Tag Archives: Funny

Rude Sandwich

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In the waning hours of the holiday season, we decided to squeeze in one last activity by heading out in the pouring rain for a matinee showing of The Accountant.  Perfect rainy day activity but ultimately a bit more interactive than I anticipated.

I drop my wife off in front so she could avoid the rain and get tickets. I then wade off to find a spot in the crowded parking lot to dock my vehicle.  50 yards from the theater, I wedge in between two other U-boats; but before I step into the monsoon I get a txt from my wife advising to skip the line and just find us a seat in the theater.  She notices there are no ticket takers, and with 5 minutes to the show if one of us doesn’t grab seats we may be watching the movie with our necks at a 90 degree angle to our bodies.

She’s not kidding.  The lobby is wall to wall-to-wall wet wool and bad breath.  I serpentine through the lobby masses and head for the entrance to our theater.

Somehow on my way in, I get sandwiched between three larger than life characters (husband/wife/child).  The woman in front of me is unaware I have slipped in front of her husband and is narrating her thoughts on seat selection at full volume.  Clearly thinking hubby is right on her heals and having selected her preferred row she barks, “How ’bout this one?”   At the same time she wheels around and finds herself face to face, with me.  Apparently she thinks I am a big white ghost because she lets out a, shriek, then immediately breaks into this humongous HAW HAW HAW when she realizes she has been blabbering absentmindedly to a total stranger.  She and I do this little dance in the aisle, and I step into the row immediately in front of her selected row.  BIG MISTAKE.

Anyway, the woman, her husband, young daughter (I’m guessing about aged 8 – in an R rated movie??), tub of popcorn, large drinks and assorted luggage sit behind me and continue their conversation through the previews.   I put my wet umbrella in the cup holder of the seat next to me and a minute later my wife lands.

A man and woman in front of me are also working through a large vat of popcorn but not 5 minutes into the previews, the man gets up and heads for the snack bar.  He returns as the opening scene appears on the screen and I miss the set up for the movie.  He then proceeds to sit (thankfully), pauses briefly before tearing into a grocery store size bag of something.

Could have been candy.  Could of been Calamari. But whatever it was, it was two hours of crinkly loud.  Like nails on a chalkboard, how someone could occupy themselves with a bag of such volume is unimaginable.

Now this is no spoiler, but The Accountant is about a high functioning man with Autism who is also a trained killer.  As you might surmise, the movie builds around the eccentricities of this unlikely combination of behaviors.   Pretty much every time the Accountant mumbles some inappropriate comment or puts a bullet in some nasty guy’s head, the trifecta behind me bursts forth with hearty HAW HAW HAWS,  MYUCK MYUCK, MYUCKS, and HONK HONK HONKS.  Even the eight year old.  Between the inappropriate comments, head bullets, and GUFFAWS there is the occasional “jump out of the closet/big white ghost” scene met withheld now familiar womanly shriek followed immediatley by a stereophonic MYUCK MYUCK, MYUCK, and HONK HONK HONK.  Oh, and of course there is the ringing cell phone during the final head/bullet scene.  She answers it of course.

Between the the incessant CRINKLE, CRINKLE, CRINKLE and HAW HAW HAW,  MYUCK MYUCK, MYUCK, HONK HONK HONK, I feel a bit like week-old turkey in a rude sandwich.   To say the rain must have driven all the rats out of the sewers would be a huge overstatement, but I have to chuckle at the world in which we live today.

A few additional thoughts:

  1.  The Accountant is worth seeing in the theater or in home.
  2. Next time I choose the long ticket line over seat selection.
  3. “All you had to do was pick a freaking decent seat and you picked the two between the Three Stooges and Willy f’ing Wonka.” (reprimand from my wife)
  4. When I get a little uptight.  I write.
  5. If I put the words, “Donald Trump” in my blog post will I get more views?

My Six Word Assessment of Last Night’s Debate

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What I Saw:

donald-trump-hillary-clinton-debate

What I heard:

                 TRUMP                                                                    CLINTON

Click on the names above to hear what I heard

(After 22 minutes my brain melted down and I turned it off)

Stirring the Pot…A Rising Tide Lifts All Ships

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10 PM Easter Sunday, I’m lying in bed with a book on my chest.  My mind about to punch out for the evening jars when the phone rings.

“Hello”

“Hhhhhhi Daddy”

“What’s the matter kid?”  I know when my daughter says the word “Hi” in just that way, that Mission Control has to come up to high alert; fast.

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“My Toilet is backed up and when I flush the water is coming right to the top of the bowl and I am scared it is going to overflow.”

And all I can think of is the old cliché, “A rising tide lifts all shits.”

Being as she is on the top floor walk up of her building and it is Sunday night, I can’t help but think how I might feel, were I her neighbor in the apartment below and knew a real nasty storm was a brewin’ above.

“You need to get a plunger, NOW.”

“What’s a plunger?”

Whilst never setting the phone down, she finds the plunger.  Plunger in hand and on the ready, I give her the three step plan for maximum impact with minimal splash.

As she is attempting to thread the gauntlet I hear sounds of howling laughter, utter horror, and  reflexive gagging.  After a minute or so of running commentary, it becomes clear she’s accomplishing little but stirring the pot.  I should have realized earlier that trying to plunge a toilet while talking with a phone to one’s ear increases drag and reduces the plunging coefficient by at least 50%.

In my calmest voice I say, “Kid, hang up the phone, use both hands, and txt. me after the deal goes down.  We hang up.

Problem solved within 30 seconds.

Upon receipt of the txt three things occurred to me

  1. Funny how the phone always seems to get in the way of getting things done.
  2. The greatest gifts a father can give to his children are, time, knowledge, and a sturdy plunger.
  3. For once I wasn’t the guy with the plunger.

God, thank you for your son, my children and for letting me be a dad.

I’m Dreaming of a Bacon Smoothie, Just Like the Ones I Used To Know.

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You know you had a bad day, when a good day would have been a root canal.

Last Thursday after prolonged pain in my teeth which advanced from nagging to “just remove my head please” over the course of about 48 hours, my dentist recommended I go see someone about a root canal.  He gave me a referral for a guy who wanted $1,500 (which I later found to be less than others).

Being an advocate of consumer driven health, I immediately started researching my other options for this procedure and found a dentist outside the city who will do the same procedure for $800.  Being the thriftiest guy on the planet, I decide to go for the big savings and make an appointment with the dentist for the next day.  That night my wife, ever mistrustful of my “brilliant money-saving ideas” asks if the person with whom I had the appointment is an Endodontist?  I reply, “Aren’t the only people who do root canals, Endodontists?”

I look up the dentist on the internet and while she has her doctorate in oral surgery, she is not a specialist in endodontistry (if that is even a word).  I broke out in a cold sweat, but am not dissuaded.  The next day in the pre-dawn darkness I head for beautiful Buford, Georgia to see about my discount root canal.  When I get there, I am treated wonderfully. After a $49 x-ray and examination, the dentist advises me that while she can do the root canal, she will not do it unless the tooth could be saved which requires the both a CT scan and opinion of an Endodontist.  She promptly refers me back to an Endodontist, who coincidentally is located 3 minutes from my house.  I make the appointment, hop in my car and drive another hour back to Atlanta.  For a $345 consultation fee with one of Atlanta’s top Endodontists I get to spend and hour an a half in his lovely waiting room, then treated to more x-rays and a panoramic CT scan of the teeth in question.  After all these x-rays, I am positively glowing…

This Endodontist, for the same root canal as the one in Buford gets $1,800, but he suggests that unless I have “Congressional Platinum” insurance, I should consider having the tooth removed.  He is not convinced the tooth can be saved, believes there was a 50% chance I will be back within the next 6 months for a do over and pissed to boot.  Were that to happen, he would be correct.  He refers me to an oral surgeon.

I make an appointment with the surgeon and by now, because of all the screwing around with my mouth, the pain in my mouth is nuclear and friggin’ Advil just isn’t getting it done.

Now, on my way to my third dental appointment of the day I am “looking forward” to having the tooth removed and hopefully get some relief.  NOPE.  The oral surgeon won’t take it out because my blood pressure is through the roof (wonder why?) and he is scared I might drop dead of a heart attack or have a stroke.  By now I am starting to wonder if either of those wouldn’t be a better alternative to the pain pulsating like Bootsy Collins’ bass from my jaw through my inner ear.

It is 4:00 pm and I have been rejected for both a root canal, and a tooth extraction.  Given the pain I am experiencing, either of which would have made for “a good day” in my book.  I am beginning to consider if James Brown’s affection for Angel Dust had something to do with his dental problems, and wonder if I am headed toward a life of drug addition, anger management issues, toilette envy, shot guns, high-speed chases and prison.  Shaking all of this off, I schedule an appointment to see my Doctor for the next day.

Bottom line, on Friday, my Doctor clears me for surgery to get the tooth removed and the bone prepped for an implant.  He gives me a beta blocker to drop my blood pressure, and some Hydrocodone to deal with the pain.  Unfortunately, the oral surgeon is on vacation until Tuesday, but at 7:00 tomorrow we are on our way to a dental implant and the poor house.

But the good news is this; post surgery I’ll be dining on Bacon Smoothies and Kebab Shakes.  I might even go for a little pudding.  Totally guilt free of course.

Go to Dentist in 2008, Go back to Dentist in 2015, Deja vu All over again. Thanks Yogi.

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Below is a Blog I wrote for another site I had back in 2008.  It seemed quite the appropriate primer for my next blog which will charge through the dental hell I went through last week and will be forging ahead with over the coming months.

I went to see my dentist today and said a little prayer that my special visit would be limited to a filling. The worst case scenario, or so I thought, was going to be a $1,300 crown, paid for from my Health Savings Account.

Well the good news is I didn’t have to buy a crown…..today. The not so good news was that because of how my tooth was cracked it had to be removed. Here’s the thing; but for the deep and wide crack in my tooth, everything else looked beautiful. The tooth, a molar, had never been filled. The dentist kept calling it a virgin tooth. The roots were stronger than a taproot and pulling it was a 2+ hour nightmare. I honestly thought the drill was going to go through my jaw and out the bottom of my mouth. The dentist was practically standing on my chest, while twisting, pulling, chiseling, and otherwise destroying the inside of my mouth. The thought racing through my brain were somewhere between the dental scenes from movies, Marathon Man and Little Shop of Horrors.

When it was all over with I had a giant hole, three stitches, a mouth full of xylocaine, and the profile of Mr. Potatohead. After 40+ years of wondering why pretty much everyone I know is dental weenie, I now have a far greater appreciation of their position.

If the pain and drugs weren’t enough to knock me out, I nearly passed out when I found out what an implant was going to run me. $4,000-$5,000 (but I haven’t done any shopping yet to see how to get the price down).   The only solace in this whole thing is that it is going to take 4-6 months for my jaw to recover enough to go back for more fun. This is no laughing matter, however, the dental implant appears to be a qualifying medical expense based on my interpretation of the IRS manual (http://www.irs.gov/publications/p502/index.html).

Hardly a silver lining to an otherwise dark cloud.   More like a burlap lining…painful, but better than nothing. Oh yes, one more thing. I’m going to apologize to my kids for the crack I made about swim meets being more painful than dental work. That is just not true.

Super Hero or Villain? Please, Please, Please.

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Seems like every summer we catch a wave of jacked up comic books at our local theaters where, for about $60, two people can explode, chase, battle, scheme, swing, launch, fly, blast, swim their way through nearly 120 minutes of saturated popcorn and a bladder expanding soda.  Heck, for $2.50 I practically get that riding the subway to work each day, plus, for no extra charge, it comes in odorama, which, thankfully is hard to duplicate on the big screen.

But what of these “super” heroes and villains?  It’s got me to thinking…

A man who is a spider.  Does he take all his meals through a straw?

A man who is a bat? Lazy bum sleeps all day.

A girl who is a bat?  Seriously, how does one tell the difference?  Boobs?

A man who is made of Iron.  Now that’s just absurd.  He’d be house bound like those with morbid eating disorders.

A man who is an ant.  Wouldn’t think twice about stepping on him.

Captains Marvel, Universe,  America, Planet, etc., etc., etc.  Why just Captains?  Why never promoted?

And what about the Doctor’s?

Dr. Strange.   “Yes, I’d like to make appointment with my gynecologist…Dr. Strange.”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Octopus is unavailable.  He’s in surgeries right now…”

“Yes, I need to get my Prozac refilled, could you please ask Dr. Doom to call that in for me?”

Dr. Manhattan. What, is his specialty, Mixology or something?

A man made of plastic.  Perhaps he could be sent to do something about the Pacific Ocean’s Trash Vortex?

The Flash.  Why am I seeing all of those black spots?

Robin. Poor fella.

A man who is Super.  Popular on Pride Day no doubt.

Man of steel (see man made of Iron above).

Two-Face.  Yep, knew him in high school.

A woman who is a Wonder.  Now that is one I completely get.

Hey, as far as I am concerned, the only Caped Crusader I care about is:

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Please, Please, Please, Please, Please, Please, Please, Please, Please, Please, Please, Please… Rinse, lather repeat.

It’s a bird.  It’s a plane.  Good God. it’s Soul Brother #1, the Godfather of soul, Mr. Dynamite, Mr. Please, Please, Please. Jaaaaaaaaaaaaames Brown. Jaaaaaaaaaaaaaaames Brown.  Jaaaaaaaaaaaaaames Brown.  Superhero of Soul, Funk, Rock and Roll.

It Takes a Village (Idiot)

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We are living the “it takes a village” adage.  My in-laws live several houses down the street and my sister in-law lives around the corner.

Last Wednesday, my mother in-law kindly (“Mookie”) offers to come stroll my 18 month old over to my sister in-laws so my daughter can play with my sister in-laws one year old son.

On the approach the following conversation plays out:

My daughter:  “Look Mookie, my see Bobby’s house!”

Mookie:  “It’s, I,  see Bobby’s house, Gracie.”

Gracie: “My see Bobby’s house”

Mookie: “No, I, see Bobby’s house.”

Gracie: “My see Bobby’s house.”

Mookie: “I, see Bobby’s house Gracie.”

Gracie: O.k. Mookie, YOU see Bobby’s house.”

Touche!