ever since my high blood pressure discovery, i’ve been taking fish oil daily.
probably have polished off a half dozen costco mega bottles by now.
in addition to seeing the old blood pressure ease a bit, i've noticed that i’ve switched to baths over showers, and lately they’ve been getting deeper and longer.
oh yeah, almost forgot.
there is the flopping around on the bathroom floor while drying off development too.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Friday, May 27, 2011
don't know everything
Being a former IT professional you’d think I’d know how to replace the ink cartridge in my keyboard.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
poppy has death cataract surgery
took the old man for cataract surgery.
it was not officially a hospital, but he considered it one and insisted this was the first visit since he was six years old when he had his tonsils taken out.
he was nervous.
like a six year old getting his tonsils taken out.
so far the best part for the rest of us is that he has a new list of instructions to read.
they replaced his pre-op list with a post-op list and it's longer.
anyway, i kept telling him it's gonna be worth it and when he's done, he'll be glad he did it.
however, he was not very interested in hearing that.
not when he was dancing with death, as he'd have us believe.
and he wasn't even going to get ice cream in the end.
while we waited for his return from surgery, patients twice his age and half his stature were filing out on the wings of great praise from the nurses.
"oh he was a great patient!"
"oh she was fantastic. you should be so proud!"
when pops came out, it was, "who is the owner of this one?"
and no wonder.
he sort of had a dean martin/richard simmons thing going on.
he was dancing and slurring and having a grand old time.
god knows what he said to the doctors.
but we think he was flagged—something about the next time they'll be more conservative about the anesthesia.
oh well, we were happy to claim him just the same.
he is ours after all.
it was not officially a hospital, but he considered it one and insisted this was the first visit since he was six years old when he had his tonsils taken out.
he was nervous.
like a six year old getting his tonsils taken out.
so far the best part for the rest of us is that he has a new list of instructions to read.
they replaced his pre-op list with a post-op list and it's longer.
anyway, i kept telling him it's gonna be worth it and when he's done, he'll be glad he did it.
however, he was not very interested in hearing that.
not when he was dancing with death, as he'd have us believe.
and he wasn't even going to get ice cream in the end.
while we waited for his return from surgery, patients twice his age and half his stature were filing out on the wings of great praise from the nurses.
"oh he was a great patient!"
"oh she was fantastic. you should be so proud!"
when pops came out, it was, "who is the owner of this one?"
and no wonder.
he sort of had a dean martin/richard simmons thing going on.
he was dancing and slurring and having a grand old time.
god knows what he said to the doctors.
but we think he was flagged—something about the next time they'll be more conservative about the anesthesia.
oh well, we were happy to claim him just the same.
he is ours after all.
the writing process
there are a lot of people offering a lot of highfalutin opinions on the writing process.
i don't understand all the hubbub.
it's quite simple.
at least mine is.
and here it is for free no less.
i place one word to the right (my right, it's left) of the last word until i'm not sure what to do, at which point i add a comma (or in some cases, when i've really screwed up, something referred to as a partial colon, which really should be renamed), and continue on until something unrelated strikes me, at which point i use a pair of these things here "―" (or parentheses when i feel like old school) to squeeze the dumb interruption in, then pick up where i left off and continue on my merry way until i'm certain i have completed a thought―albeit a bob thought―at which point i end the mess with a period (or in those rare cases when i'm really certain i have completed a crisp, coherent thought, an exclamation point).
so put that quill in your cap and smoke it!
i don't understand all the hubbub.
it's quite simple.
at least mine is.
and here it is for free no less.
i place one word to the right (my right, it's left) of the last word until i'm not sure what to do, at which point i add a comma (or in some cases, when i've really screwed up, something referred to as a partial colon, which really should be renamed), and continue on until something unrelated strikes me, at which point i use a pair of these things here "―" (or parentheses when i feel like old school) to squeeze the dumb interruption in, then pick up where i left off and continue on my merry way until i'm certain i have completed a thought―albeit a bob thought―at which point i end the mess with a period (or in those rare cases when i'm really certain i have completed a crisp, coherent thought, an exclamation point).
so put that quill in your cap and smoke it!
Sunday, May 22, 2011
indecent star gazing
she suddenly got up out of bed and walked out of the house.
after he removed the sleep from his eyes and stretched his limbs, he followed after her.
when he finally caught up, she was sitting on the front porch looking up at the sky.
so he asked her what she was doing.
she told him she was looking at the stars, because even though she didn't believe in such things, she was worried silly the rapture might have taken the stars since clearly the earth didn't cut muster, and she just needed to double check.
he asked her but why do this in the middle of the night, why not check on the stars at a more decent hour?
she told him because she was indecent.
and then he realized she didn’t have a stitch of clothing on.
he thought what the heck and joined her since technically she was right.
so they both sat quietly nude holding hands as they counted together.
and there was no monkey business because double checking the universe required all their concentration.
after he removed the sleep from his eyes and stretched his limbs, he followed after her.
when he finally caught up, she was sitting on the front porch looking up at the sky.
so he asked her what she was doing.
she told him she was looking at the stars, because even though she didn't believe in such things, she was worried silly the rapture might have taken the stars since clearly the earth didn't cut muster, and she just needed to double check.
he asked her but why do this in the middle of the night, why not check on the stars at a more decent hour?
she told him because she was indecent.
and then he realized she didn’t have a stitch of clothing on.
he thought what the heck and joined her since technically she was right.
so they both sat quietly nude holding hands as they counted together.
and there was no monkey business because double checking the universe required all their concentration.
Friday, May 20, 2011
916. round them up! round them all up!
every once in a while we need to filter the gene pool.
oh, i know it sounds all totalitarian, but sometimes it's really not such a bad endeavor.
if done judiciously.
it's time.
i'm talking about those single cell mutants, mostly young males, who ride those sport motorcycles.
you know who they are.
the guys who weave in and out of traffic at a hundred miles an hour as if they are trying to out race a shotgun bullet.
(probably are)
the guys who think the double yellow line is their lane.
the guys who come to a complete 75 mile an hour stop.
those evolutionary wrong path takers.
i can say this with certainty.
if one rides one of those contraptions, one is a bad seed.
to quote my old friend roz novosolikovikov, "simple like that".
i've never seen one behave even remotely like a two cell human (e.g., limbaugh, hannity, beck, et al).
so what do we do?
we get that guy who catches child sex predators to set up a store front and sell those damn yamaha things for $1 a pop.
who ever comes through the door and hands over a dollar, we exterminate.
quick and painlessly.
quick anyway.
well maybe quick like a turtle.
i suggest we start in new jersey, because we have way too many of these human dna don't haves, plus it's my idea.
nothing crazy mind you.
just thin the herd a little.
that's all i'm saying.
get this scourge under control.
take our streets back!
oh, i know it sounds all totalitarian, but sometimes it's really not such a bad endeavor.
if done judiciously.
it's time.
i'm talking about those single cell mutants, mostly young males, who ride those sport motorcycles.
you know who they are.
the guys who weave in and out of traffic at a hundred miles an hour as if they are trying to out race a shotgun bullet.
(probably are)
the guys who think the double yellow line is their lane.
the guys who come to a complete 75 mile an hour stop.
those evolutionary wrong path takers.
i can say this with certainty.
if one rides one of those contraptions, one is a bad seed.
to quote my old friend roz novosolikovikov, "simple like that".
i've never seen one behave even remotely like a two cell human (e.g., limbaugh, hannity, beck, et al).
so what do we do?
we get that guy who catches child sex predators to set up a store front and sell those damn yamaha things for $1 a pop.
who ever comes through the door and hands over a dollar, we exterminate.
quick and painlessly.
quick anyway.
well maybe quick like a turtle.
i suggest we start in new jersey, because we have way too many of these human dna don't haves, plus it's my idea.
nothing crazy mind you.
just thin the herd a little.
that's all i'm saying.
get this scourge under control.
take our streets back!
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
who broke the lamp?
once upon a time my brothers and i played tackle football in the living room while the parents went to get 100% fat filled milk and wonder bread.
at some point during the first quarter, ma's prized antique lamp was smashed to smithereens.
when ma got home, it was the first thing she noticed after unrolling my brother ricky out of the living room carpet (our penalty for being a big baby).
during ma's ensuing enhanced wooden spoon interrogation technique, which to this day i'm sure was not in dr. spock's official parenting field manual, we turned on each other like a wild pack of celebrity apprentices, even though it was the direct result of a gang tackle of ricky, which he whined about (hence the big baby carpet bagging treatment).
anyway, i'm reminded of this story every time republicans and democrats scamper to blame each other over who broke the economy and who rolled up little pauly ryan in the oval office carpet.
at some point during the first quarter, ma's prized antique lamp was smashed to smithereens.
when ma got home, it was the first thing she noticed after unrolling my brother ricky out of the living room carpet (our penalty for being a big baby).
during ma's ensuing enhanced wooden spoon interrogation technique, which to this day i'm sure was not in dr. spock's official parenting field manual, we turned on each other like a wild pack of celebrity apprentices, even though it was the direct result of a gang tackle of ricky, which he whined about (hence the big baby carpet bagging treatment).
anyway, i'm reminded of this story every time republicans and democrats scamper to blame each other over who broke the economy and who rolled up little pauly ryan in the oval office carpet.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
the flying squirrel conversation
flying squirrel one: what do ya think? i mean it's definitely peanut butter but what's with the steel cage it's in?
flying squirrel two: don't know what to make of it. but i think it's a trap of some sort. that human man that walks around here in his underpants is tricky that way. maybe we should sneak up when he's sleeping tonight and swoop down and bite his ass something silly.
squirrel one: ya mean that guy called bob? yeah, he's trouble but dumb as tar. so what do you think about the peanut butter?
squirrel two: scrumdiddlyumptious! it's worth it babe!
one: worth it, for sure.
two: i have an idea. let's reach in with a stick and skewer it like a shish kebab.
one: i get shishke ... bob! that's a funny one.
two: yeah. boy he sure is a heap of human stupid to think we'd fall for this.
one: heap of stupid, for sure!
two: ummm ... yummy! how's your side?
one: lip smackin' yummy, for sure.
two: we struck gold in this joint archie!
one: for sure, jimmy!
so that's what i imagine goes on in the attic while i sleep.
it's the only thing that explains why the bait is always gone but the trap untriggered.
and i'm gettin' pretty close to bringing in sheldon stimplehouse (a.k.a., grim squirrel reaper).
he'll shoot their butts dead without thinking twice and eat them like satay to boot.
he get's joy from it quite honestly.
he's not what i'd call a normal man.
oh well, i'm going to give this peanut butter trap one more week.
and if they aren't caught, it's curtains for them.
i tell ya, curtains!
no more mister hav-a-heart-trap nice guy!
flying squirrel two: don't know what to make of it. but i think it's a trap of some sort. that human man that walks around here in his underpants is tricky that way. maybe we should sneak up when he's sleeping tonight and swoop down and bite his ass something silly.
squirrel one: ya mean that guy called bob? yeah, he's trouble but dumb as tar. so what do you think about the peanut butter?
squirrel two: scrumdiddlyumptious! it's worth it babe!
one: worth it, for sure.
two: i have an idea. let's reach in with a stick and skewer it like a shish kebab.
one: i get shishke ... bob! that's a funny one.
two: yeah. boy he sure is a heap of human stupid to think we'd fall for this.
one: heap of stupid, for sure!
two: ummm ... yummy! how's your side?
one: lip smackin' yummy, for sure.
two: we struck gold in this joint archie!
one: for sure, jimmy!
so that's what i imagine goes on in the attic while i sleep.
it's the only thing that explains why the bait is always gone but the trap untriggered.
and i'm gettin' pretty close to bringing in sheldon stimplehouse (a.k.a., grim squirrel reaper).
he'll shoot their butts dead without thinking twice and eat them like satay to boot.
he get's joy from it quite honestly.
he's not what i'd call a normal man.
oh well, i'm going to give this peanut butter trap one more week.
and if they aren't caught, it's curtains for them.
i tell ya, curtains!
no more mister hav-a-heart-trap nice guy!
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
becoming ruralsexual
i think living in the country is starting to change my sexual proclivity for the worse.
i used to be a rather terrific heterosexual, but living a bunch of years with females all around kinda metrosexualized me for a while, what with the sharp haircuts, feminine deoderant and buffed nails already.
but being alone a lot lately in these backwoods, i've taken to stinkin' of manure, and crackin' the skin on my hands and teeth in my mouth, pretty much making me a ruralsexual.
i feel confident though that once keaton returns from her business in europe, she'll snap me to in no time flat because ruralsexual isn't her cup of tea.
not by a long shot.
in the meantime, it's yippie aye oh there little darlin'!
i used to be a rather terrific heterosexual, but living a bunch of years with females all around kinda metrosexualized me for a while, what with the sharp haircuts, feminine deoderant and buffed nails already.
but being alone a lot lately in these backwoods, i've taken to stinkin' of manure, and crackin' the skin on my hands and teeth in my mouth, pretty much making me a ruralsexual.
i feel confident though that once keaton returns from her business in europe, she'll snap me to in no time flat because ruralsexual isn't her cup of tea.
not by a long shot.
in the meantime, it's yippie aye oh there little darlin'!
Sunday, May 8, 2011
mothers day cards
i can’t buy another mothers day card.
mom never believes them anyway—not the way my brothers and i tortured her during our uninformative years.
so i give her signed photos of rock hudson instead.
they seem to put a hop in her step and a twinkle in her eye for some unexplainable reason.
and don't worry, i have no intention of telling her ... well, you know ... about which side of the toast the rock buttered.
mom never believes them anyway—not the way my brothers and i tortured her during our uninformative years.
so i give her signed photos of rock hudson instead.
they seem to put a hop in her step and a twinkle in her eye for some unexplainable reason.
and don't worry, i have no intention of telling her ... well, you know ... about which side of the toast the rock buttered.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
the alternate mermaid lifestyle
contrary to keaton's firmly held belief that it is her destiny to become a mermaid and swim the untamed oceans, baring her bold bronze breasts beneath her thick sea foamed tresses as she suns upon a lonely, rocky outpost, where she awaits the fortune of a steel-blue-eyed glance from a chiseled Nordic, Green Peace fighter, who might spy her beauty from the bow of his modest, weather-savaged, whale-saving warship and crashes in longing upon her jagged, unwelcoming atoll, only to become lovers in a life of sea adventure, endless passion and the occasional jellyfish sting.
yes, contrary to all that, it is my simple destiny to vacuum and dust until she returns one day after discovering this little alternate mermaid lifestyle of hers isn't all it's cracked up to be.
yes, contrary to all that, it is my simple destiny to vacuum and dust until she returns one day after discovering this little alternate mermaid lifestyle of hers isn't all it's cracked up to be.
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