Monday, July 31, 2006
Friday, July 28, 2006
Happy Weekend Everybody!
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
One, she hasn't updated it in almost 2 weeks. Two posts and now nothing. Is this a forgotten child?
Two, and much more important to me, I checked out her profile and it says that she is a male. Now I have inspected her pretty thoroughly, and if she is a he, I will be damned if I can figure out where she/he is hiding it. And if this is a surgical thing, while that would make me more than a little non-plussed, I cannot say for certain that I would bounce her/him out on their ass. But if it IS a case of "snip snip make a tunnel for spelunking", I would like to know why I have had to wear all that stupid protection.
And in a note completely unrelated to anything except that I made a casual reference to rubbers, did you know that the technical term for when you get your teeth cleaned is a "prophylaxis"? It is called a "prophy" for short. But the fact that teeth cleaning and a sperm collecting device are spelled ALMOST exactly the same is, to me, very funny.
I would like to say for the record that I am aware that NOBODY makes doodie that smells good. It isn't the purpose of it to be pleasant to the olfactory nerves. When a substance is concentrated waste product, it should not remind one of sunshine and lollipops. Okay, maybe lollipops, depending on what you had for lunch.
But I digress. Kinda. To tie all of this up, thanks to the new diet and the supplements, I have been making more doodie than in the past, and it is noticeably more odiferous (even to me, which is saying something because it is a scientific fact that it never smells as bad to you as it does to everyone else). Because in Moleville there is a one person bathroom (unlike the rest of the floors which have the standard two stalls and at least one SRO), and because it has no exhaust and because it causes everyone who walks past to smell (and usually comment on it), I have been going upstairs to the multiple person bathroom where there is more room for the smell to dissipate and where there are little spritzer machines that pump potpourri into the air every 12 minutes on a rotating schedule. I like to use the handicap stall, mainly because I find it luxuriously spacious. It is probably as big as the bathroom at the house.
During a visit to the condo toilet this afternoon, while perusing an article I had printed off of CBS.com (I like to read articles that would normally take too long to read at my desk while "working"), I heard a youngster enter. Of course I could not see the child from my seat, but from hearing his voice I would suppose that he was 8-10 years old. Well, first he made a comment about how it smelled bad in the bathroom. But as he started to tinkle (I always felt like that was an underused euphemism), he said "Oh man, I'm gonna throw up!". And THEN, I was able to help set the boy on the straight and narrow. Following his declaration of the imminent possibility of regurgitation, he started saying repeatedly "Help me Jesus! Help me God! Help me Jesus! Help me Lord!" in no particular order. I am proud to say that he did not vomit (at least not audibly), and I am sure that the first breath of air he took in once he left the bathroom was the sweetest breath he had ever taken. And if I helped lead that boy to the Lord, well, than I am doing God's work, one stinky doodie at a time.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Have I given this too much thought?
Also, I do apologize for the Ron White video not playing directly off of the page here. I didn't see the "won't allow embedding" when I was posting it. Mea culpa!
Be back as soon as the game plays out!
Friday, July 21, 2006
and see what you think. Have a great weekend!
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Wifey's sleep habits are by now well known (if you have read this blog at all). Her waking habits have been discussed in detail also. Her inability to wake up to her own alarm clock is fast becoming legend. Well, the other thing that I am pretty sure I have mentioned is that she has a habit of not tuning the station in all the way, so that the noise you hear is that in between station noise. Quite jarring to wake up to. Well, there is something worse. And that something worse is waking up to Jack-FM.
Wit hher propensity for hitting the snooze bar, I was awakened by Bon Jovi, followed 7 minutes later by Prince, and 7 minutes after that it was Faith Hill, and so on for over an hour. The problem is, the more the musical genres changed around, the more disconcerting it was to my internal processing system. You see, one style of music or random repeating noise, I can pretty much ignore, depending on the volume. When it keeps changing around, my mind wants to start processing differing stimuli. It probably goes back to my deejaying days (another reason to dislike Jack. It puts deejays out of work). So I get out of bed earlier than I planned, and my entire day is off to a rocky start. And you know how hard it is to correct things like that.
More news when my brain has adjusted.
I see you are as excited as I am. Thank you.
BTW - once again you will have to go into the archives to check all the posts. Too many for just one page it seems.
THis NEVER gets old. Same bit every time, and it always makes me smile if not laugh out loud. And if it inspires a new generation to try and belch the alphabet in one belch, or maybe expand into Shakespeare, and to record said attempts, well, all the better.
Yes, I did those things. My cousin could go from "A" to "Z" and halfway back again on a couple cans of lukewarm Pepsi. And we had our tape recorder keepign every moment for the ages. What I wouldn't give to be able to hear those tapes now.
Monday, July 17, 2006
Friday, July 14, 2006
Now, would you please continue reading as I (momentarily) turn my blog into a San Francisco coffee-house/beatnik poetry room circa 1968. A longing for a childhood memory. And for a dessert treat.
Don't worry, it will change back as soon as you are done reading it.
A little sidebar. I just did a spellcheck on this post, because for some unknown reason, my brain decided that I couldn't spell "momentarily" correctly. I was right, but it was one of those things where the word didn't look right when I was reading it, and I filled myself with doubt until I had to resort to the aforementioned spellcheck. Now for the Alanis Morrissette version of irony...
the spellchecker for blogger.com doesn't recognize the word "blog". It wants to change it to "block".
It IS like rain on your wedding day.
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
If you remember this, you are old. If you don't, well, it's a bit of a sticky wicket. As a rule, I would support the video's assertion of not putting things in your mouth, but there are exceptions to every rule. Like if I buy you new diamond earrings for instance.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Now before I go any further, let me say that if you do not live in Maryland, there is always the chance that the state employees where YOU live are pleasant, hard working people who actually have a soul. But I would lay odds against it.
Anyway, straight MA patients are processed through the Dept of Health and Mental Hygiene. Apparently the employees of said august department are not screened to see if they have either of those qualities. I guess those who can, do...
I have currently spent approximately 90 minutes trying to reach someone in said department in order to question why two patients claims were denied. Because the number I have used for the last 1 1/2 years is no longer valid, and they didn't feel it was necessary to inform anyone that the contact number had changed, I have been calling every available number I could find to reach a human who could either help me or steer me in the right direction in order to get help. One of the Hens (Wonder Woman to be exact) gave me a number to call. From there it has been the equivalent of phone Lambada: the forbidden dance of speaking to a person. On the rare occasion that I did speak to a human, it became obvious that they were not who I needed to speak to. How obvious was it? As soon as I explained my situation (and on more than one call BEFORE I finished), I was told in no uncertain terms that they were not who I needed to speak with. On three seperate occasions they hung up on me after saying that, or as it was on ONE of those calls, before they even finished speaking. They were so anxious to get back to whatever they were doing (I imagine it involved torturing animals that PETA had rescued from product testing, than dining on their raw entrails) that they ACTUALLY CUT THEMSELVES OFF!!!!!!! That was amazing.
So now I have to pee and I am suffering from a rather severe case of bus-butt. I actually just got off of the phone with MA, a nice man named Kevin (telling point, he actually had to look for the information to help me because he usually doesn't answer the phones. His clerks do it for him, but they are at lunch. So the likelyhood is that if I had called about 10 minutes later I would have gotten one of those clerks, and would still be searching in vain for actual help). Kevin was so not used to helping people, City Employee Style, that he even gave me the number of the supervisor at Provider Relationis just in case the first number he gave me wasn't what I needed. If there was an election right now, I would write his name in for Mayor.
Okay, I have exorcised the demon that is MA and released the urine that was Jack's distended bladder. Now I must go and get some lunchtime grubbings, for I am hungry.
Before I go, Wifey has started a blog. It is http://joieimani2000.blogspot.com/ and when I get the chance I will be putting it up as a link over there on the right. It might be interesting to see her side of some of the stories I tell, but always remember one thing. Hers are probably all lies and fabrications and gross misrepresentations of the truth, while mine are even handed and tempered with the love and respect that all men should have for their partners. A feeling that it is a journey being undertaken together, and that is how it must be lived. Wifey? Not so much.
Monday, July 03, 2006
As always, the link is in the title.
Hope you have off from work tomorrow, because I DO!!!!!
Saturday brought the HOLY CRAP SHE MADE IT TO 30 party. It went well. Pops gave me the grill he has had collecting debris for the last 2 years. It was rather interesting trying to clean that puppy out, but we got it done. Some chicken, some burgers and dogs, and after quite a bit of drinking, Larry the Upstairs Neighbor and I tried to grill bacon. Everything went well until we flipped it, and the bacon grease started making its way to the open flame. To put it mildly, after we turned the gas off, it still flamed for a good 5-10 minutes before finally dying out. And the bacon (which we were trying to cook on foil on the grill) looked to the world like ground zero of an atomic blast had permanently cast their ashes on the side of a wall. If you ever saw the filmstrip in school, you know exactly what I mean.
Now we come to Sunday. I took Wifey to go horseback riding yesterday afternoon, because she loves to do it and hadn't been in years. Well, I had dressed as if I was going to join her on the trail, and was prepared to do so, even though I had never been on a horse before. But it seems there are weight restrictions, and the first word in my name ain't "Big" fer nuthin. So I sent her off and prepared to run an errand or two whilst she rode the trails. As I was standing there watching her ride off, a family that had reservations for the next hour came up. They were there early and seemed pretty excited to be going horseback riding. It must be said at this time that the family was (and I can only assume still is) black. And to further set the picture for you, I was wearing blue jeans, tennis shoes, a "Big Daddy" T-shirt (no surprise there to anyone who knows me), and a "Kwik-E-Mart" baseball cap. It is pretty obvious that I am not a ranch-hand. But the entire family immediately came to me telling me they were ready to ride and asking me questions on horse riding protocol and procedure. After getting them to calm down a little, I informed them that I had sent my wife off on a birthday trail ride, and I was just as clueless as to what they should do and whom they should ask as they were. The entire family seemed genuinely upset that I wasn't a cowboy. I am not sure, but I might have ruined their entire trip by not rustlin' up some dogies for them. But as I walked away to my truck (SUV, not F-150), I started to giggle, because I am fairly certain that the only reason they could have figured to come and ask me the questions they were asking me is if they assumed that I worked there, and since my attire was hardly worthy of being in a video on CMT, it leads me to believe that they thought I must work there because I am white. I was PROFILED, and I was found wanting. And that hurts as much as it makes me chortle.
Not really. I am not bothered by it, but it still amuses the hell out of me.
COWBOY UP YOU MOFO'S