Traditional Pregnancy Test

This just in..... Apparently one in four woman can misread a "traditional pregnancy test" Well thank god for Clear Blue Easy. Apparently there is now an easier way to determine if your pregnant than the BLUE line. That would be the "your pregnant" BLUE line. But wait there's more. This how they've improved the concept, for now if your pregnant Clear Blue Easy "Digital" prints the word "Pregnant" on the test for you.

Hmmmmmmmm. Possible flaws? I can think of a few. Firstly, if you are so stupid that you could not interpret the original Clear Blue Easy pregnancy test, then it occurs to me that you probably can't read. More-over if you can't follow the "BLUE" its you, then pregnancy itself might be a mystery in its own.... "So the guy says Rubbers, hell these things don't work. I been wearing one for 3 weeks and I caught a cold"

The Perfect Storm

You know sometimes things just seem to conspire together. The "Fates" as it were. There are just some days when god puts just the right amount of stupid, with a pinch of confusion, two table spoons of arrogance, one family that has several appearances on "Springer"; neatly combined with a Nurse who knows enough amateurs psychology to be...... stupid. Not so much dangerous. Maybe dangerously stupid. Yeah. Fits (dangerously stupid). Topped off with a Dr who's sarcasm and impulse control make yours truly seem both dull and methodical. A Dr. Who would make House MD. cry. Oh. and me.





Part I. It begins (clouds on the horizon)


So on my way in this morning I call to check on said individual I am working with on placement for some of his "issues"; and I get his nurse on the phone. We'll call her "Madame Empathy" or "Miss Co-Dependant" at this point. So MS. E starts rambling on about how the patient is fine, that he is just "miss understood". "a child robbed of his youth".... "Clearly the victim in all of this"Bla bla bla, and the kicker here comes in with the, and I hate this part, the "You know what I mean?" Like somehow I'm in the loop with this lady. Were kindred. Compadres out to heal the world............... This would be where the headache just starts to form.





Arrival confirms my suspicions. The woman..... Is..... an idiot. Which is ok in certain scenario's, not so much this particular happenstance. I continue further discourse with said Nurse reveals that she has gotten along sooooooooooo famously with our patient that he has agreed to get a flu shot. Hazaaaaaaaaa. Making the world Vomit Free for you and Me....





Part II. The interview (Darkening Skies)

So I'm interviewing Cato here, and he notes that suddenly he has an unusual muscle spasm in his arm and shoulder. Not clear why or how. I take note and we continue the interview. Pain "reportedly" gets worse and moves to his neck. At this point lacking any medical knowledge I defer to the MD who confirms my suspicion that said individual is "faking". Still, such that I am unsure of even how to confront "faking" I go back in to continue, only to find that the "spasms" are worse, and now he is having trouble seeing.



Know to fully appreciate the bad acting that is taking place, imagine auditioning to be an extra on the old television show Chips, only not to receive a call back. Its like bad porn acting. Only worse somehow. A monologue on Miami Vice. You know the kind of stuff that hurts.



Part III. (Impending vitriolic storm)



So lets surmise. At this point, I am in a holding pattern because I can no longer fully asses the client because, He appears to be pretending to physically decompensate and I am waiting to see his next move (both out of fascination and curiosity). However, my job dictates I have other tasks to perform so whilst I am away the stupid come out to play. Let me clarify. As soon as I step down the hall Nurse Ratchet/Nightingale takes it upon herself to continue her assessment of this poor lost soul, and has now managed to either knowingly and or unknowingly create the possibility of this becoming a legal matter. So here I am trying to tolerate Ray Charles dinner theater, when I get up for intermission only to return to The Helen Keller Story. Fortunately I had Dr. Phils personal dog trainer (Nurse wackit) to explain the behaviors for me.



Part IV. (And then it rained)

Finishing up another matter I am summoned by a policeman to talk to the patient. In walking into the room I find what I can only call more proof of evolution and a stronger case for birth control than I wanted or expected to see. Apparently Mamma, Daddy, Jethro, Cletus, Clovis, and the entire Nascar racing team for Oxy Codone had come to support their "Boy". Touching moment really. Ok not so much. Upon my entrance into this small room I find the patient now sticking his tongue out to perhaps mimick the rarely identified Tardic Dyskenesthia with rapid onset. Its like anafalactic shock, only without the shock. No sweat, tremors........ nothing really, just faking. However, apparently the Clampet family has not had the opportunity to purview some of the finer theatrics life has to offer so the are encapsulated and enraptured with our young wounded swan. I get the "You ain't takin my boy..........." "What are gonna do about......" "You look just like a pig........" Kind of questions.



Now I do manage to settle the mob, with the mere use of a lighter and the promise of tickets to the upcoming Wrestle Mania. I am now viewed as a Deity. I can make fire and create passes to the greatest Wrestling Event Known to man. So I'm starting to piss this fire down at least to some degree when it happens.



Part V. Lightning Crashes the Party

Now, it has been said that some doctors lack tact. Low some Doctors are even narcissistic at times. And granted as one progresses further up on the food chain of intelligence, one can tend to lose some of the fruit of social skill so to speak. And Speak he did. This guy. This Doctor who presents with the dry humor akin to British Culture, and A sense of Aloof entitlement sometimes seen with those of German Descent ("not only do you suck, but sadly you are not me").



So are hero enters stage right. Family begins to question prince empathy about "their boy". And sure as I'm typing this they got all the answers with both barrels. Dr. Mengela when one family member stated,
" he can't go anywhere like this" responded with

"well he's not goin in my car." Silence. Again the natives stand in awe as if the great man has produced beads mirrors and fire water.



Another family member makes reference to the client being "crazy" to which the Doctor responds " "thats for sure". Which was when I left.



Part VI (time for shelter)

I had finally had enough. I was afraid of the questions the family would ask, and more afraid of the Doctors Responses. Much more. I did upon exiting instruct one of the deputies to not "take his eye off the Doctor" as for fear of retribution for his communicable disease (communication).



At this point I am walking down the hall shaking my head, trying to figure out if what I just saw really happened. Really?



So the Doc orders further tests for our boy and the family is instructed to leave by the police, and things are somewhat right with the world. Standing quietly next to Dr. Strangelove I mention, kind of stammeringly, " Read any good books on Empathy lately? " A poor nurse who had to witness this whole afternoon almost fell out of her chair laughing. And then when the Dr looks at me and says "what?" She pretty much did (fall out of her chair).



I began to try and recount some of his dialogue with the family. Like the parts when He explained that the client was "faking it" in such a way that I could only define as incendiary. Shortly into this dialogue I realized the futility of my point. This was a man who redefines blunt. A man who both walks loudly and carries a big stick... With a hammer on the end.



My favorite part came when I left the scene of the crime where two policemen where trying to maintain order, and he is explaining to the worried family why their son is full of shit. I walk out shaking my head and there is nurse stupid. Piningly she looks into the room and says, " l love working with him" I think referring to the Doctor. I am tired, frustrated, and worried about a Dr. who's social ineptitude is only eclipsed by his medical genius; and I simply walk drudgingly toward my car looking forward to a time when I can peacefully share this story with you the readers.

wii or should I say weeeeeeeeeee

Oh were to begin. The shame of it all really. I finally broke down and got a wii for the kids (lie, all about me). I've heard all the great hoopla and balderdash, about the great wii. The excitement, the fitness craze, the ability to get car sick in your own living room. So far. All true.

As per fitness, I don't know if these thing is good exercize, or an indicator of just how out of shape I am. I'm most certain the latter. After using solid fundamentals and dismantling my first four opponents (computer replicated) with apparent ascention in difficulty, I barely had time to be impressed with myself as I watched my three year old drop a 3rd round decision to my would be fifth opponent. It was about six minutes of "yeah daddy" arm flailing and button pushing. It was like watching hobbits re-enact a baseball fight.

Even as I type this my arms are sore. Sore from the boxing? Maybe. Perhaps the grueling 1 game tennis sets, or the three innings of bobble-head baseball. To whit, I threw more junk than Phil Niekro at the Seniors All-star Game.

Still, I am excited. Motivated, challenged. I will continue my quest to be or to wii the best boxer I can be. Tomorrow. Bowling.

Good times I tell ya. Good times. If this isn't old, got help me when I become it.

And so we blog........

I had the distinct privilege of attending a party with my wife Saturday evening. Something I find to be a somewhat rare treat. Now granted, we did have kids in tow, so party... not so much. Still I love any scenario where human beings gather to socialize. At times it is just interesting. While at other times I feel like a large crocodile sitting in a small pond in the African Savanna on a hot hot day.

The party. My wife's friends who are primarily composed of engineer types, and some collegiate effluents scattered about. Mostly wife's friends co-workers. You know the usual suspects. I'll start with the ever popular, Boss.Tonights version was a true classic.

The boss.

Guy walks in and the first thing I hear is that he is from Texas. Not just from Texas, but from Texas in that, "I'm from Texas and your not" kind of way. Not that I had time to think that it could get worse, but it went ahead and did without my approval. The boss of course brought "the bosses wife" again, another archetypal figure. Enough make-up and jewelery ensconced such that at any moment I felt as though we could go live to Televangelist event. To further heighten the mood she was as politically incorrect as she was tacky. Nothing like leading off a party dialogue with discussions about conflicts between the Republic of Georgia, and Russia; with residents from both countries. Thank god for social skills, and I suspect liquor. The woman actually quoted Rodney King, with the famous/infamous "Can't we all just get along?"

I'm not making this up. I'm not that creative. Cynically based comedic type that I be, I immediately start looking for something to write on, paper, napkin, tree bark. Anything to truly do justice to this social event which is unfolding before me.

And oh yes, just when you thought it was safe to go back into the water.... I look up and standing before me, is a man approximately 7 feet 14 inches tall, wearing the ugliest shirt I have ever seen in my life. Again please bear in mind, that I am impulse control challenged. I am already fighting back urges here that strain my better judgement. To speak Fruedian, if I dare, my Id is Really wanting to come off the chain. REEEEEEEEEEeaally.

"Just don't look at the shirt. Don't look at it. it's hideous. Even for paisley. I don't even now that shade of ..... don't look at the shirt ..... green exists".

The boss interjects (hand to god, happened) "That's a nice shirt Where'd ya g....." I begin to feel faint, laughter building need to comment overwhelming. Spirit of Louis Black rising from within.

I step away for a moment to get some air. My blessed spouse who is observant but perhaps not completely. Walks over to me, noting my flush color (I get flush when I want to laugh at people and can't). She asked me

"what is it?" I look incredulously at her "No really what?" Again I am dumbfounded "WHAT".

At this point I turn to her friend (our) and say, "now. you know me right? (she nodds) And you know my sense of humor (second nodd)? Do ya think right now is the best time to inquire as to my thoughts in any anecdotal manner?" Slight giggle. Point taken.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaah calm. I breathe. Happy unfunny thoughts. Happy Zen moments.

Nope. The fertile ground of humor continues to spill forth. I am trapped between a right-wing Christendom view of Russian Politics, and a fashion show for Frankensteins Monster, complete with a discussion about socks. Socks? At least it can't get any worse................. I swear I think I heard god laugh when I thought this.

For it now seems the boss has started a discussion about his weekly morning YOGA routine on his wii game console. Complete with showing us his new poses. Now while I am thrilled that this man is seeking eastern treatments for relaxation and overall improvement of health, despite full knowledge that as a Christian from Texas he will surely burn in Hell with all the Democrats and small foreign car owners. I really didn't need to see his "warrior pose" or his "dangling downward dog" thing right there in the living room.

And dare I say it, suddenly I am trapped in a Yoga discussion I can't escape, eyes burning from this boot wearing freaks flexibility I turn quickly away only to find some woman's buttocks squarely in my face. Yes that's right, there's always one at every party. The "one upper". This woman also felt the need to display her flexibility so she promptly bent over completely. Which again was odd, because she was placed such and I was standing such that essentially all I could see was butt. Nothing else. Just Butt.

Again my mind began to swim and I escaped to the kitchen.

Silence. Sweet sweet dulcid silence. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. Best 4 seconds of the night. For the next thing I know. The butt comes in and sits down across from me. I play it cool. My wife comes in, and despite the fear that she might say anything at anytime, to trigger uncontrollable and inconsolable mirth on my part, I am a rock. Steady and Strong.

Then it happens. And for those of you out there who aren't as "party savvy" as myself; a word to the wise, "stay away from accordion chatter my friends". The accordion might seem like a safe topic but in the hands of the socially inept, Pandora's harmonica can lead you on a bad bad solo.

Daughter comes down. For the sake of time and deference to Dr. Seuss, I will call her "Thing one". Thing one complains to mom (buttock lady) that her sister (thing 2) will not share the accordion. Mom is patient and tells thing one to be as well (patient). Some moments later Father of Things one and two, and spouse of buttock, who of course is none-other than the big footed fashion terror from a big and tall shop for the near sighted and sexually disoriented men of the north woods, steps forth and decrees that yes the accordion will be shared much to thing two's discontent.

At this point I am exhausted. I have had 1,327 jokes all running through my head at once. Most of which are neither kind, nor funny to anyone but myself and possibly the late Sam Kinneson; and in moment of weakness I turn to ass lady and say, "You know its ironic, cause most people don't even like the accordion".

This was her response:

"When I was in college I had a gym teacher who used to play the accordion. Every night, alone in his room, he would play beautifully. Many times I would walk by and just listen. Some nights I even sat out on the grass, like a little concert. It was dark so he couldn't see out, but I could see in (anywhere at this point the word naked would have truly improved the quality of this story). He was quite surprised one day when I complemented him on his playing (any reference to stalking or restraining orders would have also heightened this particular piece). "

I was speechless. Moved. Not to tears. Or at-least tears of happiness or kindness. I was cornered really. This poor man dragged from his secret closet life of accordion playing. Gym teacher by day, sissy pirate musician by night. The scandal

If I had a choice at this point I probably would have said, "that's gin" got up and walked out of the house; as it was however, my wife and children were present such that I retrieved them and we departed happily for home. I enjoyed the privilege of sharing the party through my eyes with her and together we both agreed that it was time for us to purchase a wii.

Happy New Year ADDDDD Style!!!!!!!!!!!

They say better late than never. But then they also say that size doesn't matter. I guess it depends on who your cell mate is. Me I'm still scared to see my Doctor for a physical, so forgive me if "visions of the Shawshank Redemption" don't go dancing through my head.

But I digress. Often really. Pity is, I don't know what digress means. I just now that smart people do it when writing from time to time.

So it is the New Year. What do I propose to do? To Change? To enact upon?

I think this year I will shoot for........
Gratefulness. I will aim to appreciate my blessings.
Tact. I have no shot at this but whilst I'm wishing.
Patience. See Tact.

I will strive to be the best father I can be to my children every day. I will forgive myself when I can't and push myself even farther because I can.

Forgiveness. I will work to forgive .............. what-ever crap I'm still pouting about from earlier in my life (See football).

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. I will strive for follow through. Completion of tasks. Mundane tasks. Complicated tasks. I am the most non follow through futhermuker I know. Surprised? Check the date on this New Years Blog. Hell I don't even drink. Its the Sixth. I think.

This year I will be........... taller comes to mind. Not really sure why. I will Smile more this year. I will work to not sweat the small stuff. Maybe this will help me to not sweat the big schnit.

Anyways, who-ever you are, or wherever you are on this big honkin planet, may the god of your choosing bless and keep you safe in its arms.

j