Oh Happy Day!!!

I cannot believe my luck. As usual, I put off getting my emissions test performed on my vehicle which keeps me from being able to re-register my car online. Here we are at the end of the month and I am faced with the emissions test station and then a trip to the DMV.

Friends, I am here to tell you that not only was I able to get both tasks accomplished in less than 2 hours but I was also greeted by friendly, smiling DMV employees. Can you believe it? I am in awe, truly.

I am off to buy a lottery ticket because this kind of luck doesn’t come around often.

In Pursuit of Less Hirsute

I walked into the waiting room of my laser hair removal appointment and to my surprise, what did I find? Three men. I am not sure why it threw me off kilter but it did. Shame on me for thinking that only women seek a state of glabrousness. After I cleared that up in my head, I grabbed a magazine and took a seat.

All three of them were impeccably dressed. I am always dressed casually for work, the patients we see really could care less what we are wearing. I take full advantage of that perk. The room was silent, I was trying to enjoy my gossip magazine and my roommates were busy. One was reading the Post, one was furiously tapping away on his laptop and the other was anxiously waiting for eye contact from me.

Once I met his gaze, he initiated conversation. I now know that he is receiving treatment to the back of his neck/hairline, his back and an unmentionable area.( Thanks fella, I really could have gone through my whole day without that knowledge)When he was done he turned to me and asked why I was there? Of course the other 2 temporarily stopped what they were doing to also hear what part of my body was to be treated. There are some things total strangers really don’t need to know. However, since I realized that there was no escaping his question I decided to have fun while waiting my turn:

Wicked H: I am here to remove all hair except what is on my scalp.
Conversation Initiator: Really? What about your eyebrows?
Post Reader: (Intently waiting for my answer)
Wicked H: Well, it all depends on budget. If I run out of funds, the eyebrows can be sacrificed.
Post Reader: ( Now has brought out his cell phone and is using the calculator function to foretell my expenses) Good call. I’d keep the eyebrows. They are attractive.
Wicked H: Why thank you, I believe I will heed your advice. ( wishing the floor would open up and swallow me now or that all 3 would be called back for their appointment already!!!)

I should have wished for a million dollars. For at that exact moment, all three did get called back for their treatments. So there you go Internets, this was not something I was going to Blog about. You have the three of them to thank.

Creatures of Habit

This week at work, we had to change the combination of the 2 doors that require a keypad combination to enter. My office is in the hallway where the doors are located. I cannot tell you the number of times I have snickered, sometimes silently, sometimes outright guffawed this week.

We have had the same combination for about a year and each of us has a different method of remembering the combination. Since I play with numbers all day long, my method is to remember the pattern the combination makes on the keypad. In fact, that is my method for remembering phone numbers as well. If you were to ask me for a phone number I would have to imagine myself dialing the number before I could recite it.

The first day after the change, I just left my office door open so that I could give anyone who either did not know or couldn’t remember the code. The rest of the week, I have been collecting quarters for each time I had to assist anyone with the code. I now have enough money to buy myself a Latte 3 days next week. Who knew work could be this much fun?

And They All Fall Down…

I take pride in being a self sufficient woman. Meaning I am not afraid of tackling certain home improvement projects. I mean I watch TLC avidly, it looks so easy. I do know my limits, I generally stay away from complicated plumbing issues and anything electrical. Beyond that, I am pretty capable.

Some of the vertical tiles in my master bath tub were getting loose. The tub has a small shelf area for shampoo bottles it runs the length of the tub. I figured I would remove all of the vertical tiles of just the shelf and replace them; with mortar, new tiles then grout. It seemed like a great plan. I removed the 2 loose tiles, no problem. There were 14 tiles that needed to come down. At tile #3, the entire shelf came crashing down into the bath tub rotted drywall and all. Thankfully I was not standing in the tub at the time.

What I am left with are the studs and the insulation behind them. I am pretty sure that wasn’t supposed to happen. I know I’ve never seen it on Trading Spaces. Perhaps that is what gets edited out of the show. Luckily I have another full bath to use in the meantime. What a hassle!

Once I buy the supplies I need, I will call in the professionals. Like I said, I know my limits.

Dear Self-Absorbed Diva With a Tude:

Really, it is way past getting old. We all have issues with life. Not just you. Amazing, I know. Most of us have good friends to lean on. Some seek out professional help, absolutely nothing wrong with that. I hear Tom Cruise has some magic vitamins, worth a try maybe.

This incessant whining really has to stop. Shit or get off the pot. It is in your control, you choose not to accept it. Also okay.

It is my choice not to take the brunt of your tude. I am tapped out. My suggestions and support are obviously not helping you at this point. I can only hope you seek out whatever it is that can console you.

Good luck!

Something’s Amiss

Back in high school I sported the very unattractive uni-brow. Why I listened to my Mother and did not try to put some shape into my brow, I still don’t know? She told me the longer I waited to pluck, the less headache I would have down the road. Well maybe Mom, but you weren’t the one getting-made fun of each day in school.

Luckily for me, my elder sister had already broken the no pluck rule and was ready to assist me in my misfortune. While on Christmas break, my sister told me to bring her a pair of tweezers, sit down in front of her and lay my head in her lap. One hour later, she handed me a mirror. I went from uni-brow to a pair of pencil thin perfectly arched eyebrows. An exact duplicate of her look. Don’t get me wrong. Her plucking abilities were gorgeous but I looked like a different person with red and swollen eyebrows. No wonder my eyes were tearing nonstop the entire time. It was a drastic change. It took almost the entire week for the redness and swelling to dissipate.

When I returned to school, of course I drew a lot of attention. Something I have never enjoyed, even now. I’d rather blend into the crowd than make an entrance. Sadly, this was not the case. Almost everyone who encountered me that day asked me the same questions:

1) Did you get contacts over break? ( I do not wear glasses)
2) New hair style? ( In high school I had long straight hair)
3) Something is different, what is it?

I cannot tell you how quickly all the attention wore me down. I would politely say no; hair style is the same and I don’t even wear glasses. I did not want to announce that the change involved my eyebrows. Too embarrassing I guess. Not the new brows, the attention they garnered.

I almost made it through the day without having to divulge my change in appearance. Then it happened, in History class. My new look completely baffled my teacher, Mr. Stewart. He would keep interrupting his lecture with the standard questions and I would tell him no, all is the same. He tried to continue with class but it was bugging him to no end. He asked me one last time. "Wicked, you look very different. What is the change?" I summoned up all my courage, stood up next to my desk and announced, "I plucked my eyebrows. Do you mind?!?!?!"

Well he finally understood that I did not want the attention. Good ole Mr. Stewart, he was dense that way. With that came a barrage of complements and one very backhanded one. Phillip whom I secretly had a crush on for most of my time in school told the class "oh yea, she doesn’t look Russian any more!" ( Gee, thanks Phillip - end of crush)

Mamas, don’t let your daughters grow up with bushy eyebrows. Trust me. You’ll thank me one day.

Reflections of What My Blog Means to Me

Has it been a year? Already? Time flies when you’re having fun blogging.

I am honored to be among the countless talented writers out there in the blogging community. I am highly amused at the hits received by this site. It is passe to list the way in which some of you have found this blog, I won’t itemize the searches. It is for my own amusement after all and for the individuals who search. I am surprised by the number of visitors, over 10 thousand. Amazing. If you have the time to let me know how you found me, leave a comment or e-mail.

Many new friendships have been forged in this past year, I cherish them all.

Some of you can’t seem to start your work day without visiting. Who knew I was so inspirational? I might have to market my power of inspiration to certain HR departments. Maybe I can motivate a whole company instead of a loan employee. Something to think about.

Happy Blogiversary to me and to those of you who continue to visit. I promise to keep having fun if you promise to keep reading. Deal?

Hey Diddle Diddle

If I am having good rapport with my restaurant server, I enjoy measuring his/her level of humor.

Last night, HFS, HFS Jr. and I ate out after a very intellectually stimulating experience at the Smithsonian’s Museum of Natural History. We ended up at one of my favorite places and had a very fun server, TJ. ( Hi TJ!!) When our meal was done, TJ asked us if everything was ok. There was barely a morsel left on anyone’s plate.

Wicked H: It was TERRIBLE, we are never coming back here again.

TJ: I can see that. The salmon must have swum right off your plate.

HFS: The chicken was horrendous.

TJ: So, the salmon and the chicken ran away.

Wicked H & HFS: ( in unison) Yes, and the cow jumped over the moon.

TJ left us visibly giggling while retrieving our bill. HFS Jr. on the other hand was trying to become invisible. We make every effort to embarrass her while out in public.

Mission accomplished.

10 Years Ago Today.....

I was racing to get to Maryland from NC in a monsoon. The stereo in my car was struck by lightening during the drive and I made the trip in silence. This allowed me much time, 6 plus hours, to worry and pray that all was ok with my elder sister who after countless hours of labor was rushed into a C-section because both her life and the baby's life were in danger.

We can't do anything simple and with ease in my family. Thankfully it all turned out well. I know I am biased, but I have been told by many of my friends who have met Little Mermaid that for being an only child and the sole grandchild on my side of the family; she is very grounded and not spoiled. I am very proud of that and thousands of other characteristics she possesses.

Happy 10th Birthday Little Mermaid!!! Hurry back so we can have a big party here too.

Drug Dealers

My endearing term for the pharmaceutical reps who visit our practice. It’s not original but it makes some members of the staff and very few reps chuckle. On the average we receive at least a couple of lunches a week courtesy of the Drug Dealers.

You’d think it was the only meal our staff consumes each week. They are like vultures over prey. The caterer can’t set the food up quick enough from all the swarming. It’s kind of embarrassing. What is amusing is the covert ways in which some of the staff squirrels away the stash. My office is right next to the break/conference room so I am keenly aware of the activities surrounding the luncheons. We have one staff member who volunteers to clean up after the luncheons. At first I thought she was very generous or a clean freak. Turns out she is guaranteeing her evening meal. She does do a great job cleaning up. I figure it’s a just reward.

Drug reps generally don’t like talking to me. I do thank them for the meal they have supplied and for the record I don’t partake of each meal. A girl has to watch her figure and the lunches can be quite rich. Should a Drug Dealer engage me in conversation, I always ask if the consumer would benefit from lower medication costs if we could eliminate the luncheons. I mean I am the first to give up the lunches and the coveted chachkas but I also am the one signing for the caterer’s bill. Feeding 50 plus staff is not cheap.

I would gladly give up the lunches for more reasonable medication costs. I understand that the pharmaceutical reps need this avenue to market the new products, but still. There has to be a better way.

Paging Dr. Aggressive, Dr. Passive Aggressive

Back in rural NC when I was running five medical facilities, I had a nemesis. A locum tenens physician who was from the old school and had zero tolerance for policies and procedures. Unfortunately, until we were able to recruit new physicians for all the clinics, Dr. Aggressive was the temporary medical director. I can honestly say that I have not put all my management skills to such good use since his tenure.

In order to store controlled substances in a clinic you have to follow stringent rules. When Dr. Aggressive was going through medical training back in the day, the rules were not very strict. He told me time and time again that medicine was much simpler before the emergence of Managed Care. I never disagreed with him but it really had nothing to do with current day medical practice management.

Controlled substances must be stored in a locked container with the keys being available to the medical director and his/her designate. Dr. Aggressive and I had the keys for our lock box containing injectable Valium for seizure control and cough syrups containing codeine. Anytime these drugs were ordered, dispensed or destroyed, they had to be clearly documented. Every ounce had to be accounted for, no exceptions. These policies and procedure are governed by none other than the DEA. The DEA can drop into any facility at any time and go through the controlled substance log. The are penalties are steep, physician licenses can be suspended or revoked, clinics can be shut down. In principle, you really don’t want to piss off the DEA.

Because we were in such a small town, Dr. Passive Aggressive did not feel the need to follow any of these rules. He would pick up a couple of vials of Valium from the hospital’s pharmacy and tell the pharmacist to get the paperwork from me later. The pharmacist was not too pleased with this method but would generally go along with the city-slicker attitude of this visiting medical director. During Dr. Aggressive’s tenure the hospital pharmacist and I became close acquaintances. Dr. Aggressive continued taking many liberties with the controlled substance rules to the point where the pharmacist called the DEA for intervention. The pharmacist’s license and reputation were on the line as well. Luckily I was made aware of the covert operation and had my end of the paperwork in order.

The DEA agent showed up in the middle of a very busy day. She asked to speak with the medical director and the administrator. Before I went into Dr. Aggressive’s office, I brought the controlled substance log with me along with my copies of the signed order forms. The order forms are numbered and need to be used in numerical sequence; if not, it is considered a red flag. Dr. Aggressive handled the meeting in his typical aloof manner.

Here is the exchange between the DEA agent and Dr. Aggressive:
DEA: Why are the prescriptions being used out of order?
Dr. PA: I grab whichever one is handy at the moment, I don’t pay attention to it. My administrator must be responsible.
DEA: Really? Does she write the prescriptions?
Dr. PA: Of course not, I do.
DEA: Who keeps the prescription pad?
Dr. PA: I do.
DEA: Why are they being used out of order? Where is prescription form 1123? I won’t leave here until you produce the missing form.
Dr. PA: Well in that case, let me arrange for you to get a hotel room in town as I have no idea where that form is.
DEA: I have a better idea. I’ll just take you to our Charlotte headquarters where we may be able to jog your memory. (Charlotte is a good 2-hour drive from our location)

At that point I was dismissed from the room. An hour later, Dr. PA and the DEA agent left to go to Charlotte. One week later, we replaced Dr. Passive Aggressive with another locum tenens physician. Luckily for me, one who enjoyed following all policies and procedures.

Plant Whisperer

My older sister, the brain surgeon, is also a big time green thumb. Bordering on fanatical. Seriously.

Long ago while she was still single, I once had to foliage sit. (I am telling you, I couldn’t make this stuff up if I wanted to) Inside her adorable 2 bedroom condo were at least 30 plants. The first day I arrived to water the plants I found intricate instructions on umbrage care. If she had the time to give me each plant’s botanical history, I am sure I would have been well versed.

Thankfully I was able to keep the plants alive and thriving for her return. It was actually more difficult caring for those plants than it was caring for my infant niece, her spawn. Who knew being an aunt to plants was going to scar me?

Four years ago when I moved back to this area, my sister gave me cuttings from 8 of her prized plants. These babies were packaged with much TLC and of course 8 pages of instructions. If I could read and purchase the correct potting soils, mix them to exact specifications, layer the bottom of the pots with stones of the precise size, shape and consistency and water them exactly as instructed, she had no reason to believe these plants would no thrive in my tutelage. Oy, the pressure.

I am proud to report that after 4 years all the offspring are flourishing. I have even had to repot 3 of them and without her knowledge or instruction. Amazing, I know. I used to experience a small amount of anxiety each time she came to visit. Before she could remove her coat or put her purse down, she would be at each pot checking its progress. She thought she was being covert about it but Dexter would have to wait for the perlustration to be complete before she would even pet her furry nephew. I mentioned it to her once and she has tried with all her might to ignore my plants when she enters my abode but then she experiences the anxiety. So I let her have free reign upon entrance so that the rest of her visit will go well.

Martini Lady

Best described as a cross between Scarlet O’Hara and a future enrollee of the Betty Ford Rehab Clinic. This woman is certifiable. I sure hope the mold broke after her because even one of her is one too many on the planet.

What’s the old saying? If you want to get to know someone well, either move in with him or her or take a trip with them. I am here to tell you that Martini Lady is a trip without luggage. She had such promise too. Before actually meeting her I had only heard good things.

I got more than my fill on a 3-hour bus ride from Reading PA to NYC. Mindless chatter with the sickeningly sweet pseudo southern charm. Thankfully she was so self medicated that she lost consciousness mid-sentence. We arrived in the Big Apple and hit the ground running. Even HFS’ step mom was able to keep the pace and she had 2 bad knees. Martini Lady must have taken the wrong combination from her mobile pharmacy, known as a purse to the rest of the population. She was stumbling along in a dazed state.

It was annoying. We had an itinerary full of fun things to do; no time for drug induced stupor. Had I known that was the only time she would be quiet, I would have taken over the mobile pharmacy and dispensed the drugs for maximum effect.

Despite Martini Lady, aptly named for her favorite libation the Chocolate Martini, we did have a fun time. A couple of Broadway shows and a trip to the Improv later we were back on the bus heading home. Hey, in case you didn’t know, it is “HUGE” inside the Improv. There is no need to show up too early. Also, it’s a two item minimum not a 2 drink minimum. Get it right Mr. Concierge! Cause if you don’t step mom will correct you. “Good fer you!”

Martini Lady’s life almost came to an end while she had to palpate EVERY item in the souvenir shop. I’ll let HFS expound on those details because I left the store and walked back to the hotel.

I don’t exactly know why this story popped into my brain, but thought I’d share it.

Battle of Wills

My parents had a child once every eight years. In essence, each of us grew up missing the typical rivalry that occurs between siblings that are closer in age. By the time my younger sister (YS) came around my parents were pretty relaxed about the stringent rules my elder sister and I had to follow.

My YS was and still is the typical youngest child, extremely spoiled, very self-absorbed. Call it pecking order or nature versus nurture, either way you slice it she is a piece of work. I don’t want to brand all youngest children, this post relates to my YS.

I had the privilege of commuting to college. Truth be told my Father bribed me with a car if I stayed home and commuted. I realize now that it was a mistake on my part another post for another time. While I was a freshman at the University of Maryland YS was in 4th grade. You would think we did not have too much in common. You would further surmise that any of my belongings would not interest her in the least. You’d be extremely wrong.

I began noticing things either missing or moved around in my room. I do have a nosey Father but the items missing or ransacked were not things he would intrude upon. My Mom just would not enter my room because there was nothing in there she needed. That would leave YS. Before I made a fuss about my assets I conducted an experiment. Each morning before I left for classes I would leave a piece of paper wedged in my door. Sure enough each evening when I returned the paper would be missing. Someone had been in my room.

I casually mentioned the intrusion one night at dinner. YS began staring at her plate, dead give away. I turned to my parents and asked them to make it stop. They complaisantly told her to stay out of my room. When I was her age, the punishment for trespassing was detention for a week. I know first hand, I served that punishment several times. I was pretty defiant at her age; maybe a simple statement would do the trick in her case. Wrong again.

Things were not changing, in fact getting worse. We talked about it again at dinner, I was pretty angry about it by then. My Father asked me what I wanted? I reminded him that he was the parent and I the sibling. I told them that I would take matters into my own hands if it did not stop. The punishment that he doled out was detention for a week in her room, which was completely stocked with stereo and television. Amenities I did not have at her age.

After she was paroled it all started again. This time I took care of it. I purchased the items needed to install a small padlock on my bedroom door. Once I was able to secure my room I decided to teach her a lesson. I was not satisfied that she learned anything from her punishment. The Monday following the padlock installation I placed her stereo into my room before heading off to class. At dinner that night we had a long family discussion about how elder siblings should set good examples for the younger ones. I told everyone that I was trying to teach her the consequences of stealing. I went on to say that if her behavior was not corrected by the time she entered any type or roommate situation, she would most likely get beat up.

I love it when I win a debate. I returned her stereo in a week and she did not bother my things again.

Reckless Cyclist

My younger sister (YS) for some reason never got into the normal childhood activities. I have many theories that may explain this but I won’t go into them right now. Trust me, there are thousands of posts dealing with YS. All in good time.

For her 12th birthday, I purchased a 10-speed bike for her. She knew how to ride but was reluctant to do so, lack of confidence if I had to put my finger on it. Part of my responsibility, as an elder sibling, was to help get her confidence on track hence the gift. We grew up in the perfect neighborhood for cycling. So one day I was able to convince her to go riding with a visiting cousin and me. We decided that I would take the lead, followed by my cousin and YS heading up the rear. The neighborhood is built around a 4-mile parkway. Most of the parkway is wide containing no medians, there is one section of the ride which had a grassy median involved which of course made the road a little narrower.

I knew that she would get a little nervous as we approached this section especially since there were a few cars parallel parked in front of their homes in that area. As we embarked the section I turned back to see if all was well with my caravan. My cousin looked very relaxed. My sister on the other hand had white knuckles. The narrow portion of the ride was no longer than maybe 250 yards it shouldn’t have been a problem. Halfway through the narrow zone a car passed us. I heard my sister very nervously announce that a vehicle was approaching and I looked back to see how she was handling it. The car passed her first, then my cousin followed by myself. The driver was very conscientious and drove as far left of us as possible. I was very relieved to see how much room he left us and was silently proud of YS.

As I turned to tell her how proud I was, I found her dangling by her elbow from the side-view mirror of one of the parked cars. Her bike passed me at that exact moment. It was some type of panic reaction on her part. The passing car had cleared us by at least 20 seconds and then she decided to become one with the parked car. I was amazed. I didn’t know she was agile enough to suspend herself by her elbow from a 4-door sedan. Her feet were completely in the air. She was still in that position when I got to her, unbelievable! I pried her off the side-view mirror and made sure she wasn’t injured in any way. Then I looked at the car to make sure it wasn’t damaged. Amazingly, it was not. My cousin brought the bike back to her and she refused to get back on. I understand how unnerved she was but I was always taught to “get back on the horse.” Nope, she was having none of that and we were at least a mile away from home. In an effort of solidarity, we all walked our bikes back home.

That was the first and last time she ever road that bike. She is 33 years old now. The bike still sits in Mom and Dad’s garage. I think I will pass it down to Little Mermaid.

Over Reaction

My Father is a very controlled person. He is not very demonstrative when it comes to anger. He takes the high road and throws a curve known as the guilt trip. Actually he did that mainly for when I misbehaved as a kid, through my teen years and all through college. Every now and then I still might receive the beginning of the “what did we do to deserve this” speech. It’s rare but I am the middle child, placed on the planet to push buttons.

This tale is not an account of my misconduct; rather it is an uncharacteristic portrayal of my Father’s actions. We treasured dinnertime as a family. It was when everyone caught up on each other’s activities. This particular evening it was rather silent as I, a teen in high school at that time, made it through the day without incident. Mom, who is a fabulous cook, made some type of a stew. So we were all enjoying our dinner and casual conversation.

It was during a moment when all that could be heard was the quiet, yet polite, slurping of the stew. We usually ate in the nook off the kitchen, which was carpeted. (That detail of our house never made sense to me but it is important to my story) My Father took his spoon that was at the level of his mouth and dropped it to the table. He then took the bowl of stew, raised it up, turned it over and left it upside down on the table. Stew went everywhere. He pushed his chair away from the table and deliberately left the room.

My Mom did not interrupt her eating pace at all. My younger sister and I were clamoring to get the mess cleaned up as quickly as possible. Once we were able to stop the stew from running further off the table and as soon as my Father was out of earshot, my Mom informed us that he must have found a hair in the stew.

Apparently she has experienced this before. I was in total shock. As I said, I have never seen him react like that ever or since.

Father’s Day 2004 – CANCELLED!!!

Ah family drama, aint it grand? Let me explain.

Last year on Father’s Day eve, my then 8 year old niece – Little Mermaid, had a minor accident while playing basketball and broke 2 fingers on her dominant hand. A few things to keep in mind while reading: Little Mermaid is the only grandchild/niece on my side of the family, her Mom and my Dad are in the medical profession and our family rarely makes plans to eat out together as a group; some of us are too picky, etc.

The news of Little Mermaid’s accident came just as my Mom, older sister and I were being seated at Wolftrap to watch Riverdance. My sister’s cell phone rang and I could clearly hear Little Mermaid wailing in the background, my sister turned very pale while attempting to understand what my panicked B-I-L (Brother-in-law) was trying to relay. He had Mermaid in the car and was so anxious that he could not find the urgent care center that he passes every day 10 times a day. My sister stayed on the phone with him till he found the place and tried to calm both her daughter and husband down. We are at least an hour and a half away. We could have left, but as a trio we decided we would wait to find out the results of x-rays at intermission. B-I-L was sure Mermaid had broken her wrist, Mermaid howled louder and louder each time he mentioned the possibility of the wrist. My Mom had to pop a nitroglycerin pill due to her anxiety.

I doubt anyone of us were able to enjoy the performance. At intermission my sister called to find out the results. Turns out Mermaid only broke 2 fingers, she had some sort of splint on and was to see an Orthopedic surgeon Monday. We were relieved that the news was not as bad as each of us were imagining and watched the remainder of the show. I dropped my Mom and sister at the Metro and told them I’d see them for our Father’s Day Celebration the next day.

Here is my phone conversation with my Dad on the morning of Father’s Day 2004:

Wicked H: Hi Dad, Happy Father’s Day!!

Dad: Did you hear about Little Mermaid?

Wicked H: I did, she broke 2 fingers. She’s going to be fine. What time are the reservations?

Dad: Father’s Day is cancelled!

Wicked H: For the whole nation? Wow, I should turn on the news. Why?

Dad: DID YOU NOT HEAR WHAT HAPPENED TO LITTLE MERMAID?!?!?!?!?!?

Wicked H: I did, Dad. She is going to be fine. Just a splint for her fingers.

Dad: (actively upset and trying to hide the fact that he is crying) We are not having it this year. Goodbye!

So, needless to say I did not make the hour and a half trek to visit with my Dad last year because Father’s Day was officially cancelled. Hopefully this year will be much better.

Happy Father’s Day to you Dad and all the Father’s out there!

Joke for the Day

I am uninspired today so I thought I'd pass along this joke. Which, by the way, has me laughing still. Either the joke is great or I have a weird sense of humor. Probably a combination of a + b.

Enjoy!

The Boss was in a quandary. He had to get rid of one of his staff. He narrowed it down to one of two people, Debra or Jack. It would be a hard decision to make, as they were both equally qualified and both did excellent work. He finally decided that in the morning, whichever one used the water cooler first would have to go.

Debra came in the next morning, hugely hung-over after partying all night. She went to the cooler to get some water to take an aspirin. The Boss approached her and said: "Debra, I've never done this before, but I have to lay you or Jack off." Debra replied, "Could jack off? I feel like shit."

VIP: Very Important Papers

I am happy to report that project de-clutter is finished. I took advantage of my parents being on vacation. In all fairness, my mom has always wanted us (her 3 daughters) to help her purge things. Until now, I just couldn’t find the motivation. I figured it would be much easier to get rid of things without both parental units being present. What I didn’t know was that my elder sibling unit is just as much a pack rat as my parents. I had to fight tooth and nail for some items to be either tossed or given away.

There are many anecdotes to share from this experience, I decided on the discovery of the VIPs. My parents have been living in this house for 30 years. Being pack rats yields much stuff to sort through. Their garage was semi- organized into a his and hers section. Again, too much to write about. On Dad’s side there were piles upon piles of boxes. None of them labeled except for the one box on the bottom of an amassment of 9 boxes. It took me a good 2 hours to reach the VIP box. I had to go through most of the contents of the boxes for fear of throwing away an important family heirloom. (My elder sisters request) For the record, there were no precious artifacts to be found just lots of junk.

I finally reach the VIP box. Inside of it I found 3 legal sized expanding folders. The contents of the first folder revealed old applications for hospital privileges, items relating to medical licensing, etc. The second folder yielded copies of all his diplomas, DEA licenses, all very important papers. The third folder was much heavier and bound more tightly than the 2 previous. Once I got all the string untied and the rubber bands removed, I was expecting to find deeds to properties or something equally important. What did I find? Twelve mint conditioned Playboy magazines. I kid you not. My Father is saving the entire year of 1978 Playboys. There is not a nick or dog-eared page on any of them. I did not peruse any of them except to see which year they were from and whether or not they were subscribed or purchased.

It looks like he purchased them. My reaction to this discovery was way to go Dad! He is a wonderful husband to his wife of 51 years, a terrific Father - he raised 3 daughters, he is an accomplished Psychiatrist. Most of all he is a man. This did not bother me at all. Both my sisters reacted with “Ew!” I still don’t see anything wrong with this.

After a lengthy discussion, my sisters, 2 brothers-in-law and I decided that the VIPs would remain our little secret. I have placed them back into a sturdier container along with the other VIPs. They are now up on a shelf. My Father will know that the box was opened when he returns, I wonder if he will ask me what I found. My guess is no. I will keep you informed.

VIP = Very Important Playboy Magazines. Now I know. Anyone know what they might be worth?

Pay It Forward

May the fleas of a thousand Camels infest the crotch of the person who screws up your day...

And may their arms be too short to scratch.

Amen.