Before & After: Yes Virginia, Diet & Exercise Will Work

Okay, so when I went looking for the before pics, which I hadn't seen since they were taken, I almost vomited upon finding them.

I should have listened to the wife for once.

The only reason I am posting the BEFORE PICs is because, THANK GOD, I no longer look like I did.

Yeah, there was that promise I made to you guys too, but so what.

I also could have promised to make you pluck your eyes out with spoons, and it would of served the same purpose.

I am pretty sure this was the worst I have ever let myself get.

I have always been somewhat athletic, and tried to stay fit most of my life. But sitting behind a desk all day, eating junk, plus age, had finally taken its toll.

I was about 208 lbs when the before shots were taken.
I had trouble buttoning my size 36" waist pants.
I was getting out of breath walking from my car to my office.
And my blood pressure had been borderline high, the last two times I had it checked.

I decided to get my fat butt back in shape.

I started working out everyday.
Sometimes it was just walking halls at work or riding my bike on the weekends.
I added more to my routine, the better shape I got in.
Eventually, I was riding my bike every chance I got, and doing 150 push-up and 100 sit-ups every night.
Occasionally, I would even work with weights or a resistance band.
And of course, I tried my smartass WiiFit.

I also changed my diet.
The first couple weeks, I went on a crash diet, because I wanted it off fast.
Eventually, I got to where I was only eating high protien, low carb/low fat foods.
Smaller portions were a must for me, as well.

Basically, you have to take in less calories then you are burning everyday, if you want the weight to come off.

Now, cover your childrens' eyes.

And cover yours, if you have a weak stomach.

I present, The Gross Before Me:



Geez.....Even the dog can't bare to look at me in that sideways shot........NASTY.


Moving quickly on to the big reveal......The AFTER me

Here we are roughly 50 days later.



According to WiiFit, my weight is now 176 lbs.

My BMI was off the WiiFit charts before, and now it's around 28. This still isn't great, but it's better than 36+.

I currently wear size 34" waist pants, cause that's the smallest I own, and need a belt to keep them up.

I still need more work on my mid-section, but my abs are beginning to show again.

Thanks to diet & exercise, plus my deep tissue massages, even my back is not as crooked. Which, given that I have Ankylosing Spondylitis, is really saying something.

I have more energy now.
I no longer get out of breath easily.
I feel great.
And I don't hate the way I look as much.

Get to it peeps. You can do anything you put your minds too.

Not having the energy or the time is just an excuse. Make the time. You'll get the energy.

And you'll get the results you want.

Honestly, I Have No Idea Where They Get This Stuff

Chinese restaurant last night

Son: “Daddy look!”…*pointing excitedly across restaurant*…“There’s Uncle Clifford!”
Me: “Yep. It sure is.”
Son: “He does the coolest trick. He will say, ‘Let me see your finger’, then he will pull your finger and make you fart.”
Me:….*blink, blink*….. "hhh, I think you have that wrong buddy.”
Son: “Nope. He can make you fart by pulling your finger. I am thinking of asking him to come to my school and do it, so I can show all the kids my fart.”
Me: “Son, he can’t actually make YOU fart. He has you pull his finger, and then HE farts.”
Son: “WHAT?! That’s not much of a trick.”
Me: “I know.”
Son: “It’s still funny. I think I’ll still go ask him if he will come to my school and show the kids.”
Me: “Great!”
_________________________________________________________________________

Same son, the other night while in the bathtub

(This is a repost from a Tweet I did. Since I only have like 18 Twitter followers, I figure most of you missed it. That makes it like new.)

Wife: “I can’t find my toothbrush! Does ANYBODY know where my toothbrush is?!”
Son: “I do.”
Wife: “Where?”
Son: “Up my butt!”……*Laughing hysterically*


That’s my boy.

*Stay Tuned for the Big Reveal tomorrow. YES, I am actually going through with the before and after pics tomorrow. As gross as they are, I made a promise.*

Tuesday's Quickies

Other bird stories I was reminded of over the weekend.

This also happened to me....

A few years back, we were on a family trip to Chicago. It was winter time and we were walking along the street in downtown. Just as we crossed under the E-tran track, a pigeon pooped on my glove. It was a huge load and I ended up having to toss my glove in trash, which made walking in downtown Chicago in the middle of winter very fun.

And my favorite....

One time, when I worked as a sales associate at Lowe’s Home Improvement Warehouse during college, I was helping a customer find some patio pavers in the outside lawn & garden area. The pallet on the ground was empty. Everyone who works at, or shops at, a warehouse type store knows if the self is empty, you look up, since that is where excess stock is stored. It’s called “top stock”. Anyway, upon seeing that the shelf was empty, the first thing the customer did was look up. As soon as he did, a bird shit in his eye. Bullseye. Boy, was that guy pissed. I was just glad it wasn’t me.

***Stay tuned!****Inspired by Travis' post today, I am going to swallow my pride, and post some before and after diet/exercise pics of myself. If I don't chicken out, it will probably be up sometime between now and Friday.***

******Warning: The Before pic illicted the following response from the missus..."You shouldn't post this. You look disgusting!"********.....Love you too honey.

********The pics may or may not contain nudity, but probably not*******

Memoir Monday: It's Amazing I Can Still Count To 10

Memoir Monday

This is for Travis, because Ian has been stealing all his hoes. And everybody knows, just like that saying goes, bros before hoes. YEAH! I am a sweet rhymerer.



Ever had your finger caught between the chain and sprocket of a bicycle?

I have.

Twice.

I’ve always been a bit of an overachiever.

Luckily, it wasn’t the same finger.

But one of the unfortunate nubs that had already received more than its share of trauma.

When I was 5, I nearly lost the tip of my ring finger on my left hand.

I blame my middle sister for this.

She was kind of a brat.......Still is (love ya, Heather).

Anyway, it was Christmas Eve. Me and my two older sisters were at my grandparents house alone.

My oldest sister was 15, and had been irresponsibly left in charge of us.

The rest of my family was at the hospital because my grandfather was dying of lung cancer.

We were hanging out, being kids, and doing typical kid stuff.

I was sitting on a foot stool that had folding metal legs.

The “brat” decided she would kick me off the foot stool so she could put her feet there.

Stubbornly, I held on to the sides.

After I toppled over, I realized that my hand was stuck in the legs that had folded up, scissor style. Once my hand was freed, it was discovered that the tip of my finger was only attached by a tiny piece of skin.

After my uncle made his way down the ice covered street and took me to the hospital, it was reattached with many stitches.


Fast forward a few years. I think I was 9. I was working on my BMX bike, and BAM!

I got the same finger pinched between the chain and sprocket.

More stitches and it was back to its normal disfigured self.


About 2 years later, I was working on a different BMX bike ,and being careful to avoid getting my left ring finger anywhere near the chain/sprocket area, when all of a sudden…..BAM!

My first thought was, “Not again!”

Thankfully, it was the middle finger on my right hand. If it had been my left ring finger, they surely would have had to written it off as a loss and I would have been sporting a left ring nub.

The middle finger on my right hand was tougher though, so it only required a few butterflies, as well as a stern lecture from the physician about the dangers of chain/sprocket repair.

I could have used that speech a few years prior, Dr. Obvious.

AND, the only time I cried was the very last time. I think this wasn't so much because of the pain, but because of the realization of my stupidity.

Moral of the story, never attempt bike repair without proper protection.

Like a thimble.

Or some of those finger condoms they sell.

Or take it to a bike shop, if you’re one of those “made-of-money” types who value their fingers.

Birds Are Flying Assholes.....LITERALLY!

Flying mammals hate me.

Example #1

I took my children to the park the other evening.

The 11 yr old and 6 yr old were running around beating each other up in an imaginary Jedi battle that occasionally slipped into UFC bounds.

Meanwhile, I was following the 2 yr old up down around over under up down around over under (again and again) one of those giant new park contraptions with the slides and climby-things and tunnels all connected.

I just happen to glance down toward my feet and that’s when I noticed a huge glob of fresh duck or goose crap on the inside right calf of my pants leg.

“THESE WERE NEW PANTS, DAMN YOU!” *shakes fist at sky* (which is absent of birds because they are sneaky and have good timing)

This was not from brushing up against something. From the looks of it, not only was it a direct hit from a dive bombing bird, but the poo must have just missed my face on the way in.

Example #2

Last night, I was sitting in the backyard with the kids, while the wife was at a church meeting.

The kids were busy playing on the giant wooden contraption I built them so we wouldn’t have to go to the park as much. (It’s almost like I psychically knew the birds would one day come for me.)

Upon Wifey’s return, a dandelion fight broke out. Yellow flower heads were flying everywhere. The kids were popping the flower tops and throwing them. The wife was throwing them.

My Matrix/Ninja skills were no use. I decided to catch what I could and return their fire.

Then I realized, it’s harder to catch a dandelion head than I thought, especially from a 6 yr old with an arm like Roger Clemens on steroids (which is redundant-I know).

So, I reach down, pop a dandelion head, and as I throw it at the 6 yr olds face, I think, “That one was really juicy!”

I look down at my hands, after letting it fly, and they are covered in fresh bird doo.

I was like, “OMG! Birds have tried to kill me with their shit for 2 days now! They want me to get Bird Flu and DIE!”

After I washed it off, I remembered that we should probably check the 6 yr old face.

Lucky for him, I am a sucky dandelion thrower and had also absorbed most of the mess with my giant sponge hands.


Now, I am not sure what caused this sudden increase in aggression on the birds’ part.

Really, it started off innocent. I received the occasional butt-bombing on my truck.

Lately, the bombings have become more frequent and more personal.

Maybe it is retaliation for all those times I killed their friends/relatives with a pellet gun.

But, if they are reading this, I just want them to know that I wasn’t discriminating against the Aviarian race. I mean, I shot at squirrels and rabbits and cats and small children also.

So let’s call a truce.

You keep your shit to yourself, and I won’t dig out my pellet gun and go all Harvey Oswald on your asses again.

Deal?

(Pssst----probably best to have the parrots handle the reply)

Updates and More Shopping Adventures

First, a few updates on the last couple posts I did.

I really hate explaining stuff that I post, but I had so many questions and misunderstandings in the comments section that I felt compelled to break it down for my less than gifted readers, or for those who skim posts, like Travis and Mooooog and Lilu.

On Olive Garden:

I am generally a very large tipper, IF the service is good. I have been told that I often leave too much. I just don’t like being told how much to leave.

The $57 bill was just for me, the wife, and our 3 munchkins; AND, it was a good deal only because my wife is better at saving money than I am. As proof, my meal alone was $16 of the total.

The entire party/group numbered around 30 people, but everybody paid their own bills. The gratuity thing was determined by Olive Garden for parties of 8 or larger.

On the masseuse:

I had an umbilical hernia in 2001. My innie became an outie. That’s why my abdomen was originally shaved and not the groin area.

Also, I really didn’t grow fur. (Geez people!) It was just a lot thicker there than anywhere else.

And yes, you CAN also get the Cochy shave lotion from those home parties.

And now…..

You may have enjoyed my Trip To Victoria Secrets post.

So I give you…..

MORE ADVENTURES IN SHOPPING

Running to Kmart for some baby wipes should be pretty straightforward, right?

WRONG

Go to the baby section. Spend 10 minutes scouring the diapers and pull-ups and swimmies. Scan the other 3 aisles.

No wipes.

HUH, guess K-mart doesn’t carry the complete baby pooping line.

Heading towards the front to leave, an associate asks me if I’ve found everything I was looking for.

Now, I’ve worked retail. I know store layout comes from corporate and not the associates.

But I noticed the person’s name tag says, “ASST Store Manager”, which not only explains why they bothered to ask if I needed help in the first place, BUT also means they may have some knowledge and input on store layout.

So I say, “Umm….Baby wipes?”

ASS Manager: “Oh. Those are up in the pharmacy section by the mouth wash.”
Me: “I see. Cause mouthwash makes A LOT more sense than by the diapers in the baby section. GEEZ!”
ASS Manager: *blink,blink*


Shopping tip #1

It is better to shop at an adult item store that has a big black guy who looks like Tone Loc behind the counter, then one that has a flaming homosexual that looks like a fat George Michael.

Unless you want anal lube or something of that sort.

Tone Loc will be very knowledgeable about pleasing the ladies and will ask things like, “Yo man. You really want to make your girl happy? Let me show you what they really like.”, while grabbing his knee to adjust his junk.

Fat George Michael will stand there looking all retentive and only offer to help when you near the section with the plugs and beads and lube. THEN, when you go up to pay for the Cochy brand shave lotion, will ask stuff like, “You know this is for shaving, right?!”, and then head-bob from side to side followed by two finger snaps.

Conversations With My Masseuse

Masseuse: “Wow! You’re really broken out across your stomach. Is that a rash?”
Me: “No”…*chuckling*… "It’s actually razor burn.”
Masseuse: “It wasn’t like that last time. Did you just shave? Cause you’re not a hairy person anyway.”
Me: *sheepishly* “Umm, yes. I did it for a couple reasons. After they shaved me for my hernia surgery in 2001, it came back like gorilla fur across my stomach. My kids have pointed out how funny my hairy belly looked. Plus, with me losing weight and toning up, I wanted to see if there were abs under the fur.”
Masseuse: “What are you using?”
Me: “Well, I remembered when I was in the Navy, I asked a stripper one time how she kept from getting razor burn and she said she used conditioner and a new disposable razor. So I tried that, but it didn’t work so great.”
Masseuse: “I’ll tell you what works best. There is this stuff called Coochie that is guaranteed not to cause razor burn. You can only get it at adult bookstores and novelty shops, but its good stuff. Try that with a NEW disposable razor. Make sure it’s new though.”
Me: “Sweet. Thanks. Umm, is there even one of those stores around here?”
Masseuse: “Yeah. There’s one over on Johnson St.” ……*giggling*…. “I never thought about it before, but how funny is it that there is a Dildo shop on JOHNSON ST!” *cracking up*
Me: “That’s hilarious. I’m stealing that.”


*later...talking about her hubs who is balding*

Masseuse: “Did I tell you he completely shaved his head?”
Me: “I think you did last time.”
Masseuse: “Well, he was out and got sunburned. When it peeled later, he looked like a Manatee that got hit by a boat propeller.”
Me: “Nice”
Masseuse: “Yeah. I told him to be careful.”
Me: “So, does he use Coochie to shave with?”
Masseuse: “No. He says ‘I ain’t putting that stuff on me’, cause he thinks it’s girlie.”
Me: “WHAT! You go home and tell him, if he wants to make you happy, he will put your coochie on his head.”
Masseuse: *laughing & turning red*


P.S. I am also supposed to tell everyone that over the relaxing music that plays during the massage, every once in awhile, when someone goes, you can hear their super-charged toilet flush very loudly. That thing must have a hemi.

More From Olive Garden

Waitress: “Sorry sir, but I’m going to reach over you."
Me: “Better than a reach under. AND more appropriate than a reach around.”

*Watching sister put her 7th lemon slice in same glass of water*
Me: “Dang! Why didn’t you just order Lemonade!”
Sis: “Because I don’t have to pay for water.”
Me: “Nice! Sticking it to the Olive Man!”

Me: *pointing to something on the menu* “What is this stuff?”
Sister: “It’s some kind of pasta. Probably like Angelhair.”
Me: “GAWD! What is with this place and all the pasta?!”

Me: “That waiter is definitely gay.”
Sister: “How can you tell?”
Me: “Just has that look about him. Like on break, he probably goes in the back and fondles the olives and kisses the Italian sausages.”
Sister: “Shut it!”

*Waiter & Waitress to me at the EXACT same time*
Waiter: “Sir, would you like more Diet Coke?”
Waitress: “Sir, would you like more Salad?”
Me: …..Blink, blink…….
Waiter & Waitress: *Smiling patiently*
Me: “Who wants an answer first?”

*check comes*
Me: *looking at bill* “HOLY SH*T! $57 bucks for Olive Garden?”
Sister: “That’s because they add on a gratuity to everybody’s check for groups of eight or more.”
Me: *still looking at bill* “18%!!! $8 tip!!! Geez, they weren’t that good. Hell, what happened to 10%. I do 20% if it’s really good, but 18%? That totally takes away my tipping freedom! Olive Garden is communist!”
Sister: “Shut it! I used to be a waitress and it’s hard work, bub.”
Me: “I don’t doubt it, but that doesn’t mean I have to pay for their retirement.” *waving waitress over*
Sister: “What are you doing now?”
Me: “I am telling this chic I wasn’t with you people. I don’t know this group.”
Sister: “Hate to tell ya, but you brought 5. That’s practically a group by itself.”
Me: “The gratuity thing says 8. And 5 isn’t 8, unless you complete the top and bottom loops.”
Sister: “You’re an idiot.”

Olive Garden Hates Me But Atleast Grandma Made It To 85

My grandma turned 85 over the weekend and the Family got together at Olive Garden. Fun times ensued. Here are just a couple highlights.

Our waitress was an identical doppelganger for LiLu.

I was my usual self, which means the waitstaff most definitely took turns seasoning my food with loogies. I thought that Fat-Free Italian dressing tasted funny.

After about my fifth crack, I asked why what I was ordering wasn’t listed as low fat when all it was just grilled salmon and broccoli. She said she wasn’t sure, but could get me the “healthy menu”. My older sister wanted to see it too, so she went to get it and stood at the end of our table reading it. I said to my sister, “Did she get that menu for us or for herself?” Evidently the waitress heard me, cause she said, “I was just trying to find out about the salmon, but here”, and she attempted to hand it to me by tossing it frizbee style, where in the sharp corner nearly grazed my eyeball causing me to go into a Matrix-like avoidance maneuver. Of course, she apologized profusely, but I know she was trying to kill me with that menu.

Later there was this conversation:

BIL: “Can your grandma hear me? Does she have her hearing aids in?”

Me: “Probably not.”

BIL: *turns towards grandma, who is sitting at the next table* “Happy Birthday, Roberta!”

GM: ……………………..

BIL: “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ROBERTA!”

Me: *laughing*

GM: …………………………..

Me: “Try one more time.”

BIL: “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ROBERTA!!!!”

GM: “You’re welcome.”

BIL: ………………………………..

ME: “Yep. Guess not.”

Odd Job Postings or Choose Your Death Wisely

So, I was looking at job postings today and I found something interesting. There are several postings for a Lifeguard at Edwards Air Force Base. That’s not the interesting thing. It is, after all, the Air Force. Everybody knows Flyboys can’t swim. If it had been Navy, then it would have been interesting.

No, the interesting part was this:

Lifeguard…..Edwards AFB……$22,638
Lifeguard…..Edwards AFB……$25,454
Lifeguard…..Edwards AFB……$26,193
Lifeguard…..Edwards AFB……$31,177

Why the discrepancy in pay? The job qualifications, descriptions, and titles are the same.

Are some expected to save more lives than others?

Does the pay vary by degree of tan?

I have no idea, but I hope I am never drowning at Edwards AFB when the cheap ass lifeguard is on duty. You get what you pay for.

P.S. If you plan on drowning at Cape Hatteras, you’re screwed. The posting for the lifeguard there says $10 an hour, which works out to only $20,800.

P.S.S. This reminds me of when I worked in the Navy Hospital in Memphis and we would get attempted suicides in the ER. Marines would occasionally decide to end it all by drinking a bottle of detergent. Unfortunately, all this did was make them vomit and fart bubbles. Eventually, the docs would get pissed when the same ones kept showing up again and again. Several times they would tell the suicidal jarheads that if they were serious, they should drink bleach, but otherwise quit wasting their time. God love them, Marines are dumb. They get their brains beat out of them in training. That's why they believed us when we would tell them not to throw toothpicks in the urinals because crabs could pole vault.

Wednesday Random Thoughts

They say knowing is half the battle. That happens to be the half I like most, mainly because I know everything. So no matter what the other half of the battle involves, I already have a 50/50 chance of WIN.

Ever seen somebody that you thought you knew, but you weren’t sure where from? And so you’re staring at them intently trying to figure it out. And then they catch you staring at them, but with this real intent look on your face, like you want to do them harm. And then you realize that they see you looking at them, so you try to pass it off with a smile or by looking away. But it’s too late, because now they are giving you the stinkeye. And that pisses you off, and you just want to punch them in the face. But instead, you turn away from the mirror. Mirrors are assholes, is my point.

So I have been losing weight at a Karen Carpenter pace lately. I figure, another midget worth or two, and I’ll go on a maintenance food plan. But right now, I’m still gearing towards another show down with that smartass WiiFit.

Sometimes, while mowing, I like to pretend my lawn is a giant Chia. Like an Earth Chia Pet. I need to be more creative though. Right now, when my neighbors ask why I left the one big strip down the middle, and if it’s because I ran out of gas, I tell them it’s just my lawn’s Mohawk. Or Lawnhawk.

Monday Memoir: Tramatic Brain Injury Is My Friend

It's Monday Memoir time over at Travis', even though Ian is trying to steal his day.



People often ask me, “Were you dropped on your head as a baby?” To which I replay, “That is a nonsensical question. If I was, I surely wouldn’t remember because babies have something called infantile amnesia, which prevents them from remembering things before the age of two. Just one reason most of your childhood immunizations are given before age two. Not to mention, your “mommy issues” would be a whole lot worse if they included that whole birthing process memory. And secondly, if I was dropped on my head, I would likely not remember it due to being dropped on my head. So there in lie the fallacies of your question.” And since, by that point, they had walked away long before then; I am basically talking to myself, which is always the most intelligent conversation I can get.

However, if they had ever asked if I dropped myself on my head as a child, the answer would have been, “Which time do you want to know about?”

One in particular stands out as a doozy, and probably explains why I am the way I am.

We had a train track that ran behind our house. The track was lined with trees on both sides.
Being a boy of about 9 or 10, I loved climbing trees.

However, mom always said to stay away from the train tracks.

Probably had something to do with her fears that I would become a hobo, complete with harmonica and a bundle tied to a stick, and would travel the world, instead of providing her with grandkids someday.

Might have been the “smashed by a train” thing too.

Regardless, being the obedient son that I was, I would often climb the trees along the tracks.

This particular day, mom caught me in the tree.

She came out in the yard, and yelled something to the effect of, “(insert complete full name here) get out of that tree right now before I bust your tail!”

Knowing that I was destined to have a meeting with the belt, and in my haste to get out of the tree, I lost my grip.

Down I went, a million feet, head first, and landed on a pile of railroad ties.

A normal child would have died, head split open like a jack-o-lantern the day after Halloween.

But not me. I was blessed with an unusually hard head.

I picked myself up, and stumbled up the bank and across the yard towards mom, where I nearly blacked out at her feet.

Mom, fearing she had just witnessed her child fall to his death and frightened by the sight of my 3 enormous goose eggs that sprouted up like extra heads, was too relieved to beat me.

WIN!

Fly Fishing.....It's The New Black

Summer is just around the bend and I am thinking of inventing a sport. See, I already engage in a version of this activity, but have never given it a name or rules or its own custom equipment before. Chances are, you’ve played a similar version of it yourself. It also has very minimal start up cost. It can be a great workout. And you can participate in it anywhere.

It’s FLY fishing.

No, not fishing with flies. Fishing FOR flies.

Here’s what you do. When you get flies in your house, or say, they show up at your picnic uninvited, you pull out your fly rod. In this case, it’s a flyswatter with short piece of string tied to the business end. You bait the line. Since flies like shit, you get some. Rabbit works great because of size. Baby works great because of availability. Dog is a good substitute because it’s always laying around. If you live in the city, don’t have pets, or don’t have a little pooping machine in your house, you can use your own. I recommend this as a last resort. And make sure you wash your hands afterwards.

I can’t believe I have to tell you people to wash your hands after playing with shit.

So there you are, fly rod/swatter in hand, string tied to the business end with poo on the other end of the line. The purpose of the sport is to distract the nasty little flies from landing on your food or your sleeping partners face, and get them to go for the poo.

Once they attempt to land on the poo-on-a-string, you wack them with the swatter. Obviously, you have to be quick. It’s like that paddle with the ball on a string in the middle of it.

Patience and hand speed are a must.

This is strictly a kill sport. There are no catch and release, cause that’s just cruel. Who wants a bunch of maimed flies crawling around?

This is a stupid sport. Forget I said anything. Trying pushing away from the computer and going outside for once.

Wednesday Randomness....A.K.A. Don't Massage Squirrels On The Way To The Grocery Store When Flying A Grass Kite

First, I have to clear up a little misconception about yesterday’s post title. It was supposed to mean that those were all thoughts that ran through my head in a five second period. Some of you thought I meant that was how long it would take you to read it. I would never assume how smart someone is, like that. I know that not everyone’s brain works as quickly and efficiently as mine, and a few of you probably even rode the short bus to school. I hope this clears things up.

Driving home for lunch yesterday, I saw this big squirrel standing on the sidewalk of the bridge. He was thinking about crossing. I could tell. And he was looking right at my truck, trying to judge its speed and the timing he needed. I was saying, “Don’t do it dude!”, over and over, cause I know not to swerve, especially after seeing those Gieco commercials where they are high-fiving and stuff after they cause the wreck. Now, when I see it coming, I just mash on the gas, close my eyes, and hope for a clean kill the best. (It just occurred to me, that this may not be the safest practice.) He must have seen me close my eyes and speed up, because he waited for me to pass. When I looked back, I’m pretty sure he gave me the middle claw. Squirrels are such assholes.

I went to the grocery at lunch to pick up bananas and Sprite for the sick kiddos. Some old guy had a whole basket full of cans of green beans. He must have cleaned the store out. I was like, “Dang Old Dude, how much fiber you need?! You must really be backed up!” I wanted to ask if he was stocking his bomb shelter. But I figured, maybe he was Mayan and was planning ahead.

I had my first Deep Tissue Full Body Massage last week. Turns out, you’re not supposed to ask about the “happy ending”. Especially, if your mom works there. AND, if you have no money for a tip.

Ever try flying a kite when there’s no wind? I did last night. It very much looked like those little bulimic gymnasts that dance around in the Olympics with a ball or ribbon or hoop thingy. Basically, I was an idiot dancing around and waving my arms and a kite in the air, only to have it crash into the ground, my butt, the baby’s eye, the eleven year olds head, and the ground again. I still refused to blame it on the lack of wind, because that would have made everybody else right and I wrong (which is impossible), so I theorized that it was due to the kite being tailless. A little tail always makes me want to fly. *eyebrow waggle*

I mowed my grass for the first time this past weekend. I hate that first mow, because you know that just opens up a whole can of worms mowing seasons….that makes no sense, but you know what I meant. Anyway, I had to do something. Since we own a dog, which fertilizes all winter, the lawn was very patchy and uneven. After I lost the baby in a tall patch for the 4th time, I figured it was time to even it up. I did take the baby out first though, because my mower is still new and I don’t want to dull the blades. Plus, I like the kid.

Tuesday Quickie....My Brain Thoughts in Five Seconds

Ever have one of those days where you think, “Boy, it’s a good thing gas is so expensive. Otherwise, I’d have more money to spend on ammo at Walmart.”?

Or

You ever wonder if the guy who said, “If life gives you lemons, then make lemonade”, owned stock in the juice industry? He obviously never had someone hold him down and pour lemon juice in his eyes. You don’t make profound statements after something like that. That stuff burns. Trust me; I’ve done it several times to the neighbor kids. They make lots of noise, but never say anything I would consider profound.

Or

What about the mattress in the pool prank? Who thought of that? Was it some redneck trying to use it for a pool float? Or maybe they just didn’t understand the concept of what a waterbed was?

Or

When they say, “The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence”, are they taking into account whether there IS a fence? And if there is, what if you’re standing on the fence? I mean, cause then, no matter which way you look, the grass is greener. What if one side has better sun and moisture drainage and therefore IS greener? I forgot what my point was.

Monday Part 2......belated

So, I promised you a second post yesterday and totally forgot.

Apologies.

In my defense, I would like to provide you with a LIST of what I was doing instead. Here goes:

First, I never actually “promised” anyway.
#2, I M lzy
Thirdlies, I forget stuff. This happens when you have a real life. Maybe you’ll learn that someday.
D., I was busy reading your posts and comments. Okay, not really, but it was worth a shot.
E., I was busy chatting on the gchat and had no interest in doing anything else…..except work (whew)
VI, I figured I would just make it up to you today and tell you about my recent trip to the ER.

This past Saturday night, before the big bunny came delivering colored chicken eggs to let everyone know that Jesus rose from the dead because that is how you let people know, my middle kid Sammy wakes up and vomits.

I did not hear this because I was watching a movie on the laptop with my earbuds. My wife, who had been ill with a migraine (yes, named Ed) was sleeping on the couch and hears it. She goes in to check, and discovers that Sammy’s face is swollen and bright red on the sides of his mouth. Thinking he is having a food allergy, she comes to me because I am obviously a giant antihistamine.

We decided that the boy did not look like the Joker from Batman when he went to bed 3 hrs prior, and that a trip to the ER is warranted. The best time to go to the ER is ALWAYS 130am. It’s a wonderful land of sick kids and crackheads. Like DisneyWorld, but cheaper.

So we check in. They got us back pretty quick, probably cause they think they can just wipe off my kids clown makeup and send us on our way. It’s called TRIAGE, people!

We get back there, they do their thing, check this and that, asking tons of questions, and finally the doc comes in. She does the check over thing. Decides she wants pee, blood, and x-rays. She has obviously seen my insurance card.

We do all that stuff. Wait, wait, wait, and wait. Whole time, my kid is a trooper. Didn’t cry or freak out about anything, even the blood draw and x-ray machine. Meanwhile, the wife is at home freaking out for him. Doctor comes back in, says everything came back fine, and that if he can drink some sprite without vomiting, we can leave.

I ask about the mouth, cause that was the MAIN REASON I brought him in. She wasn’t sure what caused it and said maybe he wretched so hard that he busted blood vessels around his mouth like a bruise. GREAT! Thanks for the wonderful info. That was something you just pulled out of your ass because you didn’t know. He even told you that it just “came up”. He didn’t have to heave or wretch. And I could have done the sprite test at home. I’ll just take my Joker and go now.

While waiting to be discharged, this mom who had came in with a very sick kid the same time we did, was leaving with her son. She walks over and hands Sammy a $5 bill and says Happy Easter. He was so overjoyed and excited that he totaled forgot about being sick. Meanwhile, I was thinking “WTF!!!!!!!!! WHO DOES THAT!!!! YOUR KID HAS THE DAMN PLAGUE PRACTICALLY AND YOU GIVE MY KID YOUR FILTHY BILLS?! THERE IS A STRICT NO TOUCHING POLICY IN THE ER BY NON-MEDICAL PEOPLE!”, while trying to smile and spit thank yous.

How was your weekend?

Oh Funny, Where Art Thou?

Me: “Hey man, where have you been?”
Funny: “Dude! Seriously?”
Me: “Yes, I’m serious. I need you bro. I got readers now. They depend on you making an appearance more often than Haley’s Comet.”
Funny: “Nice reference, Mr. Happy. Why don’t you leave the humor stuff to me?”
Me: “What’s that supposed to me?”
Funny: “Well, it just means that you suck without me.”
Me: “Not that. The Mr. Happy reference.”
Funny: “Look, I don’t know how to put this, but you’ve been in a happy-funk lately. It sickens me. It’s disgusting. This place…this head of yours….it’s all puppies and unicorns and flowers and rainbows and e*trade babies…….it’s too cute in here. Makes me want to vomit. Are you turning gay?”
Me: “What?! What the hell kind of question is that? Of course not! I mean, yeah, I have developed a new obsession with Lady GaGa, but it’s not like I’m driving around with a rainbow sticker on my car and singing showtunes.”
Funny: “Well, something’s wrong. Maybe it’s from restarting your Prozac. Or maybe it’s this fitness kick and all the weightloss. OH….wait……….It’s your wife, isn’t it? She gave you another Niceness challenge, didn’t she?”
Me: “She did not. Maybe it’s a combination of the fitness and meds thing. I’m pretty sure there is more to it than that, though. A lot more. I…..am…..just……happy.”
Funny: *wretches*….“Oh man….I’m gonna be sick again”….*wretches*
Me: “Why is my happiness such a bad thing for you?”
Funny: “Let me put it like this. We, and by “we” I mean “I”, am an asshole. I thrive on being mean. Making fun of people….things…..life stuff in general. It’s what I do! And I just find this current environment non-conducive to my craft. I refuse to work in a hostile work place.”
Me: “That’s too bad. I am pretty sure the happy attitude is here to stay for awhile. But, I hate seeing you in pain, so I’ll tell you what I’ll do. This weekend, I’ll take you out in public. Maybe we’ll go to the mall or Walmart. Surely, you’ll find something or someone there that will peak your interest.”
Funny: “Can we point fingers and laugh at the trashy Walmart people?”
Me: “Hey! WE shop at Walmart!”
Funny: “I don’t mean everybody that shops at Walmart is trashy. I just mean there ARE trashy people that GO TO Walmart.”
Me: “Oh. Okay then. In that case, yeah, we can do that.”
Funny: “Can we trip the old people that do their walking at the mall?”
Me: “What is wrong with you? Seriously!”
Funny: “What? Old people falling is FUNNY!”
Me: “You need help.”