucking cure for THAT. I did get a little concerned there for a bit, but everything worked itself out in the end. Hers. What a fucking night. Jesus Christ, what a fucking NIGHT. Danny came to pick me up Sunday afternoon- I could barely fucking move-I though it was kind of funny that she jumped up and put on a robe when Danny came in, hell, he's seen about all there is to see on her already, but I think I understand it as well, it's probably a lot like the DFZ/Bill thing, Jynx is the one who takes her clothes off for money, Molly was the girl answering the door (and yeah, we did the masked sex thing, which is still a lot of fun, but nothing like that very first time with Staci). As we were driving off- D: Jynx looks a little rough today. And she's both e-mailed and called wanting to know when I'm gonna be back in town. That's where this thing ended about 5 am this morning (I got a late start, I didn't leave Rehab till after 11 pm) I put my head down on the desk here to take a brief break before tackling TSOA, and that's where I woke up about half an hour ago, with the neck kink from hell. I hate to leave you all dangling (unlike how I was left) with TSOA once again, but I just don’t have time for it now, I'm already running way late. I'll try to maybe do just an all TSOA issue soon. Don't chase. Replace. Later Bill
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You are here and warm 
He's not AS crazy or mean as he's been, but he's still not all there
either. However, God help us all (especially me), here's more Bill and his
Dad stories.
Well, what he needed was to talk. And then he goes into this incredibly
sane, rational conversation about how sad and scared he is about what's
happened to him, physically, about how horrible it is not to be able to do
something as important and basic as swallow- "Babies can swallow, for
Christ sake", and how worried his is about what's going to happen to
him down the line, cos it is really, really fucking with his head to
realize that in all likelihood he is never ever going to be able to
completely care for himself ever again.
"Be rough on you."
I'm sitting all tuxed up at some awards ceremony- I'm not sure what
type it was, wrestling, movies, or writing, all I know is that I felt damn
great to be there- and in fact, that's just the overwhelming initial
sensation of this dream, just feeling like all that- you know how you do
sometimes, you feel mentally sharp, you feel physically hard, you feel
good looking and strong and smart and just on top of it all, like you've
got the whole damn world right by the balls?- that's how I was feeling.
Sitting next to me is She Who Will Not Be Named, in this dream my wife,
and she's looking wonderful, all hot and fine, in this short, tight,
backless black dress, around her neck is this gorgeous gold necklace I
bought her to wear to this thing, cos number one I love her with all my
heart, and number two, even though she'd love me even if we lived in an
Arusha dirt hovel (hey, man, you ever been to Prague?), she likes nice
things (and looks so good in them), in this dream we're rich as fuck and
money is no object- in this life its no object either, I'll spend every
pissing dime I've got, no problem, I just don't have any . . .
Rachel sent me some photos from her trip to Australia- dear Lord, my
baby's been to AUSTRALIA- being a Bitner means never having to say "I
don't get around" cos we travel the world, we crew- I'm going to send
the whole bunch to Joe, he can include what he wants on the site with this
issue. Maybe some of the enormous croc (if I had a rocket launcher), but
definitely Heaven- I like the picture, and the caption Rachel put on it,
Heaven, how sweet, and apt- and the airport photo, Rachel making THAT
FACE, and giving the devil sign. THAT is my child, no question. Rachel,
you are so fucking FUNNY, and Daddy loves you terribly.
Shawn Boy is leaving ZMM (is that allowed?), they had his going away do
last night at the Cold Spot, sorry I couldn't make it, but I hope things
are better for you, Shawn, wherever it is you're going to. It's all
fucking work to me, but some of you people seem bound and damn determined
to do it, so more power to you, I guess.
I'm a little pissed, but whatever, I got bigger worries, this match is
gonna be easy at least, with 8 guys you're not in the ring all that much.
One of the trainees is this big, heavy set kid, Cory, that a lot of the
other trainees are always talking shit about for being lazy and
overconfident and an asshole, I've never seen it, but I'm not around him
much. End of the match is supposed to be me and him fighting outside the
ring while Tide pins Lanten. The match goes as planned to that point, Cory
and I'd even worked each other some during it and he was fine, I throw him
through the ropes and jump on him, give him a couple forearms and then
tell him, "Take a post", meaning I'm gonna whip him into the
ring post, he's supposed to hit his head on it- you can put your hand up
first if you want to, sometimes I do, sometimes I don't bother, it
actually hurts about the same either way- and then sell it, which means
stay down.
I have to say, Rambo was pretty calm, the first thing he said to me was
"What'd he do?" I explained how Bush wouldn't sell a post,
wouldn’t stay down after I told him to, I though it was going to be let
slide, but then the kid is carried to the back, his lip is split from a
kick, he's still blubbering- I felt bad about it at this point, honestly-
he takes off his shirt and he looks like the Russian Army has marched
across him, he's already got big red boot marks all over his chest and
stomach, and I could see Rambo was upset, he says to me, "tell him
why you did it", so I did, I explained to Bush I wasn't mad at him at
all, but that he needed to listen to the more experienced guy, and that
there were guys out there- true- who would hurt him a hell of a lot more
than I just did for not listening during a match, and we kissed,
figuratively, and made up.
After the show Danny is just wanting to go back to his Dad's, I'll be
damned, we didn't go last time we were in town, tonight we're going to
Leggz, I've called Jynx, and she's expecting me. Danny doesn’t want to
pay the cover to get in, it's $10 apiece, I pay for both of us, and it's
the best $20 I have ever spent in my fucking LIFE.
Anyway, sometime in person ask me to tell you the one about Bill, speed
(man, am I glad I didn't waste it on wrestling), Viagra (I got my hands on
some last spring for an event that fell through, this stuff is the fucking
SHIT, especially if you take more that you're supposed to while also doing
speed), and the stripper who wanted to be in a movie in the very worst
way. It was fucking INSANE. I took two trips around the world in a single
night and never left her house.