Taron gave me a lot of Eger-tention today!

kim jong fun

 

You never know what people will like as you’re writing it; I’ve written things that I think are hysterical and gotten no response whatsoever but, today, I’ve gotten more love and page views than any other since I started this site in March of 2010. My CelebriTuesdays post on Taron Egerton was a hit I guess. I’d like to thank my loyal Immodium Abusers around the world like Annie Smack that Fannie, AJ, Don, Steve, and today especially, I want to thank all my South Korean Peeps! What up to all you crazy little souls out there in Seoul?

 

 

Today alone, there were almost 100 South Korean views – I’m assuming it’s the North Koreans rushing the border to get on non-restricted internet to sign up for my posts. Mention one little Fatwa from Kim Jong Un, and all of a sudden peeps are hopping the border to come check me out. Obviously, if I go missing tomorrow, someone should immediately call the Secret Service, but I’m seriously considering calling President Trump and offering my talents to replace Dennis Rodman as the new Peace Ambassador. I bet we can settle this nuke dispute over a few of my crazy stories and a couple of Imodium tabs? Sing it with me: “All we are say-ing, is give Imodium a Chance!”

 

globe

 

Most of my readers usually come from The United States, but today I was all over the globe: over 100 views each from Japan and The United Kingdom, but I see you peeps out there in Bangladesh, Serbia, and South Africa reading me too. I’m ready for my world tour like Eva Peron!

 

rugby.jpg

 

I can see the search terms people are looking for when they stumble upon this little site and the top two are usually rugby bulges thanks to my crazy friend Weezy and Mywifesmom.com thanks to my mother-in-law! Obviously, I’m not writing rugby or in-law porn, at least not yet (you can never say never), but my crazy little stories attract all sorts and show up in the craziest of places. Every once in a while,  I try to see how people reading my stuff found me and you can forget about rugby bulges and dirty pictures with my wife’s mom, I should have been writing about Taron Egerton all this time…

 

 

Still, that doesn’t explain my South Korean surge today, but I’ll take it. Years from now, we’ll probably find out I’m the Searching for Sugarman of South Korea! If you’re one of those crazy folks in Bulgaria searching for rugby bulges and this site shows up – you are certainly in for an unexpected treat! Obviously, I have a little work to do to up my anemic fan base in New Zealand, but come on – they’re still holding a grudge against me because I didn’t like the Lord of the Rings movies – you gotta let it go like Elsa, you crazy Kiwis!

 

 

Apparently, Taron Egerton doesn’t just play an international superstar in the movies – he really is. Separate from the people that liked and retweeted my original post, @DailyTaronNews retweeted me twice and then sent out my link to score me all kinds of love and over 115 likes – thanks guys! They’re the most up to date daily Twitter source for all things Taron and they obviously have great taste – Go follow them!

 

kingsman poster

 

Obviously, the next logical step is to have me play Friar Tuck opposite Taron’s Robin Hood…Let’s make it happen people because if you keep giving me this kind of affection – this site might turn into Full-time Taron Fan Fiction! While you’re here – follow the site so you never miss an update!

 

busey

 

If you’re laughing at this, my wife probably isn’t – Part three: Does it still count if it’s her aunt I mount?

CommentPolicy

 

I got a comment from Celtic illumination, aka the loveliest pair of legs in Ireland about something I mentioned off-handedly in this post. Those legs are off on a secret cabal to become the Master Candle Maker in the world and considering that the double top secret world of candle making is extremely cutthroat, I’m offering support where I can. There are way too many pairs of legs gyrating through Ireland to blindly classify one set as the loveliest, but I’m going to give the benefit of the doubt here and choose to believe my new friend. Anyway, here’s the comment she left:

 

You mention ‘accidently mounting your aunt,’ are we talking taxidermy here?

 

Shame on me for assuming that the term that “mounting” was universally understood. I thought that people would realize that when I said that I “mounted” her it was pretty clear that I ended up straddling her. I know it’s hard not to think of straddling as a sexual thing, but this truly wasn’t that kind of story. When I read the comment to my wife, she laughed out loud and I said “who would think I was trying to stuff your aunt and mount her on the wall?” to which she replied “Please don’t try to stuff my aunt!!!” which definitely had a sexual connotation to it and not the intended taxidermy slant.

IRISH

 

So, to clear up any lingering confusion, here is the official non-taxidermy related version of the incident. It was my wife’s family Christmas luncheon and we were at her Aunt Lynn’s house. There was about fifteen of us scattered around, but the majority of the group were having drinks and catching up in the living room. The kids and my wife’s grandmother were opening their gifts when her aunt gave us a gift (even though we weren’t supposed to be exchanging). Contrary to popular belief, I wasn’t raised by animals so I got up to go over and say thank you while my wife was walking towards the kitchen to refill drinks for everyone.

 

Her aunt was lying on the couch across her mother and grandmother as I walked over to her. They were positioned like this: her aunt’s head was on the throw pillow at the end of the couch and her legs were stretched the length of the couch on top of my mother-in-law’s lap and my grandmother-in-law’s lap. As I leaned down to give her a kiss, I said “I really want to thank you…” and that’s when it all happened in an instant. As I was bending down to her, her uncle Gary (who was walking by me at the time) pushed me. This normally might not have been a big deal if I hadn’t lost my balance from the nudge he gave me and ended up right on top of her. When I say I was on top of her, I mean that I was now straddling her. If that is not any clearer, I mean to say that my junk was lined up with her funk! She was, of course, caught off guard by this strange way of being thanked at a family gathering and she said “Oh…your welcome” as she was laughing at me.

 

get off my sister

 

Uncle Gary immediately helped me even further by shouting “Hey, get off my sister like that!” which in turn made my wife spin around to see me still on top of her aunt. She looked at me with that all too familiar look of puzzlement/annoyance that I have come to know and love after all these years as she said “Get off my aunt like that!”

 

As I tried to gently dismount her and regain my composure, I tried to explain that her uncle had pushed me and that I wasn’t just some pervert looking for a little something to fill my Christmas stocking. It wasn’t like I was the crazy one in this situation, but needless to say it was another family gathering that I made an impression at similar to the game of Cranium when I was paired up with my wife’s grandmother and had to hum “Like a Virgin” to her. When I realized the next clue I had to draw for her was nipple I gave up with no hopes of winning that game. Sometimes you gotta know when to cut your losses if you can’t win. At least it wasn’t like the time I got punished and was forced to leave the table during Thanksgiving Dinner and sit upstairs alone, but that’s a story for another time…

In-Every-Family-Is-One---Witch-Cat-Ate-Your-Prozac---

 

Keep those comments coming! I have a tendency to ramble on like a yenta and have been known to go off on incoherent tangents from time to time…

Hasn’t New Jersey been through enough?

toll booth

Forget Sandy, Snookie, and Soprano’s Swan song, New Jersey has had another awful disaster worse than the tanning mom: A man was arrested for defecating in a New Jersey Tollbooth!

http://www.upi.com/Odd_News/2013/06/22/Man-arrested-after-exiting-car-and-defecating-in-Holland-Tunnel-booth/UPI-79161371957477/

Forget No Tresspassing - this is the sign they need to hang in there!

Forget No Tresspassing – this is the sign they need to hang in there!

I must credit my friend Ja for notifying me of this, but the first thing I thought of when hearing this is “Was he in the EZ Pass Lane?” That doesn’t sound very EZ to me? And why on earth don’t they lock those toll booths? Can anyone just enter and have your way with the booth? Who stops to go in them, but even if you live out in the boonies, you lock your doors. Not to be gross, but did this clown leave his special package on a chair or on the floor or on the desk; how big is this booth? More importantly, who has to go to work the next day and use that booth? They might clean it up and spray a little Febreeze in there, but I don’t even let people use my desk phone without cleaning it off, so there is absolutely no way that I would ever go back to work and step back into that booth. My favorite part is that he was arrested for trespassing. If someone takes a dump in the tollbooth – that’s a lot more than trespassing!

febreeze-commercials1

This of course reminded me of a story about my friend “Al”. Not many people will cop to as many embarrassing stories about themselves as I will, so he is a good sport for sharing this one. He was about eighteen at the time and was driving on the Expressway in his friend’s station wagon when his stomach started acting up. The Expressway always has traffic and can back up in a heartbeat and since Al was having the exact opposite of a backup, he made them pull that station wagon over.

He got out to squat in between the guardrails separating the two lanes and since it was summer, he wasn’t wearing a shirt, just khaki shorts and sneakers. As he was squatting and holding onto the guardrail for some semblance of support, he was crouching and doing his business while his shorts and tighty-whiteys were around his ankles. This is not an agile man by any means, nonetheless on the side of the road in a well-trafficked area and thus – his business ended up landing with a thud right into his pulled down tightie whiteys and his shorts. Now, if that wasn’t clear I cannot draw you a picture or explain it any further, so just go with me here. The way it landed, he might as well have never gotten out of the car in the first place because his clothing was ruined.

If you don't know this is Smokey from the movie Friday then I'm not sure we can continue to be friends...

If you don’t know this is Smokey from the movie Friday then I’m not sure we can continue to be friends…

Realizing he was in a bad state, Al stepped gingerly out of his underwear and shorts so as to avoid any and all contact, and then he crouched down in between the guardrails for coverage as he thought about what to do next. It was after about ten seconds that he did what anyone might have done in that position: he shot up like a rocket, jumped over the guardrail, and ran for all he was worth. Well, he then found out that his running was worth about ninety cents because his friends had been watching the whole time and once they saw him shoot up naked and start running towards them, they gunned it and sped away as he gave chase.

He was literally running on the side of the road chasing them wearing just a pair of sneakers and a gold chain around his neck with one hand giving his friends the finger and the other holding his junk. They’d slow down just til he got just close enough to almost reach the door handle and then gun it – laughing hysterically as they watched the show out the back window of that station wagon. Even if he ran like Usain Bolt, there was no way he could have caught them!

usain-bolt

About a mile down the road they finally let him in the car and agreed to take him home. Guess who didn’t think it was funny while they laughed their asses off? If you think that was the worst part of his day, then you should have seen the look on his face as they pulled off on his exit about forty minutes later. He almost lost control of himself again when he realized that his abandoned shat-on-shorts were still housing his wallet containing his fake ID and house keys in the pocket.

He made them drive him back to the scene of the earlier crime, but with traffic getting back there and actually finding the exact spot again, about two hours had passed by in that oppressive August heat. He was afraid of a repeat incident with them pulling away again (although now they had given him a towel to wrap around himself for modesty or to protect the seat from a bare ass in summer) so he took the car keys with him as he left to retrieve his wallet.

Who could predict the massive swarm of flies that would have been surrounding that awful pile of clothing laying there in the mid-day heat, but he needed his fake ID out of that wallet so he dug through and got it. He sprinted back to the car but not before throwing up on the side of the road. This was way before the days of Purell, so I’m sure he stunk to high heaven…

purell_handsoap

The moral of this story isn’t “be careful who you hang out with because friends can screw with you and this can happen to you.” The moral of the story is “Take Imodium AD and this CAN’T happen to you!
For all parties involved, thank God this was way before camera phones as no one should bear witness to that.

In all seriousness, this is the exact reason I am addicted to Imodium AD. I take toll roads, I commute on a train, I travel highways…I wouldn’t be able to leave the house because every misstep spreads like the wildfire through the internet that I’d be a viral sensation the next time I have something other than white rice for lunch.

A Patriotic Tribute

They took one look at me in fatigues and changed their mind...

They took one look at me in fatigues and changed their mind…

On this fine day when we stand in tribute to the great men and women of our armed forces who fight each and every day for our freedom to abuse Imodium AD and write a crazy blog like this, I went to the local recruiting station. Writing this blog is providing an essential service to the country, but I started to question whether I was doing enough and considered enlisting in the Marines. After a quick glance at me in the fatigues, the recruiter thanked me for my interest but assured me that my enlistment wouldn’t be fair to my wife and kids, wouldn’t be to my fair to my friends and colleagues, and above all – it wouldn’t be fair to the Marines! He saluted me and asked that I promise to continue my vital work on this site so here is a tribute to the Marines and all the other armed service men and women risking life and limb the only way I know how:

https://immodiumabuser.com/2012/08/31/me-at-parris-island-with-the-marines-no-good-can-come-of-this/

Help Your Bowl get that GOLD!!! America’s Best Restroom Contest!

Loo

 

Forget any of the singers on The Voice – click HERE and vote for something important in The Battle of the Bowls: Cintas’ America’s Best Restroom Contest.

 

www.bestrestroom.com/us

 

Whether it’s where you work, where you leave the building you work in to “think and take a call” or whether you proudly strut down the hall like the pimp that you are in your office with a newspaper proudly tucked under your arm – we all have a favorite Throne. I have a 24/7 IV drip permanently attached and pumping a steady supply of Imodium AD into my bloodstream, but just in case – even I have a spot laid out if an emergency strikes!

 

This is one game of poker where the flush always wins!!!

cards

 

Forget Washington D.C., real change happens when we come together and vote on important issues like these, so please go and do something important today – vote for your bowl to rock and roll!

Years after the Cold War thawed, Air Raid Drills were still nabbing casualties

cause and effect

People, let’s talk about cause and effect! This story doesn’t end well for a certain little girl with Leukemia, but I’m not the one to blame here. Leukemia isn’t even the one to blame here. Like many others here on this site, this particular story doesn’t paint me in a very good light, but I’m willing to risk that to get right up on my soapbox and tell you about the effect Air Raid drills had on the children of America. (If you don’t know what an Air Raid drill is and never had to duck and cover read this LINK HERE before you go any further or I’ll just sound crazier than I normally do).

Air Raid

My being a neurotic mess didn’t happen overnight; I was the only newborn in the maternity ward kvetching over the fold in my swaddled blanket – Why does my blanket have stripes – he’s got one that’s plain blue, why can’t I get plain blue? Why did he get a second tuck? When is that nurse gonna start warming her hands before she changes me…But this isn’t about a newborn – fast forward to that neurotic mess as a teenager…

swaddle

My friend MariaElaina was like my partner in crime. If there was a box of Entemann’s cookies in my hand, her hand was covered in crumbs as well. If there was a sixty-five year old woman to play cards with, she was right there shuffling the cards while the old bag cheated us for pennies…If she had a flour baby in Health Class and mistakenly let me babysit, I was the one that got it kidnapped…As with everyone, High School can be tough – so we used to combat that by cutting classes and attending the other person’s class with them to make it bearable.

MariaElaina was enrolled in a vocational program that was teaching her practical skills to become a dental hygienist and so for half the school day, she was bussed over to a satellite school for the program. It was career and technical programs, so you only went there if you were enrolled in one. Always up for a road trip, I ditched my classes for the day and got on the bus with her to learn the tricks of the dental hygentistry trade. The bus ride over was about twenty five minutes to a half hour and without incident. I had never been there before, so it was fun to see the facility and get out of my school for the day.

dental hygenist

We went into her classroom after arriving and were stoked to see that it was a substitute teacher for the day. Now we figured that there wouldn’t be anyone the wiser for me being there when I wasn’t supposed to. Little did I know…

Of course, all the kids were fooling around and being High School kids as the Substitute took attendance. We figured that if I just didn’t answer she wouldn’t know anything; we were all just standing around anyway so she wouldn’t realize I was extra. As MariaElaina and I were chatting it up, I was starting to get a headache from my eyeglasses so I took them off and held them in my hand. One of her classmates started over towards us and I couldn’t help but squint and stare because I didn’t have my glasses on but that girl was obviously sick. She wasn’t walking okay and she was literally the palest person I have ever seen in my life. Translucent if you will. Knowing I cannot be trusted to not say dumb things, MariaElaina tried to blow her off and get her away from us as soon as possible, but the girl couldn’t take a hint. She kept talking to us and asking questions: Are you interested in dental hygentistry? Is that why you’re here with us today? It was almost as if I was all of a sudden going to don a pair of rubber gloves and ask to scrub in…

As we were talking, we were standing in the doorway of the classroom. MariaElaina and I were in the room and Leukemia Girl (I call her that because she had Leukemia and quite honestly, I can’t remember her name) had her back to the doorway facing us. As Leukemia Girl was overstaying her welcome and ignoring my confused stares, there was a random girl passing by the open doorway of our classroom. I gave it no notice until another girl about a minute later started down the same hallway screaming out to her. I will swear until the day that I die that she screamed “AIR RAID” and not “ADRIAN” to the girl that passed by before her, but I have been told repeatedly since then that I am mistaken. I don’t know if it was my late 1970’s grade school training to move fast to duck & cover in the hallway, but I hit the Holy Shit button big time and freaked the freak out! It was almost as if a bolt of lightning shot right into me and my body jerked into action mid-conversation. Thinking back about it, I can see it in my mind in slow-motion: me screaming at the top of my lungs “AIR RAID!!!AIR RAID!!!” and then proceeding to throw my eyeglasses out of my hand like a World Series Pitcher and then those airborne eyeglasses smacking right into the young lady with Leukemia Girl’s forehead with a thud resulting in her first bruise of the day and then me bum-rushing for the door screaming “AIR RAID!!!AIR RAID!!!” as I knocked her out of the way and onto the floor in order to get into the hallway and down on all fours with my hands covering my neck.

duck and cover

Needless to say, since this wasn’t an actual drill – no one else took part in the safety precautions and just stared in disbelief at first, then disgust as I accidentally assaulted the girl with Leukemia. As I lay there crouched on the floor, she was writhing in pain on her back like a turtle turned upside down and carrying on like she had been shot…

MariaElaina was, of course, laughing hysterically and rolling on the floor as the substitute teacher shot up like a rocket screaming. She made sure Leukemia Girl still had a pulse and had someone was take her to the nurse and then turned on me: “What is wrong with you? Come with me – You’re going to the Principal right now!”

“The principal? I don’t even go here…” it slipped out before I could even hold it back…MariaElaina looked like she was about to wet herself right there. Tears streaming down her face and just bellowing. Her laughing wasn’t helping because it always made me laugh even harder and this was no exception. I was escorted to the front door and told to leave immediately.

“But I don’t even know where we are? How am I going to get back? I took the bus here – is there another one going back to the High School?”

“There’s another bus in in two hours when classes are over for the day – but you can’t wait in here.”

Guess who had to sit outside the front of the building for two hours and wait for the bus as MariaElaina and the kids in her class looked out the window hysterical laughing at him? Did I forget to mention that it was raining and I didn’t have an umbrella or even a coat on?  I didn’t really mind it and it wasn’t so bad until the girl with Leukemia popped her bruised head into the window and proceeded to give me the finger…I was literally sitting out there on a cold slab of concrete they were calling a bench for two hours soaking wet and laughing to myself like a psycho at the absurdity of it all.

I guess I did kind of deserve that one...

I guess I did kind of deserve that one…

I’m not saying she was milking it or wasn’t really hurt, but come on – it’s not like I was a linebacker. Even though she was sickly and paper thin, she still definitely had more muscle tone than me and they were eyeglasses that I hit her with – not nunchucks!

If you’re wondering the lesson I learned from that – it’s obviously that the Air Raid drills work because I have literally been in a house on fire twice and didn’t move that quick but you mention Air Raid and I’m off like a prom dress…

prom dress

Senior Spotlight on my younger sister

Call the Lost and Found! This was the last reported trace of my Aunt WInk’s eyebrows…

I was driving back from the supermarket yesterday when I had to pull over to let a fire truck get past me on the way to some emergency and it reminded me of one of the places my sister Marlene used to live in. This ordinarily wouldn’t be noteworthy but, my sister was just 24 years old cohabitating with our crazy 62 year old aunt in an Adult 55-and-over community at the time.

Something is definitely off track when you’re not yet feeling your late-twenties angst but your housemate is collecting Social Security; that’s no longer a roommate situation – it’s a sitcom.

My aunt Wink has shocking red hair, weighs less than most stick figures I’ve drawn, and once upon a fine summer day had to be tucked under my sister-in-law’s arm like a purse and carried out of HER own going-away party. That’s not even the most random thing about her: She’s a hairdresser yet doesn’t own a set of eyebrows. I tell you, her forehead is bare as a baby’s bottom! Try rolling your eyes at something ridiculous and when you look up – there’s not a stitch of hair in sight, just a vast wasteland. I’m not sure if they were too expensive and she’s on a tight budget or if she was the victim of a hit-and-run but somebody should dial 911 because there was a crime committed for sure. I never really thought that the Great Long Island Eyebrow Shortage of 1995 was a real epidemic, but I’m starting to reconsider my position. To combat this follicular dilemma, she uses a red crayon to color in where the eyebrows used to rest their weary souls. She has to be careful in the summer though – one wrong swipe of a sweaty forehead and she’ll be mistaken for Homey the Clown again! That being said, she is hysterical and was a perfect roommate for my sister Marlene, because crazy radiates towards crazy and those two were like magnets.

What made the pairing of these two kindred spirits dangerous was that, despite the vast age difference between them, they were eerily similar to each other but neither would ever cop to it. If my sister Marlene was the opposite of my aunt, or at least a little different it might have worked out, but she’s actually just a much younger version of her. Besides the fact that the two of them share the same first name and a natural proclivity towards excessive cursing and chain-smoking; Shave Marlene’s brows off, and Maury wouldn’t even need a DNA test to be 99.9% sure of that Baby Momma.

Marlene loved living there and she really was in her element – all the old ladies flocked to her and lived vicariously through her. It was as if In Her Shoes took place on Long Island instead of Florida and she was Cameron Diaz without the There’s Something About Mary hair. In return, she headed straight to the nearest JC Penney the day after she unpacked to purchase a new floral housecoat. It was her very own Fantasy Island and my aunt was Tattoo to Marlene’s Mr. Roarke.

Marlene and some of her peeps just hangin’

My wife and I were driving to visit Marlene one afternoon when we got caught in some really backed up-traffic. Believe me when I tell you that in Long Island this is to be expected as the norm, but this was different. All of a sudden fire trucks come blaring past us on the side street we were perched on. We were about a mile down the road from their development, but the sirens were still close after they passed us. I tried calling their house line and got the machine. Tried cell phone and got the voice mail. Thinking the worst, we tried calling another ten times as if that would alleviate the situation or make them answer.

Finally we crept down the street and turned into their development to see multiple police cars and fire engines, and lots of people outside. We parked and ran towards their front door, when we heard that all-too-familiar voice calling out: “Hey!” We turned to see the ghost of Christmas future right there in front of us. Marlene was at her post in the center of about seven various housecoats snapped up to the collar all with cigarette ashes dangling from the sides of their mouths. They were huddled together on the grass more intently than most of the football huddles I’ve ever seen.

She paused only to take another drag “Get over here, Gloria saw the whole thing” she shouted excitedly, drawing us into the circle. There was actually more smoke coming out of all their cigarettes, than from the actual cars involved in the accident. We tried to tell her that we had been calling non-stop because we were worried with the sirens, but she didn’t have her phone with her because “it happened so fast and she didn’t want to miss anything.”

Marlene and some friends just chillin’

My wife looked at her and shook her head, then at me and then looked back to Marlene:  “You need to move out of here right away!” She took another long drag from her cigarette and questioned “What are you talking about? This place is great!” There was no convincing her to move out and she stayed there living high on the hog as a life-surrogate for the seniors for another year. I guess it wasn’t technically a mid-life crisis for her, but it was certainly a funny thing for the rest of us to talk about.

SPECIAL ELECTION DAY REPOST ABOUT THE REALLY IMPORTANT ISSUES FACING US!

No photo retouching at all – this is all Jimmy!!!

 

I am not just reposting this important message because there is an Election Day Party with Jimmy McMillan (The Rent is Too Damn High guy) tonight and I am not reposting it because I’m going to see him at that party tonight. I’m reposting this because he is informed, he has a clear vision, he is smart…Who am I kidding? I’m reposting this because he is freaking hysterical and if you don’t know who he is, go and look him up right now! Seriously, you’ll thank me later and your life will be a little brighter because Jimmy is in it.

 

 

No on really cares about the Republicans or the Democrats or the ecomomy or unemployment – all the other campaigns skipped right over the most imortant issue of all. Click HERE to see the really important topics that no one else has covered and see why Immodiumabuser.com is vehemently supporting Jimmy MacMillan in this and every election!  

 

https://immodiumabuser.com/2010/10/20/the-no-means-nose-hair-movement/

 

 

Tell my wife that I’ll pretend to be surprised, but I’d really like to see this under the tree this Christmas: My very own Jimmy McMillan action figure. Forget G.I. Joe, I want the real American hero action figure! (Click here and buy one for that someone special on your list this Holiday Season)

 

Forget G.I. Joe, I want the Real American hero Action Figure!

 

 

 

 

Tony No Here?

The first time I broke my ankle; I had surgery and was laid up for a few weeks. Normally, when one is incapacitated, their wife comes to the rescue and plays Florence Nightingale. It involves a lot of spoiling and a little sympathy, but not this time. Apparently, when you’re clumsy and constantly getting hurt in alcohol-related injuries, it gets old real fast.

Forget the crutches, I was a sore sight to begin with!

 

After the surgery, I couldn’t walk at all and was laid up. My wife went back to work and little old me was kinda stranded. I am a yenta that talks non-stop 24/7 and now here I was without anyone at all. Even poor Smokey, the super Shih-Tzu, had enough and was avoiding me. I tried calling my wife at work, but she was busy. I tried calling my people at work, but they were too busy for me as well. I started ordering stuff online just so the UPS guy would come and I could have someone to talk to…

I put myself on liquid restriction to keep from having to go to the bathroom and I was starting to get dehydrated. I was so thirsty, but wouldn’t drink anything because I didn’t want to keep getting up and down to pee. When it came to eating, my wife left me a few snacks on the coffee table. I figured I would call the local pizza place for lunch and since I couldn’t move off the couch, I had my wife leave the front door slightly ajar for the delivery guy when she left for work.

My Fancy Footwear for a while…

I called the pizza place and lo and behold, they didn’t open during the week until 3 PM. Here I am starving and no pizza…I called all around town and the only other option was to order Chinese food – which I don’t eat. Since I don’t eat chopped cats, I ordered white rice, steamed vegetables, and steamed chicken with no sauce on it. No sauce whatsoever. Plain, Plain, Plain and everything in separate containers. I actually can’t eat Chinese food at a restaurant because when I order stuff plain and steamed with no sauce without fail they always say “Oh, you try lose weight” or “Oh, you on diet?” I always have to be like “No, I don’t eat spices or cats, so I need plain white rice and no sauce whatsoever!” which usually gets them to laugh in my face again – always a crowd-pleaser, I am.

So I called the Chinese place which was open and willing to deliver, but once I ordered my white rice, steamed chicken and steamed vegetables – my order didn’t meet the fifteen dollar minimum required for delivery. I said “OK, send double white rice – you can never have enough white rice” but that still didn’t do it. Come on, how cheap is Chinese food – I mean, what does a guy have to do here? “For God’s sake – just charge me the delivery fee anyway or buy lunch for the driver or do whatever you want, but please deliver the food – I’m stranded here and I’m starving.” He laughed at me and then relented to which I was all grin on my chin.

Everything’s nice when you have White Rice!

 

A little time goes by, and the delivery guy starts knock knock knockin on heaven’s door. I yelled from my perch “Come in” and he nudged open the door. Once he saw me looking like a poor sap sprawled out with my foot up on pillows, he gasped “What happen you foot?” Oh snap, not only did I get a lunch delivery, but I also got someone to talk to! What started there with those four little words can only be described as a beautiful and pure friendship built equally on desperation for white rice and any sort of human contact whatsoever.

Needless to say about thirty minutes goes by with me and my new friend talking up a storm. He got me silverware and napkins from the kitchen, and was the best listener ever. We agreed that since I would be laid up for a couple of weeks at least and had no other lunch options…that he would bring the usual every day and since I couldn’t meet the delivery minimum – he would bring lunch for himself as well. Everybody wins.

He would bring the food, walk Smokey, and then throw the garbage in the dumpster whenever he had to leave for another delivery. Thank god not that many people were getting lunch orders, because I was in heaven. We talked about my study abroad, my dog Smokey’s adventures, his family and extensively about how competitive the Chinese food industry was. I’m not even kidding – it’s hard out here for a Chinese pimp! Did you know that there are more Chinese food places than fast food places in the United States? Those bitches get cutthroat!

 

The best part of my recovery was that right before surgery, I’d received a shipment from Ebay of the absolute best thing in the world: I’d gotten all nine seasons of Dynasty (Need I remind you that it’s the best show ever?) I was immediately drawn back in and obsessed once again. Guess who else was sucked right in with watching Alexis and her exploits? My new friend Lee. He left for a delivery one day and he just couldn’t believe what Sammy Jo was up to. “Just you wait until season six with the Moldavian Massacre” I promised as he closed the door behind him…It was the perfect friendship.

I didn’t want to rush my recovery  because I was living high on the hog, but I was able to get up and around on my crutches so the doctor cleared me to go back to work. I was sad to see my new friendship lapsing, but we’d still be ordering from that same place and we’d still see each other…

A week or two later, my wife and I ordered Chinese food and I was in the shower when it arrived. She opened the door (to my delivery friend) and he started to walk in with the food like usual. She was caught off-guard and shut the door over so it was open only a bit. He was obviously shocked and offended by this brazed act of rudeness, but she had no idea why he was trying to come in. He poked his head through the crack in the door like Jack Nicholson in The Shining and said “Tony no here??? You want me walk Smokey?” I’m not sure if she was more shocked at me or him, but she was flabbergasted, She paid him, put the food down, and then yanked open the bathroom door as I was coming out of the shower. “What’s going on with you and the Chinese delivery guy? He just tried to come in the house.”

“You didn’t let him in? What’s wrong with you?” At that point I realized that I probably should have told her about my daytime company before now but I somehow knew she wouldn’t approve…

“What’s wrong with me? He tried to come in the house!”

“He’s been in this house more than your mother has.”

“Why was he in the house and when did he walk Smokey?”

“Honey, how was the dog gonna get walked, I can’t take him. It never occurred to you that while I was bedridden there weren’t piles of shit mounting up around the house? He’s my friend; he hangs out with me when he brings our lunch…”

“What are you talking about? He eats here too? Now I can’t even order from there anymore…”

“Honey, what are you talking about? He’s gonna think we’re mad at him now if we don’t order from there anymore…”

“There’s something really wrong with you …”

The lesson I learned is not to tell my wife when I make new friend and have them over during the day, but to make sure that I am not in the
shower when they’re coming back over again…To my delivery friend I say “We’ll always have season five of Dynasty my friend…They can’t take that away from us…”

We’ll always have Season Five my friend…

I hobbled on and off those crutches and in and out of that boot for close to two years when I broke the ankle again, but we’ll save that for another time…

I Hate Birds Part Four – No love from the dove: It wasn’t a pisser when that bird popped me in the kisser!

As I have bemoaned many times – I hate birds. Indulge me as I share another example why…

I used to do event planning and would attend many trade shows to meet prospective clients, but just as importantly, to meet new vendors. If you’ve never been to one of these trade shows, picture a huge hotel ballroom with rows and rows and rows of booths full of everything from cakes and flowers to event venues to Yiddish poets and strolling minstrels.

The person that was supposed to go with me bailed at the last-minute, so my wife filled in to help me out running the booth. It wasn’t a big setup, but there was a huge crowd and one person can easily get overwhelmed by it. We got set up and were meeting a ton of people – everything was going great…

All of a sudden, I see this really tall glimmer of red sparkles through the crowd…The crowd parts and then this magician struts up to our booth in a bright red sparkly jacket and top hat. He was covered in sparkles and definitely not blending subtlety into the crowd. I’ve dealt with a lot of entertainers, so I was used to “eccentric” but I’ve seen showgirls with less razzle-dazzle than this guy…He stepped up to me and thrust out his hand to present his business card, but I was so distracted by all the sparkles that I dropped his card on the ground.

I bent down to pick it up and was on one knee facing the floor to see where the card landed so that I could pick it up. All of a sudden I hear the magician scream “Huzzah!!!” which caught me off guard and I looked up to see what had happened…

Once he thrust the card at me, he reached back in his waistcoat where a dove was waiting (I get it you’re a magician it’s normal, but who keeps a bird in his pants? That’s just disgusting and weird!) and then he thrust that bird forward. I guess it was supposed to be impressive or a trick to be like “WOW, here’s a bird.” That was the intention anyway – what happened was a different story altogether.

I heard him scream “Huzzah!” and thrust my head up to see why this wacko was screaming only to have him and the dove connect with my face – He punched me right in the eye with that bird! HE PUNCHED ME RIGHT IN THE EYE WITH THE BIRD! I was so taken off guard and frankly, almost blinded by that filthy beak, that I toppled backwards onto the floor screaming like a lunatic “WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU? WHY WOULD YOU PUNCH ME IN THE EYE WITH THAT FILTHY BIRD? WHO DOES THAT? WHY WAS IT IN YOUR PANTS?”

At this point, with me screaming at the top of my lungs and sprawled out on the floor of our booth, you’d think that at least someone would at the very least ask if I was OK…Not there…there were tons of people staring at the commotion asking if the bird was OK, saying “Oh, that poor bird” as if I wasn’t the victim here. Where was the magician you might ask? He was also on the ground – not checking if I was OK, but trying to see if the God damn bird was OK…that sweaty thing was hobbling around cooing in some sort of fowl distress code cocking it’s head from side to side like Stevie Wonder. Magic Mike (not the Magician’s real name) was like “It’s OK; you’re OK…It’s OK.” To the bird, mind you, not to me…Granted, the bird was probably brain-dead because it took a pounding to the head like it was fighting Iron Mike Tyson!

I was trying to remember that I was in a work setting and regain composure, but I had just been the victim of a drive by shooting courtesy of that filthy foul assassin and was legitimately almost blinded! And did I mention that filthy bird touched my face? I got up and made a run for the bathroom to wash myself and Magic Mike was like “Hey, you forgot my card…” Obviously, I got your number buddy and even if he was the best magician in the world I could never call him after that. Needless to say I spent the next twenty minutes scrubbing my face in the hotel bathroom sink…My face was red and irritated and I had to go to the Front Desk to get a real bar of soap because that dispenser soap just wasn’t cutting it.

After I finally emerged, pretending nothing had happened and hoping there weren’t any other magicians positioned to attack or member of PETA mobilizing, it was pretty hard to be professional. As is to be expected when one has just been assaulted, I was a little jittery. My wife was standing by the whole time – laughing at me really – thinking “who else would that ever happen to?”… Another day at the mill for me though…Note to all trade show exhibitors:  helmets are not crazy – better to be safe than sorry.

One of my many Ah-Shit Moments (Literally!) – Part One

In case you've ever wondered about my office - this is where I write all my posts.

Whenever people tell me “You know what made me think of you the other day…” I always interrupt them because I know where it’s going. I say “I bet you were in the bathroom or it has to do with poop, right?” and you know what, it almost always (like 99.99% of the time) is one of those two scenarios.  Some people might think that’s weird, but I take it as a huge compliment. In the same way that Oprah taught us to understand and share our Aha! moments – I want to give the world a forum for their “Ah-Shit” moments. I’ll start with one of mine.

I’m sure that if you were brave enough to delve deep through the cavernous pile of nonsense in my noggin – this incident might have been one of the driving forces of my Imodium AD addiction.  As I’ve mentioned before, when I was in Elementary School I used to incite the girls that I liked so that they’d chase me around and then beat me up when they caught me. There was a girl in second grade named Jennifer who could run faster than any of the other girls (and most of the boys) in our class. When she eventually caught up to me – and she always did – she would tackle me, take hold of my hand and ankle and then swing me around so fast like a carnival ride…Granted, she would eventually let me go and I’d usually go flying face-first into a chain link fence or a brick wall, but she did hold my hand for those few brief moments…She was crazy but I never minded being the Tina to her Ike.

One day, after a particularly rowdy dose of ass-kicking, Mrs. D (the aide on the playground that afternoon) called me over and made me stand against the Gym wall as punishment for letting the girls beat me up again. “It’s OK though, I like it” I tried to explain to her, but apparently that was the wrong thing to say. Far be it from me to argue, but isn’t it odd to punish the victim? Wasn’t I the one who was tossed into the air like a Frisbee? I wasn’t one to question authority back then so I went and took my place of shame against the dreaded wall. I tried to ask how long I had to stand there, but it was no use – I was shut down with every syllable.
As I stood there thinking about my next flight into orbit courtesy of Jennifer’s private airline, I started to get really bad stomach pains. As an adult, I know those pains oh so well and recognize the significance of them, but as a young lad – I couldn’t begin to understand the tell-tale warning alarms that were going off right then.  It was a Quick-Hitter and time was of the essence.

“Mrs. D, I don’t feel so well…” I muttered. “Don’t pretend to be sick – you’re staying against that wall!” she said as she walked away tooting her whistle at another kid acting up.

My stomach was making some crazy noises and gurgling something fierce and I just knew something was wrong; it was like a wave of warmth came over my body and it just didn’t feel right. It subsided for a second and I thought that I might be OK when I realized (a little too late) that I need to get off that playground and head into higher ground (i.e. get to a bathroom). I took a few gentle steps in the direction of the gym door but after the first step I realized it was a big mistake to rock the applecart. I tried to quicken my pace, but after about five steps, I had to grab onto the wall to steady myself because there was an explosion. It felt like a bullet had pierced my stomach because there was intense pain and then it was as if a flash of lightning shot right through my body. “Oh God” I cried out and braced for impact.

Clenching was futile as this was a force that was just too powerful for my nine year old buttocks – it was like a tornado tearing through a fence. This may sound strange, but as soon as the warmth shot through me (along with everything that I had eaten for lunch) there was a moment of relief that the pain had stopped. Granted, it was a quick moment immediately followed by the realization that I was on a playground full of people covered in shit.

I made a full-on sprint towards the door as fast as I could, but I’m not sure if you realize how difficult it actually is to try and run with a full pair of tightie whities immediately after a gastric explosion. By the time I got to the door, I was covered head to toe and there was shit everywhere. It was running up my body, down my legs, across my back (because my shirt had been tucked in) and falling out my pant legs. I was leaving a trail that Hansel and Gretel couldn’t miss, but I just couldn’t stop running.

I headed straight in the door and right towards the one place that always offered me solace: the nurse’s office. As I was running, I was hoping upon everything holy that there wasn’t a line of kids for lice checks in there. By the time I made it to Ms. O’Donnell’s office I thanked God that it was empty. She took one look at me, jumped up from her desk, and sprung into action. I tried to say “You’re not going to believe what happened to me” but before I could even get half the words out of my mouth, she was at my side. In hindsight, I’m not sure that really I needed to explain it to her as it was fairly obvious what had occurred. It might have been the stench I was trailing through the hallway or the fact that I actually looked like I had been dipped in something, but she could tell immediately what was wrong. “Let’s get you out of these clothes” she said gently as she guided me behind the curtain for privacy.

I stood there limp as she started by peeling my T-shirt off of me. It was now soaked through and stuck to me like everything else that I was wearing. She was so nice and calming, and I started to feel a tiny bit better until she tried to take my sneaker off. “Oh my God, it’s everywhere!” she gasped, as one sneaker slipped off, spilling me all over the floor and she realized that my socks were soaked through as well. She peeled my clothes off one layer at a time and immediately placed them into a giant black garbage bag on the floor next to me. I don’t know why she thought there was any chance in hell that bag was getting on the school bus with me, but she soon changed topics and asked me for the phone number to call my mother to come and bring me some new clothes to put on. I started hysterical crying and had to tell her that my mother started a new job and I didn’t know the number. She offered to call my brother out of his class to see if he knew the number, but that was the absolute last thing I wanted her to do. I was still under the deluded impression that no one would ever find out what just happened to me.

Don't drink that coffee!!!

Since we couldn’t call my mother, she said for me to sit tight and she would go look through the lost and found for something I could change into.You think it’s embarrassing when the school nurse has to wipe your ass? Imagine the embarrassment level when she has to hose you off because you’re covered head to toe with shit! And those paper towels might as well have been sandpaper because they most certainly were not Scott tissue. By this time, she had used about fifty four wet paper towels to clean me off and still hadn’t gotten all the shit removed. I stood there while she went into the back closet to find me something to wear. As if I hadn’t been through enough, I heard the office door open and someone come in. All of a sudden, the curtain swung open and there was Mary, a girl that lived up the street from me, staring with an equal mix of curiosity and disgust in her beady little eyes.

I tried to cover myself as best I could, but it was no use; there was shit all over my body, the room smelled like a cesspool, and my soiled clothes were in a heap on the floor next to me – who was I trying to fool?  All I could do was cry while the nurse shuffled her out of the office and locked the door. As she was escorted out, I could hear Mary asking “Oh My God! What did he eat? Oh My God – Is he OK?” (Years later I actually went to one of my proms with Mary, and I wore a white tuxedo. Believe it or not, I sat down on the seat in the limo directly onto a peppermint patty she had dropped and the chocolate got all over the back of my pants. What are the odds that I would soil the seat of my pants twice in front of the same girl? That must be a record of some sorts!)

I would like to tell you that the story ends there, that Mary was the only one who ever found out about what happened to me, and that I eventually lived that horror down – but it didn’t end there. When the nurse came back from the closet she laid out the clothes for me to put on and I started hysterically crying again. It was a pair of red and white checkered girl’s pants, a tight green V- neck tee shirt with a butterfly on it (also a girls) and a pair of girl’s white sneakers that were a half size too small on me. I had no other choice since I couldn’t call my mother to bring me something to change into and there was nothing else in the lost and found. I was content to wait in her office until the bus came at the end of the day, but she wasn’t having it. I looked at myself in the mirror and the pants ended up being too short for me. The pants legs stopped mid calf and capri pants might be “in” now, but back then a little boy in short pants tended to stand out from the crowd. If the butterfly wasn’t so prominent on the green shirt, it might not have been as obvious that it was a girl’s shirt.

As I went back to class people were asking me where I had been and why I changed. I tried to play dumb, but one girl recognized the shirt and told me she had a very similar shirt and I wanted to tell her that since it was in the lost and found it might actually be her shirt, but I was afraid she would try and take it from me. The only other shirt left in lost and found after this one was pink, so I kept quiet. It’s actually very hard to keep quiet and pretend nothing is up when twenty kids are making fun of you and asking why you’re now wearing girl’s clothing, but I did. Needless to say I was devastated and was out of school for over a week because I got myself so worked up from what had happened I just couldn’t go. It’s funny to think of it now, but that was the longest day of my life and has most definitely played into my neurosis and obsession with Imodium, cleanliness, and butterflies.

Hypochondriac or just a High Maniac?

 

I have been a hypochondriac for as long as I can remember and that behavior never changed as I have gotten older. True story: When I was born, I actually burst out of the womb in a tiny yellow rain slicker and I immediately started questioning whether the birthmark on my right arm wasn’t actually a malignant melanoma? In grade school I wasn’t allowed in the nurse’s office because I would read the symptom posters on the walls and get convinced I had diabetes or whatever poster was up at the time. High School was worse because I had been gifted with a medical dictionary on my birthday, so my maladies weren’t just limited to the common diseases anymore. When I was in college, it was only a matter of time before I wasn’t allowed in the Health Services Office – but not for the usual reasons…This time it was different. 

In college, I refused to take classes on Mondays or Fridays so that I could have a more flexible schedule and so all of my classes were on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. I didn’t really need a flexible schedule for a job or really any specific reason other than laziness, but it was the principle of the matter. During my second sophomore year, my 11:3o class on Tuesdays and Thursdays was Geography of something. Throughout the first two months, I only made it there on time twice which I thought was a pretty good start. The professor was from Africa with a very thick accent and she would constantly hold me after class to tell me that in her country they take education very seriously and would think it was disrespectful to show up late. I would say it was not going to happen again, and then continue with my pattern. She didn’t seem to be a big fan of mine and one day she actually attacked me in front of the whole class about the lateness. Granted, I was waltzing into the room over forty-five minutes after the class had started, so she might have had a point; what can I say, when I’m late – I’m late. My theory was that as long as you showed up before the class was over you weren’t really late, right? She apparently didn’t feel the same way.

In her super thick accent she started yelling at me “What are you doing? You cannot keep doing this!” At first, I didn’t realize she was talking to me and then when I did, I tried to ignore her and pretend as if she wasn’t, but that’s really hard to do when twenty other people are smirking and hanging on her every word. Also, she was yelling at me and no one else was talking so it was really awkward…”You think you’re mad – How do you think my 10 o’ clock teacher feels– I never make it to that one…” Before she could even respond to my sarcastic stupidity, I muttered “I’m sorry, it couldn’t be helped” I figured that would be the end of it and tried to take my seat when she came marching over to me. “This is disruptive and you come late to every single class – Why do you bother showing up at all?”

At this point, a normal person would have thrown themselves to the wolves, admitted they were wrong and apologized – but not me. Very softly I muttered “Listen, I’m really sorry – it couldn’t be helped because I’m sick. I’m sure you’ve never heard of it before because you’re from Africa and all, but I have a little something called Mono and that’s really serious. I feel lucky that I can make it out of bed and get here at all.” In my mind, I was celebrating how quickly that I had thought of that and how smart I was, figuring that she would apologize and see the error in her ways.  Of course, I was delusional and should have realized that she, and everyone else in the class for that matter, could see right through me and tell that I was lying. That’s when she really let me have it and for a second I felt like her strong accent fell right to the wayside so she could yell at me in perfectly clear English.

“Are you kidding me? I’ve been teaching for a long time and do you really think that you’re the first person to try and tell me that they have Mono? Of course I know what Mono is, I’m not an idiot – where’s your Doctor’s note?”

Once again, a normal person would have admitted defeat and let it go at that, but not me. “How dare you! What kind of a person do you think I am? I am so insulted, who would make that kind of thing up? I’m a sick person (ironically, this was the only true statement that I had made all morning) Do you think I’m crazy? Go to Health Services and ask them in there! How dare you question me?” Now as a side note, I was as positive as one of Maury‘s paternity tests that I didn’t have Mono and that there was absolutely nothing wrong with me except for laziness, but if I didn’t at least get defensive she would have immediately known that I was lying.

Sure as can be, she was disgusted with me and dropped it and I got the stink eye from half the class. The other half could have cared less about the scene I was making. The girl who sat next to me was just staring with that look of disgust that usually takes people getting to know me for a few months before it develops and I looked at her and then rubbed my stomach to motion to her that I was sick. She rolled her eyes to motion to me that I was an idiot. 

I got the hell out of there after class and ran down to the Health Services Office. I had actually never been down there before because they don’t prescribe anything besides aspirin and I had learned to self-medicate with my prescription for any malady: Imodium AD and beer.  (It worked every time and if it didn’t work I’d add a joint to the mix and be at 100% in no time.) Actually, that’s still my go-to remedy and you know what? It still works. Your stomach hurts? You take Imodium and you’re OK. You have a headache? Take Imodium, you’re OK. You break your ankle? Yep, you guessed it. Works like a charm.

I didn’t have faith in any of the people working in that Health Services office, but I needed to make sure that if my professor ever did check up on my stupid Mono story, there would be a record of me going there. I went in and really milked it for all I was worth. I was leaning on the counter, moaning, and generally trying to look as sick as I could (that was the only time my naturally albino-pale complexion has been a positive thing in my life) so they would think I had Mono.

The numbskull there had me lie down on the cot and tell her my symptoms so of course I laid it on really thick:

ME: I feel like it’s just too much. I have no energy to go to class and it’s just every day…It’s Mono, I just know it

HER: Are you taking any medications? Drugs? Alcohol?

ME: Not me. No way that I would ever do that. I’m here to study and I just wish that I could get out of bed and make it to class. Can you give me something? I just know it’s Mono

HER: We can’t be sure what’s going on until we run some blood and urine samples, but it’s probably not Mono…

ME: (interrupting) Of course it’s Mono. I know my body.

HER: OK, let’s run the blood and urine and see what’s going on and you can come back in a day or two for the results. It’s too soon to say what it could be or if there’s anything wrong with you at all.

ME: Oh, I know there’s something wrong with me (The only other true statement I uttered that day!)

After the urine sample, she tried to take blood and I got light-headed and had to lie down to recover while she got me a cookie and soda. That was the only real symptom I had the whole time I was in that office and it had nothing to do with Mono – it was because I am a major pussy and I pass out from needles! I left there feeling mighty victorious and went home to celebrate how smart I was.

I went back a couple of days later and as I was waiting for her to go over the results with me, I was laying it on thick again and had her go and fetch me some water just to make it look good. I knew that there was a better chance of her telling me that I was going to be Valedictorian than there was of her telling me that I had Mono, but I had to make it look real. She came in with her associate, shut the door, and pulled their chairs right next to where I was laying on the cot. They didn’t say anything and looked at each other and then finally:

HER: “It’s not Mono…” before she could get any further, I grabbed my chest and said “Oh my God, its Hepatitis isn’t it?” knowing full well that there was no way it was.

HER: “Why would you think you have Hepatitis? Have you been in contact with someone who has it?”

ME: “You never know…”

HER: We know what’s going on here and you know that you don’t have Mono. I think you’re a very depressed person and it’s very serious. We’ve seen it before and it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.

ME: (Hysterical laughing) Whoa sister, I’m not depressed. I may not have Mono, but I’m not depressed.

HER: Really, then how do you explain the tiredness, achiness, not going to class, the excessive sleeping, we ran your blood and urine remember? Your triglyceride count was through the roof which means you are drinking so excessively that it’s triple the count of what it should be. And the imaginary symptoms and thinking you have major illnesses is another sign. How do you explain the drugs in your system? This is depression, plain and simple. I know it when I see it.

ME: OK, seriously…I knew that I didn’t have Mono and joking around about Hepatitis is not funny.  I get that, but here’s what happened: I always come late and so I lied to my Geography Professor and told her that I had Mono so I needed a record of me coming here to be treated for it in case she checked because she didn’t believe me. I didn’t think she even knew what Mono was; she’s from Africa for God’s sake. There’s nothing wrong with me – I’m just lazy. I realize just how stupid this sounds as I hear myself say it out loud, but it’s really true.

HER: Really? Do you think we believe that? That is the dumbest thing I have ever heard. What kind of person would do something like that? You’re depressed and you need to talk to someone. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I already called your father and…

ME: WHAT!!!! YOU DID WHAT??? ARE YOU FUCKING CRAZY? WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT? My father is a lunatic and that is the last thing you should have done. What about my privacy? I’m not fucking depressed, I’m pissed off. You’re nuts lady – I’m outta here!!!

Of course she called my father and he is a fucking crazy person to put it mildly: I have already expressed my wishes that he never be near me in a medical crisis and that is especially true when it is a fake medical crisis that I have just made up!!! This is how the call went after she asked for him and introduced herself:

HER: Sir, I’m calling about your son. I think he’s depressed. He came to the Health Services Office pretending to have Mono and we…

HIM: Lady, we’re all depressed, what do you want from me? The Mets are on – and then he hung up on her! Yep, that’s my Father! Good thing I wasn’t on a ledge somewhere…

I tried to go on my merry way and forget any of this had happened, but then I got a call from the Dean’s secretary a few days later to come to her office immediately. I had run-ins with the Dean on numerous occasions and had accidentally told her daughter that I thought she (the Dean, not her daughter) was a Fat Fuck just a few days earlier so I wasn’t exactly sure what she wanted from me.  (I didn’t realize it was her mother until I said “What is that Fat Fuck doing here?” and she said “What Fat Fuck?” And I said “What Fat Fuck? The Dean, who else” and she said “That Fat Fuck happens to be my mother!” and I said “That Fat Fuck is your mother?” and she said “Yes” and I repeated “That Fat Fuck is your mother?” which just made it worse. I don’t know why I thought she would be kidding, but I didn’t believe her. Needless to say, she did not think any part of it was funny. Also, it was in front of about ten people in the lounge, so she really didn’t think it was funny but it wasn’t like I could take it back at that point.
Needless to say, I had to explain the whole situation to the Dean because the hookers from the Health Services Office had gone running to her after my father hung up on her. Those bitches actually tried to block me from being able to register for classes until I went and saw a counselor so she wanted to talk to me and hear my side of the story. Talk about eating humble pie – thank God she knew I was an idiot. She knew that I was telling her the truth and she did threaten to make me go to the counselor out of spite, but did chuckle a little bit at the situation and said “Only you, anyone else and I would never have believed that kind of stupidity…and then we both laughed.

I ended up sweet talking that little African princess and she passed me but it was close. I had to lay on my charm and actually had to show up on time a few times…The lesson we learn here: The problem with health care is not the idiots faking illnesses to get out of something, but the crazy bitches that need to learn how to keep their traps shut!!!

As a postscript to this, a few months later they thought my aunt had Tuberculosis (seriously this time) and I needed a TB test immediately. Obviously I couldn’t go back into that Health Services Office after faking Mono and Hepatitis and tell those nitwits that I needed a TB test so I had to go to the local hospital for it. If you’re thinking of writing in the comments below about the boy who cried wolf – don’t! No one like a smart ass!

Phoenix Schmeenix! It wasn’t breast trip I’ve ever been on!

In case you can’t read this, the car window says “A WHOLE LOTTA BREASTS UP AHEAD! Who doesn’t love Coachella?

I couldn’t even escape the lunatics at the hotel bar. All of a sudden this random guy sits down cheery as can be because he has had the best sales day of his career. Apparently, he’s a paint salesman and had sold 33,000 gallons that day. He didn’t get my joke when I asked if he had to lug each paint can door to door…and then he proceeded to tell me that he was “The right guy, selling the right paint, to the right people at the right time.” I busted out laughing at that and he got annoyed because I accidentally laughed in his face.  I said “‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh, I just thought you were kidding.” Apparently, the paint industry is very serious.  I couldn’t be that mean either because it was an airport property and there weren’t that many people in the bar. I had very limited conversation choices: it was either talk with him about paint in all it’s glory or talk to the 20ish girl tending bar who said she was trying to get something “heartfelt” for her boyfriend’s graduation at Walmart. She gave me a dirty look when I laughed out loud but I couldn’t tell if he was graduating from Walmart or what she thought might be “heartfelt” there anyway.

Start to finish, this was the worst trip I’ve ever been on. I started out almost knocking myself unconscious in the driveway when I hit my head with the trunk while trying to close it after loading luggage in which resulted in a big red gash on my forehead, I ended up delayed seven hours at various airports, getting bumped from two flights and missing a connecting flight, had a full-on anxiety attack because they didn’t send my luggage with the flight for some reason but still charged me to check the bag, then I found out that I was charged for two airline tickets instead of one and then they proceeded to tell me that it was my fault, the boxes with presentation giveaways for my clients that I had shipped to my hotel didn’t arrive on time, and did I mention the heat and the sweating?

 

That’s not even to talk about the old lady on the security line who was holding everything up because security had to come over. Apparently, she thought it was a good idea to bring two cans of tuna fish, a plastic squeeze bottle of mayonnaise, slices of bread, and a plastic knife in her carry-on bag. She was gonna make a little snack mid-flight. What is wrong with people that they think they can make stinky tuna sandwich on a plane? The stink alone is reason not to do it even if it was allowed – but seriously, where was she planning on draining that tuna? Why wouldn’t you make the sandwich before-hand?

After her I was at my gate (before the first delay and then de-planing) and the lady scanning the boarding passes had to call security on the guy in front of me. After being told his carry on bag was too big, he took all of his clothes out and carried them under his arm and abandoned the suitcase at her counter and tried to walk around her and board the plane with an armful of shirts, boxers, pants, and socks. She was yelling at him not to leave his bag there unattended and he tried to ignore her so she called security. I never did see him get on the plane, so who knows what happened to him after that…

Am I the only one who goes through the airport security line scanning the crowd to see who I would be friends with if we crashed onto an island like Oceanic 815 did on LOST? Obviously, I’m not looking for Kate, Hurley, or Jack, but I give the people a once-over and see who’s gonna be dead-weight if a boar comes charging at us, who’s most likely a fugitive, who has a drug problem…and It helps me realize that as crazy as I may be, there are quite a few more nuts than me!!!