Friday Night Bug Juice

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Welcome to Friday Night Bug Juice, a Metro Detroit bar review site. We're here to give you a look into the dive bars of the Detroit area, so you can hopefully spend your cash wisely, and get a little insight into the lives of a couple of hapless irish louts.

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Welcome to the section of our site where you can learn everything you ever wanted to know and way too much more about the gang that works hard ruining their livers to bring you all you need to know about the dive bars of the Metro Detroit area!

PREDICTION...PAIN

  I have written nothing for almost three months.  There have been times where I have not felt funny, periods of melancholy (my forties), and weeks where I am too tuckered from work for the discipline of writing.  So what is behind this latest dry spell?
  
   I have been feeling like shit since February 10.  I know this exact date because I obsessively write down everything I eat and my every physical activity in little spiral notebooks.  On that particular Friday, I was dog tired from a tough week at work, but looking forward to a few drinks with Anthony.  I made myself go to the gym to lift weights, reasoning that once there I would be up for the challenge.  I also feel better about drinking when I have counterbalanced the poison with physical exertion.  On that day, my little journal indicates that I experienced post workout tightness in my back.
   No big deal.  Anyone who has worked out has felt twinges.  You just kick back and go into rest and recovery mode.
   Not this genius.  The next day featured one of the only shovelable winter snows, and I shoveled.  I also went back to the gym, lifted weights, and punctuated the lifting by running three tenths of a mile in between each set, for a total of 2.1 miles of running.  I probably felt guilty about the previous night’s boozing.
   I took Sunday off, but Monday found me walking two miles with Tony and back in the gym for more lifting.  This is where my health really went south.  By the time I got home from the Y, I was in trouble.  General pain in my lower back was interrupted by shooting pain in my left hip and down my left leg.  Often times this pain would settle into my left shin and stay put for hours in what can best be described as a continual cramp.  Relief and sleep were an impossibility.
   The next day at work found me in agony.  I took some aspirin, bought some Icy Hot and applied it liberally to my back, ass cheeks and leg.  My first application came outside my car in the parking lot of the Rite Aid at 11 Mile and Middlebelt.  I was in so much pain that I did not care if anyone saw my white winter flesh during this early morning rubbing (I also wondered what would happen if you got Icy Hot on your dick, by accident of course).  Nothing helped, though I did find some relief in the sitting position.  Standing for over twenty seconds was impossible.
   During the work day, I received a call from a business associate who offered me four prime seats for the Red Wings game that night.  Anybody with a grain of good sense would have politely declined.  The walk from parking lot to arena, the up and down of any sporting event and the cramped nature of seating would be a killer to someone in my situation.
   So off to the game I went with wife Andrea, son Jackson and partner in booze Anthony.  In my defense, the seats were third row behind the net and the Wings would break the record for consecutive home wins in a season that night.  At one point, I got up to use the head and remembered how much Jack loved Dippin’ Dots ( I guess something about taking a leak reminded me of those tiny dots).  I purchased the Dots and made my way back to the seats.  The game was in full swing and it was then that I was reminded of the Red Wing policy of not letting fans back into their seats until there is a stoppage in play.  I stood at the top of the steps while the Wings cycled the puck endlessly in what must have been the longest period of time in between whistles all year.  I almost cried.  Sincerely.  When the action finally stopped and I was able to sit down, I found myself short of breath and sweating profusely.  
   Oh yeah, Jack loved his Dippin’ Dots.
   The next month was a blur of pain, Icy Hot, over the counter meds of all shapes and sizes, sleepless nights and bitching.  Lots of bitching (what a lucky gal my wife is).
   This was no normal back pain and I took to the internet to self diagnose.  I have done this before and have always managed to find something terminal to explain away my symptoms (runny nose=brain tumor).   This one was not difficult to figure.  I was experiencing classic sciatic nerve issues.  It would take four to six weeks to run its course and I would just have to lay low and deal.
   My idea of laying low and dealing is probably a bit different than yours.  Mine involves an incredible lack of patience and worry that anything wrong is life threatening.   Two weeks into this four to six week recovery time I paid a panic visit to the Docs.  Five minutes and $30 later (lighter), my self diagnosis of sciatic nerve issues was confirmed.
  The entire month of March was a blur of pain.  Some in my hip, some in my lower leg, some in my foot.  Pain bad enough to cause me to sit during inspections at client’s homes and shelf all physical activity except for limited walking.
   I never missed a day of work.  I also never missed a Friday Night Bug Juice session.  My ability to work through pain, belief in accountability and sheer will power pulled me through.  One of my employers recognized this dedication to craft.  Thank you Anthony, co-everything at FNBJ.
   When April began, I was feeling less pain and was able to stand for longer periods of time.  I started increasing my physical activities by lifting light weights, walking longer and riding my bike.  For one week, things improved.
   Then, on 4-2-12, I began to experience pain in my right forearm, extending into my hand.  My skin felt sensitive to touch and cold.  
   It was not the first time I experienced these symptoms.  About five years ago, I had shingles on my right forearm.  It hit me while I was moving son Maxwell into his dorm freshman year at CMU.  The pain was tremendous and dominated the entire right side of my upper torso.  Since that time, even though the nasty scabs have gone away, I periodically get pain in the area that lasts for a week or two. 
   This one was more extreme.  My skin hurt.  It went from the tips of my fingers, up my arm, into my shoulder and under my arm.  I could not decide if this was shingle pain or somehow connected to my sciatic issues ( I also spent the better part of two weeks feeling around my armpit for lumps; I hope I remembered to wash my hands) .
   I was, however, sure of the following:
 Nobody could understand my pain.
 Nobody ever experienced such intense pain over such a long period.
 I would never get better.
 I was turning flabbier by the minute.
 Whatever I had was mis-diagnosed by both Doc and me, and was life threatening. 
   Gradually, the pain in my right side ebbed and so did my complaining.  I believe the pain ebbed at a greater rate than the bitching, but check with my wife for confirmation.  I have a hunch she’ll be glad to tell you.
   I am feeling better now and have read my little journal for hints about what went wrong and what I can do in the future to keep these issues from coming back.  A reasonable person might cut back on workouts, listen to their body for clues, quit being a douche.
   Nobody ever called me reasonable.  I am amping up the workouts, ignoring my body clues and will always be a douche.
   I am also going to write more of this tripe.
Cheers!  Jim
PS  After reading about all this physical activity, you would think I would be fit as a fiddle instead of shaped like one.
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