Where's Alan?
Friday, June 5, 2009
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Video Thursday
I have been trying to teach Chandler new tricks.
He's still not quite ready for Letterman.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
WTF
Who's The Faggot?
Here in South Florida, there are only two reasons anybody would be riding a bicycle. One reason is that you have had one too many DUI's and have no choice. The other reason is that you are homeless and poor, and couldn't afford a twenty year old Toyota Corolla. Either way, you don't have a lot going on for you in your life. That is why I was so flabbergasted yesterday, when a forty something year old, dirty, shirtless, toothless, bum on a bicycle, looked me in the eye as he rode by, and yelled out in his raspy bum voice, "FAGGOT!". He then proceeded to do the same to Mark, who was lagging some ways behind me. We were on our way into the Winn-Dixie Store, minding our own business, and this cretin suddenly felt that he needed to insult two total strangers. I guess that it somehow makes people like him feel a little better about their lot in life, if only for a few seconds. This isn't the first time here in Fort Lauderdale that I have been the target of a drive by 'faggoting'. It has happened at least four times that I can remember, and every time it has totally taken me by surprise. I end up standing there, staring at the asshole as he drives/rides away, sputtering incomprehensible threats and making confused gestures in some attempt to answer back. That's the problem, I never know how to respond to such an attack. I'm not much good with the witty comeback, and even if I did have a good one, what would I do if the idiot turned around and came back? I've never been much good at fighting either. I guess the best thing to do is just forget it and go on with enjoying my life. After all, my life must be better than theirs, because I don't feel the urge to drive around looking for someone else to belittle.
Here in South Florida, there are only two reasons anybody would be riding a bicycle. One reason is that you have had one too many DUI's and have no choice. The other reason is that you are homeless and poor, and couldn't afford a twenty year old Toyota Corolla. Either way, you don't have a lot going on for you in your life. That is why I was so flabbergasted yesterday, when a forty something year old, dirty, shirtless, toothless, bum on a bicycle, looked me in the eye as he rode by, and yelled out in his raspy bum voice, "FAGGOT!". He then proceeded to do the same to Mark, who was lagging some ways behind me. We were on our way into the Winn-Dixie Store, minding our own business, and this cretin suddenly felt that he needed to insult two total strangers. I guess that it somehow makes people like him feel a little better about their lot in life, if only for a few seconds. This isn't the first time here in Fort Lauderdale that I have been the target of a drive by 'faggoting'. It has happened at least four times that I can remember, and every time it has totally taken me by surprise. I end up standing there, staring at the asshole as he drives/rides away, sputtering incomprehensible threats and making confused gestures in some attempt to answer back. That's the problem, I never know how to respond to such an attack. I'm not much good with the witty comeback, and even if I did have a good one, what would I do if the idiot turned around and came back? I've never been much good at fighting either. I guess the best thing to do is just forget it and go on with enjoying my life. After all, my life must be better than theirs, because I don't feel the urge to drive around looking for someone else to belittle.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
The Happiest Place On Earth
When I was nineteen, two of my cousins and I took a road trip from Chicago to California via the legendary 'Route Sixty Six'. One of the highlights of that trip was our visit to Disneyland, 
something I had been dreaming of since I was a five year old kid running around in a Davy Crockett coon skin hat, and a fringed jacket made out of vinyl. It was kind of pathetic, seeing a long haired, nineteen year old guy riding around in Alice's tea cup, and flying around on the Dumbo ride, but I had to fulfill that childhood dream.Back when I had first heard of Disneyland, I knew that there wasn't a chance in hell that my dad could ever take us there. Our summer vacations always centered around a rented cottage on some muddy little lake, within four hours driving time of our town. Those vacations were always punctuated by angry outbursts by my dad, caused by the inevitable mishap, calamity, or misdeed by one of his children. The trip I remember most clearly is where the rooftop carrier, along with all of our luggage, went flying off the top of the station wagon, while we cruised down the highway at sixty miles per hour. The car
immediately filled with the screams of children seeing their bathing suits and toys scattering across the pavement, while my dad bellowed and cursed from the front seat. I believe I might have actually heard a few new swear words that day, as my dad was scooping up our clothes from the highway.That was our vacation back then, so imagine my surprise to learn from my mom, that after I had grown up and moved out on my own, my dad taken the second tier of his offspring, the six youngest, on an airplane trip to California, and Disneyland. My jealousy was short lived however, when I listened to my mom describe the fun that ensued when they got to Los Angeles, and found their hotel reservations were not honored, and the car rental agency tried to give my dad, mom, and six children, a subcompact car. I'm sure my little sisters had heard most of my dads repertoire of cursing before, but on that vacation he just might have kicked it up a notch.
Monday, June 1, 2009
'Roid Rage
I have an angry hemorrhoid, a very angry hemorrhoid. I thought I had addressed this issue thirty years ago, but (no pun intended) it has come back with a vengeance ever since I got the colonoscopy last year. Apparently the invasion of my colon by the endoscopy equipment triggered a new rear guard attack. Last night I attempted to mitigate the pain of my morning call to nature by taking a laxative. After looking over all the possibilities on the shelves at CVS, I opted for the one that promised “gentle, dependable, overnight, relief”. The fact that it had a ladies picture on the package, and seemed to be marketed to women, didn’t really phase me much. I figured, if a woman can take it, certainly I can. The instructions on the package said to take one to three tablets before bedtime for gentle morning relief. I am so glad I only took one. If the results from taking one of those pills is considered gentle, then I assume they would consider the eruption of Mount Saint Helens to be a quiet, mild, movement of the earth.
After spending most of the morning in the bathroom, I have made an appointment with a new doctor for Thursday, and I am hoping he can miraculously cure me. The last doctor I went to for this problem had the bedside manner of Nosferatu. He seemed to hate his job and went about his business like he was digging for clams on the beach. Hopefully my new doctor is decent, and I pray he is a bit more gentle and pain free than that laxative I took last night.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Peggy's Guest Blog Number Two
Peggy, Zoe, and the ocular prosthesis
The following is a story by my sister, about her dog Zoe.
When I was 15, after 5 years of eye surgeries trying to restore my sight, my right eye was removed as it was too badly damaged. Alan has written about me using it to scare the crap out of him, but I don't remember that. I think it was his imagination about what I COULD do if I "popped" it out in front of him!
When my children were young we had a favorite game....."Find Mommy's Eye". Some kids go on Easter egg hunts, my kids hunted through garbage cans for an artificial eye wrapped in a Kleenex. Like too-tight shoes, a fake eye can also be uncomfortable. Sometimes the eye would get to be so irritating that I would pluck it out and set it on the table, carefully wrapping it in a tissue. Then I would forget and toss it in the trash with any loose papers I was gathering up. At some point a sick feeling would wash over me as I realized it was missing and the 'finding mommy's eye' game was on. The winning kid would always get a prize, and I got my eye back!
Fast forward, now my kids are grown and gone, and I still put the eye down where I shouldn't. Unfortunately I have a wild, devil-dog named Zoe, who picks up anything and everything that she shouldn't. I have pulled tissue, tie-wraps, paper clips, receipts and much more out of her mouth. The other day I was taking the eye up to the bathroom to clean it and put it in its container. Stupidly I stopped to put something in my daughter's old room and must have set it down.....I don't quite remember......all I know is that when I got to the bathroom I didn't have an eye, and the dog who follows me everywhere was nowhere to be seen. I got a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach, and went to find the dog. Zoe tends to hide out in her crate with whatever treasure she has stolen and voilà, there she was cowering in the crate, with my eye laying in front of her staring back at me. After disciplining her, I inspected the eye, and
although it hadn't been broken, it did have serious chew marks. Luckily I had a series of my old prosthetics and since I had to work the next day I figured I could wear one of those. One kind of worked, but the longer it was in, the more uncomfortable it became, making me very crabby. By the time I arrived at work I'd had it, I pulled it out and slapped on an eye-patch. Nobody at work asked about my eye, which was kind of a let down, because I was itching to use my old school girl line, "The dog ate it!".
Editors note; There will be no anonymous comments allowed for this story, because my sister wants to know who is saying mean things about her. That's understandable, considering this story could have ended with her digging through dog poop in the back yard.
The following is a story by my sister, about her dog Zoe.
When I was 15, after 5 years of eye surgeries trying to restore my sight, my right eye was removed as it was too badly damaged. Alan has written about me using it to scare the crap out of him, but I don't remember that. I think it was his imagination about what I COULD do if I "popped" it out in front of him!
When my children were young we had a favorite game....."Find Mommy's Eye". Some kids go on Easter egg hunts, my kids hunted through garbage cans for an artificial eye wrapped in a Kleenex. Like too-tight shoes, a fake eye can also be uncomfortable. Sometimes the eye would get to be so irritating that I would pluck it out and set it on the table, carefully wrapping it in a tissue. Then I would forget and toss it in the trash with any loose papers I was gathering up. At some point a sick feeling would wash over me as I realized it was missing and the 'finding mommy's eye' game was on. The winning kid would always get a prize, and I got my eye back!
Fast forward, now my kids are grown and gone, and I still put the eye down where I shouldn't. Unfortunately I have a wild, devil-dog named Zoe, who picks up anything and everything that she shouldn't. I have pulled tissue, tie-wraps, paper clips, receipts and much more out of her mouth. The other day I was taking the eye up to the bathroom to clean it and put it in its container. Stupidly I stopped to put something in my daughter's old room and must have set it down.....I don't quite remember......all I know is that when I got to the bathroom I didn't have an eye, and the dog who follows me everywhere was nowhere to be seen. I got a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach, and went to find the dog. Zoe tends to hide out in her crate with whatever treasure she has stolen and voilà, there she was cowering in the crate, with my eye laying in front of her staring back at me. After disciplining her, I inspected the eye, and
although it hadn't been broken, it did have serious chew marks. Luckily I had a series of my old prosthetics and since I had to work the next day I figured I could wear one of those. One kind of worked, but the longer it was in, the more uncomfortable it became, making me very crabby. By the time I arrived at work I'd had it, I pulled it out and slapped on an eye-patch. Nobody at work asked about my eye, which was kind of a let down, because I was itching to use my old school girl line, "The dog ate it!".Editors note; There will be no anonymous comments allowed for this story, because my sister wants to know who is saying mean things about her. That's understandable, considering this story could have ended with her digging through dog poop in the back yard.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Water On The Brain
I would like to be ecologically responsible, but sometimes just being me makes that difficult. Despite the fact that we have been having tropical downpours every day for the last couple of weeks, we are still statistically in a drought, and we aren't supposed to be wasting water. So today, because of all the rain, I decided to let some of the water out of the pool so that the circulation and cleaning equipment would work properly. I opened the big valve by the pump, and water started gushing out. I figured about ten minutes would be enough to get the level down. While I was waiting, I went back into the house to check on my email. On my way to the email, I made a quick stop at the game site where I started a game of 'Bubbles'. An hour later I remembered the pool. I don't know if this is an early sign of dementia, or that I'm just a numbskull, but if you were to bet on it, pick numbskull. As I ran outside, I could hear the pool pump sucking air, and I could see that the water level had dropped below the intake.
After running the garden hose for an hour, and pouring hundreds of gallons of expensive water into the pool, I have it back up to an acceptable level. Just in time for the afternoon downpour, which is filling the pool to the brim again.
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